It Thrills, Then Burns

There is a mad, reckless abandon that at some point in our lives will grip our hearts and suddenly spin our lives into places that we never thought we would be in. First, it scares us, then, as we grow used to the idea it wraps it's fingers around our heart and squeezes until we think that we want what it has to offer--this recklessness, but deep inside, does it really make us who we are? Does it really define the struggles we face, the pain we hate, the love we pour out? I have this slight feeling tingling in the back of my head that the closer we bring this sort of recklessness into our lives, the more it destroys us. A wildfire let loose in our soul. The heat thrills, then burns us; and all that is left when the fire dies is scarred and charred remains, blackened and consumed without mercy. I wonder if a forest feels achingly empty after flames have consumed it's green glory. All that is left is barren soil; but though it has been burned, it has been infused with more nutrients than it has had for years. I wonder if those of us who have felt the consequences of that recklessness, after we are charred and burned and left empty, and have determined to shun such a foe suddenly become enveloped with a certain wisdom that comes with past mistakes and pain that has touched the deepest parts of who we are. Of course, not everyone will turn from that intoxication--they are the ones who are addicted to breaking their own heart. Even though pain has seared them in the past, they are determined that what they think they want will someday turn into something beautiful. And then...here I am, caught in the middle like I always seem to be. I'm never one or the other. Some days I remember the pain of the past and I retreat into my shell of "wisdom" and careful scrutiny, scolding myself when my head turns from my path, and then other days my heart says what the heck and flings itself back into that reckless abandon. That is, until night comes when I'm alone again, and the only thing here is the ticking of the clock. A comfort when I am wise, the face of a laughing scoffer when I am foolish. My body alternately cares for and hates itself, my mind constantly switches between feeling loved and feeling so alone that it makes me want to die. And so many times I look in the mirror and hate the dullness that has crept into my eyes; I see the blotches of my skin and violently wish to hate someone or something for my pain and imperfection, while all along, the only one to blame is me. I still have control over my life even when others hurt and abuse me; I don't have to give in and lower myself to their standards, I don't have to beat myself up day after day just because someone doesn't see my worth, just because someone doesn't love me. The words echo and reverberate within me like a beating drum or a breathing monster. If you bother to look closely you will see my hands tighten against this bridge railing--see my knuckles start to whiten when the realization hits me that once again, words are but words. Once of these nights I'll no longer be able to breathe. But I've said that before, haven't I? I wonder if one of these days you won't believe me.

Maybe I Live Too Little

Yesterday's night somehow you crept into my dreams, and you had your arms wrapped around me, and it felt so real. I woke up to realize that I had wrapped my own arms around my stomach; I had been holding myself. Then last night I dreamed that a head was on my shoulder, and a hand was holding mine, and I woke up with my own head resting on my shoulder, and my hands held each other. Am I meant to be alone forever? Will I only experience tender love in my dreams?

Maybe I need to learn to cherish my own skin instead of waiting for someone else to first. Maybe I'm too lost to realize that I've already  been found. Some times I just want someone to stop and say "I love you," and actually mean it. And then maybe I think too much. Maybe I write too much. Maybe I live too little.

100 Ways

1} Tell me that you love me every morning when you wake up, whether we are together or apart; write me a note, whisper it into my sleeping ear, send me a text, or shake me awake enough just to hear you whisper the words.
2} Tell me that you love me when I don't have any makeup on and my hair is a mess; when I think I look my worst and I think I look my best.
3} Tell me that you love me in the middle of the night when I wake up because of nightmares and you feel me tremble under the sheets.
4} Tell me that you love me when you see my eyes are filled with pain and you know I'm thinking of my past mistakes.
5} Tell me that you love me when I'm sick to my stomach with the flu, nauseated by the scent of food and pale as death and weak as un-steeped tea.
6} Tell me that you love me when our children scream and whine.
7} Tell me that you love me when I'm cooking dinner every night; when I set the silverware out in straight lines and when the milk spills on the floor.
8} Tell me that you love me when the skies are overcast and grey; when the rain falls in sheets and you see the tears seeping through my eyes to match the cold, dead skies.
9} Tell me that you love me when all the lights go out; when it's just you and me all snuggled on the couch.
10} Tell me that you love me when all I can think of is the pain and destruction that riddles the world we live in.
11} Tell me that you love me when we gather to hear God's words spoken to our hearts.
12} Tell me that you love me when the times of disaster come; broken hearts, families falling apart; wildfires, earthquakes, floods; hunger, and disease.
13} Tell me that you love me when we make pancakes together in the kitchen; when we lick the spoons we use to mix the batter and when we hear the pop-pop-pop of the sizzling on the griddle.
14} Tell me that you love you me when my body's wracked with shivers.
15} Tell me that you love me when you find me laying in the grass looking at the clouds or stars or sky.
16} Tell me that you love me when you see me trying to decide what clothes to wear.
17} Tell me that you love me when I tell you that we're going to have a baby.
18} Tell me that you love me when my middle swells and bulges; when I can no longer see my feet.
19} Tell me that you love me when the pain of labor rips through my body.
20} Tell me that you love me when I'm tired and worn out.
21} Tell me that you love me when you see the clouds of depression forming around my head and heart.
22} Tell me that you love me when I burst into giggles and want to play hide and seek.
23} Tell me that you love me when I climb into your lap and rest my head on your chest.
24} Tell me that you love me when I squeal and run away from spiders.
25} Tell me that you love me when I my legs shake from fear of heights or falling dreams.
26} Tell me that you love me when a shade of sadness steals into my eyes.
27} Tell me that you love me when the sensitive pieces of who I am tremble at other's words and looks.
28} Tell me that you love me by picking me flowers in the spring.
29} Tell me that you love me by holding my hand when we go on walks or hikes or ride bikes.
30} Tell me you love me by helping me put on my coat.
31} Tell me you love me by pulling out a chair for me; or opening a door for me.
32} Tell me that you love me by noticing the itty-bitty parts of my soul that I try so hard to hide away.
33} Tell me that you love me by remembering how I like my tea.
34} Tell me that you love me by calling me when you're away.
35} Tell me that you love me by pulling me close into your arms and holding me close to your heart.
36} Tell me that you love my by being a kid again with me.
37} Tell me that you love me by finding me a baby frog.
38} Tell me that you love me by caring more about me than you care about yourself.
39} Tell me that you love me after I've made you mad.
40} Tell me that you love me when the wind howls outside the window panes.
41} Tell me that you love me when we've been together years and years.
42} Tell me that you love me still when those years have made me old and tired.
43} Tell me that you love me when I'm mad at the world and I feel like screaming out my lungs.
44} Tell me that you love me when I lock myself in the bathroom and cry alone on the floor.

45} Tell me that you love me when I'm out of breath and my heart feels so weak.

46} Tell me that you love me when no one seems to care.

47} Tell me that you love me when my makeup's all in smears.

48} Tell me that you love me when I wreck our car and dent the neighbor's.

49} Tell me that you love me when the bank account's all empty.

50} Tell me that you love me when we have trouble with our kids.

51} Tell me that you love me when we have to move away.
52} Tell me that you love me by going on adventures with me.
53} Tell me that you love me by making me my favorite cookies.
54} Tell me that you love me by taking time to get to know me; not just once, but all the time.
55} Tell me that you love me by leading me in the way of righteousness.
56} Tell me that you love me by sharing with me your heart.
57} Tell me that you love me by being able to admit when you've been or done wrong.
58} Tell me that you love me by treating me as a princess, even though it sounds cliché.
59} Tell me that you love me by lifting me up to our God in prayer.
60} Tell me that you love me by loving my own.
61} Tell me that you love me by taking me fishing and doing everything for me except catching the fish.
62} Tell me that you love me by teaching me the skills you know.
63} Tell me that you love me by being patient with my tender, sensitive heart.
64} Tell me that you love me by being interested in the things I love.
65} Tell me that you love me by helping me paint and repaint the walls.
66} Tell me that you love me by being honest with me, with your job, with God, with yourself.
67} Tell me that you love me by staying up late into the night with me.
68} Tell me that you love me by understanding when I have to stop and rest.
69} Tell me that you love me by pausing to find constellations with me.
70} Tell me that you love me by valuing my opinion.
71} Tell me that you love me by letting me make decisions.
72} Tell me that you love me by never threatening to leave.
73} Tell me that you love me by never lifting a hand against me.
74} Tell me that you love me by living responsibly.
75} Tell me that you love me by putting your relationship with God above your own desires.
76} Tell me that you love me by loving God more than you love me.
77} Tell me that you love me by reading the words I so love to write.
78} Tell me that you love me by being willing to listen to all my stories and memories and pain.
79} Tell me that you love me by listening to repeats.
80} Tell me that you love me by speaking tenderly to me.
81} Tell me that you love me by action and not only word.
82} Tell me that you love me by offering to fold the laundry.
83} Tell me that you love me by doing without being asked.
84} Tell me that you love me by scooping the ice cream so I don't have to.
85} Tell me that you love me by believing my dreams with me.
86} Tell me that you love me by listening to what I have to say.
87} Tell me that you love me by going ice skating with me, even if you're horrible at it.
88} Tell me that you love me by being excited to be with me.
89} Tell me that you love me by paying attention and not ignoring me.
90} Tell me that you love me by not keeping me at arm's length.
91} Tell me that you love me by taking care of me when I'm old and feeble.
92} Tell me that you love me by always trying to do your best.
93} Tell me that you love me when others say they hate me.
94} Tell me that you love me when the days are hot and dry.
95} Tell me that you love me by the moon and candlelight.
96} Tell me that you love me by having long conversations with me.
97} Tell me that you that you love me by always being faithful.
98} Tell me that you love me by remaining ever true.
99} Tell me that you love me every night as I close my eyes to sleep.

100} Tell me that you love me when my breath is slowly fading away; when my eyes are closing and my soul is passing into eternity.
101} Tell me that you love me when the hand you hold there has grown cold and all that lays before you is a shell of someone who never stopped loving you.

A Heart Half Full

Here I am again sitting in this room that is slowly growing into becoming home, and I'm trying to absorb some of this silence. Just listen to the ticking of the clock and let my heart drift into a comfortable sleep again. If it wasn't so cold outside I'd go look at the stars, but I'm not about to go lay in the snow. So I'll just stare at the ceiling and imagine those tiny points of light peering down at me. I thought it would be easy to do, and yet somehow my mind just can't seem to be able to pull them back. Isn't it strange how the lovely, beautiful things that we should remember so clearly slip from our memories so easily, while the blackness and pain stick like glue to scar and mar our souls. I wonder if that just might be part of the curse of the fall, where suddenly our ability to enjoy and retain the beautiful and good slowly slips away and instead the darkness of the world seeps into our bones and infects everything we do and say and think. And we're all born into that darkness, and each of our souls drip with that night. Deep inside I know that the darkness inside my soul need not remain darkness, and yet when I search for the light I go to a light bulb instead of the sun, and then my heart cries and shrivels when it burns out or fades away. I wonder how long it will take me to realize that there is only one Light that will truly ever make my own eyes shine. I don't understand how I let my heart and soul wander off down so many other paths to search for that part of me that will truly make me whole. Oh I don't understand, and yet somehow I do because I know what it feels like to sit in the silence and know that you are the only one in the world who listens to the beating of your heart or feels the way your lungs move as you breathe. I know what it's like to crave that one person who hungers to know your soul more than every inch of your body. I know what it's like to curl up in your bed and hide your head under the covers wishing that somehow, somehow, you could wake up and be somewhere different, doing something different, being someone else. I know. Believe me, I know. And yet, even that won't fill me. Because I shall never be satisfied with a heart only half full.

Once Again, There is Beauty

My eyes cracked open this morning to see an overcast sky peering between the slats of my blinds and through the branches of the sleeping lilac outside my bedroom window. Cool air drifted in through the open window above my head and bathed my skin in such sweet cool intoxication. It's not until my lungs have been deprived of that fresh air that I realize how much it soothes me to breathe in the wildness of the sky. My favorite blanket was tucked up to my chin and as I watched the branches swaying in the breeze I realized just how happy I was at that moment. To wake up bathed in fresh air and my heart pulsating the thoughts of the King and the songs that give Him praise. So I sought those words I have known since I was a tiny child: Psalm 23. It has been those words that have shaped and molded my life; it is those words that show me that my Savior's path is a pleasant one, and He wishes to protect and provide for me; His plans are to help and heal me--to give me a future and a hope--to anoint my head with oil and make my cup of blessings run over. My Lord, and my God is my shepherd, in Him, I have no wants. He makes me sleep inside the calm of green pastures, He holds my hand and bids me drink beside brooks of the stillest waters--pure and wholesome. When my soul is shredded and torn by my own mistakes and the ugliness of the world, He restores it; He wipes His fingers across my many wounds and heals them in a moment. He leads me in the paths in which righteousness and goodness reigns, in the paths only He has been able to make, and He does this so His name will be praised through what He has done for me. Even though I walk through the valley of death and fear, in which every soul claws to eat my flesh, I will not fear, because He is with me, and He holds my hands. His rod corrects me when I turn astray and His staff reaches out to bring me back into His path and arms. They are my comfort in my darkest days. My God, He prepares a table before me, in which my thirsty soul is fed and sustained, and all this in the presence of those who hate me and use me. He pours the oil of blessing upon my head and makes my face shine with the glory of His face; in all this, my cup, it overflows; I am abundantly blessed, my soul is kept and guarded safe in my Father's strong loving hands. Surely this goodness and His mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and after this life shall pass, I shall dwell in the very house and throne room of my God, singing the praise of the One who always remained faithful no matter how many times I sought arms not meant for me to hold--no matter how many times I turned my face away in anger and bitterness--no matter how many times I ran from His searching gaze. This God, He loves me. He loves me so deeply that nothing can ever tear Him away from me.

Choking

I feel like every day I retreat deeper and deeper into myself. On those rare occasions when I let others see glimpses into my heart I feel so liberated and happy, because someone wants to understand my pain--they see it and yet they still want to help me through it and love me despite it. And then "reality" sinks in and I find myself regretting all those moments that I've shared and all the tears I've cried in someone else's arms, because they forget about me, or they say, well, your pain is in the past now, I don't have to lend my shoulder anymore. How cruel a trick it is to be there for someone and then suddenly disappear. It makes my heart ache and shrink in shame and bitterness, and for what? For being open and honest and revealing the hurt that scars my heart? For giving the tiny bits of love that I still have left? Really, it should be they who are ashamed of themselves, but more often than not they tell their buddies about how far they got with you, or how much they made you trust them, or how much they know you'll be craving their love and friendship and listening ears... While in the meantime it was all a farce, and so often than not I both feel and look like a fool. A fool who keeps trusting fools. A fool who wants to love, but there is no one to love. A fool who wants to spill my heart and my tears, and yet there is no shoulder that actually cares. And I wonder, how many prayers are offered for me? Specifically me? By hearts who really care and hearts who know my story and know my pain and have seen my many bitter tears. How can I justify giving my heart and love to someone who doesn't care to know about who I really am? Tell me, how can I? How does the rest of the world do it--do they just sleep around enjoying the moment and then when their hurt and bitterness shows through they drink it away? Tell me, is that true? Oh my dear God, I can't do it. I can't live that way. I'd rather give my love to nothing except birds and baby trees than have it wasted on some fool who only wants what he can get. And yet this pain that envelopes and chokes my heart tonight is so intensely real that either I wish to die or I wish to give in again and let those worthless arms hold me and just pretend that they actually care. But the pain just grows deeper and my emptiness aches and aches and aches until all I do at night is tremble in my bed and drown myself in saddened music. My soul is so thirsty tonight, so thirsty for the water of life that too often I foolishly forsake by trusting in my own heart, which I know is deceitful and desperately wicked. It's my own fault, I know, and I can't blame it on anyone but myself, but this sadness is choking my life, and one of these nights I'll no longer be able to breathe.

Foggy Head

Here I am, awake quite early this morning, with my tummy growling for it's breakfast but eyes and body not ready to leave this shell of warmth. I don't want to be sad anymore, but somehow I know when I fully wake up that I will be... And another day will slip silently away into eternity without even a fingerprint of mine to mark that I was here.

So Honest it's Painful

There is something about the night and the darkness that creates a heaviness in my soul...it's like I can hide all my sin in the sunlight because the stains are not visible, but to the eyes of the night, all my sins are perfectly clear. Maybe it's because it's easier to think dark thoughts in the dark...maybe because the darkness has been a constant companion and witness to the darkness that lurks inside my soul waiting to devour me, no matter where I run. Secrets create such an oppressiveness; they breed suspicion and worry, hate and anger...and yet we still hold on to them like they give us life. Lately there have been so many foreign thoughts whirring through my mind that three years ago I would not have even had the words to know or understand. It shocks me, and yet I feel I must write what is beating against my rib cage like a frantic bird. If I was going to commit suicide, I know exactly the place and the way...the thought terrifies me because I know my own fear of heights, and it was the highest drop I've ever seen into a river that looked so harsh and sickening...and yet the fear would almost seem like a blessing rather than the pain of both loss and reality. I saw a picture the other day, or rather I keep seeing pictures, of scars riddling the bodies of oppressed souls, and somehow vaguely my mind begins for the first time to understand the painful thrill of feeling a blade slice through your skin, watching the blood slowly seep through the layers of flesh...trying to make yourself realize that you really are alive, and the emptiness and numbness are just a condition of the mind. Somehow all at once the pieces of myself that I have for a long time despised stick out like a sore thumb as I gaze into the mirror. Once a long time ago someone told me I was beautiful, and kept telling me until I believed his soft voice whispering in my ear...and I was happy, because he saw me as I wanted to be seen. He loved me for who I was and his love stirred in me an appreciation, and maybe even a tinge of love for myself. And yet today what once was lies shattered and broken like shards of glass. I can't pick up the good memories to admire the glass without being cut by the sharp edges of the mistakes we made and the pain we caused. I look in the mirror and see the slant of my brow and the child-like curve of my face that so often I subconsciously try to hide in pictures; it's the uneven skin of my arms that seeps tiny points of blood when the skin is scratched; it's the blue cold numbness that grips my feet and makes it hard to walk without curling my toes; it's lump behind my ear that no one but me knows about because I'm scared to think of what it might be...or become, and I ignore the ache that throbs there as I swallow a few pills to make it go away. It's the way my ankles bend in an un-ordinary way, and the way my eyebrows have always been so thin and light. It's the way my heart thuds and makes my stomach lurch whenever I try to make it stronger--head so light and feet so heavy. There are so many things about me that I notice and despise within a millisecond of looking in that mirror in my room. I turn away from it, unable to believe the words that people say when they say I'm beautiful. When eyes turn and wander in grocery stores I look away embarrassed because of the flaw that they must see. There are so many things that stir within me painful thoughts and memories of mistakes I've made...when I see the charming purity of an untouched bride, when I see the happy sparkle of a child's eyes, when I see two people so in love with each other that they no longer see themselves, when I open the blade of my pocket knife, when I dream the dreams of my childhood in which I was falling--murdered, when I hear his name, or remember their friendship...
Maybe I'm still living in the past, and maybe all this pain that my heart keeps clinging to is slowly eating me alive, and in doing so, is killing me. Maybe is a huge word...with it you can convey uncertainty or skirt around words with playfulness. Maybe this, maybe that. All I am right now is tired, and that is no maybe. My eyes are growing heavy, but maybe when I wake up I'll remember just how much good and love and light and joy are really around me. Maybe tomorrow I'll realize just how much life I really have to live for; maybe tomorrow I'll understand the importance of cherishing the skin you call your own; maybe tomorrow I'll forget where I've been and look forward to where I'm going; maybe tomorrow I'll take pride in my imperfections because they are what makes me me; maybe tomorrow I'll forget all those old memories that still chain me to who I was and instead make new memories to spur me forward to who I will become. Please don't fear for me, I know that I am loved.

The Thoughts Invoked by a Hot Morning Shower

This morning I took a very long and very hot shower. I wondered how long it would take for the water to wash away every particle of old skin that covered me yesterday. I lifted my face to the shower head and let the steamy water soak into my pores, and it stung. I turned the water off and sighed; why did I feel so exhausted. As I stepped out of the tub and into the hot bathroom psychadelic colors swam inside my vision and my legs felt weak under me. Why is there such a sick sadness creeping into my bones? I breathe and the sadness flows from my lungs and pollutes everything around me. My heart feels as if a vice is restricting its pulses, and it's all I can do not to lay down and tremble and turn pale. The viens in my wrists and my hands bulge and throb as my blood struggles to feed my body. I watch the water drip from my long dark hair onto the cold tile floor. I hear airplanes soaring overhead and the neighborhood traffic of a Thursday morning, and yet, here I am sitting--feeling--so useless. 

A million thoughts are running through my head today, and most of them reek of self-pity and loneliness. Why do I feel like no one wants to see who I really am? Is it just that the people that I want to bare my soul to act as if they do not care? I suppose it's my fault, the way I'm feeling. I stake my happiness on things not meant for me and in places that will only cause me future pain and harm. I'll freely admit that I'm a fool, and anyone who calls me wise, if they listen close, will hear me laughing inside. A wise person knows what is right and follows it, I, on the other hand, know what is right and yet I turn my back on it. It's nothing to be proud of and as I write the words I feel shame within my soul, but I can't deny what I know to be true. I have the secret of life in my hands; I know the only thing that will ever satisfy my soul, and yet, I still search in the most unlikely places for a love I no longer expect. So don't look at me and say she's perfect, don't look at me and say she always does her best. There are too many things you do not know; too many things that I shall never be able to bring my voice to say.

Sometimes Dreams Teach You Things

Between the trees of the woods lingers a deep darkness; it creeps along and hides between the bark of trees and watches me as my feet crunch through last autumn's leaves. Like a million eyes watching, that darkness sees every blink of my eyes and every pulse of my heart seeping out like a rhythm through my veins. It sees my fingers begin to tremble as I sense its eyes watching me, and I know I'm not alone. The wind begins to sound like the rasping breathing of this monster-forest that somehow I have been lost inside. Between its gasps for air hangs a silence that is deafening, and my heart quickens with each step that I take. My eyes dart between trees and to every clump of underbrush, and every foreign sound sounds like a pair of footsteps stalking me. From underneath my tiny feet a mist rises from the ground. It wraps its icy fingers slowly around my toes, and then my ankles, forcing me to slow my hurried pace. It creeps up my calves and rests its fingers on my thighs, waiting for me to succumb to its sickening touch. But my eyes just grow wide in fear as the path before my feet grows hazy and then slowly disappears. I open my mouth in a silent scream, and the mist jumps down my throat and fills my lungs, and I fall, silent.
Now the beating of my heart has stopped, and my heart grows cold and blue. My fingers curl as tendons tighten, and my lips no longer smile. The mist turns into fog and covers up my skin. No eye, no heart, no beast, no bird can see the still form lying in the frosted leaves--hiding the shameful nakedness of the forest floor. But my eyes see me lying there, the fog condensing on my skin--grasping greedily every drop of heat my body held so dear. I feel so cold, so numb, so dead--so excruciatingly sad. I see myself from a distance; I'm no longer alive, but dead. The fear that always lurked inside my head somehow escaped into my veins; my heart believed its lies, and stopped; my eyes believed the eyes it saw, and closed eternally; my ears believed they heard my murder, so they refused to hear the words of life. And when I died I saw the truth, the lies I had believed. My soul is chained into this tree, my eyes fixed on the spot I lay, doomed to watch my flesh decay, my eyes roll back, my bones reign free. Oh that I had that life to live, I would live it oh so different. Fear would not deceive me so, and darkness wouldn't scare me so; the heights of canyons wouldn't make me tremble so, and the loss of love wouldn't make me so afraid to love.
We all have days we wish we could change--that we wish we could go back and re-live, but without the lessons of wrong days past, we would never survive the days to come.

Fragments of Thoughts

Some days it's all I can do to keep my guts from spilling out on the street. It seems as if all I ever do anymore is weep inside all day every day. Everything I do is either mediocre or worthless. None of them my dreams, none of them the things I long to do. I know that it's mostly my fault for not taking more of my future into my own hands, but I just can't, not with my family in shatters and no funds to even buy a new outfit. I wish that I could make the people see who I really am. . . I mean, half of the people who really knew me aren't even in my life anymore. I suppose at this point I'm just ranting. I just feel like no one wants to know the real me. The things that make me who I am everyone looks past like they doesn't even exist..

A Question that is Never Far Away

I want to fall wildly in love. So wildly that the inner child in me can't help but escape through my eyes. When whenever I feel like laughing I will, and when the tears stream down my face there are arms always willing to hold and soothe me. I want to be able to drench you in water and wipe flour all over your shirt when we're in the kitchen. I want to be able to giggle and run and hide behind corners while you grin and capture me. I want to be able to unburden my heart of all its anxieties and cares to that person who I know will never leave depending upon what I say. I don't want to have to guard my heart, but rather spill both the ugliness and the treasures upon that person who will love me and hold me no matter what I've done. I want that man who will hold my hand till the day that I die--be that old couple that still holds hands in the grocery store and laughs at the comics in the newspaper. I've said many times that I don't really have a desire to be married, but it's not true..so I won't say it anymore. I crave it like I crave oxygen. It's not just the arms that I want, but the security in knowing that someone loves me so deeply that they want to pledge their life to me--no matter if I am rich, or I am poor; no matter if I am sick, or I am strong; no matter if I am lovable or acting like a demon out of hell. And then my little hurting heart whispers, well, there's no one like that, kid, especially for you. Not just anyone can fill that void in my heart, it has to be the person made especially for me, the person that was made to be mine and I made to be his. I don't want to give myself away to someone who will be a fragment of my past someday, but rather someone who will always cherish me and whatever I have to give. But how do you wait in the meantime. Maybe that's why people are always searching for best friends, and they feel abandoned when they lose someone who was close to them--we have a longing to be close to others, we have a longing to trust. That's really what it is, isn't it? We all want to be able to trust someone with the treasure that we are...even if we say we aren't any treasure at all. And when there is no one...loneliness and hollowness seep into our bones and begin to eat us like acid. Maybe that's why God said it's not good that man should be alone... Tell me, is there anyone out there who will love without asking anything in return? Is there anyone out there that understands the importance of protecting the one they love, not only from others, but from their own self as well? One of my biggest struggles is believing that people mean what they say, that people wish good and not evil. So many nightmares have emerged that show people only wanting what they can get instead of wanting to give all they have...and every time I see a new nightmare or hear a new story I think is there anyone out there who doesn't always grasp for themselves? I know there must be...right?

My Name on the Wind

You are my darling child, My beloved. I gave you your name for a reason, My daughter. Before even time began your story had been written. I already knew the stabs of pain you would feel—I already knew the mistakes you would make and the many places in which you would search for—and yet find no—love. I already knew how many times you would turn from Me to follow your own heart and dreams and desires. And yet, when the moment of your conception came, I allowed you to be formed. As I knit your body together by My own fingers I thought of the life and the soul that would be joined to the skin. Twenty years ago at this time you had only been inside your mother's womb for two months, and yet, I knew you more intimately than you have ever known yourself. I saw your tiny body begin to shape and form. I wove the tapestry of your eyes together and etched the prints into your fingers. I held your tiny hands in Mine—felt the pulses of your beating heart. The months went by quickly and it became time for your mother to bring you forth. Between water and blood came a tiny child—my darling little one. You were no longer a secret to only My eyes—you became born to the world...and though you once knew Me, I have become a stranger to you. My whispers call to you on the breezes, and the flutter of wings spells your name. In every sunset I display My love for you, and every day I pour blessings upon you, but your eyes have been blinded by the darkness of the world around you, and you can no longer see the glory of My face. The tiny hands that I once molded and held now become clenched fists that you shake in My face. You must understand, My darling child, that though I may have the power to change your pain and your heartache, I prize your freedom above My own control. I swore when time began that men would be formed in the likeness of God, and into that likeness you were born. So not only are you free, but every other breathing soul is free as well. And though I love you more than you can ever understand, I will not force you to love Me in return. The choices of men will hurt you all your days, just like I am hurt when you fold your arms and turn away from Me every day. And though you turn from Me, I will not turn from you. My arms will ever tremble to be close to you again—to hold you close inside My arms and soothe your tired heart. You will ever be beautiful in My eyes, my precious one, no matter how many stains scar your heart and make you think they keep you from Me. Let me be your refuge.