Fall Down

'Break me out of my complacency, breathe your breath of life into my soul.'

I'm broken with No Regrets

Everyone, just raise your hands. Both of them, because I know you've done this more times than you can count. Y'know what? Your feet too. If you can, wiggle your ears. 'Cause I have a question for you. How many of you have knowingly done something very wrong and stupid? Raise your hands if you have. All of you? Oh.

Hello.

You can put your hands down, now. I forgive you for everything you've done. You may glare at me and say I don't have the right to claim that you need to be forgiven by me, but that's just a cover. People, in their insecurity, are desperate for someone to tell them that it doesn't matter. That there's nothing they can do to make you love them less. They want that assurance, and they want it to be real. Only then can it assuage any pain, or self-destructive hate. It really doesn't matter what you did, even if you did it to another person.

I swear, the person you are hurting the most is yourself. Because half the people out there have thick enough skins to be able to brush stuff off. The other half learn soon to surround themselves with tons of people who will help them heal. When it comes to deeper things--things that touch the soul--everyone may fall to it. But still. You do that to them, and no matter how it destroys them, they are the victim and they are going to have a plethora of helping hands to fix them. Who's gonna fix you? Who's gonna look and see the pained, dilapidated soul that would allow itself to do such a thing, and say that they feel sorry for it?

See, the thing about this is that in order to get better you have to pluck up the courage to surrender and let yourself be weak. People who have been hurt already know weakness. The first barrier was already broken down for them--by you.

You know, sometimes I want to just walk up and kiss the people who've hurt me on the cheek. I want to thank them for the many many lessons I have learned and the friends I have gained because of them. But when I do something wrong, all I want to do is kick myself or throw myself out the window. What right do I have to forgive myself, I say, Why, if I know now that it was wrong, didn't I know it then? I have no answer. Except that I am human. I am inherently evil, and I am in no way powerful enough to be good on my own.

Praise God for God. If it weren't for Him, I'd be completely and utterly in deep yogurt right now and forever, and life would be meaningless. Oh, I thank Him all the days of my life for what He's given me! I thank Him for the wonderful friends that always listen and always forgive what I've done to myself. I thank Him for one more day where I've eaten, smiled and laughed, exercised and cried. I thank Him when I'm dumb enough to eat cheese or drink milk and I don't feel any pain afterward. I thank Him when I make a fool of myself, if only because it helped make my friends laugh a little more than they would have without my company.

I thank Him when I write in my journal for giving me a gift in writing. I thank Him for my horrible memory which has driven me to use the gift of writing. I thank Him that I feel every desperate, agonizing emotion of everyone around me, and that I have a chance to understand enough to help.

So why? Why did I do what I did? Why did I look away? Why did I wander off? Why did I give Jesus reason to cry for me?

I am human, inherently evil, and in no way powerful enough to be good on my own.

Humbling, isn't it?

Liberating. I no longer have to worry, because I no longer have to try on my own. God does everything. I just have to let Him and follow. And when I choose not to, He doesn't even give me a slap on the wrist. He doesn't even look at me angrily. He cries when I cry. It's terrible, seeing Papa cry. But all I have to do to stop it is approach Him with a contrite heart and willingness to change, and He'll do the rest. He'll smile and pull me close and let me feel like the smallest, weakest, most vulnerable thing in the world, and yet completely safe.

So now you know why I don't worry. Going out in the sun without sunscreen increases my risk of cancer? Not true. If God wants me to get skin cancer, I'm gonna get it no matter how careful I am. And if He doesn't, I really don't have to worry too much about it. No, I'm not going to jump in front of a car and tell Him to save me if he wants me to fulfill his plan, but c'mon. I'm not going to let fear cripple my life. Beauty is fleeting at best and in no way key to doing what God wants. Health's much more important, but you still don't need to be in peak physical condition to be God's super-soldier.

Just don't worry. Do your best and give yourself breaks and don't worry. "'For I know the plans I have for you,' Declares the Lord, 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.'" Jeremiah 29:11 What God wants will fill you with His joy and His love. Straying from Him will only hurt you more.

God forgives you for everything you've done. Every step you've taken outside His path. And you know what? He's forgotten about it. You should, too.

Go and Sin No More

Wow

You know, physical health has much more of an effect on the mind than I would have thought. For instance, I have been dealing with major stomach and lung issues since I wrote the post before the previous one, and I haven't been able to concentrate enough to write anything, be it a chapter of my story or another post. The only thing I have been doing has been writing a couple pages in my journal every night, but that was more for the sake of remembering and organizing in my mind everything that's been going on than for the sake of writing.

I also realize that the above paragraph, while of good size, is only three sentences long. That's...not cool. I should be able to do better than that. Really, though, it seems I become a whole lot more long-winded when I'm as continually exhausted as I have been in recent days. I also choose on a whim to say things in very odd ways. Bah.

So yeah. Wow. This is sort of a status check-in on yours truly. I've been stressed out by several issues. Physical, mental, relational.... And I'm not sleeping very well, even though I doze off every time I lay down. So, hopefully I'll feel better soon. But until then I decided to put something up here in order to keep this particular site from dying.

Whisper, by A Fine Frenzy

Whisper, by A Fine Frenzy

'Running the race
Like a mouse in a cage
Getting nowhere but I'm trying
Forging ahead
But I'm stuck in the bed
That I made so I'm lying

But if you keep real close
Yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me still

Eager to please,
Trying to be what they need
But I'm so very tired
I've stopped trying to find
Any peace in my mind
Because it tangles the wires

But if you keep real close
Yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me still

The sound tires on my lips
To fade away into forgetting

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me still?'

Life gets crazy sometimes, you know? I don't think I can say anything about what I feel that isn't covered in this song.

Secrets of the Sands by Leona Wisoker

Ah...where do I even start? I met Leona Wisoker at a writers conference in march, where I learned that she would have her first first book published and distributed by the end of the month. I was very, very happy for her. She was a nice person, a wonderful conversationalist and a wealth of knowledge all rolled up in a person who knew their way around the English vocabulary. Leona was never afraid to give her opinion and share her wisdom. At the same time, she never--ever--made me feel bad for being wrong or of a differing point of view. That's hard to do. I'm a bit too sensitive for my own good. Meeting Leona was a wonderful experience. I have to say, however, that reading her book, Secrets of the Sands, was even better.

World-building. I was stunned by the end of the book at the details in dress and speech and culture and language and history and myths and legends and misnomers of the world wrapped up in that book. I have read few books that compare in the sheer effort involved in creating a world that lives and dances off the page. Unbounded imagination only could have created something so spectacular. The best part, though, is that you didn't have to sit through paragraphs and chapters and pages of explanation for everything that was going on. Leona managed the show the reader her world through the telling of the story, and she never leaves them behind or bewildered. That is true skill.

Plot. Epic. I can't really tell you what it is besides that. Two parts grand quest to three parts mystery, one part romance and fifty parts can't-wait-for-the-next-book-so-you-can-get-more-of-the-picture. It resolves well, but there is so much more to find out about everything in the world, as well as the journeys of all the characters. Regardless of all other adjectives, this was one of the most unique stories I've read in a very long time.

Characters. I knew by the end of the third chapter that Leona put her self into and delved deep into the minds, emotions, and histories of all her characters, big and small, so that there was no flat, stereotypical one among them. There are genuine surprises, irrational behaviors that all people display, and a real connection every one of them that you don't find in many stories these days. I absolutely loved the main male, Idisio, and his oddly developed friendship with a Desert Lord named Scratha.

Anything else? Well, if I told you everything I wanted to say I'd still be sitting here typing three days from now. Needless to say, I am eternally thankful that we met Leona at the conference. Not only because of her book--although that is a big part of it--but because of the honor of a friendship with a person who so devotes themselves to and excels in her work. And I want you, my reader, to go find Secrets of the Sands right now and read it, because you'll love it instantly. Someone this talented deserves appreciation.

Letter--Wait For Me

Wait For Me

Dear Mister ---,

I am going to marry you someday. Just thought you should know. I also thought you should know that in preparation for that moment, I'm waiting. I'm not gonna rush off with every cute guy I take a fancy to and make huge mistakes. I not going to train myself to always look for the better, cuter, funnier, more successful guy. I'm not going to expect everyone else to be perfect and pull all the weight of the relationship by themselves. I'm going to train myself to be humble and caring and kind and serving and hard to offend and eloquent and understanding and strong and flexible and honorable. That is not to say, however, that I don't expect something from you. No, I'm raising my standards too high, and holding myself up to them. Here's a few examples.

First of all, you love me right? Okay, cool. Tell me that sometimes. The most important thing about they way I act in relation to other people is how I feel about myself. And I'll tell you now, I have a hard time with confidence. I get jealous, and then I blame myself for everything someone else does wrong. So you know what? You've got to take some time out of your hectic life and tell me you love me every once in awhile. And you have to mean it--I'll know it you don't mean it. I'll know it you're just saying it to fill the air, or to get something from me. Trust me, it doesn't matter how much it'll hurt me; I'll up and leave if you become disloyal or disrespectful.

That's not to say that the first time you disagree with me I'll blow off the handle. I like to think I'm fairly patient. Trust me, I'm working very hard to cultivate a loyal and forgiving personality for you. I also know that everyone makes mistakes--big mistakes--and everyone needs chances for forgiveness. I'm not going to be one of those people that will hold a lustful thought over you until you've worked yourself raw and blistering. At the same time, it's hard to earn my trust. It may take you a few years just to get me to call you my boyfriend. That's ok. I like to think I'm worth it. The point is, there's a difference between an accident and a habitually wrong mindset. You have to try, very, very hard, to love me and only me and be happy about it. This sort of thing doesn't just happen. You have to be smart. You have to put the other person first.

When it comes to respect, sometimes it's even harder. What if you know in your heart that I'm the one for you, but it's just not the right time yet? If you make the argument that true love with prevail and me can make it through the bumpy times to a brighter tomorrow so long as we hold onto each other and shun everything else, I will hit you. I know how difficult it is! Don't you think I know? Don't you think I wish everyday for that right person to come and for me to be happy? But the fact is that you have to keep your eyes on God. And you have to wait for me. If I say I'm not ready for a relationship, I'm not completely turning you down. I'm following God. And it's hard for me, too. Wait for me.

Oh. Right. You know what? You can't just talk to me and tell me and trust me with everything. You. Must. Listen. If I disagree with you, it doesn't make me stupid. It makes me different. Who knows? I might be right. Who knows? It might not even be important enough for us to decided someone's right and someone's wrong. It may be that I just want you to respect me enough to let me say what I think. Consider it. Openly. I'm not going to bite if you say no, so long as you say no kindly. You owe it to me to be completely understanding and completely honest. I can't stand people who won't allow others to debate their answers. I know for a fact that when I find you, I'll adore listening to everything you have to say. About anything. There's so much that I haven't even considered, and that's saying something.

And even if you love me for the way I don't mind bugs and mud, even if you love me for belching in public, for not being afraid of a fight, for playing video games and kicking your tail into next month, you have to remember a very important fact. It's very sad, and very humiliating, but it's something I cannot and will not change for anyone, so you'd better not even go there. I am, very deep down inside, a girl.

Yup. Scary.

I like romantic comedies, and I like the color pink, and I can't help, in a weak moment, enjoying the song Girlfriend by Avril Lavrigne. No, I'll never make you listen to it. I promise. But here's the thing that I really want you understand: I cry sometimes. I mean I sometimes break down bawling. You don't have to fix it, and you don't have to understand it, but you do have to be sympathetic. If you start saying 'whatever' and disdainfully watch me as I cry about something you did of something that's bothering me, this isn't gonna work. Mind you, there are many times when I'm going to be over-emotional and crying for a stupid reason. But making me feel like an imbecile isn't going to make anything better. All you need to do is hug me (if I let you) and tell me everything's going to be okay. We'll figure everything out, you'll stand by me through anything, and we'll pray like crazy. But don't try to get me to stop crying. Crying isn't a bad thing.

Lastly (I think), I don't want you nit-picking my looks. I do enough of that myself. My legs are pale? Well that's odd. It's not like the rest of me isn't a glorious bronze hue. Oh no wait, it isn't. I'm a fair person, one of the fairest of the lot, and you've just got to deal with it. Think of it this way: any fair person can go out and tan and get all pretty and brown and cancerful, but good luck to African who wants to get white. I mean...well, Michael Jackson doesn't count. I'm unique. I want you to love my personality first, yes, but woe to you if you don't love the rest of me as well.

By all means, you may push me toward more healthy habits. I want you to want me to be healthy, so telling me (nicely) that I should probably exercise more or stop eating so many donuts or the like will be fine. Accountability is key to any endeavor.

The Blessing

As I said, I hold myself to every standard I've outlined here. I want to become the best and wisest and prettiest and kindest and most loving wife you can imagine or ever want. I want to be perfect for you. I'm trying so, so very hard. Please, please try for me, wherever you are. I love you already.

Bless You,
Rebekah

Sickness

You know what I think about when I'm sick? What I could be doing if I weren't sick.

You know what I think about when I have a fever? Rainbows and unicorns. I know this because I doze off at a whole lot of random times during the day out of sheer exhaustion--even when I'm trying my hardest to stay awake--and when I wake the only thing that I remember is the merest though of dancing around with unicorns in that cliche and overdone fantasy land of pink cotton candy clouds and rainbows.

So, since this doesn't make very good blogging material, I must ask you all to reply with a case study: What on earth does this say about the way my mind works?

I Wish

Yeah, so in case you don't know, I like to occasionally read through those gossip magazines. You [don't] know, 'M' and 'J-14'. I know. You're completely ashamed of me. Whatever. This has a point. The fact is, it's helped me realize how much people care about what random people are doing in their lives. It's helped me respect celebrities--especially underaged ones--for keeping their cool when there's a mob after them. At the same time, I am so ashamed of some of the majorly twisted secular influences the magazines have on ditzy young girls. Really, let's cheer Zac and Vanessa on for moving in together. Let's spray in front of the whole world how horribly bashed and flamed Miley Cyrus was by her ex.

All I hope is that most of that information is accurate. All of it, ideally. I imagine myself as some sort of celebrity looking at the cover of a magazine and reading the lies that the entire public now believes about me and I squirm inside. I'd learn to handle it--they all do, in their own way--but I'd never be happy about it. You lose a lot of freedom as a celebrity.

I know none of us like his music, but did you know Justin Bieber has to cancel a concert because a mob hurt one of his fangirls? Correction, a mob of fans rushed the stage and hurt someone whose only fault was being in the way at the time. Sorta makes me never want to go to a concert again. At least not one with fangirls.

I wish I had the ability to reach lots of people with my words. I wish there were a whole lot more people who followed this blog. I wish I knew for sure what I'm going to do with my life. I wish there wasn't still this desire within me to somehow, miraculously become a superstar. I wish I didn't realize that if I did, I would have just as many haters as Miley Cyrus and the others. Someone out there would think I'm a fake. Or a ditz. Or a bad musician.

I wish I were gentler. I wish I were harder to offend. I wish I didn't judge based on half-truths and incomplete knowledge. I wish I wasn't a hypocrite. I wish I prayed more often for those I despise. I wish I thought more of others. I wish I worked harder. I wish I believed in myself as much as all my friends seem to. But you know one thing I wouldn't change?

I wouldn't change one person out there. Not under my own power. I wouldn't asked any one of my friends to change, and I wouldn't ask my Lord and Father to change. THat would be bad.

"A gossip magazine made you think of all this?!?!?!?!"

Yes. Puts things into perspective, doesn't it?

Time Stops

That time just after a huge storm--
A torrent of wonder, routine surprise
And mundane experience.
Things seem so quiet; the world
Is tired, as if hours beyond
The truth have passed.
Fatigue.

The weary have come and gone,
But their impression stays.
Even as the sun moves lower
You see them as they were
Only so long ago.
Their images, frozen yet moving
So fast.

When you worry that things will end
Yet feel them just beginning,
When you cannot see past the fog in your eyes
Yet you feel you know what comes,
When nothing moves, finished
But only halfway through,
Time stops.