Coming Back.

     This is my nicotine patch for Tumblr. I haven't deleted my account there - not yet - but I haven't been on for a week. It's difficult, letting that go, simply because I don't know what to do with myself now on the internet. Perhaps that is a good thing. 

     Writing down all my thoughts on the papers hanging on my wall is more difficult that I imagined. It's hard not to make them prettier. It's hard not to edit. 

"Never apologize for how you feel; that's like saying sorry for being real." 

I must keep that in mind as I go through this week. Internship will begin, and things will go about happening. Filling out this application, thinking about my strengths - that is also difficult.  Weaknesses are easy - I'm well-acquainted with my weaknesses.

 

Well This Was Fun.

Total hours put into the Nationals Fine Arts painting: fourteen.

Designation of medium: "But Jesus, again crying out loudly, breathed His last. At that moment, the Temple curtain was ripped in two, top to bottom." Matthew 27:50-51.

Explanation of medium: I based the hands and general shape of the veil from a photo shoot I conducted for this picture. After sketching it in pencil, I drew the line art with a calligraphy pen. I painted with acrylics, and repainted the lines. Finally, I sewed yellow thread into the painting.

That's what I did. And, you know what? I had fun. I'm proud, mostly, of how it turned out. I thank God for somehow not wanting to drop me as I continue to fall, for continuing to carry me.

More Valley Songs

Last night, the deluge.

This morning, burning eyes.

Tonight, the heaviness of not having any more tears.

I read Psalm 55 this morning and I've read many quotes. Words about hurting and how it makes one stronger. I've collected pictures and walked around in my shoes, the world still fresh but now stretched.

Discomfort does not mean danger. Pain is what forces us to grow. But as for me, I will trust in the Lord.

Tonight I pray for cohesiveness. I pray for forgiveness and a lack of bitterness. I don't want to grow hard and old. The sense of wonder and resilience that comes with youth is precious to me, and to lose it would be heavier to bear than even this.

Peace.

In the middle of insanity, I find myself returning to and yearning for the presence of God. It struck me the other day just how much I've managed to push him away...and it shocked me. It's been a gradual, every day "It-doesn't-matter-this-one-time" thing, and oh how effective it's been in completely shifting my focus, my way of going about life.

I don't like it. I feel like if I would just succumb, my life would become a whirlwind of courageous lampstanding for God. I feel it in my guts that I've been called to a life lived with purpose. Whether that involved great and marvelous things, I don't know. I suppose I feel that, too. But more than that, I am not satisfied with a dry, 9-to-5 fifty years, followed by ten more in the nursing home or whatever equivalent there is of that.

How do I see myself in ten years? As a totally devoted follower of Christ, completely focused on him. It's what I've always wanted to be, whatever "career" comes along with that. It doesn't matter to me. I adapt.

More than anything, I want to entrench myself in the bowels of God's grace and love. I want to understand him. I want to love him. I want to completely die to myself. I want to kill my ego and my pride, and become his slave. I want to say and do whatever he leads me to, and not even give one thought to what those around me think, because the only thing that I see is Christ, seated at the right hand of God the Father. I want to be consumed.

There is a great peace to be found, I think, in the middle of the fiery furnace. In the middle of knowing you're in God's will, however horrifying your external circumstances are. There is a verse in Matthew that has clung to my heart ever since I began to think about it: "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." I tremble, and I can't control how my teeth grind against each other, how fast my heart is racing. I want this so badly. I hate that I'm not already here. I hate being passive one night and feeling like this the next.

I want to be the burning bush that never turns to ash. I want to stand in the Holy of Holies, the veil lying around me, ripped apart by the mighty hand of God. I want. someone to reach out. and gather me into a greater purpose.

Remember: It's Almost Over.

Up again, still writing. It shouldn't be difficult - it's something I love to do, and even better when I must write about things I love. Craft stores, The English Patient, history and news.

Pretzels and a cup of water beside me; no lights on except the glare of the laptop - it hides the mess of the room around me. I hate that mess. I'm going to rip through it with a vacuum and a trash can as soon as the 20th rolls around.