♪♫It's Your Life, Whatcha Gonna Do?♪♫

     ♪♫The world is watchin' you.
           Every day the choices you make
           Say who you are and who
           Your heart beats for.
            It's an open door;
            It's your life.♪♫
     So, I'm still completely uninspired. Utterly. Completely. So don't get your hopes up about reading something really profound right about now.
     Essentially, this weekend has been about homework and making it through the last couple weeks of school.  I've expended more creativity and thought this weekend than customarily do in an entire week of school. I. Am. Tired. Of. Thinking. Thus, this wretched post.
     Today, we went to church and Sunday school was, per usual, good.  Then there was lunch with my grandparents and aunt, and I shopped for some makeup at a sale.
     Tonight, I had class and there's where I started thinking.  The class was the second class at church for those of us going on the mission trip next month.  Really, I've just been thinking about it a lot anyway, but I started thinking more about tonight during class and what it means to be a servant leader and just how I should live day to day.
     We were presented tonight with various scenarios that we might encounter on the mission trip.  I answered some questions exactly as I believe the situation should have been handled.  Characteristically, I was forthright, saying, for example, that in a given situation we should "get a glass of water, paint smile on your face, and suck it up! We all signed up for this, after all!"  Then I started thinking: shouldn't we be doing that normally? I mean, I "signed up," so to speak, for the life of a Christian.  That means I should be that kind of servant leader all the time. We should be "on a mission trip" every day.  After all, the point of a mission trip is spread the Gospel. Shouldn't we be spreading the Gospel to those around us every day?  I think so.  As Christians, we have to be willing to show God's love everyday.  We have to be careful of how we represent God; we might be the only Jesus that a person ever sees.
     Anyway, that's what I've been thinking.
     Also, I've been thinking about a lot of things in my personal life.  I'm starting to think that this summer is going to be a summer of self-rediscover and reinventing.  I'm thinking a lot about who I am and how I've become and who I should be.  I really want to finally start getting my life in order, and I figure I better start soon. Thing is, I need people that are going to help me with that; I can't do it on my own. I know; I've tried. So, assuming I can find some people that will truly help me and lead me and guide me and stick with me through all the crap that's gonna go down during this journey, that's what I'll be doing this summer.
     And, I'll be sleeping a lot and going on a missions trip.
     And drinking a lot of coffee.
     And blogging.
     Anyway.
     That's about it.

"The Secret is Abolutely Refusing to Let the River Get You Down.....

   Once you know the secret, nobody's river can bring you down."
                       -Patty Bergen of Summer of My German Soldier

   Today someone who is going through some rough times asked me if there was anyway that they could ever get out of all this with any good outcome.  I said yes, and I shared a much-abbreviated version of my story.  After I was finished they said, "Hey, you should tell other people about that!"
   I wasn't so sure, but I figured, "Hey, why not?"  So here I am.  Most people that care to know already know the basic facts of my life, more or less. But I suppose there's no harm in posting the short version here. :P So, here it is.
   Well, I grew up in a highly abusive home; my father was an absentee parent, while my mother was involved in a cult and constantly beat me and told me and my sibling that my father and I were going to burn in eternal Hell for all eternity.  She tried to smother me, almost choked me to death, and daily attacked me both physically and emotionally.  In addition, I was home schooled, which meant that I NEVER got away from it, even for a moment.  I also had to feed, clothe, and educate myself and my two younger siblings (I'm the oldest).  It got so bad last spring that I tried to kill myself. Twice.
   Eventually, my dad thought we should start going to church again, and I wanted to as well - mostly to get away from my mother once a week or so.  So we started going to a church near our house.  For the first time in my life, I met people that truly showed me what unconditional love and acceptance was supposed to look and feel like.  Eventually, through many struggles, I was able to reach a point of strength at which I could finally give my father an ultimatum: his children or his wife.  He knew he had to leave her, that we couldn't live like this any longer. So he filed for divorce.
   Even now, almost a year later, we're still dealing with my mother's challenges, but my life is so much better now; I'm sixteen - a sophomore in high school, I was saved last fall, and I know that there are people who truly care about me and will never hurt or betray me.
   Also, I have been able to help a lot of people in recent months because of all the things that I've been through; I understand what others are going through, and I know I don't have to be afraid of what others think of me. I know that I've survived more than most people will ever have to survive; I know I'm strong and I can push through obstacles that once seemed insurmountable. Also, I have a new sympathy and a willingness to help others that I would never have had, had I not been through the struggles that I've been through.  I'm stronger, more loving, more caring, and far more wise than I would have been if I had had an easy childhood.  Everything that I believe in, I believe - not because someone told me to believe it, but because I know that it's true.
   In the middle of it, I never imagined anything good could have come of all the pain and heartache and struggle that I went through. But now, looking back, even though I would never wish what I endured on anyone, I wouldn't give up my experiences for all the world; they made me who I am today; and though I will always struggle with aspects of my past,  in the end, I am better for it.
   All this isn't to say I'm fine now; I still struggle with a lot of problems from my past.  But without that past, I would never have learned some of the amazing lessons I've learned; I wouldn't have the experience and insight that I have now; I wouldn't care about or emphasize with people the way I do, and I certainly would never have met the amazing people with whom I've come into contact.  I never would have developed the faith and strength I have now.  And I believe that I'm a better person because of what I've been through.
   The moral of the story?  Never forget that you're worth fighting for and that if you never give up, then no one can take you out! :)
 

Alright, You Asked For It......

   So, when I asked you guys out there if you wanted me to post some writing that I've done, several of you said "yes."  Therefore, I am going to post some pieces on here.  Most of these are very rough and have been edited very little. So don't assume this is the extent of my writing capabilities XD

   So, here it is! I wrote this a couple weeks ago or so.  It's written in first person, and, yes, many parts are actual occurrences.  However, as, any writer, I have pieced together many things from various times and various people's experiences. Please see it as what it is - a piece of thoughtful writing that could apply anywhere at anytime to anyone.

Unity

    There it was again. It draped the north wall, proudly declaring “Unity” in large block letters and was emblazoned with the names of all the junior and senior high girls from each Sunday school class. “We're all in this together!” it seemed to say; “We're one in Christ!”

    I remember the girl from my class diligently working to piece together that sliced up banner as the rest of us stood watching her valiant struggles. I remember that night when we all came together, repaired broken friendships, spoke to people we would never have ordinarily noticed, and (some of us) talked long into the wee morning hours, learning so much more about each other than we ever have otherwise known. I'd felt it that night – unity – and I knew things would be different from now on.

    I glanced around the room again. There were the junior high girls – some of them, at least – near the back wall, sipping their hot chocolate and chattering excitedly. I frowned a little in disapproval as my sister walked over to her “group,” passing a quiet blonde girl standing against the wall. Along the south wall, a few chairs and tables were occupied by animated, laughing high schoolers, mostly juniors and seniors, discussing all the latest gossip and the most recent “outing” they had been on together. It was just too bad that there wasn't enough room for that boy; You know, the “big” one. He just simply couldn't fit, so he sat a few yards behind them, watching with longing eyes. In the dark corner between my seat and the junior high girls' table, a thin, pale, dark haired girl from my grade leaned against the wall. She doesn’t go to school here, so no one really knows her very well, and she's quite, so that's really no help.

    As I looked back down at my lap, my youth pastor came up the stairs.

    “Smile,” he said. “A real one!”

    I smiled, as expected.

    A quiet voice, “how are you?”

    The foreign exchange student sat down across from me with a gentle smile.

   “I'm fantastic,” with an answering grin. “You?”

   “Senior high, to your classes!”

    I got up, taking my coffee and hugging my Bible close. I followed my class, walking as slow as I felt at all comfortable in an effort to lag behind, allowing everyone to reach the room and choose their seats before I did. I walked into the room, holding the door for the last girl – the one from my business class. She's new this year, and doesn't know very many people here, so she and I sat down along the far wall. The rest of the girls, as customary, sat on the other two sides of the room.

    My Sunday school teacher came in, sat down in the front of the small, cozy room, and asked almost cheerily, “So, what have you all been up to this week?”

    Lively chatter ensued, accompanied by laughter and comments. I watched. Sometimes I say something, but too often, my delivery is a bit flat, and it gets a little quiet when I talk – at least, when someone notices; so I just watched and laughed at their stories.

    After the week's “church-friendly” fun had all been told, class started. Per the usual, the lesson was quite well-planned. I had some thoughts that I really think might have been beneficial, but the really important ones were also a bit lengthy and I knew they didn't want to listen to someone like me, so I just tried to condense my thoughts into short, succinct quips. Sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn't, but this particular morning it seemed to suffice.

    After the lesson, we got up and stood in a circle to pray before we left.

    “Would anyone else like to dismiss us?” Our teacher queried with a pleading glance around the circle.

   “I will!” I almost piped up. No, Reality admonished, You've talked much too much today already.

    “Alright, I guess I will again,” she said reluctantly. But every request weighed heavy on my heart, and every word she said was silently echoed. As we all began to disperse, most lingered a little, chatting and slowly making their way down the hall. I didn't know what to talk about with them, and I really had no established repertoire, so I went straight for the stairs passing that banner on the way. It looked a little bleak on that bare wall in that empty room.

    Unity.

    I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned towards the sanctuary. An older couple walked in front of me, hand in hand. I was nearly late for service and they were slowing me down considerably, but I didn't mind.

    I reached the sanctuary and started to walk down the center isle. All the senior high kids were sitting in the front three or four rows on the left side. Well, most of them, anyhow. The girl with the dark hair and the one from my business class sat with their families, as did the “big” boy. But that's where they always sat; it was their choice. I sat with my father in our customary place – almost with the kids from the youth group, at the edge of the fourth pew. I glanced around, looking for my sister, but she and her friends were still gallivanting about the church.

    The teens in the front pews were joshing and jostling, and I giggled quietly at their antics.

    “What are you laughing at?” one of the guys turned around with a laugh and a smile.

    “Hi!” another one waved at me as he sat down. A girl further down their pew smiled a “good morning” at me as well, so I knew at least a few people knew I was there.

    My sister finally came in at the last moment, flanked by her entourage, and sat down a few rows behind us. I could hear them laughing and talking, and I thought of that quiet blonde. Where is she? I wondered.

    I looked at that gaping, empty space in the pew ahead of us. Somehow, it just seemed as though it shouldn't be there in the midst of the chatter and motion of the teens around it, but it couldn’t be helped.

    As the service started, we all rose to shake hands with those around us, still talking and laughing. I shook the hand of a middle-aged woman behind me. I waited to see if anyone my age would shake hands with me, but no one really seemed interested, so I stood and waited for the director to start the service.

    Across the sanctuary, I caught a glimpse of the blonde girl. She wasn't sitting with my sister's group, as most of the girls her age were; she found a seat in the back corner across the sanctuary.

The service began. The congregation sang, my youth pastor prayed for the upcoming mission trip, and a little boy was baptized.

    As the coir left the balcony and the pastor ascended the steps, I glanced around the congregation. The brunette was looking in the direction of the other kids our age. I caught her eye and flashed a smile; she almost smiled back. The choir director and his wife, a middle-aged couple, sat down behind us. He put his arm around her and she scooted closer.

    The pastor began his sermon. As always, it was quite interesting and his message was good. About two thirds of the way through the service, I heard a sound from across the sanctuary; I turned my head just in time to see the blonde leave the sanctuary. It made me just a little sad, but I don't think anyone else noticed.

    As he finished his sermon, the pastor gave an invitation and the offering was taken. The kids in front of me snickered and whispered. Then we sang a last song and we were dismissed. I headed straight for the doors, as there was no reason for me to linger. Out in the hall, I saw the blonde girl sitting on a pew that served as a bench, looking forlorn. “How are you?” I asked, mustering a friendly smile.

    “Fine.”

    It was a lie, and we both knew it; but I knew she didn't want to talk to me, especially at this particular moment.

    “Good!” I played along, but I tried to sound sympathetic.

    My dad made it out of the throng, and we waited for my sister to emerge. Eventually she did, and we headed to the van. As we got out to the parking lot, two guys raced each other to their respective cars, lanyards flapping in the wind, their loud guffaws ringing across the parking lot. Two girls from my class climbed into one of their cars and pulled out.

    I climbed into the back seat of our van while my sister triumphantly clambered up to her perch in the front seat.

    As we drove through the parking lot, I spotted a girl from my drama class exiting the building. I wondered why she hadn’t been in Sunday School.

    Another Sunday morning had come to an end. When we got back home, I walked to my room at the end of the hall. As I eased into my big green beanbag, my thoughts returned to that banner.

    Unity. I thought of all the names inscribed in brightly-colored Sharpies, of the night we put it together, and of the peace and love I know was felt by all that night.

    I thought of the Chat Room that morning, with its group, separated from each other by the empty space in the room. I thought of the boy who couldn't fit into the circle of friends, the quiet brunette, and the shy blonde. I wondered if that girl from business class still felt as isolated as she had told me she was a couple of months ago. I also wondered where that girl from drama class sat during service, and why I hadn't noticed her.

    I recalled that elderly couple that slowed me down in the hall. I saw the worship leader and his wife – his arm around her and her head on his shoulder. I heard my youth pastor's prayer, honest and heartfelt.

    I thought about what I had done that morning; how I'd smiled at the brunette, sat by the girl from business class, and asked the blond how she was. But then, I remembered all the plastic grins, how I'd watched the brunette and the blonde and the boy sit alone, and how I'd never even seen the girl from drama during the service.

    The banner rose again before my eyes, stark and harsh against that barren tan wall, presiding austerely over the roomful of the loud, rambunctious youth group. “Unity,” it's black block letters declared. Somehow, something seemed – off about it.

   What is it?  
   Well, whatever it was, there was really nothing I could do about it.  After all, I was only one girl, and a shy, insignificant one at that.  Sure, I saw things, but that didn't mean I could change anything.  Besides, if I did say something, that permanently alienate me, and that wouldn't help anyone, now would it?

    I sat up and reached for the computer mouse on my desk to start last week's episode of “48 Hours,” rubbing my head gingerly. I think too much. That youth leader was right; I'm an over analyzer.

Home is Not Where You Live, But Where They Understand You.

  Sorry I didn't post yesterday, everyone; I didn't get home until quite late and I didn't feel well because of allergies, so I just went straight to bed.
   Well, yesterday's "day" portion was, per usual, average. Last night, I went with Kayla Porter to a barbecue at the house of two of her youth leaders.  I do quite a few things with their youth group and I'd been to their house once before. Everyone in that youth group is fantastic and it's a place I feel really accepted. We talked and played games and,  in short, just had a marvelous time. It was really nice.
   Then, when my dad picked me up, is when my day took a downward spiral; I was already feeling ill because of severe allergies, and then he had to work late. He didn't have time to take me home and he said it would only take about half an hour. It turned into two.  By the time he was finally ready, I was through with the night and I just wanted to go home and go to bed. So, that's why I didn't even pop in here for a quick post.
   Really, it was pretty nice just to be there and talk with the people there. It was only me, Kayla, Lauren, Justin, a boy whose name, regrettably, escapes me (I think it was Nicholas?), and Dustin and Tirzah, so there weren't many people. But I was completely comfortable with all of them; they're all very relaxed and they just make everyone feel right at home among them, which is really quite difficult to do for me. They accept everyone for who they are.  That's a pretty difficult quality to come by, especially in a group that number more than two or three. They're special people.
   Anyway, it was nice to be able to simply relax and be myself as much as possible.  It doesn't happen often :)
Vale Nunc!

Angels

   So, like I said, I'll occasionally post some stuff up here that I write in my spare time.  These are not a reflection of my best writing abilities.  It's just stuff that I scrawl in my spare time. Hope you like it, feel free to comment or criticize :)

Angels

 

    I believe in angels. In fact, I believe that I see them every day. I believe they speak to me and guide me through the most difficult times in my life. I believe God sends angels when I need them most, and that, without their help, I would not be here today.

    But these angels of which I speak are not winged entities that flit about this earth unseen. They appear in no bright-shining light. No voice from Heaven accompanies their arrival. In fact, most people will pass by them knowingly, and yet, without a second thought. Yet, a few of us will recognize them and, by this recognition, receive great blessing.

    But who are these angels, if not the ones that reside in heaven above? You might know a few without even realizing it. These angels are just like you and me: they work; they play; they eat; they sleep; the have families and careers and hopes and dreams, just like the rest of us. They're ordinary people that likely will never be seen as special or especially “worthy,” or great by any save a privileged few; nevertheless, they are angels, just the same.

    What makes these people worthy to be called angels? Angels are God's messengers. They bring His message to us here below. They comfort and console; the mentor and minister. That is what angels do. And that is what these people do.

    Now that you gave a better idea of the entities to which I am referring, are you thinking of some of your angels? I know I am. And the people that come to mind are not people who have done great and grand things for myself or others (although I do know a few of them); they are the people that accept me when no one else does. They're the ones that I know I can text in the middle of the night and get an answer. My angels are the ones who come up to me when I look down and give me a hug or a pat on the shoulder and a smile and tell me to “hang in there, OK?” My angels never walk by without making sure I'm smiling. They tell me when I'm wrong or causing myself trouble, but they make sure I know that they do it because they care, and that they'll never give up on me. Those people are my angels. They are not without fault; they make mistakes. They have problems of their own. They can't always be there, solve my all my problems, or give me all of the answers. But they try; they allow God's love and grace to show through them in a real way. And that's what makes them God's messengers.

    Angels come in all shapes sizes. They have problems and struggles just like the rest of us. They lose their tempers, struggle with body image, get stressed, and forget birthdays. They get tired and they need others' help. They are not flawless, but they are perfect because their hearts are pure and they truly strive to serve God and help others; they bring God's love to those around them.

    So who are your angels? They could be a curly-headed little girl whose bright smile just lights up your day; they could be a teacher or youth pastor who knows just when to ask if everything's alright and when to say nothing and simply pray; it could even be an elderly couple whose sage advice has steered you from pitfalls unseen to you but so plain to them. Whoever they me be, you know the people that you call your angels.

    As I've said, angels are just like us. The only difference is that they allow God's love to shine through in ways that the rest of us often do not. So I have two challenges for you, regardless of who you are and what your situation happens to be. Firstly, tell your “angels” just how much they mean to you. They're human beings, just like everyone else. They'd love to know that what they do makes a difference. Secondly, be someone else's angel. We all have the ability to change someone's life for the better in some capacity, whether large or small. It's a choice we can each make to be someone's angel.