A while ago, in early February before my life kind of fell apart again, I wrote something...
And then everything happened and the world as I knew it fell apart and I wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep until summer.
Gone was that strong, seemingly powerful individual who had wrote about having power and being brave. I can still remember the tenacity and fierceness in my spirit as I wrote those words.
And I don't know where that is right now.
But I wrote that post a while ago and then life changed and I felt less like a lion and more like a mouse.
And then, as I was struggling through my day, I got an email from an author friend of mine.
"Alisha," It said, "I published your post on the blog."
I smiled, expecting to be a little self conscious about what I had written and amazed that words I had written could actually impact people.
Until I read those words again...
Until they hit me and made me realize that those words, meant for so many other people, were also meant for me.
And I hope, maybe, they mean something to you too.
YOU are not alone in this battle, the thief has come to kill and destroy but I know someone who has brought life to the full. And He promises that you will never be alone.
Not when death comes and takes the ones you love
Not when friends leave you and relationships are a mess
Not when your body is plagued with illness and it hurts to just breathe
Not when violation and destruction come
Not when the waves of the storm crash over you and walking on water seems incomprehensible
I know a guy, even then, and my God is the same as He was yesterday, and He will be the same forever and always.
I am remembering these words today, words I wrote back when I felt brave, and words I need today when I feel less than lion hearted.
But He said to me, "My Grace is Sufficient for You, My power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly in my weakness, so that Christ's power may rest on me." 2 Corinthians 12:9
http://tweenyouandme.typepad.com/in_real_life_/2013/03/finally-giving-up-freaking-out-a-post-from-within.html
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Paper and Pen
Bare feet on the hardwood floor in the morning.
Sunshine comes through the open window, spreading over my toes, shining warm nearly-spring light.
It's been a few days without technology now, something I am not used to. For a girl who does everything online, including school and writing, this hasn't been an easy task. I'm forgetting passwords (because I had them all stored in a neat little file on my computer) and I keep thinking, "Oh, I'll just google that," before realizing that my laptop is in the shop and if I want to google anything it means using my big fingers on my tiny phone screen, a less than pleasant experience.
So this morning I came upstairs, sunlight streaming through the window, and I thought maybe I'd borrow a computer for a few hours, to get some school done and to write.
And then there was no Internet access...
I hate to say I'm addicted to technology but I kind of am. My life exists on my phone and on my laptop. Now everything is easier when I just write my stories via the computer and there's the convenience of the Internet.
And so I did what any sane writer would do, I dug out an old, never been used notebook and cracked open the pages. I grabbed a pen, and I sat at the kitchen table, remembering what it's like to write using a pen and paper.
It definitely wasn't as easy as writing on a computer. Ink smeared across the side of my hand and my fingers began to cramp up and the words were messy.
But there was something magical about writing the words on a pen and paper. The smell of the fresh ink on the page excited me. It made me remember all those nights long ago when I would sit in my room late at night and fill binders with words of a story I was writing, all by hand, with blisters on my fingers and ink permanently staining the side of my hand. That was when I didn't know anything about being a writer and just wrote because there was something enchanting about the whole thing. I created some of the best characters there.
But I wrote, and it awakened something within me. It excited me and the smell of the ink and the feel of the paper under my pen made me feel something I'd forgotten when I switched to modern convenience.
There's something elegant and romantic about writing with a pen and paper. There's something about writing for hours, until your hand cramps up and ink is smeared and all that's left on that page are a few messy pages of pure bliss.
Sunlight splashed over my page and the words came alive and the smell of drying ink swirled around me. And I couldn't help but smile because the wonder of it all made me feel giddy and excited.
Our Internet is back up and running now, and while my computer is still away I have to admit it's kind of nice to have a small bit of my technology back.
But, as I sit here waiting for emails and trying to remember passwords, I remember those few hours this morning, and I can't help but smile.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the technology stayed off for just a little while longer...
Sunshine comes through the open window, spreading over my toes, shining warm nearly-spring light.
It's been a few days without technology now, something I am not used to. For a girl who does everything online, including school and writing, this hasn't been an easy task. I'm forgetting passwords (because I had them all stored in a neat little file on my computer) and I keep thinking, "Oh, I'll just google that," before realizing that my laptop is in the shop and if I want to google anything it means using my big fingers on my tiny phone screen, a less than pleasant experience.
So this morning I came upstairs, sunlight streaming through the window, and I thought maybe I'd borrow a computer for a few hours, to get some school done and to write.
And then there was no Internet access...
I hate to say I'm addicted to technology but I kind of am. My life exists on my phone and on my laptop. Now everything is easier when I just write my stories via the computer and there's the convenience of the Internet.
And so I did what any sane writer would do, I dug out an old, never been used notebook and cracked open the pages. I grabbed a pen, and I sat at the kitchen table, remembering what it's like to write using a pen and paper.
It definitely wasn't as easy as writing on a computer. Ink smeared across the side of my hand and my fingers began to cramp up and the words were messy.
But there was something magical about writing the words on a pen and paper. The smell of the fresh ink on the page excited me. It made me remember all those nights long ago when I would sit in my room late at night and fill binders with words of a story I was writing, all by hand, with blisters on my fingers and ink permanently staining the side of my hand. That was when I didn't know anything about being a writer and just wrote because there was something enchanting about the whole thing. I created some of the best characters there.
But I wrote, and it awakened something within me. It excited me and the smell of the ink and the feel of the paper under my pen made me feel something I'd forgotten when I switched to modern convenience.
There's something elegant and romantic about writing with a pen and paper. There's something about writing for hours, until your hand cramps up and ink is smeared and all that's left on that page are a few messy pages of pure bliss.
Sunlight splashed over my page and the words came alive and the smell of drying ink swirled around me. And I couldn't help but smile because the wonder of it all made me feel giddy and excited.
Our Internet is back up and running now, and while my computer is still away I have to admit it's kind of nice to have a small bit of my technology back.
But, as I sit here waiting for emails and trying to remember passwords, I remember those few hours this morning, and I can't help but smile.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the technology stayed off for just a little while longer...
Friday, March 8, 2013
Gone too soon
And so I'll sit here and do my best to piece words together like pearls on a string, hoping that when they're all together it makes something... coherent.
I hope you know how you changed my life
I hope you know how much I looked up to you, how you were my childhood hero
I hope you know I remember all the times we played F.B.I in the basement of your house, and how you always let me make up the crimes because you knew it was my favorite, and how you'd be Jack and I'd be Sue.
I hope you know that you're the one person in this world that's taught me most about forgiveness and mercy, something I'll never forget.
I hope you know that I love you, that family is stronger than anything, and you were a part of mine.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Fix a Heart
I used to think grief robbed me of all my words
I'm realizing that's wrong
grief doesn't rob me of my words, it gives me too many
And I delicatly sort through each word in the English language trying to find the right ones to express how i feel
most of the time i end up saying nothing at all
sometimes i write and my heartbreak comes through and i bleed red all down the page
I'm sorting through these words, trying to pick out the ones that will explain how this happened, or how I'm feeling, or why...
I was broken. And I tried to tie up my heart with string and bandages and stop the bleeding, stitching it back together with jagged stitches. My broken heart was forever stained by what happened...
And then he died. And I don't know how life can change in the blink of an eye.
And she's coming home, on a flight that will arrive tonight
And now we wait. We wait and hold vigil and pray and cry and try to use all the words in the English language to make sense of this. And, in our own way, we're all searching for that one secret that holds all the answers to mending a broken heart.
I'm realizing that's wrong
grief doesn't rob me of my words, it gives me too many
And I delicatly sort through each word in the English language trying to find the right ones to express how i feel
most of the time i end up saying nothing at all
sometimes i write and my heartbreak comes through and i bleed red all down the page
I'm sorting through these words, trying to pick out the ones that will explain how this happened, or how I'm feeling, or why...
I was broken. And I tried to tie up my heart with string and bandages and stop the bleeding, stitching it back together with jagged stitches. My broken heart was forever stained by what happened...
And then he died. And I don't know how life can change in the blink of an eye.
And she's coming home, on a flight that will arrive tonight
And now we wait. We wait and hold vigil and pray and cry and try to use all the words in the English language to make sense of this. And, in our own way, we're all searching for that one secret that holds all the answers to mending a broken heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)