Thursday, October 11, 2012


To someone who lets me tag along while attaining to their responsibilities, and doesn't mind,
To someone who lets me live with her, even if we've done it for most our lives, and still loves me despite of me,
To someone who doesn't mind a phone call out of the blue or picking up where we left off, even if we haven't talked in months,
To someone who calls me on her drives to and from college, and still seems happy about it,
To someone who makes sure to text me every once in a while and check in,
To someone who keeps making time for me every so often, even if our lives are busy,
To someone who wouldn't mind a late-night phone call, but actually welcome it,
To someone who knows me well enough to know that I don't drink milk without eating Oreos, can read my facial expressions like a book, and keeps proving me wrong in the best sense of the phrase,

To the friends who still write me letters, even if I'm terribly slow at replying to them, 
To the friends I consider family,

To the number of people who try to keep in contact with me, even if I'm across the country and distracted by school
To the family who are what that word describes in every sense possible -

Words fail, but I wish you could see my heart in this moment.
Thank you.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

May I Never Forget It.

I can only hope that the sort of incomplete, restlessness that
nestles its way into my night has to do with the
outside slowly making its way in
and the inside slowly trying to find a way out.
The two coincide together and mix until there's
a jumbled, disheveled painting of combined colors
melted paintbrushes
raw backdrop
and stiff ideality.
The soreness in my heart makes way for the brokenness to present itself,
And I've never been one to openly desire for brokenness to be present in my life
so this is a reminder that I truly am not in control,
as I try to fathom tender muscles and wobbly ankles.
Glimpses of some things that were continually flaunt their memories in my vision
galavanting in shiny wardrobes and blunt emotion.
I can't hide from everything,
and my wobbly ankles prove excuse for running very far from such a strong presence.
I can't hide. I can't run. I can't escape.
That's the point.
Life is out of my control,
like a gusting wind that comes about unexpectedly,
or a merge of stopped traffic that blocks time and makes impatience obvious.
If I can't run, or hide, or escape on my own
I must make a run, hiding place, or escape out of something
or Someone.

May every glance that my eyes journey to make,
every memory that my mind dares to recall,
every dark place that my heart tries to hide from,
and every nerve-wracking, tension-building, stress-discovering moment that I stumble into
be loosed in my Hiding Place,
my Escape,
my Refuge,
my Savior,
my Jesus.
May He be those things to my soul
and may I never forget it.