eighteen

today the sun was gloriously grinning at everything in sight.
she rose as I rose, lazy and content.
I blew kisses to the blue sky in the morning.
I blew kisses to the pink sky in the evening.
today the lovely sun set in subtle colors.
she lovingly said goodnight to me as I waved to her.
sunrise thoughts.
sunset memories.

seventeen

listening in sociology?
psh.

it is in the dark that my mind wanders. it sails over oceans and scales high mountains. it skips through the field alongside deer.
until.
out of the corners of my mind comes fear.
my heart beats faster and my mind slows down. my thoughts turn from the light and hope of the day coming to the darkness of my own weak heart.
the monster becomes appealing and I want to draw closer. he becomes a handsome being and draws me in. my mind's eye blinks once.
and I see the hideousness of the creature, with a discolored face and sharp, crooked teeth, and a mangled body.
my mind races from this thing but he jerks me close.
we are face to face, eye to eye, and our noses are barely touching.
"you can hope all you want," his cruel voice rasps, "but God knows you can only love darkly."
I tremble for a moment, not breathing, not daring to live for another second. fear and my mind are having a staring contest.
a smile creeps onto his twisted face.
he knows he has won.
a tear creeps down my stricken face.
I know he has won.
a hand grabs mine and pulls me swiftly away into the light of dawn.
then comes a voice.
a kind voice that says "I know you can only love darkly, my dear. but I long for your dark heart anyway. I will make it good like Mine," the sweet voice says,"so be free from fear."
my mind rests and my body wakes. I feel exhausted from the tumultuous, un-restful sleep I just endured.
I shudder as I look at the dark circles around my eyes in the mirror. Some letters written on my chest catch my eye. the word "fearless" is ascribed on my heart.
only to wear off by the evening.
this seems to happen every night.
every time the darkness comes.

but I am longed for and loved.
fearless and free.

sixteen

So I can't find the thing that I wrote for this week. It's buried somewhere amongst my school notes.
But, just trying to acknowledge my own existence was something I battled with a bit this week, so I thought this (written on my birthday of this year) would be okay to substitute for now.


the wind is beating strong against me.
the clouds move fast.
even the birds that flee to the sky are being tossed by this monster wind.
still I sit.
cold?
a bit.
my eyes follow the motions of the large river before me.
I am completely aware of my existence.
I exist.
in time, in space, in earth.
you exist too.
feel it wash over you.
-the wind and the existence.
they are both curses and gifts.
the wood I am perched on feels firm.
the wind beats her breathy fists on the metal holding me above the water.
I laugh at the wind
-saying "you can't move me. I exist.
I am real.
I am staying." I say,
"you can run wherever you want.
but you cannot soar through me."
I know that I live.
I exist.
you exist too, you know.

fifteen

no one ever told me what to do with death.

should I tip-toe around it?
like it's some petulant child that will lash out at any moment.
selfishly stealing things that I love and declaring in a triumphant voice "mine!"

should I take arms and fight it?
battle against it and its unwilling ally named time.
beat against it with my fists, knowing all the while death will win.

should I ignore it the same way I ignore my breathing while I sleep?
it happens, it comes, I can't stop it.
so why acknowledge it.

I do not know, no one ever told me.

instead I cradle death in my arms and weep over it.
it's not a petulant child, a terrible enemy, or something I take for granted now.

I hold it and I weep.

death is just a babe, conceived by sin and man.
God uses it to take the ones He wants.
and He takes.
and He takes.
and He takes.

so I still have to learn what to do with death.
no one has told me what is right.

photographic

I was making photographs in the darkroom today. I love working in the darkroom. It is probably the only time during my day that I'm wholly devoted to just one thing. It's dark, warm, quiet, and there's soothing sounds of the clicks of the enlarger and the running water of the wash.  I tend to do my best thinking, praying, and living in that little, dusty, rusty, room. 

Anyway, as I worked today, I became fascinated with how much I'm like a photograph. How much everyone's like a photograph.

We start out in complete darkness. We aren't anything. Just this blank sheet of paper that smells weird. We know nothing but darkness and ourselves.

Then the light -oh brilliant light, light that some mysterious, omnipotent force gives- paints all over us. We become something then. We have mistakes and irregularities but the light fills them in and makes them something new. 

Then we go through the developer. It's awful and strong and stings but it makes us who we are. The Maker can see us a little in the dark. They smile knowing that this time of trial will be "stopped" soon. (hehehe photography pun. the stop is what the next chemical's called...) 

There's a verse in Lamentations that says "It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth." That makes so much sense to me. I'm not saying I face incredible trials. But I feel that being young is incredibly difficult-much more difficult than we young people want to admit. 

Anyway, the pain stops. And then we are fixed (in the fixer...) into who we were meant to be. This process is very long and the waiting almost kills us. 

Then the Maker washes us in the water.  We are who we are. Now we are made clean. 

When the Maker fills the darkroom with light and looks at the work they have done, they are pleased. 

I am always pleased when I get to my final print. There's nothing like looking at something beautiful that you have labored over. 

I spent an hour and a half on a print the other day. When it was finished, I smiled and exclaimed a joyful "yes!" 

Then I thought, "that's what God the Father does when He sees me." 

He exclaims "Yes!" over you. Because He made you. And He made you beautiful. 

He painted you with light.

You should listen to this song. It is my heart's cry. Let my life please You.

So yeah, we're all like photographs.

fourteen

live so much bigger:

-than these four walls and these books with their false ideas and this town and these ink-stained hands and this worried mind and this decaying body. there's life out amongst the the forest as high as the mountains as deep as the sea.
grow like a wild flower and spread like a fire left unattended during a drought.
-than you are because you were meant for something larger than even the earth you tread. go grow and open your arms to the world. receive the sun and rain. open your mouth and speak truth to those who are lied to. close your eyes and grow.
-than the sun and send light from your fingers into the dark world.
-than the darkness.
-than the the classrooms.
-so big that you grow and grow until you become a tree, a mountain, a universe, a giant heart that lives larger because there is something better.