May 15, 2010
my photsssssss. go here. thanks.
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December 21, 2009
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November 29, 2009
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October 19, 2009

don’t you know?

on this beautiful evening i’ve made a spot for myself on this front porch of mine. i’m heavy inside. heavy from the pain. the frustration.

i need to be picked up.
dusted off.
tears dried.
eyes opened.

it’d be great to be a kid again, to feel that warmth and security in your parents arms, knowing everything was just right. i always relate things to my childhood because those are my fondest days. i don’t have much of a history yet, i’m making my history now. i want to look back just as fondly on these days as i do on my childhood and see beauty. the beauty in the cracks, realizing it is those cracks that have molded me into who i will become. the person i am. and in those cracks i want to store up all the good and all of the bad. i want everyone to do this. every single person. then years from now we can sit back in old rocking chairs much like the one i’m sitting in right now and reminisce on it all. we can sip coffee and talk and laugh about what it was like to be young.

and realize the whole time that everything really was just right.

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September 1, 2009

i’m rushing here.

i long for childhood again. for the innocence and for the freedom we seemed to miss trying to grow older. we were in such a rush weren’t we?  now i’m 22 wishing i was 7. i promise, if i could get just one more day i would not forget how it felt to live and to be free from all i know that binds me and keeps me from understanding so much in life that is truly beautiful. the saddest part is that i don’t remember. i don’t remember the things that passed by my eyes, or even what it felt like to have them open. my eyes are closed now. i wonder what it will be like in 10 years. i don’t want to look back to this time and wish these same things. time is one thing you don’t get back.  i wonder how i will live to make sure this doesn’t happen.  i’ve thought about writing everything down.. everything, even what i have for breakfast in the morning or what the newspaper headlines are. but that just won’t do, because even then it will all just become words that will eventually mean nothing in comparison to the feelings that we have.  no words will ever record the experiences that we feel deep beneath all the mess.  so here i am stuck and afraid that i will forget it all. the words and the feelings. the experiences and even the mundane.  i want to wail with laughter and with tears all at the same time. i’m rushing around trying to pick up the pieces to this screwed up puzzle all the while forgetting that the whole thing can’t be put together yet. i don’t even have the lid to the box.  i think i will see how simple this all really is someday. until then, i’ll sit and stare and wait and more than anything hope the day comes that peace fills me to the brim and i can finally make sense of myself.  here’s to living our lives with less meaningless chatter and more spirit.  here’s to tomorrow.

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June 30, 2009

my god. i’m so sick of this paddling. 

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“ It’s like this when you live a story. The first part happens fast. You throw yourself into the narrative and you’re caught in the water, the shore is pushing back behind you and the trees are getting smaller. The other shore is inches away and you can feel the resolution coming, the feeling of getting out of your boat and walking the distant shore, looking back to see where you came from. The first part of a story happens fast, and you think the thing is going to be over soon. But it isn’t going to be over soon. The reward you get from a story is always less than you thought it would be, and the work is harder than you imagined. It’s as though the thing is teaching you the story is not about the ending but about the story itself, about your character getting molded in the hard work of the middle. The shore behind you stops getting smaller, and you paddle and wonder why the same strokes used to move you but they don’t anymore.
donald miller •
June 7, 2009
if they give you ruled paper, write the other way.

if they give you ruled paper, write the other way.

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‘it always rains, doesn’t it?.’

right now. listening to thunder and waiting for the rain to fall. drinking hot cocoa (poor choice. it’s so warm in this house). and i’m thinking.. thinking that it’s so strange and sort of wonderful when you get to a point where you realize how off track you have become in your plans. you know.. the plans that are usually too extreme and often times no where near rational. i’ve been floating around with all these ideas and intentions and i’ve landed here in reality not really moving towards anything at all. i’m all sorts of stagnant. i’ve always hated how extreme of a person i am.. especially when it comes to making any sort of a decision. go big or go home right? well here’s the thing. i want to be extreme. i want to have an extreme life. i want to live and love and laugh so hard it hurts, but i want to do this everyday. i want to remember it all like it was yesterday. i want to think back and see all the wonder in it all. mostly, though, i want to stop relying on my memories and concentrate on now.

this moment.

right here. 

i think it takes the rain and the mess of it all to shake things up again. i’m so thankful for that tonight.

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March 26, 2009
“ sometimes we speak out to change the world, and other times we speak to try to keep the world from changing us.
shane claiborne •