Crap and all its stuff.

I am looking around my room, and I recognize one significant aspect about myself: I have a lot of stuff. Things. Crap. It is piled, but neatly so. Tucked into baskets and placed on painted objects hanging on the wall.

Sure, I put this stuff to use. The perfume bottles and lotions serve as a reminder of a, um, fetish that I seem to have. I must like, or love, to smell nice. Some days like a coconut, others like an "Amethyst". What is an "Amethyst" anyway? Bath & Body Works and its clever branding does not serve it well in the naming department, but it, at the very least, can make a sweet aroma.

I guess there is a humor found in the action of my money spent on an item called "Twilight Woods" - I wonder where that naming came from - but I smell nothing like the greenery of nature nor a thing like twilight... if that has a scent.

Whatever.

I have a lot of crap. Shoes and clothes shoved into, not one, but two closets. Color coordinated, hung in specification - dresses, skirts sweaters (closet one) - and - shirts, jeans, dress pants shoes (closet two). See what I mean?

Craze and dazed I seem in this writing, but what it comes down to, the boiling point, the bulls-eye, is that my parents are selling the only house I have ever loved. Truly loved. Sure, building a relationship with this house was not my intention, but I guess you cannot resist its beauty (1.5 acres we are talking). I am almost positive you can love inanimate objects.

And that is where the utter, tragic, awareness comes from. The comprehension of all my stuff. Do I really need to smell like this or this or this? No. Just a want. If I had the guts, I would give it all away to a homeless person whose never smelled the scent of Valentino perfume.

I bet they would hate it. I bet they would look at me like an idiot with a hint of disgust. Did they need my pity via perfume bottle? Food would have sufficed. Some other necessity. Are those things my necessity? I can hear her now. Crap.

I do not know how I would answer, to be honest. I would walk away asking God to help me in my relationship with my finances and to teach my simplicity. Trace my steps of spending my money and where it floods into. No longer should I be blind to this. Because it all falls down the same shoot. It is all crap, stuff, great smelling stuff, but stuff and things in the end. So teach me. Teach  me the simplicity of living this life. To not be in want or in need. Sure, I've attempted  and it is still not enough.

There are people starving in this world. People who live their days in a cardboard box that they found behind a grocery store that just stocked their shelves full of food... and that is what was left for them. 


I am selfish. I am pathetic. And if this is what it takes for God to show me something, anything - thank You. Finally. I want to begin this work; to stop hitting the brakes in complacency. Now that I have broken down, I have to get started again. I need to be fixed in learning simplicity even deeper now. I want to begin reliving the vision that You've given me. Love others as I love myself - learning true equality that You have taught. Love You, love others. 


Where I physically end up in this move, I do not know. Maybe alone in Florida as my family moves to Chicago. But through that, I want to see You in my life, weaving into my finances, emotions, everything. I really do. 


I will delve into the love of my house and my soon departure from it in another post. I want to end with this:

‎"For where your treasure is, 

your heart will be there also." 

Matthew 6:21

Pumpkin Spice Latte's & Maturation.

As the warmth of my pumpkin latte clothed my throat like a sweater, I realized that I needed to bump up my A/C (I live in Florida and I am drinking a hot latte) and I had a slight taste of reminiscence. Now, I do not know if you are the type of person that has their nostalgic button kicked into high gear when you smell certain scents or when you taste certain things, but that is how my mind works. Well, the pumpkin latte sparked an intense memory that brought me back to just the year before. A year of tribulation and maturation. A year of doors closing and others opening.

I responded to the memory with a sick taste in my mouth - not attributed by the latte, I guarantee that - but quickly I withdrew those tastes with a quick swallow. Then a lump grew in my throat. I almost began to cry in re-adjusting my focus on, not my failures and faults, but on how far I have come. Not in the length of time "far", but in the sense of maturity in myself, my actions, my thoughts and my all around being.

I saw myself just a year ago as that someone who repeatedly ignored the request from God to let Him be my entire focus. It took a lot of regrets and pains in order for this shift came into place. My heart came to Him covered in scars and my mind quite weary. Now that the scars are fading and my mind has at last made its way to victory and freedom, it has begun to weave a web of a beautiful story.

It's funny that I do not have these recollections without the help of a pumpkin latte or a specific scent. I suppose that is what keeps my story from being null and void. It helps the little runner of my mind jog these memories without growing tired. I now begin to wonder what I will think back on with next years sip of a pumpkin latte. Overall, what I am saying is that... pumpkin spice latte's help mature your character. Well, spiced with God, too.

Recollectin': Cruising Through Old Memories

I have been thinking about childhood memories recently. I have thought about their importance and their feel of purity and utter realness to life. As a child, you run around feeling invincible and completely unaware of all the bad in the world. As a child, you can have fun with a patch of grass or a riding a slide a million times without the thought of it getting boring. Everything is fresh and new and unexplored in the mind of a child. So, I just decided to dive head first into nostalgia and reminisce on the memories that my mind still holds onto.

- I started with my days in Kindergarten and I specifically remember my first day. Walking into the fluorescent lit room and Mrs. Pennington introducing herself. The intimidation of peers stares and the realization that my mom dressed me, head to toe, in this matching jean outfit. I think this is where I learned what embarrassment was.
- I remember playing Red Rover, Red Rover when I was a Brownie in Girl Scouts.
- I remember my babysitter in fourth grade. Her name was Mrs. Lisa and she had freckles like stars and eyes as blue as the Mediterranean Sea. Her candy giving was rare, but I think I thought that was okay. She was sweet as it was. She used to frenchbraid my hair before school and marinate my hair in water instead of hairspray. We used to play dress up and I would hang out with her sons, as her daughter was still a baby. This is probably where I became a tomboy.
- I remember in fifth grade when a girl named Marci was my best friend, and we had carefree days at the park. We would swing on the tire swing and climb across the monkey bars. I think a cute boy was involved. That is a foggy memory.
- I remember attempting to build a treehouse with my step-sisters. We did a fine job and spent most of our days up in the tree that held the piece of plywood with such gentleness. Kristen and Karmin were my step-sisters and my best friends... but that's all changed. I haven't spoken to them in years since our parents divorced.
- I recall when Graham Costa and Mark Derkas proclaimed they would have a soccer match to figure out who would be my boyfriend. This was elementary school and I later was given a talkin' to by Graham's mom over the drama. I still keep in touch with Mark.
- I like the memory of my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Skeeter. I hold a soft spot in my heart for her. She was an amazing teacher who even got me into reading Anne Frank. Mainly because she said I looked like her. Mrs. Skeeter used to offer candy and Moonpies like it we forever stood in the cashier's line. I am officially friends with her on Facebook and we just talked this year. She's still as wonderful as I remembered.
- I remember meeting my biological father for the first time since practically birth and it being the most awkward encounter ever. I was about 8 and he wanted me to call him "dad", but I had already been calling someone else "dad" for the past 8 years. It didn't go over so well with my conscience. He did buy me Selena stuff, though.

My memories do stretch further, but those are the most memorable thus far. Do you have any interesting ones that you can recollect?

Actions. Beliefs. Relationship.

Quite recently, I have been having these heavy thoughts of what it really means to be a Christian; a Jesus follower; one who will deny himself and takes up his cross to follow Him (Luke 9:23). I have not been questioning my thought of walking with Him, so do not get me wrong. I am merely asking what does it mean to be a real Christian - one who doesn't falter in their thinking when it comes to deciphering the right and the wrong, and one who really wants to have the genuine relationship that God longs for.

Just last week I had started "Searching for God Knows What" by Donald Miller and he makes incredible remarks, some of which I have already known and serve as reminders, but some come as an arrow. For example, in one chapter Miller says this:

"This God, and this spirituality, was very different from the self-help version of Christianity. The God of the Bible seemed to be brokenhearted over the separation in our relationship and downright obsessed with mending the tear."

This came as a reminder/arrow to the heart. I completely understand the relational aspect that God longs for, but the words that Miller chose - "downright obsessed" - in order to describe the longing, made my eyes open up. While I won't go into too much of the book - except to highly recommend it - I, thereafter, kept thinking about God's obsession over our relationship with Him. In the Old Testament it is found in Jeremiah where God's wrath is like a wavering tidal wave over Judah, and poor Jeremiah is sent in to tell people about this wave and the power of its crash if they don't clean up their act. So then I got to thinkin'...

Our actions are our beliefs.

Now, don't quote me on that, only because that actually comes from Miller's other book "Blue Like Jazz", but the truth of the matter is... our actions are our beliefs. As Christian's, we cannot and should not become stale to what the Bible, and ultimately, to what God says. If He truly is, and He is, obsessed with mending this broken relationship that happened at The Fall, then why do we insist on going on our way with a mere Jesus tagged onto our clothes. Why should we let our Christianity become a sweater that can be worn one day to fit in here or there and the next day, we can remove it because we are around a different group of people. That does not describe the character of Jesus. It does not give truth to who God is.

Honestly, the biggest thing that gets me is that, because we as Christian's can be labeled to be "Holier than thou", those who do not know God, nor want to know God, become immediate watchers. Christian's are on the field, while we have a crowd of spectators seeing the next time we mess up in order to chalk up another excuse on why not to believe in God. I think the worst of the matter is is that we Christian's do mess up, and will mess up because we are nothing more than humans. So the onlookers see that and will not realize that our failures, most of the time, shape us. I guess that's where the humility comes into play. Not pride. We admit that we do not have it all together, it's a daily process, and it's trial and error sometimes, but at least we know God is hand-in-hand with us.

So while that is the worst of the matter, I speak more to those of who become the fence riders. The ones who get it, but don't care enough to get it more. The ones who don't see the obsession that God has with that relationship and in return, become stale to it. The ones that give off a bad reputation of God. That is what gets me. I wish we as Christian's would all wake up to the fact that we are representatives of the Lord. It should serve as a reminder each and every day. I know some days I am clicked back onto it - I mean, really, I work at a law firm... I should just have it tattooed on my arm for a reminder.

I am not sure if this all made sense. I think I just wanted those of you who do read this and see my blurbs about God, to know that I'm sorry if you have ever received a bad taste in your mouth towards church and towards Christianity. I think you should know that God is bigger than us and we try, we really do. There are Christian's out there who will love you through and through as we are told. You are not judged and should never be; we all would have to take the plank out of our own eyes before that could ever happen. There is a longing for a relationship between you and God and it's real. It is the realist thing that you could ever encounter. Sometimes it takes years to realize it.

It took me 18 years to finally get it, but 19 years for me to stop being a fence rider and to wake up to this relationship, and to finally take up my cross and follow Him. Daily, my actions are becoming my beliefs.

Ball-kick

Have I ever expressed how much of a blessing it is to be involved as a leader in a high school ministry? Not only a blessing in a way that God turned my story around to glorify Him and to help other struggling teens, but... because we can play Leaders vs. Youth Redneck Ball-kick (or Kickball for the one who isn't redneck).

I give you, Reformation Redneck Ball-Kick 2010:

Leaders

Youth

Leaders won :)

Film Dabbles

I have been dabbling in film photography lately, and finding out that it can be extremely tough. Although, slightly exciting and mysterious at the same time.

I yam.

If you've ever visited the dentist, you can probably attest to the fact that it is incredibly difficult to have a full-out conversation with the person working on your mouth. I, however, have to say that I have just experienced a dentist appointment in which a full-out conversation did in fact happen, and not only did we converse in a manner in which the drool sucker (I attempted in Google search of what a drool sucker is called, but no such luck) was taken out for immediate answers from my mouth that was being cleaned, it was meaningful. I mean, I think I helped my dentist out with family problems. Who knows why he chose me to spill his family life on; I just hope I helped him.

Most of the conversation had begun its march after I talked about my dad and his absence in my little life - I told you it was deep - and then he kept saying I liked the subject of Psychology. This, I do not know where he got, but his assumptions were because I "analyze", which, to some extent, is true. I do know that I did leave the appointment with that feeling of Information Overload and decided to file it in my "That was strange..." file. But as I am drawing it back out, I have been analyzing why I am the way I am. I'd like to label this file "I yam."

Just this morning I texted my mom asking her what elementary schools I had attended. Unfortunately, with the moving every two years of my life, I attended approximately three or four elementary schools. I can only name a few - Oak Forest Elementary (TN), Fernandez Elementary (TX), Sanford Elementary (VA) - and I still believe I am missing one. I specifically remember a school where we had a greenhouse where we would do little hands-on projects. That was the first time I learned that these specific butterflies were only alive for about 11 days. This was after raising my little caterpillar, watching he/she turn into a beautiful butterfly, and setting it free in our greenhouse. You can imagine my surprise and my sadness as a third grader. I think I wanted to rescue it and have it beat the odds. I also remember attending a school where they beat kids with a paddle; I swear I can still hear a little boy scream as I walked past the office.

All of these little memories that my mind so vaguely stored has made me nostalgic. Not in a "wish I could do it all over again" way, but more in a sit-down-take-out-the-photo-album-and-spread-every-picture-on-the-floor type of way. It almost seems surreal to think about how I so vaguely remember my first day of Kindergarten or how I remember reading Anne Frank in 5th grade because her story inspired me... plus someone said I looked like her, so I had to find out who this girl was. It's these little moment of innocence that seem so precious to hold onto, because as we get older their distance becomes greater between each memory.


These memories, that were once reality but now enigmatic, have become my chemical makeup. I have taken something from each happening and my memories serve a purpose as to who I have become... or who I yam. It isn't an indepth analyzation of who I "yam" or who I am becoming, it is more of a skim of my little life and all the innocence that had surrounded it. My memories attest to just that.


I did leave with one comment that lightened the mood. Doused in a heavy accent, my dentist said: "You may look 15, but you act and talk like a 25 year old."