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thoughts

that dress

it was given to her on her first birthday the spring she was 16. It was clean like a bounce sheet that had been warmed by the tumbling of blankets in a dryer. It symbolized how she was clean, like a unicorn that a little girl dreams up in her greatest slumbers, only better.

It was white, like a painters overalls, It was to display perfection, even the most deadly scrapes wouldn’t tear it, the most stain blood couldnt change its bright crisp white. It was a shining reflector of the brilliant light that is her Father.

It was new, this one had never been touched by whole human hands in two ways, whole human meaning nothing more than human, and also no man is pure, and this was to represent perfection remember. So impurities would wake the seams tear and the blood of mans filthy hands would make it unfit for dawning. Sin and imperfection others own would ruin it if it had been touched before she had it as her own. Her Father alone had bestowed her the honor of touching it.

It was beautiful. You could not describe a sunrise to someone who had no idea what light was, or which way is up. You would lose your own mind in trying to do it. I can’t explain the beauty of it, you wouldn’t understand, So I will simply say, it was beautiful.

it was one of a kind. there is no other nor will there ever be another like it in any resemblance. this was beyond custom-made, because this one was made for her with pieces of her sown into it, before she was even knit in her own mother.
this was for her alone, never to be borrowed or copied, never altered. this was who she is, but whats more who her Father sees her to be, which is beyond value, like that sunrise, not even she can grasp it.

now she has taken this dress for a spin or two, twirled in it, fallen off of rocks in it, out of trees, shes fallen on ice-covered parking lots behind gas stations in it. she has hidden while wearing it and lied too. she has doubted while she let it be her adornment.

though every time she fell, even if the fall was long, her Father picked her back up and wiped the dress off, it had to be the holes in His wrists, they must have magical powers that can suddenly remove her dirt again. His hands were always clean after He would wipe the dress, she would check, and that’s how she knew and remembered that He is something better than the thrill of falling.

but the best thing about that dress is that it came with a promise, a life time guarantee if you will, that came with it the day she got it,

“today this belongs to you, and you, belong to Me.

       love,

               Abba”

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within the confines of these carbon ribs

“no, I’m a new creature!”

she yelled it this time, from her gut she yelled it. and when she was done, she was ready to do it again.

“get behind me satan!”

this is what Christ said to Peter when Peter said they shouldn’t go to Jerusalem. Jesus knew that He was headed to His death, He knew. and He would stop at nothing to die for me. to carry the cross of my shame, as I stand scoffing, but now I am ashamed.

I have turned my back, Im in the corner, Im crying, I want no food, no water, no comfort, and so I scream, like a child put in time out, angry, only because I know I’ve done wrong and I dont want to own up to it.

yes, thats the reason Im there, and I am letting my sin eat my skin away, I have holes in me, thats why I hide my face in the corner, I look under my arm to see behind me, the huge lump of my sin that I shoved under the carpet and danced around is still there… all I want is for it to be gone.

want to know the reason as to why it wont?

because I wont tell the truth, I wont confess that I dont think He can remove it from me…and this is where I sigh…cause I know I am so wrong.

“my dear.”

its loud in my head, but too gentle to be an angels voice. thats because its my Abba, He is calling me.

“my darling, come on.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, I focus on the small but booming voice, He said come, so I stand up turn around and walk out of my corner across a smooth smooth rug.

He picks me up, and just pulls me in close, I soak His shirt with my tears and runny nose, because thats the way it is when a daddy picks His darling own back up off the floor where she had just struggled away from Him, He doesnt care about the dampness of His sleeve now, it’ll dry.

He lays me down in my bed to sleep, and He brushes my hair out of my face just to make sure I see Him smile at me.

He walks over a smooth smooth rug on the way out of the door and turns off the lights, He looks at me, and in His eyes He says, “its like looking at a bright light, seeing my child clothed in righteousness.” as if He never flipped the switch.

“goodnight, my beloved.”

“night Abba…do you still love me?”

“of course I do. I will never leave you or forsake you, remember, I promised”

but she will need reminding, because as long as she is a sojourner in this land she will need His help, daily.


I met you at the blood bank

It was the last day I would probably be able to do this for at least a year, and I knew it.

We were going to go climbing inside that day cause outside was cold and wet. They were closed so I told you to meet me at the blood bank. You then went with me to watch me eat. I didn’t mind. We talked, it wasn’t the way I wanted it to be between us. But this is how it is. And I can’t deny that this is my fault. something is hummed in the back of my mind “but you know that its good girl…”

As you drove off with me shivering in the cold all I could think of was, life is good, cause that’s all I see every time you drive away, and this day, at this moment…life was good.

I skipped into the blood bank, eyes full of hope and praying that my veins were full of iron.

I prayed and I prayed, I had one last chance to do this for a year remember, a whole year. It had not even hit me that this was the last time ever basically.

As she pricked my finger she made a discouraging comment, “it’s really light. you probably don’t have enough iron.”

I kept my mouth shut, I waited for that machine to show me the money. 13.6. “Im sorry did you say it’s too light? well apparently light is the new iron.” boom shocka locka! I had done it, We had done it.

I could finally give.

She started the questions, which was weird for me because they know me so well there that they normally don’t ask them all. But she was new…

she asks me if I had been out of the country in less than a year. Well tomorrow would be one year since I had gone to Costa Rica and the next day I was leaving for Colombia, so I answered honestly. “Yes.” I couldn’t tell her exactly where we were there cause I didn’t know the name, I said San Jose.

All I will say is that she panicked. And so did I.

She deferred me till the end of the month. That word, deferred, it hurts a little bit. Basically it means that you’re prohibited, in this case from doing something I strangly loved doing, saving lives.

I walked out of the doors with a brave face, but this time I didn’t say what I always say, “see you tomorrow”, cause remember, my iron was up. but I didn’t give that day.

The second the big glass door shut behind me something inside me snapped. I cried. hard. all the way home. all the way up the stairs. all the way into my dad’s office. I cried. I fell on my parents bed and cried. My father smiled at me and rubbed my arm as I tore at the band aids on my finger tips and then strategically placed them back where they should have been.

He said, “God has bigger things for you, its ok.” mom said the same later.

It wasn’t ok though.

three days later:

my friends and I had come up with this silly thing we called “toll” it consisted entirely of a high-five and the yelling of the word “toll.” it was that thing you just do.

We drove to the edge of  Bogotá Colombia. And we saw the toll booths, of course we took this moment to all yell “toll!” and give high fives all around.

Juan paid the toll and we drove through, first my feet, then my legs, then a finger nail, a hair, all of a sudden all of me and my blood was outside of Bogotá. and it was ok.

We spent that day doing what we do best, showing the mighty power of Jesus Christ to children who were broken. That day I was drained entirely of all emotion, energy, and stamina. and I was joyous.

We drove back into Bogotá. Toll.

To end this.

I can no longer give my blood away to save lives. I have left the “safe zone” and I plan on doing it again. I plan on living outside of the “safe zone” making a home there. It makes me sad. and no, I don’t want to go back to the blood bank for a while. But there is good news.

HE can still give blood. to save lives, and He can do it much better than I, cause He did it once and for all. His blood doesn’t go bad either, no, it will last for all of infinity. what a promise.

My blood fades, goes bad, gets light, loses iron, loses value, gets dirty. His will never.

So I can say with a smile. I can’t give blood anymore. But I can give my love away.

Stick a needle in that.


under mountain, under ground


she simply just didnt want to anymore.
that can be understood, right?
she encouraged one, and the one got better.

everyday was more of a burden and a loss than a feather and a gain.
she hates tradition, that creates a box, and no one likes to be trapped in.
so yes, maybe shes tries to be original, but that doesnt work.
so whats next?

what if she no longer had the means to the end?

you can point out her flaws.
he face is just a paper that you consider blank, you want to fill it in for her.
and sadly, she lets you.

stop writting for her, or she’ll never do it for the right reason.

her motives are off.
she wants to been seen, to be heard, and to be praised.

but what value is your praise, your humor, your tears.

does she care about Him anymore?
does she care if He gets what is rightfully His?

by her actions, it seems not, and by her words it seems even less.

so why try?
why push through this?

maybe because she knows in her heart strings that she will never properly gain from this. but He may.


at the foot of the cross

at the foot of the cross

I stood at the bottom of the hill, they call it Golgotha, or the place of the skull. growing up I thought along with my friends that this hill was able to turn us into gools or something. we would have competitions to see who could reach out and touch it the longest, even on a sunny day this was terrifying, but we got sick pleasure from it, a little guilt, a little thrill, it had us shaking in our boots, at any moment we thought we most defiantly could fall over dead. just the same, it was our favorite pass time, a childish game. I was so young then, but still as I stood there at the foot of it, I felt that guilt, that shame and strangely that little tug of promise of pleasure pulling me up the hill. I’m almost to the top, all of a sudden it becomes too much, all the excitement and utter fear grab my knees and violently throw me to the ground. I lay there face down. I slowly lift my head and hands. I have dirt on my face, more like mud really. I go to wipe it off but I can’t because I suddenly realize my hands are covered in something, its full of a metal smell, I realize it is the one thing I should’ve expected, but when I saw it I was entirely startled. It was blood. I get to my knees and sit on my heals, they dig into me, I look straight forward. I see a huge railroad tie of wood in front of me, the size of a tree, and at the top of my vision I see toes, completely red except for the second to first toe on the left foot. the sun is setting behind this tree like pole with toes upon it. I dont want to look up, but that excitement has filled me again, I slowly raise my eyes. I find feet are attached to these toes. and legs. I stop and look down again, suddenly someone says, “I pity the deranged one hanging on that tree.” I am completely horrified by what I’ve just heard. I then realize that it was my voice, I hummed under my breath to see if the tone of my voice sounded like what I had just hurt. it was me. how could I has said that?! why did I?! surely this mans blood will stain my hands for the rest of my God-forsaken life. I look up again past the toes to this mans ribs where an unpierced chest is, ripped in many places where the glass on the strips of leather must have whipped around and grabbed His skin and ripped it open. blood is rubbed all over what us left of Him. I look to His neck, its strained down, hanging. I look at His chin, covered in hair but I feel like I have just ripped out His beard. It hurts to move my eyes past His quivering lips up to His nose that has a drop of blood ready to fall to His chest. then I find them. His eyes. they’re closed. the guilt fills me to the point where I can no longer hold it, out of my mouth spews what is in my heart. with a trembling pain in my voice, “You had no reason to die like this. You must be doing it for someone else. who. and why.” He opened His eyes right on mine. I shuddered, they were empty but at the same time I have never seen such a grey color sparkle, not even a glassy sea of newly fallen snow in the setting sun could sparkle that bright. I asked Him with just my eyes: “me?” He nodded His head.

Just a short story that I wrote over winter retreat. I thought to share it because some may relate to it. I hope you can.


love woke me up this morning

all that i can it let Him bring me through

I know of a man who lives on the other side
On the other side of this mountain
They say he’s calling the weary home

I’ve been told of a man who lives on the other side
On the other side of this mountain
With a heart full of stories of hope

So run like a vagabond, carry the flame
Run for the children and run for the slaves
Hold it up high with a message of faith
Don’t ever stop moving on
Just run like a vagabond

His book is a gun that he reads for the people
The words that he speaks have been colored illegal
But the law that he’s under is bigger than paper and gowns

He stayed in the streets where the beggars are broken
He’s risking is life, a bullseye in the open
But he won’t stop to rest until he’s reached every town

So run like a vagabond, carry the flame
Run for the children and run for the slaves
Hold it up high with a message of faith
Don’t ever stop moving on
Just run like a vagabond

{vagabond- bethany dillon}

In spite of all the chaos and pain that may surround me right now I seem to keep forgetting my purpose as a human being. to glorify God and enjoy Him.

Ive been redeemed and all that I can say is Hallelujah, whatever is dropped in my lap this should be my cry, my battle cry, and my morning song. my celebration and my dirge.

Ive been made, Im a creature, Im created and with that, Ive been given the ability to be creative. Ive abused this in creating for myself as of late, I just keep validating it by saying Im dealing with a lot, and even though this may be true, Ive been commanded to count it all joy.

He will turning my morning into dancing and my sorrow into joy.

hold onto Him, christian, its all you can do, let Him carry you through it. I need to be saved from myself.

so be joyful christian!

when the sun is hiding it still exists


adios learning express

well this is it. today was my last day of work at the learning express. and yes you will always find the perfect toy.

Its been a treat really this past year and five days. I’ve learned so very much and gained at least one solid friendship.

Im going to miss it immensely. selling toys is way more fun than any other job you could have, you can play games, you can play with kids, you get to wear an apron, and you can curl ribbon until your heart is content.

I will miss people asking me what the new item is, but I hope to keep up my game for as long as I can.

even though my bosses wont read this I do want to give them a little thank you.

You two gave me a wonderful job and you treated me so well, you were kind in your words and lenient in giving me time off. you really are two amazing people and Ive been blessed to have you as my first bosses.  

sometime later I’ll post a “life after learning express” on myself and a few fellow co-workers. that’ll be fun.

for now here are a few “adios l.e.x.” photos from today: