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whales and such

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.




open up a brand new door

here are the photos melanie and I have been planning for so long. we went and got the rope and then talked about it way too much and finally we just did it. I thought at first I would not be pleased at all with the outcome. I think all the build up of going out in the woods, carrying things, climbing up in a tree on branches that should rightly be called twigs in shoes that are not made for climbing or anything of that likeness. then tieing her hands and hearing her pain as well as seeing it. watching her hands turn purple and her face change expression the instant she had to stop standing on the ladder. but l.i.f.e.g.o.e.s.o.n.

(photos of the new hair are in here too! we were so excited to finally cut her hair! she loves it and i agree, its wonderful. princess abby cut it)

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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.

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:

stop this train

I’ve been standing outside this door forever, it being slightly cracked, I have listened and wondered why everyone was so quite. I heard murmurs and every once and awhile someone would speak a little louder, like they knew I was outside the door but had no reason to go to it and invite me in. I can feel my own breath as it comes out of my mouth and ricashays off the old but newly restored door frame, the paint looks new, and fake. I feel like I’m in a hospital and there’s not much of a chance I’ll be leaving healthy.

I look down to see a hole in the door at the bottom, right about where, say a five year old, make have gotten angry and kicked the door wearing roller blades. why hadn’t they fixed that?

While I’m looking down I notice my shoes, holes. my toes slightly poke out of the front. I wiggle them. yes. they still work.

I switch my eyes to my hand, I run my finger across the words I had written the day before on my left, now faded from the constant use of my hands. I slide my ring finger across the top of my right hand, just under my thumb and pointer finger. “engraved, not marred.” I say out loud to reassure myself.

I remember the people in the room and quickly look up to make sure they haven’t tried to make a move I wouldn’t recognize. good, no strange movement. but how much longer am I going to stand here and wait.  so far no one has come to get me and at least three people know I’m here.

then I felt someone bite my shoulder. I decided it better to stay calm and humbly turn around to see my attacker. It’s a king. the king is crying though, for the king has lost all comfort. the king left on a crusade and was sent out with love, prayers, well wishers, and pain. the king met many on the journey, but once the king had returned all these ones that had been met stopped the comfort. because the king no longer needed them, since the king had returned to the place where she had left from. the kings eyes said more than I could take in at once. how could I have anything to say to those eyes? so I whispered something, it was so quiet that I couldn’t even hear it, but the king did.

the king then whispered back, into my brain it seemed, I don’t even think the king said words, but the tears that were still pouring from those eyes said it.

I turned, I pushed the door, by the handle, I even turned the handle. I didn’t need to, the door is open already remember?

I now stand before all the people, they all see me, my skin. but they’re not looking at my shoes, or my shoulders that are turned in, or the band aid on my finger, or my scar on my knee that they think is a bruise. no they’re looking at my tears.

I think quickly about that hole in the door that must be at least thirteen years old, and then a lyric runs through my head, the thing about the lyric is that its incorrect, it is a song but this isn’t what it says, “don’t waste a minute in the shape you’re in” this sounds so much better than what the artist may or may not have written.

I wasted one more minute, but then I let my tears tell all.

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ive been away… a year and a day


Im sorry to have been gone for so long (becca)

I didnt mean to do it, it just happened. right? I have stayed pretty consistent with my flickr, so if you want photos I would go there for that. but I also told flickr that I would put pictures here, so I will stay true to my word.

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I leave for Tallahassee florida in the morning for the thanksgiving festivities, sadly I have to leave my Becca behind, as well as many other free from school this week friends…I even heard a few talk about playing spike ball….without me….

I hope that when I come back I’ll be re-inspired to blog and create photos and words.

happy turkey day to all, and to all a good night.

p.s. I love Harry Potter now.