Merry Christmas!

So, honestly, I have meant to post multiple times over the last few days....

I had some post ideas for Christmas Eve, and I wanted to get some down, but that never happened.
Same story for Christmas, and then Boxing day.

Amazingly enough, the same story is going today. Got many things to say, but don't have the mind right now to put 'em together. Too much candy, video games, turkey, lack of sleep... All good times.

But I do have one thing for you... As is my traditions, I make a gingerbread house on Christmas Eve. I really love the finicky details and repetitive, tedious little tasks that go into making a gingerbread house. You may remember last year and my church... This year I wanted to do something a bit different... I brained stormed a few ideas, and came up with my favourite 2... A drug bust, and a nativity scene. I was excited, because ?I had 2 gingerbread houses, and I'd be able to be reflective on the season and also just comical and have some fun... And then my dog ruined it all. She ate one of my gingerbread houses.

So then I had to choose between the 2... This is what I came up with...

Create a Free Slideshow

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, and I will be sure to post again soon!

Power

It strengthens me, knowing you think of me every day. I feel your care and concern in every part of my life. I'm not always appreciative or kind enough to you, but you always greet me with open arms. My silliness somehow makes you laugh, my problems make you cry, and my successes please you more than I.
It seems as though you are an answer to the prayers of my soul, a kindred spirit directed here to lighten my load. You comprehend me even when I can't fathom myself, and decipher my every glance or grunt. You know me better than I know myself, and the love you give me bolsters my bleeding self-image.
I could never deserve you or thank you enough for the godsend you are in my life.
I've lost track of how many times you've showed me the way, and it is through your steadfast efforts to show Gods love that I brave each harrowing day.

There is a sacredness in tears: they are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief, and of unspeakable love.  - Washington Irving

Renewal

Here's another piece of creative writing from my english class... This one piece had to have a theme of renewal. Not a favourite of mine, although it makes me smile all the same.

    The nights were growing longer; the cold was seeping into my bones. My senses were hibernating and my soul had shriveled. It is like I was frozen under a lake, able to see through but unable to touch anything, cut off from reality and slowly losing the energy to stay at the surface. Colors had faded, sounds were only echoes; the world around me was dull. I kept wondering each night if it would finally be the last time I fell asleep with the weight pressing on my chest. Passively I went through the motions each day, only to collapse each night and wake the next morning.
    I continued on, trudging through the mud of life, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Exhausted, my steps faltered and I stumbled. The streets were cold and the hard ground below me provided no comfort or reprieve from the despair. My eyes fluttered shut and I drifted off, finally free from my bondage.
    I woke up in a room of white. Warmth had spread through me, and the world around me was alive and busy. I sat up, and a lady walked towards me.
    "Ah, you’re awake” she said, picking up a chart from the end of my bed. “Glad you’re feeling better. Police brought you in last night—It was a cold one out there. Do you have a place to stay, sir?” I shook my head slowly, ashamedly looking down at my hands. They looked odd; filthy, calloused hands resting on crisp sheets of white. The nurse left me, and I was alone with my thoughts
    Suddenly I sensed someone watching me. I looked around, and saw a little girl one bed over.
    “Hi Mister!” she exclaimed enthusiastically before jumping down from her perch and coming to stand beside me. Her parents were nowhere to be seen "My name is Daisy. How long have you been here for? I just got here this morning, but I come here a lot.” I gnawed on my bottom lip before I told her that I had been there for the night.
    “Oh, did you have dinner here? Whenever I stay in the hospital they always have really bad dinner, but I always like dessert. It’s hard to screw up ice cream, in my opinion.”
    I laughed, surprising myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed. I asked the young girl why she was here.
    “Well, I have leukemia. I come to the hospital every few days for a check-up. When I’m not in the hospital though, I do lots of other things. Mom and dad are letting me skip school for the rest of the year before my time comes. Doctors think I have six or seven months.”
    I didn’t know what to say to her, was embarrassed that I even asked. I had not expected her to be so openly honest when I had inquired to her stay. I wondered how she could be so alive when she was so close to death. I sat there, trying not to stare at her, but unsure of what to say next.
    “I know it’s scary…” she said quietly, playing with the weave of the blanket on my bed, “But I try not to let it beat me. I don’t have time to be sad or scared. That would be a waste of time. Quite literally.” Instantly she was the bubbly excited girl again, and began talking about her best friend’s birthday party that was coming up.
    Eventually, the girl’s parents returned, and they laughed when they realized their daughter had made a new friend. I told them that she was a very sweet girl, and noticed the tears in their eyes as they looked at their daughter, who had skipped down to the next patient to say hello. A short while later the nurses released me, with directions to a local shelter. I stepped outside into a crisp breeze, the cold weaving its way through my clothes and tickling my skin. I looked around at the people hurriedly walking down the street, bundled up from the chill. I turned down the street, following a path of orange and red leaves, left over from the trees. And then, with the sun shining through the fluffy winter clouds, I saw a little white flower, growing up through a crack in the sidewalk. I bent down to pick it, and then stopped myself. Smiling, I walked on, deciding to let the daisy live out its life.

Tattered clothes

The young girl stared down at her muddy shoes and her tattered jeans that barely reached her ankles. She couldn't be picky about clothes anymore though; what money Joe was able to make went to more important things. She though about the last year, and the constant rumble of the bus eased her away from reality.

Grade 11 had started normally; friends were plentiful and life was busy. Between chores, homework, church and jobs around the community, Meredith had her hands full. September and Octorber passed by in a blur, nothing noteworthy grabbing her attention. In November though, some strange things began happening...

4 months later, life really started to change. Mid-March Meredith could no longer hide her secret; she was pregnant. Her parents were outraged and felt betrayed, her friends were suddenly distant. They all questions whether they really knew who their friend and daughter was. Meredith found herself to be the topic of conversation amongst the neighbors. She tried to tell people that she hadn't slept with her boyfriend Joe; she was saving herself for marriage. When she told her family about the man who had appeared to her... well, that made them doubt her explanations even more.

After 4 months of ridicule, Meredith couldn't stand it anymore. She was the outcast at school and the freak show in public. People started and pointed at her wherever she went. Joe was the only person who seemed to understand, although even her seemed to question the situation at times.

In June, one month before the baby was due, Joe and Meredith left town. Joe was born in Seattle and they were hoping to find sanctuary at his fathers' house. Unfortunately, they had no steady income and no transportation. About the only thing going for them was that Meredith was quite pregnant by this time, and many people helped them out because of her situation. Day-by-day the young couple got closer and closer  to their final destination. Countless time over the journey they had lost their patience with each other, complained about sore backs, begged for change... Their lives had changed drastically over 8 months.

Finally they arrived in Seattle, and the city was more alive than they ever could have imagine. It was July 3rd, and it seemed as though the entire world had flocked to the city for celebration. Joe and Meredith had saved up a little money, but it was still no use; every available bed in the city was taken. Meredith was exhausted, and Joe's heart was aching at the sight of his girlfriend struggling. Finally, at a shelter on the edge of downtown, Joe was able to convince the manager to let them sleep in a hallway in their sleeping bags.

Halfway through the night, Meredith found herself in unbearable pain.She cried for her mom, for someone to help her through the ordeal. Scared, she prayed for God to keep her, and her son, safe for the night...

Suddenly the bus jolted to  stop and Meredith was back in the present. She looked down at the sleeping boy in her arms, overcome with love for her small son. She knew that He was the Hope for her world.

It's not original, I know, writing a modern story of Jesus' birth. But, I often forget that Mary was a young girl, like me. And she went through struggles as she carried the Lord in her womb. I often forget that, although teens/unmarried women getting pregnant in today's society are not uncommon, it would have been a disgrace to Mary and her family for her to be pregnant outside of wedlock. What Mary and Joseph did was remarkable, and they were regular ol' mistake-making humans. Again, like me. Wow.

Each day this advent season, I stumble across another part of the advent story that totally floors me... Sometimes we have to take another look at the stories we think we know so well.

Vulnerable

The Hurts of My Past

Galatians 5:1
     It was for freedom that Christ set us free

    Unlike day-to-day emotions that come from day-to-day life, emotional baggage from the past is always there. Years of exposure and experiences in life has etched grooves into our memory banks, which cause us to focus, or ignore, certain thoughts, memories and emotions.

    I don't believe God wants me to completely forget my past. But, He also doesn't want me to dwell in it, which I have a tendency to do. Actually, I have a tendency to dwell on many things, especially negative events. When sometimes has been hurtful, how am I supposed to resolve my feelings, without brushing the events aside or minimizing them? How am I supposed to go on living the life God intends me to, while still remembering where I have come from.

    Moving on is inexplicably hard. And as much as it is necessary, I try to avoid it, and I don't think I'm alone. It's not easy, nor fun, but it is worth it.

    As I've grown, I've realized a few things about dealing negative events of the past...

    That I am a Christian is a good thing for me to remember. It allows me to evaluate my past experiences in light of who I am now, opposed to who I was then, or who I thought I was. Actually, not only has my faith changed, almost all aspects of "me" has changed. I have developed physically, mentally and emotionally. And emotional development is a big key to resolving lasting hurts.

    The intensity of a primary emotion is established by how I perceive events at the time they happen. My emotions are a product of how I perceive the events, not a product of the event itself. That is why people can react differently to the same situation. As a Christian, I am not the primary product of my past; I am the primary product of Christ's work on the cross. The flesh, or how I perceived events, still remains, but I have be born again and I am able to live past that.

    When a present event activates a primary emotion of the past, many people (including me) tend to believe what the feel instead of what is real, or what is true. For example, people who have been verbally abused by their parents may have a hard time believing they are unconditionally love by their Father God. Their instinctive (or primary) emotion argues that they are unlovable to a parent figure. They then, sometimes, believe that feeling, and then their walk is off course. By believing the truth and walking by faith, we are set free: free of the results of our perspectives, free of the grips of our sorrow, free of the consequences for out sins.

    Because I am a Christian, I can look at the past events from the perspective of who I am today. Christ is in my life, desiring to set me free from my past.

    "Therefore if an man is in Christ, He is a new creature; the old thing has passed away; behold, new things have come." (2 Corinthians 5:17) That is what I must believe in order to be set free.

    Sometimes, there are events that are so painful that I, and other, try to forget, push away, and avoid. Usually, if I'm not dwelling on events (as discussed above), I'm avoiding them. Avoiding memories or triggers that stimulate memories. And I know that I am not the only person who does this, not be a long-shot. Many emotionally traumatized people who have not been able to process past events seek to survive and cope through defence mechanisms. Some live in denial, other rationalise or try suppress the pain, sometimes with food, drugs, drinking or sex.

    Pretty obviously, that is not God's way. God does everything in light; He does not suppress or discard. He also loves us, and knows us. I try to use this knowledge to remind myself that I can count on God to bring my past conflicts to light at an appropriate time to be dealt with. God has allowed me to mature to a point where I am able to face the reality of the past. And then, at that time, I try to pray that God would reveal anything in the past that is keeping me in bondage--and God has answered. He is a "Wonderful Counsellor" and definitely knows how and when to get things done.

    Often, I don't even know what things are holding me, either because a memory is suppressed or because I simply cannot know everything. And that's really when our Wonderful counsellor can step in to help us.

    I believe that the first step in God' answer to repressed trauma is found in Psalm 139:23-24. God knows about our hidden hurts with us which we might not be able to see.

  Search me, O God, and know my heart; 

       test me and know my anxious thoughts. 

  See if there is any offensive way in me, 

       and lead me in the way everlasting.

Sing to Me, Muse

In my AP English class, we have a student-taught seminar each week. At said seminar, we are assigned a creative writing assignment, due a week later. I always leave my assignments till the night before, but I'm usually quite proud of my work. The other day, as I was beating myself up for not having any good blog post ideas, I thought that maybe it would be cool to share some of my creative writing. So here it goes... This assignment was to write a miniature epic poem (about a hero). I chose to write about an uncommon hero...


   * * *


Sing to me, Muse, of the young girl of many ways,
Who was driven far journeys.
Sing to me, Goddess, the pains and joys
Placed thousand fold upon her shoulders and her heart.
On gloomy and sparkling days alike,
As little Malo proved her strength,
Met her fiend once again after countless encounters,
And defeated the beast once and for all.
Sing to me, Muse, of the chaos called life,
For one little girl.
* * *

For this child, turmoil was customary.
One battle followed by another,
An endless flow of conflicts,
Coming and going like the ocean tide.
Although small, Malo prevailed.
Her deep-seeded faith
And the ingrained curiosity pulled her through.
When others would fall,
The young girl found herself standing.
When others would harm,
Malo would find her power.
As darkness fell this night the small girl waited,
Her small friends stuffed around her
Admiring her for her liveliness.
They had watched the battles before,
Each time silently praying for her success.
It would seem that nothing shake her little frame,
But as the light was fading, so was hope.

* * *
Malo’s nameless beast was persistent,
Relentlessly attacking, only to escape without notice.
Whenever the girl got a hold of it,

The monster slipped out of her grasp.

He appeared once again this night,
Without a warning and without a cause.
Malo was helpless, her strength finally reaching its end.
Tooth and nail she fought
Her heart five times bigger than her whole,
But in the end it was not enough.
Her beast stood over her, pausing before a final blow.
Looking up with tears in her eyes
Malo did not run away.
She faced her monster and knew what was to come.
Acceptance ran through her veins,
As faith beat in her chest.
She looked up at her monster
A small child staring at a great beast.
This young girls of many ways had done what she could,
And what was to happen next would come
With protest or without,
And so the little girl stopped.

* * *

Sing to me, Muse, of the chaos young Malo defeated,
Not purely with strength, nor determination,
But by faith in life, faith in love.
Sing to me, Goddess, of the purity of a child,
Scarred by sorrow and troubled by joy,
Whose might was too great for words.
Study me, show me, then tell me and learn me,
How such a small child can bear such a great weight.
How such a young girl can have such vast knowledge.
Sing to me, Muse, of the wisdom in life,
In the strength of a child. 

Glad you're here.

Why do I write?
Why did I write?
Why should I write?

The relationship I share resembles that of middle school girls. One day we can be the best of friends, and the next we'll hate each other and swear to never speak again, only to make-up a week later.

I love writing. And there are so many reasons why I should do it. But whever something negative comes out of it, I immediately feel as though I should give it up. Most recently, I was dwelling on how many people my blog, and I was greedily wanting my readership to increase. I wanted more people to recognize my brilliance and eventually, that started to consume me. Seriously, I thought about it a LOT. When I realized how much it was eating at me, I decided to shut things down, not even tempt myself to give into stuff like that. I told myself that I would continue to write, bit that the writing would just stay in my journals for now.

But that didn't work. After a few days, my writing stopped completely*. So, I've decided to try again...

I was inspired by a quote I heard on a TV show... "It is better to write for yourself and have no public than write for the public and have no self". I compltely agree with this statement. By deleteing my blog, though, I was no longer writing at all, let alone for anyone. This time, I'm going to try something different...

• I'm not going to review statistics related to my blog, especially through FeedBurner.
• I'm not going to "advertise" my blog (via Facebook or whatever)... Other than what's already set up cause I'm too lazy to try to get rid of it all. Ha.
• Everything I write will be written by hand originally. This way, I'll only write about things that I'm truly passionate about or spending lots of time thinking on, and I will take more time to consider my motives.

All that said, I hope I can learn how to stick to something on stop floundering on this subject.
Welcome back, blog.

*with the exception of AP English homework, which comes in ridiculous quantities