Shadows or Mirages

We either chase the dim outline of something that exists or we pursue that which looks more colorful, captivating and enticing, but leaves us with hands grasping, fingers brushing-- on air.

Shadows or mirages.

I have run after the bright things that shimmer, waver, and glisten like the image of an oasis in the desert, I have chased them down and I have felt my heart drop and shatter as I grasped handfuls of empty air.

And I have chased the dark outline of beauty unseen. I have run my hands across it seams, and hear the rustling of truth and beauty that the wind whispers to trees.

Blind to the reality that lies behind the dark veil, I have pushed through the shadows towards light; for even shadows grow clearer as you draw closer to the blaze.  I have trace my fingers along the borders, marveling how the lines become sharper and more defined the closer we get to the light.

I exist for the moments when I stumble into the shadow of Beauty.

Shadows denote something real, solid and I will chase them until my heart no longer beats inside my chest.

Basic.?

(I try not to rant often, but sometimes I'm just so flabbergasted that I just have to, so please excuse me.)

I've never run with the "popular" girls. I'm not that kind of gorgeous and I didn't and don't care enough about my clothes, hair and make up. Plus I have never been terrified enough of bugs and snakes to ever make it in those circles. I don't have what it takes, nor do I care to try and obtain it.

I don't have a models figure, I never will, and I'm alright with that. I want to be healthy but sorry, I'm not going to starve myself just to fit into a size two. I want to look nice sure, but I'm not going to lose two hours of sleep to do my make up. I refuse to carry around a purse that's worth more than the money I carry it in, I like shopping in the clearance aisles, and I would rather shop for books than clothes. I am who I am, eat it.

It's like you have the cheerleader group and then you have Ming, with her glasses and stacks of books, sitting in the corner thinking to much, laughing, and eating cinnamon rolls.

Honestly, I forget people like that exist. I am so completely surrounded by the most incredibly kind and thoughtful people, that I forget that such mean, shallow, petty people actually exist in real life.

I was sharply reminded about this tonight. I sat listening to story after story of women my age who apparently never got the memo that there is more to life than what you see in the mirror, who sit and critic the world, and who believe the worst thing you can call someone is "basic" (side note: I didn't even know what that meant and had to ask for an explanation). I kind of sat in shock as I listened, just staring, not being able to comprehend that girls my age could really be that shallow and be such catty b's.

I'm sorry but I'd rather look "basic" and be interesting, fun, opinionated, idealistic and kind, than look like Helen of Troy and be mean spirited, catty, empty-headed, and self-obsessed.

There's more to beauty than good bone structure and the skin on our faces.

Goodness gracious. Alright now I feel better, I'm done.

I’ve tripping over this picture for months and months, I’ve carried it around in my head, tucking it away, all but forgetting it’s existence and then something will make me think of it and I’ll stumble over it again.

I’ve wanted to capture how I feel about it, but my thoughts have hung like a stubborn water drop, refusing to let go, to let me flick it loose and capture it.

But now…I think I shall try nonetheless.

It’s the image of Oscar Pistorius, the man who had both of his legs amputated before he was even a year old, the man also known as The Blade Runner. It’s an image of him leaning down next to a little girl, a little girl also has blades for legs, they’re running, he’s smiling, and he’s letting her win.

It’s one of those wonderful images that stings your eyes, warms your heart, and restores your faith in humanity…until you learn that Oscar has been accused of premeditated murder of his girlfriend, shooting her, that he’s wrestled with anger problems his whole life, and then there’s the image of him, bending over, laughing and letting a little disabled girl win a race.

He hasn’t been convicted yet, but to me that’s besides the point.

Every time I think of that picture, it makes me ache.

What a stark contrast.

We watch videos online or strangers helping other people, giving their coats to a cold little boy, and we act as if humanity was something that was worth having faith in and then we look around at the world we live in, with suicide bombings, mass shootings, genocides and holocausts…and it’s sometimes hard to reconcile the two.

So we like to paint dark lines separating the two. We sanitize the heroes and we tarnish the villains.

We pretend that a person can be more or less than a person.

We like to do this with the Bible, we like to separate Moses from his mistrust, David from his affair, and both from their murders. We dissect Solomon from his concubines, Joseph from his arrogance, and Peter from his doubts.

We turn angrily and declare we don’t understand how people can do they horrible things that they do, and then we name a million horrible things that we wish would happen to them, revealing the darkness in our own hearts…

"There but for the grace of God go I…” sounds good when it slips from one’s lips—but do we understand the weight of those words? Do we realize how incredibly finite and helpless we are?

Had I been born to radical Muslims in the middle of a war zone, who would I be? Had I been given abusive parents instead of the loving ones I have...where would I be?

How dependent are we all?

Did we have anything to do with what DNA we were given or where we were born or who we were born to?

Let me take that serotonin, noradrenaline and dopamine from your brain and let’s see how long you stay sane.

Let me zip of the childhood and genetic make up of another person on you and see if you do much better than they do.

This doesn’t excuse any amount of sin or ache, but may we…may I have humility and breath grace in all things.

There is a holocaust architect in each of us.

"Guilty of one, guilty of all."

Thank God for grace. Sweet, amazing grace.

Grace.

Oh good, I’m glad you’re here.
I haven't slept in days.
I am beside myself.
Can’t you see these circles under my eyes?
And my hair is falling out in clumps!

Grace is getting out of hand...again. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on her—she laughs and spins out of my grasp, as if this was some sort of GAME.

See, I keep telling her she needs to hang out with Sacrifice, Hard Work, and Good Deeds, doing civilized things, but instead she keeps insisting on climbing out the window to run around with Mercy, Freedom, and Love—and I might add--they always seem to be hanging out with the most unsavory of characters.

I want to water down Grace, dilute and weaken her -- just enough so I can control her, because she doesn’t know what she’s doing—and clearly she needs start listening to me.

See Grace has this ridiculous idea that she can woo people in by just being her raw, unfiltered, stunning self. She keep trying to tell me that true change comes when people realize how dearly loved they are, just exactly as they are, not as they should be, because they’ll never be as they should be.

She wants to lavish her gifts on people who just honestly don’t deserve her attention.

I want to draw lines around her, put her in boxes, make her easy to understand. I want to make her palatable. But she keeps on being wild, erasing every line and ripping every box.

I’m scared that people are just going to use her as an excuse to never change and keep on making bad decisions... but somehow she doesn’t seem to be concerned about this…at all.

-------------------------------------------

Raw, unfiltered, stunning, beautiful, reckless, and wild Grace….Oh, how sweet she sounds.

“Are you paralyzed with fear? That’s a good sign. Fear is good. Like self-doubt, fear is an indicator. Fear tells us what we have to do. Remember one rule of thumb: the more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.”
-Steven Pressfield

You know when something hits you in the gut?

That feeling when you read something and it reverberates throughout your entire being as it bounces off the deepest corners of your soul sending echoes through your heart.

Yeah, this quote kinda sorta did that.

Confession:
Every time I write I’m terrified.
I’m terrified that no one else will understand what I’m talking about.
I’m scared that someone out there will think that I do this for attention. That all the black marks I toss out there are for a selfish need for validation…and I’m terrified that they are just exactly that.

I’m scared that I’ll be left alone clutching this cold empty fear to my chest.

Writing exposes who I am, it lets you all get to know me and all my quirks, and that is scary.

Because I’m not very balanced and not a single one of my friends has ever used normal as an adjective to describe me.

I write too much, and apologize too much, and read too much, and think too much, and take too many pictures, and worry too much, and I’m too idealistic. I am both too sure of myself and not at all. I am wracked with insecurity and prideful all at the same time. I somehow marry the very worst of opposites in this five foot ten frame.

At all the wrong times I seem to leap before I look and then take too long looking so I never even leap.

I’m a living paradox, a walking contradiction, a breathing antilogy, an antithesis with a glasses.

What makes me think that anyone would care what I have to say?

But I keep writing anyway…

Because I cling on tightly to this ridiculous idea that I have words that no one else does. That my life and experience and perspective have given me something that no one else ever has or ever will have. I clutch at the idea that I was created to be and do things that will somehow make a difference.

Maybe I’m crazy for believing in just a ridiculous idea, but you know, I’ve never exactly been known for being normal anyways.

And I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense my brain and head is still a little foggy from waging war against the microbials that decided to take up residence in my body this weekend.

Now I'm going to go and listen to the Frozen soundtrack.

Disclaimer: I could be way off, I'm only twenty plus three and I know very little. Therefore, I reserve the right at all times to be wrong. Also, I should be sleeping right now, but I find myself here instead. I tend to loose my filter when I am tired and exhaustion works on my courage like I've been told alcohol supposedly would. So don't be surprised if this disappears in the morning.

I feel like there's a disconnect somewhere.

When we feel like standing in line at Chick-fil-a is doing a good deed and we think that sacrifice by going to Cold Stone instead of Ben and Jerry's. And we boycott anywhere the supports A&E and buy Duck Dynasty EVERYTHING. If you really loved Jesus you'd go see whatever movie it is in the theaters that was made by Christians no matter how horrible it is. Tim Tebow is basically Jesus and God wants us to make a stand on everything.!

I feel like we've missed it.

It's easier, I'll give you that. Boycotting Macys and eating chicken sandwiches twice a week seems like an easier gig than loving your enemies, plucking the log in your own eye, and actually loving people to the point it hurts you.

Tonight I had dinner tonight with a young woman who got out of sex trafficking five months ago, I remembered sitting in a garage with her just a few nights after she was rescued, now she now has a job and is going to be starting school in January. Over dinner we talked about how incredible these past months have been and how amazing redemption, grace, and real love are. See, to me that's what Christianity is, healing the broken, setting captive people free, and redeeming the mess. Darkness getting swallowed up by light. Love overcoming all.

I just get the feeling like Jesus really wouldn't take a stand on those other things. Maybe He would, again I could be wrong. But I kind of think that He'd be somewhere loving people instead of holding a sign, and maybe instead of boycotting it, He'd walk into a store and talk to a person behind the counter, maybe?

Here is my head, ready? It's a scary, ridiculous place-prepare yourself.

When I decide to do something, I get excited, because plans like this are my favorite. I tend to go a *tad* overboard because I get so caught up in making plans.

Then I carry out my plans and just before I actually hand things away to people is where my head starts running away with me.

What if people think I am doing this for attention and hate me?
What if people think that I am ridiculous and make fun of me?
What if I mess up and everyone laughs at me?
What if people misunderstand what I do?
What if I pour my heart out and then everyone only rolls their eyes?
What if.
What if.
What if.

I've held back so much in life because of those stupid fears.

I literally sat outside of an office today thinking I should go throw everything I'd made into the lake, because doing nothing always seems safer than throwing yourself out there and giving pieces of yourself away.

Rejection hurts less if you put on a mask and pretend to me someone you're not.

It's an act of bravery to throw yourself out there, to wipe of the thick layer of paint you've been hiding behind and just dance and revel in who you were created to be. There will be naysayers who whisper as you spin, they will try to fasten those shackles around your ankles - don't let them, run fast and far away, beckoning them to drop those chains and run with you.

Don't listen to the lies that fear will whisper, laugh and say, "Alright then what?"

Alright, if people think I do this for attention-then what?

They misunderstand me, label me, roll their eyes at me, talk behind my back, laugh at me? Then. what. Torture me? Maim me? Kill me? That's all you've got?

Alright, well let me tell you what people can't do.

They cannot strip away the joy and laughter I have in my lungs. They cannot steal the love that I carry and the songs that live on my lips. They cannot destroy all of life and love I've already lived.

Cast your roots into something that is unshakable and you'll find that you can't be shaken.

Alright then. I'm going into that freaking office, I'm going to love those freaking people, I am going to make things and give away more than people think is a good idea, I'm going to write a long freaking facebook status, I'm going to take pictures of the beauty I find, and I'm not going to worry about what you think. I am not going to let fear dictate what I do and say any longer.

Why?

Because gosh darn it - I am free.

Christmas

I don't know where you are or what you've been through.
I would surely write this differently,
If only I knew.
I don't know if Christmas fills your heart with joy and cheer.
Or if it only brings up memories of old pain and new fear.

Christmas comes round
And with all the lights, trees and presents galore.
It's like people don't realize,
Joy simply can't be bought in a store.

Sometimes life stings a little more,
When it seems like everyone else has already won the war.
Every person you encounter appears to live in a perfect bubble,
Meanwhile all you ever seem to encounter is deep chasms of trouble.

Pain has a way of making us feel like we are all alone,
We forget this old broken world has a way of making each of us groan.

Hope is such a slippery thing,
It is so hard to hold.

But crawl up to the manger and remember the sight.
God wrapped in flesh, born in the dead of the night.
Born to bring all dead things to life.
And make every broke thing new.
So hold on tight, oh my dear one,
To this true tale that's been spun.

When life throws it's curve ball,
And you want to give up,
Remember the baby has come to heal us all.
Darkness will not win, it will not succeed,
For one day all that is broken will for sure be redeemed.

Epiphany

I was driving down to Charlotte last night to meet some people for pizza and improv and while I was listening to Pete Peterson's talk on legends, the semi next to me started quickly moving into my lane. It was one of those moments that seems to move in slow motion, icy fear poured through my core, and I wondered if this was how my life would end and if I had lived my life in the way I want to be remembered.

Would the final page in my story include, "And she died on a cool night in December on highway 85 in a seemingly mindless accident."

(When you love stories and like to write-I guess that is how your brain works, at least that's how mine does.)

Thankfully when I quickly glanced over, the lane next to me was wide open so I was able to quickly scoot over without any catastrophe occurring.

But it made me think and remember how incredibly frail I am. Every moment of every day could be my last. I live and walk on a massive rock that spins through space close enough to a burning ball of gas to keep me warm but far enough away so I don't get burned to a crisp. I see a meteor and call it a falling star, make a wish; not remembering that if it was a little bigger I could die.

Or I could be killed driving to work by a college student who's drank one to many shots of whiskey or thoughtless truck driver who is mishandling a hunk of metal and my life could ooze out on the cold asphalt underneath the blinking lights. The soundtrack of my end could be that of sirens.

I am a small, dependent, feed me three times a day, give me oxygen, and keep my electrolytes balanced: human.

Most days I forget this, when you're alive and all the parts and pieces of your body are functioning - it's hard to remember how much has to go right to keep us alive.

There is a moment in the latest Ashtown book (Empire of Bones) when Cyrus is woken up by his mentor Rupert, to go on a journey back into the heart of the danger they had just flown from and Rupert is telling him that if things go well they will meet up with the rest of his family by lunch.

Then there is a question: "And if things don't go well?" Cyrus asked. "Then you'll never see them again," Rupert said, "And that mate is the truth every time you set foot outside your door, every time you sleep, every time you blink."

After I read that for the first time a few months ago, I just closed the book for a moment and stared out the window.

Every time I turn around, every time I blink: it could be the last time I ever see or speak to the people that I love the most.

Every word that I toss, every glance that I throw: could be the last that land on the people that I love.

What do you want to be known and remembered for? Start doing whatever it is, because you never know when you're going to end.

That's sobering.

Welcome to a 40 minute car ride with Ming and her head.

(And people say you can't learn anything from fiction or children's books. PSHHHHHHHHHHH. Silly people.)

Fear

Unfortunately in the past there have been times when the fear of not being "good enough" at something has kept me from doing anything. The idea implanted in my head was that I must be perfect at what I do, lest the world and God himself turn away in disgust, indignantly questioning why I attempt to do such preposterous things.

The implanted thought took root and fed on all of my fears. Roots sunk deep into the crevices of my heart and soul, paralyzingly me. Fears of disappointing people. Fears of failure. Fears that everyone will actually begin to believe I am certifiably crazy.

Pride is so much easier to feed than humility.

I forget about grace. I forget about weaknesses being strengths and strengths being weaknesses. I forget about Moses telling God that He had chosen the wrong man. I forget about the fact it is not and has never been about me.

I don't need so much to be taught as I need to be reminded.

Reminded that most of the God uses my imperfections and failings, that He uses all of me even the brokenness...dare I say especially the brokenness.

I may say the wrong thing, I may do the wrong thing, I may stumble over words, my grammar and typos may be scattered liberally through-out everything I write. It may be horrible writing-but it can still be used. Two small copper coins were not too insignificant to go unnoticed, so maybe you and I aren't either.

Maybe redemption is really too good not to be true.

Thank you all for reminding me.