I know I'm trying to post more work up on this blog but I'm going to take a brief break from that and put down some more thoughts.

There's something about thinking like a writer that makes me feel as though I'm trying to think like God. I'm not claiming to be God, but making a statement about how I try to figure God out. See writing requires a lot of observing, and reading, and interesting, every-day education (basically, learning odd little things by living amongst people), and every once in a while some withdrawal to let everything really sink in. I'm no Sherlock Holmes but I like to try and figure things out about people through little details, and from those details make small judgments on folks I barely know. Then begins the weaving.
After making some observations about an individual, I, for whatever reason, try to figure out what sort of story they're life is framing (because everyone has a story, haven't they?) and what sort of observations they make from their perspective. What I know they know (whether about me or about something) I make into a lens for myself to see through: the world is a different color through someone else' eyes. I also like to think I can make out peoples' personalities pretty well too and that affects the depth or the distance of the lens. Now I'm comparing figuring people out to trying on different kinds of glasses, but there is a problem. Though I might know when things are looking distorted or blurred when I try on another person's lenses, I do not have perfect vision myself. (Continuing the analogy) when I take off my own -3.5 prescription glasses everything gets fuzzy. My own natural insights and views of life are, at best, unfocused and blurry. Just as no human being has eyesight like a peregrine falcon does, no man, woman or child has the world just right. We all have an idea of what it should be like (with color, maybe general size, and texture) but none of us has it pinned.
That's where God comes in.
He's the ultimate mastermind of significance and purpose. If writers like Stephen King, Jane Austen or C.S Lewis are considered brilliant and genius, and they are working with fictional characters on paper then it follows that the Creator of all things, working with living beings, is also creating a gorgeous, rich story with dimensions and twists that not even the most experienced of literary artists could foresee. What's more, we already know that the story does not end in disappointment; and even though we know the way things "end", the business of seeing it all unfold is the great privilege and delight that human beings have.

There were a lot of thoughts that were thrown up in my mind and I thought this post would be a lot longer. Oh well, keep it simple.

This is a more recent one that I wrote. It's been a few weeks since I wrote it. Sadly, I seem to only write poetry when I'm taking creative writing classes. Hopefully that'll change. Anyway, this is a prose poem. It's basically written out like normal writing, but it has a sort of rhythm and play on word sounds that kind of distinguish it from really just being purely prose. If you don't have the rhythm, that's okay. I just hope you enjoy the word play and that the poem inspires some sort of feeling or thought.

Mad Happy

If, for every word that I spoke I stole a tear from you, I wonder: would I really stop speaking? Once I
might have said what the hell are you asking that for? I might have said such and such to tear you down
for the pleasure not unlike being on the giving side of a trigger.

The ticking sound of the clock’s second hand, impatient and keeping time; I heard on the news the other
day about a U.S. soldier firing on his own men; 13 dead, 40 wounded. Everyone wonders and regrets as
one might regret ignoring a burning cigarette, left to its own devices on the dry, wooden bookshelf.

A crazy man, they say. Unconfirmed reports. I look up at my dad eating his red soup, and wonder sadly
to my new self, ‘Ah, the insane pleasure of being on the giving side.’

Okay so I wrote this poem last year in a creative writing class. It's a pantoum, you can google that if you're really interested in what type of poetry form that is. I think it's kind of a quirky poem, I hope ya'll like it.

What Am I?

Oh my God! Is it a matter of preference?
I don’t know what a woman is,
When I was young I thought it was all about parts,
But now those are fudged with reassignment surgeries.

I don’t know what a woman is!
Where’s the line anymore? The standard?
But now those are fudged with reassignment surgeries and—
It sucks to grow up in this age.

Where’s the line anymore? The standard?
Be all that you can be; “I yam what I yam and tha’s all I yam!”
(It sucks to grow old in this age)
A man cries, “I Am The Walrus!”

Be all that you can be; “I yam what I yam and tha’s all I yam!”
When I was young I thought it was all about parts,
A man cries, “I Am The Walrus!”
Oh my God, is it only a matter of preference?

I wish life was a lot more like baking gingerbread cookies with friends.

Tonight was a very good night :]

Sometimes I feel like a kid. And not in the nice way.

More in the sense of not having the next few crucial years of my life figured out. I'm a senior in college now, and it feels like life is putting on an extra burst of speed these days. I realize that I'm not just trying to figure out what I'm going to do for my own benefit, but even for the benefit of the people in my life.

There are a lot of times where I realize that I'm being completely narcissistic. I pity myself because I think to myself, "The world has something against you. Why do people not want to have deep relationships with you? Why aren't teachers teaching things that are more relevant to you? If they did then you'd probably do a lot better. Why do your parents always misunderstand you? Why is it so hard for you to relate to other people sometimes?" Always, always, again and again I victimize myself. (I know these are really ugly thoughts, but I do have them. I'm sure we all do. I just admit to having them because I can't think of a very good reason not to.) But then, after the billionth or so time that I start to get sick of myself and my self-centered way of thinking, I'm finally out of strength and unable to try and justify my ways anymore. All I can do then is to confess that it was no one else's fault that I didn't pursue to deepen my friendships, or discipline myself to make the grades I wanted to, and it was certainly no other person's fault that I shut myself away and sought to spite the world by my deviance.
Up until this time, I've faced those pitiful, repulsive, disgustingly self-involved natures that I have within me, sighed a little and then tried to distance myself from those parts of me for as much and as long as possible. It doesn't work; or it does for a while, and then like a brand new rubber band, I snap back and start feeling sorry for myself again.

I want this way of thinking to stop, I want to kill it in a sense. I just want to move on. This childish side of me that fears facing up to responsibilities has been a part of me my whole life and I find that as each year passes, I have less and less room for it. I don't need to move it to the side or put it behind something, I need to throw it out like the trash I took out today. I've outgrown it; when I feel my childish side on the rise it almost feels like I'm trying to put on a shirt that I can't fit into anymore. It feels unnatural to have to depend on my parents the way that I do still. It feels strange to hear my friends talk about what they're going to do in a step-by-step process after they get out of college, and I shift uncomfortably because I haven't given it much thought.

It's time to grow up, and I want to. So much. But it's as out of reach and annoying as that one spot on your back that itches but you can't quite reach it, and always end up scratching around it. I'm not even sure I'm close!

I'm just frustrated right now. I want to work, but I'm worried. Can I do anything for myself?
Being taken care of for the rest of my life and being dependent on another person for my basic needs is actually something I fear. I do not want to live my life without having faced and conquered some hardships, to test the limits of my abilities. I absolutely cannot see myself lounging by a pool and having a pina colada brought to me by some manservant, I can't!
I need to know that I'm not a sponge existence. I need to live and learn.

I need to figure out my life!!

I bit into an apple once and found a worm.

Disturbing? Yes.

But am I still eating apples? Yes.

That's how I try to approach life :T.

How important is human interaction?

I don't know. It may vary person to person, but, as for me, human interaction weighs somewhere on the heavier side of the scale.

I was feeling really crummy today. From the moment I opened my eyes at 9am to the sound of my dad asking me to drive him to the car repair shop and glanced outside at the cloudy day, I knew it was one of those difficult days. As expected, when we returned from the car shop I could do nothing but restlessly move about and out of every room in the house. Today's breeze was cold and I was becoming more and more irritable by the second; on my mind was all the homework I had to do and the preparations for church tomorrow and pretty soon, for no apparent reason, my brain decided to reply situations where I felt intensely mortified. I rolled around on the floor, I jumped around like a crazy person, I screamed into my pillow and I had lunch with my dad. Nothing was doing, I couldn't calm down the restlessness that made me behave so strangely.

Ready to give up, I retired to my room and pulled the covers up over my head when I laid down on my bed. I looked up at the window I'd glanced up out of this morning and saw the sun shining. "Why not?" I thought. I jumped up, grabbed a hoodie, my earphones and iPod mini, and told my dad that I was going on a walk and to not lock the door.

Not wanting to have to walk near the roadside, I cut the backyards of my neighborhood towards the lake that was about a mile from my house. The lyrics to the Plumb song, Phobic, and colorful, windy trees were already working on my mood and loosening the chords of frustration that were squeezing my brain. I wasn't really sure what I'd do if I saw someone I knew, but it was only a passing concern that floated up to the surface of my conscience then popped without a sound.
I was okay with whatever was going to happen by the time I reached the lake.

My iPod didn't last very long. It sputtered out a few more songs before shutting off; I kept walking. I climbed up a steep part of the blacktop path and saw a woman walking three dogs.

Long story short (because I've really got to get the homework now :X), the woman's name was Neva and we had a pleasant conversation. My frustration was completely pulled and now I feel that I can approach writing with a better sense of clarity.

What's the best cure for a writer's block?
Human interaction.

I've been breaking out in acne a whole lot these days and I can't tell if it's from stress or from the natural life-giving cycle that all women go through from puberty to menopause. Or maybe it's from all the chocolate and peanut butter I've been eating recently :X

Anyway, I frown a lot when I look in the mirror; not at the general face, but at each individual, angry, red zit >:(. Usually I don't mind having a few because to me, some faults add character to a personality; similarly, some scars or...pimples can add character to a face. Disagree if you will, but I'm sticking to my guns on this.

That doesn't go to say, however, that I take very strongly to the phrase "the more the merrier". Especially when it comes to acne and people that I hold close, the motto that I more accurately live by goes something like "the fewer the better".

So I spend a good minute or two just staring down my zits very meanly, willing them to disappear; I imagine invisible little lasers zapping them down and out of existence. After a while I just blow a sigh and relent to finish brushing my teeth. Usually I can laugh off the feeling of insecurity that creeps into the back of my mind (which is fueled into a frenzy by my mother's ever-so-helpful comments she'll say to me in passing, like " You'll never get married if you don't lose some weight"). Today, as I stood before my bathroom mirror and scrutinized my face after the face wash, toner and lotion had been applied, I thought about how glad I was to still be able to smile, shrug and continue on with life.

There's this girl I know; she's very young but had this skin condition of lots of outbreak and swelling which were the resulting side effects of a medication she'd taken. She became severely depressed and as her self-esteem descended lower and lower, she began to contemplate killing herself.

What's the difference between a girl who can smile at her scars and imperfections, and a girl who begins to lose hope because of those same things?

What is Christian Hypocrisy?


I was stung when I talked with a dear friend of mine and for the reason that I felt misunderstood.

I'll admit that I feel uncomfortable when it comes to having relationships with the opposite gender, which is funny since when I was a child my only friends were the boys in the neighborhood. High school was a neglected time; I didn't try to make friends in high school, let alone boy friends, so it came to be that by senior year I graduated with only maybe 1 real friend. When I got to college it was an ugly surprise to find that, even though I was excited to see and meet so many new people, at the same time, I was repulsed. 4 years of my life was spent avoiding getting too close to people (I was kept indoors and, being the obedient child that I was, indoors was where I stayed), so how could I expect to jump into the masses and adapt myself among them immediately? What a shock it was to find my earlier expectations of college to be break as I spent my days alone still, just sleeping and eating more.
It's too tiring to try and explain where I was in life during that year because it involves church and I don't want to reflect on the years of division and instability at the moment. It was just nice to find myself swept into a Christian community that was on George Mason campus; a girl brought me under her wing and through her Christ sprinkled some drops of refreshment on my parched hands and feet. She simply cared for me; she wanted to know me; she saw worth in me and helped me to see it too. However, it was difficult. My wardrobe at the time consisted of two pairs of sweatpants, 3 hoodies, and some baggy, loose-fitting t-shirts, and when I had coffee with the girl, I was met with someone who wore skirts, blouses and makeup. When we met it was like looking at a mirror that showed the opposite you.

It's not that I didn't like wearing things that were feminine; rather, I just had no reason to change my appearance. There was a certain awareness that I (in some aspects) even now still lack (though improvements have been made). I'd never had a reason to drab up; little/no people in my life = laziness. So when she asked me one day why I dressed the way I did, I was taken off-guard and wasn't sure whether I should be offended or not. Our friendship continues now and it's unique in that I've never experienced a greater freedom to be myself in a friendship, but it wasn't always the case.

Eunice is always going to be the first woman that I opened up to and who also gave back with her heart, and for that I thank God every day. But up to that point I was insecure and unsure of how to be around girls that were in my life. There were plenty of times when I felt the pang of utter aloneness when I saw such beautiful friendships between girls, and man did I long so much to have someone like that in my life. There was always a constant fear though (and thick traces of it still lace my heart) that somehow, I would screw up, say something wrong, and that she would take off. This was not because she ever gave that impression, but somehow over the years my confidence and understanding of people was shaved away until I had no idea what was normal. All I knew was that every few years or so, people that I came to love and trust would break away with a piece of my church and stopped talking to me. Why? Never fully understood.
A part of me acknowledged that Eunice was not from my church and had no reason to just get up and leave one day, but I lived for a year in anticipation for the day that I'd lose contact with her. How odd! You'd almost think that I was looking forward to it, and in some ways it felt like I was waiting to be left alone, but it was more of a defense mechanism to try keep from getting too hurt in case another friendship died.

Now I'm a strong-willed, very analytical woman with a better sense of dress code and with less regard for first impressions. Still, I am cracked at the core. I try to live as honestly as I can, whether it comes to sharing an honest opinion or not glancing at the next person's scantron during an exam. My ambition has been to try to hide nothing, but instead to try and present my heart to others as much as possible no matter how much it hurts later because I really do believe that there should be nothing held in greater reverence than Christ. And yet, somehow things are not turning out the way that I had expected.
There is the predicted misunderstanding that I am facing, but it's not from the people that I thought it'd come from.

All the misunderstanding, miscommunication and things being left unsaid is coming from those that I'd given my heart to! It is not the atheists or agnostics; not the Muslims or Buddhists; not the smokers or chronic bar-hoppers; it's not even the perverse, critical students in my English classes.

Why is it that I feel safer speaking my mind in front of non-Christians?

I'm not speaking on black-and-white terms. Please understand that there are very understanding and unthinkably kind Christians in my life, and I have had more than a sample of judgmental and narrow-minded non-Christians. But there is such a shortage of the former...
I think I am brought to tears more often by Christians than I am by others, and for so many reasons.

When I look at the conditions that people are in...there's such a wide variety of Christians. There are those that just have grown up saying that they are but never really knowing what one is; there are the ones that like to say they are in order to gain something (status, belonging, friends, recognition, approval); there are the ones that found their entire faith on their emotional state (God be with those people...); there are those that cling to doctrine and knowledge; there are those that want to be Jesus (as opposed to being like him); there are those that hide the fact that they are one; there are the ones that like to use the Word to fit their individual understanding of life; the ones that live a double life because of a faulty understanding about God; the ones that want to know God so badly; the ones that try to save themselves; the ones that feel cut off from community; the ones that are satisfied with where they are with God......it's sad that I feel that I can go on and on and on!

But most of all, I am brought to tears by real, Christ-following Christians that withhold from each other. The ones that know the truth and yet refuse to bring things to light. The ones that draw such quick conclusions. The ones that will talk to everyone about a problem except for the person in question.

I don't separate myself from this category because I've been on both sides of this. But my heart mourns so much sometimes because it dawns on me from time to time just how disgustingly lost we human beings really are without the saving, redeeming, restoring love of Christ. WHY ARE WE SO QUIET?
No wonder Paul did so much imploring and exhorting to the churches in his letters! It was necessary. Just as it is necessary now.

Do you seek to live in the light? Or in fear, do you seek to withdraw?
The blessing of encouragement or rebuke that could come from your lips, do you withhold it from your brother or sister in Christ? Do you leave room for misunderstanding?

DON'T!





Let a righteous man strike me--it is a kindness; let him rebuke me--it is oil on my head. My head will not refuse it. - Ps 141:5

Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses. - Pro 27:6

I said, "O Lord, have mercy on me; heal me, for I have sinned against you."
My enemies say of me in malice, "When will he die and his name perish?"
Whenever one comes to see me, he speaks falsely, while his heart gathers slander; then he goes out and spreads it abroad.
All my enemies whisper together against me; they imagine the worst for me, saying, "A vile disease has beset him; he will never get up from the place where he lies."
Even my close friend, whom I trusted, he who shared my bread, has lifted his heel against me.
But you, O Lord, have mercy on me...In my integrity you uphold me and set me in your presence forever. - Ps 41:4-12

Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. BE KIND AND COMPASSIONATE TO ONE ANOTHER, FORGIVING EACH OTHER, JUST AS IN CHRIST GOD FORGAVE YOU. - Eph 4:29-32

Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God. - Jn 3:20-21

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God...Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone. - Col 3:15-16, 4:6

How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity!
Ps 133:1






-------------------------------------------------------------------------------EDIT---------------------------------

I forgot to mention the reason why I even decided to write blog entries.
Every day a new shortcoming is revealed to me. However, instead of my ego being inflamed and reacting by trying to flush out that weakness, I desire to show them off, in essence, lay them out for people to see so that they can understand just how short we all fall and how much more marvelous God is for covering us with grace and making us a part of his plan. I think Paul put it best:

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." There for I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Cor 12:9-10

Open It


The book sits flat and face down on the desk
I can only sit and stare at it contemptuously
Because it told me what I was, what I really
Was, away from the people and locked in my room.

"I can only sit and stare at it contemptuously."
"Stare at what?" She cried, startled and sad but I
Was away from the people and locked in my room.
I heard her outside my door, begging me to come out

Stare at what? She'd cried, startled and sad but I
Didn't bother to explain to someone that should have known.
I heard her outside my door, begging me to come out.
My eyelids felt heavy, I wanted to shut them to the world, so I

Didn't bother to explain to someone that should have known
I was not a little girl anymore.
My eyelids felt heavy, I wanted to shut them to the world,
But she was still crying and knocking at the door.

I was not a little girl anymore
My body has not shrunk away in fear
But she was still crying and knocking at the door.
A little voice whispered to me in the lone of my company.

My body has not shrunk away in fear
It had opened up more and more
A little voice whispered to me in the lone of my company,
'Give me your hand...'

It had opened up more and more
I was crying alone on my bed, small and foolish
'Give me your hand...'
The voice came again.

I was crying alone on my bed, small and foolish
Distraught and alone, I listened to
The voice that came again.
At night, it came. Always at night.

Distraught and alone, I listened to
The sound of the day as it ended.
At night, it came. Always at night,
And I began to despise it.

The sound of the day as it ended
Should have been cheerful but I looked at the book and it was then
That I began to despise it.
"Tell me how can I change?" I hissed through my teeth.

Should have been cheerful but I looked at the book and it was then
That it told me what I was, what I really-
"Tell me how I can change!" I hissed through my teeth.
The book sits flat and face down on the desk.

Regina Spektor - The Call

A good friend of mine from a ministry that we're both involved in walked up to me one night after a weekly meeting as everyone is lingering in the Johnson Center and she tells me, "Wow Brenda, I didn't know you did so much for Epic. I can't even imagine what you do for this ministry." It was meant to be an expression of gratitude but instead my mind zoned in on two things: one, things are happening in the ministry that I didn't predict or expect and two, why was I being accredited for the outcome? I felt my stomach drop out a little and a doubt crept into my mind that moment and it never really left...was I working too hard for ministry and was the heart of all that centered on pride? In other words, was I self-glorifying?
I don't really know and for the past 7 months that thought has had me in a paralyzing vice. I've been feeling physically inhibited from doing anything and yet, somehow in the last semester I managed to keep dedicating more and more time to ministry. I continued organizing bible study topics, continued to meet up weekly with women, continued to lead leadership meetings, continued to try and try to be genuine in my faith expression towards others and while I did have moments in which I genuinely celebrated with friends and family (people coming to Christ, faith growth, weddings, birthdays, reunions), there was an overcast in my heart. There is, even now, a numbness in my hands and arms and legs. I feel weak. I feel faint. A voice is even poisoning my heart and saying over and over again, "how's anything going to be worth it? you're just going to embarrass yourself. you're being selfish, everything you do is for yourself. don't. don't even try, it won't be remembered anyway. you don't have what it takes. just stop. you need rest. take some time and shut everyone else out. you don't need that or them, you just need you."
I have tears in my eyes just from re-reading those words I typed out because it's like I can clearly hear some sort of voice and it hisses those exact words. And my numb hands, arms and legs just drop. My shoulders drop. My back stoops. I curl into a fetal position, not even crying, just trying to remember what I am and what I'm supposed to do. I have buckled under the weight of the words and the tag-lining thoughts of hopelessness and inadequacy.
Then sometimes my phone will ring and I'll remember there's bible study tonight that I'm leading. Taking a glance at the clock, it tells me that I have one hour before it starts but instead of heading out so I can get there early to help set up, I roll over on my bed and try to lose consciousness for a little while, vaguely wondering what would happen if I overslept.

I'm taking in the full impact of the words I read a few weeks ago by Robert Lewis in the book The New Eve: "my current undoing was either exaggerated or self-inflicted because of exhaustion." In other words, he was tired. In other words, I AM tired.
I actually hate writing when I'm having a hard time. Some artists draw inspiration from difficult times and are able to express all that they feel in a beautiful, meaningful way. Difficult times have the opposite affect on me; I start to hate everything I write because it feels like I'm throwing myself a pity party all the time (especially when I try to blog about what's going on in my life) but then I start feeling guilty about hating my writing because it's like...hating someone related to me since it's a part of me and I try not to hate but find myself unable to love so I revert back to the hate and feel bad all over again.
See? I hate writing like this.
But I think I'm understanding now. I'm just really tired and tired without accountability, which is like putting an air-tight cup around a candle flame, slowly choking the light. I think I've successfully walled myself into a position in which people either think that I am getting accountability elsewhere or that it is not their place to keep me accountable.
Why do I think this, I think this because when I go to church I serve and never try to talk to others deeply; when I meet with other women or even just with all people my age, I am always trying to dole out advice. I don't complain, I don't go out and all the while sort of just waiting for someone to sit down and ask me what's going on, why am I not more motivated, when did I start distancing myself from everyone and invite me back again.

I meant to go in a different direction with this. I meant to tell the story in the beginning so as to eventually say that if anyone is really grateful for what Christ or for what someone else said or did in their lives then they should express their thanks but more than that they should live their thanks by actively seeking out their calling in life, not just wait for it. But, I don't think I really care about writing about that anymore.
Instead I want to plead with people that if there is a person in your life that is saying that they're fine all the time, take that person aside for coffee and ask them what's really going on. I guarantee that you'll find some type of feelings of longing, frustration and/or separateness, a numbed sense of reality or a search for purpose.

Please. Do this.