Beautiful

South Carolina summers are unbearably hot...humid... and down right miserable. A soft breeze is rare to say the very least. But, nevertheless, when the time to write comes, it can't simply wait- it must be carried out for fear of never being remembered again. And it's here amidst spiky grass and dead pine needles under the drilling rays of the summer sun that I think of the most beautiful thing a girl of any age can think of. Her mother.
However, it took me seventeen years to finally appreciate and recognize just how beautiful my own mother is. Actually, it was just last week while sitting in a crowded dorm lobby of a college nearby when I did.  The room was musty from the amount of tears being shed from everyones eyes, including my own. Each girl had drawn their knees into their chest as if trying to create a safer place for their tears to fall rather than the floor. We sat, our dripping eyes cast upwards towards our fellow camper, our dear friend. Besides the sniffling of runny noses, only her voice could be heard as she spoke with words pouring straight from her heavy heart. Everyone was listening intensely to a story of a mother who never cared, a mother who never loved but rather a mother who neglected, ignored, and degraded. The speaker went on to say that she never knew how to make her mother proud, how to make her mother care about her, or how to make her mother love her. The room was completely silent when the story was through. Feeling as if my heart and stomach had been ripped our of my body, I realized then and there that I was incredibly blessed. I realized in that gut wrenching moment how utterly beautiful my mother is and always will be.
Don't get me wrong, my mother is a very physically beautiful woman, but the beauty I'm referring to is a beauty that can only shine from the life and heart of someone. It is because of my friend's heart breaking life story that not another day will go by when I'm not on my knees thanking God for blessing me with my mother. Because without my mother? I wouldn't even want to know where I would be, or better yet who I would be. It is because of my mother's endurance in believing in me through the years that I have come to believe in myself. It is because of all the things my mother does for me that I feel special and wanted. And it is because of the love my mom so graciously exudes everyday that I am left with a tangible example everyday of how God loves me, unconditionally.
I could go on, but Mom, if you're reading this I hope you see how much you mean to me. I hope you feel the sincerity of my words. But most importantly, I hope you feel beautiful because that's exactly what you are. And if you ever doubt that? Read this, I would be happy to remind you. I love you, Beautiful.

Insomnia

Insomnia is a gift sometimes. Take for instance last night as a good example where a night doomed to tossing and turning became a one of mental wandering. As I laid there on my back, squishing my eyes together, willing myself to "please fall asleep, please fall asleep" I realized I was fighting a win-less battle. Great... just what I needed.
So, accepting my defeat, I got up, flipped the radio on and began thumbing through an old magazine.
Thinking back on the next couple of moments I can't help but chuckle at the similarity it has to my earlier piece of prose, "Valentine's Day", but I can't hide the truth.
I guess you could say my increasing boredom from the magazine was easily swayed when David Guetta's top-chart song came seeping through the speakers. To say the very least- it captured my attention. It goes a little something like this "I can't win, I can't reign I will never win this game without you, without you, I am lost, I am vain I will never be the same without you, without you I can't rest, I can't fight, All I need is you and I without you, without you...I won't soar, I won't climb, If you're not here I'm paralyzed without you, without you, I can't look, I'm so blind I lost my heart, I lost my mind without you..."
I know you must be wondering why I could possibly want to dedicate an entire blog post to this over-played, cheesy, secular love song, but take a moment and reread the excerpt from the song. Then, take another moment and think about your attitude towards your daily walk with God. Should our love for Him not sound like this desperate need for Him everyday? Should we not be singing this love song to Him with the say we live? Because, it's right, are we not nothing without Him? I know I am.
In these late night moments, I was struck. Even after the song was over, I pulled up the lyrics on the Internet. Reading and rereading. God showed me something new each and every time I read it. He showed me that this love song is really all about Him. (maybe not the intention of the artist, but  for His purpose for me, it works) The line "If you're not here I'm paralyzed..."gave me chills. Thinking immediately about my very own life... how I think these things I do are getting me "somewhere in life". But, through the words of this song, God showed me that doing it for myself and by myself all accounts to nothing, literally running around like a chicken with its head cut off Sure, I may be physically going places, but accomplishing nothing. That's paralyzation. Unless I take-on life depending on God, I will forever be paralyzed in life, but with Him I can put my life into motion.
Thank goodness for insomnia, it was a gift last night- ending  a seemingly dreary  night in a quiet lullaby of prayerful whispers...."I will never make it by without you, Jesus...I'll lose my heart, I'll lose my mind, without you,Jesus...zzzzzzzzzzzz..."

Stairs

I'm barefooted- 
Feet sinking into the earth
No one but wilderness guards me
Feeling masked by
Gloom and fog
No urge to carry on
No will to take one step
An effort far too great-
A task much too daunting 
Awaits me now
Barely able to see one
Of one thousand 
Tiny steps guiding
Me to the ringing 
Far above- I wished 
For a moment
I could fly-
If even to fly away
A tiny surge of 
Musty air blew
Against my back 
Rocking me forward- 
already unsteady
Stumbling towards the stairs 
I landed at the bottom-
Downcast my eyes were 
The entirety of my way
Barely glimpsing the tops of trees
As they became specks and 
The clouds as they
Blanketed me awhile
Nor did my eyes 
Catch sight of the 
Shimmering gold doors 
To a home that stretched
Far beyond anything
Seen through my 
Grayed eyes-
Heart thundering 
Limbs twitching in
Exhaustion 
Finally reaching the top-
Collapsing at the foot 
Of the golden doors
Dozing immediately
An image less dream
Met me- only
Solid black played 
Behind my drooping eyelids until
I heard laughter
And singing-
It made me sick
How could this place be so joyful? This
New home housing
The woman I love- taking her from me!
Rage tingled in every portion of my being-
Jolting me into a 
Standing position- I
Stopped immediately
Awestruck
There in the arms 
Of a large, kind-looking 
Man, she sat
Droplets stung in my eyes
She smiled, she was joyful
I could not bring 
Myself to move
As he began to sew, carefully-
What a perplexed look I must have had
As he continued to 
Sew very large, luxurious 
Feathers into her-
Without pain
Her smile broadened
With each stroke 
Finishing up she gasped
And she kissed him
Before fluttering 
Away- 
I began to call 
After her - fearing
The loss once more
But the man- 
His whisper hushed 
The entire room as
He called me
By name -his 
Voice full of compassion
Explaining this place
Is not where I belong-
Though my arrival is much anticipated
Coming one day-
But that I must go now-
I could not,
Would not leave
I told him so
For I wished to see
Her again-
To bring her with 
Me- to never let
Her go again
He rose and lead me
Calmly to the 
Golden doors saying-
You have seen
Her angel wings
But you must leave to feel them
He was gone instantly
Sighing
I surveyed the thousands of stairs
Once more
Dreading my descent 
A chilling wind whipped
Around me pebbling my skin, gone-
By a warm feeling wrapping
Around me
As I started towards the bottom the feeling stayed-
Swearing I saw luxurious white-
Do you believe in an angel's wings?

Art Class

A beast
Stomps inside
Rummaging
All the day long-
Tingling
In my toes
Growling
In my stomach
Catching
In my throat
Slipping amongst
The muscles in
My forearm
Bending at my elbow
Journeying
Greedily
To a formed hand
Whispering
Its secrets - like
Gears in a
Music box
Turning graphite
Swirling it
Until its
Finished -
To be left
Unformed,
Untouched
To be seen
For what it is
A beast
Free and beautiful

A Thrown Umbrella

I imagine a girl
Standing in an old
Hot pink romper
Tied simply on
The back of her neck
Plain faced and glassy eyed
Watching intently an
All-American house
The fabric along her stomach
Stretches with each breathe
Becoming more frequent
Up-down-up-down
Shadowed by an over hanging
Faded black umbrella gripped
By olive tinted hands
The sun beats down over head
Crisping all that lives-unable
To pierce the fabric of the
Umbrella-
What is in one tick of the
Clock?
She did whisper the thought
Despite herself and the fierce
Rays of the sun
The umbrella is thrown into the dirt
Cautiously, a foot is lifted
A steady walk up the
Doorstep of the brown bricked house
Resting both uneasy hands upon the
Handle
Turning, opening, entering
Welcomed by a rush...
The tenderness of flesh
The softness of a kiss
Surrounding the girl
Like a whirlpool, whipping
Her in circles
The wind sounding loudly in
Her ears ringing them with
Broken pieces and promises
Hallow feelings
Zipping her down the front, exposing-
The insides if her
Every inch
Every thought
every little detail that made formed her soul
Ripped out of her flimsy skin
Disappearing
As a minute hand Moves from three to four
Gone-
Sobbing she searches- only to find nothing
Of herself
Lively brown eyes dull under their lashes...
What is in one tick of the clock?
She whispered
Emptiness

Valentine's Day

I'm not sure how to begin this piece of prose. All I can tell you is this floor I'm curled up on is the least bit comfortable. My feet are sliding constantly on one another-restless. Restless and uncomfortable...AKA the description of my every waking moment for the past three weeks.
Perhaps I should fill you in.
Just in time for Valentine's Day season to hit it's peak, my sweetheart decided to unexpectedly 'hit the road'. Saving you from the messy details of a high school break-up, just know how truly devastating that can be especially when it's not at all what you wanted. So, here I am taking the hardest semester of my high school career, struggling through a heart wrenching break-up, sitting on the floor in my bedroom wrapped in his sweat shirt. And through all these tears, all I want to do is sit there alone and think..and think.
I'm sitting here thinking about how angry I am at him for leaving me, how much I hate that empty promise he gave me that everything would work out. I think about how stressful school is, how terrible I'm doing in my chemistry class. But, most of all? I think about how sickening it is that I can't go anywhere that isn't a constant reminder that Valentine's Day is coming and I now have no one to be my valentine. It's like going through every day with flashing neon signs that say...
"No guy likes you!"
"No guy thinks you're pretty!"
"No guy thinks you're some one special!"
"No guy cares about..you!"
And, boy did I devour those messages. I read them, I listened to them. I let them seep into my mind and heart until I believed them all one by one. Just like many many girls do-I let those sign push me in to the Worthless Washing Machine where I let those statements rinse on me over and over again.
Quite frankly, I'm tired of being drenched in these signs. But, just how can I stop listening? How can I fix the damage that is done?
Like magic, my ears tuned into the radio. After listening for a few moments, my answer hit me with the force of a speeding train. BAM! I heard the line "Take this world, give me Jesus...". Before I had time to redirect my thoughts, the phrase sounded again. "Take this world, give me Jesus..." My thoughts fireworked into a magnificent revolution.
No matter what places, people, opportunities this world has to offer, it does not house my Valentine. You see, my valentine is so big His sheer size is beyond anything my  tiny little brain can ever fathom. My Valentine made this world for me and His name is Jesus.
It was like I could feel His tender hands wrap around my face as he whispered, "Why are you crying? Don't you know how much I love you? Do you not see how beautiful you are because I made you in My own image? You are My special child. I am always with you."
Talk about one amazing Valentine's message.
But what does this mean for you? To all of you who are searching and are listening to those flashing neon signs, I know it's hard not to listen but listen instead to the words of that song. "Take this world, give me Jesus!!!" Then, just like He did for me, Jesus will remind you that He is your Valentine from now until eternity. The realization is calming, I'm not restless resting in the peace and joy of his never ending promise to love me... always.
Happy Valentine's Day!

Photos in Flames

I could hardly breathe when I heard the news. For countless moments I stood there, alone, watching as the movements around me halted. My dear friend’s words echoed in my ears making them ring with disbelief. The trip of my heart beat reminded me to breathe, but when I sucked in for air, nothing filled my lungs. The knocking of my knees became uncontrollable and soon they were unable to hold me upright anymore. I tumbled into a sitting position. My boney fingers gripped the leather sofa beneath me as if this rage, this embarrassment I felt gave me the power to tear it into shreds. I could see nothing that was real; I could feel nothing that was real. All I felt was their wickedness. Everything I heard was their voices mocking me, ripping years of memories and laughs and bonding right out of my soul making me feel worthless.

            The fibers in my brain began to tunnel my thoughts toward those memories and laughs and bondings. To a place where awkwardness swallows the life of a thirteen year old girl and spits her into a seventh grade science class where, conveniently none of her other friends had been spat. This was where I met them, instantly we became best friends…forever. We told each other everything from our “relationship” drama with boys to our difficulties find our ‘place’ in the social hierarchy. We passed notes in class, we gawked at Zac Efron in magazines, we danced, we made inside jokes, we shared our deepest darkest secrets and vowed that we were all misplaced at birth because there was no way God hadn’t meant for us not to be sisters. We stuck together because that’s what family does, right?

            An urgent but gentle hand locked onto my shoulder, shaking it until it brought me back to reality. I blinked through the haze gathering in my eyes and drew in a rattled breath.

            “Caroline? Caroline, don’t worry about them…” my dear friend was trying to comfort me. I knew she was. Her intentions were to show me love. But, I felt nothing. The image of the words she spoke stung so deep inside of me that I was numbed.  A sense of lonely panic swept over me and once again I replayed over and over what my dear friend had revealed to me.  How could something this awful be true?

            I recalled vividly each time a camera was lifted to snap pictures of me and the girls who had been my shoulder to cry on. There were so many wonderful times captured on film. We’d stare at the pictures for hours giggling and engraving those moments in our minds. No wonder I could see it so clearly now… I felt a stabbing sensation in my stomach making me gag. My whole body began to shake uncontrollably. I struggled to curl myself into a fist as tears flooded from my eyes. The tears poured out as rivers on my cheeks, dumping onto my shirt, thank goodness it was black so no one would see the stains. My thoughts became an old tape recorder whispering my dear friend's words over and over again until I had them memorized.

            “Well, her birthday party was yesterday…it was cold so she had a bonfire. Caroline, I really don’t want to tell you…”

“Just go on please…I’m begging…”

            “Okay, well, when it came time to start the fire they just got some wood and started it and I thought everything was going to be fine. But then your name came up…and they started making fun of you and…Caroline, it wasn’t me! I can’t tell you the rest.”

            “Keep going.”

            “ Fine…after they started talking about you it just kept getting worse and worse and they were all sharing how much they hated you. And-and- and then they went upstairs. I thought it was all over but after a while they came back…and- oh my gosh this is terrible, Caroline. They-they had every note you’d ever written to them and every picture they owned of you…and as a celebration they put them in the fire.”

            I shuddered, I wept. I focused on breathing. I tried not to let the image of my face being consumed by devilish flames control my mind. It was too late for that. It had made a monster of my mind.

*                                  *                                  *                                  *                                  *

            I guess you could say I laid there on the couch for months hiding from the rest of the world because the wounds I had endured from it were too severe to overcome. And for a while, they were. Here and now, however,  I look back on that moment and wish I could see what good has come from those lonely months on the couch aching in pain. I wish I could go back, take my face into my own hands and say, “You stop that crying and you stop it right now, missy! Look at you, child, you’ve got family, friends and a God that loves you more than anything else in the world. What more could you need? If you think these people were ever your friend, you don’t know a thing about friendship. You don’t know one single thing. Because if you did? You would run as fast as your little legs will let ya until you ran into the people who love you back.”

            The image of my face burning in a fire is a painful one I can never forget. And it’s true that I may never be able to forget those girls and what those girls did. But I can never thank them enough for breaking me down low enough to realize that no matter what, I can never let myself forget I have an army of supporters behind me. I may not feel anything, see anything, or hear anything.  But they see me, they hear me, and they will never go away.