Stop. Breathe. Remember God's Simplicity...

I look over the pier, and feel the water undulate, synchronizing with the salty winds and swaying like a pendulum beneath my feet. There's a fisherman not too far off. I see him toss his net over the sea, and pull another one in. I can feel the water move through the wooden planks. The sea tumbles onto the sand. High tide, low tide. on the shore, thrown out to sea. When you work with nature's rhythm, instead of going against it, it all seems to go smoothly. The wind, the water, the fisherman one after another, in tune with time, never out of sync (you might think you've found just a moment of imperfection,but it wouldn't be) It's a symphony. Mental Note: You tell me...

We went on a walk. Just Jake and me. Brother and sister. Both with iPods on, phones in pocket, with shorts and a tank top. We talked about life, (and not the life you tell people when they ask how you're doing. Real life. How we're really doing.) We talked about girls. boys. movies. music. We went on a walk that turned into an adventure. We climbed over tree roots, laced in the brim of the Earth. Ran to the top of hills that lead to a handful of nothingness. Jumped over ditches (or fell into mud found in ditches). We didn't know where we were going. Shoes came off and I allowed my feet to reach out and meet with God's soil. We went on a walk that turned into forty minutes of nothing and everything wonderful at once. Not even the best of cameras could capture these moments, even in the best of pictures. (Pictures saying a thousand words would not be enough to describe our afternoon). We smelled dinner cooking from every kitchen on Meandering Tr...

I don't want to grow old. The world turns on you and betrays everything you worked for. As a child, it works with you. As a teen, it's always against you. As an adult, it's a group effort. When you're old, it turns its back on you. I went to Atria because I was forced to. I stayed at Atria because I wanted to. So many people believing that there was nothing left to live for. Preparing their wills and getting religion because they're ready to die. It was heart-breaking. The kind of thing that makes you want to cry out of hoplessness. Which is something they feel each day, but it was a new feeling for me. I still believe the world is a good place. I wonder if the world turns against them, to remind them we're not of this world. Or  because it was never on our side to begin with. My hand instantly goes to Bess's knee as she lays cold, half-naked on her bed. One foot in this world, one foot at God's gate. I see her ribs, her sullen...

It's interesting to me, the things that change in ones life and what always remains constant. No matter what school I went to, it was all the same. "Ms. Mary Mac,Mac,Mac all dressed in black,black,black." and I would jump. Traditional or Double Dutch they both brought me the kind of joy that makes you involuntarily laugh out loud. "Cinderella dress in yella, went upstairs to kiss a fella." The plastered smile would never let go. My brown sandals would start hopping. 1 2  3 JUMP, 1 2 3 JUMP. I'd spin the circles and touch the ground. I was good at it. It made me HAPPY. Sometimes they'd go faster to try and make me fall. 1 2 JUMP, 1 2 JUMP. but for the most part the games never changed. Any playground you go to, they're all the same. I get taken back when I hear them sing: "School, school, don't be late. Sign your name on the golden gate." Mental Note: Appreciate the little things that make you smile.

I've decided I love you ,but will never be like you. I couldn't. Don't have that in me (and wouldn't want to either). I see the children look up to you. They trust you so much. Believe you could move mountains, and fly if you wanted to. I see the children when you let them down. Like their hopes they saw in you were destroyed. Like you could have saved them, and you chose not to. I get furious all over again. I remember that hurt. Hurt as a child is worse than hurt when you're grown, because it's so new. I remember seeing kids during recess. Laughing with their friends and living in a world that I already knew didn't exist. They probably thought they could fly. Probably believed they could move mountains. They believed anything they were told. I decided I will never be like you. When I say I'll be there, there I will be. When I promise to do something, it's already done. I couldn't stand to look at my child's...

Dreams remind me of a shy child, never speaking his mind. When you talk in your sleep late at night, Dreams try to speak. They inform you of your forgotten world, nestled in the cracks of creativity inside your brain. Improbable improbabilities and whatever what-not’s your inferior part of your brain conjures stimulates within your crevices of your imagination. It implores to be spread onto a mockingly white sheet of paper, Or shared through artwork and other forms of appreciations. It desperately wants you to remember what it was like to be a child. And live in an unreality. When you wake, you say, “What a strange dream I had? What did I dream?” That’s your dreams shying away. It tip toes past your eyes and quietly resides in the back of your mind, And backs up into your invented world, slowly closing the door behind him. Mental Note: Don't let yourself grow up on the inside.

I have this thing with people. Where friends or family from one group cannot mingle with another. I call them "bubbles". They can't cross. These bubbles cannot cross. I get anxiety GALORE! I have this thing where having them cross results in ultimate destruction. Some call this a "problem", some say "psychotic". Define either words for me. You'd see. It's all a matter of opinion. What does society think? Because along with being given the power to assign cacaphonous connotations to words, society has got their own thing where what they say apparently goes. Therefore my little "thing" is a "problem." Screw that, and them. Thank you very,very much. Just an F.Y.I. Society, you're going in your own bubble. Don't feel special. Mental Note: God loves my quirks. He made me this way.

I, for one, think your voice is seraphic. My friend says your voice sounds like a thousand angels pissing on an orphanage. Try telling that to an orphan. "Her voice sounds like God's helpers peeing on your only home." Some people you just can't use the term "friends" loosely with. I tell ya. Mental Note: Laugh often.

You could have stopped it. I would have nothing bad to say. I wouldn't blame you. I sinned, not you. you're perfect. While the world was weighing you down with callous glances, and cold-heartedly shouted,"crucify him! CRUCIFY HIM!" You lay nailed, remained calm,saddened by what the world has become God's creations against one another we're tearing eachother apart like the plague. yet you hold no grudges We know how to live. We know how to love one another, what to say, not to say, not to kill, or lie, or cheat, or steal. Yet we live wrong. You could have called the angels. They could have filled the sky and blocked out the sun and mirrored the darkness we have allowed into our hearts. You could have shown you were the son of God. They would have changed their ways. For the time being. You could have called the angels and aborted your philantropic desire to be the ultimate sacrifice. but you didn't. I look around Jesus, a...

I’d rather spend my days Listening to the wind’s sermons Beneath the trees alongside the pews of flowers And sing of praise with the sparrows Mental Note: God is everywhere.

I don't know what made me make this blog account. All I know is, sometimes I need to write what I'm thinking. It's my way to step back and review my life. I forget in all my chaos that God has a plan for me, and that by staying focused on him, I could live a much simpler lifestyle. I just need to stop, breath, and remember God's simplicity. After I write my thoughts down, I'm reminded of God's love.