one love

Lately, God has been reminding me that He is my safe place, my latibule.

My peace, my sanity. My gentleness, when I can find none of it in myself.

He's softening my razor sharp tongue, teaching me how to let love flow from my every move, my every word.

He's my source of every good thing, and on the days when I can't open my mouth without cutting and bruising, I am so thankful for that.

I've been experiencing what is it to be down, spread flat out on the ground, and looking up into Jesus' loving eyes, as He unclenches my fists.

Fists that have been attempting to fight their own battles, yeah those fists.

He is so full of gentleness and love, right when I turn my back on Him, that everything in me screams: "I don't deserve this!"

And He whispers right back: "You do, you always have."

dear soft heart

Having a soft heart.

It's the cause of many feelings I'm not sure I want to feel.

It's why I ached all over my body when a little girl came to me and wept into my lap on Mothersday because she doesn't know her real mom.

It's the reason I flinched and felt a little sick when I saw the dead dog by the side of the road.

It's why I can't read the newspaper without falling to pieces inside.

Also, having a soft heart is why I hide it sometimes, I guess.

Because baby, don't you know. Soft hearts cost you so much. They will shatter you before they shatter themselves.  They will make you want to rip out your heart and throw it away, the bloody mess it is. The bloody mess it makes you.

They say having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness. And I agree.

Because it is sucking away at every ounce of courage I have in me, it's teaching me the meaning of bravery in a whole new light.

I'd say that it's both a blessing and a curse. And I'd also say, that having a soft heart is pretty much a necessity if you're going down the Jesus road.

You don't get to choose. A hard heart, however convenient it might sometimes be, is impossible to have if you're following a Saviour who got beaten to a pulp, had a crown of thorns harshly put onto His head, and then died, to save a human race that denies Him every single day. That, after what He's done, still turn their back on Him daily.

And baby, it's so hard, I know.
But Jesus, see, He loves soft hearts. He uses them to take out the rocks in other people's hard hearts.

Soft hearts are excruciatingly painful things to have.

But in the end, only soft can heal the hard.

getting lost

notes to self:

read more
write more
feel more
listen more
talk less
go to the library more often
listen to classical music, let it take you places
dance with your soul
create more
worry less
cook more
have more thinking sessions
breathe, really breathe more
take more pictures, you'll be happy about it one day
love, even if it means getting hurt
draw, but not to impress
open your eyes wider
work hard
learn more
drink more tea
don't be afraid to be utterly silly and ridiculous
crazy isn't bad
it's okay to be different
it's okay to feel lost
in fact, get lost more
it'll give you more opportunities to find yourself
feeling things intensely isn't bad
being able to live in the moment is a gift
don't hold on so tight
being in control isn't what it's all about
allow Him, only Him, to give you peace
you feel messy when your room is messy
confidence is sexy, arrogance is not
don't share yourself with everyone
it gets easier, I promise
swim with your friends, even when the water is icy cold
sometimes letting go and just doing it gives you the best memories
hug your sister
it's okay to be rough in your flaws
allow the simplest things to make you ridiculously happy

you're alive,
act like it

broken pieces

Do you know that feeling, the one where it's late and as you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you realise you are probably falling apart a little? And it's the worst when it's the kind of falling apart and you're not exactly sure why. Falling apart is easier when you know where to pick up the pieces.

It's hard to fall apart when you don't even know where to start picking up the broken pieces of your own bleeding heart.

And I find it funny, how usually when you're feeling a little broken, the words you write fall together as you fall apart. Somehow, or at least in my case, the words I write flow more freely and easily when I'm feeling like I'm going to pieces. The contrast and irony in that captivates me. It's a bit weird, and frightening, even, how the words you write are almost always more beautiful when you're at your lowest.

I guess that it's times like these where I kinda just let go and call out to Him; "Jesus, I can't do this anymore, help. Pick my broken pieces up and put them back together. Please. I need you, even more than the air I breathe. I need you, and I need you now."

'Cause being a Jesus-chick is easy when all is going well and you just washed your hair and you feel good about yourself,  you feel confident and together and comfortable and satisfied. Saying He is your Saviour is easy then.

But what about when you're down and out, on the floor, falling apart and bleeding inside? It's then. It matters then.

Trusting Him with your broken heart. Still believing He'll be there to catch you when you fall. Talking to Him about what's going on inside, giving it all to Him. Letting go...letting go and letting God.


//

feeling nostalgic at 12am

Remember when you told me, "but I don't talk the way I write" ? You sounded worried. Like it's a bad thing. To not always sound poetic and ordered and sure.

Well, guess what, hun. It's okay.

I don't talk the way I write, either.

 My words don't always soothe, they don't always comfort, or uplift, or encourage. Sometimes, they break down and they're too loud and too quiet and sometimes they're ugly and blunt.  They trip me up and trap me up and sometimes all the right words leave me and all the wrong words haunt me.

My voice sounds like unsophistication most of the time.

I struggle to put these things that l feel into words, in my head or spoken out loud. They twist and turn inside, but refuse to come out. My insides are a mess of too much and too little. Too deep or too shallow. And lots of in betweens. I can't stop this whirlwind of emotions blowing up the dust in my heart. Scattering feelings I've packed up tightly and hidden long ago. Bringing forth thoughts I haven't thought in a while.

I long for the days where my insides were neat and clean and understandable and uncomplicated. Where I could still make sense of all that I am. The days when feeling things were optional, and sadness an unfamiliar and strange sensation. Where 'messy hearts' were only 'messy rooms' and broken dreams were whole.

And fear, no. Only fearless.

I guess I just really miss those kinda days.