h.o.p.e.

Father,
I'm finding it hard to hope.
A rock of burden is pressing
on my chest and weakening my resolve.
I want to trust.
I want to believe.
I want to know.
It seems like everytime
I begin to hope for
something
it is ripped out
from under me
torn from my vision
grabbed from my hands
and each disappearance
takes just a bit
of my heart.

I'm finding it hard to hope
with my dreams in shambles.
Everything I longed for
is now so far away.
My heart has been
torn out
spit on
ripped apart
stomped on
bulldozed
muddied
scraped off the streets
with remnants of
hope still visable
in the wreckage.

I'm finding it hard to hope
when I never feel good enough
pretty enough
smart enough
thin enough
worthy enough.
It's hard to think
that one day
some day
things will be different
and someone will come along
who will see me
the way you do.

Please
Prove me wrong
and teach me
to hope again.

Thanksgiving HOTness

So if you read Joanna's blog, you'll know pretty much how this past weekend was. If not, lemme fill you in. I'm thoroughly disillusioned with 99% of CT people. I called, I waited... nothin. Whatever, I guess that's what happens when you grow up. But Kay See and Tam came home with me, which was an amazingly fun time and an astounding lack of drama. Two thumbs up for uncatty and selfless girls, you're all too rare these days. On Thanksgiving, we had 2 students from China over from the University of Bridgeport. Their names were Nicole and Sasha (their American names). I totally believe God brought Kay See home with me for a reason. She was able to translate for both my family and the girls (even though they were pretty good at English, there were some words we just couldn't get), so we were able to move beyond simple conversation with them. We even played the "ungame"! Ok, it's when you answer questions on these cards... not difficult, but definetly fun.
I'm so grateful that I'm still friends with Joanna. She (and of course the Allen fam) makes CT okay. We acted like such kids this week. We colored in coloring books (with a box of 96 brand new crayons!), we watched Madagascar, we failed miserably at making a gingerbread house, drank yummy cocoa, and dressed up like I haven't dressed up in at least 10 years. It was fabulously fun.
So I am so sad that in a matter of days I will be packing up my dorm room, which has definetly become a home for me. These next months will be a constant test of my faith, because I'm going into the unknown and living in a situation that is completely foreign to me. I have to believe that this is preparing me for things to come... whatever that will mean for my life. But seriously, I will miss Tamarind like I can't even explain. I wish I could take her with me, but I know God wants her here to be there for her girls.
P.S. Might be living in Rafiki House next year, pray that everything falls into place, I am so excited for it!

Little bit o'homesickness

No poem tonight.
It's strange, I'm a little homesick right now. I wanna know what's going on. I got to talk to Kirsten for an hour today, and it made my day. I miss her. I'm sad that it took us so long to remind ourselves we love each other. I miss Dana, and I'm sad that I have no clue who her boyfriend is... I'm sad that I'm not her best friend anymore and that we have to grow up. I miss Tracy and her smile. I'm sad that she's not a little girl anymore. I miss my mom and I miss telling her everything. I miss dependency. I'm sad that it won't be long til her house is not longer my house. I miss my dad and big backbreaking hugs. I miss the scent of a man that lingers on your clothes... and the comfort of knowing it's a man who's loved you since he laid eyes on you. I'm sad that I don't put in more effort to keep him updated on my life. I even miss Jessie and being the second-favorite. I miss her running away from everyone to follow mom around, and feeling her convulse during thunder storms. I am ready to be in the Allen house.
Beth's wedding is this weekend. I'm glad I have a date, that was so much pressure on me. I don't like things where you are forced to bring someone, it's like what about the single people? Cut us a break! So let's hope the fam doesn't read too much into this bringinghomeness, but theyre cool so I'm sure they won't.
Sometimes I feel so confused about what God has for me. Sometimes I feel guilty for wanting to get married... maybe it's the culture I'm immersed in right now or just the large culture I was raised in that makes me feel like I have to prove myself to someone. It's not my only goal, certainly. But hey... lets be honest, it's something I want. Sometimes I kinda wish it would just happen soon cuz it always feels like I've been waiting forever. Yet waiting on God's timing, I have to believe, will ultimately be worth all the years of singlehood and lonely nights. I'm thankful for my friends and the blessing they are to me everysingleday. And jobs... gosh, people have got to stop telling me I better figure out what I'm doing with my life. I'm freakin 19 years old, people! relax a bit. there you go, feel better?
I sure do.

A Rant on Culture

Dear culture,
media magazines commercials movies shows advertisements
whoever you are.
Your faces are hidden from us
but you'll put another's face
and let's be honest
body
on your product to degrade us
just a bit more.

I see bones
ribcages and elbows
that could poke my eye out.
I see makeup
cakes of mascara and foundation
quick, cover up who that girl really is.
I see hairspray
impossible feats of modern technology
I'm pretty sure hair shouldn't do that.
I see sunken eyes
some say when you don't eat
you get sick and gross.
I concur.
I see flat chests
I didn't know 12yearold boys
were in style this season.
Guess I'm not up on the trends.
I see organs
I know I shouldn't be able to
but when you weigh less than a flea
they gotta pop out somewhere.
I see legs
I think they're legs.
They're longer than my whole body
the knees knock together
but the thighs don't dare touch.
I see girls.
Bodies too old
minds too young
for this garbage heap of a society.

My God, where are the women?
What happened to
Marilyn Monroe
Jean Harlow
Katherine Hepburn
Elizabeth Taylor
Women who had curves
had bodies
not bones.
Had hips and breasts and thighs and waists
stomachs and lips and butts and grace
We need women
women
real women
what are we learning?
what are we teaching?

Who will stand
beauty in hand
be unafraid to shine
in the glow of the gift
of
a
womans
curves.

Join me on the fat side
of the media.
Size 12
is as lovely
as size 2.
I'm done.

lovely revelation

Something I love about God
is I can sit in the study room
whisper the depths of my heart to Him
leave with the burden lifted.

I love that He listened
and while my lips said "insignifigant"
He read my heart instead
He heard what I could not say.

I love that He calms me
that I feel His love around me
like swimming in the cool ocean
on the hottest of summer days.

I love that really...what is so small
but holds such implications
He understands, He weeps for me,
He places my wounded heart on his wounded hands.

I love that He wiped away
the darkness I felt
the cruel whispers that permeated the depths of me
blinded me and calloused me.

I love that He surprised me
merely asking for my heart
I am the costliest of lovers
yet intimacy is what He desired.

The study room
an interesting place to find
the Love of your life.
And a lovely surprise
to end the night
just to show me He cares.
just to show me I'm worth
the sacrifice
the cost
the fight
just to show me I'm valuable.
The sweet answer of a prayer
whispered in a closet
wrapped in something visible
my Jesus gave me the answer to my question

You are beautiful to me
You are loved by me
You are cherished by me
You are treasured and adored by me.
Let me be enough,
I am true love's form
You were worth my life
I gave it gladly
now trust me with the rest.


I love you.

call me

I don't want to be called nice.
It's too easy, too simply stated
for a girl as complex as me.
Nice is for the sidelines,
fake smile plastered to a wounded heart
a mediocre costume of femininity
that has been overlooked once again.

I don't want to be called pretty.
That's what your girl friends say
when you wear a bit of makeup
and blow your hair out just right.
It's nothing beyond the day,
the value is gone once the facade
washes down the drain.

I don't want to be called hot.
It degrades me, reduces me to body.
I'm not a spectacle, open to these
unrefined words and crude desires.
The essense of me is hidden
deep inside
and it takes more than words to draw it out.

I don't want to be called cute.
Do I resemble a puppy? A kitten? A child?
I've grown beyond the days of curled hair
pink cheeks and party dresses.
I am a woman
of depth, of wounds, of sex, of strength.

I want to be called beautiful.
Beauty is enduring
longer than a day, longer than a night together.
Beauty enchants, mesmerizes, inspires
the words of poets and the strokes of painters.
Beauty erupts from the deepest volcano
hot lava of woman spilling everywhere.

I want to be called beloved.
I want to know I'm adored
cherished and treasured.
I want to twirl in my heels
into the dancing arms of a man.
I want to dazzle with my smile,
into the captivated arms of a man.
I want to enrapture with my heart,
into the loving arms of a man.
And I want to awaken with my purity
the longing arms of a man

naked

unashamed

beloved

beautiful.