Out. Let. Connection.

we connect to the outside world
from inside
while we're connected
to an outlet
energized
by electricity
tired out from
life
the sun drains us
blinds us
burns us
so we wear hats
sunglasses
SPF
and carry an umbrella
to shade our squinted faces
skin
souls
from being graced by life
life
who no longer powers our souls
only gets in the way of our plans
lets us down
who's tale we only watch from a TV
laptop
movie
screen
life
who sings
a glorious song we only hear through
speakers
earphones
phones
that kill us with a power strip IV
'my way, now' mentality
humanless community
we communicate via text
email
blog
making voiceboxes pointless
useless
less
so we can be
lifeless
making a network connection
asking the net worth question
what's my house worth
my car worth
who cares about my worth
we have online friends
groups
status'
but no lifeline
no life
life
who we let wither away
while we blog about her importance
beauty
experiences
that we never actually experience
outside our world
from inside
connected to an outlet life support
only without the life
or the support
who's only
out
is to
let
life in

What's Your Porn?

Okay, so porn is pretty much just porn. It is merely looking at something you know is wrong that makes you feel guilty, but you look anyway. You're compelled to scan luring images that promise to satisfy your hunger, just one more time. Or maybe two. It waves it's 'satisfaction guaranteed' banner with a declaration to thrill beyond shame. A promise, of course, it can never fulfill.

It's just a click away.

It's compulsive.

It's addictive.

It's junk food for the eyes.

It's a dark, beckoning secret that promotes unhealthy isolation and interferes with the very relationships we need for nourishment and growth. But we all have our 'I know I probably shouldn't be doing this' moments. Usually followed by, 'Well at least I'm not looking at porn'. But are you? Is there an image that constantly pops up in your mind? Money, chocolate, a video game maybe? A website that you feel compelled to 'check out' several times a day? A TV episode that you must watch or you can't seem to relax? Your form of 'porn' can be anything that prohibits your productivity, slowly robs you of your creativity or interferes with your relationship with Christ or your family. Just because something isn't stereotypically labeled as bad, doesn't mean it isn't bad for you. My porn of choice is Ebay. I collect action figures and am lured in daily with the promise of a 'first appearance' figure in original packaging. A 'rare' comic book character who will make an appearance in the next movie re-make of a classic superhero. I have to keep looking for the best deals. I can't miss a chance to find a real treasure whose owner has no idea what they have. I seek a million dollar collectible with a ninety-nine cent price tag.

I click.

Compulsively.

To the figures I am addicted to.

To consume more junk food for my eyes.

I spend countless hours in front of my laptop, searching, hoping, bidding. Basically wasting time. Time in which I always end up feeling guilty about. Time I could have spent with my husband. Time I could have spent talking to God, listening to God, reading the Word of God. Time I cannot get back. Porn is any distraction that takes time away from our interaction with God. He is our bread of life. What we need for daily edification. The 'porn' we accept as part of our daily routine gives rise to willful addictions. It separates us from our purpose.

For some people I know this can even mean knowledge, trivia, anything they can read or research to make themselves feel empowered, like they've taken charge of their own mind...until their mind tells them they need more wisdom, more facts, more study time so they can feel the release of tension once again. We get lost in the candy dish of technology whose ingredients rot our spirits. Our porn is whatever makes us feel in control of our own life, but in reality controls us. It is what we wake up thinking about, go to bed wondering about, daydream while we go about our business. It is what makes us secretly feel weak. It is anything that right before we do it, we think, 'I should be doing something else right now'...but we do it anyway.

Our porn is any negative behavior we've unconsciously made a habit in our daily activities, scheduled in our minds, or anticipated during stressful moments. As Christians, we'd never admit to looking at pornography. We push all subjects relating to sex aside for the perverted. Instead, we've developed a nice tolerance for judging others. Like people who look at erotica. But we have our own dirty little habits that keep us from reading our Bible or taking time to talk with God. We blame our children, our pets, our spouse, our busy schedules, our hectic church activities even, yet we never take responsibility for the actions we do in place of the ones we should do. We expect a million dollar inpouring from a ninety-nine cent outpouring.

So next time you just have to check out the stats of your favorite team, watch TV to see who got voted off which show, obsessively log into your social networking account, play to one more level on your game console, surf the web for 'just a few more minutes', make sure you didn't get outbid on Ebay, send yet another text, or consume one more bite of junk food, remember that you are mentally getting off on knowing you independently used your time, in your own way...but satisfaction is never guaranteed. It only lasts until the next time you stimulate your addictive behavior. Eventually, you'll feel the void of consumption pulling you farther from God. Shame will expose your filthy little time wasters.

What then? Treat yourself to the same wisdom they share with people addicted to actual pornographic images. Stop making excuses. Stop listening to modern morality that claims you can continue negative actions without continuing negative reactions. Stop tolerating a reward system for bad behavior. Stop feeling guilty...God isn't mad at you. He knows your only human. He knows your weaknesses. He also knows you were created in His image and can do all things through Him. We all crave some type of junk and give in to a form of porn. But we also have the God-given strength to confront our problem. We have God on our side who won't allow us to walk down paths of unrighteousness loaded down by shame any longer. Start a good habit of communicating more with God to replace the poor habits you've so freely practiced.

He's just a conversation away.

He's compassion.

He's affluent.

He's nourishment for the soul.

Change Your View

Okay, so I am still thinking about yesterdays post. As a writer, this is not uncommon. I obsess over every single word I type. Then, I read, re-read, and read them again until the flow of my sentence is etched into my mind...all so I can rewrite it just one more time. Once I publish a post, I always go back a few times to edit my editing, until finally, I write something else and become excessively preoccupied with it. So the thinking about the actual post isn't what has my mind captivated. It is the subject of the post that's bothering me. Okay, not so much bothering, as, it's left me wanting to say more. Me? Wanting to say more? Shocker I know. But I really wanted to touch on the 'view' aspect again.

What I left out of my 'Thanking Dreams' post was that after I watched that show, I caught another episode the next night. Again, there was a couple who wanted nothing more than a place with a fantastic view. Only this time, when they were weighing their options and drooling over the custom-tiled, walk-in shower with modern fixtures and admiring the huge floor plan, the husband said something that stuck with me. He said, "You can change a house, but you can't change the view." And they got the house with a view! Once again I was yelling at a screen to people I don't know, "YES!! I love that house! I knew that's the one you should get!" Sure they heard and accepted my congratulatory cheers. And the happy ending I wanted so desperately for the initial couple, came when it showed the new couple eating breakfast from their towering balcony while they watched the ocean sway back and forth in front of an amazing sunrise.

"You can change a house, but you can't change the view." I think this is true for people as well. We can cosmetically change our appearance, but we are still rooted in the same mindset. We can plaster on a fake smile, when in reality we don't even remember what a sincere one feels like. We can lose weight, pump up our muscles, get hair implants, breast implants, lip implants, butt implants (I really want that one), but we are really only inflating our deep fear that we are not enough. That we will never find our 'house with a view'. So we settle for what looks more appealing in the moment.

I've done that. I daydream about a nose job and chin-chisel all the time. It would be awesome to see a picture of myself I didn't absolutely hate. But it would be even better if I could look at myself, just the way I am, and love what I see. Love what God uniquely gave me. If we could look at ourselves, and instead of seeing the lust, constant desire for more, and see past our addictions, we could see the power, love, and sound minds we already posses. We accessorize ourselves with shame, fear, hurt, anger, and even misplaced love, instead of the grace of God. If we only see our faults and pain, we can't see anything else. We have to get out of our current situation in order to see what God and life have to offer. Turn away from our distractions and look for the picture window that overlooks our faults and only sees our beauty.

Don't settle for the house with closet space, go for the house with a view! Don't be content living your life just like you always have, doing the same things, saying the same words and seeing yourself through the same mirrors. Surround yourself with people who see you as the gem God created you to be. See yourself from their view...from your maker's original blueprints and not the ones you've revised to make room for all your mental and emotional junk.

Thanking Dreams

I was watching HGTV the other night, and a couple on the show was looking for a house with an ocean front view. The places they saw had great indoor spaces with tons of space, open floor plans, enough guest rooms, but no significant view. No breathtaking glimpse of the glorious ocean nearby. Now, they wanted a place with a view. That was their only requirement. A home for relaxation. A home where they could enjoy the sounds of waves and see the sun reflect off the shimmering water. Then, they finally saw a place with spectacular balconies, offering picturesque views of the waterfront and surrounding nature. But when they got inside they didn't see all the indoor amenities the other homes offered. Now they were second guessing their dream of outdoor luxury to consider closet space.

Ocean front access, the sounds of water dancing across the pristine beach, huge upper and lower balconies to partake in the wondrous scenery of trees swaying in the wind, or an extra room with a closet for Aunt Gerdie when she comes to visit once a year. Tough choice, eh? Well guess what they chose? The most expensive home with a bathroom for every bedroom and a kitchen with an island. They could have had a view of an actual island, but they chose counter space and toilets over their dream of a home with a view. I was outraged! I yelled at the TV, to people who couldn't appreciate the passion in my voice, "Listen to the ocean!! How can you give up the sounds of the ocean!?" But they did. The show ended with them in their new living room, sitting on the couch with some family, Aunt Gerdie no doubt, and everyone was just sitting there eating food served off their majestic island. No, not the real kind, but the kind with drawers and granite counter tops. I didn't understand how they could have given up so easily on their only dream of a house with a view.

I was stumped, pathetic I know to contemplate the choices of complete strangers who were on a TV show, but the decision really made me wonder what dreams I've quickly given up because something else seemed grand in comparison. I see the house the couple chose as just more toilets to clean and more money spent on junk to cram in all those closets. They saw it as a chance to spread their wings and their hospitality. But at the end of the day, after the guests leave and all the extra rooms are cleaned, their left with a view of the TV and the sounds of announcers, broadcasters, and actors, filling the minds of their already cluttered lives. I don't want to do that; give up one dream because I was taunted by another. I don't want to be sitting, with my new dream in hand, still wondering if my old dream is out there.

So I turned off the TV, got up, and sat down in front of my own view from the large windows in my living room. I scanned the horizon and saw birds swooping down into the trees and a plane flying across the pale Royal sky. I heard leaves rustle in the wind and felt the sun warm my skin. To have a view. This was my dream too. So why do I sit and enjoy its beauty less each day? Why do I close the shades at sunset when the lowering sun glides through my windows and illuminates the whole apartment? Because it puts a glare on the TV, that's why. What a way to enjoy my tiny dream come true. When my next dream forms, how will I thank it for coming to me? How do we thank our dreams? By enjoying them. By living them each day and not forgetting what life was like when we only had the dream, of our dream.

Meeting Paul Young

I just got home from meeting Paul Young, author of The Shack. I admit, I was so excited for the opportunity to meet him that I couldn't think of a thing to say or a single question to ask. He gave me a big hug when I approached him, then I just stood there, staring while he signed my book. I was in the presence of greatness. He's a man who's inspired millions to see God in a new, amazing way. His words, along with God's grace, have healed countless hurting souls. He is humble, down to earth, and a genuinely nice guy who talked about his grandchildren and spoke blessings over everyone he met. After a second, God-filled hug, I happily posed while my friend took a picture, which I, in turn, neglected to take for her. I was still dumbfounded. I wanted to soak up every millisecond of that moment, taking a chance that just a taste of his anointing might rub off on me.

After my face-to-face meeting, I had to sit down and regain my thoughts, which untimingly came up with a flood of questions and comments for my favorite author. Of course. Isn't that how it always works? I was reflecting on the opportunity I'd just had and wanted to see what he wrote in my copy of The Shack. I picked up my friends book by mistake and read his words to her. I assumed my inscription would say the same thing so I didn't bother looking right away. But when I did, his words jumped off the page and into my heart. The words in the front cover of my copy were different from my friends and read: 'Laura, Grace...whispers of relentless affection...singing your name!' How perfect considering grace has been the one word God has been speaking to me over and over the past several months. Also, like the name of this blog, Accessorized With Grace, is the title of the latest book I'm writing. I didn't even tell him I was a writer, let alone that I was writing a book about grace, so I know God speaks volumes, literally, through Paul Young's willing heart. And even though he probably has three or so phrases that he shuffles and uses on every book he signs, his pen scribed the one's that meant the most to me...and isn't it just like God to take every opportunity to show us that He cares about every aspect of our lives...celebrity encounters and all!

Quiet Change

It happened slowly. It was so sudden. It was subtle. I can't believe how obvious it was. I cannot fathom the complexity of it's simplicity. But in it, I changed. I would say it was the change itself I recognized first, but it was the quiet. The quiet led me to the sonic chaos I now face. I always loved sound. Any sound. Anything to create noise in the dooming silence that surrounded my core. Music blaring. Drums beating. I hated the quiet; the stillness; being left alone with my own thoughts. I never would have believed the quiet would reveal its strength to me. Not me. Not a woman so full of loudness.

I'd used the volume of my noise as a drug since childhood, and the drug as a way to shout over the noise of my loudness. It sounds absurd. But that is what happens when you abuse a drug like distraction, it diverts you from the silence and makes you forget your emotions. But, today, today I remembered mine. They trampled very quietly back into my core and broke the loudness. My emotions told on me. They told myself that I could feel again. That I should feel again. And that is how I recognized it. In the quiet, for the first time in a decade, I sat, in silence, and just breathed in. I inhaled the feeling of pain. Then I exhaled the numbness I'd been addicted to for so long. I inhaled sadness. Then again I took in the deep, penetrating breathe of pain. And I sat. I just sat. In the silence I sat and never once tried to tune out the feelings with music or the TV or my own voice blabbing on about insignificant tales to hush the hurt warming my frost bitten interior. And that is when I knew I'd changed...when I welcomed the sweet sounds of nothingness.

I don't know how long I just sat there, feeling every emotion that had led me to this day. It wasn't long enough, however long it was, because with every breath came the same sensations of loss, deep sorrow, fear and pain. Then, as if in rhythm with my tearing heart, out came the chaotic cries of my brokenness, accompanied by cascading tears beating on my cheeks like drumsticks to a cymbal. My heart kicked as if it had been jump started. I curled into a ball, holding my chest with my shaking hands as my body rocked back and forth until I went limp, sending me dead-like to the floor. And I wished I had died. That my heart had exploded and I was lying there waiting to face the judgement of God instead of facing my new life. I didn't know how to do it. How to be this person. How to live as this new woman who allowed feelings to dwell within her and not fight against the ache she felt in every moment. I didn't know how to continue being still, in God's presence, and just feel the weight of emotion come upon me. I preferred the numbness. The noise. The deafening pitch that covered my cries.

But I had changed. I let silence in and peace overpowered the pollution. I turned on the voice of God and rested in his warmth as the bitter cold of my past was awakened. My emotions became a strength and diversion was no longer the substance I craved. And this, this is where it all began.

I Know That He Knows

guilt overpowers me
can't reach for God's hand of safety
afraid if He gazes into my eyes
He'll see my heart of confusion and lies
I know that He knows
I know that He sees
I know He doesn't care
how far I followed sin
He's there to forgive
this war raging within

bathing in lust
clothed in transgression
He already knows
how far I've jumped in
the waters of temptation
drowning my soul
I reach for His hand
but always let go
I know that He knows
I know that He sees
this guilt that I carry
is killing me

He sits & He waits
for me to rest on His knee
like the child I once was
as I'm created to be
He tells me He knows
He says that He sees
but He doesn't care
He forgave long ago
I reach out with my life
and take hold of His word
I was forgiven
I was washed clean
I breath in His compassion
no longer suffocating

I know that He knows
I know that He sees
I know He doesn't care
the past is behind me
I know He knows
I know He sees
He doesn't care
how long it took
He welcomes me back
with the same tender look
He's glad that I know
glad that I see
I can always come back
and drink of His mercy

Grace

I cannot say I understand all there is to know about Grace, but I have learned that I would not be here if it weren't for God's grace over my life and health. Grace has nothing to do with our deeds or earned worth or proved goodness, it is simply a gift from God. Grace is an 'enabling power sufficient for progression. God's sovereign favour for humankind'. Grace is also defined as 'an indispensable gift from God for development, improvement, and character expansion. Without God's grace, there are certain limitations, weaknesses, flaws, impurities, and faults humankind cannot overcome'. When God first started talking to me about grace I was all, "Okay God, I appreciate the challenge you've offered to develop and improve upon myself, but I DO NOT need anymore character at this time, thank-ya-very-much! I've been called a character my whole life and I certainly don't need one more issue of health to overcome as a way of expanding my horizons!" But despite my protests and prayers, I did experience another pain to overcome; a hurt so profound it became hard to breath. A hurt God knew was coming.

God knew I would lose my dream of ever getting pregnant. But He also knew I would trust in Him enough to come out on the other side of sickness and thank Him for his gift of grace. He didn't let it happen because He couldn't stop it. He didn't watch me struggle because He didn't want to prevent it. I believe that when they cut into my stomach, they cut into His heart. When my husband held me in his arms, God held us both in His. When I wept, God wept. And when I finally found peace in all that occurred, it was God who removed the chaos of emotions and provided rest for my soul. He did not in any way just sit back and watch me suffer. He let me live. He let me live my human life in my human body and experience human things.

I cannot blame God for letting me be the very thing He created me to be. If I wanted Him to take away every bad thing that could possibly go wrong in my life He would have to take away all the good things too. I would have to hand over my laughter and my grand love for life and my family. I would have to stop trusting in God because I would no longer need to trust in Him. I would no longer need Him. I would no longer need life. Because life, without actually living it, is death. And no one needs faith once they are already dead. I love that God is the kind of friend who believes in me. He trusted in me enough to go into battle and fight, knowing that He was with me the whole time. He knew my strength. He knew my passion. He knew me. He knew me better than I do, which isn't saying much because I admit I change so often I can't even keep up with my ever changing likes and nuances. But God can. I need Him. I need His goodness and His protection and His undeserving grace. I like needing Him. I want to need Him.

Just have to say it...

Lying next to my husband, being face to face with his handsome, intoxicating features, that is my favorite thing. Watching his eyes slowly close shut and his full lips separate as he quietly inhales through his mouth in a drifting, peaceful sleep. I am blessed to be at his side, clothed only by his lingering affections and prayer. I am in love, deeply, completely. I want to talk and laugh just a little longer under the glow of land stars sneaking through our window. I want to caress his chest and feel his beating heart as it keeps time with my own. But I do not want to wake my lover, so I silently speak blessings over him and turn to my side, knowing his frame will instinctively turn into mine, covering my unveiled figure with his own, submerging me in his arms of strength and tenderness. I want to breathe-in his fragrant being and saturate my soul with his. But to do so would be like pricking my own two fingers, rubbing them together and making a blood covenant with myself, as we are already one. Our chests rising and falling together, our bodies meshed in God’s gift of forever. I whisper into the harmony of night, “I love you,” for my darling is asleep and cannot hear my confession. I cry out to the angels, to God, to my past, to the future. I make my declaration to the whole earth, to the universe, that they may simply hear and know. I just had to say it. I love this man.

Welcome Me

The earth’s breath galloped into my living room beneath the metal front door and cantered its way down the chimney, swirling around the room like a horse beckoning me to take it for a ride. The breeze rushed across my toes and nudged me toward the window where a hawk harnessed the wind and soared upon it’s back. Leaves corralled together on the limbs of the grand tree that stood below my balcony, summoning me with their restless sway to join in their motion.

As I pulled on the chilled door handle a cool gust pushed it’s way in, zigzagging in figure eights around my cheeks and neck. I wished I’d grabbed a jacket, but somehow, the stir of the air caressing my skin and playfully trotting along every hair on my arms was exhilarating- as if my soul had been awakened for the first time in weeks.

I saw the hawk again. His feathers racing the very current on which they took flight. He steered downward to the waving leaves and reined a branch with his talons seeking rest. As he basked briefly, a gentle flurry dashed across his beak and he turned in my direction, as if he too, had been renewed by this moment.

The hairs on my head hurdled the sweet breath as it wrapped me in a ribbon of refreshment and whispered, “Welcome to spring. May you feel my tender tug on your heart, pushing you onward through another season.” So welcome spring. Welcome change. Welcome me.

Politically Incorrect

A fog of stupidity has smothered the part of our brain that holds common sense. A steamy mist of delusion has covered all reason. We've let a cloud of misguided beliefs settle over our society, yet no ones willing to blow enough of their own smoke to push the looming blob of ignorance away. Well, my lungs are full of fresh carbon dioxide just waiting to be exhaled, to create a whirlwind that removes any residue of hatred, racism, or our fear of offending everyone and anyone if we have an opinion contrary to theirs. So I'll start by blowing out this simple question: Since when has being honest become something we must apologize for? Since when has standing up for ourselves become something we can only do as long as we don't go against someone else’s stand. We can't reject a specific group of people yet they can reject us. We allow our own opinions and beliefs to be scrutinized, but we are afraid to scrutinize the beliefs and opinions of others. We have to watch our mouths, bite our tongues, coddle the sensitivities of every minority group regardless of their race, age, sexual orientation, religious beliefs or unbelief’s, but we aren't allowed to be sensitive about our own issues, beliefs or social stands.

How is this possible? This is America. This is the year 2007. How have we allowed ourselves to be so infected with fear? The fear that we’re going to hurt someone’s feelings. The fear that we no longer have the right to free speech. The fear that we won’t be liked. What do we care? We’re American. No one likes us anyway. So why are we so afraid of words. Beautiful, powerful words. Obviously we care about words or they wouldn't make or break so many careers today. But in the end, they are still just words. They are still just someone’s opinion. Someone’s belief. Someone’s take on life. So why do we treat them like they must be ours too? Can't we stand on our own truths, building a solid foundation for ourselves and leave everyone else’s shaky platform alone? If we focus our energies and passions on others, we too will be left standing on a weak foundation. And if we're all firmly believing from a delicate stance, then whose standing on a firm belief?

Chap Stick Addict

It’s like crack-cocaine for the lips that darn tube of Chap Stick. I don’t want it. In fact I hate it. I hate needing it. But every time I stop using it, my lips get all cracked and dry and cry out for the tingle of Dimethicone 2% and Octinoxate7.5%. They crave the soft stick of moisture to spread itself upon their deep caverns of longing. To submerge themselves in SPF 20 protectant and a light, silky layer of candy coated wax. Nothing screams, soothing, like a dab of Propolis to my aching kissers.

What is this miracle balm I speak of you ask, why it’s a wax-like substance made from flammable, plant secretions, yes, I said secretions, that are used in varnishes, printing inks and plastics, that’s collected by honeybees from tree buds then used as a cement, yes, I said cement, to seal cracks in a hive, or in this case, my chapped smile-bearers. Cement? Well, there ya go. No wonder I can’t get enough of it. Who doesn't enjoy spreading a urine based, rock like substance directly to their lips? I know I do. My love-transferrers long for it, to be transformed from a pale, dull shade of peach to a shiny hue of rose. They get excited when my hands reach for the smooth barrel of refreshing toxic waste and position themselves in a pout, ready for just one more hit off their precious cylinder. The funny thing is, there’s a clear warning on the back that says you should stop use if irritation occurs. Well, I’m irritated. Irritated at my secret-whisperer’s dependency on a chemical blob of lies.

Listen up Crack-Stick, I do not need you. I do not want you. But oh how I desire your touch. I cannot stop using you. I carry you everywhere I go, tucking you silently in my pocket, my purse, my drawer, my nightstand, hidden behind my keyboard, and yes, even in the cushions of my couch. I am trapped by your relief giving power. Weak to the way you make me forget about my pain. I try to quit you, but you keep coming back to me disguised as a colorant or gloss. You even mix yourself with flavors of cherry, mint and vanilla to trick my lips into believing they've moved on. But they haven’t. They will always need you. They will always pucker at your lure. I wipe you off, but the agony always advances, louder, dryer, more chapped than the application before. Oh, cursed tube, I do not want you. I hate you. Come to me once more.

CHRISTmas What??

What is it about Jesus' birthday that gets us so wound up? We spend the weeks prior to His big day all frantic about whether or not everyone we know and have known for the past two decades gets a reminder card about His party. But I'm pretty sure everyone already knows because stores start reminding us in September and everywhere we look there are clowns dressed up in their red and white outfits and snowmen saluting the babe from the front lawn. Yeah, I'm pretty sure even those who don't get a reminder card that says you're thinking of them will be able to celebrate His birthday just fine without it. So why do we worry so much about the preparations and gifts and food. I doubt a kid born in a barn is concerned with the placement of your tall green birthday shrine or the arrangement of the lights and ornaments you hang on it. I bet He'd be happy you remembered His birthday at all. You did remember Jesus' birthday right?

The Big 2-8

Okay, so 28 isn't 30, but it certainly isn't 20 and definitely isn't 16. I turn 28 in a couple of weeks and all I can think is, "Thank God". I love getting older. Every addition of a year brings a new confidence; a new discovery about myself or a fresh attitude that I think is quite lovely. I know some of you well beyond my age are probably thinkin', "Gosh, you're going on about your age and you're not even 30 yet? Come on, wait til' you've lived a little before you go on about how great your life is or isn't. How dare you talk about how old 28 seems when you're still a baby." You might not talk exactly like that, but the general thoughts are the same. I know because I've heard it before. Only I'm honestly not complaining about my age by saying I'm NOT complaining about my age.

I sincerely enjoy every year better than the one before. What I gain in a number is always complimented with a tasty bit of awakening in my spirit. I would love to find the person who said high school was supposed to be the best years of our lives and just laugh at them. Well, that wouldn't be nice, I'd probably feel sorry for them first, then laugh behind their back like a good girl. You couldn't get me to go back to those awkward teenage years even if I could bring my body back with me. I was confused, angry, hormonally dysfunctional, and plain ol' unhappy. No way would I go back to those chemically unbalanced years just to erase some embarrassments. Those moments of humiliation made me who I am today and I really like me. The cloudiness of confusion had been cleared with purpose and now when I get angry, I get angry. I don't try to hold it in and become resentful or bitter. I put it out there, whether there's an immediate solution or not. At least there's an immediate release of tension I can let go of so I have a free hand to hold on to something else, like hope and calmness and yes, even tears. Sometimes embracing those little, sometimes very large, eye droppings, (because lets face it, that's what crying is, releasing all those toxic, crummy feelings and emotions through the most sanitary hole possible) is the most freeing sensation in moments of despair.

As far as hormonally dysfunctional, well, I would have to say that I haven't found balance in that area yet, but God is doin' His thing and I'm okay with that...now anyway. At first I struggled with not having everything I wanted when I wanted it. I desperately wanted to have children by now, but I was following my time frame, not God's. He knows the desires of my heart, hello, He gave em' to me, but He also knows a gazillion other things I don't so I've stopped trying to make my life happen and just let it happen. No historical time lines to follow, no socially acceptable time frames to oblige by because this is my life, despite how far I have or have not come. I am not trying to make history or secure some 'Citizens with Reasonable Accomplishment Plans' medal because that would mean crap (literally, I'd be trying to get a C.R.A.P. award). I just want to live my life, one great year at a time, and be in love with the choices I make and the people I make them with along the way. I don't want to live a life of idolatry, making God out to suit me and my beliefs. I just want to live out His best life for me. If I believe I have to have so many children within so many years and by a certain age and so many books published by certain companies by a certain date then I am only as happy as my accomplishments. Not that we can't set goals, we just can't live our life according to them alone, as if they are Holy, and anything less would be unacceptable. If we live like that, then happiness becomes a concept.

It is not enough for me to know the concept of happiness, to know how to have peace and become fulfilled. I want, I must, experience it for myself. I must be happy, be at peace, and be fulfilled. I will let God lead me to the promises of His word and surround me with His peace and joy and love. I will not reject the life God gave me or waste it away with complacency or misery or regret or bitterness. I will genuinely live. I will not have a concept or a theory. I will simply have.

Bowl O' Butter Anyone?

So I'm eating at a buffet with my family and on the dessert cart I scooped up what I thought was vanilla mouse and piled it on my plate. Next to it was a bowl of whipped cream, so I shoveled on some of that too. When I got back to my seat I sat down, delighted about the french vanilla goodness I was about to partake, and proceeded to spoon it into my mouth when ...ugh... yuck... BUTTER!! I had eaten a mouthful of butter! Butter? That is so nasty. Who puts a vat of butter on a buffet? Are we so fat as Americans that we now have to saturate our butter-filled cookies and butter-filled cakes and butter-filled pies with even more butter? Or are we now consuming it, with no apology, by the heaping spoonful. And the whipped cream I found next to the bowl of butter? Are we spreading it on top and eating it like a pudding parfait??? Who are these people? Who's eating butter by the bowl? Who said that was okay? Sanity people, you should consume some sanity.

My dreams are my biggest jewel!
~LauraLo

To Truly See

To sit
To stare at your splendor
To marvel at burnt-orange, cherry-red,
canary-yellow and deep sage-green limbs
waving at me from their rooted posts
To see them standing guard
protecting
shading
To look upon their expanse into the sky
where they meet up with pale-blue
laced with billowy cotton fields
To truly see
To set my gaze on the spread of the horizon
is to see the hand of God

Raging Whore Moans

I lay here like a whore every morning I come to this job. I moan about it in the shower. I moan about it while I skip breakfast. I moan about it during the entire commute. Yet I’m the one who gives a piece of myself away each day while they leave the money on the nightstand. I spread my legs for them willingly so I can fatten up my bank account only to purge it later on a nice mani and pedi to go with my new shoes and fancy car to match my luxury home. I’m whoring my life away for a dream. The American Dream. But what idiot American came up with this nightmare? It wasn’t me. This isn’t my dream; to wake up each day and go to some corporate desk job for ten hours so I can be too exhausted and stressed by the time I leave to enjoy my dream world.

This dream is raping my soul…only it’s not, because I’m giving it away. I spread my legs one last time while you eat me out of everything I have left: my hope, my freedom. May it leave a sour taste in your mouth knowing I have nothing left. There will be no more feasting off my failure. When in reality I failed to fail. I keep succeeding at the same thing, over and over and over, like a headboard beating against the wall, and over again. I succeed at dangling my life from a cage unable to reach reality. I succeed at stripping off my dreams one by one until I stand, naked, swaying to the rhythm of a time clock, unable to see my destiny. That is, if I have one left. Desperate to clothe myself with purpose and only able to grasp rage. Raging at the whore I moan about becoming. Raging at failed dreams. Raging at fulfilled dreams with no complacency. But mostly raging at me. I beg you Lord, unlock this whore house I’ve built and clothe me in robes of righteousness. Purify my life. Freedom God, I’m raging for freedom.

Walk me down the isle of life and give me away to my dreams~LauraLo