2009...

Here is my only new year's resolution:

Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God.

Need. Want.

Need:

coffee
a haircut
to stop biting my nails
to stop procrastinating
motivation for all these things

Want:

eternally un-chapped lips
...that's it.

You are special.

You Are Special

by Max Lucado

The Wemmicks were small wooden people.
Each of the wooden people was carved by a woodworker named Eli.
His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their village.
Every Wemmick was different. Some had big noses, others had large eyes.
Some were tall and others were short. Some wore hats, others wore coats.
But all were made by the same carver and all lived in the village.
And all day, every day, the Wemmicks did the same thing: They gave each other stickers.

Each Wemmick had a box of golden star stickers and a box of gray dot stickers.
Up and down the streets all over the city, people could be seen sticking stars or dots on one another.
The pretty ones, those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got stars.
But if the wood was rough or the paint chipped, the Wemmicks gave dots.
The talented ones got stars, too. Some could lift big sticks high above their heads or jump over tall boxes.
Still others knew big words or could sing very pretty songs.
Everyone gave them stars.
Some Wemmicks had stars all over them!
Every time they got a star it made them feel so good that they did something else and got another star.
Others, though, could do little. They got dots.

Punchinello was one of these. He tried to jump high like the others, but he always fell.
And when he fell, the others would gather around and give him dots.
Sometimes when he fell, it would scar his wood, so the people would give him more dots.
He would try to explain why he fell and say something silly, and the Wemmicks would give him more dots.
After a while he had so many dots that he didn't want to go outside.
He was afraid he would do something dumb such as forget his hat or step in the water, and then people would give him another dot.
In fact, he had so many gray dots that some people would come up and give him one without reason.

"He deserves lots of dots," the wooden people would agree with one another. "He's not a good wooden person."

After a while Punchinello believed them.
"I'm not a good Wemmick," he would say.

The few times he went outside, he hung around other Wemmicks who had a lot of dots.
He felt better around them.

One day he met a Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met.
She had no dots or stars. She was just wooden. Her name was Lucia.
It wasn't that people didn't try to give her stickers; it's just that the stickers didn't stick.
Some admired Lucia for having no dots, so they would run up and give her a star.
But it would fall off. Some would look down on her for having no stars, so they would give her a dot.
But it wouldn't stay either.

'That's the way I want to be,'thought Punchinello. 'I don't want anyone's marks.'
So he asked the stickerless Wemmick how she did it.
"It's easy," Lucia replied. "every day I go see Eli."

"Eli?"

"Yes, Eli. The woodcarver. I sit in the workshop with him."

"Why?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself? Go up the hill. He's there."

And with that the Wemmick with no marks turned and skipped away.
"But he won't want to see me!" Punchinello cried out.
Lucia didn't hear. So Punchinello went home.

He sat near a window and watched the wooden people as they scurried around giving each other stars and dots.
"It's not right," he muttered to himself.
And he resolved to go see Eli.
He walked up the narrow path to the top of the hill and stepped into the big shop.
His wooden eyes widened at the size of everything. The stool was as tall as he was.
He had to stretch on his tiptoes to see the top of the workbench. A hammer was as long as his arm.
Punchinello swallowed hard. "I'm not staying here!" and he turned to leave.
Then he heard his name.

"Punchinello?"

The voice was deep and strong. Punchinello stopped.
"Punchinello! How good to see you. Come and let me have a look at you."
Punchinello turned slowly and looked at the large bearded craftsman.
"You know my name?" the little Wemmick asked.
"Of course I do. I made you."
Eli stooped down and picked him up and set him on the bench.
"Hmm," the maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray circles.
"Looks like you've been given some bad marks."

"I didn't mean to, Eli. I really tried hard."

"Oh, you don't have to defend yourself to me, child. I don't care what the other Wemmicks think."

"You don't?"

"No, and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give stars or dots? They're Wemmicks just like you. What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special."

Punchinello laughed.
"Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?"

Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly.

"Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."

Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this--much less his maker.
He didn't know what to say.
"Every day I've been hoping you'd come," Eli explained.

"I came because I met someone who had no marks."

"I know. She told me about you."

"Why don't the stickers stay on her?"

"Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what they think. The stickers only stick if you let them."

"What?"

"The stickers only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust my love, the less you care about the stickers."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You will, but it will take time. You've got a lot of marks. For now, just come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care."

Eli lifted Punchinello off the bench and set him on the ground.

"Remember," Eli said as the Wemmick walked out the door.
"You are special because I made you. And I don't make mistakes."

Punchinello didn't stop, but in his heart he thought,
"I think he really means it."
And when he did, a dot fell to the ground.

Just realize

I hear people asking all the time
"Why can't people just be vulnerable with one another?"

And you know what, being vulnerable is such a hard thing to do.
People get afraid of rejection, opinions, and other such things.
But I want to be as honest as I can possibly be.
I want to be vulnerable.
Tell people what exactly what I feel.
Shine internally with God's love
Share that love with others


Because really, what have I got to lose?
I got me some Jesus. That's all I need.
:]

La di da di da

I've started a new project.
(...but Rachel, you haven't finished any of your old ones)
I know, I realize I start a new project every day pretty much, but this one I am sticking to.

I've kept a diary since the 7th grade, and I plan to keep one until I die.
1. Because writing is great therapy.

and

2. Because when I'm old, I can read through them and relive all my memories.

SO, I have begun a written diary.
I've kept my diary on the computer for 2 years now, and I'm losing creative energy because of it.
So, I have purchased a red journal (complete with recycled paper, as I do love zee trees)
and this red journal will be full of thoughts, dreams, art, clippings, photos, and doodles.
It's my mind on paper.

I'm so excited about it.


Another thing,
I positively love reading complete strangers' blogs.
It's quite refreshing to hear different views on things.

If anyone reads this, ever, tell me.
I want to know!

You are always good.

I don't know who I've become in these past two years.
But I do know who's got a hold of me.
God has captured my heart this past year, after all these years of my snatching it from his fingertips.
It is a liberating thing to abandon all society has pushed into your head.
To stand up as a "light in the darkness".

It's the most difficult thing in the entire world.
I still haven't got it right, but i'm trying.
(and failing...ALOT.)

It frustrated me every time I give into society.
every time I say something mean
or every time I think something mean
I beat myself up for it.

Thinking, "God, help me, I can't be a light.
I'm just not bright enough for you.
My light is burning out."

But every time I think that, pray that.
I ALWAYS receive a divine sign, encouraging me, nudging me forward.
I always receive a flame to re-light my candle.

Lately, I've been feeling the holy spirit so often.
I used to hear people talk about "feeling God" and "hearing him"
and I was like "WHAAAA?"


but now, I'll see something, or hear something
that stirs my heart
and makes it overflow with a frustrated feeling of helplessness.
and awe, and thankfullness.
and it makes me want to leap into action, and help everyone.
I cry for those people that are so defiant of God.
so eager to run away from him.
and I think, Who is this amazing God?
That can cause my heart to be so easily overwhelmed and brought to tears?

He is so amazing.
I wish everyone could see it.

Sick Day (5th edition)

I have been sick for 5 days now.
If it turns into 6, I am going to be livid.

S-ad
I-cky
C-razy-terrible
K-iller

That brought me back to kindergarten, where they used to give us those to teach us a valuable lesson.

Like:

B-asic
I-instruction
B-efore
L-eaving
E-arth


But really, the sick-ness-osity must cease.
I can not take it anymore.
I actually (dare I say it) miss school.




I would say the only good part about being sick all day is watching Jackass re-runs.

When those fail to entertain me, at least I have the wonderful comics of the talented natalie dee to keep me occupied.