Inspiration

I have a little sister who can write about anything she wants at any time she wants. I could say "Hey, Kenzie make staring at a wall sound awesome" and she can do it. She simply grabs a piece of paper and writes and when she finally raises her head form her task she has created a magnificient piece that I am completely awed by. Writing on demand, isn't that what all writers want? With such a talent there is really no need for inspiration, you are a genious in need of nothing outside of your own mind. I know I should not covet other people's gifts but I can not help myself. I can hardly call myself a writer after I spend hours on a paragraph that I have poured my heart and soul into. I simply do not have a natural tendency towards writing, creative writing that is. Sure I can whip out an 18 page hermeneutic within a couple of hours and ace it, but that is different. I am told exactly what I am so supposed to write about, what is expected of me when the paper is complete. I am good at that, I even won an award for it. My problem is that I do not want to be a good dictator of other's thoughts. I want to be able to write my own, to tell people of the world that I see. I have these splendid ideas but I never write them down because when I do they sound like crap. I never know what I should write about or of the ideas I do have are worth anything. I am always afraid no one will like it, that it was a bad idea. How do I write things that others want. When my sister Austin writes every one is istantly intrigued. We always know it is going to have a moral, a life lesson shown through something we had never thought of before. It will be hysterical in that quircky way it's creator is, the way that everybody loves. And of course by the end we will all be wishing that we were all that brilliant. I know I have it in me, not to be absolutley amazing like Austin, but to simply succeed in writing what I truly want to write and actually interesting some one else. I can feel it pulling at my heart, longing to break free of my controlled mind, every time I hera a piece of amazing literature. I become inspired as I listen to the great writers of our time and the great past, yet it is not the sort of inspiration that makes words flow. I need an inspiration, I need something worth writing for.

Bring on the Rain

Another Day has almost come and gone.

I can't imagine what else could go wrong.

Sometimes I'd like to hide away, somewhere and lock the door.

A single battle lost but not the war.

But tomorrow's another day,

and I'm thirsty anyway,

so bring on the rain.

It's almost like the hard times circle round.

A couple drops and they all start falling down.

I might feel defeated,

and I might hang my head.

I might be barely breathing but I'm not dead.

'Cause tomorrow's another day,

and I'm thirsty anyway,

so bring on the rain.

No, I'm not gonna let it get me down,

I'm not gonna cry.

And I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight.

'Cause tomorrow's another day,

And I am not afraid.

So bring on the rain.

Yes tomorrow's another day,

and I'm thirsty anyway,

so bring on the rain.

-LeeAnn Womack

Because It's the Most Amazing Thing I Have Ever Read

"What great gravity is this that drew my sould towards yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love me, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?

I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I went looking, I wrote out a list, a drew an image, a bled a poem of you. You were pretty, and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that i am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.

I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus, and you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I knonw you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully towards each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever in fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God's way of meriting grace, of teaching us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which He is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?

We were fools to believe that we would redeem eachother.

Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.

Will we be in ashes before we are one?

What great gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state, What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don't we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!

I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.

I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God's own Knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.

I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this alter of dying and dying again.

God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us."
-Donald Miller (Blue Like Jazz p. 147-150)

Video Games

Gah I am such a bad gamer! Why do I have to suck at the most idiot proof video games? I just failed miserably at MarioKart Wii. I'm feeling ridiculously pathetic. A pox on all video games and their creators.

One of those Days

You know those days when you feel like stabbing yourself with a tooth pick until you die would be less painful that what you are currently dealing with?

Well today is that day.

There is never really one big huge thing that happens that makes the day come crashing down around you, it is always a bunch of little things, or maybe one little thing that is the last straw. They are things that when you think back on that day from a better one, they are meaningless and you laugh at how ridiculous you were being. But at that moment it was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. For instance, my crappy day started with me leaving the amazingly delicious brownies I had made for a friend's birthday at home. I did turn around and go get them, I wasn't going to let my pains from the night before be for nothing. I was late but not terribly late, yet on this particular morning, it was too late. From there everything went down hill. It is a disgustingly long story and I don't want to depress you with the gory details. It has been an awful day that is just beginning.

At this moment I am waiting for my darling mother to arrive so that I can learn about all the things I have failed at today. Don't you love when parents say we will talk about this at home? There is no escape when you are home for the day. It reminds me of when I was a little girl and I would be sent to my room to wait for my dad to come home. I knew what was coming yet I prayed to God he would forget to come up and take care of the situation. But he never forgot, actually I should say my mom never forgot to inform him, and as he walked up the stairs snapping his belt I would furiously shove pillows down my pants to save more poor butt from total annihilation. But this was pointless because my parents were firm believers of spanking bare buns. I knew it was pointless and yet I did it. Why did I do it? I guess I went into survival mode, I tried to do anythng I could to save myself. How extremely futile, no one can save themselves. And yet all I want to do right now is save myself from the mental abuse I know is coming with the arrival of my mother. I wish I could stuff pillows into my head to protect my mind.

Pray for me.

First Post

Ok, so I have never done anything like this but I am uber excited to give it a try. Today in Creative Writing Club everyone was talking about blogs and how they are absolutely awesome they all told those of us who do not have one to get one immediately, and that's exactly what I am doing. You see I'm in a creative writing club but I'm not much of a creative writer, I wish I was, all my friends are writing books that are absolutely incredible so far but me, I'm just an avid reader. I figure that blogging is something I can do, all I do is write how my day is going, what I want out of life and what my biggest dreams are...right? Easy enough, and probabaly a good vent. why do you always feell better after writing down your feelings instead of just saying them out loud? If any one is reading this right now I will warn you, if you are here to read some amazing story or get deep insight you should stop right now, because I'm not great. I'm just here doing my thing and hoping to find something amazing about myself.

I guess that's enough of a disclaimer. I really am excited about this!