To the Girl Who Died Part 2

Taken by Cally Declan

And when the whole world felt like death,

When the heaviness of night fell upon me,

And as I prayed that life might be real to you,

A great flurry of butterflies flew upon the innocence of summer,

And I thought of you.

They sang the song of a Man

Who walked toward death as it hurtled towards Him,

Who was engulfed in blackness as the storm railed on,

Who died,

And from the pit of despair, from the gates of Sheol,

He rose again.

So let me say it with more conviction.

There is light, there is hope.

I have seen it.

I see it in the hills painted with sunlight in the golden hour.

I see it in the fields of wildflowers that host such a great cloud of witnesses.

I see it in the night sky broken by a thousand, no, a million stars.

I see it in the tomb, left empty of its decay.

And in that light there is no more darkness.

In that life there is no more death.

To the Girl Who Died

From Pinterest

The girl was dead.

Not in body, but in soul,

Like the enemy had come in the watches of the night

And destroyed all the good crop that sprouted in her childhood.

And it didn’t cross her mind that anything was wrong.

And it smote me.

A well-aimed knife between the shoulder blades.

She was dead, and I mourned.

Yet she was beautiful, perfectly slender, with beautiful eyes that—

That were windows to her decaying soul.

The world is good at faking life.

It’s cruel.

Can there be hope in the depths of the soul?

Can there be life in the garden that tasted utter destruction?

Because they planted, we watered, but where is the growth?

Why did death overshadow her and plunge her into the abyss of darkness

Deep and wide as the sin that wracks the ribs of the world even now?

Yet is sin any more than an illusion, a fraud?

Christ drowned it in His blood.

So what happened?

What happened, little girl, what broke you?

Because when you broke, you shattered,

And then you got on your hands and knees and

You tried to piece the little girl back together again.

On your own.

But you didn’t know how to, so instead you built walls,

Dungeons and catacombs and pits and snares,

And you grasped your ankle and closed the manacle around it,

And sat in the darkness to hide.

And when sin crouches at the door you call him friend.

You let him strip you of everything and you call it good.

And my soul burns within me and I feel the words pulsating through my veins like fire,

There is light, there is light, there is light.

There is hope, little one, there is light.

Just open your eyes.



Monday Madness S1 P5

From Pinterest

They brought me into an interrogation room. At least, that was what I assumed since it was a creepy little room with no windows and only one light. It was almost like they were trying to make it feel like a movie.

They sat me down in the chair, then handcuffed my hands (thank goodness, no more duct tape. It really did hurt) around the back of the chair. I gave a dirty look to the guy who did all of this, a guy who wasn't with us on our car ride. This guy was tall and buff and basically looked like an army guy. Carl was there, too, and I wondered if Jon would appear as well. I hoped so. I knew that he would be easier to manipulate than either of these guys would be.

Plus, he was a lot less scary.

"What did you do with my dog?" I said coolly.

Army guy looked curiously at Carl, who shrugged and said, "Your dog is fine. He's outside."

"He likes to have a lot of space to run around. Also, he can sense creeps, so I'd watch yourself."

"Never you mind about him. Right now we have something to talk to you about."

I pretended to look surprised. I was, however, genuinely intrigued, especially after Jon's note.

And speaking of Jon, there he appeared. Carl nodded at him, then said quietly, "You're just going to watch how an interrogation is done. No talking, no interruptions, nothing. Just observe."

I rolled my eyes. "What, is this some sort of training thing? I'd really hate to be kidnapped for no reason but to train this nerd."

Jon rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the door.

Carl and Army guy turned back to me. Army guy spoke first. "What's your name?"

I was a little startled by this question, but I responded, "Don't you know?"

Army guy nodded and looked at the clipboard he had in his hand. "Keilah Rose Fleming, age sixteen, born September 13th in Xuancheng, China. Adopted from China when you were at the age of two by Brendan William Fleming and Melissa Rose (Gardener) Fleming, whose biological children include Joseph William Fleming and Michael James Fleming."

I shifted uncomfortably.

"Birth name, Lian Tan. Birth parents: listed as unknown." Army guy looked up at me with a pointed look. "We have reason to believe, Miss Tan, that the orphanage that you were with for the first two years of your life destroyed your files. Either that or your parents did. Somehow along the line the documents went missing."

I sputtered my lips. I was in way over my head and I knew it. "How am I supposed to know what happened to some papers if I was a baby?" I said in frustration. This was a subject I usually avoided, but it's hard to avoid it if some creep is interrogating you about it. It's different when it's a schoolmate or whatever.

Army guy squatted down to eye level. "Aiguo and Hua Tan," here I started, for I had never before heard the names of my biological parents before, "were high level spies. But it seems that all evidence of them ever existing has been wiped from every database."

I sat in stunned silence for a moment, then said, more quietly and afraid-sounding than I had intended, "Then how do you know about them?"

Army guy shook his head. "As interrogator, I ask the questions."

Stay tuned for part 6 on Candence's blog next Monday!

Oh Lookie, Awardy Thingy!

I was awarded by the lovely Autumn! (Go, check out her blog if you haven't already.)

It was actually perfect timing because I was like....I must post and yet I do not know what to post. SO HA.

AWARD.

With great rewards come great responsibilities. Like rules. O.O Do I like rules? Mmm....no.

LE RULES ANYWAY.

ANSWER the seven questions.

TAG others (as much as you want). <-- as much as I want, huh?

PROVIDE the link to the person who created this award. JO.

INCLUDE the picture in your post.

Zis one?

Shameless plug for my good friend Treskie's artwork. MUAHAHA.

Okay, okay, for realz, it's this one:

 

NOW FOR THE QUESTIONS MUAHAHA.

 

Dedicated blogger? 

I'mma go with Cally Declan over at Words Passing You By. Because she posts just the right amount.

 

Blog with nice design?

AUTUMN'S actually. It's really great. Cute but simple.

 

Awesome review/book blog?

Jake's over at Teenage Writer. He was actually the first blog I ever read, believe it or not. And I still love it.

 

Deep and thoughtful blogger?

Mah Sis. <3

A blog you always enjoying reading?

Abbie's! It is just....like eating something really scrumptious and never getting too full.

Blogger with a great sense of humour?

I'm totally gonna say Treskie because she always makes me laugh. I love that girl.

 

Blog that inspires you?

ALL the blogs I follow inspire me. But I shall give a shout out to Rachel over at The Inkpen Authoress because she really rocks and inspires me to keep writing.

 

Mahaha, this was a good tag! Thank you Autumn and Jo and everyone for reading. I love giving shout outs to my favorite bloggy people.

 

NOW I'M OUT. I might post a fangirl post on Newsies soon....maybe....we'll see....

 

Till then,

 

NEVER FEAR, BROOKLYN IS HERE!

 

;-)

A Thunderstorm

Pinterest

 

1am, a crack of thunder shook the earth

And me.

The walls of the trailer rattled

And I laughed

And thought in poem-words.

A light-show, it was.

The rain beat down hard,

Pummeling fists of water onto the roof

And I shivered

And I laughed.

And I thought of You.

Oh, what majesty that pours from the wrath

-and joy-

Of You.

It shakes my bones.

Breaks my bones.

And yes, it is good.

1am heaven broke open.

And so did I.

Everything He Is

Shamelessly stolen from one of the other campers. ;-) I do not know if he would like his name on my blog, so I shall credit this to Camoman.

 

I'll admit I was overwhelmed--

The vastness of God broke over the peak in a gentleness of power.

Incapable. I ran the word around in my mouth with a touch of fear.

Unworthy. It sliced through my mind like a double-edged sword.

Not enough.

A jar full of holes--

What can it carry?

 

Come, marvelous light,

Seep through my cracks.

 

Would that I would stutter every day,

For no eloquence is mine to bear;

Instead I birth brokenness upon brokenness.

But what was spoken in that moment of wild panic,

When my heart beat with the power of the storm?

When my mind screamed those words--

Incapable.

Unworthy.

Not enough.

 

Come, marvelous light,

Seep through my cracks.

 

The vastness of God broke over my campfire silhouette,

Holiness for my holes.

Not to heal a stuttering mouth,

But to pour glory through its cracks.

To break and to piece together into this--

Incapable.

Unworthy.

Not enough.

 

Come, marvelous light,

Seep through my cracks.

 

And the Spirit of God hovered over the expanse of every stammer.

Every frustrated tear fell like rain upon tiny green shoots.

Every moment of terrified weakness opened the door

For the fortress of God to descend.

Incapable. Resting in His capability.

Unworthy. Breathing His worthiness.

Not enough. Born up by the only Enough.

 

Come, marvelous light,

Seep through my cracks.



I Have Actually Returned

I didn't die guys.

I went to camp for the weekend (the part of camp that has no internet and blog access and I am thoroughly immersed in the wilderness for four days of sheer awesomeness).

And now I must needs reenter the world of technology to express the awesome glory of spending four days without it.

...

Yeah.

Taken by Candence Declan

There is so much to say, really. So many stories that have built up that I don't want to forget. So many things that weigh heavily on my heart, yet so much joy. There were deep conversations about the wrath of God, and then hilarious conversations about hot sauce and hobbit holes and whatever.


Laughter. There was so much laughter.


I think the true beauty of camp was the fellowship. It always is. Not only with the other staff, but with the campers. Because seriously, we are out in the forest, with a set amount of food, a set amount of water, and a set amount of tents.... community is almost forced by situation. How incredible it is that we become brothers and sisters so quickly.


And all I can hear in my soul is this desperate cry,

Run for Christ.

 

 

For truly, that is what that bond is. If we are all running for the same goal, the same joy that is set before us, we have everything in common. How cool is that?

 

 

I often find that the general connotation of Christianity is off. How many of us think that we can't run head-on for Christ because we are scared of being lonely?

 

 

During camp, we have what is called Abiding Time, where we all go off into a nook in the woods to meditate on God's word, to think, and to pray. I hiked up a little ways to where there was an opening in the trees to view the peak: pure white snow that was blazing like diamonds in the setting sun.

 

 

And God whispers in the wind, through the leaves and the remaining raindrop crystals on the flowers,
"Be still and know that I am God."

 

 

And I rocked on my heels and whispered back, "I don't know how."

 

 

But being still was something I could grasp, at least partially, so I quieted my breathing, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, stopped my hyperactive fidgeting, and then reopened my eyes.

 

 

Rose colored clouds lit the sky on fire. The peak, aglow.

 

 

My heart, thud-thud.

 

God, "Let me show you my majesty."

 

 

That's camp. Or, more specifically, that's God. Camp is but experiencing Him and sharing Him in a certain setting.

 

 

But the most incredible thing is that His majesty is here and everywhere. It seeps through cement walls and computer screens, over the ridges of skyscrapers, gracing the hot asphalt and graffiti bridges.

 

 

It's just a little harder to see because it makes more sense to close our eyes here.

 

 

But open your eyes. Run for Christ, because that view is the best of all. 

Monday Madness s1 p3

Pinterest never actually gives me a picture I want. But se la vie.

Leather. Hot and sticky. Like, peel your face off of it sticky. That's what I awoke to, with, much to my chagrin, no shortage of drool dried on my cheek.

And on top of it all, I felt like I had a million bruises all over my body.

Not bad, getting hit by a car and kidnapped in the same day.

My mind had fully caught up with my body, or as fully as it could possibly what with my having been out for who knows how long, and so I felt ready to face it all.

I opened my eyes, sat up in a rush, and slapped the head nearest to me, which happened to belong to a young man.

Said young man, Jon, I remembered, turned to me, startled, then opened his mouth to speak, but I got words out first.

"Who do you think you are? Do you realize my father is a lawyer? Do you realize my mother is a police officer? And that both of them were in the army beforehand?" All lies, but I decided to try the scare tactic first. "Do you know what they do to creeps like you?"

The person in the passenger seat, who had an unnaturally large head that was topped with thin, greasy, blonde hair, turned around and glanced between the two of us with disinterest, then he said, "Why on earth did you leave her hands untied?"

"Uh," Jon spluttered, then shrugged.

I slapped him again to make him think about what he had done.

"If you want to continue on in the business, kid, you had better get these simple things straight. There's duct tape under the seat."

Jon muttered something angrily, then ducked down to grab the tape. I proceeded to give him a sharp kick in the jaw, then lurched for the driver.

I suppose that was a bad idea. But the driver had looked harmless enough--a little, middle aged woman with red hair who looked as if she needed to sit on a phone book and have bricks strapped to her feet to even reach the pedals.

The problem is, I forgot that the main reason I own a big dog is because I've never hit five foot, myself. And four foot eleven-and-an-eighth inches versus a wild woman and a weirdly buff guy (and, later, Jon) ended with me scowling on my seat, hands and legs taped securely.

So I tried to go another route. "What do you want with me?"

Big Head rolled his eyes and said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Gah," Jon said, rubbing his jaw angrily. "Why do we always have to go through this, Carl? Why can't we just tell her right off the bat instead of waiting until the last dog is hung?"

"Why don't you take that up with the big boss?" said Big Head, or Carl, I guess.

Jon snorted and crossed his arms, then glanced over at me at the absolute perfect time. I'd opened my eyes as wide as they'd go, mustered up a few tears, and let one drip slowly down my nose. "Please," I whispered, low enough that the two in the front seat couldn't hear me. "Please, I just want to go home."

Jon shrugged, then turned away, and I wanted to kick him so bad. So bad.

But a few minutes later, he nonchalantly showed me an open notebook, which read in all uppercase, block letters,

 

WE NEED TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR PARENTS.

 

~~~

 

Stay tuned for part 4 over on Candence's blog next Monday!