The Moon

So first off, I need to apologize for not having written in over a month... my excuse is that this month was really hard.

For some reason, and I am not completely sure why, I have always loved the moon. It always seems really meaningful, peaceful, beautiful, romantic or a combination of those. Melancholy yet cheerful... if that is even possible. And I find it inspiring.

The other day I was driving home late at night, and I hate to admit it, but I was crying. It just seemed like everything that could possibly go wrong, had. And I didn't know what to do. I looked out the car window and I saw the most beautiful, full moon, but just then a cloud passed over it and completely covered it up. My initial reaction was, "Just what I needed, this is just like my life, a vibrant, inspiring moon covered and overshadowed by dark clouds." But then the clouds started drifting away and the moon shone again, just as bright as before. And I realized that, yeah, it was like my life, but the clouds that covered and drowned me now were going to go away and I was going to be able to move on with my life. It was so beautiful and so reassuring that I started crying again, but this time they were happy tears and I knew that things were gonna turn around.

Which they have, it has just taken some time. About a month to be exact. :)

I would have listened.

Did you think of how we'd feel?

Did you think we wouldn't care?

We cared how you felt,

But you felt you couldn't tell.

I would have listened.

The EMT's did all they could,

But too far gone,

You passed on.

Will you forgive me?

I wasn't there to hold your hand.

I wasn't there to understand.

But I do now,

And I apologize.

There are tears in my eyes.

Can you see them?

My Paper Heart

My heart is made of paper,

Easily swayed by the wind,

And just as easily torn.

I didn't decorate it with lace,

Or cut out pretty shapes,

It stands alone and unadorned.

My heart is made of paper,

Fragile and thin.

So I built up walls around it,

I wouldn't let anyone in,

And yet for you,

Those walls came unglued.

My heart is made of paper,

It shredded easily,

After foolishly allowing,

You to handle it freely.

You hold my heart in shambles,

Why won't you give it back to me?

The Highest of Arts

"It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look... To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts."
Henry Thoreau wrote this in his book Walden and I honestly couldn't agree more, I also doubt that I could have said it any better. I have found that you can transform the entire world from doom and gloom to rainbows and butterflies (so to speak) :) if you are only willing to make a conscious choice to be positive. I know it is a little cliche, but look for the silver lining. Choose to see the beauty and joy in each new day and your mood will infect others. I call my sister Mary, my Little Ray of Sunshine, because she spreads joy throughout our home by her constant cheeriness.
Ecclesiastes 10: 7-8a NCV says: "Sunshine is sweet, it is good to see the light of day. People ought to enjoy every day of their lives, no matter how long they live."

And Proverbs 12:25 NCV states: "Worry is a heavy load, but a kind word cheers you up."

Add a little joy to your life and other's and paint a more beautiful world.
I will close with a few lines from the song Follow Sound by Deas Vail:
"Won't you open up your eyes, through your window you'll see, the sun in shining bright, and I promise there's a world out there."

Beauty

Some of you may have heard of Diane Von Furstenberg but many of you probably have not. She is a world renowned fashion designer and made her claim to fame by perfecting the wrap dress. I read part of her biography some time back. Here is something she wrote on beauty that always stuck with me:

"But I didn't want to have a perm, I wanted to have straight, blonde hair and to be pretty. It took me a long time to realize that my childhood feelings of plainness and sometimes even ugliness actually gave me an advantage. The girls who were unanimously considered beautiful often rested on their beauty alone. I felt I had to do things, to be intelligent and develop a personality in order to be attractive. By the time I realized that maybe I wasn't plain and might even possibly be pretty, I had already strained myself to be a little more interesting and informed."

I think this struck a chord with me because growing up I never really felt like I was beautiful. I mean I had these horrendous bangs, I didn't dress like everyone else, and I didn't ever wear any makeup. It took me awhile to see that I could still be beautiful without being a stereotypical "beauty". So for many years I just made sure I excelled at everything else I did, whether it was sports, school, speech and debate, or just being a great friend and a fun person to be around. In the end I think it has really helped me. Recently with the help of the Lord and the support of my friends and family I have been able to be content in my own skin. I like who I am and I am proud of what I have been able to do and who I have been able to become.

On a side note: Today and tomorrow I have tryouts with Grace. Or practices that will function as tryouts for their soccer team. Basically everything is riding on this. I am fairly nervous so I would be very appreciative of any and all prayers. Thank you.

The Beginning

Well, here I am. I created a blog. *insert applause here*
As of right now it doesn't have a very specific purpose. But I will probably use it to post poetry that I have written, thoughts on life (so stereotypical, I know), growth in my spiritual life, to show off some of my designs, or possibly to give you all some style tips. ;)

I chose my blog's name from a poem by Emily Dickinson. Which will now become the body of this post.

I would not paint a picture.
I'd rather be the one
Its bright impossibility
To dwell delicious on,
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rare celestial stir
Evokes so sweet a torment,
Such sumptuous despair.

I would not talk like cornets.
I'd rather be the one
Raised softly to horizons
And out, and easy on
Through villages of ether,
Myself endued balloon
By but a lip of metal,
The pier to my pontoon.

Nor would I be a poet.
It's finer own the ear,
Enamored, impotent, content
The license to revere-
A privilege so awful
What would the dower be
Had I the art to stun myself
With bolts of melody!