Help

It’s almost 2:30 AM.

I should go to sleep.

I spent the last 2 or so hours

putting together a 14 page poetry book.

I have no idea if anyone will buy.

What to price.

If I should leave at two dollars.

Even if I get $0 revenue.

If $5 is too much too ask for a book

with 7 poems.

Why my heart is so calm.

Ellie Holcomb

sings sweetly.

Paypal or check?

Portion & my strength.

Jesus.

This is for you.

I probably formatted all wrong.

No one puts  a bio as a whole back cover.

The title should be a different color.

Is it wrong to want money for your poems?

Such a small book.

Everyone wants huge.

I don’t have 1,000 followers.

What if I should have edited more?

You should scrap this, Julia.

No, don’t.

You’re so close.

Third person.

I just talked to myself as if I wasn’t in the room.

The cat’s so warm.

In a few hours,

she’ll wake up, look at me

and I bet I’ll still be in this position.

Unless the computer dies.

Then I’ll sit here fighting myself.

2, 5, 8, dollars.

3 number increments.

Love broke through.

Mercy sounds nice.

I can’t do this.

I should put them all on my blog.

I want to risk this.

I mean, I’ve already been rejected by 3-4 magazines.

The least that could happen with this:

I’m the only one who buys.

That’s not failure.

That’s a lack of marketing.

Marketing is pushy.

Oh, please. please

buy my book.

I don’t want to be that way.

Of course I’d like to earn some money.

Selfish as it sounds.

Honesty is the best policy.

Oh God, this feels wrong.

I have the sudden urge to

watch Reba.

She’ll sing about being a survivor

and I’ll envision I already made up

my mind

Only hope I’ve got-

You.

Paypal?

okay.

2

5

8

Wonder how much 7 dollars brings?

$2.86.

A dollar a a poem.

Yeah. That’s real reasonable.

Why does this feel deja vu.?

Oh yeah, I don’t know

what I’m doing

The description for the books

sounds like a child.

I am one.

His. Goody, it’s 3 AM.

3:02.

I need help.

I sound crazy.

Or as every writer

staining her dreams

with self doubt.

 

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#thatisbrave

A few days ago I read a blog post by Annie Downs, about calling out what is brave in our life or others.

I see bravery in three friends lately.

1. Megan, a pen pal I’ve met through here, who deals with Epilepsy everyday. In an effort to spread awareness, she has started, The Epilepsy Brain Freeze Challenge. She makes me want to be brave and face the fear I’ve been writing here for the few days. To declare that I am good enough. Even with all my flaws and quirks that make me, me. I’m going to say it again, YOU INSPIRE ME, MEGAN! ❤ Please consider doing this slushie challenge, and making this girl smile. 🙂

2. Gwen's “go big or go home” strategy to raise enough funds to be apart of a church where she’ll “reach out to urban and student communities in the Southern city of Grenoble.” If there’s anything God has shown me by becoming this girl’s friend: learning how to speak to someone takes patience, understanding, and time. Lots and lots. I may not know how to speak French, but I know God has gifted Gwen with His amazing way with words. She makes me want to embrace my own gift of poetry and give Him joy. I love you so much, Gwen 🙂 Thank you for being brave enough to do this crazy, beautiful life with me. God’s going to touch so many people through you in France, and I can’t wait to hear all about it 🙂

3. Christina taking on not one, but TWO presidential positions. One being President for her school’s ABLE group. And Vice President for another group I can’t remember the abbreviation. Or the name. Truth is, I zoned that out, because I was too busy listening to this fire behind EVERY single word about these opportunities. Watching her freak out about how she’d accomplish all this, plus her workload, I couldn’t but notice this bravery. I’ve said it before, but becoming her friend in high school, has made me brave. Example: calling back Jimmy John’s because they forgot chips and a cookie and hurriedly fumbling through each word and pause to reach a hang up. Even though Christina was right there, it was like I was being set up on a blind date. It’s how I am talking on the phone to EVERYONE, even friends & family. It’s ridiculous. And weird. And I’m the only one. But she reminds me I’m not. She reminds me to breath. She reminds me fear is fought one shaky, “hi.” at a time. She reminds me I’m not alone. Thank you for letting me watch God use you in helping others know they are ABLE. Look at what He’s done through you and me. 😉 I love you. Totes lots, k? ❤️

Where do you see bravery?

Don’t Worry, Darling

“I can’t do this.” My voice quivered. Tears fell. Again.
“What, My darling?” He gently asked.
“Wait.” I said. “I’m tired. All these voices in my head. What if they’re all true? What if I haven’t done anything in my 24 years of living? What if I can’t ask for help because I’m told I have to do it on my own? Self-sufficiency. When someone offers, I hesitate because it doesn’t feel real. I shouldn’t need. I shouldn’t depend on others, even if I’m crippled. I should do it in my power. In my own power. On my own.
“How can I love you then? How can I protect you after you fall? How can I wrap you in my arms, kiss you on forehead, and tell you it’s alright? How can I hold your right hand and remind you. I AM your portion & strength? You’re not alone, I AM here. Why do you think you keep coming back here?”
“I need love. Reassurance. Reminded I am worth someone’s time. Attention. Company. Peace. Hope. A smile absent reproach.
“Oh, darling, I have welcomed you since I thought your name. Your face. Blue eyes. Delicate smile. You may be broken, but you are beautiful by My side. I AM making you whole again. Trust the touch of My hand. It is gentle, patient, kind. As is My love for you. I promise I’ll get you through.
“I love You. Thank You for loving me. Never leaving or forsaking me. May I ask You something?” I met His gaze.
“You’re welcome. Anything.” He smile made me ache. Such tenderness I’ve missed.
“Can I be overwhelmed in Your love?”
“You already are, My child. Such joy is coming, you will cease memory of these tears you cry sorrowfully. They shall be tears of joy. You’ll see.” He wrapped me in His arms. Strong. Sturdy. Holding my fragility.

I smiled that delicate smile, saying what He already knew:

My life is better with You.

Always Will

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I cannot espouse
this lack of knowing, with desire
I experience wanting Your face
before mine today.

I don’t want to rationalize.
Wonder.
Reason.
Find logic.

I walked the narrow path
leaves & twigs giving crunch
beneath my crooked feet.

You found me in the crevice
between gathered trees.
A turn to my right, I, warmly welcomed in Your love.

I met You
overwhelmed
sorrow
confusion
numb
pain.

I closed my eyes-
thankfulness falling
off tongue to atmosphere.

Thank You for loving me.

I continue up the steep hill,
coming to this quiet place
where You whisper:

Darling, we have no end.

Blinded

I don’t want to go homee.

I say this without opening my mouth.

Letting the ink I’d pour from a pen

spill out a keyboard instead.

“Homee”– the double e signals

I am a child, desperate in keeping

laughter alive.

Evicting itself from the cellar

I made out of worded memory-

you are so defensive

whenever anyone talks to you.

Why do you stare so intensely?

I hate the silence.

Off putting at best.

I don’t have much to say

when the circling chaos

is ten times in my head.

I scream to myself: Say

something to connect.

Cars. Money. Food.

Anything.

But I can not say God.

You, I love.

I am void.

Staring.

Out the windows

of Your home.

My body.

Weak.

Limp.

Tired.

Afraid.

Welcome

I have received

since my knitted being,

unable to accept,

believe.

Thank You For Letting Me Spill

I’m sitting on this brown colored carpet. It’s darker in some spots. Maybe I spilled something again? Or someone who had this house before? I can’t be sure. I’m never sure anymore. Should or shouldn’t say this? Stay quiet? Be this?

I do know this: I want to take the purple blanket off my bed, wrap it around my shoulders, and pretend I’m royalty for awhile.

I see You in glimpses before my eyes. Each time I blink. Oh, it is enough to make me weep for Your hand in mine. I must confess flibbertigibbet inside my head.

“Did you see what she did last night? She sat on the floor and I can’t even say it. It’s disturbing.”

“She’s always so afraid. I swear every time she wrings her hands, tears are going follow.”

“She tries hiding by looking away and biting her bottom lip. It’s pathetic. She’s such a child.”

“She is so clingy. Needing others help, but too scared to ask for it.”

“She should really learn how to be more independent. Go out and fall. Who cares if she bleeds? At least she’s living.”

“She shouldn’t be sitting on the porch all day. She should be making friends. Getting a job. Figuring out about school. Exercising. Make sure she makes those lists.”

You saw me yesterday. Using a wrench to tighten a license plate on car I’ll never drive. The way I clutched the side of the house because I was afraid. The way he said, “Let go. You’re thinking about falling. Let go!” How I stood there, trying to picture You in front of me. It didn’t work. I stood there still, suddenly captivated by lavender.

Your fragrance. I wanted to fall on that porch. Overwhelmed. My soul.

I want to cry. I don’t want to work for others love. Or feel ashamed for asking for help. I know I can do things on my own. Dress. Make macaroni & cheese. Ot any other microwavable meal. Shower. Only with bars to hold onto.

Everything takes longer for me. I’ve heard I should be faster. Dress and shower in 15 minutes? Let’s try 45 minutes to an hour. Eat in under 5? No. No one slows down. I think I have to be faster. I have to multitask.I have to be doing something, right?

Sitting on the porch, looking on the trees. Trees. Birds. Butterflies. On my right. My shoes. On my left. One. Fragile. Me. Breathing. Soaring. Sorrowing. Resting. Dying.

I don’t know how to say: I’m falling apart in love with the Man of my dreams. This Man who took off His robe. This Man who went to the cross I still carry as a reminder. He took my shame. Fear. Anxiety. Worthlessness. Worry. Expectation. He took it all upon Himself. For me.

I don’t deserve this. This kind of love is scary for a girl who wants to please everyone. Who doesn’t want to feel guilty for telling the truth. I don’t want to let myself down. Though, I already have. I’m trying not to perform. Not hold myself to some unreachable standardI place on myself. Or I feel someone else has set for me.

It’s why I’m so scared. It’s why I feel misunderstood. I don’t want to strive. Try to prove myself to me or anyone else. Especially You. It will never get me anywhere. It never has.

You said, Come as you are. Here I am. I have failed You today. I probably will tomorrow. I will.

You are not turning me away. You are holding out Your hands as I come here again.

I’m sorry, I need You endlessly. I love You. I’m sorry I’m a ticking explosion of joy and sorrow.

I’m sorry I want to cry, only getting out spurts

Could You sit and hold me for awhile?

I don’t want to grow up.

I want to be Your little girl.

Forever.