listen to me

Sometimes I feel demented for the things I write on this blog. I just think you should all know, that I know how weird it is. I know I've touched on this before in a prior post, but part of me being demented means I don't really remember yesterday. Anyway, its almost like the blog is emotional voyeurism: me hoping you randomly read what is in my head, and me never knowing really who is looking. Invigorating. However, I have recently decided that you guys who read this are actually the disturbed ones. My posts are usually some obscure weird thought that randomly pops in, or some kind of drunken rambling about "poor me" or something like that. Yet you keep coming back...curious...
Okay, so Christmas just happened. I'm not quite over it, it all happened so fast. I saw my family. It was like going into the twilight zone because hardly anyone I know knows my family, and they don't know anyone here. So I have one world I'm in all the time, and another world I'm in 3-6 days a year. Very strange. Was it a bad time? No, it was fine.
ANYway. So the whole point of me writing is to express something. I'm trying lately to be a better listener, and in that I am constantly noticing how people listen. Here's where I'm going...
I have somethings I want to express, but I feel like they are continually invalidated. For example, I have a lot of anxiety over family gatherings. Do I know why? yes yes, not the issue. Do I want to be over it? Uh, yes. So, when a family gathering approaches, someone will ask me "Are you looking forward to it?" And I'll say some thing like (depending on the person of course) "I'm looking forward to it, but I don't know how to talk to my mom, and every time she asks me personal questions I cringe, and I can't physically take when either of my parents touch me". If ever this has come out of my mouth (which isn't often) I get a response that most resembles "Oh, they're your parents! They just love you and want to know how you're doing! Its their job to worry!".
Really. I had no idea.
Here's the thing, I know that. I know. In fact, you telling me that only helps the guilty feeling I already have over the issue get bigger and bigger. People tend to identify with the parent, feeling very sorry for them, and wondering how on earth I could feel such a pathetic thing. Then I have more regret for even bringing them into my thought life.
My point: listening. If someone is telling you they have a fear or a paranoid delusion, or an obsessive irrational habit, the last thing they need is to hear how irrational that is, and that they are just paranoid. In fact, they probably already know. Sometimes you just need to get stuff out; to be accepted in your paranoid delusions. Then once you realize you're not totally crazy for being crazy, its almost like you're Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, and you find the way out yourself. The person who patiently listens is the good witch Glinda (yes, "Glinda", not "Glenda". Don't believe me? Google it.) and they simply reveal that you've had the ruby slippers on the whole time.
Okay, I have successfully forgotten what the hell I'm talking about.
Oh god. I really am crazy.

.......................

Guess what.
Guess.
what.
guess what.

this and that.

Today as I was driving around, I realized what a weird concept driving is.
We are in these little tin cans (for the most part) and we drive at lethal speeds toward each other on the road, trusting the other person not to veer 6-12 inches over towards us and collide head on, most likely plunging us to an untimely death. We do this everyday.
AND, while we're naively trusting strangers to stay on their side, we drive while eating, talking, doing make-up, singing, etc etc. Not a care in the world. I, of course, am one of the worst offenders when it comes to driving and multi-tasking.
It really is amazing there aren't more car accidents.

Speaking of texting, what the heck is that? We write little notes to each other in little boxes, and it travels through outer space, and then outer space tells my little box what words to show me. And all in a matter of seconds.
Crazy.

Also on my mind today, this whole airplane security thing. I have all these lofty, rebellious plans of how I would protest. But really I'm just as big a part of the "herd" as everyone else. But anyway...this whole full body image scanner or full body pat down thing really does freak me out. It makes me not want to fly. I'm so annoyed by some large "anonymous" force deciding things like this. Yes yes, for our safety. Its alllll in the name of safety. On one hand I'm annoyed by all these precautions because its inconvenient and kind of invasive. The rebellious side of me wants to go through the line, and when my turn to choose "scan" or "pat down" comes, I just want to strip down right there in the line, making the whole experience awkward for everyone. BUT, then i would be carted off, probably arrested, probably on the news, and I would also miss my flight. So I'll keep quiet and let the TSA grab my ass. Only for the sake of safety though.
Now the other hand....this whole scenario kind of reminds me of what parents might go through. They give "really strict" rules their kids. To toddlers and younger kids: Don't play in the street. How awful! The street is an undiscovered, uncharted territory filled with a vast amount of play time options! The mystery! The thrill! Why oh WHYYYY can't I go in the street??? Then you grow up and realize, uh yeah. I could have died. So that's what I'm likening this whole airport-molestation thing to. Partially to make myself feel better, and partially because it coulllldd be true. Its just a little inconvenient. A little weird. But hell, we're alive, right?

hey.

Hey. I'm home.
For those of you who knew I was gone,
or care that I came back.
You can call me and text me like you usually do.
Wait. Like I usually hope you will.
Because an "anonymous" blog is my family now.
I'm back.
yay.

repeat.

Get up.
Go to work.
Wait til work is over.
Go home.
Walk to store to buy food.
Walk home.
Eat food.
Watch re-runs on netflix.
Go to bed.
Do it again.

Alone.

repeat.

And...

I'm going to do it. I'm going to rant about love. LOVE. Cliche: love is the answer. No, it really is. Love is the way to God. God IS love. God is present in our love for others.
What is love? Love: Preferring others over ourselves, even when it hurts.
Following Jesus and being like him is so much more than just admitting we are full of sin, and miserable wretches. Jesus LOVES us. That is the good news.
Love your neighbor as yourself. This is equal to loving God with all your heart.
Love your neighbor. Love your enemy. God inhabits love. He lives in selflessness.
He LIVES. In love.
This means that God is in places that we sometimes wouldn't think he would be.
He is the kindness a homosexual shows an adulterer on the side of the road by helping with a flat tire.
He is in the defending of a Muslim from hate by the Democrat that didn't vote for the conservative.
He is in the Christian Church taking an offering up for those with out jobs.
He's in the friend that lets another friend that's locked out of the house stay with them.
He is in ALL that. Even if they don't know it. Is God not big enough to be in the places we don't find him worthy? Isn't that what Jesus did? Didn't he go where the religious leaders thought he was too good for? Didn't he go where other religious teachers/pastors would be embarrassed to go?
He is IN love. If I have knowledge, and commentaries, and doctrine, and the correct interpretation of the Scripture, and not love...I have nothing.
I have nothing.
If I don't love, I have nothing.

PS does this mean that I don't know that I suck? No. I know. But I want to be like Jesus so badly. I'm just really weak.

yep.

I wish there was one week that could go by that I wouldn't somehow inadvertantly hurt or offend someone.
I promise, you don't understand whatever hurt you.

In case you wondered...

Its just funny. Everything is so funny. Sometimes my life is like that bad dream everyone has. You know, the one where life is going great, and then all of a sudden you realize you've been walking around naked for 3 years? I'm the naked one.
You share, you live, you empathize. No, you REALLY empathize. Its not fake. But alas, you're an ass in the end.
This whole business operation thing is really a terrifying thing. At anytime, any day, any of my partners could decide they have had enough, and they they are done. And they could walk away with the wound of the loss of a couple thousand dollars. Must be nice.
Hmmm...what would I lose...
What i usually lose: my current life's work.
I know I'm working for nothing. I know. Can't you just accept it? Its the reason I don't call home. Its the same talk. Yes, I could make money doing "this" or "that". Yes, I need to get paid at my job. Yes, I could probably find a car loan.
Why is it so hard to accept that I'm not in whatever job I have for the money? Why??
I'm not trying to sound pious or humble. But seriously. Its not about the money. Leave me alone.
I am happy where i'm at. I have invested in this community, and I'm here for the long haul. Does it hurt at times? yes. Is it lonely? Yes, a LOT.
But seriously, if I moved to a high profile big bustling city where there lots of single men and job opportunities, what would I gain.
Work?
Worth from a man?
What?
Just so you know, all I ever hear from you when you throw "options" out there for me is that you don't want me around.
Quit trying to live vicariously through me. I did college. I did my "career". It didn't work.
If you wish you would have done it differently, then take it up with yourself.
I have my own pain. I don't need your insecurities to tack on to it.

again.

Dear non-existant internet that I write to regularly,
I don't know what the hell i'm doing. And I hate the fucking holiday season.
love,
your sick friend.

end

And in the end
you were loved for who you are.
not the shell you lived in.

if

A woman came into Max's the other day that looked like my aunt. It made me sad. Then the next day a different lady came in that reminded me of my other aunt.
I wonder a lot what it would be like to live in a town or even the same area where your family lives.
Weird.

stupid.

stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.
stupid.

hm.

Sometimes I wonder why I left to be so far away from home.
I guess, "far" is relative for us all, but for me in this time, I feel far.

Twin Falls is 6oo miles away. Even Boise would be like home.
My family lives just 4 hours away in Washington. But I have never lived there, and I don't like going there.

Being home is different than being loved.
I know I'm loved.

I have lived in this state for 8 years, think I'd be used to it by now.

memory.

Sooo, lets see....
A year ago today I was put on "vacation" from the job I had committed my life to. I was promised a return.
Vacation never ended.
I really hate how much I remember. I remember dates, and numbers, and and times, and years.
I remember birthdays, and account numbers, phone numbers, etc.
It makes me look creepy. But MOST of it is involuntary! What I CAN'T remember is what I was doing 10 minutes ago, where my keys are, where I parked, why I went in the supply room, what I did last night, where my purse is, where my shoes are...and the list goes on. And on.
But tell me your birthday, and I'll remember.
Jan 1
Jan 18
Jan 13
Jan 15
Jan 18
Feb 2
Feb 9
Feb 12
Mar 1
Mar 2
Mar 5
Mar13
Mar 15
Mar 29
April 27
April 19
May 5
May 10
May 25
May 26
May 31
June 1
June 4
June 6
June 12
June 13
June 29
June 30
July 17
July 18
July 31
Aug 12
Sept 12
Sept 15
Sept 26
Sept 29
Oct 4
Nov 12
Dec 25
Dec 28

These are the birth dates I remember off the top of my head. Its ridiculous. The point of this is to expose what a weird and unique memory I have. I remember stuff like this involuntarily.
I just want you to understand: if small details are involuntarily remembered, what does that make of large matters?
They are haunting.
As far as the large matters go, I remember the weather, time of day, the last good part of the day, the last view, the last touch, the last emotion, the last facial expression. I remember specific texts, and phrases in emails, even conversations.
Okay, the point is I remember. I don't always want to. Remembering gets you stuck in the past.
But my life is really good now. Sure, there are more scars. But there is beauty too. They always go together.
And when you have scars, that's when your people come out. You know who your people are when they love you even when you have scars that change what you look like.
That's what I've been doing the last year: finding my people.
I miss when my life meant being a shepherd at King's Grace.
But I have found new life.

today at Max.

Kind of a slow morning here in coffee land. Its weird being here so early. Sometimes by the end of the day it feels like two different days have happened.
I've been doing this for 4 months, and the early morning part of it still gets to me a lot. I feel like I should be old enough by now that my body gets that it is SUPPOSED to be awake. But alas, I still struggle to maintain consciousness until about 10:00 or so.
Anyhow, just another day here in Max's. The best part of my job is meeting and talking with the people that come in here. New people come in, and new stories are learned, and new senses are sharpened. Another great thing is when friends come in. Does it get better than to be at work, AND visit with your friends? One of my favorite friends came in yesterday morning as she exited the night shift from the night before; a start to my day, and an end to her day.

The morning rolls onward, and the old men have come, and sat, and talked about golf, church, their wives, the latest colonoscopy, and the next nap they get to take.
I love the "old guys". They are fun to talk to because they are at a point in life where life just "is", and there is no pretending anymore about what life is not.
Then they will leave to tend to whatever duties they attend to, and then I wait for the next round of customers.

At 9:30 my coffee counter-part comes in to join me in the secret Max Porter's antics, and to prepare for lunch. I am comforted by their arrival, as there are days when it can be a little lonely. Lunch prep and laughter: a great combination.

Usually after about 9 its a couple of women on a "catch-up" coffee date. They come, order some kind of latte, and then politely argue over who will pay for it. Then they sit for an hour or two digressing the past happenings of life in the last couple weeks.
Around this time you also have the people with an awkward chunk of free time that they are trying to fill, or perhaps the office employee needing to get through the morning duldrums. These are some of my favorite customers, as we often exchange new conversation and hear-say, and develop an actual relationship that would have never existed if they didn't have a coffee need, and if I didn't want to fill it.

The other day a mom of a 6 year old boy came in. She had just sent her son off to his first day of school, and she didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't even know what to order. I finally coaxed out of her unwilling and emotional memory that she likes decaf-soy lattes. So I made her one. I asked her if she was okay, and as I made her the drink of comfort, tears came out while she described the morning her baby went off into the world of public school. I told her he would be okay, and that her unconditional love for him would ultimately protect him from the pains of being in the real world. She left with a smile. And a cupcake.

After the morning meanderers come and go, in comes the lunch crowd. The third part of the Max's employee trifecta is made complete at 12:00 when our last worker arrives. There is a sense of confidence that comes with this person's arrival: now we know we can handle "lunch", and all that it entails. This is usually someone I haven't seen in several days, and it is always nice to reconnect with a member of the tribe.

Part of lunch is the 50-60 somethings going through time together over tea and a turkey-cranberry sandwich. They talk of children, grandchildren, weddings, divorces, funerals, and the other friend that couldn't make it to lunch that day.

We also get the lunch-break worker. They come in 1-2 times a week, and order the same sandwich each time. These specific sandwiches cater to the tastes of the individual, and as the sandwich maker, I tend to pass judgement on the seemingly boring or too abstract tastes of the sandwich consumer. But really, what I judge as boring is actually a carefully selected and enjoyed flavor; treasured by the eater.

As lunch dwindles off, the afternoon slump hits, and we get the office workers needing one last jolt to make it til five. We lean on the counter, exchange witty banter, and then get back to our jobs.

3:00.
Clean up begins.
Everything done that morning is undone, the lights go off, and the doors close.
The community that gathers here is on pause until tomorrow, when we see each other again. And isn't that what we want? To see each other? Oh wait, maybe its just coffee...

random.

You know when you hear a certain song, and then see a certain thing, and THEN you can feel the memory being made? It's like something being born. I love it. I love when I can be aware of an association taking place. This weekend I had my new favorite song play, one that I hadn't heard since this trip. And I was driving a new part of the coast I had never driven. I love driving so much, and I was so happy to get to mark this off my list of roads travelled. And then I have the 2 at once; the new song, and the new road together. And in that moment an association was born. A memory was made, and I got to acknowledge it as it was happening. I love it.
I get in the mood to write sometimes. I think maybe this is one of those times. But unfortunately, I have caught myself in it. And NOW I'm analyzing myself about why I even want to do this.
Why do I write a blog? I only want certain people reading it. I certainly don't want my mom or my sisters to read it. But then I want certain friends, and other close people to read it. So, if I want to limit who reads this, then why don't I just send out an email to those I want to be in my mind, and share my thoughts there? Or, maybe it's that I feel "anonymous" this way. There is a thrill in the mystery of who really reads my thoughts; like i'm an emotional exhibitionist. I like my thoughts being seen, but I am afraid of the revelation process. What is that about?
Also, I'm afraid to share my thoughts in the direct form because lets face it, they're freaky. THIS way, its indirect. If you read it, I may know, or I may not. Its up to you to tell me, and I can go about as if I don't know. But anyway, my thoughts are freaky. They replay conversations in my head, pretending they could have gone better. I over analyze each encounter with people, wondering how it could have gone better; wondering if I permanently damaged a relationship.
I think in songs. I think in music. Okay, for example, right now I'm mourning the loss of a guitar. Its an inanimate object, I know. But it represents something; it represents a season. And what's annoying is that i didn't get a chance to know that season was ending. I hate that a piece of wood and string can have that kind of nostalgic power over me.
And that leads me to another point.
The nostalgia.
Time is very valuable to me. I am not like other people. I am very aware of my mortality. I am aware of my limited time. So sometimes people perceive me as overly sensitive, or hyper-emotional. But really, I'm just wanting to make the most of what I have now.
I just want to do the right thing, and I really don't know what it is.
I went on a trip this weekend. I left for 4 days. It was so easy to be gone. I get so afraid to leave. I can talk myself out of it so easily. And then when its over, I miss it. It makes me scared, like, maybe I want to leave after all? But I don't! I'm scared to be alone. I feel alone enough already, and there are people that love me everywhere. I think I'm afraid to be missing what I'm meant for, and I don't really know what that means, so I just look at everything as opportunity. Its irrational. I just want life to be full. I want my life to be full. I don't want to look back with regret. But that takes risk, right? And risk I have.
So, here is a blog. Here is a partial revelation of the chaos in my mind.

those

Can I sit with you now?
Can you tell me you see me?
Will you think that I'm needy when I wish that I want to be seen?
But don't stop to tell me that you
saw me walking by.
Some how linked to another, and their sweetness by your side.
Your newly crafted humans,
Extenstions of your life,
but all you do now is complain, that they
won't do you right.
Such a shame, such a wrong how quickly that things leave!
The memory of lonliness! The weakness in your knees!
Get past that selfish need of yours to sleep and think and be.
I have those things in excess to you,
you selfish, blinded fiend.
How many memories would you make alone in place of those;
the ones with those you helped form and create;
the ones you helped to form.
Just forget I even asked. Forget I thought to say,
that I'm jealous of the ones
you have,
the ones
convinced
to
stay.

I was there.

Its weird. I bet only 8 people on earth will be able to understand what I'm saying.
For 3 of those people they will be too deep into mourning to relate to me.
Two of those people will need to put their attention elsewhere.
And 2 of those people don't talk to me anymore, because I'm not perfect.
And my last person will be there for me. She'll be there if I need her. But she won't know how, and I won't know how to let her.
I didn't REALLY know him.
I really didn't know her.
I was just there.
And I had to tell her, and I had to ruin her life. My words changed her life.
I feel so weak. In fact, I feel so weak that I can't talk about it in real life, I have to blog about it in web space. Like a coward.
I am haunted by that day. It chases me and haunts me like a dark cloud,
like a ghost.
I saw his dead body, and
I'm haunted.
So I will remember that day; that long, long night; that long, terrible drive.
I will remember the feeling as I walked up the hill, as I changed her life.
As I gave up, and I drowned myself in the last year. I drowned.
I'm sorry.
But I just couldn't handle it.
But I will from now on.
I'm sorry.

hi

I keep trying to kill you.
I'm sorry.
It's because I'm sick.
I won't really do it.
I hope you forgive me.

rant.

Stereotype:

A lot of churches these days are trying to be "relevant" to the culture, and reach the "new generation". Okay, so this in and of itself is not bad. I've been looking at websites of hip and cool new churches, and also of other churches that are making themselves over, so to say.
Guess what?
Its still a white men's club.
Senior Pastor: man
Deacons: man
Elders: man
Youth Pastor: man
children's ministry: Woman! THAT is where women can minister! In their place with the children!

Side note: Of course I know of the exceptions to these cliche's. But most churches that have women as leadership outside or kids, youth, singing, and womens ministry, and inside of eldership, deaconship, or head pastoral staff are seen as on the edge of bad doctrine, and possibly even supporting feminism. *GASP* Clarification: I am NOT a feminist! I am also not a man hater! I am, however, a woman who has worked in ministry and is called in ministry, and it is almost impossible to TRULY be taken seriously in today's American conservative Christian culture. Sure, you'll see women on home pages for church websites. They will even be considered leaders. But WHO makes the big decisions? You know who.

Look, i'm not trying to stir up hate. I just had an observation that even in today's culture where church wants to be relevant and new and attractive, there are still the core issues that stay the same, and that won't adapt to cultural changes. New words and cool t-shirts, and tattoos and faux hawks don't cancel out what your philosophy really is.

you & me

I meet you.
I like you.
You like me.
I get to know you.
You get to know me.
I like you more.
You like me more.
You kiss me.
I like you more.
You get to know me more.
I get to know you more.
You love me.
I love you.
I finally know you.
You finally know me.

But wait.

You can't handle me.
I'm not who you thought I was.
I still love you.
I take down your pictures.
You're happier with out me.
I know you.
You don't know me.

Repeat until you die.

dare

I dare you to love everyone with out judging; with out assessing the value of their sin; with out deciding if they are a bad influence on you.
I DARE you to do what love is, and prefer them over yourself. Do it with out the fear of approving, enabling, or contributing.
I dare you to love the sinner, with out worrying about what the sin is.
I dare you to not judge: to not place a value of punishment on the "sin" committed.
I dare you to lay down your life for your friends.
I dare you to throw the first stone.
I dare you to love.
I dare you.

I'm dead.

If you want to know how to live, first you must die.

who...?

I saw a picture of myself today that I wasn't expecting to see. It wasn't a bad picture; actually it was probably one of my better ones. And though it was only 6 months ago, the me in that picture is not the me I am now. So as I looked at myself, I had the thought, "i miss you", and "you don't even exist anymore".
It's a weird feeling to have.
In that picture there are parts of me that are now dead, or dying a slow, painful death. Its the curse of memory.
However, there are parts of me in that picture that were yet to exist, and that couldn't exist without the death of the parts I thought I loved. And honestly, I think I really did love those parts legitimately.
But now I'm someone different.
I guess basically what I'm saying is that I need to learn to appreciate myself now, just in case I die again. I don't want to end up missing myself again.

Rant

Dear blog world,

Here is yet another thought or rant that I'm going to spew into cyberspace to my readership, which to my knowledge is one man who is often bewildered almost to the point of irritation by my writings, so I don't know why I do this.

I am no super-christian. I am not a great christ-follower. In fact, the more I get to know Christ, or what/who I think Christ to be the more I realize I know nothing, and sometimes even less than nothing. There is my disclaimer.

PS my thoughts are scattered today.

I have been thinking lately about what loving God means. I'm almost irritated. People do all sorts of nice things for other people in the name of loving God. I don't know about you, but if I was in a crisis and needed someone, and received help, I would feel their help was cheapened when I learned they were helping me "because they love God". Oh, great. I'm getting they're sacrifice, and it wasn't even for me, it was for someone else. I bet I could find a pagan in the world that has no knowledge of "God" and would help me because of their care for ME as an individual. I say this to say...that I think people confuse what the love of God is. I am saying this with full confidence in my heart: we do NOT love God more than we love people. We do not! Loving God EQUALS loving people. Love your neighbor as yourself was the answer Jesus gave in response to being asked what the greatest commandment is. There was one question: What is the greatest commandment? Not, "what are the TWO greatest commandments". Jesus felt that loving the people God created was just as important to mentioning that loving God is the most important commandment.

My bottom line is that WE are the portals to Christ in each others lives. I believe he physically and literally fills us with himself. We are his body. His real body. When we love each other we are loving Him, in the most literal sense. I'm so sick of hearing people say "I'm so in love with Jesus, I'm enthralled with God's love", and then seeing them be abrasive jerks to those around them. I'm not saying we can't have personal and spiritual experiences with the Spirit of God alone. But I think he is in more of what we do each day with each other, than anywhere else. I also think that an awareness of the literal existence of Christ and an acceptance of his sovereignty (which is commonly known as salvation) is NOT needed for Christ to work. I think that Jesus is in every act of selfless love, even if people don't know that he is. He is God after all, and he does love all people. Why should I be so small minded to think that he can't work ANYwhere? Love changes people, and "non saved" (whatever that means) people change lives all the time. Maybe salvation is one person being changed by the love and acceptance of an individual, and knowing the value of that experience, and genuinely wanting to "pay it forward".

So, I don't want to be the sacrifice of love you lay down on the altar to prove your allegiance to God. I want to be the mercy you're showing out of a changed life, knowing that your love for me could change mine.

bleed

I bled on you, then could see the blood that changed me inside me
And though you saw some gory things, you saw the healing bleeding brings
I wish I hadn’t shown my wounds, but since I did you saw the truth
The pain that shepherds might go through
The pain that love brings healing to
I bled on you, I bled on you
I bled on you, I bled on you

Goodbye.

Several thoughts right now...
First of all, this is my blog, with my thoughts. So I'm not going feel guilt for expressing what's on my mind when all you have to do is not read it if you don't want to know. Besides, there's only one person I for sure know that reads this.

I never got to say goodbye. I was there, and then I was gone. I never got to say it, and I'm now realizing that I'm going to have to come to grips with that, and accept it as part of the journey I'm on. Since this is my blog, I want to say goodbye.

Anyway, today I'm remembering a feeling that is now only a memory, and a dream I rarely have. There are many things that can trigger this feeling in me: weather, a certain time of day,different times of year, a song, a voice, a picture, my guitar, etc etc.

The feelings are the memories of my past life that just recently passed away. I resort to blogging about it all because I'm sick of talking it to death with my friends. At least now they choose if they want to hear me or not.

I know that there was pain in what I used to have. I know there was. In fact, in many ways I'm so very blessed now even more than before. But there is a sense of loss that only time will heal. I have moved into the acceptance stage of grieving. I have tried to revive my friendships that suffered. I have tried to be supportive in every way. I have tried to escape through relationships, traveling, alcohol, sleeping, and on and on. But the bottom line is only time will wash away the hurt. And only Jesus will give me the grace to survive the time.

First I want to say I'm sorry. I feel I have been treated unjustly, and wrongly. But in the END, I could have prevented this by following what I knew was right. So, I'm sorry.

So I'll miss driving you, and talking with you, and fundraising for you, and singing with you, and going to camp with you, and laughing with you, and teaching for you, and failing for you, and winning for you. I will miss the pain of holding you up, and the lessons you taught me. I will miss being so exhausted I can hardly stand. I will miss the awkward sex talks, telling your parents on you, and the way you make fun of me for being "old". I will miss my office, and you finding the random sherriff badges and boxes of baking soda. I'll miss your art, and discussing the meaning of life. I will miss watching you cry as Jesus touches you while I play you a new song. I'll even miss the damn Scandinavian festival.

Thank you for the time I had with you.
I'm sorry for how it ended.
I love you.
Goodbye.

two.

Remember that time that we wanted
The world to be different again
Remember the way that we fought it, remember back then
Remember how I used to love you, And long every hour I gave
But two years was all that you needed, two years just caved

So forget me while I’m
waiting to find myself
Forget all the times that I came to your side and helped
Forget all the blood, forget all the love,
Forget all the reasons I wasn’t enough.
Forget it so I can remember who I once was.

In two years life can be different, in 2 years worlds can change
Just 24 short months I’ve been here, and I’ve lost my name
Sweet adolescence has fallen, due the need of my shame
Once a role model, and now I just follow looking to make up a name.
Trying to make up a name.


So forget me while I’m
waiting to find myself
Forget all the times that I came to your side and helped
Forget all the blood, forget all the love,
Forget all the reasons I wasn’t enough.
Forget it so I can remember who I once was.