Bury It Deeper.

Bury it deeper,
because everyone knows that the last thing this world needs is another sob story.
Keep it to yourself.
Everyone around you has their own things to deal with. What makes you think that anyone wants to hear what happened to you?
Be strong,
Only the weak let their guard down and let people in.

Break out the shovel.
My feeble hands clawed at the ground for way too long.
The bones of my victimized days and hours, the time I've wasted chasing other things and hiding away will lay me down in this hole, hollow and rotten from the heart out.
So here's where the question comes...
Do I lay down and wrap my mistakes close to my body like a shroud?
Do I throw another shovel of dirt on their grave, but go on worrying that someone will come and dig them up?
Or Should I lay them out for the world to see, for the Father to deliver me from, and finally let them die?

Decisions, decisions.

I want love without obligation.
I want love with truth built in, the kind that you can look at a person and honestly love them with all your ability.
I need that. I want to know that there is someone who doesn't love me because of my name, or because I benefit them, or whatever.
That empty love cuts far deeper than any insult.


Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres...

I remember the days when the breeze rattled us and the sun shone down, we held on through everything. The days of beauty, with the world below us as we floated together, so far above it all.
But the sun hid away, and the breeze turned into a whirlwind.
And we fell.
We fell like the leaves in the fall after summer, then disintegrated into dust under winter's cold fingers.

Now I'm coming apart at the seams, My every insecurity showing, like the rips and tears of a favorite shirt destroyed by years of wear.
I feel as though my tattered threads and frail stitches are going to be the death of me, and I fear the ending.
I've come to the end of me, and now I can't see anything.
I'm missing you more than I can express, the part of me that is so far away.
I need to be sewn back together.
You'll be the thread to patch me back together.

Prayer for Joshua Olds.

As most of you SHOULD know, my username comes from a Family Force 5 song. This band has been so important to me, and I have been following them so long I feel like I know them. Their bassist, Josh "Fatty" Olds, has recently come down with some kidney issue. As of last night, they transferred him to another hospital and called in a specialist. Today, there hasn't been much news, which the band is taking as good news. The band is asking for prayer, and I'd like to pass the message along. Here is their original bulletin:

Hey gang,
I'm sending this out with a heavy heart. Please please please lift Josh (Fatty) up in prayer for healing. He was admitted to a hospital last night after the show and today he's been moved to ICU. Doctor's say it's serious. They're calling a kidney specialist in.

If you pray. BE a PRAYER WARRIOR right now for Josh. Ask your friends from church to lift him up for healing.

Thanks everyone.

If you like them, or even if you don't, please keep them and Josh specifically in your prayers. They have just set out on a Christmas tour, and it would be hard for a family at home -let alone a band that is out on tour- to see their brother in pain.

THANK YOU,
~gabi

We all like to make-believe we're doing our best.
We know we aren't. We just like to think we're playing our part to the best of our ability.
There is always more we can do, More I could do. The question is, are we willing to make the effort? Am I willing to step out and practice the things that I say I believe in, or am I going to settle in?
Honestly, I've failed you.
Honestly, I haven't been trying hard enough.
Now is the time to practice what I preach, and I'm ready to do it.

By Death, I live.

I hesitate in saying I am qualified to say that Jesus is God. I have no title. I haven't been to college yet. I live in probably the most spiritually dead area in the US ( not talking about the No on 1/Yes on 1 thing, either). Sure, I grew up in a christian home with 2 pastors in my extended family. But I also go to public school. I am in theater. I am a rocker and somewhat of a rebel. Who do I think that I am?
I don't. Honestly, Everything I am hinges on Christ. Beyond Him, there shouldn't be much left. Everything I do, Everything I say SHOULD be out of the conviction that there was a gory execution with blood and horror that took place to make a better life for me. and for whoever wants it.
You know, the whole world has this screwed-up view of God that He wants nothing more than to "smite" us for making mistakes. But this is not the reality. The reality of God and his love is that he smote ( that is really a word?!?) his son, a part of himself, in order that we should be freed from our mistakes. God did not come to get ripped up, beaten and murdered just so that he could go back to his cloud and throw lightning bolts. He came to understand us, to live with us and show us the greatest love there is: someone willing to die to save us from ourselves.
The "end all, be all" of my life, the call to which I aspire is to live in a way that honors the one who died for me. To wake up screaming " By Death, I live."

I sit at the base of the tree and wonder how deep the roots go.
Do they reach deep into the ground, to keep the tree from swaying when the winds beat against the branches?
Or do they skim just below the surface, just praying that a hurricane won't tear them down?
Do the branches reach to the sky in vain, reaching for the clouds that will turn against them at a moment's notice?
Or do their outstretched arms invite the life-giving rain to fall and run down their leaves and hardened bark to nourish them at the core?
The more I sit here and feel the wind beat against my coat, the more I watch the leaves roll and crackle, I realize my uncertainties are misdirected.