she writes on sundays

scrape the chairs

December 19th, 2014

(my cover photo for this blog is in honor of the 70th birthday of Andrew Shearman. He’s the founder and vision caster of this place and I am so grateful for the works he put in motion, the table he created and the love he pours every day into those who follow him.)

Last week, on my second to last day of class, I went to Maria’s to write. When Patty and I find ourselves there to do work at the same time we normally sit at separate tables.

But on days when we start class at ten we end up in the bakery at the same time as the rush of moms getting coffee after they drop their kids at school and at the same time as this group of runners piles itself slowly into a corner.

There isn’t a lot of room at Maria’s. Five round tables with about 3 chairs each. And with the cold wind outside no one dares occupy the tables scattered outside the doorway.

So as it gets more and more crowded and the tables get filled one of us will take notice and will choose to move and make room.

I moved this time. I got up and made room and came to sit at the table with Patty. We rearranged it, moved the poinsettia and the napkin holder.

We made room and I sat at the table.

(From the pounding of my heart as I wrote that sentence, I know that there is more.)

I made room. And then I sat at the table.

When I first got here in July I didn’t think there was room for me. And it wasn’t in a negative way (most of the time), I just didn’t think that this was my table. I didn’t believe I fit.

I was ok with sitting away from everything, watching people continually come back and sit and see how it supernaturally expanded.

And even though I wasn’t sitting there; I was so blessed by watching people come back from all over the world and sit without a care who they were next too.

I saw the peace that came when people set their feet back in this place.

The weariness that was shaken off.

The weariness that was shaken off by coming home.

I remember this one moment in college, it was my freshman year and my two roommates and I were dubbed “the mean girls”. Anyway, the three of us and a friend went to a floor event at a restaurant. We walked and the table all of the others were sitting at was full, and no one moved or lifted a finger to find a seat.

So we sat down at another table.

About three minutes later more girls from the floor poured through the door.

And everyone moved.

We watched in awe of the fact that literally every person around the table moved.They made room.

And now as I sit and think about that moment I realized something:

Did I really WANT to sit at that table?

Probably not.

If I would have, I would have made room for myself.

Moved back a chair and set myself down.

I began to, at some point, make room for myself at tables in Spain.

It took me awhile.

I didn’t want to make room for myself. I was that one who had walked through the door last. I was the one who didn’t know where the extra chairs were.

But somewhere along the way I realized that all it takes is me scraping some chair legs on the floor and someone will help.

This table is filled with a whole lot of family. It’s a place that I didn’t have to work to sit at but I had to WANT to sit at. It’s filled with people I trust, people who have wisdom and authority. People who love beyond condition.

Here’s my challenge, my advice, a piece of love: Find a table; find a group of people; find a family who shares your DNA, scrape some chair legs and have a seat.

It will be a place of love and of change if you allow it.

I found my table, my tribe, here in Spain. I am sad to leave them, but I know I will always have a seat.
Thank you Tiffany

December 14th, 2014

I haven’t wanted to write.

I haven’t been able to express my emotion past the space of a Facebook status or an Instagram caption. These two weeks will be the longest stretch of time that I’ve gone without putting pen to paper and words to screen.

Why?

My heart is simultaneously BURSTING and breaking.

I had a crazy, busy week this past week in Mijas. I had class each day filled with teachings on tabernacle and covenant, I taught 5 English classes, cooked dinner every night, had a lunch date each day, made a five layer birthday cake and last, but certainly not least, taught a morning in class in front of my peers.

Not to mention a smattering of people I love leaving.

And today we had our last intern brunch.

The graduating class was asked the question: what surprised us about G42.

My answer?

I’m shocked/surprised at how much I love, treasure and cherish these people.

My heart leaps at the mere thought of this tribe.

I didn’t expect to love these people this much.

I didn’t expect to carry the spirit of this place as much.

You come to this mountain and you see and feel the spirit of this place.

But you don’t get it at first.

I didn’t get it at first.

At first the spirit just hovers. It meanders down the streets and over the mountains. It resides in the houses and in the epi.

It’s there.

And then slowly you begin to grab it. Slowly you begin to understand that the spirit doesn’t just have to hover around you. You can take what’s for you. You can physically take it and use it.

You slowly realize it was a good thing.

You slowly realize that what each person who steps in front of you is saying is actually in you.

Whew.

The spirit of this place is in me.

The DNA is in me.

The spirit that mingles down the cobblestones is something that I can take with me.

If you ever come to Mijas, if you ever walk the streets or sit in the epi, you will feel it. You might not get it, but you’ll know it’s there.

There is something special on this mountaintop. But the amazing thing is that this mountain sends people out. So it’s not only here; it’s in a coffee shop in Texas, in an apartment in Ukraine, it’s walking down the streets of Georgia, it’s in a little village in the middle of Cambodia.

And while my heart is breaking to leave the people of this tribe, it bursts. Because I carry these people with me. We are connected by DNA that is in each of us. We are connected by being apart of this family.

So it’s my last week in Mijas. I’m going to graduate on Wednesday and this journey will be over.

I’m going to cry a lot of tears this week. Not out of sadness, but out of love.

I’ll share more this week about where I’ve come from and where I’m at now.

But I’m also going to be sharing in last glasses of wine, coffee, blue chair bocadillos with the people who reside on this mountain.

(Last things for now.)

Because as my friend Patty Reed says, it’s never goodbye in this tribe: it’s see you later.
Leftovers in the yogurt

November 24th, 2014

I’m sitting at Maria’s, drinking a coffee, something that I do most Mondays.

But in four Mondays from now, on the 22nd, I will be 8 hours into a 13 hr plane ride back to California.

That makes my heart constrict a little.
(That makes my heart constrict a lot.)

This place.
These people.
The spirit that remains no matter who passes through.

I love these cobblestone streets more deeply than I actually fathomed I could.

Because really, it’s not the cobblestone streets, but when I walk down them? Each step is filled words and lessons and spirit that pummels into my being.

It’s seeping through my feet.
It’s now in my foundation.
I hear the the hearts, of the staff, the teachers, voices that I value repeating words, phrases of wisdom that I scratch quickly across blank pages.

I want to remember, retain and practice.

There is so much beauty between the covers of my journal, so much whimsy of Christ.
But the one I’ve been going back and forth with, the one I’ve been trying to put into words for myself to keep is this:

I want to live out of WHO I am, not HOW I am.

When I first got to G42 this was a concept that I fought against. I remember a span of months during therapy where I had to write my emotional levels down each day and if I’m being honest with myself my life was up and down by the hour. I held it together reasonably well during work, but as soon as I got home by myself I sunk. I allowed myself to be ruled by what I was feeling and allowed that feeling to come out of my pores and seep into the atmosphere around me.

The ups and downs ruled me. The fact I I came out on the other side is a testament to Christ and to the Christ inside of those around me.

I had no bearings to grasp onto- but I sank, literally, at the foot of the cross at church every week and clung onto hope.

And I got through, a bit battered and a bit cynical.

I’m now Meg.
And I refuse to be up and down.

The last couple months I’ve had more FEELINGS of up and down then I would care to admit, because I know that I can live outside of being ruled by emotions. I know the truths about myself and the truths of who I am.

This challenge- living out of who I am and not how I am- has at moments been tough for me to swallow, because it shimmers it’s way into most aspects of my life. But I realize in the moments where I respond negatively to something because how I feel, how important it is to do life out of who I am.

When I choose to live out of how I am, I am choosing to live out of frustration, negativity, depression, exhaustion.

I am NONE of those things.
It reminds me of how we store leftovers-in yogurt containers. I was cleaning out the fridge to see what we needed to buy for the week. I glanced in our fridge and saw about 4-5 containers and because my house has been eating a lot of yogurt, I did the math and decided how many to buy.

Later talking to one of my housemates, found out that 2 of those containers actually held yogurt. But because we use them to hold something else I assumed they were all leftovers & chose not look. Not only does this say something about assuming, but it says something to me about how I present myself.

If I constantly live out of anger or frustration because those are my feelings, because those are the emotions that I feel so I grab them and run, eventually that will be what people see. Those around me will get so used to me living out of my emotions that it will be the assumption that I am angry and frustrated. There won’t be a second glance to search for something more because that will be all that is seen. My container, my being, will look the same, but inside it will be assumed it is negativity.

But really that’s not what is inside.
Inside is yogurt.
I just have to actually look.

I want to live a life where people don’t actually have to look inside to know that it is love. I want to live out of who I am, which is someone who loves, among so many other aspects.

I am a woman who has a lot to learn, and because of that a lot to give. And a lot of love

That’s where I am. I am nowhere near the end of figuring out how to do this, how to live solely on who I am. I’m finding that foundation, I’m finding the Christ inside me that has created that foundation of who I am.

I want to live on it and from it.

(And I don’t want you to automatically assume there are leftovers in the yogurt containers.)
a monologue like katniss & a room like harry

November 15th, 2014

There is a repetitive scene in the final book of the Hunger Games where Katniss keeps going back and reminding herself whom she is
amidst all of the chaos going on around her. She attempts to ground herself in who she is so that she can keep moving. She doesn’t want to lose herself in the middle of all of these new pieces her identity being poured out on her.

I’m sure if we had even more of a picture of the inside of Katniss’s brain that we would have heard lies upon lies piling up. We heard some; her believing that people had wished that had saved Peeta, lies that she wasn’t good enough.
I’m sure there were more.

Most main characters of books; while going through major characters revelations have to remind themselves who they are constantly, because they are continuously getting lied to about what they aren’t. Harry Potter went through life changes like nobodies business. He went from being treated as nothing to being “The Boy who Lived”. But for the first 10 or so years of his life he was relegated to a closet. He was physically told he wasn’t important and didn’t need to take up space. He went from being not allowed to take up room to having friends and people who cared about him.

That kind of truth and change can shake a person greatly. For every truth there are lies that tell you not to listen to the truth.

I’ve been told a lot of truth here in Spain.

And it’s shocked me. Physically, emotionally and spiritually I haven’t known how to take it all in. Bit by bit I’ve taken some. The fourth or fifth week I was here I had truth spoken to and over me and that took my breath away.

I haven’t known what to do with it all.

Just like Katniss and Harry I’ve had to remind myself of who I am and I’ve had to expand it.

I’ve had to move out of the room I’m living in because all of who I am doesn’t fit in the room anymore.

But I’ve found myself going back to the room daily because in all honesty, I’ve lived one way for so long that it isn’t even that it’s easier, it isn’t even that I don’t know different; it’s just that I’ve decorated and figured out how to live.

This past week we had “prophetic activation”. We learned a lot about what prophecy actual is and what it means to prophecy. And it was all so very good. But we also did activation.

At one point I found myself in the middle of a circle of 6 people.

The words that were spoken hit my heart.

And one of the statements that hit me about prophecy came running into my head during the time I was standing in the middle.

Prophecy hits in you. When there are words that you know are from God that hit you straight in your heart.

Because you know. You just know. God’s probably already told you; someone else has already told you.

Prophecy is confirming things already at work in you.

For me, it was a lot of truth that I need to add to statements I speak over myself.

If I don’t I will forget amidst all of the lies that hit my core.

This morning I was hit with lie upon lie. Trying to counteract and contradict all of the statements that I so desperately want to hold onto. Words that I want to believe are true.

Words that I NEED to believe are true for myself.
Statements that don’t fit in my room that I’ve decorated.
Words that cause me to need to renovate, open up the space and walk out the door.

Like Katniss I am going to say who I am. I am going to remind myself to find my footing each day, because I’ve heard and seen some pretty wild things in the past 5 months and I want to hold onto them and claim them as my own.

Like Harry, I am going to accept the fact that I don’t have to live in the small room under the stairs, I can walk out the door and leave it behind.

And if you are someone, like me, who is unable to fit truth in the room with you- remind yourself who you are. Don’t be afraid like I’ve been for so long to add onto what you know about who you are.

There is so much to uncover on ourselves. So much we are unable to see. Allow others to see them, and speak them to you, even (preaching to the choir) when they don’t fit in the space you’ve created.

Knock down some walls, slap up some new paint and create something with the truth you’ve been given.

I am Meg
Remembered.
Treasured.
Caregiver
Worth following
Rock breaker
Worth it.
and the fog rolled in

November 12th, 2014

When I was younger foggy day schedules were the best. My mom would shake me awake to tell me that I didn’t have to be up for another hour because school was starting late. To some that sounds crazy;to stop school for fog, but what you have to know is central California fog is no joke. There would be mornings when I couldn’t see across the street to the grape vines on the other side. Foggy day schedules meant watching TV on the couch and sleeping.

As I got a little older I started to dislike the fog more. There were too many accidents and too many deaths that took place. The fog started to be less like a blanket and more like an invisible roadblock.

Apart from all that I still like the fog. When I’m inside curled up by the fire and the fog rolls in; it still feels like a blanket, it still feels comforting. Fog tells a story of what’s not there.

The fog rolled in, in fierce ways in Mijas. As I walked home down cobblestone roads fog intermingled through the buildings and lingered outside of doorways. I turned the corner to head up to my house I noticed that the fog was stopping at the base of the hill. My home sits higher in Mijas so it make sense that there was no fog at our doorway.

As I walked down the stairs to my patio I watched the fog, white and billowy, pour down the mountainside and cover the Mediterranean. Anything the fog didn’t touch seemed clearer, more defined, more colorful even against the white. In all this I thought of the phrase “having a foggy brain”.How a foggy brain makes thoughts seem murky or unclear and how after the fog subsides every thing is clear because you can actually see without searching or straining.

But what if instead of focusing on the part that is foggy we focused on the part just outside of the fog? Instead of looking to what we can’t see why don’t we look to what we can. So often, we choose to try to search through what we can’t see. We try to look for the unseen and forget to see what we can actually comprehend without hurting our eyes. And as we understand what is seen, the fog rolls back we see even more and we don’t miss the first part.

We’re doing prophecy activation this week at g42 and so many pieces of my life that I dubbed foggy are slowly being uncovered. It’s not quick or all at once, but I’m beginning to realize that the fog is fading and things that weren’t clear are beginning to be covered by the light.

Fog isn’t a bad thing. It keeps the ground from freezing and holds in warmth. It covers. Fog hold onto things (like oranges) so they don’t get ruined in the weather,so it doesn’t go bad before it gets picked.

The fog in my brain has been holding revelation until I was able to connect the dots. Until I was able to accept. A lot of those dots were connected today. But truthfully there is still fog. And if I’m being honest…it’s a lot of information that hasn’t all been made clear. A lot of information I haven’t been able to fully sort through.

But watching the fog roll in and out and uncover mysteries in my life has been a theme. Yesterday, the fog rolled in and out to physically show me things were about to be revealed.

To show me that what I didn’t think I had, I have now. It was just covered in fog, being protected, so when the freeze came the fruit wouldn’t get ruined because it wasn’t ready to be picked.

I’ve lived my life in different states of fogginess. But I’m choosing now to see what’s above or outside of the fog. Because eventually it will roll away and I will be able to see for what I’ve been waiting.

I’m not going to stand in the fog and search eyes strained. My vision already bad enough without forcing myself to see what is not ready for me to see.
don’t drink my coffee

November 6th, 2014

Due to the fact that my friend Santiago has a countdown to traveling to see his girlfriend that happens to fall on the same day that I leave Spain for the states I know exactly how many days I have left.

But I’m going to pretend I don’t.

Let’s just say I don’t have a lot of time left here and I’ve realized something very, very important:

I have some SERIOUS giants to slay in the next (insert how many days I have left here).

I guess I should go back.

January 2012. The first sermon of the new year was about the giants in the promised land and how Joshua & Caleb were “of a different spirit”. That was my, “Oh crap. I need to quit my job. I need to move on to the next. I need to jump” sermon.

And that was not the last time I’ve heard that message over the last 2.5 years. It peppered talks on the World Race and now here in Spain it’s laced into most week’s topics. Being of a different spirit. Stepping into the river and taking what’s mine.

The last 2.5 years in my life have been wilderness years. They’ve been full of adventure, provision, wisdom and an immense amount of preparation.

At this very moment I’m standing on the edge of the river bed and I can see the Promised Land.

It’s terrifying.

And I think part of me has already touched the water. I might be standing ankle deep. And I can see these giants.

From far away they look scary. Gnashing teeth and fierce eyes. They are ready to kick me down and tell me that I’m not meant for greatness. That the land isn’t mine. That I’ve survived on garlic and onions and I should keep it that way.

They have names written across their chest.

Unworthiness. Lack of trust. Invisibility. Independent. Stubborn. Burden.

These words scream at me daily.

These words need to go to hell.

These words are “fundamental truths” in my life. They pepper the foundation of who I am. They are the scope of which I view myself. They are words from which I’m able to emotionally detach myself. I pretend//act like, they don’t effect me in anyway. I’m able to get beyond them, but in reality they are still there.

May I repeat?

These words need to go to hell.

I don’t want to live cowering in the shallow end of the river not walking the rest of the way to the Promise Land because these giants are kicking back and drinking my good coffee in the place I belong while I sit sipping instant coffee.

I don’t want to leave Spain with these giants still in front of me. Now, I’m not saying once I slay all these giants my promised land won’t be have hardship or hurt or I won’t struggle with lies.

But I won’t struggle with THOSE lies anymore.

They are going to find a final resting place in the south of Spain.

That’s what I’m going to be doing these next several weeks.

Continuing the process of choosing to slay giants because I’m choosing to see and claim my promise land.

Two and half years ago I realized I wanted to be of a different spirit.

And today, sitting in a cafe, drinking my good coffee, I choose to make that decision again.
I hate change.

October 27th, 2014

I’ve sat in front of my computer and feel like I’ve started multiple blogs and most times I’ve written, “I don’t know what to say”.

But of course that’s a major lie.
8 times out of 10 I know what I want to say.
What I’m learning is when or when it is not the time to say them.

Right now there are an incredible amount of thoughts, plans, stories stocked piled in my brain that I want to share. It’s so much that I don’t really know where to start. My mind flits from topic, to tangent and I end up sitting in front of my screen deleting full paragraphs of what I have started, shutting my computer and calling it a day.

Today I’m choosing to write about one I’ve been thinking on for awhile.

I have a word that I realize I despise almost as much as “process”.

CHANGE.

I despise the word change. Every day we are attacked with things we need to change.

Changing how you eat.
Changing how you act.
Changing who you are.

But is it really about change?

About 4 years ago I got this tattoo.

I got it after year of battling, surging through and living in depression.

Restored is finalized. Done. Finished.

That’s what I wanted to be. I didn’t want to have a present tense word tattooed on me for eternity; I wanted something that spoke of an act already completed.

In the process of life I wasn’t “changing” into a less depressed person, I was become restored into something I was already.

Take a painting for example; it’s battered, torn, ripped. A person doesn’t look at it and decide well, it has done its job, might as well scrap the thing and move on. Nope, they call in someone who restores. Who will take the pieces that are there and bring it back to its original likeness.

And that is why I hate the word change.
God doesn’t want to CHANGE us. For heavens sakes, he CREATED us. He saw us in our original beautiful form. He wants to bring us back to where we once were.

He wants to bring us back to the original likeness he created.

I think that we so often think we need to “change” because we don’t actually know what we are supposed to be.
I don’t know how many times I can say it: We don’t need to change. Change means scrap the whole thing; it means take nothing of ourselves. And God gave us so many crazy talents, gifts and desires to use.
So many to keep.

God wants to restore the world. He wants to show us what He really made us to be. That’s why it never works to go into a third world country and try to get them to act like America and do life like America; that’s not how they were designed. We can help them find what they’ve lost in themselves.

I will never ask you to change who you are. Because deep down in all of us is the foundation of encouraging, of service, giving, and love. It’s all in there. We just need to chip away at the things that hide them.

We need to bring in the one who does an amazing job at restoring masterpieces and have him work on the rips and the blemishes.

So as I walked to Spar today and especially over the last few weeks of the new term; I’ve realized that God is restoring me to what I am supposed to be. I’m different. New, strong.

My joy has been restored.

And it’s not from asking God to change me or make me into some new. It’s from walking with Him each day, in the good and the bad and seeing who HE is and in that seeing who I am.

I’m not new. I’m just me. Restored. Realizing passions and dreams that are becoming a doable reality right out in front of me.

Restoration isn’t easy. It’s hard work, it’s allowing some tears to be torn a little more. It’s not about scrapping and starting over.
It’s about doing the work that needs to be done.
It’s about living like you were made for something.
Not like you were made to be something else.

Let’s stop changing.
Let’s get into the business of restoration.
do the damn thing.

October 20th, 2014

I’m ready.
Or at least, I think I’m ready.

When I had two months to go on the World Race last year I was in the middle of Cambodia in a village, hand washing my clothes and taking bucket showers, battling Small Eye, teaching little children English and for a season being a vegetarian because no has time to accidently eat dog.

I had a countdown chain that was counting the days until I hit the United States. I was ready to go home. Ready to be done. I had to firmly plant my feet in the rice fields of Cambodia and pray for so many aspects of life.

This time is different.

I’m not ready.

I am finding ways to superglue my feet into the soil of Mijas.
Ways to soak up every minute around these people I love.
I don’t want to leave this place. The people, the heart, the DNA.
There were parts of last year I didn’t want to leave.
But there is nothing really about here that causes me to retreat.

And that is why I am ready.
I have two months left and I am going to take all I can and infuse myself with this corner of the south of Spain.

And then to quote my friend Patty Reed “I’m going to go do the damn thing”.

I’m ready to step in the river; not test out the water, not stick a toe in, but go and DO and BE.

So this is why I am so utterly grateful that I still have two months to sink my toes into the sands next to the Mediterranean. Two more months to grab hold of all that this place has to offer.

Two more months to live in this place I will always call home.

My vision and dreams feel more real, more part of myself then they EVER have.

I’m ready to plant my feet and build, speak and create life.

As I sat in class today this is what I came to terms with; I realized I’m ready, but I’m not.

So let’s go do the damn thing.
creatively speaking: a story

October 17th, 2014

normally I don’t post creative works on here. but last week we had one of my favorites here:Herman Haan. He always challenges us to step outside our box. to do something unexpected. this week he brought two songs to us “one of us” Joan Osborne and “if it be your will” Leonard Cohen. we had to take one of the two songs and analyze it and share that and then we had to make our own creative interpretation. this is the fictional story that came out when I sat down to interpret “one of us”

And so I sat.

I take the same train home everyday.
I sit in the same spot in the same car.
Most people deem that impossible but I know it’s the same because of the mickey mouse sticker stuck on the bottom of the seat across from me.

I come home from work at almost the same time every day so I see the same cast of characters.

There’s a trio of school teachers normally complaining about this is that. There is an always loud group of teenage girls coming from dance class.

There’s multiple businessmen who every day get frustrated with the exact same breaks in cell service.

Then there is this guy. Who usually has a suit on and it’s rumpled in all of the places you’d expect a suit to be rumpled.

One time I saw him pull a rattle out of his pocket. He smiled at it and stuck it back in his jacket.

I gather he’s a father.

But for as rugged as his appearance can be, I never know if he’s coming or going. I don’t know if he’s going to work and lacks an iron or if he’s coming home from work and carries weight and responsibility with him.

The thing about train commuters is that we are a people who are creatures of habit.
So when I got on the train today I was shocked to find him in his rumpled suit sitting in the seat next to the one across from the mickey sticker.

I contemplated sitting somewhere else since he had so oddly changed the assigned seating of the 5:30 train.

But something about the look on his face compelled me to sit. It wasn’t just that he was tired looking, like he had a lot going on, he looked wearied. But he looked wearied and alive at the same time.

He looked young but old.

So I sat.

Sitting next to him he fished out of his pocket a torn crinkled picture; one that had gone through the washer a few times. I found myself hooked on it. He kept running his fingers over along the seams created from time spent in a pocket. I just kept my eyes glued.

I don’t know how long I stared at it but in a swift moment I felt the atmosphere change. I could feel his eyes on me. Looking at me.

I wanted with everything in me not to look up.
But at some point I’d have to look up. Up into the eyes of this man who took the same train as me.

I found myself want to look in his eyes. If anything to find so many answers to questions I had stored up. Not necessarily about him, though I did have some, but mainly every question I had stored up sitting on that train. Every moment that I had watched poles scan by the window. Every moment I sat contemplating what I was doing.
I knew he would have the answers.

So I looked up.

He held by eyes and smiled this tired smile.

Here’s the thing: I’m just a normal person. I work a 9 to 5 job and go home to a studio apartment.
I have a basil plant and a fire escape.

I’m not complicated.

And this man could understand that. He saw something in me as he held my gaze. It was like the picture he had in his pocket had me in it.
He knew me.
He saw me.
He saw me.

I didn’t want to break away from the stories and emotions running through my head, but he broke eye contact from me.

And I sat.

I sat long enough to come to the realization that I had, for the first time ever, missed my stop.

I didn’t want to stand up, didn’t want to get away from what was happening, didn’t want to lose what I might have found.

But I knew the further away I got, the further that I would be away from home. The harder it would be to GET home.

So I stood up on shaky legs. Not knowing what had happened.

It was as if in an instant my life flipped. One moment of eye contact and I realized I hadn’t been seen in a long while. I walked out the doors of the train and turned around to glance back in the windows and say him, smiling tiredly, once more.

I hugged my bag tightly as the wind started to pick up. Fall was coming, a change was coming.
A change had come.

A change had come in the form of the unknown father sitting next to me.

I don’t know what I was going to do with that moment. A moment most would normally throw away and deem unimportant.
But I was going to do something.
But I knew I had to do something.
lovely, once more

October 11th, 2014

I don’t like writing things out by hand. It feels as if the words that I place on paper have more power and emotion behind them then the words that I type out.

I don’t know why.

I just know that it is scarier for me.

It is scarier for me to place things handwritten in a journal.

It is scarier for me to place HURT in a journal.

There is so much pain involved in placing phrases and story in my own hand, phrases that hurt parts of my soul.

My journal is sacred. It’s filled with notes from class, quotes from books that impact and lovely musings.

It is where I separate the light from the dark. It is where I should be able to be vulnerable.

But here in this moment I want nothing to do with vulnerability.

I don’t want to fill my journal with words and phrases.

It is terrifying

It terrifies me so much that I bought watercolors to paint the pages in my journal and make them beautiful so I would WANT to write in them. To entice me to place words inside its covers.

I have another blog started on another blank page.

It’s about one of the reasons I am at G42.

A reason I never talk about.

I was going to explain it.

Because in all honesty I just want it to go away.

But while in conversation with one of my precious people in the haven and warmth of her home I realized I still hurt.

I still feel ugly in those things.

As the women who are influential in my life always say tears and anger are a map.

My tears showed me a lot today.

And it’s tough. I’m sitting here on the floor trying to even eek out a sentence in regards to all that’s in my head. All the beginnings of sentences I began in conversation with my dear friend.

I guess I want to encourage myself and in turn encourage you to write the ugly things. I’m writing mine on beautiful painted pages in my journal. I’m surrounding things I deem ugly with beauty.

I think it’s wonderful that I live in a world where ugly things are made lovely so often.

And that’s what I want to strive to do. Show people what they deem ugly in their story and show how they can create out of it beauty

That’s what I’ll be doing in my journal. Sentence by sentence, line by line, I’m going to paint pictures with my words and make the things that aren’t lovely, lovely once more.