When You Look Back On the Future

When she recounted the moments of her past year, the past three-hundred-and-sixty-five days, she saw answers to questions hidden in plain view. Her eyes saw them now, but they had been invisible back when she was living at that exact moment. She couldn't see it then, but now it was as clear as the cerulean sky above her head. 

What caused her former self to be shrouded from understanding the things she now knew? When does a soul ripen, transforming from a naive acorn into a discerning oak? 

She still didn't know the answer to that one. The wisdom she craved and the spirit of understanding which she desired so immensely were always things of mystery. Far more valuable than any physical object, and rightly so. 

But now it all made sense. 

She was now living in the future - the future her former self didn't yet know. A year ago, she was a different soul. A little less seasoned. A little less knowledged. A little less wise.
A soul who allowed herself to be deceived into thinking she knew what love was.
He hadn't been her first choice, no. But she was willing to give him a chance just in case God had plans for them. She liked him, and for a time she even thought that she was in love.
Alas, no. That wasn't true love.
It wasn't meant to be.
When God revealed this to her, she changed. She realized the truth.
When she learned a secret she hoped she'd never have to know, everything came apart. The afternoon she learned something far more saddening than she ever wanted to imagine, was the afternoon that changed her life forever.
But it was the hardest month of her life.
She dissolved into an ocean of solitude and misery, a swath of confusion and protest. She tried not to let anger and bitterness take root in her soul. Only God could count the number of tears she wept in confusion and pain.
But when her world was turned upside down, she felt the embrace of Christ himself.
In that time of perceived tribulation, she lost a bit of herself and gained something even more grand.
She gained experience. A jewel of wisdom. She experienced a tiny taste of the fires of God's refining.
And she learned to cherish those flames.

-

It's a beautiful thing to look back on the past, and see how the Lord's mercies work together like pieces in a giant, universal puzzle. To think that, I, just a small fragment of that grand puzzle could even be allowed a place in the picture at all is gloriously humbling!
When I look back on what was, at one time, the future to my past self, I see things that weren't possible to understand then. It's as if I were driving down a pitch-black highway at night, with only my dim-lights on so that I can merely see about forty feet ahead in the darkness.

Of course, on one hand, isn't that what faith is? Walking by TRUST, HOPE, and BELIEF, not by sight. You have NO idea what's yet to come but you know it will all make sense at some point!

Even thinking about what I considered tribulation, earlier this year, is interesting. The truth is? I have no clue what a real trial or tribulation is like. I may have experienced pain, and my soul may feel awful raw and cut-on. But that doesn't mean I've truly suffered. By Jove, gracious, no! Have I been persecuted for my following Jesus? Have I been tortured or my family arrested because of our faiths? No! Am I still alive, thriving and breathing? Yes!

I'm going to be totally honest with y'all. This isn't pretty, but it has to be said.
There were months when I wanted to die.
You might find that hard to believe, coming from a girl with high self-esteem and an incredible amount of drive in life.
*sigh* But it's true. As many days as I've had where my emotions soared and I felt I was truly amazingggg (see, I definitely have tendency to struggle with pride!), I've had just as many where I cursed myself as being a horrible excuse of human, never good enough and always failing and disappointing the ones I loved dearest. It crushed me more than any physical burden could.
When the voices screaming in my head wouldn't be silent and I wanted to end it so I wouldn't hear them, or have to be stuck with my shell of a monstrosity. I hated myself so, in the times when I hit extreme emotional lows that sunk to levels of depression.
I was a mess, I was worried for other people's safety when I was out in public. I never knew when my next meltdown would be. I had a few panic attacks out of nowhere. I couldn't focus, and I was crying every day for no reason other than nothing made sense and I was so sick of myself.
I heard voices saying I was an alien, a monster, and that nobody could understand my condition of being. I was an anomaly. A girl whose emotions were off the charts. Bipolar. Out of control.
The voices wouldn't shut up. I couldn't find peace in my cranium no matter how I attempted to seek it. I prayed in desperation for rest from the chaos enveloping my mind. It just wouldn't come.

I want to say that some of those days were like hell on earth for me. Obviously that is a major exaggeration, but if you've ever experienced any form of depression or manic-depressive symptoms you'll understand. It's truly grotesque, what your mind does when subjected to this kind of crippling emotional...whatever you call it. Actually I reckon the scientific answer is that it's merely an chemical imbalance in the brain. Still, it is crippling.

I don't really know what happened, but for the past several months I have experienced something that has been much prayed for, and almost too good to be true, considering the mental madness of earlier in the year.
Mental clarity, and internal peace. 
NO VOICES. No screaming voices. No slanderous whispers in my ears. No endless tears and meltdowns every single day of the week.
Tears are welling up in my eyes as I say this. (what can I say, I'm still very emotional and this subject is not one I bring up much.)
I've never felt so incredibly FREE. I'm like a wild horse running free on the prairie, with nothing between me and the horizon. The bars of my mental prison vanished. I'm a bird released from its cage.
There are no chains on me, not any more.
I am free.
The only answer I have for this is one word. One name.
Jesus. 
People say you can't recover from mental illness. People say that you can't wipe that kind of thing from your DNA.
My answer is, thank God that the Supernatural Almighty doesn't listen to the scorn and disbelief of mortal humanity!
I don't know if I still have the potential for those bipolar-syndromes to return - maybe it will always be there. But maybe not. Maybe it won't.
 I will say this. My God is powerful, and so far, He's not failed me yet.
He answers prayers, in ways I don't expect or envision.
So if He takes this completely, I won't be surprised.
I will just be immensely grateful.

Anyway, so getting back to what I was saying earlier, I have experienced pain and there were times I thought I wouldn't be able to handle it any longer.
But all in all? Have I suffered? Have I truly suffered tribulation?
No.
No amount of bipolar-symptom trauma or emotional tornadoes could change that.
And even if I lost everything I have, I would still not know true suffering.
No, real suffering isn't anything I'll ever know.
Jesus suffered when He took my punishment on the cross. When He laid down His life to be brutally murdered in one of the most painful deaths a human could experience.
That was true suffering.
So yeah...can I complain about anything I've gone through?
Never.

When I look back on the past, I know that it was a beautiful one. Why? Because even scars and broken pieces are beautiful, when they are redeemed and refined by Christ. 

A Storm Called Liberation - Letters to Myself

 

This isn't really a poem, but I don't know what else to call it. Musings? Yes, musings will do.

It's just what happens when you know you need to write /something/ but you aren't sure whether to pen a song, or a poem by itself. This will probably end up evolving into a song though nonetheless.

I will admit that these past two weeks have been among the hardest in my life. I was given counsel by a very dear friend who is like a second-mother to me, to "write letters to myself" when I am feeling more spiritually and emotionally stable, for those times in which I'm struggling. So I'm going to give it a go. Here's the first letter.

 

-

 

"A Storm Called Liberation" 

 

Fallen, my blood seeps into the ground.

Blinded, my mind hijacked and confounded.

I tried to destroy my own soul, I listened to my own lies.

Bound in a tangle of darkness, my throat raw from the screams and cries.

Resurrected, my wounds cleansed and purified by the Creator.

Eyes wide open; I take hold of the clarity and power He bestows.

Snapped me out of my delusions, cut the ties that held me trapped and lost.

 

Keep telling yourself a lie, and soon it becomes the truth.

God is not the author of confusion, He gives us direction on what to do.

Throw off the ropes, shred the lies like paper and toss them to the wind.

Your feet weren’t meant to be stagnant, and your mind wasn’t made to sleep.

Pick your body off the floor, plant your feet firm and grit your teeth.

In Him, you will overcome, you will survive, and you will find peace.

There’s a reason for this tempest, and this hurricane is only one of many.

The torrent of emotions is only a season, and you’re strong enough, you won’t drown.

You’re in a refining fire and in the end you will be like silver, if you fully seek the Lord.

This tribulation will free you, brace yourself and stand your ground.

Freedom isn’t a gentle thing, liberation takes you by storm.

So throw your chains away; allow the flood to envelop your soul.

 

You will bleed, you will plead for the end to come.

The darkness of night only points to our need for the sun.

I see clouds on the horizon, but I am thankful for the storms.

Lighting illuminates the heavens; thunder rolls like an orchestral score.  

Focus on the prize ahead, think to the years of the future, when,

Tried by the fire, having weathered the turbulence, having done all to stand,

Your skin will be thicker, your mind wiser, and your feet closer to the Promised Land. 

 

What Happened to Seventeen + Reenacting Adventures & Missing Hair

 

I don't know about y'all peeps, but January (for me) has already been full to the brim with excitement and amazing things.

 

Change. Growth.

 

Last Saturday, my best friends and I got to participate in our first Civil War reenactment.

 

It was a phenomenal weekend.

Friday night beforehand, I spent the night at Kay and Maygan's house to lessen the amount of driving the next day. We spent the last hours of the evening preparing for the next day - looking up accurate hairstyles on Pinterest, getting acquainted with driving directions, last minute outfit fixing/prep, etc.

Emma, the photographer for all the Friday night pictures.

 

You know you're a reenactor when this is what can be found in the living room...

 

And also ^^ this...

 

Experimenting with hairstyles. Being the only girl in my family, I will jump at a chance to play with/style peoples' hair.

 

And then of course, I also welcome a chance to have somebody else do my hair.

 

Kay is now officially my reenactment/event stylist. ^_^ Seriously, she has done some awesome stuff with my hair.

I just love my dress from Recollections!

 

Saturday morning was eventful. I was awoken promptly at 4:30 AM, after a night of peaceful sleep, and before that, long theological discussions with Maygan when we should have been asleep. Thankfully my friends are early risers, so we had plenty of time to get ready to leave.

 

The preparations took two hours. We ended up actually getting to Brooksville at around 9:30.

 

Brooksville, the location of this reenactment, is an hour and 20 minutes south of us. So this was the farthest I've ever driven. With our maps, common sense and God-given protection we got there all in one piece, and had only one instance of minor confusion on if we were on the right road or not.

 

The actual reenactment was incredible. We stayed for fourteen hours, and left around 11:45 in the night. What a day!

This was during the actual battle, when all the crowds showed up.

 

 

I loved getting to watch the battle. There's nothing like the sound of cannon and rifle-musket blanks going off everywhere, accompanied by the rousing drone of snare drums and fife melodies.

 

So many reenactors attended this event! 90% of them were Yankees, granted, but still. All the men in uniforms! In the beginning of the day us girls were just about the only females in proper attire for our age group, but as the day progressed more women and girls showed up and we didn't feel so...outnumbered.  Haha.

 

 

One of my favorite parts of the actual battle was the fife players and drummers. I would have loved to have that position!

 

Speaking of music, which is always our place at such events...

 

First off, it was frigid. Yeah, we Florida people don't know anything about true cold, but when you have a day in the early 40s it feels COLD. And we make a fuss about it.

 

On one hand, I love a nice nippy day. But when you're trying to play a stringed instrument in such weather, it proves difficult for all and sundry. The only thing that worked really well was our vocal harmonization. The bodhran sounded tinny, and Maygan's fiddle lacked depth. The guitar even felt shallow in sound, due to the dry air. But we managed. And I do think people enjoyed hearing us play. And that's all that matters.

 

I am thankful we had a few friends to meet up with during the day, to help us find places to put our instruments and such. Thanks to Jason and his family for being so helpful and accommodating!

 

One of the biggest highlights of the day was going to Chick-Fil-A in the evening during break to order dinner. Maygan, Kay and I all went inside with our dresses on and you should have seen the stares and gawking! A couple little girls walked by us and were grinning so big, pointing and whispering in amazement. I felt quite...hilarious while ordering my spicy chicken sandwich and milkshake, to say in the least. Hey, it's all an adventure!

 

 

It got especially crazy and amusing when all us girls (plus another friend who showed up later) trekked in the bathroom together....you don't even want to try and imagine using porta-potties with huge crinolines on! O_O Plus, Maygan, Kay and Christin needed to change into their ball clothes.

We had a hilarious time being total girls and laughing our heads off about ridiculous things...I think we scared off a few people who started to walk in...I was being the loopiest, and laughing at random people as they opened the door. *sigh* For real, Saturday night? Only my best friends and family could put up with such crazy behavior that I displayed. Thankfully I pulled it together before the ball.

 

 

The ball itself was really fun! You could see your breath....eeeep. Did you think that was even possible for FL weather?! ;) A nice amount of dancing and trying not to make a fool of myself by tripping all over my crinoline.

 

 

Overall, I loved the whole experience. I felt that in that one day I matured a bit, because I was forced to hold a good deal of responsibility that normally isn't mine to bear since I'm not usually traveling and hour and a half away for the whole day.

 

I love reenacting because you really, truly do feel like you've stepped back 150 years in time. People act differently, and for the most part, they're a pleasure to be around. Men and boys act like gentlemen, for the most part. If you're a girl or woman, you're treated with respect and favor. Basically, treated the way you should be treated. Granted, there will always be those few guys you want to avoid because, well, erm...they're far from gentlemanly. But that's how it is with any scenario, reenacting or not.

 

To me, Saturday was euphoric. There were a couple things which threw wrinkles in the plans, but they were minor and trivial - certainly not big enough to affect my general opinion of the day!

 

I'm incredibly thankful to God that He protected and blessed us, and that we even had the opportunity to participate in this event. It was thoroughly amazing, and something I'll not ever forget. I was a little worried that I'd fall asleep at the end of the day driving us back, because I was just SO tired....but the Lord's traveling mercies were with us and we got back safe, thank God.

 

 

In other news, more new pages have turned - this time with my age.

That's right, I've had to bid farewell to sweet seventeen. It was a wonderful year and age, the best of my life. But all good things must come to an end.

 

Eighteen ushered itself in.

 

 I am now legally an adult.

 

What even happened. O_O

Got myself a fedora with some of my birthday money, and loving it! Such a classy hat!

 

On one hand, it's just a number. Maturity doesn't come with simply being (fill-in-the-blank-number).

Wisdom doesn't come from the amount of years you've existed on this earth. It's found by seeking God and following in Christ's footsteps, always living by His Word.

 

So on one hand, 18 is a daunting number, but it's also just that. A number.

 

I'm still going to make the most of it, just like all the other years.

 

I still feel it's pretty monumental. 18 years I've walked this planet.

 

So you probably noticed the new-do by now... and yes, with the new year came a new hairstyle.

 

BANGS!

 

The last time I had my bangs cut was when I was 9. And they looked horrific. Ever since then I'd avoided them like the plague, in fear that history would be repeated.

 

But something crazy spurred me a few weeks ago to want to change up my look and try something different, so here I am!

 

I loveths them.

 

Anyway, so now y'all have been filled in on the most recent happening of my fabulous little life.

Hopefully I didn't deter you with all the run on sentences and rambling!

 

It's been a while since I spent so long on a blog post. O.o

 

Soli Deo Gloria,

Fly Me To the Moon {living radiantly, adventurously}

 

| Today's music playlist:

Why Do Fools Fall in Love - Frankie Lymon, The Teenagers

Fly Me to the Moon

Blueberry Hill - Fats Domino

Best Day of My Life - American Authors

I See Fire - Peter Hollens' version |

 

 

So I never got around to doing that traditional 'end of the year' post. Oh well. I was camping and trying to finish up The Rebels of Florida. (and yes - it's finally, finalllllyyyy done!) I'm sure you all can forgive me.

 

But seriously.

 

2014.

 

TWENTY-FOURTEEN, PEOPLES. We're still here!

 

This year is gonna be beyond fabulous, folks. Just sayin'. I sense huge things are going to happen this year. I thirst for adventure and somehow I feel that 2014 will be immersed in it.

Because, truth is, every year is an adventure in its own way. You don't have to go skydiving or travel the world to live adventurously.

 

 

This year, I'm striving to live radiantly, diving into adventure when it knocks at the door, embracing change and always on my toes. Never stagnating, never letting the grass grow under my feet.

Most of all, I want my being to overflow with the love of Christ. I want my eyes to sparkle with His joy and peace.

 

I want to be radiant.

 

I want to live in the moment, drink in the little details and notice every blessing, no matter how small it is. I want to remember how much God has done for me, and be in constant gratitude.

 

I want to be the kind of person who you see and think, "whoa, she's totally in love with the Savior."

 

Each new year we think of things we want to aspire towards, or accomplish. For most of my teen years I've made goals to accomplish things in the new year.

 

Things. Just marking stuff off a list.

 

Well maybe it's time for a change-up.

 

Yeah, I still have stuff I want to finish. I still have goals. Lists. But perhaps the most important things can't be marked off, they don't fit into a little box which you can cross out with ink.

 

Maybe the most important things aren't things at all. 

 

But, what about character qualities? Now we're getting somewhere! What if instead of long to-do lists I just aspired to be a different sort of person, a better sort of person?

 

What if I aspired to be more like Christ?

 

I don't know about you, but that sounds like a good plan to me. So that's what I'm going to do. 2014 will be amazing. And whatever happens, I know who's in charge. I know who I am, in Him. And I want the world to see what they're missing without Christ in their lives.

 

Okay, so another thing I've been musing. I want to write stuff down. Like, yeah I'm already a writer. I obviously am going to continue creating stories, and strange, tortured characters. That's not what I mean here. No, what I'm talking about is journaling. Describing little moments and blessings day to day. Even if it's just a few paragraphs, a few words.

 

Today for example, I'm drinking in everything. All the beautiful aromas, delicious tastes, and pleasant memories. Today I'm savoring...

 

| Buying French gifts for a French-loving friend. |

| A spritz of perfume from a little shop Mom and I went to in Micanopy. |

| A chilly, overcast January day, spent in a charming little town with my mommy. |

| The taste of an organic mocha and German chocolate brownie on your tongue. |

| Dancing around to 50's music. |

| Visiting the library. Nuff' said. |

| Getting a new Spanish book from the library. Me gusta! |

| Listening to your brothers' laughter/unintentional sound effects |

| Chances to explore and do new things. |

| Being weird. |

| Laughing. |

| Smiles. |

| Knowing that even tomboys like me can be feminine and hopeless romantics.|

 

 

So there's my little New Years' post. Random as usual, but how is that new? 

 

Y estoy frio. The temperature is dropping quickly...whoooo! I love Florida...at least, when we finally get to have a wintry moment here. For real, the rest of the country is getting warnings to stay inside so they won't freeze to death, and here we are running around outside and having a ball.

 

Esta bueno. Life is good.

 

Anyway! Adios queridas! Tell me what's new with you now, okay?

 

Writing-Induced Depression? {WriterlyWednesday}

 

I never thought it was possible.

 

Non-writers won't have any idea about that which I speak of - and I'm confident even some writerly folks won't understand. Honestly, it is a bit mysterious and daunting to me myself.

 

Writing-induced depression. Is that already an official term? If not, I'm coining it. WID.

 

My friends, WID is real.

 

I experienced it at its full potential this last Monday.

 

See, I've been working in earnest on The Rebels lately due to the fact that my self-set deadline is fast approaching with the end of the year.

 

And, I happen to be in the midst of the most depressing part of the book.

 

Have you ever attempted writing a full-fledged Civil War battle scene?

 

If you haven't, don't bother trying to sympathize wit me. The only way for you to understand this sentiment would be to go through the experience yourself.

 

The trauma. The feels. The pain.

 

This chapter has torn my inner workings to pieces. I put myself in a literal depression all because of it.

 

"A cave of depression", to quote an awesome writing friend of mine.

 

The numbness was stifling.

As I poured my soul into the gore and sadness on the document before me, tears forced their way from my eyes.

 

My eyes sting even as I think of it. My poor characters. Damascus Hayden, the red-headed Rebel man who's distanced himself so far from his Creator.

 

 

All I wanted to do when writing that scene was climb into bed and sleep.

Wake up to a fresh start, the painful emotions wiped clean away.

 

Getting away from the book did a world of good.

 

I accompanied Mom to Micanopy to drop off and collect library books, (always fun, since it's the library of course!) and then we took a serendipitous stop at Mosswood, a delightfully charming little locally run shop across the street from the library. It's one of my favorites, and has been for ages.

The sound of vintage 30's music drifts the place, organic, handmade and locally grown products fill the store's shelves. Books on how to do things yourself - how to bake bread, how to bee keep, you name it.

 

The building itself is an old house, renovated into a cozy store. Wood is everywhere - wood floors, beautiful wood counters, walls, ahhh it's lovely. I love wood furnishings.

 

The best thing is that this place supplies heirloom seeds - something we value greatly for our gardens.

Upon purchasing a good quantity for this year's winter crops, we made the spontaneous decision to also buy mochas. Mmmm! So warm and deliciously rich and yummy.

 

We sat out on the porch for a good solid hour, just Mom and I. *happy sigh* I will treasure that afternoon. It was a special mother-daughter bonding time. So terribly thankful for my parents!

 

So that helped with the dark moment of WID I was having. It helped greatly. Mom is such a good listener, I wish I was more like her.

I'm melodramatic. Insane, obsessive, completely random and sporadic.

Entirely too emotional. But you know what? Somehow, my family puts up with all that.

Somehow my friends do. Somehow, God does. And that is most comforting of all.

His grace has never left me dry and wanting. I may act like an idiot, fall down and botch things up, but I can always run back to Him. He is my Rock, my Sword, my Shield.

 

He never leaves me.

 

Anyhoo. WID is real, bottom line. It's rough and it leaves scars. In short? Watch out, fellow writerly peoples. If you find yourself sitting at your computer, staring in angst at your novel with tears threatening to spill from your eyes, be careful. If you heart feels numb and emotionless, yet heavy and sore, tread with caution. If, even hours after you stopped writing, your entire demeanor hasn't changed one lick - yipes.

 

You might find yourself carried away -  lost in a severe case of writing induced depression.

 

Tread carefully for it's a hazard zone not to be taken lightly.