Coffee

Coffee.

Sip me gently, for some days I am hot. Let me rest in your hands warming your fingers as you inhale the steam. Blow sweet whispers across the cup, to bring me to the right temperature, warm as it soothes your soul but cool enough to take a big sip.

Set me down, and enjoy the taste, the way I linger on your tastebuds. Enjoy the ambiance, the way the sounds hesitate, the way daylight sneaks upon your shoulders. As the glowing morning warms you, so will I, creeping through your blanket that you hold against you.

Treasure me, keep me close and drink me every morning. I will wake you and stir your insides. I will make you want to do things you have no energy to do, and direct you towards performing. I will let you know that when I wear off, that I am all you desire to keep you going and what you look forward to. 

When you're done drinking, remember that I will wait for you tomorrow morning. 

I BELIEVE...

That rain washes away the hurt, the dirt that sits on top that needs to be washed away.

That dreams do come true when you wish upon a star, and that shooting stars mean your lucky.

Dogs understand the hurt you carry in your heart and will ease it, even if it means sitting by your side.

A fresh manicure makes you feel clean and sophisticated.

Christmas lights make me shine inside, my soul dancing to Sinatra.

Fresh clean sheets and a showered body are one of the best combinations.

That love notes and flowers make any girl smile.

A whisper in your ear telling you your beautiful even if its the hundredth time, still feels like the first time.

The fireworks that looks like glittering dragonflies is the best way to celebrate.

Love means everything, and is often overused, but when you feel love, love can't describe anything compared to what you feel.

Cleaned house, leave room to clear your brain.

Guy cologne on your bed spritzed is almost like having a man by your side.

I believe Santa, and the fairy-godmother, and the easter bunny.

That Christmas should be celebrated every month of the year.

That no girl should settle. A man that was made JUST for you is hunting and not settling either because he knows you are out there, waiting to make you feel just the way you have dreamed.

That children are heaven sent and when they say they love you, they mean it.

Coffee every morning is the right way to start a day.

God has a plan for me, and even if I stray he will lead me back to him.

Summer sunsets and glimmering water, paints the prettiest picture.

Assholes make you appreciate the gentleman.

When your gas tank is full, you feel like your car is brand new.

Buttery-nipples were made by a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get um.

That lyrics to the song can say what your feeling inside perfectly and that you could have written it.
That clearance and sales racks were made just for my wallet.

I believe that you and I can make it, because you helped me believe in me. 

Love Equation

Love was as simple as 1, 2, 3.
It began with you. And then I added me. I thought this was the easiest question I would ever have to answer.

Then there was the fractions. The fraction of self doubt, will he stay with me forever, will he love the true me and will he understand the emotions that continually come to the surface.

Trying to divide to make it easier, I came up with decimal points. The little periods that come in between numbers that made me question whether or not the fractions and dividends were even the same. The wanting to chase your dreams but wondering if the dream of him is something worth chasing. The way the friendly hellos to others only meant that, and not that he was losing faith in "us."

So I added a y, and a x, to try and figure out the missing piece to find out what love had to do with a confused heart. I moved the love to the other side, more kisses, more "I love you's" and then moved over the confused heart to the other side hoping that it was a waking up on the wrong side of the bed kind of thing.

When that didn't work I decided to square everything, making the numbers larger, harder to work with. If it was too hard to work with then I could move onto the next question. Let it go and decide to come back to it later.

And then you came back along. Having the answer to the equation. The one little thing that the question was missing.... you wanting me.

Dogs looking like their owners, or the other way around

The saying dogs look a lot like their owners rang true to me when I pulled up next to a guy at the light. I usually people watch which gets me in trouble, I stare and then most of the time the person and I make eye contact which makes me immediately turn to pretend that akward moment we had didn't happen.

Anyway, I was at this light and noticed this guy.

Normally I would think much of him. But then I noticed who dog who has the same exact facial expression as him, I knew it was fate as I started racking up the similarities. This guy had a bottom lip that was bigger and he had the same exact pout. It was fate.

The picture is hard to see because as I was taking the picture when we met the inevitable "eye" connection and frantically started pretending I was searching for signal on my iphone.... smart move natalie. I am sure he knew exactly what I was doing.

There was also this dog that used to run around our neighborhood in Michigan. This dog used to scare the crap out of me.

Just imagine having 12 acres of land and then seeing this dog come out of the weeds and start barking while you are having your adventures picking apples and such. I remember running and this dog chasing after me. It was like a bear that barked and drooled. 

So after finally learning that if I ran towards the dog it would high tail it out of there I decided that I would keep chasing it. I ended up chasing it home to find this in a girl version.

I couldn't help but think that somewhere down the line that this person thought they were meant to be. I could go on and on how different people resemble their dogs, heck, they even have events where people dress like their dog. I mean it worked Lady GaGa didn't it? Her dog looks real happy :)

Is it true?!

How do you know they are the one? Is it the countless kisses that are placed on your forehead, the way butterflies dance in your heart and toes and stomach all at the same time? The way you want to be with the person all the time and even when they are laying next to you they still feel to far away.

Is it the small things like the toothbrush that is sitting next to yours, or the shower wash or the way they like cold water instead of room temperature. The way he sleeps his hand on his chest, the way the sun hits his tattoos in the morning and the way he has to have one foot outside of the sheets. The way he doesn't pay attention to your favorite movie because he is watching you in excitement of watching the favorite scene for the fifth time.

Or is it the big things. The waiting until its the right moment. The way he believes family is his soul and  trust is the most important thing. The one that wants you to chase your dreams and will wait for you no matter how long it takes because you are worth the wait.

Or the in-betweens, where compromise happens and he knows your stubborn as a horse so he lets you win and lets you go to bed like a raging bitch and when he smiles that crooked smile you know that he has got you hooked.

I am not sure when you know when the person is the one. The one worth fighting for and the one you can't wait to love for the rest of your life. I hope when the one does come around that there wont be any question, but that the one question that will be answered if he is or not is simply, "Yes."

he whispers in my ear, like the waves from the ocean that kisses the beach, moving slowly and then pulling back to the sea, he lays down on the white comforter, as I lay my head down.

he pulls me in, like you pull a sleeping bag to your chin as the shivery breeze caresses your forehead, warm under the silky material that engulfs your legs, creating goosebumps from the two different temperatures.

he sweeps my hair out of my eyes, the worker hands that are rough against my skin that glides so easily and sends butterflies to every part of my heart, the way the roller-coaster makes your stomach flip and makes you happy and nervous all at the same time.

he talks of his stories and his voice carries me to the place where he was, the passion and shaken up world that makes you want to hold him tighter.

he said "you're beautiful" and everything in me that tried to say no, let go, and I knew he meant it, truly, the way the sun will caress the sky every morning, and the way coffee warms your stomach.

Saturday afternoon Naps

Afternoon Naps.

As a little child living in Arizona, afternoon naps were the best. I remember Saturday mornings, my dad in his cut off jeans that were splattered with white paint and frayed at the bottom. His brown sperry's that had the same pattern of white paint. A worn t-shirt, usually white that sported his company on the front. This was his Saturday attire which meant that he would be out in the backyard finding something that needs to be fixed, altered or something he went to Home Depot for and came back with a new project.

The mornings would be cool and I would help dig, stand by, or mostly get in the way of my father hauling dirt, rocks, or bricks. I'd do my best to look like I was a big help. As the project wore on the sun started blazing, the flies coming out to bother and the breeze coming to a stop. My father would go in around lunchtime, grab a big glass of water and a bowl of bean soup and sit on the floor in the living room watching football. I distinctly remember his smell, that would be of sweat and some type of soap and look at his hands, white blisters forming from digging a hole. I was so proud of my dad.

As he would finish his lunch, I knew he was going to go back out. Between the football and the exhaustion of sun, a nap was more in my mind then going back out.

My room was purple with a wallpaper border in the middle with dancing bunnies. The room was darker then normal as my dad would go around the house before going out to save energy. My bed, white with ruffles was made and my purple striped pillows sitting nicely on the bed. I would lay down and see the dust float in the room where my blinds let in a little light, rows of dust particles dancing in the light. I could hear the air conditioning click on and my little mermaid sheets clung onto the Johnson Baby shampoo I had used last night. My baby blanket was cool from the air, worn to silk, and I would bury my face into it and breath in the scent of wash detergent. I would hear my mother doing something in the kitchen and I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort. As I would close my eyes, I could hear my father mowing the lawn. Saturday afternoon naps were the best.

blessed

to have a wonderful family

two dogs that love to snuggle

pumpkin spice flavor in my coffee

crafty-ness

a brain in my head and a passion in my heart

warm showers

delicious curly fries

best friends

flowers on my nightstand

christmas music

lights that twinkle

mom

dad

fall leaves that dance in the wind

soft sheets from the dryer

kids that tell you they love you

candles

you

coconut passion perfume on my wrists

dreams

♡

you are here.

You are where I want you most to be. Deep down where the ice still covers the broken-ness. Where the veins that intertwine, twisting in knots where you can't untangle them. Where the toes are so numb that they burn, and the tips of your fingers are white as snow. Your somewhere amongst the "I can't believe you" and "I hate you's" that really mean you want one more time where your lips are against mine and I can taste your sweet breath. One more time to try and escape the dungeon where your broken heart lays, to feel the weakness of your stomach like nightingales that flutter around your head as he slips his fingers through your hair and whispers "I love you".

But you're there, where permafrost and numbing arctic chills go and a hoping for a spring breeze to turn the tide.

The happiest time of year....

I find myself resorting back to the happiest part of my life... Christmas. All I want for Christmas, Silent Night and the voices of Nat King Cole and Michael Buble.

The mistletoe candles are lit and I can close my eyes and see the lights twinkling on the tree, the hand-made ornaments that sparkle with red and green glitter with an old fashioned red ribbon. The Christmas tree with levels from the height of us kids scattered with our own ornaments. Mine being the middle and my brother and sister weighing down the bottom of the tree, like a sagging ladies boobs, the tree hangs from the bottom filled with the proud hangings from the kids the other parts bare.

Its the happiest I see my mother. The reason the family gets together. The reason my dad lingers in the kitchen showing us how to cook a turkey. The smells linger in the air and you hear the laughter carry throughout the home. The music in the background as we warm our pillows by the fire, running to the room and laying down quickly feeling the almost too hot cotton on your face, the smell of the laundry detergent whispering in your nose.

The cartoons on the tv, 25 days of Christmas, Rudolph reminding you how wonderful being a kid is. The way children look up to see the decorations, their eyes gleam a little brighter. The mittens that are worn from throwing snowballs and making disfigured snowmen. The advent calendar that grandma and grandpa would buy that had little chocolates behind them.

The way family seems to gather in the living room, where the tree, the fire, and warm christmas colored blankets invite you in. The laughter that comes from watching family 'peter' movies. We are all happy, embracing the season. Christmas is the happiest part of the year. Especially for me.

Stupid.

I often take walks with my dogs on most nights. For awhile there has been some rain in texas, which is crazy and there is a stream that when it rains brings a little river thing. I often walk through the water and notice life swimming among it. Little tadpoles and fish where the water is deeper. As the Texas heat gets hotter the rain goes away and the little creek dries up. I also figured and imagined the fish going with the water to wherever it may go, until tonight.

I thought there was a little pond of water left, something shimmery caught my eye, and being the adventurer I am went over to see it. There was a small little water standing and all the fish had gathered there. There little gills were gasping for breath. There were about 70 of them all huddled next to each other literally soaking up the last water around.

My first instinct was to pick them all up and put them in my bathtub. Save them. I felt a deep sense of hopeless-ness for them, wanting to save them from their misery. As I went more near to give in to my curiosity the flies picked up and flew around me as I had startled them from the dying stench.

I am not sure what came into me but I left and for a minute I thought, "stupid fish." And then of course my mind thought, this would be the perfect blog. A perfect place to put what lesson I could learn from these fish. And of course I could come up with numerous. "Keep swimming", "Don't be stuck", "This is what your life looks like now."

I just kept thinking, Stupid.

And that's my life lesson, as much as I wanted to save them, for right now I am thinking. Stupid.

Beating of a drum...

My second day, said read Romans 8:1-17. and describe the war: the characteristics of those who follow the Spirit of God versus those who live according to their flesh.

I always see people writing verses somewhere, on their Facebook status, a tattoo, or some random place. Just the Luke 3:4 or Palms 34. So I am going to write below Romans 8:1-17 so you know what I read.

"Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death. For what the law was powerless to do in that it was weakened by the sinful nature, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful man to be a sin offering. And so he condemned sin in sinful man, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fully meant in us, who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.

Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of the sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace,, the sinful mind is hostile to God. It does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so. Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God.

You however, are not controlled by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Christ. But if Christ is in you, your body is dead because of sin, yet your spirit is alive because of your righteousness. And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit, who lives in you.

Therefore brothers, we have an obligation, but it is not to the sinful nature, to live according to it. For if you live according to the sinful nature, you wil die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live, because those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship, And by him we cry Abba, Father. The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children. No if we are children. then we are heir, heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory."

Holy crap, and all of that meant what? I sit here trying to separate all of the Spirit stuff and to tell you the truth it is overwhelming. But I get what it meant that there are two wars. The stuff led by the spirit and the stuff led by the flesh.

I find myself giving into my daily flesh desires every day. Giving myself to guys when my spirit self is urging me to come back. Like tug a rope, my fleshly desires give in and when I am done for the night, literally used up, I come back asking why my Spirit desires didn't pull harder.

I read in the study guide it says we each have two drums, one beating rapidly and selfishly and the other drum "beats with God's heart. The new drum can overcome the old one, but the old drum must die first."

And that is basically where I am looking at God, or telling him, I sure as hell like the way my drum beats. I know the rhythm that makes me happy and I know the dents and the curves to the base. Why would I want to give up my freedom to hit my own drum? Why would I go into the unknown and risk everything for you drum? True my life here aint a bowl of honey and flowers but I am so stubborn that being stuck seems easier then going to be somewhere where I don't know.

stuck. There is the word that this whole entire book is about. Am I truly ready to be unstuck? Because I know being stuck has had baggage and if I don't have baggage who am I really?

Stuck and Broken

I am starting this study thing with my missional community but haven't been able to attend the last two times. Instead of doing it in the book I am doing it on here. Keeping myself honest, and also to keep the book clear of writing since if this book is amazing I will want to pass it along. So here we go.

"It begins with admitting we need Him. We're broken.  So we begin here in the most vulnerable but freeing spot...

we are broken."

It then asks to write three places that you feel most stuck...

1). I feel stuck not knowing the future and trying to figure all of it out in one day.
2) I feel stuck in relationships and slipping into relationships that don't have God as #1.
3) I feel stuck in having the fear that I will never have the strong relationship with God that I so desire.

As I am falling asleep, I realize that I have more then just 3 things where I feel I am stuck. These were just the first 3 I felt were on my heart this evening.

come lay next to me
sneak in
hold me tight
and don't let me go.

Yet again it has been awhile since I have written on here. So many things run through my head daily that would make a marvelous blog post but somehow between working, having 3 animals and working again I find that I don't have much time for blogging anymore.

Yesterday was one of those days. Where you want to stay in bed the entire day because you slept like crap, but can't because there are people in town visiting. Your room's a mess and laundry needs to be done and keeps piling up. You forget tiny things at the grocery store that's not a necessity but have forgotten it for a month now and you go to the store 2 times a week.

It was the feeling of the above paragraph times two. I didn't know where I wanted to be in the future. Go to grad school, move to possibly give love a chance, or stay where I am at now. I am frustrated, torn, and hate making decisions. 

And then he called, the little boy who had stolen my heart in a residential treatment center. "Hey Natalie, I miss you!" Just that made my entire day. I knew instantly, kids is where I was called to be at and this child I had such a love-hate relationship turned into a blessing in disguise.

Graduate school, love, and work seemed to not be an issue because this little boy had instilled in me awhile ago that kiddos like him are a challenge and can be tough to love but when you continue to be patient and understanding, "I wish you were here" is all you need to know your future is going to be okay. 

I haven't had to think about you in awhile. Maybe it was the graduation caps, the football stands, or the way the summer air hits the back of my neck. I saw kids walking, grabbing their diplomas, excitement in their hands knowing that this was just the start of it.

The start of growing up, moving on to newer greater things. A fresh new start that was going to be ahead. No one would know me, no one would know the pain I had, a clean slate.

I glance around me seeing curly hair sneaking under different graduation caps, remembering how your hair would sneak out of the caps from swim meets. You would sit next to me in the stands, goosebumps from the cold air. Just thinking about it gave me goosebumps sitting on the stands outside in 90 degree weather.

No one knows where they are going, what their life is going to take them. All these ambitious children, with their dreams cascading from their pockets. And I wonder, was graduation like that for you?

Sitting on the chairs in the field, eyeing your parents in the stand, waving frantically making sure you know where to look when coming off the stage so they can take your picture a thousand times. The sweat dripping from the crease in your knees, the sun bearing down making the graduation gown feel like the foil suits people use to work out. Everything you had worked for, the heartbreaks, the endless hours of practice, and the nights where you sat in your room crying. This was it, a new life awaiting.

Crossing the stage, the diploma. The diploma saying you made it this far. Only a piece of paper with a copied signature from the principal who doesn't even know your name. He gives you a handshake as you walk down the stage, heart beating as you don't want to embarrass yourself but looking too happy, or not too not happy, just the perfect look.

And the tassle is moved to the side. I wonder what it was like for you. I look around the graduates, hoping to see someone like you so I can pull you aside and say,

I love you.

So many times I have been told in a nice way, "Good luck dear sailing into the land of 'your never gonna fucking make it' 'I am gonna tell you I told you so' don't come to me asking to turn the clock back" kind of way. There are times where they were right and maybe I should have taken the narrow way, but the people that are telling me this should know that I have NEVER taken the straight and narrow.

Since a child I have fought, screamed and been a total you know what when told I should go one way. I was told as a child sitting my bare butt on the doctors table that the shot was going to go in my butt and that it wouldn't hurt. I yelled, well, screeched like a chimpanzee whose banana was taken away and ran down the hallway butt naked saying I was not going to get a shot in the butt. I ended up getting it in my arm and yes it hurt like hell but I did it my way.

So why now do I have to turn and do it the way some people think I should. I didn't listen to my father when he told me to not have sex with my boyfriend, which in turn sent me to a boarding school that changed my life into me wanting to help abused and neglected kids. I cursed and yelled and called my mom horrid names as a teenager but have the best relationship now where I can be honest and call her best friend.

I do it my own way and as much as it looks like a picasso painting, when you step back and look at the entire canvas, the work that has been done is quite simply put, a masterpiece.                  

I never noticed how much I don't pay attention to things as I found out today by lying by the pool. Besides noticing the heat and the sweat that was forming in places I never knew should sweat, like the back of my knees, I noticed the clouds. I had always heard about people watching the clouds take shapes but I sat there, frying like a chicken totally mesmerized by one.

I remember drawing clouds as a child. A circle with lumps, camel back ridges, balloons in a white trash bag. I looked at the clouds today and it was unlike any of the pictures I had drawn. Whips of something, kind of like cotton candy. Silk hair that is used during Christmas time to house the Village People, my mother always warning me to not play with it because it was glass woven into silk and it could cut me. These clouds wouldn't though, like a puff of cold air that comes out of your mouth, pretending to be cool as a child and pretend I was smoking.

I tried to think what they would feel like. A cool breeze that surrounds your neck leaving trails of goosebumps. The way at restaurants where there are misters outside, that when you walk under is refreshing and tingling to your skin. The feel of the "soft" sand on the beach. The way worn out sheets tender and so soft.

When I looked at the details of the cloud it was ever changing. Different parts moved and then vanished but when looking at the entire mass the shape seemed to stay the same. The cloud moved over the sun, the dark parts of the cloud turned a gray but the outer parts showed the sunlight. When watching it move the cloud seemed to take forever, waiting for the boy to take you on a date, an hour at walmart for an oil change that feels like the entire afternoon. When the cloud moved away from the sun, you could see a rainbow on the edges, proving a point that there are God's gifts everywhere only if you notice.

I never thought I would be so moved by a cloud. Just. One. Cloud.

Pieces of You

"She left pieces of her life behind her everywhere she went..."

Broken pieces. The pieces that have been left by the boys that pretend to be a prince but really turn into a beast. The failure of not knowing where you want to be and how to get there, the bad day from work, and the way your toe finds every door to run into.

As you look around the floor, scattered shards of glass seem to spread everywhere. The glass when it hits the ground, is the part of life that will never be able to be replaced. Why it broke in the first place? Standards. Standards you hold on to of how it should be. A boy shouldn't have to break your heart, leave you sitting on your bed listening to sad songs, wishing there wasn't such a thing as emotional misery that tears at your lungs and soul.

The standard you hold on wanting to be happy and grasping for something still not filling the empty hole. Once attaining it, you find that its not enough and the hole is still there. Never satisfied, holding life to a different pattern that is unlike the vanilla ice cream. Its the super man ice cream where the colors mix together and if you don't eat it fast enough the colors turn to brown. As fast as you eat it, trying to eat the different colors one at a time, you always seem to get a hint of orange or pink in the spoon, never just blue.

Yet I look around at the pieces, the glass that I had thought would never be perfect, turns out to be a masterpiece once in sunlight. I only had to move to let the sunlight dance upon the shards creating a dazzling show to realize,

"It's easier to feel the sunlight without them, she said."

Bigfoot for a bed!

I am sitting on my bed, which is covered in dog hair that resembles a wooly-mammoth that has been skinned and sprinkled on my floral duvet. You may ask if I wash it and the answer is yes. Every week. Yet once I lay the duvet across the bed, making sure all the wrinkles are out, my little dog jumps on it like superman making the noise of an old man grunting as he golfs. She looks at me then rolls on her back attempting to bite her feet. Like a magnet, the hair sticks to the bed as she squirms leaving a trace of tan inch-worm length strands behind. And it just so happens that I had taken the dogs on a walk and she knows EXACTLY where the smelly mud is that she walks right through. Old dog poop on the trails that has been molded into the regular dirt is like walking through Macy's to my dog, spraying the different perfumes onto the neck and wrists... 'dog do-doo' is probably what it is called and my dogs love rolling in it. Its gotten to the point where Febreeze is my new best friend. Like a sale you feel really good buying it and then realize that you don't like it all that much when your bank account statement comes through the mail. Like the febreeze you spray it on the sheets and cuddle up into the lavender fields of vanilla and somewhere during the night you smell a spot that the Febreeze either missed or couldn't cover the odor and it wakes you immediately and disgusted you sit up and say, "Oh my GAWD who took a dump on my pillow!!" A normal person with no herd of dogs would take the sheet off and put in in the wash. Yet I, who owns a pack of beasts, doesn't take off the sheet yet moves to the place where the febreeze did land and rub my nose into that spot trying to escape back into the fields of lavender. Somewhere along the way my nose got immune or I started sleeping with glade candles up my nose and realized that my duvet will never be clean like I want. I am doomed not only to being single my entire life, but having a duvet that looks like big foot. At least I will stay warm at night with all that extra hair.

Pirouettes in the sand.

I wonder where we would be right now. Under the stars that shimmer above the tender maple leaves. Green leaves that whisper as they move together like a two-step. The moonlight dancing in between like a disco ball, illuminating parts of my ivory skin. The shapes of the leaves pirouetting on the sand that's still warm from the afternoon sherbet sunset. I put my brightly painted toes that are the color of overripe strawberries into the sand, feeling the coolness as I dig deeper. I look in your eyes, the color of the sky on a sunny day when the lake bounces of the clouds and creates the color of robin's eggs. They spoke without saying a word. Spoke the truth. Revealed the inward storms that happened inside of you and let me go along for the ride, a sailboat catching the whirlwind of emotions. I felt confident to let my hand slip into yours and go along for the adventure. It was enough. The leaves, the stars, and you.

butterflies.

You give me butterflies. The bright yellow ones that shine like the sun, that sparkles as it hits the edge of the earth. The orange ones that are like tangerines, opening the peel the juices dripping down your chin, leaving sticky droplets of sugar. The red butterflies that remind me of ariel's hair from The Little Mermaid, swimming in the bath tub. The purple ones like the popsicle that turns your lips a dark tint. Pretending that its lipstick making it that much deeper, as if you have been sitting in ice cold water and everything around you has grown numb. The green that the butterflies land on, soft fresh cut grass from the lawn mower. The smell as it comes through your window as you're taking a nap, the sun shining in, warming you so there is no need for a blanket. The flowers that dance around the butterflies, golden hues and cherry-pie colored goodness. The butterflies land softly, not even moving the flower. It gives it its presence and then goes to the next, like a hooker on the corner. They come and float around, moving with the wind, catching the rays as it lands gracefully on every corner of your heart.

LIfe thus Far.

I am not sure on what to write. I haven't really thought of a subject and haven't had anything funny to write about, which is the saddest part of it all. I enjoy writing and wish I had more time. Things that have been going on:

- my new job (CPS Investigator) has been stressful. I am intimidated by my boss and its a ton of work, BUT I do have my own office

- my dogs are doing swell and I didn't think my love for something could grow every day

- I just went to Victoria Secret and got 7 pairs of underwear for 28 bucks. Underwear makes me so happy.

- I love my parents and we hang out more which is such a treat.

- I found a church I love and am starting next week to go to a bible study group. YAY!

- I am enjoying the sunset, not so much the sunrise and loving the porch sitting weather.

:)

Resilience.

I learn more about God

From weeds than from roses;
Resilience springing
Through the smallest chink of hope
In the absolute of concrete....
~Phillip Pulfrey

I look at the "weeds" that are springing all over the highway. Freckles of bluebonnets and splashes of yellow flowers that illuminate what the sun would be like if it lived on earth. I was reading about weeds and I find myself to relate more to weeds that anything else.

"Flowers" that have learned the way, the way to live by society and the plans they have been made for them. Like orchards that are in lines and rows, following the way the planter wanted them to. But weeds grow where they can. They bend and do what they have to to survive. Have you seen sunflowers? Weeds that actually move their faces to capture the sunlight. How many times do you see roses do that? 

I hated pulling weeds as a child. Their roots were deep within the soil and if you didn't take it all out they grew back within days. They wanted to be here. They had to hold stronger to their beliefs, their desire to stay in the earth. 

As I took a walk today the "weeds" that were dancing in the sunlight had all different colors of butterfly's playing chase amongst them. Light green, yellow, and orange wings floated around me and I knew that sometimes the weeds bring the most beautiful things to life. 

Thank you!

Its truly a blessing when someone comes in your life and not only leaves a lasting imprint, but the person stays in your life.

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that is is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate no knowing, not curing, not healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend that who cares. - Nouwen

.... and may I add, someone who I am lucky and so grateful to have in my life :)

Lasting Imprints

I stumble upon the rocks. My toe hits a stone that makes an instant black imprint on where I misplaced it. I curse out loud as I stare down and see all around the mark, a red circle that spreads out like the rain drop hitting the still lake, spreading out.

Just like my heart. It stumbles upon a person, hitting hard, unrelenting as it leaves a mark and spreads throughout my body. Every inch feels the effect of intolerable pain. My stomach clenching, knotting up. My lungs, struggling to breathe like asthma that leaves you begging on your knees for air. Your hands not able to write what needs to be written, your head struggling to make thoughts come together.

Just like a bruise it hurts, and the effect it leaves is an impression. It turns as the days progress. Dark and blue like the storm right before it hits. Your heart as he says he will never come back. It turns a nasty green, like the nights that you yearn for him to be laying next to you. Then to yellow, where you see him at the coffee shop and your heart drops for a second.  And then fades into a lighter color a little bit darker then of your natural skin. You have to look hard to see its there. Just like your heart over time.

Yet the next time I go walking, it seems the rock hits just at the right time.

brother.

I remember...

When you sat in the dirt, yellow turtleneck that showed your stomach, eating red and black bugs that crawled over the rocks running for their lives.

In a yellow bucket with a read handle that I filled with water and dog poop, mixing it until it was a dark brown, making you think it was chocolate milk.

Playing barbies and you driving the barbie car saying it was a "race car" as you mutter "vrooommmm"

Playing house and you always say "Pretend I am..." even after I told you who you were over and over.

Making forts.

Playing on the side of the hill, creating new dirt roads for our cars to go.

Skiing down Boyne and you hitting a jump and flying in the air. Scared to death as you had blood everywhere you smiled and said "COOL"

"Marsh-mellow"

The way you make our entire family laugh at dinner no matter how mad we all are.

"And there was a scorpion THIS big, and an alligator"

You diving off the high board and saying "watch this" as you did a belly-flop.

"Mash tatos, brawcli (whispers)"

I love you pete pete. 

Stress!

With a new job comes new stress, and with new stresses I have to come up with ways to not become a full on troll that lives under the bridge.

Eating copious amount of food has not helped. Though while indulging myself with cookie dough, chips, and cereal, my butt and muffin top scream at me while loading it with a front loader, while my stomach decides to punish me later when I feel like I am going to explode.

I have found working out doesn't help either. Feeling my thighs rub together creating a fire like sensation and my butt needing spandex isn't what I call enjoyable. My dogs hate running (as I have mentioned before) which doesn't help my motivation when they are laying on the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Shopping makes my credit card cry, flirting over text messages only helps me realize I need to get on eharmony to find a new breed of non-douche-baggery and doing laundry can only go so far where I am afraid my water bill will drown itself.

So I resort to my dogs and to the good ol internet. Have you see Sophia Grace on Ellen DeGenerous? You MUST go and youtube that shit immediately. I have decided that if this job doesn't work out I could eat some pork shops, wear a tutu and pray to get hits on the internet while singing Lady GaGa. THough I am sure Sophia's cuteness of an 8 year old is what gets her the stardom I need something to fall back on if this stress eats me alive.

If you think of any ideas, let me know. If you want to pay for a shopping trip, or lipo give me a ring. Until then my lunch break is up and stress calls.

Inhale. Exhale.

Deep Breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Usually my body does this without thinking. I have to tell myself though, breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.
Right before the storm. When the sky turns a dark blue and gray while the white wisps of clouds stand out like a robin against the snow. The thunder rolls, like my stomach on Thanksgiving day, the smell of cinnamon rolls. The sky is about to let go, the rain beating down making the ants scatter, fleeing underneath the brown rich soil.
Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.
My eyes swell with tears. Don't let it pour. Suck it up. Breath. "Don't go," I whipser, "Let me change your mind." The five-o-clock shadow on his face melts into his soul more then just the whiskers on his face. The blue eyes that once reflected the sun is dim, wandering, looking for something to keep himself from going. "I can't," he says wishing that wasn't what his lips created. The door shuts, and the lightning strikes.
Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.
The storm lets loose. Each raindrop bounces off the skin, cold, yet warm, creating a feeling that has never been explained. Cold, wet on the outside, hair standing on edge. Insides warm the way alcohol warms your stomach. As the storm begins the sensation is strong. Every nerve feeling every drop of sadness, dismay, fear. Then  it begins to become numb, as it just pours, letting the sky drain. Nothing left to do but breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.

Summer days

Sizzling hot concrete that radiates sunshine through your feet making you run towards the ice in your strawberry lemonade like water. Goosebumps emerge like the lips that kiss you in the bed of the truck, the stars hanging above, dangling like the way he has your heart, making sure to capture the glimmer and dazzling wonder. Short skirts and tanned skin that still show the white as snow tan lines that flirt and peek behind the white tank showing the nautical bikini that not only turns boys heads, their hair that looks like straw from riding a horse all afternoon, yet still smells of fresh water and sunscreen. The red lines turns the skin the same color as the sun beats down on the leathery skin of fresh babes and teenagers that think they know it all. The smell of cookouts that mean that volleyball and fresh cold beer that have dew that runs down the edge like the water that runs down your chin while eating watermelon, spitting out the seeds. Finishing the day laying in white sheets, window open, full moon that lights your legs on top of the sheets, warmth below your body feeling the burn with every movement, yet the top feeling the cool from the breeze gracing the aloe vera. Hair still wet from the late night swim. Summer lives on.

Shooting Star

Like the wind in the willows, the leaves gracing the grass, the sunshine dandelions bursting with affection. The tender touch of an aged woman with her olive green veins as it pats the china glazed skin of her granddaughter, with her red, white laced dress, shiny black shoes with the puffy laced socks to match. The laughter that twirls and capers within the halls. The familiarity of Sunday morning pancakes.

Yet today the comfortless sky fills the bodies of souls with grief as tears slide down the cheeks like molasses syrup. Though clear, it feels dark and sticky, not able to be moved without creating a trace behind. Heading to where dark never see's light, the last time to see the ghost face, life not coming out ever again. Seeing only the end of the shooting star, the luminous streak that came and went before being able to grasp the living, the best part of the sparkling moment.

Reaching out, grabbing tightly for the loose ends. Hanging onto the last moment, like a kodak into the mind. The smile, the way life shown out of his eyes, his worker hands laced with sawdust, the squeaking of his socks down the tiled hallways. The vegetable soup from the Campbell's can as he watches his football team win. And the more treasured moments, the ones that make you feel like the most important thing in the world. The way he combed the blonde hair in the bathroom with a tooth-combed brush, mirrors lining the wall as he said "Monsieur madame" the giggles filling the atmosphere. Fresh squeezed orange juice in the morning from the orange trees as he sat in loafers reading the paper as we ran around in the green grass still wet from the morning dew.

And as the leaves graces the grass, playing amongst the willow tree, I look back, your smile beaming at his wonderful children, knowing how wonderful, happy and great his kids are, and all they will accomplish. And knowing that there will never be a better day because I was able to see the entire shooting star. I will keep that forever.

(Though I have never lost my dad, just trying to write such a blog was difficult and tears came to my eyes. All my love and thoughts to those who have.)

Scrunchies!!

There are always trends. Some are more fashionable then others. Through the years I look back and say, "What the heck was I thinking?"

Scrunchies used to be a big hit. Multi-colored fabric that made your ponytails hand higher off to the side of your tea. I have very thin hair so it looked like a rat tail that stuck up like pippy-longstocking. The skort used to be popular as well as it was a skirt and shorts in one. I could now wear a skirt and not be embarrassed about showing off my flower power underwear. As I started getting older, things such as jelly shoes, yo-yos and see through bags came in as quickly as they left.

MY SCRUNCHIE ICONS :)

I remember in 8th grade, thongs used to be the big deal around the girls and I always said I owned one yet really too embarrassed to say my mother still bought me my underwear. To be in the up crowd and a big girl I told my mother to stay in the car while I went into Walmart with my allowance money. I had looked at my underwear size before going and saw that it said size 10. I went straight to the women size not knowing that a girl and women size 10 is very different from one another. I bought the 7 dollar, 2 pair thong and felt so excited to put them on. When I went home and opened the box I realized they were enormous. Of course I am not going to return them and fess up I don't even know my own size so I improvised. I rolled them. I remember wearing my skort (which was out of style at this point) and you could see the rolled up bunch of a thong that I created. During lunch I told a girl I had a thong on and even showed her by pulling a side of them up. I was finally in the "I wear a thong girl club." I never wore them again... the wedgie hurt more then the pain of not knowing my own size underwear.

Now as I am 24, I looks at freshman year in college where the fish face was popular as you take pictures. Now its the hand on the hip. I look at pictures and I still do fish faces which were SO last year. I have never truly been "in," but I am sure that when styles come back in I will be able to say that I was in style at one point or another.

Dear Josh

Dear Josh-

I have never in my blog history, which isn't long have directly named somebody. Many have known who a blog is about, but I am directing you for more then one reason.

You always wondered why I had pushed people away. Always asking to open up to you. Why I never said what really burdened my heart, kept me up some nights crying, always trying to find the thing that could get me up but managed to always trip. You then said the three words. I have heard them before, every guy I ever dated has said those precious words, but I felt that you truly meant them, as you promised me over and over that no matter what you would always be there for me.

So I spilled. Out of the numerous men I have dated I felt that for the first time I could share my story. I could try and let someone in that I have never been able to. I cried. I sobbed. And my heart felt a bit better, that it would be safe.

Then I messed up. I pushed you away because you were more then I had imagined. You challenged me and I honestly have never had that in a relationship. You said no second chance. Nothing more. I tried and tried. Then somewhere I thought having you as a friend would be better then none. As you said, no matter what you would always be there.

Not knowing who to turn to while my world recently turned upside down I reached out to you. You said only texting. Fine. I did. Last night when finding out my brother sleeps in a car and your parents want "tough love" to be the trick is hard knowing your brother is suffering more battles then one. Anyone that knows me and my heart would know that no one should be in a car with no heat, no food and in the middle of Michigan, especially when they are family. I called you. Mistake I know now, but you ignored me. Then blocked me. The guy who said he was different, a Christian. Let me tell you this:

God gives more chances then one. I trip daily and he is still there. And he won't ignore me, block me, and not be my friend. I stand here wondering what is it that made you into a person I once loved and now baffled by your lack of empathy. Its not up to me. As much as I want to hurt your feelings, belittle you, it won't get me anywhere. You have hurt my feelings and truly are not the man you once were but that gives me no reason to get back at you. I thought it was me, but I know its not. I really just have to be careful with my heart.

"Guard your heart for its the wellspring of life"

-Natalie

Let the Hunger Games begin!

I have been instructed to write. And there are a couple of things that have already made me want to stop. Somehow my spacebar key has something stuck in is so I have to press REALLY hard to create a tiny space. I could write a blog withnospacesandjustthis, but I feel I am nicer and should go through the agony to produce something worth reading. Secondly, I have been addicted to the Hunger Games books. I am currently on the third book and am hooked. My sister a couple days ago showed me the trailer. One of the main characters whom I had pictured in the book to be dashing and so do-worthy, turned out to be a kid that looks like he should squeak while speaking because his balls have yet to drop. He also reminds me of our neighbor in Michigan who is a ginger, and only gives me a reason to hate him when he insists on "playing" drums that echoes annoyance and creates a headache.

The other character though who doesn't play as huge of a role is the most do-worthy guy in the whole world. I am planning to go see him and all of his amazing-ness in this movie. He is plastered on my man wall and I stare at him daily while dressing... I know, pathetic. But if you are looking for a good read, this one is sure to keep you reading.

Ugly guy on the left---- Amazing, let me do you right now, guy on the right :)

Besides this and the daily working my butt off at night, I have no great topic to discuss. I haven't had many douche-bag stories, or something to bash about, so I am putting my nose into books. This weekend is my roommate's bday and I am sure I will have a good story or three to tell. Until next time...

Man Candy.

I have a man wall. If you are clueless on what a man wall contains, it holds pictures of handsome, drool down your shirt, pee your pants in excitement, man candy. I put these pictures in my closet. This closet is a walk in so its pretty decent and I have a part of it dedicated to these handsome fellas. I am sure they don't mind being there as they can see me undressing and dressing. Their eyes don't even blink... I don't blame them. Either way last night while getting dressed I was trying to find similarities in them to find what drew me to put them on the wall of desire. Was it Taylor Lautner's sexy body, Liam's smile, or Channing Tatum's "let's do it" eyes? Then I noticed their eye brows. THEY WERE ALL THE SAME, mostly. I mean I dig a guy with some whiskers and a dashing smile, but bushier eyebrows were the thing I noticed they all had alike.

You know how women always bitch about men staring at boobs rather then their smile? Maybe I was trapped in trying to look at something besides their amazing washboard abs, glistening biceps and.... SO, I resorted to eyebrows? Now that I think of it, is there a ton of ways to style an eyebrow for a man? There are many too ways for a woman: bushy, too thin where you have to curve them in or like the infamous hispanic ladies where they Sharpie them in. Some are curved inwards, outwards, flat and so on.

My mother told me to never pluck mine because I would end up with none. My mother has to pencil her's in, and I never found pain to be something fun especially when I have to stop to wipe my eyes from tearing up from plucking just one hair at a time. So I have never plucked or waxed... why deal with the pain just to have to paint them in when I get older? But men? There is too bushy and the dreadful unibrow. I used to pluck my ex's because he grew one that made him look like an Ewok from Star Wars. Now that I think of it... its disgusting I plucked for him. Justification: maybe seeing him wince in pain was payback and felt good at the time.

So I guess this entire blog was centered on eyebrows. Aren't you lucky? Finding the same similarity on why those dashing, make me want to rip my clothes of in an instant men was all on figuring out its because of their "brows." I don't mind going in my closet and "looking" closer for more similarities.

Wise man builds his house upon a rock

What is love? Is it the butterflies in your stomach, the goosebumps on your skin, or is it something deeper? I see many people "in love," and I can't help but want to have the same feeling. But how does one know its real love? The kind of love that will stay true through morning breath, the past that comes like a lightning storm hitting different spots at once, and the many pet peeves you didn't think you had but now suddenly do. I think I have fallen in love and out of love faster then  your bread going from toast to toasted. I enjoy the warmth, the beginning of flirting, cute texts, and phone calls, but somewhere between those I quickly fall right back out. Is it the guy, or is it me? My mother told me of a guy who really turned out to be a good guy and her telling me to "settle." Settling. Settling for just okay, good enough, get me through the day. Not reaching for the one that challenges me, makes me want to change the world, and not stop until I do them all.

As a child I went to a Mormon church and there was a song, the wise man built his house upon a rock. It was one of the only nursery rhymes that made sense to me. A foolish man builds his house upon the sand and when the rain comes and floods rise up, the house washes away, but the wise man's house on a rock will stand strong and not wash away. I know this has to do with faith and creating a relationship with God, but I see so many people building relationships on sand. Sand feels good, especially between your toes. Just like men feel good the whispers in the ear, their worker hand that somehow fit perfectly within yours. But when the rain comes, and the floods rise that's when it crumbles and his anger that you set aside now becomes worse, the not listening starts to bother you, and the once "sturdy" relationship is nothing but fighting. Build a relationship on a rock though? It can do wonders.

Unless your create your own rock first, your own solid foundations, sand will always be more appealing and those handsome green eyes will get your every time. But see past the eyes, knowing what you want. When your dreams become the focus you'll find the green eyes will be just that, green eyes, though amazing and beautiful, your own morals and values will still be the main focus and gleam brighter. I am 24 and don't want to settle, and won't. I want the best. I want to make myself the best and do the dreams I have wanted to capture before having a guy capture my heart. It will happen. And once I have that solid foundation and know that he does too... well, bring on the rain baby.