A Reblog by Seeing Everything else- Warning: Church Kids

“Christianity isn’t something you catch, because Christianity isn’t a thing. It’s a relationship.” Wow, so true! Something we all need to be reminded of. 🙂

 

 

WARNING: Church kids, you may be in grave danger. In fact, if you were raised in a Christian family, if you were always taken to church, or even if you were homeschooled all your life; your risk for this calamity is exponentially greater. Because you may have bought into the Idea. That perverse, wrong, dangerous idea that […]

 

via Warning: Church Kids — Seeing Everything Else

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Surrendering To His Love

People say I’m quiet. I wouldn’t think so unless they did. They say I’m patient, but I would never have thought so myself. Some say I’m shy. My family tells me I’m smart and thoughtful and kind.

 

Inside, I’m only a weak little lamb surrendering to a Savior whenever I remember, letting Him take my few loaves and fish and multiply them, whenever I think of it. But when I think only of myself I am nothing. When I acknowledge Him in every aspect of my life, He shines out of me, revealing His everything.

 

“And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” – 2 Cor. 3:18

 

Nevertheless, whenever I think of myself, it matters to me, what people say. What they think. I wonder what they really think, if they say what they really think. I wonder.

 

People are mysterious. I have hardly even begun getting to know myself. It helps to know what they think by what they say. When I think of only myself, it matters to me, because I want to know who I am in their opinion, and I want to be more me according to whatever good things they think of me. None of what they think matters. Only God’s opinion matters, because He’s the only One who knows the real me, whoever I am. And He is the only One who is truly good.

 

But whenever I think of myself, I care. I care about me too much. I care what others think of me, and I blush when they compliment me. Am I going to bow before them at the end of the world? No. But I still care, and I still have a lot to learn to give up myself in every way and take pride in Him rather than in my own talents, skills, or looks.

Continue reading

Sympathy vs. Compassion

Sympathy

I’m so sorry for everyone

The hearts that are broken

The clocks that keep ticking but never strike one.

I’m so sorry for everyone

The longing for love

Or the fear of it

The reaching for dreams

Or the running away.

 

I’m so sorry for everyone

The anxiety

Of speaking to one or to hundreds

The anxiety of stepping into a crowded room.

I’m so sorry for everyone

The height of success

Drowned in loneliness

The sitting at a desk

And wasting hours doing things you will hate forever. Continue reading

The Tragical Sea

Ok, so this is the strangest story I’ve ever written, not necessarily due to the plot but due to the style I wrote it in… I hope you can understand it—if not, feedback please! 🙂 Parts of it only makes any sense if you read it in light of the fact that a lot of the words are meant to give you more of the feeling of what I’m talking about, rather than me straight-out saying it in the English language. Lol it’s kinda crazy, so don’t be afraid to laugh if you think it’s funny…

Back in time to a land of faraway places…

Known a lady she in a palace she swayed in the spiky mountains by the tragical sea. A queen she strode, as a ruler of high security, chosen to lead this radical land with a cocky range of authority. Beholden to a service of a life, and never to let the brothers run and knock her free. Forward on she soared the towns to work on land but never out. The ocean held bones baking wild, greasy ships in the deepest places. Whales dove to knock the over in went round the citizens.

Long before Brown the king loved by queen he floated his blood at sea. Pesterings fought kingdom to sail but she caught and jailed simpletons. Ocean hangs alone for her dead king.

Dwelled a man young and chilled, raging for adventure far off and free. Before him maiden gone his soul for love swallowed his cheer.

“Wenda, dear,” gave Man,” with me to  ghastly sea, to far-off land, to new and prodigal life full and bright–with me?”

Wenda swelled, “Wholly, no, Queen Hairna faces we to track us so!”

“Escape, yes, we bid ours gone we stake. But no right she fight for stony fate.”

“Chisel bite!” flailed Wenda. “Off into cold not out!”

Man bored in dreams flawed up and trusting on cheek Wenda he peck gentler. “Courses chop running fire my heart one all the feelings–go or no, eternal sun and stars drift as my love shifts constant scratching crumbs. Marry or no, eyes have you never I to fever off from pinnacle gaze.”

Wenda swooped in gasping stare fallen away clenched teeth and hands. Water ices cheeks, freezing pose. Wind and mirth shoot, “Queen Hairna I but rising churned and quaked before. Chisel bite! To tragical sea in haste of dropping calls must I and you–for, yes, loves still me.” Wenda deepens whole, “Stills me love from you, John Barley.”

John glided teeth, “So love is bound in fear—so rest we go in hastily runnings we create.”

Kind they sailed gruntled ship of grandfather John before queen’s time, piking darkest night cloaked grim. John roughed up the rough till fine to bob over swarms of fish and sharks and vitality. Voyaged fair, no rain nor shrieks in dome of earth, yet light from tower caught and stormed the queen.

Ordered she the servants out. Grunting wide in novelties trumping plans of their visits and wielding she their fate self-willing, flaky, puffed, and sore. Efforts flung servants out on tragical sea.

Mothers and fathers woke crazed, searching for couple and crying for charity. Hours traced days flipping into weeks caught none by kingdom servants, the man and maiden bold and jumping out of holes.

Hit rock of land John proud Wenda sore. Scribbling out of wonders, waking to dawn shifting wild and green. Up went they to garden jungle forest, whatever was lying vividly pure—land nourishing so long not seen. Leaping hearts shiny beach man and maiden rushing on.

“Light,” drifted Wenda, petting trees and grinning at oozing sand.

Her arm John pestered shot eyes away from land. “Ship of queen now birthed in sight!” sprang he.

“Chisel bite!” crinkled she. “Pirates, yea—queen? Nay! Feathered up in jewels all day.”

Fingered Man towards tippy flag of queen and quality.

Wenda smudged, then balled fist and eyes. “Queen Hairna bolts at charming days to slay. Hide or dash must we—to flee! Strike over else trumped chins below.”

John charged, “Gaze on at sea of tragical fate. Rants storms to fracture queen and ship!”

Hovered clouds as said no speckled hope but windy dread. Clutched Wenda fierce, harried to John, “Run!”

“Wholly, yea, my dear,” lowered Man, “fly into green, still for me.”

Rushing Wenda wide, “Strut far from queen; now you dash—with me!”

“Nay! Rescue I the queen, for knowledge hoards about the tragical sea barrels in me.”

Narrowness of John cracked Maiden, so boggled now she squelched away.

Nettling rain, graphic light, jutting roars—on heart of John slammed. On grandfather ship to queen’s, dodged he power of storm. Spindling round in alacrity, sailed he the ship, water drowning eyes and legs.

On blinked Wenda shore beneath junky feet but lost from serenity. Glimpsed ship of John dawdling up to ship of queen. Over brushed the storm on Maiden’s sight, fear fled her behind rock. Far to sea stretched John knowledge to queen. Beasty waves splintered speech of John, crippling ships, and widened Maiden to behold.

Turned Queen to crew, “Pluck fast away!” Scuffled they the queen toward land on kingdom ship, forward crashing, breaking ship, but not humanity. Queen and crew hugging land and green pouring relief.

Tragical sea pained remaining vitality, dipping well to center earth—Grandfather’s ship and John the same.

Met Wenda contorting into ghastly illness. Shoulder rattled Queen Hairna gentler. “Plop,” gave she, “on trusty rock with me.”

On did they, Maiden tipsy and frowning. Toward tragical sea they stared, blinded both by washing eyes.

Littled up and crazed, Hairna played, “Man and sea clink together as beasts.”

Wenda chilled, “Chisel bite, my queen—law’s whole deepness feel I now. Grip I the grief you motioned to Brown the king.”

“Law I fixed,” steadied Queen, “but play I now allow. Before me grief gentles, grief fondles. Before me that sea floods into tranquility.”