Remember His Promise...

He will swallow up death for all time,
And the Lord GOD will wipe tears away from all faces,
And He will remove the reproach of His people from all the earth;
For the LORD has spoken.

Isaiah 25:8

NO MORE TEARS.

Don't Worry 'Bout Me

Stream of Consciousness

It isn't like I want to relapse completely. I just take everything in so slowly, and I never release anything, and it builds up. There's no doubt in the world how dark this temptation is-- how demonically influenced it is-- it's like all of this stuff that I take in and never let out, it all builds and builds under my skin-- pressing, wanting to tear or swell out... and then I hear that voice suggesting that my addiction hasn't run its complete cycle, and I need to finish it... and I believe that voice, as though it has ever had anything beneficial, useful, intelligent, or good to say... But I don't do anything, because I remember that I'm supposed to wait three hours before actually going at myself with anything (knife, razor, thumb tack, pencil) and I remember that if I want to do anything, all I have to do is pick up my old red marker (the one that ran out of ink a few weeks ago) and methodically mark my arm...

onetwothreefourfive

till I go fuzzy enough and I wake up to remember that it's not at all worth it-- just because someone says "I've never known ANYONE quit cutting cold turkey" doesn't mean it's impossible--

that's where God's victory resides.

3 years, 4 months, 17 days, and counting.

112205

There's something in me that tells me I'm not really good enough... something that calls me to be less than I'm worth. There's something that constantly reminds me of the falsity that there is nothing beautiful or delightful contained inside my soul. There's something in me that tells me to stop moving forward... to stop growing up... to stop fulfilling my obligations. Something's telling me that complacency is okay, that revolt against a divine plan is acceptable. There's something... no, everything inside me is telling me that any pain I feel is deserved, that I wasn't created for amy specific purpose... that I will always be unwhole.

But, You work inside of me. You constantly make motion of the dead. If anything in me is wrong, You set out to change it. You find me beautiful. You find me delightful. You make me worthy. You fill the unwhole.

O Holy Night

I'm in my campus' computer lab, and for the past few minutes, I've heard someone humming "O Holy Night."

I dont know if there is actually someone humming it, or if it is in my head.

But regardless, it's DEFINITELY the 8th of March today, and "O Holy Night" should not be heard for at LEAST another 8 months.

What a Weekend!

I admit that I am completely shaken at this moment. For the past year, I have protested against the practices of modern Christianity concerning the idea expressed by a youth pastor I once knew;

"If you fill these chairs, you're accomplishing ministry."

This ideal makes me ILL. It makes me irate. But moreover, it inspires me to want to change both myself and my world.

This weekend, my best friend, Teia has been in town. She recently participated in a mission trip to Thailand, where God threw her whole life in circles that haven't really subsided yet. We talked a lot about the state of Americans, and how it affects the state of the American church. In our church service this morning, the theme was continued by my younger sister reading from her journal about an experience she had in Juarez, Mexico.

Here's the truth: plain and simple.

Americans are spoiled. American Christians are spoiled. Instead of being holy and set apart from our depraved culture, we are conforming to it. We have become attractional, invitational, and we demean God by ignoring the weight that His Gospel places on the hearts of those called by God to believe. We ignore the commands of Christ, and replace them with programs or man-made institutions. In essence, we ignore Christ.

On top of this, after returning home from the church service, and saying goodbye to Teia, I logged onto Facebook, only to find one of the most incredibly written blog posts from my friend, Alex. Alex has to be one of the best writers that I know, but I don't think I have ever read anything from him that has struck me so hard. I want to quote a bit of it, and if you click on the title of this post (here on Blogspot), you can read the whole post.

"Indeed, the earth groans, children weep, and will we yet do nothing? If your said “fire” for Christ be real, prove it with your sacrifice rather than talk. Go out and help your neighbor instead of attending another church sponsored concert. We have a clear choice, either live like a disciple or live like a heathen, lest God spit us from his mouth. How often have we shame Christ with our words, our actions? I will freely admit, I am as guilty as any, but I have grown sick of it, weary of it. My heart aches as I throw mud on the cross with my words, with my actions….but I tell you now no more! I will not live this half life, this double life; I will be in Christ or die trying!

Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations Matthew 28:19"

March 1st: Self-Injury Awareness Day

Please say a prayer for all of the Self-Injurers in the world today, that they may find healing, peace, worth, and release from their addiction. I know I did... Praise God.

Don't keep silent.

Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)

One Girl Revolution

One time, when I was being maybe-overly-opinionated, as I can be at times (what can I say? I'm a Goodwin) someone said to me, "You shouldn't try so hard to change the world."

... I decided it would not be wise to heed their advice.

Smart Girls Still Believe in Love

I have repeated this phrase over and over to myself after reading the book, "Dating Mr. Darcy" on Christmas of 2005. As many know, I loathe Valentines day with a passion, but I do not hate love. It is tradition for me to wear all black, watch sad movies, listen to old Country music, and even pin a felt broken heart to my shirt on this "day of love", and so I did today-- with only one difference.

I walked down the stairs in my all black outfit, and threw my arms in the air, proclaiming, "HAPPY SINGLES AWARENESS DAY!" to my younger sister. I was stopped by my mother who informed me that my sister was not happy to celebrate her singleness. I wasn't really surprised at this. She is 16, after all, and being pure is never popular, and it is rarely easy-- especially when all of your friends are obtaining "hot" boyfriends, and you've only had a couple that you regret (trust me, I understand this perfectly.

"At least your prince won't find you kissing a frog." I reassured her.

I decided to show her the "exception" to my Singles Awareness Day garb-- I pulled up my black pant leg to reveal pink and white plaid socks. I then repeated my motto;

"Smart girls still believe in love."

" It seems I've come to a realization. Despite the fact that I hate Valentines Day with a passion, it is no reason to be Anti-LOVE. Love is not evil. It's not something created by corporations to rake in the big-bucks. It's not even a fantasy. It's real, it's committment, it's responsibility, it's commanded by God, it's an attribute of God... and for someone to deny this beautiful gift under the pretense of bitterness is surely as close to a grave sin as one could ever come.
So, today, forget about all of the stupid people you've dated and all of the wrecked "love stories" you've experienced. Forget that love has become something shallow in our society-- something that's been torn up and thrown away so many times that we've begun to hate it (ironic.. we hate love). Forget about your need to be UNfeminine. Smart girls still believe in love.
Smart girls still embrace the beauty of a possible future romance, and they realize that romance isn't what defines them. Smart girls love everyone fiercely, and they make every effort to portray love ina an honorable, graceful way. Smart girls dig smart guys who honor them and treat them with respect and Godly admiration EVERYDAY of the year, not just on February 14. THAT is love.
I'll say it again...
Smart girls still believe in love." (February 14, 2006)

Contrary to popular belief, it is perfectly acceptable, and actually often BETTER to be single. Don't let the idiocy of Valentine's Day get you down if you are single.

Also, if you are currently in the love of you life and 100% convinced that you're RIGHT where you should be, CONGRATULATIONS, and may God bless the love you're experiencing. :)

I may hate Valentines Day, but I'd be stupid to hate love.

-Jessica

Things That I ABSOLUTELY adore

Since I posted all of my pet peeves, I thought I'd make a list of some of the things I really, really love. Here goes..

- The fact that God is a rescuer
- Rain storms
- Fruit snacks
- Old movies... the overacted, underrated black and white ones.
- The Temptations
- Art... visual manifestation of human passions.
- MY FAMILY. If you know them, this does not need explanation-- but I'll explain anyway.
- My daddy's smiles-- there are different ones for different moods. I especially love his mischievous smile :)
- My mommy's chocolate chip cookies... they taste different every time.
- Anthony's geek moments... there are too many of them to count.
- Mark's completely random sense of humor.
- The fact that Christopher HONORS me... he doesn't just love me.
- Amy's uninhibited laugh, outrageous smile, and ability to trust and love people.
- The books of Isaiah, Lamentations, Romans, and Jeremiah. Biblical poetry-- mmmm.
- Finding God amidst sorrow, and realizing that that is all too often right where He belongs-- because it's right next to you.
- Laughing until I cry.
- Words... all words... every kind of word.
- My friends.
- The fact that my puppy mopes when you mope and tries to cheer you up when you cry.
- The fact that my bunny is more obedient than my puppy-- and he throws fits and stomps when he's mad... okay... I just love my bunny.
- Springtime.
- Warm sweaters
- Chivalrous men
- Color
- Contrast
- My best friends, Abbi, Ian, and Teia--
-Abbi, my sister, who loves unconditionally and speaks truth into my life. I want to be like Abbi if I ever get to grow up.
- Ian, who stretches my mind and challenges me to think outside of my emotions, and who can just goof off and talk about monkeys and hippos and all sorts of useless things.
-Teia, who just plain challenges me. Without her, I'd probably be some agoraphobic psycho. :)
- I LOVE being single.
- I love my nephew... for so so so many reasons. :)
- I love writing... it's cathartic.
- I love reading... it's therapeutic.

Things That Bug Me a Little

When in doubt, write about your pet peeves.

So.. okay... I really can't stand when you're in a public place with someone, and you spend a lot of time in close proximity to them, and when you get home you SMELL like them. That drives me absolutely insane.

I also can't stand it when Christians jump down a non-Christian's throat with a bunch of theology and philosphy that isn't even relevant to any conversation being held-- it's like they're just looking for something to argue about, instead of trying to inform someone of their religion or what have you.

Static-electricity
REALLY cold weather
Catching a cold
watery-eyes
Days when you feel absolutely massive
giant reading assignments

loosing an assignment you should have turned in two days ago, and finding that it's NOT, in fact, saved on your computer

realizing there really IS something wrong with how your mind works.

Going shopping with your brother who is more picky than you are... or your sister... or your mom.

Wearing high heals, forgetting that you walk around a college campus all day.

Trying to write a great paper that turns out completely incoherant by the second page.

not being able to sleep
people asking "What's wrong?"
retail customers
decided ignorance
extremist thinking
materialism
myself

When I'm trying to sleep, and my blanket is upside down, or the seam of the blanket is not near my head.

When I can't concentrate.

When I really want coffee, but I forgot my wallet at home.

Overbearing profanity.
illogical debaters
people who can't just define the issue
socks that fall off
shoes that are just a little bit too big

I'm a little irritable, methinks.

SARCASM

I love it when you can feel people pushing you out of their lives-- When you know that you don't really matter to some people anymore, or when you know that they value something so immaterial more than their four year friendship with you.

I love it even more when I can lay awake at night and pinpoint the moment in my life that brought about all of the complexes I've formed in the past five years. I love that I know exactly what is wrong with me, and where it all started.

But what I really love is the fact that I can't do anything about it.
It will never change.

I love that I'm so incredibly selfish about so many incredibly stupid things-- that I can look at someone's pain and say, "They're so selfish.", even though I'm the selfish one. I also love that I'm pretentious and critical. I love that I can spew out advice and admonishment because I so obviously know exactly what other people should be doing, but then I forget that I did it all, too-- I just chose a razor instead of a bottle, or a cigarette, or a joint.

I love that, through all of the things I do, I end up doing to God the exact things that I can feel people doing to me-- pushing Him out of my life while claiming His grace, and waving in His face something so immaterial that I idiotically value more than my friendship with Him.

L'imposteur

CLEANTE: Brother, I don't pretend to be a sage,
Nor have I all the wisdom of the age.
There's just one insight I would dare to claim:
I know that true and false are not the same;
And just as there is nothing I more revere
Than a soul whose faith is steadfast and sincere,
Nothing that I more cherish and admire
Than honest zeal and true religious fire,

So there is nothing I find more base
Than specious piety's dishonest face--
Whose impious mummeries and hollow shows
Exploit our love of Heaven, and make a jest
Of all that men think holiest and best;
These calculating souls who offer prayers
Not to their Maker, but as public wares,
And seek to buy respect and reputation
With lifted eyes and sighs of exaltation;
These charlatans, I say, whose pilgrim sould
Proceed, by way of Heaven, toward earthly goals,
Who weep and pray and swindle and extort,
Who preach the monkish life, but haunt the court,
Who make their zeal the partner of their vice--
Such men are vengeful, sly, and cold as ice,
And when there is an enemy to defame
They cloak their spite in fair religion's name,
Their private spleen and malice being made
To seem a high and virtuous crusade,
Until, to mankind's reverent applause,
They crucify they're foe for Heaven's cause.

Tartuffe, Moliere

Evolution of the Poetic Concept

I love to write poetry. Period. As I become more and more educated in literature-- both traditional and contemporary-- my perception of what is "poetic", or even "artistic" changes so often. The first semester of college was spent trying to perfect poems of meter, rhyme, and traditional form. I even tried to write a sonnet once...

Stretching out Your hand as if it were rain
You chose to touch my dark and sordid face.
What motivation! Still, my mind refrain
From choosing to run this long, horrid race.
And lo, my heart [still mute] will reprieve this;
That I may remain living while still dead
And I shall refuse to live in true bliss.
Still my soul would surely choose this instead,
To cast away its cares or simply cope.
For there must be some unfeigned way to
Live in full peace and to know sincere hope--
To love and be loved by One who is true.
How lost in Your wonder is my small mind!
None have I known, compared to Your kind.

Last spring semester, I read a lot of ee cummings. A LOT of ee cummings. I annotated. I mimicked. I came to love the idea and challenge of controlling words without meter or rhyme. The abstract structure of American poetry in the 1950's caught my attention, and I decided to try to work on this beautiful idea. Here's one of my favorites...

dancing, like ballet
across the surface of the sea,
like air
the art of you sculpts fragile memories
like cool marble stone
in a still quiet museum.
all around, the people
bustle away
while you, like the sun
rise and fall,
creating your masterpiece.

I think I am slowly evening out my style, and I am extremely excited.

Last night, I found a poem by a Palestinian-American poet, Naomi Shihab Nye. Her use of language and control of tone and atmosphere astounds me, as well as the power of her imagery.

"Making a Fist"

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.

-Naomi Shihab Nye

I have read and heard many of Nye's poems in the past week, and all morning before church, I had two lines of poetry in the style of Nye that would not leave my mind: "I never knew what my house looked like from the highway/nestled in the earth, and life, and willows." So, after I sat down before the service (and through the whole thing, I admit), I began to write it down. But... how do you finish a pome like that? Where is it supposed to go from there? I added line by line all morning, and I ended up writing this;

I never knew what my house looked like from the highway
nestled in the earth, and life, and willows
with a creek bubbling behind and six cars parked in front.

I've always wondered if it looked like home from a mile away
filled with the truth, and smiles, and singing laughter
with tears behind us and bright hopes ahead.

But I realize, it's not about what it looks like on the outside
not earth, not willows, not six cars parked out front.
It's about living out the smiles.
It's about singing out the truth.

This semester, in all four of my literature courses, I hope I can take away even more ways to refine my poetic concept. I'll share with you all the poetry I write, even if it scares me to death to let anyone see it. You all encourage me. You inspire me, and inspiration is the best kind of poetry... it IS poetry.

Check it out

http://www.myspace.com/unvoicedthebook

Final cover art is on there.

I need YOUR help.

Okay, so... I'm a couple of edits away from self-publishing my first novel. However, I need to figure out some stuff with the cover art. I have some mock-ups made with stock photos (I'll be taking my own for the actual cover), and I need to know what some people think of the ones I have so far. SO... out of the three designs below, which would you most likely pick up/buy/look at to read in a book store?

1)

2)

3)

It will be a 6" by 9" book. The story is about a 17 year old girl that struggles with self-injury... if that helps you get a feel for the book at all. Of course, the back cover would mimmick the front in style and colors and such-- and it would be a lot more polished and professional looking. Whaddya think? Any opinions would be awesome... just be nice. haha

-Jessica

Rescuer

A very late night conversation with a couple of my friends on New Years Eve/Day inspired me to write this post. It's something I don't talk about nearly enough.

I was “saved” at the age of three. I loved God, and I knew who he was, even if I was young. I wouldn’t quite say that I understood the saving power of who He is, though. It took a lot more than a prayer to teach me that. I had a great Christian education, and was well versed in Scripture and Christian doctrine. I could debate theology with anyone, and still appear extremely intelligent for my age.

But, when I was 13, my family moved out of state and then moved again when I was 14. By this time, I was seriously doubting my beliefs. Maybe “doubting my beliefs” isn’t the right way to put it. I still knew God, and I knew how He could provide for my needs, but so many things in life seemed so much more logical than He did. Because so many illogical things had happened in such a short time before this, I thrived on and sought out practicality, logic, minimalism, strictness, and reason. What eventually came of this was in no way logical, though.

I don't remember a lot of what happened in my life between the ages of 14 and 16, but I remember that they were very dark days for me. I was very depressed. I began to punish myself for not being able to be happy, for trusting people I shouldn‘t have, for doing something stupid at youth group, or even for getting a bad grade. At first, it was only skipping meals, scratching at my arms, and running myself down all the time. The first manifestation of it all that I can remember was at a performance of Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker". My brother asked why my arm was scratched, and I told him fearlessly that I had done it. He jokingly called me "Cutter", and never brought it up again.

That was just the beginning.

It quickly escalated to punishing my body through exercise and under eating. At one point, I was eating one small meal a day and exercising for a little under four hours a day. I would fill up on coffee and diet soda, or I would manipulate my metabolism so that I wouldn't even get hungry at all. What I couldn't do by swimming laps, I'd make up for in walking or stay up working out in my room. I lost about 70 pounds the summer before I began my junior year, but even that wasn't enough-- I wasn’t enough. So I continued to push myself. I would hitch rides to the local rec center when our home pool closed for the year, and I started walking to friends houses and Bible study regularly.

Even though I was consistently controlling my body, I started cutting myself when I was 15 years old. It started with thumb tacks and mechanical pencils, and eventually I was using razors and even knives if I could. I never thought I would come clean, but when I made the choice to tell my youth leader about my habit, I knew that I had to tell my parents. I didn't want them to find out about it through anyone but myself. A little after my 16th birthday, I had my parents and myself convinced that I wasn't going to cut anymore, but I soon fell back into it. This was worse. I never used anything but razors or knives, and the cuts seemed to last longer and go deeper each time. I saw people who had been into cutting at my age, who were then in their 20s, trying to raise families and have careers-- the baggage that self-harm left was unbelievable, and I knew deep down that I could very well have been on that road. So, I pushed people away because I didn't want to have to explain myself to them-- but really, it's because I didn't want to face myself when all was said and done. I didn't want to end up in a psych ward. I didn't want to end up constantly unstable, and facing more mental disorders than I could even fathom. I lived a seemingly double life. I led youth group and worked with non-profit organizations, all the while destroying myself for some unvoiced reason-- a reason I couldn't even find words for.

After six more months of battling with myself and my rage (as well as with my parents, who found out about one of my relapses because my little sister saw a cut on my arm-- ironically, it is one of the only scars visible on my arms to this day), I finally realized how far I had gone. It occurred to me one night, at a bon fire, that it wasn’t okay for me to bleed instead of crying, or talking to someone about what I was feeling. It wasn’t okay, regardless of my weight or pants size, to starve myself or obsess over how I looked. I also realized how futile the pursuit of control was. At least, it wasn’t at all worth the price I paid for it.

I had ruined many relationships in my life. My friends were hurt. I spent many nights on the phone with my three closest friends (what good friends they were, even if I wanted desperately to get away from them)-- it wasn‘t rare for them to be crying or yelling or both. My parents couldn't trust me, and with good reason. Sometimes even now, if I have a scratch on my arm, they‘ll ask about it, which only reminds me of how much they deserve to hold my trust (as well as what a blessing it is for me to hold theirs after all I put them through.) Worst of all, I had injured my relationship with God in a major way. By cutting, I stood in His face and told Him that He wasn’t good enough to sooth my pain. By starving myself, I told Him that I didn’t trust Him enough to make me beautiful.

A few weeks after the last time I cut, my family moved again. God showed me how incredibly good He is. In the town that I moved from, my reputation was ruined. I couldn't be considered a stable, healthy girl anymore, and I didn't want to live in that manner in the new community I would have to be a part of. God pretty much got in my face and said "Straighten up, I’m giving you a second chance."

The second chance came. I’ve been able to come into contact with others who are coming out of the depths and darkness of self-harm. I still struggle with all of these things. Mostly cutting, and the feeling that I need to punish myself. But now, I know just how much I need God, and how willing He is to let me start over. It is so much more than a blessing-- my second chance. To be able to shine, even if I’m not quite there yet. To be able to smile again (which I've been told I never stop doing-- Praise God! What else is there to do, really?), and more than that-- to be able to cry again. To be able to stand up and say, “I’ve been there, and I know for a fact that you don’t have to be.”

But more than anything, I am forever grateful that my God is a rescuer. He is MY rescuer.

"We must tell them that there is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still. They will listen to us... because we have been here." - Betsie Ten Boom

"Does anybody know how I feel? Sometimes I'm numb, sometimes I'm overcome. Does anybody care what's going on? Do I have to wear my scars like a badge on my arm for you to see me, I need release. Do I have to scream for you to hear me? Do I have to bleed for you to see me? 'Cause I grieve, you're not listening to me. Do I need to scream? Has anybody seen what's been done? Where was my defense? No one heard my protest. The eyes of God were watching me. It's time to make my peace, let it go and be released so I can breathe again. I'm on my knees I've been marked, set apart, but I'm cut so deep and afraid of the dark. One drop of blood from the hole in Your hand is enough to heal me and make me stand. 'Cause I'm clean, He is listening to me. I don't have to scream for Him to hear me-- Don't have to bleed for Him to see me. 'Cause I'm clean, He is listening to me. I don't have to scream. I don't have to bleed .'Cause I'm clean, He is listening-- And I don't have to scream." - ZOEgirl, Scream

Maybe someday, I'll have something inspiring to say.

"I think we've all missed the point.
This is our one life to give."

-Parallax View

Far, Far Away

Staring at the shoreline, wishing for some hope, the weight of empty fishing nets is more than twisted rope. And underneath stern faces, they wait with baited breath with broken hearts from hoping while casting out their nets. See the figure on the shore-- He speaks his words like plain men sing. His hands they still have holes in them. Glory to the King! Can you hear the bells are ringing far, far, away? Can you hear the voices singing far, far, away? And Peter was a liar-- a traitor just like me... and Judas was a hypocrite, and Paul a Pharisee. When truth can be so distant, and hope evades our reach... Peter swam across the water and found it on the beach.

-Five Iron Frenzy

Things I've learned

Friendship is not something that is built on what I have in common with someone, but what we've been through together.

"Home" is rarely ever locational.

Singing Patsy Cline's song, "He Called Me Baby" will sooth any sort of pain or discomfort.

There is nothing more heartwarming than your German Shepherd puppy climbing on top of the dining room table before Christmas dinner.

Some people are really immature-- try not to be like them.

React. Don't act up.

Smile.

Thou my best thought, by day or by night.

"In Christ Alone"

Stewart Townend, Keith Getty

In Christ alone my hope is found.
He is my light, my strength, my song.
This Cornerstone, this solid ground--
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace!
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease.
My Comforter, my All in All--
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe.
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.

'Till on that cross as Jesus died
The wrath of God was satisfied.
For every sin on Him was laid.
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain--
Then bursting forth in glorious Day,
Up from the grave He rose again.

And as He stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost it's grip on me.
For I am His and He is mine--
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death,
This is the power of Christ in me.
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.

No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
'Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand.