Weekly Poems (Week of 12-7 - 12-13)

all poems by Stephen Byrne

"A Contract. The Terms? Your Whole Life. What A Small Price Tag!"

With your arm wrapped tightly around my waist
I feel like shouting to the whole world around me,
"I love this woman with all my heart and soul!"
Extol your lovely face and name to each passer-by.
For today is the day that I picked to make you mine,
That I chose to choose you as my partner for life,
My lover, who means everything to me.
We will be together forever and ever. Eternity.
I decided how it would be long ago, as a child.
Before I even met you I knew how it would be done.
The marriage, not the proposal. I knew what I would do.
You would be the most cared-for woman in the world
And I stand by it on this, the ultimate day.
And I am ready to make my dynamic life-hanging move.
And so, under a cloud-dotted, perfect sky
I drop to one knee and pull out a box containing
the rest of my life.


"Solvo Mihi Ex Nox Noctis"
Blindly feeling my way around this dark passageway
Trying to see any and all signs of light, of outside.
But all my existence is to me is a black void.
An empty nothing, and all I am is miserable,
Only she can rescue me from this desolation,
Light the torches to illuminate my pathetic life
Call my name as she searches through the tunnel
Luring me to safety with he musical voice
Like an angel's song, it has a light of its own.
And it is my ticket to freedom and love.
I only need follow her, and solace is not far behind
A liberation of wondrous beauty and grace
Until she arrives, though, I am naught but lost
Awaiting my savior in the cold solidarity
With nothing to warm me but my own breath
That does nothing but try to pronounce your name
But only comes through as short gasps
And whispers on the coarse, icy wind
Come soon my love, for I can barely make out your spark
You are not far from finding me, don't give up!

"Deflecting Blows Only To Stab Ourselves"
The battle has begun
Lines must be drawn
Lest we forget whom we fight
Or for what we stand
If we hold a common foe
Why then do I persist to ram
My fist against the wall
I'm just warring with myself
This serves no purpose
No benefit to us
This is our struggle
This is our open war
Leave me now
Defeat in sight
I would not be a victor

If Curiosity Killed The Cat, Thank God We're Not Cats"

by Stephen Byrne

I thought it'd be only once. No more than that.
That one "innocent test." How foolish I was!
Now I am consumed, willpower lost.
For it is all sacrificed to the all-consuming,
All-demanding selfishness and lust in my heart.
How idiotic I was to believe I could tame it,
But like a wild beast, it tore me to shreds!
Now I am its servant, fulfilling its bidding.
Whatever its bidding, I must obey.
Is this all I was created for? A slave's life?
I know what I must do, and yet I do not do it.
I know what I must not do, yet I do it anyway.
How wretched am I! How undeserving of sacrifice!
My life seems no less than utterly hopeless.
I am naught but a pawn to evil's wishes.
An instrument of darkness, pliable to every command.
I plead for nothing save freedom from bondage.
A breaking of the chains that bind my soul.
I know I cannot destroy addiction's hold myself.
I need the help of Someone Else.

knotts berry farm

As the title of this entry suggests, my day consisted of a trip to Knott's Berry Farm. Today was Military Day, so military got in free, and their friends could get in for $15. A bunch of us from this Bible study I go to went; it was pretty fun. I was super tired from the day before, so it was a little hard to get moving this morning, but I ended up sleeping a bit on the way up, and I took a nap around 1. We got there around 8, but before we went to the park, we checked out a church up there. It was a little different than what I'm used to: a lot of congregational involvement, and we came at the very end of a sermon series, so it wasn't a typical sermon either. It was cool though, and there was this extremely awkward, drawn-out Christian rap song that this chick made up, and she seriously did this rap for about 8 minutes or so. Pretty funny.
Anyways, the park was fun, I got to go on most of the rides, because the park didn't get crowded till about noon. Kyle and I forced Shelly to go on a lot of rides because she was scared, which is always fun. That's how I got over my fear of rollercoasters, cause I got forced.
We left for home about 6, hung out at Krikorian and KJ's house for a little, then came home. Now I'm trying to get some homework done before tomorrow, so I can take it a little easy tomorrow. Next week is going to kill. Black Friday sale at WalMart, plus a research paper, and book report due next Monday. *sigh, so much for Thanksgiving vacation...

My Phenomena (a poem by meeee....)

Angels tread silently while in her presence
In a true admiration of her awing beauty
She rules as a queen amongst women,
And I am forever her dumbstruck king
For I am forever undeserving of her
And the selfless love that she provides.
She is my private garden, divinely planted,
A hidden spring that only I may drink from.
Tears of joy flow forth from my hazel eyes
Every time they manage to steal a glance.
My ears resonate with the songs of seraphs
Every time she speaks aloud my dry name.
My mind reverts to that of a foolish child
Every time her silhouette paints the wall.
My heart palpitates at the speed of sound
Every time her perfect hand grazes mine.
Praises to the King of all, who elected me,
Who destined me of all men in his world
to be her caretaker, her partner, her lover, her friend,
to be the man who dubbed himself the luckiest man ever.

by Stephen Byrne


*sigh....where are you?

Coal Afternoon - a poert

"Coal Afternoon"
This ticket feels so heavy as I turn it over in my hands.
Cold October air bites at my face with unbridled ferocity.
I check the old station clock behind me every minute
To know whether or not the noon train is running late.
The seconds tick by like dew slowly dripping from a dahlia.
12:01. 12:02. Impatience gives way to irritability.
At last I hear its mighty trump sound as it roars to a stop.
And the anger roaring within me is quelled in a breath.

by Stephen Byrne

This refers to the impatience I often feel with others that interfere with my own schedule. I know as a Christian, I should be practicing patience, but I do fail...often.
I like writing poems with imagery.

to my wife (wherever you are)

All the shining stars in the charcoal sky
Are dimmed against thy brightened radiance
Aphrodite turneth her face to cry
At the glorious sight of thy passance
For thy love I will all others disown
Clothed in splendor, fit to wed a king
I would give thee all the riches I own
Lowly lived thou art, but thou art my queen
Man is mortal, and beauty shall soon fade
All our glory shall be reduced to dust
But what is eternal is our love made
And cherish that love forever we must
For content I pray thou always will be
For my ultimate content, Love, is thee.

Thoughts on all the Prop 8 commotion...seems to be a lot of it

So much has been said concerning Proposition 8 over the past few months, and now that it has passed, it doesn't look like the talk is going to die down anytime soon. Now I realize that there are some very opinionated people on both sides of the argument, and to the intelligent and well-informed champions of either side, I respect you. But my main concern has to be with so-called Christians, and I use that term very loosely because I am more or less forced to.

First off, I have been bombarded by an influx of information that a large number of "Christians" see no moral dilemma for homosexuals, and many practicing homosexuals call themselves "Christian" with no shame or conviction. Earlier today, I was reading through a topic thread in a Christian group concerning Proposition 8, and was disturbed to find many of the posters were practicing this lifestyle and still were championing their cause with no disgrace. If we call ourselves Christians, we cannot pick and choose which parts of the Bible we want to believe and follow and which ones we want to discount and throw away. Homosexuality is explicitly stated as sin, both in Levitical law and by several New Testament writers, including Paul and Jude. Homosexuality is a choice, just as is promiscuity, infidelity, premarital relations, covetousness, murder, and lying. Those who say they were "born this way," that they cannot change the way they were made are blinded by their own sinful nature. To say that a homosexual cannot change the way they are is akin to a thief saying he can never stop stealing or to a murderer saying he cannot stay his hand. It is a choice. To engage in homosexuality is a choice. To have homosexual tendencies does not make one a homosexual, only the act itself does, and such a person can learn to curb their desires much as one who is predisposed to look on a woman lustfully can learn to avert their eyes. With the Lord comes grace and the power to change. I am not saying all homosexuals, when they come to Christ, magically become heterosexual; the sinful nature still wars with the Christian daily, but the Lord can change hearts, and sin's power can be quelled to a degree that these desires can be fought. But, aside from this, grace does not equal a condoning of that sin. Sin must be expelled from the congregation of God, for he cannot abide with sin. Therefore, we as believers can never treat homosexuality as acceptable behavior, neither can we approve of any sin. But, I must add, to treat a homosexual with contempt, is plain wrong and detrimental to the kingdom of God. They must be loved with the love of Christ (who did not turn away the adulteress or the sinful Samaritan woman), and be given the grace we have been bestowed with. But, to reiterate, this should never be mistaken to say we should not hate the sin.

Second, concerning the actual Proposition 8 argument, I am torn, in a way. I voted "Yes" on the ballot, because of personal conviction, but many of my friends, who are Christian (and God-fearing), did not vote on this issue. Most of their reasoning arises from the opinion that homosexual couples should have the same rights as heterosexual couples, such as tax write-offs, wills and testaments (in regards to each other as beneficiaries), insurance, etc. As far as this is concerned, I agree. I have no problem letting homosexual couples marry for these reasons, if it were solely these reasons. But adding the tag lines to the "No on 8" campaign signs "Equality for all" and "No intolerance" scream their advocates' agenda: "Accept my behavior. You have no right to tell me what I'm doing is wrong, and I'm going to shove it down your throat." This campaign has never been one of tolerance, it has been one of approval. I heard on the radio that at a polling place up north there were Prop. 8 opponents passing out pro-gay materials. If someone refused their pamphlets or stated that they were voting "yes," these so-called "tolerant" people would scream obscenities at these people and call them homophobes. The issue was never tolerance. It is about sinful people desiring approval of their lifestyle, and anyone who disagrees is an intolerant fool. If it was simply people wanting certain rights that did not affect me on a moral scale, fine. But the second I hear word that my church could get sued some day because they refuse to perform a homosexual ceremony, or that, were I to put my child in public school because, Heaven forbid, I could not afford either the time for home schooling or the funds for private school, he would learn about homosexuality as a perfectly normal, acceptable lifestyle, I fear I cannot keep my mouth shut. This extends far beyond the Christian's responsibility to love the sinner and urge him toward salvation. This is about someone imposing their morality on me, something completely contradictory to what I believe as a Christian. However, according to the other side, in doing so, I am imposing my morality on them. Well, then, it looks like we are caught up in a shoving match. Somebody's morals have to get shoved down somebody else's throat, and frankly, I would rather let God's morality reign that that of man. That is why I voted yes on 8. But, I believe voting has to be a personal issue between you and the Lord. If you are to vote on something, you should do it with conviction, as it is a very important thing; no one should vote flippantly. I cannot speak for every man, but I would hope at least most Christians would agree with me on the majority of what I say.

That being said, I don't want to come across as being hateful, because I'm not. God commands me to be intolerant of sin, but I do not pass my own judgment on anyone. It is reserved to Christ to be Judge of man, and I would not take that from him. All I can do is point you to the Bible and show you what it says.This is an issue far from dead, and I hope it opens doors to point lost souls to the Man who can change any life and make it new. If only one person comes to Christ through discussions about Proposition 8, it is not in vain, whether it stands or is overturned. Keep that in mind that the Christian faith is about JESUS first, then pointing people to Jesus. We aren't going to dissuade any people from sin, without first allowing the Holy Spirit to work in such an apparent way that others notice, and condemning others is not such a way.

"If I Told You All That I Was Thinking, You Would Be Me, Or At Least A Crude Replication"

I laugh to myself
How can you miss her?
You don't even know who she is...
But I tell the truth I am sick in longing for her
I picture her arrival as such
A pompous parade accompaning her
As much as would a queen
For that is what she will be to me
In any case, I know this will
Not be the manner
But this will be: when I know her
For who she is, or rather,
Who she will be, one can only
Imagine the joy that will fill my soul
Until then I am only half a man.

Election Woes

Change is coming. Its black clouds loom on the horizon.
Change is coming. You have whored yourselves to it.
Mammon be praised, God is found in your pocket.
Once again he has bought your souls with blind oaths
Dark minds are swamped with your empty desires
And haughty eyes are blinded by wanton longings.
Why do you continue your hard-hearted rebellion?
Is it so hard for you to kick against the goads?
My brethren bemoan your pitiable destination,
A wrath aflame and judgment divine await.
Fates worse than death knock at your door,
And you swing wide the gate of your iniquity.
When your sentence is read, will you weep?
Will you regret sins committed on beds of infidelity?
For you have prostituted yourselves to Death,
And Hades trails not far behind, ready to receive.
Demons that you have worshiped lurk ever closer,
Extending hellish claws to rake into your lost souls.
Lament for your children, for the horrors to come,
That the stain of your sin does not infect their hearts.
Pray the Mercy that you have denounced is near,
And maybe He will be moved in his grace to hear you.
America, you have decided; you have chosen.
Now face the consequences you have earned.

-Stephen Byrne


Believers, pray for America. This is the time. The wheat is on the threshing floor. It is time to separate the wheat from the chaff. Stand by the Lord. The hour will come when he may be all you have.

Election Day '08

All I can say going into this election day is, "WOW!" How did we get to this point: where we have two choices for president, and one choice, Sen. John McCain, albeit a pretty average guy, is looking more and more like a saint next to the other choice, Sen. Barack Obama, who I'm becoming more and more convinced is going to get us blown up. Aside from that, we in California have some pretty important Propositions to vote on, mainly Prop. 4 and Prop. 8. This I believe is the proving ground for God's people. How we respond to these issues is, in my opinion, a pretty clear indication on how we stand with the Lord. Think about it! How did we get to the place where we have to define what marriage is, even though it is clearly stated in the Bible what God's law is? How did we get to the place where we have to vote on whether or not parents should have the right to know when their underage daughter wants to get an abortion? This has never been about tolerance or acceptance or discrimination. It has always been about people living in sin wanting approval for their actions. And we give it to them! How Jesus must weep at our blatant disregard for what his truth says. Wake up, America! Your days are numbered! Turn to God, and he will hear from heaven, and will heal us and this sin-ravaged land.

re: dang it

I feel I should clarify a bit concerning my last post. As many of you know who are friends with me, I am a very emotional person. It is so annoying at times, but emotions have a lot more power over me then I really want to give up. It has been an uphill struggle for so long, and I trust that it will be like that for a while yet. Suffice it to say, ... Read Moremy last post was not solely surrounding one particular event, rather a chain of events that has left me feeling quite taxed. It seems like disappointment after disappointment is befalling me, and like any normal human feels, life becomes a tad overwhelming after awhile. I cannot place the blame on any of these feelings save myself, and I do not doubt the Enemy is taking advantage of the position I have placed myself in. I find myself repeatedly learning how to trust God. Pray for me, you who read this post; pray that God meets me yet again. Pray I would have the desire to seek his face once more. Commit me to the Lord: Be my friend.

dang it

Oh, how miserable life can seem at times. To feel so strongly that the Lord has come through and provided that which, then to find you are extremely mistaken is more than a little debilitating. God has done nothing to deserve a distrust of him, yet one cannot help but feel at the very least let down. Such is my life. I have let myself get caught up... Read More yet again on a tornado of emotion, and it has brought forth chaos (as tornadoes tend to do) in my heart. Granted, it is nowhere remotely near the devastation I have previously felt, but nonetheless, pain is pain. All that remains once more is a tattered faith, that I must again with the help of the Holy Spirit rebuild and fortify. Albeit I feel convicted that my faith suffers when my desires are not met, but I trust God understands and has grace.

The Potion - - short story by me, still writing, here's a preview

My time here is short, so I will make my history known. Let no man suffer what I have suffered. I have seen too many years pass and too many sins committed. No one should make the sacrifices I have so hastily and carelessly forfeited. Oh Jael, forgive me. If only I never knew the man.
I met the man many years ago, in an era almost too distant for any alive now to even fathom. He was an elderly man, weathered lines in his face etched there by time and the elements, but he still had a youthful aura about him, an air that seemed to protrude from him as if it could not be contained inside his frail-looking form. He possessed that arrogant look that a man has when he thinks he knows everything, although this man appeared as if he actually could have known everything. And through his conceited stare, strangely I could see immeasurable wisdom and knowledge radiating from a man who appeared to have lived ages. A small, long-bearded Magi of the ancient world stood before me.
I was a creative craftsman, an alchemist and druggist in those days, and my trade preference was one not looked well upon in my city, in fact it was almost viewed as a heresy against our gods. I studied the plants and elements extensively in order to create herbal remedies and special tonics I was sure others would certainly need and want. However, rarely did I produce such wanted products. I lived meager and destitute, often resorting to the charity of others (if one would call the occasional theft of food and money accepting charity). You may ask why I did not attempt another type of profession such as farming or blacksmithing if my current choice was that unyielding. My shameful response is that I am a frail man, incapable of hard labor and that I am incompetent in sculpting and molding; no artistic spark runs through my veins. The gods did not smile on my birth. I was borne weak, and so shall I remain, and I could do nothing to remedy the matter. It was not mine to decide. Thus I can only mix.
My name, you ask? It shall suffice for the duration of our conversation to call me Janus. I have been called by many names over many centuries, but Janus is my given and most favorite. I would not consider myself a handsome man, certainly not well-built, but I possess a great intelligence that is afforded to few where I come from. I was born in a small southern village, near a great sea to our eastern borders. I never knew my parents; they died of illness whilst I was still in infancy and no one took me in, thus my whole life I had been an orphan, an outcast, to my society. I did not even know my own birthday. Because of the cruel hand Fate dealt me, I lived an extremely hard life, rarely receiving aid from any other, easily explaining my resort to theft.
There was one; however, who showed me more kindness than I would ever have thought possible for another human being to express, given my current circumstances. Her name was Marah. She was poor herself, a widow who performed servant duties for a cruel, wealthy townsman named Tycho out of an obligation her husband had owed, but gave to me as generously as she could afford. Marah used to sneak me hunks of bread out of the window to my eager, outstretched hands or pass me sips of cool water from an earthen cup she had taken from within her master’s chambers. As long as she breathed, Marah would not let me starve. Though it was forbidden for a servant to read, she somehow knew and made it her business to teach me how. She was the closest thing to a mother I could have had and the most selfless person I ever knew.
Marah had a beautiful daughter my age named Jael. Jael inherited her mother’s raven-colored hair and gorgeous smile, but her most unique feature was her eyes, and I think I was drawn to those first. Jael had stunning gray eyes like rain clouds, and I thought that whenever I stared at her long enough I could feel her eyes striking me with lightning, paralyzing every nerve in my body, and it was the greatest sensation I ever experienced. Each time I arrived at Marah’s living quarters for my reading lesson, I would always anticipate seeing and being with Jael. I loved her, as much as any juvenile boy could love a young girl. I never told her, but I secretly planned to marry her once we were old enough, an exceptionally intricate plan for a teenager.
I recollect the day I knew I loved Jael. After my daily session with Marah, Jael and I were playfully chasing each other outside. We soon paused, out of breath, and she looked at me with those dazzling eyes. I smiled at her, and grabbed her hand. What surprised me the most is that she did not pull away. Instead she returned my smile, her attractive face beaming back at me, and immediately I was smitten. I knew in that moment I would do anything for that girl. She and her mother made my miserable existence as an urchin and outsider so incredibly endurable beyond my wildest dreams.
Alas, that black day came everlastingly earlier than I would have forever wanted. Several years after I met Marah and Jael, Marah contracted a deadly fever. I remember being able to do nothing except weep outside her room and hold Jael’s hand, watching her mother’s life ebb away as if it were nothing but the sun drying up a pool of water. Agonizing days passed and eventually, Marah died. After this, Marah and Jael’s master made the judgment to abandon the town and travel to another settlement west of ours, citing our village as nothing but “a disease-carrying hellhole full of inept swine.”
The villainous day Jael left was also the day I first kissed her. That whole period now seems like a blur save for that one moment, forever carved in my memory, embedded in the very fabric of my being. With only seconds before her departure, I grabbed her hand in desperation and pulled her close, pressing my lips to hers. Electrical fire surged up and down my spine, and my lips tingled from the kiss. She pulled away reluctantly and gazed into my eyes with a grief and longing I would never ever be able to erase from my mind.
Before her master took her, I made her one promise, “You will be with me one day.”
“I believe you…” she whispered as the demon snatched her away from me.
More years passed, and I still had not honored my oath, and I lost faith that I would ever be able to reclaim her, but still I strove hard to earn enough to buy her back. Day after day I prayed to the gods to grant me mercy and restore to me the one person in the world I loved, but no deity ever answered my pleads. No matter how hard my endeavor, I still felt as inept as ever.
Every year my town would host a festival of sorts celebrating our gods’ favor on the land; although, seldom did I have anything to celebrate. Many citizens used this gathering as an opportunity to vend their trade. Each event I too would attempt to peddle my goods in a small section of the street, marketing my various cures and medicines and trying to distract would-be customers from the merchants advertising practical goods like food and clothing. Rarely was I successful. So the same was year after year after year, until I met the man.
I saw him a ways off, casually strolling down the crowded market corner and studying each vendor’s stand, leaving each with no business. Finally he came to my place in the row of merchants and stopped. I read in his face that this was his deliberate stop from the beginning and that I was the only person he intended to do business with this day. For a few minutes I felt so stunned by his gaze I could not do anything but stare back at him. Finally he spoke, in the sort of raspy voice one would expect to emit from one who had walked the earth for so many years,
“What is it you want most out of your life, my friend? What would grant you immeasurable happiness and pleasure?” His eyes wandered from mine. “Or who?”
His face exhibited such a knowing expression, such an intimate stare, a look that told me he already knew the answer my mind held without me even breathing a word. This stranger knew me too well.
“First, who are you?” I questioned, waving my hand toward him then running it through my matted brown hair, “and how do you know me?”
“I know of you, Janus,” wheezed the reply from the old man’s lips. Words seemed hard for him. “I asked the others,” he gestured to the rival merchants scattered along the road. “They say you are an herbalist and chemist amongst them. They don’t seem too fond of you or your choice of profession. You are their pariah”
At this I shook my head in agreement, “They fail to see my occupation as of any use to them, and they exclude me for it. They are mindless fools. My remedies can do much.”
The older of us two leaned in close, “And you have seen these…remedies of yours accomplish what you claim they can?”
He smiled at this query. He was trying to get me to admit something he already knew. Of course I had never been afflicted with what my mixtures supposedly cured: syphilis, boils, broken bones, tuberculosis, or menstruation pain. But how could he tell? How could he know this much about me already after spending naught but five minutes with me? I did not respond to this inquiry. I did not have to.
“I see that you have not witnessed these so-called cures used to any success.”
I am not sure why, but the old man’s words stung. Although he was only innocently questioning, he seemed to have brought down my entire business with mere words, although it is not as if it were actually a thriving business. Stranger or not, I could not lie to the man.
My words barely escaped my mouth a whimper, “These mixtures are only what the books I read tell me they are. If no one will use them, how will I know their success or failure?”
As it was a rhetorical question, I did not expect any reply. There was silence for a minute or so. The man spoke again,
“Show me these books you speak of.”
I was slightly taken aback at his forwardness. Here was someone I had met ten minutes ago; I did not even know his name, and now he wanted to enter my house to view my most prized possessions, essentially the only real items of worth I could claim as my own, except for the clothes I now wore. Still, he did seem genuinely interested in me and my work, albeit a little presumptuous.
I countered back, “First, you will tell me who you are. I still have not decided if I trust you.”
“Very well,” he replied coolly, giving a small bow. “I am Gaspar. I am a wise man from the Far East. I am well-learned in many arts and trades. I know of your plight, and I wish to aid you in your poverty and ultimate goal. I promise to help.”
A beggar couldn’t have pleaded for a superior motive. Still, I was a bit uneasy. This man literally knew me, though I had never seen him before today. My eyes flittered about the area, looking for an excuse to not have to escort him to my property.
“Sir, I welcome your support, but let us wait until the festival ends. Its completion draws near, and so I do not wish to abandon my booth.”
His words came piercing back, icy and merciless, “Does business suddenly thrive come nightfall? Do you fear thievery of your useless products? Or do you simply linger in order to watch fellow merchant after another laugh his fill at you as they leave, their pockets lined with the gold you wished you yourself had earned? What do you stand to gain by remaining here a second longer?”
Without a doubt Gaspar was right. There was nothing for me here; I was deceiving myself, making excuses. I started down the road and beckoned to him to follow me to my abode outside the settlement.
My home was nothing more than a hollowed-out opening dug into the side of a large mound standing about ten feet tall in an uneven parcel of land near my city’s northern border, an area reserved for the exiles of our town. Lack of rainfall had hardened the outside of the hill and inner layers preventing collapse and allowing me to enter and exit with no fear of injury. For an outsider, though, I lived reasonably more comfortable than the majority of my kind. I owned my own undersized cot to sleep upon and bowls and pestles with which to mix my medicines. A modest, crudely-carved wooden table stood nearby with a hunk of dry bread and a jar of pilfered water resting upon it, my ration for the week. The scent of ground herbs hung in the air like a secondary atmosphere.
I could tell this must have been uncomfortable for Gaspar, for he let out a nervous chuckle and coughed. “Impressive,” he managed, glancing my way with an anxious grin.
In no mood for small talk I snapped back angrily, “You have no right to patronize me, stranger! I know I live meager, but at the very least I am attempting to better my situation!” I backed towards another side of the room. “Let me get those books you wanted so you can help me do that,” I growled.
My alchemy and herbalist books appeared to have been printed in a period where those subjects were studied with great interest. With frayed edges and missing pages, my ancient tomes seemed to have been read more times than days I had been alive. My books were both a tremendous joy and immense pain to me. Learning was my passion, so naturally understanding them brought me happiness; however, they were a gift from Marah when my learning was complete, so with each word perceived, memories of Jael flooded back into my thoughts, and concentration was far removed. I handed them reluctantly to Gaspar.
As he thumbed through the yellowing paper, I attempted to maintain conversation. “I know the answer,” I said plainly.
“To what question?” he replied, not looking up.
“The one you asked me at our meeting.” I folded my arms. “About what could possibly make me happiest in this world.”
“I seem to recall,” muttered the old man, still engrossed in his reading, “Your response?”
Jael of course was the answer, but this man did not need to know that. Besides, I needed money to free her, and Gaspar had promised to assist me with my current financial situation. If I could accomplish nothing save obtain enough money to liberate my love away from her owner and into my arms, my life would come to fruition. I needed whatever handout I could attain from this so-called wise man.
“Success,” the reply came at last. “I do not desire to live in this poverty anymore. Wealth is my ultimate aspiration.” I felt no wrong in lying to this man.
Suddenly Gaspar slammed shut the volume he was looking over fiercely. Startled, I stepped back a few feet to distance myself from this unpredictable old hermit. He had the look of a madman. Slowly he raised one wrinkled, knobby finger and pointed it straight at my heart, boring through my deceit, to unearth the reality.
“Liar!” he yelled hoarsely. “That answer had no ounce of truth in it, brigand! Your want is for the love of a woman. One you care for deeply.”
Tears that had been held in their ducts for years finally came free. Cool droplets streamed down my face, much as they did when she was stolen from me. I buried my face in my hands.
“Yes,” I admitted, my voice quivering with grief. “Her name is Jael, the daughter of a slave woman.”
“You were robbed of her, no?” uttered Gaspar. “Forced away by her possessor while you stood watching her vanish into the horizon?”
With a solemn nod and sigh I hung my head low against my chest. This was also to conceal an expression of bewilderment on my face. I had said nothing of Jael’s relocation. Again he surprised me with his expertise in my history. The only means by which he could know these details would be if he observed me my whole life. I was becoming more and more entranced and suspicious of this wise man with each minute that passed. I needed questions answered.
Before I could speak, however, Gaspar carelessly tossed the frail books onto the dirt, spewing out torn sheets and dust clouds into the air. With a cry of alarm, I scrambled to retrieve all the loose pages that fluttered about my hovel and avoid inhalation of the airborne powdery earth.
Coughing aloud, I demanded angrily, “Why would you do such a thing?”
“They are outdated,” Gaspar claimed, not blinking. “It is no wonder you could not produce an effective cure for anything.”
“Outdated? You mean to tell me that there are more…contemporary materials available?” I grumbled sarcastically.
“I suppose you could say that.”
He reached into the folds of his tattered robe and produced another volume. This one appeared to be much newer, with no page torn and no edge frayed. The embossed title glared at me with shining silver letters: Curatio Veneficus , The Curing Magic. Instinctively I reached for the strange work, but then retracted my hand back to its place at my side. Not now.
It was time to challenge the wise man, “Who are you, really?” I pointed accusingly at him, “How do you know my being so intimately, when I have never before even seen your face in my entire life?”
To say the absolute least, at this Gaspar changed. First, growing several feet, he soon towered over me as his slightly arched back straightened and his body strengthened. His elderly visage seemed to vanish as years melted off his appearance, and his beard receded away. His hair blazed from a dull gray to an overwhelming blond. His eyes changed into a virulent white that completely eradicated his pupils and irises. Gone was the feeble, old man I had met hours ago, replaced by the most frightening being I had ever seen. Standing before me was some terrible, supernatural giant, a paradox of reality that would certainly destroy me.
“Foolish mortal!” boomed the voice of the creature. “You think you know much, but in reality your knowledge is a grain of sand as compared to the immortals! You want to know me, Janus? Look upon one who has walked the earth for millennia!”
Although frozen with terror, my mouth seemed to act of its own accord. I heard “What are you?” escape from my lips, and I quickly put my hand over my mouth to stifle my words. He heard.
“What am I?” At this he laughed, a gentle chuckle, but nevertheless one that vibrated the ground beneath my feet. “Seeing who I am truly would melt the very flesh from your bones! I am a mhailari (my lar ee). You might call me an angel, a son of the gods of heaven!”
Amazing! I had been told of the mhailari as a child by Marah. They were divine beings born of the very substance of the gods, created at their whim at the beginning of time. Perfect and mighty like their creators, they stood in alliance with those who followed the gods’ commands, defending them from wickedness, although I never believed they were actually real. Still, this certainly explained his knowledge of me. However benevolent this creature may be though, still I feared for my life as I knelt before my lord. Hopefully this display of respect would postpone whatever judgment awaited me at the hand of this son of god.
His visage seemed to soften, and his vigorous eyes seemed gentler than when I first beheld them.
“Rise, son of the earth,” commanded Gaspar with more authority than I had ever seen any authority from my village execute. “Your cries to heaven have never been ignored. This book is for your benefit. You have our permission to market the treatments found within this text. Use it to your best ability, but I warn you. Nearly all the cures in this text are beneficial, but there is one that outshines them all and promises success to its user. However, this spell is clearly marked as malicious. If such evil magic is carried out, it will come at great cost.”
“If such enchantment is so malevolent, why is it labeled as medicines and placed in the book alongside the beneficial ones?” More and more confusion coursed through my mind. This information was so much for my limited brain to comprehend.
“Think of it as the definitive test for a mortal,” the angel explained. “The masters wish to see how obedient their servant is, and how attuned he is to the will of good. Or if he wishes above all else his own personal gain.”
My thoughts prioritized Jael, and my fright dissipated for a moment. “I do not understand,” I braved, “Why would the gods answer my prayer for help with a test?”
“Their purpose is above yours,” countered the mhailari. “They have consented to aid you. That should be sufficient for you.”
Silently I nodded my approval. Of course he was right. I was in no position to start making any demands, especially any to this spiritual being or whoever commanded him.
“May the wisdom of our divine rulers guide your decisions in this matter,” Gaspar’s words were gentle as he bade me farewell. “I wish nothing but happiness in whatever you undertake. That is my greatest desire.” He smiled Jael’s wonderful smile: perfect, selfless, and loving. Suddenly he disappeared gradually from my vision and before long, only one stood in my earthen home. The strange book, however, remained, lying on the ground where the majestic being once stood.
I cautiously approached the strange text and picked it up. It seemed to radiate from inside with an unearthly glow. Chills came over my body just from holding it. I opened it to the first page, anxious to see what the alien volume contained.
Cures and treatments of all kinds lay before me; nearly every ailment my people had a word for was listed. Anxiously I began reading from the beginning of the volume, soaking in every word. Overtime I would become familiar with the book, both its language and its contents except for the Forbidden. Herein these mystic arts was the tool, the key to rescuing my beloved. I only needed an opportunity, a starting point.
My chance arose several weeks later. The first customer was a reluctant one, a well-respected and wealthy member of my community. He had been suffering from extreme pain in his extremities. His pain was so severe that during the day he would often fall to the ground wailing from the acute stinging or awaken himself and everyone near him in the middle of the night with his cries. This unfortunate man’s family had exhausted much of their wealth on doctors, who were able to diagnose his aching as a lethal blood disease, but could not do much else save make him comfortable for his passing. Out of alternatives, his morose family turned to the last option they had left, me.
I remember how I stared at the messenger they sent in astonishment when he told me I was being summoned for business. He shrugged his shoulders as if he could not believe it either. None of them believed in herbal remedies so naturally this decision was made by skeptical and reluctant people, but they truthfully had no other choice. Oh, how I cringed as I thought about how their stabbing, judgmental eyes would pour scrutiny upon me with every movement of my hands, with every breath I took. This would be the Curing Magic’s first test, and, although the heavenly visit was still fresh in my mind, I was still doubtful that these spells could accomplish anything.
Bringing nothing but the ancient book and what I would need to produce the desired medicine, I hesitantly followed the messenger to the sick man’s home. The richness of the architecture and various costly ornaments showed me someone who cared about his possessions, and my thoughts drifted to the selfish, rich brute who robbed me of my precious love, and for a second, I despised this man I had come to cure. I loathed that he lived in this exquisite place, and I lived in a hole. I detested all he stood for and all he cared about. Suddenly Jael’s gray eyes shattered my hate, and images of her flooded my mind. My purpose renewed, I quietly greeted the family and then set myself to work.
Making a healing potion is not too difficult once you have made a few; it becomes like second nature, although great care must be taken to producing the desired result. Essentially, there are three main parts to creating it. First, your ingredients must be absolutely correct. An incorrect berry or a root harvested at the wrong time can mean the difference between correcting a problem or making it worse. Secondly, the mixture must be stirred precisely and carefully. Spilling could not be tolerated in the very least, and also could affect the outcome of the ill person. Finally, there can be no hesitation. Once the potion is complete, it must be drunk. Otherwise, the potion may spoil, drastically and negatively altering its effects. A single mistake, even one considered trivial, could in all possibility prove fatal.

As I hunted through the old book for the spell I would use, I could not help but notice the Forbidden. It seemed to stand out in the volume, much like it was a tome all its own. I could feel my eyes staring at the unopened section of evil text like a famished child yearning for a piece of bread. My mind screamed at me to open it, to read it, just to catch a glimpse of the words. The allure it possessed was all too enticing, but not now. I shook my head clear of its unclean desire and shot a glance toward my benefactors. They had not taken their eyes off of me since I had entered the house. Nervously I exhaled bottled-up anxiety and tore my gaze from theirs and back to the important, nay, crucial task at hand.

Once I finished the potion, I brought it in a flask before the ailing man. Reluctantly he took it from me and ingested its contents. A few minutes passed unceremoniously. Suddenly he gasped loudly, and looked at me with horror in his eyes, as if I had dealt him the killing blow, but then quickly it passed, and color returned to his pallid face. He sighed and leaned back against his pillow, a smile slowly forming on his face as he drifted into carefree rest. Behind me, I heard the relief and joy escape from his relatives, and I knew I had succeeded. One of them, an older man, took me by the arm and began to discuss matters of my payment. Immediately I knew I loved success.
Another year passed; each day possessed its own challenges, curses, and rewards, and I finally emerged victorious. The gods had indeed blessed me, and the unknown book, now familiar to me, had certainly proved its worth. I finally could pay to rescue my precious love, and newfound success had afforded other luxuries, among these a comfortable home, a horse, and sufficient food. I had much to be thankful for this festival. Above all else, the time had come at long last.
Eager anticipation coursed through me when I discovered where Tycho had made his home. If all went according to plan, Jael would soon be where she belonged, where she would be loved and appreciated, not treated like anything less than human. For a moment I wondered what the old man Gaspar would say if he saw me now. I offered a short prayer to the gods in thankfulness for their most selfless granting of Curatio Veneficus to me. A fiery determination seized me; this would be the perfect use made of their gift. The intended purpose would be accomplished.
My imagination conjured thoughts of Tycho completely taken aback at my arrival at his estate, possessing a wealth equal to his own, this being the first time he would lay eyes on me since his injustice when I was young.
“Was this the simple street urchin I scorned so many years ago?” he would say in disbelief. “The dirty outcast at whom I laughed when I tore the girl from his grasp?”
I would demand my love and return to my home victorious and live out my days in bliss, a family man with a profession now well-respected. My one true love would be my bride, and I would awaken to her beauty each morning. Children would be borne to me, possessing my name, my intelligence, my triumph. My future seemed as bright as the sun burning up the blue in the skies. I drank well to my future success that night.
It was a three day journey from my town to that of the demon’s, so I would need to plan accordingly. I packed food and water, enough for my horse, Angros, Jael, and myself, along with a spare cloak, a woolen blanket, the book, which had scarcely left my side since my first success, and, of course, all the gold I possessed, my lavish token to Jael’s freedom. Saddling Angros, I whispered quiet farewells to the new home I had come to love, then with a swift kick to my horse’s side, began my tedious ride.
The terrain of the area was mostly flat, blank dirt stretching for miles with white rocks dotting the hard earth, although patches of grass sparsely painted the landscape with splashes of virulent green against the brown. Occasionally the sun reflected off of small pools of stagnant water, shooting beams into my eyes and forcing me to shield them. I did not altogether complain. After all, at least there was rainfall this year. Too often rain was a missed rarity in these lands.
The first night was marked by the fire, which I miraculously was able to start using a few sticks and some brush. Its heat was a welcome guest, but fortunately the air did not grow too cold in the location. I made my camp against a small, soft knoll draped in grass incredibly devoid of stones. When I finally lay down, sleep came over me quickly. I did not dream explicitly, but a strange assortment of colors and shapes danced through my thoughts. At one point I thought I could almost see words, although I did not understand their meaning. Suddenly, as if by death, all images dissolved to a thick black.
Awakening at dawn was not a practice I normally followed, but obviously I could not stand to stay asleep, nor could I afford to. Glancing toward the eastern horizon, I could see the sun barely peaking over the distant mountains. I did not allow my mind to linger on the dream of the night before. I ate a quick sustaining meal and, after ensuring my steed was nourished, together we continued our trek.
My horse was a wonderful blessing; he had great endurance and seemed to love to be ridden. I had on multiple occasions thanked the man I obtained Angros from for the apparently superior raising and training he had given. Each time the man appeared none the wiser, giving me the ever-increasing feeling he gave no such guidance to this creature, and that this animal was yet another gift from the gods.
Today’s journey was commonplace save for the evening sighting of some wolves devouring the carcass of some unrecognizable prey. Obviously involved in the meal at hand, the beasts paid us no mind. Angros and I, both terribly weary, retired early that night. He had borne me nearly all day, and I did not wish him to be overworked, especially since he would have the unwelcome burden of two riders on the return journey. Fire came easier that night, and I was soon off again to the haven of slumber.
That night’s sleep was again full and deep. In my dreams, the letters reappeared and began to clarify amidst the swirling reds, yellows, and greens splashed upon my mind. I immediately noticed the words, “Eternus Vita,” “Eternal Life,” as clear as a summer’s day. I knew the words, but I hadn’t the faintest idea as to why I was seeing them in my subconscious. Nigh immediately as if to answer myself, a picture of the open Curing Magic materialized in the background, “Eternus Vita” painted on its white pages. At this I became puzzled as I had never seen these words in conjunction with the book. Suddenly, without warning, a vision of a skull pervaded the entire scene, its hollow death mask infiltrating my thoughts, and empty eyes violating my very soul. Then flames erupted and scorched everything to nothing.
I awoke in a cold sweat; a nightmare. I hadn’t had a nightmare in a decade, not since Jael was taken. My heart fluttered as I attempted in vain to shake the vision of death from my head. What did it mean? What was the significance of “Eternus Vida?” Why was my book involved? And the skull? Questions without answers multiplied within my brain, and the cool, silence of the black night did nothing to pacify my aroused fears. Using the fire’s soft glow as light, I flipped open Curatio Veneficus to take my mind off of the horrible dream. Passing familiar treatments and ones I hadn’t yet tried, I finally came to the Forbidden.

in the europe

some pictures for you peoples of america. i am still alive, for now. still not used to the time change. hopefully i can get some postcards out soon. i am having a great time so far, just enjoying ourselves, and portraying america in probably the worst possible light ever. (not really, we're just really loud!)
PICTURES TO SEE

. . . .!. . . .

i suppose i should write a new blog because the old one is outdated as far as im concerned and i dont want to scare anymore people.

God is good, people! thats what i have been learning. he has taken away what i thought i wanted and shown me it is not at all what i need. he is so good!

and now i am thankful to say, i dont even want it anymore. praise him for his faithfulness even in the dark.

now the challenge lies in trusting God to fulfill his promises for me, to give me my future and hope. this is hard but at least my burden has been greatly lightened.

thank God for his joy.




p.s. any single girls...holler at your boy....jk?

a plea for help

I thought about it again today. The big one, the "s" word. Suicide.

Weakness seems to be a core part of who I am now. Frailty seems to wrap itself around me. I feel like I'm doing well, and then days like today happen, and I'm back to square one.

I thought about her again today: my love, well, my love lost. The pain is so acute even now, as I type this; thinking about her, our relationship, and the way things happened seems to stab me over and over again. I wrote before about how I thought I may be ready for a new relationship and how I wasn't necessarily missing Kristen. Wow! I was so wrong! I am definitely missing her, and I am definitely not ready. I'm still pining after her like a dumb dog.

It makes me angry, how easily and quickly she gave up on me. It hurts to have to consider to myself that she probably didn't love me as much as I loved her. She wouldn't admit it, but I definitely had more dedication. But it also shows me how much I am worth: apparently nothing, because it took, according to my count, two problems for her to dump me, her "soulmate." She would tell you it was many problems, many mistakes on my part; here's the only problem: she never told me about them. They were mistakes I had no idea I was making. But I suppose I'm not worth the trouble and the effort to try and change. Best move onto somebody else. A partier and a pagan, good choice!

So with my self esteem in the garbage, my ability to like another girl and then do something about it nearly completely gone, and my attention focused almost solely on myself and how pathetic I am, I amount to a walking void in my eyes. I am a mass of nothing. I have nothing to attract, and I have nothing to offer. Tonight I prayed that God would cause me to get into an accident and die, so I wouldn't have to be in pain anymore. And the sad part is, I prayed that someone else would hit me, because I'm too afraid to do anything to myself. And to tell the truth, what is even more pathetic is that the only real reason I would hurt myself is so that she would feel a tinge of regret. I know she would get over it quickly, but she would feel. She would know how much I loved her, and she would regret it, if only a little, but my fear of death, pain, and how my parents and brother would react stay my hands from myself.

I don't really want to die, because part of me, I guess the part that God is tugging at, believes this will pass. But what I struggle with here is trusting that God will heal this. I thought he was for a few months until the feeling rushed back a few weeks ago. Now I feel like all the progress I made is gone. Why does God have to be so hard to trust? Why can't I see myself like he does? Why can't I have faith that he is in control?

Depression grips me hard. There are days I don't even want to get out of bed, but I force myself. I cry myself to sleep many nights. She has no idea what she has done to me, how much this has crippled me. I invested everything in her, and my investments proved fruitless.

WHERE IS GOD IN THIS?! I feel so lost at this point. I feel like I am wandering down a path of grief culminating in a lonely, pathetic death. There are days I feel there is no point to be alive.

So I guess this is a plea for help. But the thing is, I don't know how you can help me. I suppose all you can do is pray when you think about me, if you think about me. Pray that God grips me, and holds me close. I really want him here, but I am having no luck in trusting him. Pray he gives me that trust. Pray I see myself as he does: a precious child, who deserves love as much as Kristen does, and a real, selfless love at that. Pray that I believe there is a woman in this world who will love me. Pray that I would not seek love in another person to take God's rightful place. Pray that I gain a hunger and thirst for God's love, peace, joy, and word. Pray for his granting of strength for my soul. Pray that the devil's lies be bound from my ears, and instead may they be flooded with the Father's truth. Pray that I rid myself of my selfishness and instead love others with the passionate love of Jesus Christ. Pray that the Lord is enough for me.

thanks for listening,
stephen

Girls, Girls, Grills

Ok. Here I am. Stuck again.

I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing. I feel annoyed at work, I am being oppressed at church, and I feel separated from my friends. This would be enough for me to worry about as it is, were it not for the other huge problem looming over my head. The bane of all mankind: the woman. Well, women in this case as a whole; I'm lumping you all together into a pile of evil, a enigmatic whirlwind of confusion, flirtation, and disappointment.

Now, I have been very blessed and fortunate to have such a solid group of "girlfriends" if you will. God knows as a man I need to have a healthy view of women, and he has given me that with these young women. However, that is all they are: friends. Breaking up with Kristen has left me with an emptiness and a loneliness indescribable. I feel akin to Adam; I pretend I hear God say it's not good for me to be alone, and I keep feeling my chest to see if he's taken a rib yet.

Patience has never been my strong suit, and I was so ready to want to marry Kristen, that I think I feel I shouldn't have to wait this long to be on my way to be in that place again with a new girlfriend. I know I'm not ready for marriage, but I don't think I'm not ready for another relationship. Or maybe I do think that. Sure, I miss her, but, I think I'm in the place of missing the aspects of our relationship more than I actually miss her. This whole thing is so confusing.

My self-esteem suffers the most however, and this problem has existed long before Kristen came into my life. I see nothing desirable in myself, outwardly and inwardly. I hate myself. I look at myself, and I hate myself. I hate myself for being that superficial. I hate myself for not seeing myself as God sees me. I hate myself for being so weak. I am nothing. I show interest in girls, and they ignore me (or say they love me for two years then practically pretend it never happened). Even girls I am not interested in see me as some sort of second class. This is such a pathetic tirade against myself, a miserable pity party, and I hate me for that too.

I feel like this whole thing has changed my entire persona, that I can't pursue an interest, a)because I am pretty sure the girl I like is not interested, b)my charm/attractive level is about nil, c) I don't have the courage to even do or say a thing about it, and d)I am unable to even flirt anymore. Now I know flirt may not have been the best word, but how else to describe it? I used to flirt with girls. I flirted with Kris, I flirted with Taylor, I flirted with Victoria, I flirted with Kristen. It preluded all my relationships! Once I dated Kristen, I knew I couldn't do that anymore, and when we started talking marriage, I made it a priority to cut it out of my life. It was a part of who I was. When I did it, I didn't do it to cause the girl to necessarily like me, I did it inadvertently most of the time. But I removed it, and now when I go to hug a girl, or even touch her, even if she's just a friend, and I am not interested at all, my mind switches on an alarm, and my body forces me to perform the action in the most platonic way ever. I'm ruined! How will my "future wife" ever know I am interested in her if I'm too scared to tell her I like her or even touch her!?!?

One may say, "Wow! You worry too much!" Maybe.

Or maybe I really need help. Maybe this is a real problem I can't overcome. Pray.

So I Says To Her

No, that's not where that goes.
Coffee isn't JUST a beverage.
Trains are great to ride.
My favorite animals are hippos.
Reynolds Wrap is kind of dirty.
Igloos are an ingenious form of home.
Nancy Kerrigan deserved to be punched.
Gasoline should not be drank ever.
Bagels should be free.
Trailer trash is just a state of mind.
Algebra is kinda kinky.

Tiff is crazy!

My name is Tiffany. I am 18 years old, i currently live with my family in Vista, which includes my nephew who is 14 mo. old who i love taking care of. I have experience caring for children since i was 12. I feel i can relate to children, in many ways by being able to see eye to eye in different circumstances. i am currently working at a Surf shop and i am seeking new employment. I have always loved caring for kids. What is fate? What is destiny? My personal belief is that children are in control of their own futures, but we are able, through brute strength and cunning wit, to force them into doing whatever we want. Nothing coerces a child to do what we want more than a well-placed open slap to the face. My kids learned that the hard way. Many caretakers prefer not to utilize punishment when the children they are responsible for commit a wrongdoing. Not only do I enforce punishment, I actively make use of a hierarchy of sorts. For example, the first time they are bad, I make them stand in a corner. This lulls the youth into a false sense of security; that this is the worst of the punishments, that I am somewhat a pushover. The second time they commit a wrong, I "pull out the big guns" as said in so many of our favorite Westerns, you know, the ones made in an era long forgotten by so many of our miscreant youth. I make use of a skilled roundhouse to the face. From there we graduate to the front left burner of the stove, then I hang them by the neck until they pass out. Next, I start prying off their fingernails and toenails. Finally, I ask them to pick one finger or toe they dislike, then I sever it. Now, I know what you're probably saying by now, "Wow! What a responsible, beautiful, and intelligent young lady!" and I know, I know, you hit the jackpot with me. But, the way I see it, if you really want me to work for you, I feel you need to know me a lot more personally. If you were to ask me to pick my top favorite movies they would be (in no particular order) 1)Fatal Attraction, 2)Basic Instinct, 3)The Omen, 4)Natural Born Killers, and 5)You've Got Mail. My favorite music is probably your child crying. My favorite subjects in school were Chemistry, Fire Sciences, and Child Development. And were I forced to choose, my favorite torture is putting the children in my specially designed underground airlock chamber. They like it. I guess I've dated before, but my boyfriends have been more like week-long flings, with guys who closely resemble the Fonsz. Pretty much any guy with a motorcycle or leather or metal studs. My favorite foods are anything fleshy or that once contained blood. The truth is, tomatoes are indeed fruit, despite the fact that many people think otherwise. Well, long story short, I feel that I would be a good hire, because I'm good with numbers, I have great multi-tasking skills, and I have a class B license. The only thing to make sure of, before I come is that you have no polka dot or plaid patterns in your house. When I see them, I break out into a Hulk-like, murderous rage. It happened once.....so much blood.
Love,
Tiffany

Confusion Abounds

I am really struggling with some stuff in my life. I have been struck down with grief, and I am having the hardest time rebounding from it. It's affecting my life in ways I never thought possible. I have no idea on how to proceed. Trusting God is becoming harder and harder.

Window Into Me Pt. 1

I am still young, and have my whole life ahead of me, but I have already accomplished and felt many things. I have seen life come into this world, and I have seen it leave it. I have known what it means to love as much as someone can love another, and I have had my heart broken, and I have felt pain I never want to experience again. I have tasted fear, and I have been courageous. I have known what it means to have someone open their heart to you, and I have been lied to outright. I have been strong in tempation, and I have failed. I have seen God, and I have turned from him. I am as much a man, and I have seen enough of this world, as anyone.

Youtube....so stupid, yet so appealing

I want to make funny videos on youtube. I have no idea why, but I think I just want people to say I am humorous. I think I could make a popular video, but I have no idea what to make one about. I am idealess...(word?) Parody videos are lame, music videos are lame. I need a solid concept, original and beautiful in every way. I am have-ing extreme difficulty in producing one. If only the creativity fairy would come down and plant a big, fat magic blast right in the face. Until that wondrous and magical day, I must sit and conceptualize....

Life After Grief

Well, it has been a while since my last blog, and a lot has happened. Kristen and I broke up back in December for good, and I am devastated. It has been almost two months, but I feel like I haven't improved much. I'm stuck in what seems to be some accursed middle ground, where on one hand I know I need to get over her and move on with my life (and I want this), but on the other I still am very much in love with her, and I want her back with me (I want this more I think). However, the latter seems very much unlikely as she is with another guy and is serious about him. What still gives me hope though is that this guy is not better than me. He may be financially more secure, older and more ready for marriage, or even more courteous at times (which is always how the guy acts in the beginning), but his relationship with God seems weak at best. I don't believe the Lord is his priority, but at the same time I don't think he is her's either. True, they both may go to church or church group, but I think that's all there is. If I am to be a true contender for Kristen's love, her desires and her loves have to change. I cannot date her again if Jesus is not her true love first, and I think she has lost sight of that for now. Plus, she would have to love me again, and I don't know if she'd be willing to open herself up like that again to me, unless I change, and she sees the change in me, and even then, stubborness cripples people.

What hurts me the most through this whole thing, is she doesn't know how much I see in her, and how much I love what I see in her. God has let me see her potential for him, and it is enough to make any man fall in love with her. She is beautiful on the outside, and I have seen her beauty on the inside as well, and that's what makes her so hard to give up. Plus, she has been the only girl who really cared for me; the only girl I truly loved in all meanings of the word; the only girl who saw behind the facade of outer appearances, and saw me-who I was!

What I am struggling with is faith. Faith that God has someone for me. Someone who can do all the things Kristen could in our relationship, but better. I'm having a hard time accepting that it probably isn't Kristen. I look in a mirror and see myself, both outside and in, and I know that no girl would ever love me. I see my past, and I say "There is too much pain and grief here; no woman would ever want to be a part of that." I look at my heart and think, "You have been broken. Nobody will ever be able to fix it in the way you want." I look at my life, and I feel I have nothing left to offer. My self-esteem has plummeted so far down, I am at a loss how to climb out of this pit I have created. I know God is here, but he seems distant.

I thought I would overcome this, but it seems to be overcoming me. I try and try and try, but I feel like I am going nowhere. I pray for direction and peace, but all I feel is chaos and turmoil. I ask the feelings for Kristen to be taken away, but they come on stronger than before. I just wish I knew what to do, I wish I had the answers for myself, but I feel more and more confused each day. I wish I could handle this, but I'm not sure if I'm strong enough.

I'm not sure if I'm holding myself back. I wonder if there is something I'm doing that is keeping me from moving on. I'm not in contact with her, so it's not that. I'm not reading her myspace or facebook, so it's not that. I'm not talking to her friends, so it's not that. I'm avoiding places she frequents or even may go, so it's not that. I think about her, but I try not to dwell on those thoughts. I write about her, but it's an outlet for my feelings, not an inlet. I pray for her, but how is that bad?! I hope for her love again, but that is a failed hope, and I'm not going to be a diehard for that. I am working hard to better myself: trying to finish school, staying busy at work and with my friends, and bettering my relationship with God. I honestly don't know what's keeping me back.

Maybe nothing is, and this is normal. I don't know. I just hope that the light at the end of my tunnel comes soon, because I feel like I'm wallowing in darkness, without any hope.