Mother, May I?

Mother, May I?

July 12, 2010

I would like to believe that every child has at least one happy memory of their mother. Yet in a world such as ours, that is not always the case. Mothers are—as they have always been but are especially now—something precious to cherish. Not all of us, however, can agree with that statement now, if ever.

When I was about four years old I loved my mother as any happy child should. My mother was someone who was fun, silly, attentive, joyful, trustworthy, and caring. I have many memories of her playing, laughing, joking, and simply being with me. Memories of her and I singing together into the tape recorder, of her and I playing dolls and cars together. I cherish every young memory I have of her, because those once happy memories turned into frightening nightmares after I matured into adolescence.

Hatred.

Tragedies blur differences into generalities in the eyes of the community.

-Serenity Elizabeth

Imaginary(?) Friend

This is a song I wrote quite some time ago, but is one of the works I've always held very dear to my heart. I wrote it as a teenager, when I was struggling through a very hard period of doubt in God and all things pertaining to Him. I didn't know if I believed in God, believed in anything... It was a very dark and very lonely time of my life. Feeling away from God was the most miserable I've ever felt. I wrote this to illustrate coming out of that doubt and realizing what I really believed. It is actually a song and meant to be sung. Perhaps I will post a recording... I don't have music for it, however, just acapella. I just couldn't ever match what I played with what I had in my head. Nevertheless, I hope whoever reads this will take something meaningful away from it.

Imaginary(?) Friend

God, if you're there,

Can you hear my helpless plea?

God, if you're there,

Will you promise to stay with me?

Oh God, if you're there,

Please help me 'cause I'm crying out to you,

To you.

Walking through forests with no road to follow,

Staring at stars and wondering which way is North,

I'm all alone but somehow I feel you walking right beside me.

So God, if that's you holding my hand,

Never let me go.

God, can you hear me?

I need to hear your gentle voice.

God, can you help me?

'Cause there are just too many choices.

God, can you see me?

Please dry my tears, they're overflowing.

Save me, I'm drowning.

Walking through forests with no road to follow,

Staring at stars and wondering which way is North,

I'm all alone but somehow I feel you walking right beside me.

So God, if that's you holding my hand,

Never let me go.

Oh God, there you are.

Know that I'm so sorry.

God, there you are,

And the only one that left was me.

God, there you are.

I know your love is everlasting.

Everlasting.

Changes

Changes
5/23/10


Ryan and I recently went to Arizona to visit my brother Jim.

I always believed that there's a reason for everything. That whatever happens, good or bad, happens according to God's will and purpose for our lives. When we're hurting this is a very VERY hard fact to swallow. Countless times I've heard the words, "Why does God make bad things happen?"... even typing it makes me cringe. God doesn't ever CAUSE bad to happen. But he does ALLOW it to happen. Yet even that fact is too much for people to swallow, but bear with me... God allows things to happen because He knows that hurt helps us grow. Not only that, but it shows us how we need to rely on Him. Our weakness draws us closer to the one who IS strong enough to help us through our mess. That weakness helps us to grow in Him, and to grow in ourselves. When a chain is broken, the link that is mended is generally the strongest part of the chain after it is fixed. Bones that break and mend in one spot grow much stronger than they previously were. So why wouldn't it be true that God breaks us in order to challenge our hearts to mend stronger in those areas we were weak? In that sense, the breaking of a link, like our hearts, becomes extremely sensible to the point where anything BUT that ideal DOESN'T make sense. When we understand that, we can see that the chain breaks so that it can be mended, and it is mended for a REASON.

The key is NOT to run away from hurt. Hurt finds us, no matter where we are. It is inevitable. The key is to constantly be aware of what God is doing in your life so that you can UNDERSTAND why He allowed the hurt in the first place. If we are constantly angry with God, or with hurt, we are blind to the good that comes out of it. Tragedies happen, and they are horrible. There's no question about that. But the end result becomes beautiful. If there were no hurt in our lives, we would never cherish the things that are important in life. I have seen so much death in my life that every friendship, every person in my life becomes a vital and intricate part of my life. I value each person and never forget to tell people how much they mean to me (or at least I strive to do this the best of my ability). But i wouldn't care nearly as much, wouldn't work so hard to keep those friendships and help them grow if i had never lost anyone. It is because i have lost so many that i have come to appreciate people and sincerely care for them to the point that I want it to be my career. I strive to care for people, because I know what it is like to be broken and alone.

Society

Society is a sunset. It wouldn't be beautiful if it only had one color.

-Serenity

Cinematic

Movies have a way of reaching into your heart and unlocking a connection to someone somewhere that you’ve never met, even if that person is fictional. The beauty of it is that such a connection means that there’s someone out there who understands where you’re at, and where you’ve been; it means you're not alone.
--Serenity Elizabeth

Room 115

Room 115
finished 4.30.08


As I stared out the window,
The snow falls on the rustic trees,
Shedding purity on an aging world.
The weather, though cold, is the type that warms the inside.
The trees in innocence stood,
With a few lonely leaves left in frigid memory of the summer past.

As it begins to thicken I’m left with the quiet of mid-day.
Memories of hot chocolate and snow forts take me from the world I now dwell in
And go to a world more familiar,
A world where the hurt seems to dissipate under the beauty of my childhood.
The memories so near to me speak,
Singing a joyful tune of laughter and the running feet of chilled children
Entering the cozy living room after hours of arctic playtime and adventure.

Looking through the window
I gaze down into a stream, flowing sweetly through the heart of a forest.
It’s calming to me…I can almost hear its bubbling,
Soft and slow from the thickness of a serene winter chill.
The edges curl up into a curtain of icicles,
Forming into beaded sculptures crafted by the Artist himself
With such curves and abstract,
In this ominous glory even Picasso seems like a dunce.

Looking through the window
The birds call to me, urging me to join them in this mystic wonderland.
I now see the window with new eyes--
The crossbars look to me very much like prison bars,
And the white-washed walls of the classroom have become my cell,
Locked from the outside into a world of tests, professors, all-nighters, and too much caffeine.
I realize that these walls now separate me
From the playground of innocence and brilliance just outside the window
Where the birds of the air and foxes in the forest become my teachers.
The teachers on the inside have become my warden, my judge, my jury,
Sentencing me to years of sorrow and unhappiness that bar me into reality,
Keeping me from the mythical, the imaginary,
Focusing my time on physics and math--
Such droll subjects that make Father Time an executioner.

Speak to me once more oh fantasy, oh lovely literature,
For your pages are so unidentified to my lonely fingers.
How dearly they long to caress your smooth,
Sacred beauty they fell in love with so long ago.
Oh Narcissus, you found no beauty like such held in these books.
Why, oh why must I focus on such pale, lifeless idolatry of ridiculed subject matter?
Oh Forest, oh bubbling brook,
Yes, songbird and squirrel,
Tell winter to release me and we shall laugh together in Harmony once more.
Shatter the window; tear down the walls that hold captive of my heart and mind.
Free these hands of their chains so they may craft and adore such beauties
Untold, unstudied—an art no scholar can master.
I shall leave these four walls in this room with desks and chairs;
I’ll stop looking nostalgically out the window
And become a part of the scenery that lies just behind the glass.

--Serenity Elizabeth