Monday, October 31, 2011

Speak now.

It's ironic that I cannot get my words out as I write this entry. But I have to write it down, I have to write a note to myself and to let you know that we have to say it now. We can't think about emailing, texting, making a phone call or reaching out in any form because unless you do it right at the present, the moment just passes you by. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and then years go by... I wish I had years to count with people that are on my heart now.

"She was on my heart, for weeks, I kept thinking about her for no reason." There is a reason why self absorbed people like me have a tugging in our hearts for certain people. Its pray for them, say it to them, encourage then, they need it now. I want no longer want to wait around for permission or the closeness to settle in before I speak into someone's life because I've been commissioned to love by the One True Love. I no longer want to be bothered by the idea of talking on the phone for someone for 20 minutes when you've only intended on leaving them a quick message to say "Hi, I'm thinking about you." What if it turns into a "can you meet me for coffee?" So let it.

I no longer want to have regrets like, I wish I have written her a little note because she would have appreciated something like that. Maybe with just a heart drawn on it and slipped it in her hand while giving her a hug. I had passed her by giving her a quick smirk because I was busy, I'm not sure it was that important now. I no longer want to think too much about writing someone a text, just in case they take it the wrong way, or what if I sound too earnest or needy. What if they never respond to the love I've lavished on them? I no longer want to love with this high expectation of receiving the same kind of love back from them. The same kind of caliber, the same things I would want or like or what I consider truly loving someone. Say I love you, I think about you, believe in love, believe in God, I'm sorry, I was wrong, I miss you! Say it, don't regret it.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Girl Crush Friday ~ Fearne Cotton

Fearne Cotton (30) is a British T.V. Host and Radio announcer for BBC. She isn't really known to anyone in the U.S., but I happen to stumble upon her hair when I was contemplating my own cut. Needless to say, my hair was fashioned after her's and now I'm a little bit envious of her punch pink hue. I'd say I would attempt that too, but my hair is too dark to cover up with any color. 

Happy Birthday Mr. President

Today is my Bear's 35th birthday and he can finally run for office and become president of the United States. He now fulfills all of the qualifications to be the leader of the first world! He has deep character that is unshakable and unchanging, he is malleable and teachable in all aspects because he is humble. He makes the people believe that there is good in the world, congregating the them with love and shepherding instead of resting only on his charisma and humor. He has a heart of a pastor, a minister, a shepherd who will give and give till there is no more to give, generous in all his ways. Time, material goods, heart, and will give up his pride for sake of peace and reconciliation. His concern is for the widowed, the poor and the orphans, especially the orphans! Always wanting to take in anyone lost, isolated and abandoned. His patience runs deep and you sometimes wonder if he's just slow to act or just lazy, but you know his hand is always working, always diligent. Lazy could not be the answer.

His gruff and boy exterior lends himself to men, relying on him for loyal friendship that is relentless and unending. He will run into a burning house, jump on top of a live grenade and tell you bluntly, "dude, you're not being a man!" Although all boy with mischief, potty humor, and can't-stop-talking-about-sports antics, little girls can't pass up his empty lap. He melts into a puddle, concealing his weakness for cuteness with scrunched and turned up nose yelling, "who's kid is this?" but deep inside, he wants her to stay. He doesn't have to kiss babies to run for office because like the pied piper, a trail of tiny foot steps follow in his.

Our nation will see that nothing seems to matter so much, nothing seems so bad, now that he is president of our good country because he is the source of stability and good humor. Valuing tradition, good sense and chivalry, opening doors for ladies, pulling out their seats, still after 10 years he still puts me into the car before he gets into his side. He will work for your family and not just his own, he will make the community a safe place to live because he detests injustice and corruption. When I am with him, nothing seems so bad, things will be okay no matter our circumstance or situation. He knows my heart and more importantly knows the heart of God, so get up out of your seat ladies and gentlemen! If you are of voting age, make your vote count! Hans Shin for President.

Happy Birthday pups!

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Rumor has it

You're getting close you can tell, she will look for you and call you for talks. You tell her about yourself, just the safe parts, the ones you rehearsed and scripted, enough to implore her. Lure her to step into the sticky strings, she suspect something but she doesn't yet know the web of lies you weave, the paranoid stories you tell yourself and you believe. You'll have to make it up as you go because she will try to defend herself, she might contradict your tellings. You tell them something sticky sweet, a rumor, a suspicion and it's more of a concern, a sharing if you will, of what you've been worried about. Tell them in general, in broad strokes so that they will ask for the details and you'll be forced to tell. You tell so that you can arm them into your circle, "I tell you because I trust you."

They hang on your every word, it's exhilarating to have their eyes sparkling for more drama, more dynamics,  there has to be a punch. "On top of that she was pregnant!" you blurt out, but you're not sure if that's even true, you want it to be true, just look at their reaction. Surprised you hear it come out of your mouth, but it's too late, you'll have to believe it, you'll have to defend it. Dropped jaws morphing into half concealed smiles as they look to see if the others are finding it just as delicious. You detect their pleasure and you add on, oh the suffering you go through, oh the drama! With your head tilted and your mouth into a frown, "I just don't know what to do about it, how can she be so mean?" Fishing for their hand upon your hand, patting and comforting, "there there my dear innocent friend, I believe you." You have them, caught in your web.

It doesn't matter if it's right or true, as long as they believe you, as long as you believe you. You'll have to tell it with confidence to anyone that will hear me. That's how rumors are begun and spurred on. They won't know who to believe or how it all started, but you'll have to have them spun and wounded in your sticky cocoon, woven from your web. 

My Noah

I didn't always think H was my Noah, I mean, he never understood me and always thought I was such an alien. He made efforts and I had to teach him, pulling tooth and nail the last 10 plus years. Although he tried, I overlooked him and I didn't try. Looking at him with a side ways glance and a wrinkled fore head thinking to myself and sometimes out loud, "I don't understand you, you're a weirdo." Despite the differences, we have been good friends for a long time and no one can deny our common vision for life and ministry. We've talked about adoption from the beginning, when we sat in that old Apples Bees in West Lafayette. Talking about how we would adopt, not together because we weren't getting married to each other, but separately, with other people.

No matter how many nights I've broken down feeling misunderstood by other and by him, complaining no one can know me like God or my family, he had been patient and listening. Even thought I said he never listens, he had secretly wrote down in his mind's notepad every important he needed to remember about me. After making the long list, 10 years worth, he sees me more clearly than anyone else I know. He IS my Noah. Noah isn't the one that you desperately loved and with blinding passion you are drawn to one another for life, but he let her be. He wasn't afraid to hurt her feelings, he wasn't afraid of her and all that she was, so she was. She painted, she wrote, she swam and made fun of him, teasing him, arguing with him because he let her be free.

Every time I watch the Black Swan on T.V. or in the theater I say to myself and tell Hans too that I am doing my best to kill the Black Swan in me. The one that is wanting to kill the seemingly weaker self so that she can be on top, where ever that top is, to be able to disregard anyone's thoughts about you or feelings you may hurt. But Hans makes sure I know that I am White Swan, "People may think you are Black Swan and maybe you look like one sometimes, but Sus, you are a white swan, through and through." I think I sat in the darkness of that car just tearing up because that's something God would say to me and anything short of that are lies that fill up my mind when I spiral into self doubt. He says to me, "you can't correct everyone, and not everyone can know you or believe your good intentions but what can you do?" He grounds me when he says that, and I am reminded that I don't become what people think of me, but I have to protect what good I have in me. What is Jesus in me, what's sincere and not believe the lies.

I tell him I'm tired, cold, or just plain crabby and his reaction time to me is that of lightening. He will fix dinner, put a blanket over me and feed me chocolate and wine while putting on my favorite shows on TV. I don't ask him to and sometimes burdensome because I'm afraid others will point fingers at me and think I wave my princess hand and all my dreams come true at the expense of the broken back of my slave who I call Hans.

He's my Noah not because he makes me dinner and feeds me chocolates though, he's my Noah because he knows me deep inside and appreciates that he married an alien, a little naive in her thinking, a little too idealistic and trusting, but he calls me white swan. He tells me I should write a book and "heck yeah you can!" pushing me to be happy in the things I'm good at. Singing, writing, painting, and I am just me around him all the time, the ugly and the pretty, he sees it all, but still he can call me "my angel." 

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Don't Judge a Book by it's Skin

The gym I belong to is called the Athletic Academy and it's kind of like school because it brings me back to when there are classes for one hour, extra work, crushes, gossip and well, high school kids. I have 2 more days here at this gym because honestly we can't afford the tuition without my second income and in a way, I have to go back to my old school, which is more public. The thing I love about this place is that they have become my friends, almost like family. Maureen who is the blond part owner appears as though she's a bad biker chick who still likes to party on the weekends and doesn't care a hoot about who comes and goes through the gym as long as you pay her on time. Over time, She's become like your boyfriend's cool mom and she makes you cookies while she chats about hair but still give you wise advise about life and career.

Ryan, who likes to play hard music and has dark hair that goes over his eyes every time he looks down rarely talks and could seem gruff is my most favorite. He's the guy that makes the Tee graphics and markets the events about town, promoting boot camps that benefits families, illness, kids and the poor. He makes these low mutterings that make you laugh because it seems so off with what he looks like on the outside. He laughs about almost anything and saves my little post it notes I leave on his desk on days he's not there. I finally broke through the old man serious, who calls his live in girlfriend his "lady friend." Jason is a young slugger who is under 30 and makes his cute girlfriends like his old lady and he isn't going to joke about when you're training under him in speed and agility. Of course, when you happen look his way, little boys are always looking up at him laughing and smiling, and I always wonder what kinds of jokes Jason would make with them.

Derek is the most different from what I thought he was. He looked to me a quiet mousy blond, who didn't know what to say to girls even if he had the chance. In the beginning I mistook his joking to be serious and actually thought he was a little bit afraid of me because I was a girl. Then he says to me after a whole year of chit chats here and there, "sit down, tell us a story Susie, we know nothing about you after all this time." I did sit down, "only for a few minutes, I have to get my run in or I'll turn into a monster." I sat there for over an hour cracking up at everything he said because he was sarcastic and would boss around little boys like he was a 1940's dad always giving that disapproving look gruffly saying to them, "get a haircut."

The trainers and the owners at this Academy surprise me, but my fellow trainees have become unlikely friends, yelling "bye Susie!" in a chorus when I leave. I'm friends with a mom of three, an MMA fighter, a Bliss girl who plays football in lingerie, a half Japanese business man and a hair dresser who goes actually competes in hair contests. Included in the mix are college soccer girls, boys who play football, baseball, run track and ice skates professionally, and there is a little glimpse of what each of these would be categorized outside of the Academy, jock, that tattooed guy, the biker, the cheerleader, the popular kid, the golden boy, the geek, but at the Academy, no one is categorized as any of these things, but we are all athletes, dedicating 90 minutes to our bodies and no one is judged upon anyone else's standard but your own.

I will miss this family, a hodge podge collection of people who seem far too different to ever become friends. But we've over come age, gender, stereotypes, and race! This place taught me how I can never judge anyone by who I think they are by first glance. 

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Bizzaro Us

Every time I'm in Korea, I wonder about how we would have turned out if we actually grew up there. If my father hadn't moved us around all over the place and especially if we had not settled in the States. In the year my father's mother died, my brother and I accompanied my dad to Korea to bury my grandmother. After the arduous task of shipping a coffin with my grandmother lying in it, and finally laying her to rest in a hole that was dug too small for an American sized box, we sat in the subway seats with a collective sigh. We squished into the three seater that was reserved for the pregnant and the elderly, ignoring the signs because the three of us wanted a little privacy, a little closeness after such a stressful three days. We sat close, talked in low voices reserved just for us, I giggled at everything my brother and my father said, wishing my mom had been there too.

My brother began as always asking questions that begin with the phrase, "what if...' This time my father was roped into his imaginary bizzaro world and he began to respond in thought. "What if we were stayed here dad? what if you were never transferred internationally? where would we be?" My dad gave this a good seconds thought and began with my mother, who would be a happy home maker taking classes on 'how to make a quilt", have daily lunch dates with her college girlfriends and would rush home just in time to make dinner. He then moved on to me, saying I would either have been a movie star or married to one of his collegues' well-to-do-sons and have lived a good life. I asked my dad how he knew that's what I considered a "good life," and he merely looked straight ahead moving on to my brother's bizzaro life. "And Jon, Jon would have been spending all of my money on girls, fast cars and coming home late every night. For some odd reason, we sat their in half agreement, laughing at the prospect of my father's predictions and we finally came to the conclusion that we were living the better life in the States. Our struggle may have saved our lives.

Granted my father had to start all over and maybe we would have been more comfortable in Korea, but God saved all our lives from the frivilous living that may have been our reality. Would we have been so influenced by the popular culture? Would I even look like myself from all the plastic surgery I would incur and the shallow, materialistic Seoul snobs I would've had as confidants? I hope to think that we would still have been the same people, but spoke less English. Of course it's foolish to think that we would be the same exact people with varying circumstances that would have led us in different directions for all of us. The three of us sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the passing people, each imagining a life of what could have been. Then my brother broke the silence by saying, "I wouldn't have been spending all of your money! Susan would be doing it too!"

Monday, October 24, 2011

Teenage trouble

When you have become a responsible adult with a stable job, a steady income, a home, consecutive weeks of going to church, you feel a little better about revealing a few of your childhood escapades you kept secret for the last 20 years. I wish I had stories to tell of sneaking out of my second floor window onto the garage and eventually into my boyfriend's convertible at 12 am on a Friday night, but I don't have any stories like that. As I was telling some of friends how I really was a well behaved girl, and not only was I behaviorally serene and docile, I was innocent in mind. Sneaking out of the house never occurred to me, and if I came home later than my parents had instructed (10:15 instead of 10:00 pm as a senior in high school), I had to face the consequences.

I had lamented all those times my brother would pass me by in the hall way, while dressed in my pajamas carrying a glass of water into my bedroom to turn in for the night, he was leaving in his dressed in his jeans and a jacket, heading for the door. He wasn't sneaking out, my brother definitely benefited from the double standard that measured us both, finding independence and autonomy that I never really experienced until I was actually out of the house for college. But even then, when I did come home for breaks, I had to be home at a reasonable hour or I would suffer the lectures and the sit down conversations about being a prudent girl. Although I was already a "good girl" the relentless expectations of perfection was unbearable. My father already thought me a doll, but slight misbehavior was too much for him to bear.

My brother recently confessed to me that he had been sneaking out since he was in Junior high. He would leave out the balcony and scaffold down and his friends would pick him in the middle of the night. I was flabbergasted at the thought of my little brother, whilst all of us were snug in our beds, dreaming of lambs and lollipops, sneaked off with his leather wearing friends with flip knives, fast cars and bandannas over their heads. I interrogated him, with questions I would have asked 20 years ago, "where did you go? " "who were you with?" "what did you guys do?" I half expected some kind of house party 15 year boys threw in their parent's shed with pot and skunked beer someone had stolen from their father while they weren't looking. Taking only one at a time over several weeks so that he wouldn't notice and after the collection had sufficed for a good party, he called impressionable boys like my brother over for a good time.

But his story was different. He said he went to our youth group friends' house, to play video games. I was even more appalled at his response, because if you were going to risk getting caught sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, you better be having some kind of great adventure or involved in a delinquent act! Video games? Were you not just playing video games with these kids a few hours ago in broad day lights under the semi-approving eyes of our parents? Why risk it for video games? I was a little disappointed that I wasn't able to vicariously live out a teenage rebellion without all of the consequences and disapproving eyes looking down at me. I half wish and fantasize about making plans to meet my friends in our pj's at the park and drinking the left over champagne my father had purchased for last New Year's and giggling on the grass all night before we realize it's dawn and all of us run back to our houses. Then we would pretend sleep and perhaps pass out under my covers reeking of booze and wet grass.

If I was a regular girl, living in one town  and impressionable by my peers I imagine I would be like Quinn Fabray from Glee. Not because I was necessarily the popular pretty one in school, but because I did have a squeaky clean reputation, but nothing like Quinn's misadventures and manipulations for what she wanted. I wish I had let that rebellion and carelessness play out in my youth because it's costly and foolish when you are 30 and trying to get away with a little misadventure.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Girl Crush Friday ~ Thandie Newton

Thandie Newton (38) is a former dancer that sustained a back injury when she was 16 years old. She was born in London, but her mother is a Shona Princess and her name Thandwie mean "beloved" in some African languages (Thandie is the English variation). She's another one of those girls with a degree under her belt and not from one of those online ones like Pheonix, and graduated with honors. 

Blowing Smoke

During the day, when I encounter a crazy mom trying to get her three soul-less suburban kids in her over-sized farm vehicle and she's taking her fluster out on the innocent citizens of her town, I use to call my brother and let him have it. I mean I vent to him about her, the mean girl that's been talking smack about me and he would give me responses like, " what? that's stupid!" or "I should kick his arse!" when I call H on the other hand, he gives me a rational answer, as a man that grew up with all brothers would. He tries to talk me through my irrational rant and talk me down from the ledge. Although I appreciate this when there are serious matters and I have some serious soul searching to do, but not when I'm just blowing some steam from the stress of the day, I don't need a lecture on how we need to give people a benefit of doubt. I'm don't actually believe the things I'm saying at that moment of rage, I will eventually come down from the balcony railings and settle into my rational view of the world.

It's the same with my writing. My girlfriend J recently performed an imitation of me that deserved an award for keen investigative work and an Oscar for acting me out just the way I would look! I was amazed and a little bit horrified that she knew me so well. She acted as though I was looking out the window of the car, her legs folded up into her chest, and her sharp elbow digging in to her knee while her hand supported her delicate chin, fingers curling up on to her lips and cheek. She then has a thought, takes out her phone and types in a quote or an idea to save for the Shindig entry she will write later. I couldn't believe I was watching myself in her. I laughed a loud and suddenly had a light bulb light up to know she sees me, she really sees me.

I write down things I feel, but don't really believe to be truth, things I feel but need to fix in my own heart and things I really feel and I need to let out. There are thoughts that I process through throwing it out on the table and sort through all the colors, shapes and separating them into categories of right, wrong, indifferent and brilliant. I haven't really written too much what's been really been going on in my life but rather, raw emotions and letting word vomit soak through the fabric of this blog. (I may actually be doing that right now - a random blog entry about how this blog is random). I don't intend these entries to fit any theme, feeling or arrange my blog into a succession of stories that would ever make sense. I just want to blow hot air, writing about the suburban mom, old high school boyfriends, feelings of insecurity, made up stories, stories other people have told me and pass them along as my own.

This blog was created just for that after all...

Thursday, October 20, 2011


"Time against us, miles between us..."
Eventually has come where there is a gap in between you and me. I don't know where you are when I send you messages in a bottle and there is no response. It's as though my words float along the dark waters of the digital vortex and fall down a waterfall, but when you peer down, you see no end. My thoughts and words seem like an empty plastic bag tossed to and fro in  the wind and snagged on a sharp corner of a fence.

Eventually has come where you and I are finally growing apart and there is no summer to come when we will reignite and rekindle our love again, our friendship again, it's just one continuous day now, of now or never. You won't share with me what's every day and what's real, you won't share with me the life circumstances and the let downs. You don't tell me what you really feel and what your day is like, so we eventually become strangers. Eventually, you and I will be fading in the old photos that we scrolled through like obsessed madmen surveying each eye, hand and fingers on each picture we took one summer. We will pass by those pictures framed on our wall and not notice that once we loved each other with intensity. And maybe eventually, you'll take those pictures out of those frames to replace them with pictures that are more current, people who are more present.

Perhaps eventually, it won't hurt as much to think of you and resent you for not responding, not believing me and not seeing me the way you should. Maybe in a few years I won't obsessively think about what you think about me, what you're doing, what you heard from her, what you heard from him. Maybe eventually I will forget you too like we never even met because it seems that might be what's easy for me to do. Easier on me, on my heart, on my soul, so that eventually I will be able to stand up again and with my memory gone, I can love again and I  can love another. I have always done just this you know? Count on "eventually" because without letting them go, I would not stand here today, I would not love you like I do today. It's because I eventually forgot about the pain and decidedly loved, that you and I are brothers, sisters, friends.

I hope this eventually will never come, although some has already been here and gone. Let me down easy, it's a high place to fall from.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

If you're a bird, I'm a bird.

-When she stares at your mouth kiss her.
-When she pushes you or hits you like a dummy cause she thinks shes stronger than you Grab her and don't let go.
-When she starts cursing at you trying to act all tough kiss her and tell her you love her.
... -When she's quiet ask her whats wrong.
-When she ignores you give her your attention.
-When she pulls away Pull her back.
-When you see her at her worst tell her she's beautiful.
-When you see her start crying just hold her and don't say a word.
-When you see her walking sneak up and hug her waist from behind.
-When she's scared Protect her.
-When she steals your favorite hoodie let her keep it and sleep with it for a night.
-When she teases you tease her back and make her laugh.
-When she doesnt answer for a long time reassure her that everything is okay.
-When she looks at you with doubt back yourself up.
-When she says that she loves you she really does more than you can understand.
-When she grabs at your hands hold her's and play with her fingers.
-When she bumps into you bump into her back and make her laugh.
-When she tells you a secret Keep it safe and untold.
-When she looks at you in your eyes dont look away until she does.
-When she says it's over she still wants you to be hers.
-When she reposts this bulletin she wants you to read it
-Stay on the phone with her even if she's not saying anything.
-When she's mad hug her tight and don't let go.
-When she says she's ok don't believe it, talk with her because 10 yrs later she'll remember you
-Call her at 12:00am on her birthday to tell her you love her
-Treat her like she's all that matters to you
-Stay up all night with her when she's sick
-Watch her favorite movie with her or her favorite show even if you think it's stupid
-Give her the world.
-Let her wear your clothes
-When she's bored and sad, hang out with her
-Let her know she's important.
-Kiss her in the pouring rain
-When she runs up to you crying, the first thing you say is: "Whose ass am i kicking, baby?"

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

You see?

If you can't see what I'm talking about ...If you can't see the difference in our interaction and relationship, there's nothing to be said. How can I argue when you don't see it at all. How can you think nothing is wrong when  so much is wrong?

If you don't realize and if you don't see it, then it's worse than if you had. This means she has filled in your every part of what you need and she has completely replaced everything you had in me and everything you wished I was.

Even if you call to talk, to see what we need to remedy, there's nothing to be said. You say nothing has changed, you know what I'm gonna say. You say, "what do you want from me?" there's nothing specific I can say. How can I give you rules, boundaries and stipulations and quotas in love?

I know you try, I can see sometimes when there are surges of attention, a succession of calls and reaching out. You can see it too, but that's all I need, no it's what I can cope with. I see that you and I have grown, no longer the way we were, no longer in the season of being together as friends.

As longs as I know and you remind me intermittently that you remember me that you love me despite the silence. Shatter the quiet when you think I'm losing my way...only you can awake me from the encased curse.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

In The Train Of His Robe

1 In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne; and the train of his robe filled the temple. 2 Above him were seraphim, each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. 3 And they were calling to one another: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory.”

When I've had it up to here and all I want to do is burst into tears from all the grief, I want to run away. I see myself small, with my  little girl natural curls swaying against my back as I run. My full white dress with the edges of the skirt dirty from being dragged on the floor of the forest and long dirt roads I've walked, sometime to chasing after friends, sometimes to chase my rebellious heart. A salty reservoir pools and trickles down my cheek as I blink to see through the watery haze welled up in my blue black eyes. The tears leave a trail of clean streaks down my face, revealing the dirt caked upon the rest of my skin.

I run away, dropping all my responsibilities and cares of the world, garbage and treasures a like, I leave them in the mud where I stood, always finding my way back to Him, no matter how far I've strayed or how long I've been gone. Whatever I have been depleted of, he will fill me again because what he gives me is meant to give a way and not horded. Sometimes, I am lead a stray blinded by promise of love and fulfillment, floating on a boat of darkness that has only one destination, like the river of Styx it floats onto toward death, it floats on secretly without me knowing until it's too late. My heart is ripped wide open and my soul seeping out of the wound and spirit dying as I am being consumed by them. I open my eyes wide, turning side to side, noticing I shouldn't be here and I have been misguided. I jump off the boat, swimming desperately waving my hands and grappling at the thick water, keeping my head above, while the once beautiful garb donned on me by my King is weighing me down, sinking me with its heavy cloth.  My greatest gift, also my greatest downfall. I grab on to the crust of the shore and climb up, running as fast as my foot can touch the ground. 

With burning in my lungs and cramping in my legs, tears in my eyes and turning in my stomach, I run through the wilderness, burst through the forest and finally seeing the mighty white tower perched upon the hill and I know I am almost there. I run faster because I can't waste any more time being alone, being without Him. I burst through the door of the castle, and down the corridor paved with marble and swirling with gold. The guards with swords step back, and I run past points of the sword, but not aimed at me, but to protect me because I have the right to be there. I push hard upon the towering cedar doors and I run to the throne, the train of his robe cradling my tired feet all the way to his lap where I bury my face. Without pomp and circumstance, without so much as a courtesy or a bow, because he is my Father and I am his child. 

I cry there in silence and he wipes my face with the sleeve of his silken robe, dismissing the legion of angels, he himself takes me to a basin of water to clean me up and put on me a new tailored dress reminding me of who I am in his eyes. He says in a whisper, "I made you this way, pour out what I gave you." He crowns on my head what was lost and what is not gained by my own hands and what I am not worthy of, His love, his grace, his forgiveness and inheritance forever and ever. I lost my way or lost myself, but I will always come home to regain and recharge, so I can go back out again.