my hopes and my dreams (From 5 year old Julia)

Five year old Julia would think I have absolutely no imagination or energy. She had so much imagination that she never felt alone, even when her brothers didn't want to play with her. She had loads of imaginary friends and the day she found Jesus she was altered from her very core.

Five year old Julia had one word to describe her most favorite things. "Beautiful." Beautiful were the kindhearted. Beautiful were the trees. Beautiful was everything with the fingerprints of God.

Five year old Julia knew exactly what her future was- she was going to be a Pastor, just like Pastor Evert. She was going to help everyone to know Jesus, and she practiced daily. She took her little pulpit to the back porch and faced the squirrels with her tiny pink bible. She laid it out in front of her and told the animals small and large about Jesus.

Then she would climb trees and lay in them while she sung songs to Jesus. She was a lot of fun- 5 year old Julia.

I guess the point is that 21 year old Julia and 5 year old Julia are the same person with the same heart, except 21 year old Julia doesn't really want to be a pastor and has let her imagination fade pretty substantially.

What would 5 year old you think of you now?



Tonight I am posting out of pity for my unbelievable track record of posting well for a few months and then not posting for the rest of the year (or so.)
So I'm trying to break the cycle and not leave spiderwebs hanging in my blog windows.

Right now I am pregnant (not my favorite thing in the whole world, except for the mooshy cute baby at the end). I am 12 weeks as of today, and still in the morning sickness and random pains phase.

Ever so slightly depressed and definitely in need of a vacation from life. Maybe just two or three days to sleep and take baths to my hearts content. Probably not going to happen, but it sounds nice.

I guess I will leave it on this boring note for now.


From Shakespeare to Edgar to Jesus

Now, keeping in mind that Shakespeare was the ultimate pervert of perverts and quite possibly obsessed with children, he still wrote beautiful things.

I don't necessarily enjoy all of his stories (or any), but the way he wrote was inspirational. It reminded me of the bible (when Pastor Evert was our teacher) and all the translation my brain had to do to understand what the bible was referencing.

Shakespeare helped me to understand the Bible more, and the Bible helped me to understand Shakespeare more.

Perhaps because of my dark twisty insides and my dark twisty past- I relate a lot with Poets and Artists of old. Shakespeare in alliteration and Edgar Allan Poe in soul. Slightly disturbing, but true.

I once had Edgar Allan Poe's works memorized (mainly The Raven)

I am extremely and painfully romantic- as well as dark and twisty on the inside, so Dark Romantics know how to get to me.

For those of you who have never read The Raven- here you are. Please read it for my benefit.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!


The enchanting part of this poem is not just the perfect layout of words that- when spoken- roll of the tongue like a spanish lullaby.

The enchanting part is that this man- laden with grief- finds comfort in a raven, his only friend in the world. First, fear, then solace, and finally anger. The stages of grief being taken out upon a Raven who keeps only saying "Nevermore".

Finally in the end, the man finds that what the Raven means (if a Raven could truly mean anything) is that his soul, his heart would never be lifted again.

Once, I felt the same way. As if the world had done nothing but harm to me, that love had escaped me and fear, hatred, pain was all that I was dealt. That death was the only saving grace that life provided.

Things change so much in a short time. 5 years ago breathing was painful. Literally, filling my lungs with air and moving forward, it hurt- like a thousand needles into my heart in each intake.

God healed my heart.

I want to rewrite the ending of this poem now. Instead of the crisp memory of reading it and feeling exactly what the grieving man felt at the end, I want to show the man being mended.

Maybe the Raven was sent to tell the man that the pain wouldn't last forever.

That he would learn to breath again- that it wouldn't always be so painful.

He would learn to love once more. He would learn to find life inside of his heart. He would find that tiny piece of hope and happiness and it would grow into more than he could ever imagine.

Not to say that the pain would disappear, because scars are there to remind us from where we've been and how far we've come... But to say that hope and love and God can heal and change any circumstance- even the most painful of circumstances.

I hope every second that my children never feel hopeless. I pray every chance I get that God would bless them with love and joy and happiness every day of their life. That he would protect them from the evil things that can happen to them. That I would protect them with his help.

I used to pray that I could absorb all the evil in the world- take all the bad things that were going to happen to everyone and let them happen to me instead. I thought I could handle it when I was young, and I was strong and untouched.

I was really wrong- because the little things I was dealt were too much for me, and they are incomparable to other people's pain.

Can you imagine what Jesus did on that cross? I wanted to be just like Jesus.

But no one can. That's why He had to do what He did. No one else could handle the pain.

He took the sins of all man kind. Can you imagine the horror he had to feel becoming a murderer- rapist- liar- adulterer- not to mention all the others? He never committed a sin in his life. He was pure hearted- and to become sin itself?

Sin is dirty, guilty, painful.

I can imagine the pain of BECOMING sin compared with the pain he was literally experiencing was more horrifying to his gentle soul.

Thank You God for your son. Thank You Jesus for what you did for us.

Yes- I did just transition from Shakespeare, to Edgar to Jesus. Hopefully you felt something during the transition.

Don't hold on to the pain of the past. I did for too long and it ate me alive.

Let God lift you and change you. I'm always here to help and to talk if you need it. You don't have to go through pain alone.


Love is HARD!

Well, in the midst of the ups and downs of this unexpected pregnancy- Nick and I are enjoying the winding up of our second year of marriage.
Lately, I am having a hard time with complications around every corner, infections, bleeding, and being completely exhausted (without the hope of a cup of coffee to bring my day to a manageable point).
Getting out of bed to the aroma of smells brought on by the fridge, baby, (baby cheetos and how I loathe them), and even sadly my husband (though I know if my nose were working correctly I would find his scent very nice) is difficult. If I smell Nick's pillow in my pillow's place it becomes a disaster with me running to the bathroom or digging my face into a clean linen nearby. Where's the room for romance in this?

When we first fell in love, romance was the last thing on our minds. You don't need romance when every word and every kiss from your beloved is sending your heart aflutter. However, you do need romance as the newly in love faze slips into the more somber lovey dovey feeling.

Some people mistake this for not being in love, but the face that love shows in the beginning is the face created by the (I know it sounds harsh) fake idea that love should always feel like it did when you fell in love originally.

Yes, I still get butterflies when my husband spends time making my heart flutter, but it's not as easy as it was! Love is HARD!

With my husband working 1-10pm and the majority of my day spent with Judah and wishing I could take a walk or go to dinner with my beloved, finding time for romance is even harder. Not to mention with school starting for him again soon, and trying to keep my nausea at bay (harder than it sounds).

I'm thinking that perhaps it's time to romance my husband.

I think most women would be lying if they said that their husband gives them the amount or the kind of romance that they long for in their heart of hearts.

In my husbands case, he just doesn't know how (I think many men suffer from the idea that romance is hard, when it really can be much simpler than we women make it sound).

So here I am trying to come up with a plan. Teach my husband to romance me by romancing him.

Maybe I see why husbands find it so mind boggling. They have a hard time coming up with a plan, and they complicate things. Well, I will not complicate this.

So here we go, trying to make love a little less hard for this particular moment in time.

Wish me luck!

God bless you and your families :)

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