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It's real

Depression- the word is either used too much or not enough. 

Upon hearing that someone may be depressed, some just look the other way as if it's not real, as if it's a trend or not as bad as the guy next door. Some may treat it with medication, therapy, and may even suggest medidation. 

I heard a statistic from 2013, that 437 children die from cancer, that is one too many, and 4,600 individuals ages 10-24 will take their own lives. I am one hundred percent positive the numbers have increased since, sadly. So. Are we judging too quickly when some one may be depressed? Are we shrugging it off as if it's not a thing. Let me tell you something...

Unless you have mentally experienced the battles a depressed person fights- you have no say. Unless you have felt your own heart beat fasten it's pace because your lungs are trying to grasp for air due to heavy tear flow that became silent- you can not point fingers. Unless you felt the utter darkness that surrounds the mind and the …
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I'm not proverbs thirty one

Have you ever read Proverbs 31? 

It describes a woman who is intimidating to me, yet I aspire to be. If you ever have time, read the chapter, if not, I'll break it down for you. In this chapter King Lemuel meaning "devoted to God" wrote a passage that was almost a perfect description of his mother, some say he was inspired by her wisdom. His mother, Bathsheba made her wisdom very evident when she was basically telling her son "not to fall into the trap of immorality, chasing after women will sap a king's strength. (Proverbs 31:3) I can only draw my own assumptions that Lemuel was inspired by that saying and wrote up a whole chapter based on what a woman of virtue should look like. I won't quote the chapter in this blog, although I must have read it three or four times tonight, and had it basically memorized at some point in high school, however I'll attempt to simplify with my such minuscule concoction of words.  

So, what is a Proverbs 31 woman? 
She is tr…

Jason Walker's Song

writer's block-
1. the condition of being unable to think of what to write or how to proceed with writing. 
so read between the lines of a song that's on repeat and won't let me sleep. 


I don't know where I'm at
I'm standing at the back
And I'm tired of waiting
Waiting here in line, hoping that I'll find what I've been chasing.

I shot for the sky
I'm stuck on the ground
So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
Never know why it's coming down, down, down.

Not ready to let go
Cause then I'd never know
What I could be missing
But I'm missing way too much
So when do I give up what I've been wishing for.

I shot for the sky
I'm stuck on the ground
So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
Never know why it's coming down, down, down.
Oh I am going down, down, down
I can't find another way around
And I don't want to hear the sound, of losing what I…

what is seen is temporary

the phrase I have tattooed on my forearm states "this too shall pass..." 

lately I'm realizing that the phrase holds multiple meanings. this. what is "this" is it eluding to? here's my faulty conclusion...

this. any state of emotion, life situations, adversities, joys, sadness, pains, tragedies...this will pass. so that leads to this- whatever joys we experience, they will soon pass, what ever pains we experience, they will also pass, the most painful "this too shall pass" includes the connections we make, the relationships we spend our time building, the people...they pass. They pass right out of our lives. You can look at someone and physically see them, all the while realizing the person they were before has "passed", the essence of their being was taken along with their "passing." 

"this too shall pass." 


As contradicting as it is, the permanent tattoo on my forearm indicates how temporary things are in this life. 

Upo…

brokenness aside

My writing always has been unapologetic, transparent, and explicitly honest. I don't believe in writing for people, I write for me. I write what I feel right there and then, I don't plan to write, I write to make sense of what's in my personal jungle of a brain. 

So here. 

Worthless. A word I've been believing for far too long. I need a new perspective. Sometimes we may feel stuck, wrapped up in our own little bundle of emotions and we hold our brokenness in the palms of our hands and we just sit there without a clue of how to deal. The longer we sit and hold those pieces, the more we allow them to define who we are. With all that I am, with boldness and confidence believe that, I am not meant to hold those pieces, I am not made to believe that my mistakes are who I am, I am not. I will not. 

I am meant to know who I am, and the only way I can do that is to meet Jesus at the cross. The only way I can loosen the grip I have on my shattered heart is if He meets me there. Th…

addict with a pen

When people are determined to change their ways, it is required to know what exactly they are to change. We can't change upon someones request, or to please someones expectations..we must decide to it for ourselves. People can lead us to the well, but they can't make us drink. 

In my short life on this earth, if I have learned anything, which isn't all that much, is that in order to change our ways, it takes hard work. It takes a person to be honest with themselves, it is easy to lie to others about how we're "fine" but deep down we know that we hold on to some dark secrets that are stumbling blocks for change. 

Sadly, upon returning from my trip, God showed me what I could be while I was there, and then He brought me back and showed me how far away I'm from that in this reality. 

Every day, has been a battle. 

He has been chipping away at my character, destroying the mold I created. I picture a potters hand, creating a beautiful vase, and then I envision the…

the most probable explanation

Eighteen days... 
It's been that long since my feet were walking on the red dirt of Uganda, since my ears heard their songs of praise, and since my eyes seen redemption. 
I haven't been able to put into words of what it feels like being back, and what I still see when I close my eyes, or what I hear right before I fall asleep. 
I still see the boy bleeding profusely as his mother comforted him, I hear the voices of the kids singing in their language, I see babies sitting on the ground with their naked bottoms. I close my eyes, and the mothers faces flash before my eyes, their helpless eyes, their dry hands struggling to provide for their families. My ears hear babies crying in the hospital from heat and confusion, I feel the taps on my shoulder from desperate hands of mothers. I still see Uganda. 
For a writer, we feel things on a different level, and we must write about it to make sense of things, what terrified me the most was that I couldn't even write. Why? 
I prayed. 
This …