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Showing posts from October, 2016

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 …