I think I'll take the stairs from now on.

For about 73 terrifying seconds, I thought I had gotten stuck in the elevator.  Legitimately.

I had just delivered some lunch to my dad at his office and had taken my little darling with me for some exercise.  {Zoë the Chihuahua—sweetest little 5-lb living thing you’ll ever meet, although she can get some sass goin’ on from time to time.}  Normally, I would have taken the stairs down from the second level where Dad's office is, but just for kicks, I decided to take the elevator today.

I knew the building wasn’t the newest one in town, but I didn’t think it’d take that long to go from level two to level one.  I mean, seriously.  I could’ve fallen down the stairs faster than that.

  So there we were, Zoë down there sniffing away at the [rather small] rectangle of carpet to her heart’s content, me staring up at the little light-up numbers on the wall with a growing panic forming somewhere in the depths of myself.  {Did I mention that I have stuckintheelevatorophobia?  I should probably get over that.}

Suddenly I started wondering what happens when you push the “In Case Of Emergency” button in an elevator.  I also checked to make sure I had my phone, because by that point I was strongly considering calling my mom, who was sitting at a front desk 20 yards away, blissfully unaware of the sheer terror her daughter was presently experiencing just down the hallway.

Is this thing even moving??!

It didn’t feel like it!  It was creaking and swaying, but I didn’t get the usual swoosh I get in my tummy when I ride elevators.  Not only that, but the little light thingy hadn’t even changed from the down button to the 2 button, let alone moved from 2 to LOBBY.  I wonder if Zoe was as concerned as I was.  Probably not . . . dogs and their noses are pretty attached.  Even if said nose only has the surface area of a dime.

In desperation, I pushed the LOBBY button again and stared pleadingly at the light as if it was my only hope.  As if by a miracle, it finally switched from 2 to LOBBY and boy, oh boy, I have never been so happy to see that blessed lobby in my life.

Like I said, most terrifying 5 minutes of my life. {Or was it 73 minutes?  Wait… maybe it was seconds…}

I hope you are enjoying this fabulous sunshine today, but I also hope that it’s sunny where you are today.  Speaking of places, I’m so excited because I get to go to Cali for the first time this summer!  But for now, I’m quite content with my lovely view of the Rockies.  On this side of them.

Hi, I'm Zoe the Chihuahua.  Nice to meet you.

Rain.

I want it to rain.

I want to feel the stillness in the world that says, "Something's about to happen."

I want to breathe in the cool, humid air that carries with it the fragrance of earth and sky.

I want the first drop to fall in my hair, whispering of the storm that threatens to follow.

I want to hear the wind racing the clouds, seeing which can touch the ground first.

I want my heart to race in time with the ceaselessly accelerating raindrops. 

I want to run through the solid sheet of falling water, hitting my closed eyes and open mouth so hard, it hurts.

I want to stand in the gutter and let the cold, fresh water flood my feet and wonder what little treasures it had collected on its journey before it got to me.

I want to listen to the storm pass, watch the dark sky lighten, behold the sun break through the trees that haven't stopped raining yet.

I really want it to rain.

P.S. I've decided that I'll just keep changing up my blog until I find a background and template that I really like.  So.  It might change without warning.

YOU have a fantastic week, my friends!  God is faithful.

We gotta do better than this, 'cause I've only got one life to make a difference.

I am only human. In comparison to my Creator, I am nothing. Yet, He has given me the ability to care, to love, to hope. So why shouldn't I?

I've been feeling restless lately. I'm the horse that fidgets and stomps because he knows a storm is coming. I'm the baby eagle waiting for the perfect opportunity to jump out of the nest and feel the sun on her wings. I'm the runner who presses his knuckles into the turf, anticipating the sound of the gun shot.

     There's so much I want to do. So many people I want to help, so many lives I want to touch. Where to start? How to do it? What to aim for? There's so many questions, so many longings, and yet...I feel like I'm stuck in a pretty little cage......just.........waiting.

     Waiting for what, I'm not quite sure. Maybe I'm waiting for a door to walk through? A hand to hold? A road map to follow? The sun to rise? I don't know. All I know is that there is something that needs to click before I can get to sprinting through this race I want so much to win.

I am human. Therefore, I am made in the image of One so much greater than me. I wish to be the pen He needs to write someone's story, the wood He needs to light a fire, the water He needs to give life to a seed.

I have to reach beyond my own little world, because I only have this one life to make a difference.

I made a picture...just for YOU!

  What do y'all think?!  I just LOVE being creative, and making collages, and doing cool, geeky stuff on the computer.  Which is why I just spent a half-hour making the above artwork, and why I have changed my blog design so much.  Hehehehee.


I love life.


I'll be posting something else soon, so stay classy.

I know! I changed it again...

Seriously, I'm having toooo much fun with this whole blog design thing.

Know what I realized?

Most of my posts are three miles long.

So this one's going to be short, sweet, and to the POINT.

God.  Loves.  You.

I'll never quite understand that.

And that is okay.

Have a spectacular afternoon, folks.

Hello, Beautiful.

Do you realize how wacked out America is?

We have girls who think they need to be no more than 93.78 pounds to be beautiful, and so they starve themselves in an attempt to become the photoshop-ed girl on the movie poster.

We have girls who can’t stand the fact that their eyes are brown instead of green, hate how their smile shows so much gum when they laugh, and loath the fact that their thighs touch at the top.

We have girls who have so much pain bottled up in their hearts from their parents’ divorce that they find comfort in making their wrists bleed, as if the bleeding could somehow relieve the emotional pressure they can’t seem to evade.

That’s messed up.  But no one does anything about it.

Because surely if enough people cared, we wouldn’t still be dealing with this epidemic of broken-hearted, tear-stained girls who don’t have a clue who they are or where they’re going, nor believe they have any sort of beauty or value within them.

You’re beautiful.

A salty bead forms in the corner of each tightly shut eye, threatening to make a dash down her cheek at any moment.  The irregular rhythm of her heartbeat clashes with her shallow breaths and collides somewhere between her voice box and diaphragm, drowning out the words she so desperately wants to scream.  Her clenched fists are carving eight half-moons into her palms, but she’d rather have the throbbing pain than lose touch with reality.

He didn’t mean it, and he never will.

Heart pounding, tears spilling, mind screaming, she takes the knife.

You’re beautiful.

She studies the figure in the mirror.  The dress that graces her hips is probably tighter than he would’ve approved of, and he wouldn’t have liked the hemline either.  But he left her.  So why should she care?

Despite her efforts to avoid it, she’s suddenly lost in the world she used to know, a world of purity and innocence, a world unmarred by carelessness and lies, a world where she was safe.  But over time her trust was wounded over and over again, until at last that world was shattered, along with a large piece of her heart.

I thought he loved me…but if he can’t, why would anybody?

As she shrugs and begins to carefully coat her lips with dark red cream, she also coats her heart with yet another layer of blasé callous that will take years of miracles to wash away.

You’re beautiful.

It’s almost as if the handwritten words echo in her ear.  She turns over the photo to gaze at the younger reflection of herself she hasn’t seen in years; a preschooler on her fourth birthday in shoes too big, pink dress too long, and a smile with a size to match.  Despite the cake crumbs and sticky frosting that was undoubtedly on those chubby little fingers, his much larger hand was holding the smaller one in a gentle grasp that spoke of love and caring.

Always remember that, no matter what.

How could he have foreseen that one day, years later, those were the exact words she desperately needed to believe?  Perhaps he’s right; maybe she is beautiful.  With a restless sigh, she tucks the picture back into the envelope and turns to write a letter to the only man who ever truly loved her.

More than anything else, girls want to be beautiful; they want to be loved.  Obviously, they want to be loved by anybody, but in particular they need to be loved by a guy who will protect them.  While they’re growing up, that guy should be their dad or a father figure.  When they get married, that guy should be their husband.

I just realized the other day how God can be both our Lover and Father at the same time; it’s because the love of a father is just as jealous and protective as the love of a husband.  The church is called to be Christ’s bride, but we are also joint heirs with Christ.  Maybe that doesn’t make sense, but it’s okay because God’s got it all under control.  (The following Scripture talks about this!  If you don’t want to read it all, just read what’s in boldface and then I have a couple more things to say before I finish this rather lengthy post.)

 “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.  For the husband is head of the wife, as also Christ is head of the church; and He is the Savior of the body.  Therefore, just as the church is subject to Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything.

Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her, that He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, that He might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish.  So husbands ought to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself.  For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as the Lord does the church.  For we are members of His body,[d] of His flesh and of His bones.  “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.”  This is a great mystery, but I speak concerning Christ and the church.  Nevertheless let each one of you in particular so love his own wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband.” (Ephesians 5:22-33)

 

You’re beautiful.  It doesn’t matter what shape of nose you have, what type of hair you have, what kind of body you have.  Listen to what God says about your beauty (Song of Songs anybody?).  Stop comparing who you are to everyone else and embrace your very own, unique beauty.

To steal a quote…

“Be yourself.  Everyone else is taken.”

Odds and Ends and Lions.

It's usually at night when I think of the most productive things to do, when my eyelids would rather be shut but my brain would rather be flying from Denver to New York and back again.  What kinds of things?  Oh, you know, balancing my checkbook, watching cooking videos (it's pretty crazy how much I love watching those), racking my brain about where else I should apply for a job, seeing as I need a lot more money than I'm earning right now, reading a bunch of other people's blogs, looking at news videos..... Thinking about where I can go shopping to get the best deals, wondering where the heck I should look for scholarships but knowing I have a list of websites I should check out, thinking about how I have so much to learn and I don't know how I'm going to learn it all, and realizing that the majority of my money has been spent at Starbucks and/or other food/coffee places as of late. Et cetera, et cetera.
     Oh yeah, and writing my own blog, too.  Which is (if you didn't notice) what I'm currently doing, and it's 11:35 PM exactly.  But you know what I should be doing?  Praying.  Reading my Bible and other good books. Practicing the instruments I'm blessed to have.  Buckling down and committing to the scholarship search because I really, really want to go to college in......five.......months.  Sleeping.  Writing letters to congressmen about my stance on political issues.  You know, changing the world and all that jazz.  But I feel like I'm waiting for something, and I don't know what it is.
     Did you ever use Mavis Beacon's typing CD-ROM so you could learn how to type?  Sean (brother) and I did.  Annnnd we hated it.  But hey, we both type faster than you could say "Jack Robinson" now so I guess it worked.
     That was random.  Well, to you it was.  I said it, though, because I was watching my fingers fly and was wondering how they knew where to go, even when I wasn't consciously thinking about what order they should go in; it's pretty cool!  (I could turn this into a lesson about how God leads us even when we aren't paying attention, and how we sometimes unknowingly walk right into His plan for our lives, all while thinking we were avoiding it.  But I think I'll leave that for you to ponder!)
     Anyways, back to the subject at hand.
     Today a tragedy rudely waltzed its way into the lives of thousands of human beings.  I have no clue how many of them went to heaven or how many went to hell.  I have no clue how it felt to see debris vaulting through the air while dozens of terrified screams sliced through your eardrums and your heart pounded its way right up into your throat until it seemed like it would suffocate you.  While those precious  individuals were experiencing a nightmare Hollywood never could've concocted, I was tossing and turning in my bed, trying to get to sleep because the caffeine from my chocolate cake was keeping me up.
     Wow.  I'm not sure how I feel about that.  How could I be concerned with such small things while thousands of lives are being shredded to pieces?  Perhaps that's not for me to decide.
     I feel blessed, for sure, that there is still breath filling my lungs.  Reverent before a God who is the ultimate Mystery.  Feeling safe in His all-knowing hands, yet wide-eyed at the realization that my life is only a little puff of smoke in the grand scheme of things.
     It's like that quote from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: "He's not a tame lion!...'Course He isn't safe.  But He's good.  He's the king, I tell you."
     That pretty much sums it up.  He truly is worthy of all our devotion, all our attention, all the affection we have in these feeble lives we live.  If it was worth His sacrifice for us, it's worth our sacrifice for Him.

Bad Hair Days

It happens to the best of us... Bad hair days sneak up on us the way the Pink Panther sneaks up on Inspector Clouseau.

Seriously, I think my hair graduated from National Pancake University.  All day, it’s been flat and limp and just hanging there like a not-so-glamorous wet blanket.  Some girls can totally pull off the perfectly straight hair!  I think those are the girls who have naturally full-bodied hair and just straighten to perfection everyday.  Mine?  Phsst.  It’s so straight that it takes voluminizing shampoo and conditioner, mousse, root lifter, round brushes, standing on my head to blow dry it, and a half can of hairspray, all so it can rock its sadly straight nature with a little bit of dignity.

Of course, then you’ve got the [previously mentioned] individuals who have frizzy, out of control hair who use relaxing shampoo and conditioner, hair smoother, hair relaxer, heat protection, a flat brush and nozzle while blow drying their hair, and take a week and a half to straighten it, all so they can smile and pretend their hair is that perfect and carefree whatever time of day it is.  (Actually, I haven’t a clue what they use on their hair; I’ve never had the need to de-frizz mine.)

So you have the straight hair and the frizzy.  You’ve got the hair thick-as-melted-chocolate and hair as thin-as-melted-wax.  You have the perfectly-curled-when-I-wake-up hair and the I-am-the-definition-of-bedhead hair.  Then, of course, wedged in between those lovely hair types are the majority of us whose hair cooperates when it wants to, except for when it doesn’t, because on those days, it just doesn’t.

I’ve had the same hairstyle for a few months now, and I've liked it a lot.  Except it’s grown out a little, so now it’s too long to spike, but too short to pull back.  Being desperate for a change, I trimmed my bangs this morning (I don’t think it looks any different) which changes it up a little bit (even if just psychologically) but I really just want a big change.

Why am I soliloquizing on the woes of hair styling?  Well, umm, honestly, I was kind of enjoying the soap box.

But seriously!  I feel like that’s how life gets sometimes.  We get ourselves into routines that we really like, and that is a good thing.  But eventually, all that predictability just turns into irritability.  No longer does that jet stream carry us along in its carefree momentum; instead, it drags us through the dirt at an infuriating speed, scraping up our knees and noses in the process.

If you feel like your life has gotten boring and mundane, lay it and the feet of your Heavenly Father.  He knows exactly what He wants you to do next and where He wants you to walk tomorrow; simply trust Him to lead you there.

If you’re having a bad hair day, I would like to shake your hand and personally welcome you to the club.  My advice?  Put somethin’ crazy in it and work that hairdo along with some crazy clothes to match.  That, or just tell yourself you’re beautiful (you are) and strut your stuff like you've got all the confidence in the world (you do).

Problem solved.

P.S. Has an ad for a hair product ever had you convinced to buy the product?  I want to hear!  And *cough cough* it happened to me.  I saw an Aussie ad in a magazine one time.  The model had these perfect (I repeat: PERFECT) curls that I immediately coveted (I've repented, don't worry).  Needless to say, the next shopping trip landed me with a can of Aussie hairspray.  Did it work?  Did I achieve those perfect curls?  Strangely...not even close.  And it smelled like kids' grape Tylenol.  But anyways.  I want to hear your stories.

If it made us laugh so hard...

You have to watch this video! Nuff said.

Yes, I've got a new look.

I know what you're wondering!  "What happened to Jesseca's blog?!?!?!"  WELL.  After some inspiration from my fellow bloggers who changed their blogs' looks, I decided to give mine a major makeover.

     Why a photographer?  It's my secret ambition to be a free-lance photographer one day.  Why?  Because I LOVE capturing the moment.  My kids are going to pose for thousands of pictures.  Literally.

     Simple lines with something that says "Oh, hello!" is the kind of style I just love.  So I tried to relay that in my new look.

     There are a lot of different styles that appeal to me!  I'm not sure how I picked this one, but I hope you like it.  Let me know what you think of it though; I always love hearing your beautiful thoughts.

     I heart you!

              Jess

No, seriously. Do you trust Me?

Do you ever go through those times in your life where God tells/asks you the same thing over and over and over (andoverandoveranover) again??!  It’s like, rain or shine, He’s talking about it.  You open your Bible randomly and wham there it is again.  You go to church and “Today, my sermon is on [insert topic of preeminence that you and God keep talking about].” I think God’s theory is that if He reminds us of it enough, eventually it will click, and by that time, we will never forget the lesson because it is so solidly a part of us.

“Do you trust Me?”  That’s His question for me right now.  Every time I pray…

“Jesseca, do you trust Me?”

“Of course I do!  Lord, I trust You.”

“…Do you trust Me?”

“Umm, God…I said yes.  I trust You.”

“No.  Do you trust Me?”

And so the conversation goes, over and over again.  But don’t mind.  I’m fascinated by it, actually.  It makes me eager to see what He intends to teach me through this ever-repetitive question.  The more He asks me “do you trust Me?” the more I ask myself if I really do.  I think I trust Him; I mean, there have been times in my life when I’ve literally had to give up and just watch Him work on my behalf (which is, by the way, immensely more interesting and rewarding than watching myself trying to organize my life… believe me), but there are other times when I rely more on myself than I do on Him.

It seems kind of basic, this whole trusting thing.  But I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I’m wondering: what makes trust, trust?  Is it believing that someone else who knows more than you do will get the job done better than you will?  Is it laying down your own desires and hoping that another’s plans for you will turn out okay, and that you’ll benefit from them instead of being hurt?  Or maybe it is simply what the dictionary says: reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc., of a person or thing; confidence.

See, it’s easy for someone to lose your trust.  If they make one slip-up that gives you a scar you didn’t ask for, chances are that you won’t be giving that person any say in your life from then on.  It’s like this: I decide to take a tour of the African jungle but since I know nothing about African jungles, I hire a guide to help me out.  Mr. Guide claims to know the jungle like the back of his hand, and so we set out, me knowing nothing and him knowing everything.  But why would I follow his every step when for all I know, his next step could land me in a tiger’s den?  (Do tigers even live in dens?  I have no clue.)  I would follow in his footsteps simply because I believe that he knows what to do when I don’t, and if I do everything he says, I’ll have a great time and maybe even go home alive.

In case you haven’t noticed, daily life can be just as treacherous as (if not more treacherous than) taking a hike through an African rainforest (or jungle, what’s the difference?!).  Clearly, we can’t make it on our own because, guess what?  We don’t even know if we’ll take another breath, much less what to expect around the next bend in the road!  Yet, we would much rather stick our noses in the air, ignore God’s outstretched hand, and try to struggle through the swamps alone, all the while thinking that one day we’ll find our way to somewhere worthwhile.

Big mistake.

But back to my little story!

What if Mr. Guide and I are walking along, when suddenly I do fall into a tiger’s den?!  How much do you think I would trust him then?  Especially if he had promised to keep me safe before we set out on our journey.  If he ended up letting me get hurt anyway, I think I would quite readily put him on my “Do Not Trust This Person” list.  Wouldn’t you?

Yet, think about it.  By falling into that pit, I would have a better chance of knowing how to avoid one in the future.  (Provided that my leg didn’t turn into dinner first…)  So even though I would be pretty upset at my guide for not protecting me from falling into a den of tigers, I could also thank him for teaching me a lesson that would benefit me in the future.  (Hey, you never know what kind of calling God might have for you in an African rain-jungle!)

So.  Do you trust Him?  Do you think that maybe He sets us up to fall into tiger-less pits just so He can prove to us that He’ll catch us?  Do you think maybe the lessons we have to learn can only be learnt the hard way?  And do you think that perhaps the mistakes we make and the hurts we suffer only make us the wiser?

I wish I could avoid mistakes.  I desperately wish I could avoid hurts.  Maybe it’s possible!  I just need to learn how.

In the meantime, I am completely convinced that the God who spins the universe day after day after day can teach little me how to walk.  I’m confident that the Lord of heaven and earth Who is worshiped by His creation can bring to completion the plan He has laid for my life.  It’s all a matter of taking His hand, closing my eyes, and stepping…off the ledge…into the unknown…knowing He’ll catch me just in time.

...if I get it all down on paper.

There’s a song by Anna Nalick called Breathe (2 AM).  My favorite lyric from that song is this: “Two a.m. and I’m still awake writing this song // if I get it all down on paper it’s no longer inside of me // threatening the life it belongs to.”  That’s me when it comes to writing.  My thoughts have a tendency to get all balled up in a corner and I can’t tell which one is which, and I can never tell which angle I should begin unfolding first.

Thankfully, at the moment I feel pretty clear-headed.  But I have this unrecognizable passion and eagerness and excitement that is tugging at my heart, making me smile for no other reason and making me want to breathe of the sun-laden air forever and ever.

Well.  I need to go finish packing.  And put the finishing touches on some homework before we leave.  I can’t wait to see what God has in store for us in the next 4 days and beyond!