Behind the pink purse... Proverbs 19:1

Hello dear readers, and happy Mother's Day to all of the mommies out there! I'm not a mommy yet, except to my almost-ten year old fur ball of a Maltese.  She insists on being on my lap when I read, watch tv, or pour my heart out on this little blog.

Isn't she just the cutest little diva? Yeah, she thinks so too. 

I was cleaning up my computer (five years worth of stuff was mind boggling in itself) and I came across this poem I wrote a while back, and I hope you enjoy it.

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Hot, spicy, blinding light.  Breathe.  Just breathe.
Coughs, restlessness and whispers are all I hear, but the spotlight is all I see.

Opening my mouth, a microphone in my hand,
letting the words pour out, like grains of sand
in a bottle of glass, that is so old,
filled with a memory that is trying to be told
about trials and tributes that I have had to endure,
on my journey and in my journal, and sometimes I am not sure
why I am even standing here on this black stage.

Every time my feet touch it I feel like I’m in this cage

that I cannot escape, nor that I wouldn’t dare
to leave this stage I call home, because here, I don’t care
what people think about me, when the words come out
whether I’m whispering or if I choose to shout
the words like lightening, thunder rumbling in the ceiling
flowing like poetry, this is what I am feeling
poetry, my life, my song, what keeps me alive
so instead of being scared, I just take a breath and dive
right into the music, feeling each beat
making absolute sure, not one is still in their seat
so they can feel what, I am trying to sing
so they can have something more, that just a dictionary meaning
that’s my dream, so what are you waiting for
tell them your story, something they’ve never heard before.
"Microphone" by Kelsea from Paper Heart & Tiara

We all have a story to tell.  Some may be unspoken, some may be plastered across Page Six.  It all boils down to how we handle the mishaps, laughs, tears, joys, and lessons.  For me, it was poetry that helped me say the words I couldn't speak.

I wish I could tell him how much I really care, how much I really have become captivated by him.  I wish I could tell him that he is  my kryptonite, my weakness, the one thing that makes me go weak in the knees.  I wish I could tell him that I love the way he holds my hand or kisses my forehead, or even the way that he strokes my hair.  I wish I could tell him that my heart melts when he smiles or says my name.  I wish I could tell him all of these things, but for now, they are simply written on my paper heart.

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This is all of me, as everyone can see;
not one soul or mind has to believe,
but this is me stripped completely.
They chose not to care
while their face encompassed a blank, judgmental stare.
I chose to break the rules between hiding the truth and exploiting a dare.
Watch me shatter the typecast mirror made of glass,
I’m not the emblematic girl they fabricated of me in the past.
I just learned to grow up after letting my heart love away too fast.
At the top of my lungs, I screamed
with such a burning and desired extreme,
trying to fully explain the true meanings behind me.
I have never been this honest before,
and the past won’t define who I am anymore.
With my story, all is left is tell you more.

"Stripped" - by Kelsea from Paper Heart & Tiara 

Comfort: 2nd Peter 1:3

"His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him who called us by His own glory and goodness."

The past seven school days have been simply chAotic. I found out Wednesday where/when our clinic assignments were, that was a crazy mess, and I had my first emotional breakdown on Thursday. I haven't bo0-hood that much since my freshman year at OSU, and that's saying something.

I remember, it was the Sunday after my parents finished moved me into Wentz after the dramatic/what the crap/ugh/no thanks experience rushing, and I woke up with a stranger (Back up. She was my pot-luck roommate that was originally from Stillwater and she sounded like a great person over the phone, and that was the end of it.) in my dorm room. Okay, maybe not a stranger, but she was to me. She got up and ready for the day, and then left to do whatever she did. So here I am, stuck in a traditional dorm room with one window that my roommate has already claimed, no friends (just yet), and all I can think about is, "why in the world did I choose to come here??". I was halfway tempted to withdraw from OSU and go to OSU-OKC to live at home. Yeah, it was that bad. But through every crazy "Berlin Wall" experience (roommate and I would end up piling things up in a line to divide the 10 ft. by 14 1/2 ft. room), I finally found my place at OSU. I want to say that I chose to go through the "undeclared but still in the Journalism Broadcasting College" route because my friends were going that way. I'm not exactly sure why, but I learned a good lesson - friends can't decide your major for you.

Anyways...

Two weekends ago I got to puppy-sit my next door neighbors' 3-4 month old puppy, Oakley, overnight. She's a Jack Russell terrier and Schnauzer mix and is HYPER as all know it. She's also teething and does not know how to give kisses instead of chew on everything in site. This broke the "I want a puppy" curse.

On Thursday, I had my very first supervisor meeting with a lady that I have never met in my life. She's an hour and a half late, which I later silently gave her a reprieve, but it is still a pet peeve of mine. I understand that life happens and we all run behind some time in our lives. After she arrives, there are nine of us patiently waiting for individual meetings that need to be finished within thirty minutes. Once mine came up (I felt like I was at an audition for a play the way she yelled "next!"), I politely shook her hand and introduced myself. She proceeded to tell me how awful her week has been. Okay, I get it. She's human. Then, she looks at my client's folder, which I tried to look through thoroughly, and she announces that my folder whom I had nothing to do with, is the worst folder she's ever seen because information is missing, including the middle page of the most recent progress report which apparently had the semester goals on them. Not to mention, my client's parent has yet to answer or return my phone calls and therapy starts Thursday. Oh. Dear. Joy.

Needless to say, I'm trying to keep my composure and not burst into tears from the inadvertently placed frustration, and I end up bawling to my daddy over the phone. And after about twenty minutes of encouragement and comfort, I felt much better, and God led me to the above verse. I have learned that it is rather comforting to know that you can let go of your frustrations and give them up to God. You can tell Him how much your day sucked and He'll listen. You can babble on about how you don't know if you can do (insert task) and He'll comfort you. It's also comforting to know that He knows everything about everything and He'll take care of me no matter what. Especially when your next door neighbors have decided to see how much your adjoining wall can shake from the bass-boost on their stereos. Mark my words, they will either be seeing an audiologist due to going deaf, or they're going to just tough it out after becoming deaf. Stereo maker people should make sure that stereos can't go above a certain dB (sorry, sound level). Their poor little cochlea's organ of corti veli (the thing that's in your inner ear that looks like a snail and has little tiny hairs that sense sound) will be plum tuckered out and kick the bucket by the time they're 30.

Boys can come and go, material things can be lost and not found, and it may seem like that "B" you received in a class should have been an "A" considering all the work you put into the class, but God can handle it. Don't tell God how big your storm is, tell the storm how big God is.

Much Love.
klc