I need someone to care.

I find myself now in a perplexing place. It's not exactly what I ever thought, but it's something. That gives you absolutely no information.

I think lately I've been questioning my own identity. It's not as bad as if I was in middle school, but I still have been unsure for quite some time now. I easily pick up the passions of others, which I love, but sometimes I fear that pieces of me get lost along the way.

I guess now is the first time in a long time that I am trying to just keep this identity between me and my Saviour.

Whenever I look at the things that other people write, or the way they design their space, I see a part of them. I think that the reason I thought of this was because I looked at the layout of this blog. It's so simple, boring, but at the same time, it's so me. I like beautiful simple things. I like straight edges and geometric shapes. I love the color blue and the art of ballet. I admire the organic, but that's not me.

But I don't fit into your box.

On my dresser you can find two of my favorite things to look at: peacock feathers and daisies. Both I have adorned with blue.

I started loving daisies the first time I saw Harold and Maude. Harold says he feels most like a daisy, because when looking out over a field they all seem alike. Maude points out that error in this thinking, because each one is purely unique, and that those who are daisies should not let themselves be treated like just a part of a field, but choose to embrace their differences.

I think I'm a daisy.

I've never been showy like a sunflower, stretching to the sun to be seen. I like being a daisy.

I imagine myself dancing in Ansel Adam's snow covered forests, in a bright white dress. I love the raggedness of my friends, who embrace the dirt that I shy away from. I want to invite you into my world, which is one of order and magic, of glorious beauty and wonder. And in my world, I am a child and a mother, and a lover and a friend. I love my friends and they love me, and I am finally, finally free.

Once I am free, you will know it. I will be dancing eternally.

Lord of Lords.

Beholding your beauty is all that I long for
To worship You Jesus is my sole desire
For this very heart you have shaped for your pleasure
Purposed to lift your name higher

Here in surrender in pure adoration
I enter your courts with an offering of praise
I am Your servant come to bring you glory
As is fit for the work of your hands

Now unto the lamb who sits on the throne
Be glory and honor and praise
All of creation resounds with the song
Worship and praise him the Lord of Lords

The spirit now living and dwelling within me
Keep my eyes fixed ever on Jesus' face
Let not the things of this world ever sway me
I'll run 'till I finish the race

Singing unto the lamb who sits on the throne
Be glory and honor and praise
All of creation resounds with the song
Worship and praise the Lord
Now unto the lamb who sits on the throne
Be glory and honor and praise
All of eternity echoes the song
Worship and praise him the Lord of Lords

Holy Lord
You are Holy
Jesus Christ is the Lord

Now unto the lamb who sits on the throne
Be glory and honor and praise
Call all the saints to join in the song
Worship and praise him the Lord of Lords

Lord of Lords
Lord of Lords
Lord of Lords

[brooke fraser]

I have a Saviour who moves me. He moves me, even when I claim that I am standing still.

So today I wrote a song for you

Cause a day can get so long

And I know its hard to make it through

When you say there's something wrong

So I'm trying to put it right

Cause I want to love you with my heart

All this trying has made me tight

And I dont know even where to start

Maybe that's a start

For you know it's a simple game

That you play filling up your head with rain

And you know you are hiding from your pain

In the way, in the way you say your name

And I see you

Hiding your face in your hands

Flying so you won't land

You think no one understands

No one understands

So you hunch your shoulders and you shake your head

And your throat is aching but you swear

No one hurts you, nothing could be sad

Anyway you're not here enough to care

And you're so tired you dont sleep at night

As your heart is trying to mend

You keep it quiet but you think you might

Disappear before the end

And it's strange that you cannot find

Any strength to even try

To find a voice to speak your mind

When you do, all you wanna do is cry

Well maybe you should cry

And I see you hiding your face in your hands

Talking bout far-away lands

You think no one understands

Listen to my hands

And all of this life

Moves around you

For all that you claim

You're standing still

You are moving too

You are moving too

You are moving too

I will move you

"Debbie's father had an affair when she was young. He was not a violent man. There was nothing abusive about in. In fact, he was kind to her mother, as he was to Debbie and her sisters. They shared Sunday dinners, went to church together. Only, he chose another woman. 'I guess she wasn't enough to keep him,' Debbie said about her mother. Then she paused and said, 'I guess we weren't enough to keep him.' Affairs and divorces strike at a woman's worst fear---abandonment. They wound, not just the mothers, but the daughters as well... Her father did come for visits, to take her on outings. But she learned to hide her heart from him... Hide your vulnerability. Hide your heart. You aren't safe."

"And so, I made a vow. Somewhere in my young heart, without even knowing I was doing it or putting words to it, I vowed to protect myself by never causing pain, never requiring attention. My job in the family was to be invisible, to cause no waves. If I upset things at all, surely this ship would sink. So I began to hide. I hid my needs, my desires, my very heart. I hid my true self."

I've been listening to the Civil Wars a lot recently. I love the song 20 Years.

There's a note underneath the front door that I wrote twenty years ago

Yellow paper and a faded picture

And a secret in an envelope

There's no reasons

No excuses

There's no secondhand alibis

Just some black ink on some blue lines and a shadow you won't recognize

And if it means I'll be waiting for twenty years and twenty more

I'll be praying for redemption and your note underneath my door

And your note underneath my door

I always relate this song back to one person, the person in my life who I always seem to be waiting for. "I'll be praying for redemption..." Maybe it's not that difficult to do, to just wait, and expect more. Maybe one day, I will find a note underneath my door too.

I wrote another letter yesterday, and filled it with words and emotions that I thought were long gone. It was amazing to see how much a would say, given the chance to finally speak. For years now I have neglected and ignored those wounds, hoping that indeed time would heal all. Unfortunately, all time does is allow memory to fade, but not wounds. When I examined myself, I found gashes and tears that I couldn't recall obtaining. I think that I had also covered them over with clothing, modest but neat, and so no one bothered to take a closer look. To both myself and my companions, I was okay. Everything ugly was covered, and therefore I assumed it no longer existed. But those wounds were still there, and in my subconscious, I think I always knew. My movements became accustomed to preventing their contact with any other object, and I became like an animal who favors a wounded leg. Though I would never speak of them, those hurts dictated my movements, my life.

Perhaps now it the time for allowing my body to truly heal, not just be covered and neat. Oddly enough, it seems like it took someone coming into my life and showing me that I was still not well, and pulling back my sleeves to reveal my wounds.

So let's rip open those self-procured stitches. Give it a shot, and maybe in the end I will dance again.

Because, as it so evident in everything I think, dancing is my goal.

I think in being free of my wounds, my movements will no longer be so restricted -- and finally, finally, finally, I will dance.

I leave for class in less than 8 minutes, so I won't be late. Ready, set, go--

I have just realized how typical I am. I think most of the same things that everyone else thinks. And believe it or not, this sucks.

I think I dress different than most people though. Only that's not really intentionally, it's more that I always dress to accommodate for the opportunity that I may get to dance.

Yes, it is silly. But here, I'm going to let you in on a secret: I have always missed dance. I wish so badly that I never quit ballet, because I have never really wanted to do anything different than dance. Now, however, I'm quite not danceresque. C'est la vie.

I am going to try to have more original thoughts, because I appreciate those who do very much. I have been listening to the song "Hallelujah" for a little while... and I realized that I love the way they say "It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah" because I've never heard it described that way anywhere else. So I guess this is all to say that 1) I want to dance, and 2) I want to write WELL. Can I do either of these things? Probably not. And then I just resign to this life and what I am good at: academics, taking care of people, being insignificant. Haha, jk jk. I just thought I'd throw that in there since I couldn't think of anything else I'm particularly good at.

I can grow long hair. With plenty of split ends. And so it is.

T minus 1 minute. Time to go.