That silent voice that just spoke nothing, that is me. I’m listening to your plea with open ears - counting all your tears flowing from your irritated eyes searching the skies looking for that hope that beyond there lies.... When I am silent, I am listening. Not abandoning.
-Bradley Hathaway, Silence

Sometimes, I feel like I need to blasted by some huge and different experience or epiphany in order to write about my Jesus.

However, in the past few weeks, something has been scratching at the corners of my mind - trying to quietly gnaw its way out. I am not sure how to articulate it, and that's been really bothering me.

I don't need something dramatic to happen to me to remind me of my faith. Every once in a while, when I'm alone in my car, I'll talk to Jesus and tell him about my day. Every I remember to speak up, I always end up apologizing profusely and saying how much I miss him and I love him over and over again.

It might be time for me to stop apologizing and trying to convince him of my good intentions to speak with him more often. I need to grow up and embrace the fact that I don't have an excuse to stay away from him.

Most of the time I feel very unlovable. I know this is silly. I have incredible friends and an amazing family who love me very much - but, occasionally, my depression creeps back and turns me sour. I feel like they're wasting their time, loving someone like me. I feel like God's wasting his time - and the biggest waste of all was to die for someone as self-absorbed and needy as I am. Sometimes I wonder why he made me look like I do - most days I look in the mirror and vow that I'd give anything to look completely different. I am so arrogant that all I can think about is my ugliness. I am insignificant, and I do not matter.

Punchinello laughed.
"Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?"

Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly.
"Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."

Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this - much less his maker. He didn't know what to say.

-Max Lucado, You are Special

Apparently, I matter to God because I am his. He made me, and he loves me. You matter to God, too - because you're his and he loves you.

I don't know if anyone else needed to hear that, but I did. I knew I needed to write something to this effect, and I think I've done it.

He can took my wretchedness and made it his own - and he loves me.

What's bigger and more dramatic than that?

So sorry to all of my avid readers (I know I may have fudged a bit while using the word "avid", but it makes me feel more loved), I've been far too strange to write anything lately. Do you ever have several weeks at a time when you feel so uncharacteristically "un-you"? I haven't been acting like myself lately, but I don't think it's a bad thing. Normally, I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type gal with nothing but snatches of inner turmoil and memories to keep myself busy. I write a lot about my heart, or I take seemingly insignificant moments and create melodramatic pieces of literature that no one really cares about - with the exception of myself, of course. I normally write about my undying love for Jesus...or the fact that I like the turgidity of water on the top of an almost-too-full glass.

I graduated high school in a very pretty dress of blue and white. Last month, the poor strained zipper barely made it halfway up my back fat before it choked out in a fit of despair. This morning, I slid the zipper up with ease - and no strange puffy fat rolls protruded out of the arm holes, either. I am the proud loser of fifty pounds since Christmas.

Warning: If you know me well, what I am about to say might shock you. Make sure you are seated before you read the next remark.

(I'm not sure why you would be standing up while reading my blog, but it seemed like an appropriate thing to say)

I started counting calories and eating low-fat stuff.

This is exceedingly UNLIKE me. I loathe anything having to do with numbers. (or anything NOT having to do with unhealthy food, for that matter) Even though I can stumble my way through telling time on an analog watch, I prefer to ask someone the time to save myself the headache. When I was in third grade, we were instructed to go through and memorize multiplication facts. I quickly rattled off my 2s, 9s, 5s, 10s, and 11s (up to 9x11). I let the complicated ones be because I didn't feel like it was worth my time. I never learned them. I've done horribly in every math course that prohibits the use of a calculator.

But now, I count calories in food. How silly!

I also exercise.

"What?!"

I used to make fun of people that went to the gym. I thought they seemed a bit narcissistic to always be in front of those horrible mirrors, treading on treadmills that never went anywhere. This is how I got over my aversion to the gym:

Turn the stupid machine AWAY from the mirror!!!! That way, I don't have to watch the pounds I have yet to lose thrashing all over the place, looking like a soggy mess of a human being.

Here's another thing I've been doing. (This is a real shocker, too, but not as huge as the math-hating calorie-counter) I've gone tanning a few times...


....and....

...I really enjoy it.

"Fake-n-baking?! NO WAY!"

Yes, way. I find it relaxing and it makes my skin look nice.

Even though I have been indulging in strange behaviors, I am reminded that I am still irrevocably "me". I need people more than air. I have made such wonderful and beautiful friends. They are the new-found glue that holds my sanity in place. If I hadn't moved to Texas, I would never have become close with these incredible people.

I met Heather on the ship. When I first moved here, I lived in her house for a month. We have been getting closer recently, and I couldn't enjoy it more. The boys we hang out with refer to us as "the girls" and I kind of like it. With Heather, I can "geek out" and not have to worry if she'll still like me. I can be as much of a girl as I want around her without feeling like a ditz.

Aaron is an artist, and he is very intentional when working on a piece. For Aaron, the beginning and the end of the project are the two scariest parts. He doesn't want to start off with a mistake, and he always second-guesses himself at the end. "Should I do something else here? NO. I don't want to ruin it... But what if it needs another splash of pink?" Dear Aaron is nothing if not genuinely friendly. His heart is swollen with how much he loves his friends. Even though I let him in on scary ghosts from my past, he takes everything in stride and is nearly always available for a hug. He inspires me to write more intentionally (and more often).

Jared is called "Jigga". I have no idea why, but it fits him. Picture this: "The Dude" in the Big Lebowski had some outfits that looked nice, lost the drugs and booze - but kept the silly personality and a few quirky wardrobe choices. He takes fantastic photographs and lives with Aaron. Here's one of my favorite things about this new friend: Jigga has an authentic interest in other people - rare these days. When he asks me a question about my life, I feel like he actually wants to hear the answer.

These are only three examples of reasons why moving to Texas was a blessing instead of a curse.

Sometimes, God works very slowly. I didn't realize how much he'd done until I started writing tonight. I've stayed up far too late, but it's been worth it. God has given me friendships, a wonderful job, a great place to live, and the energy to be healthier and happier.

I am not content, I am happy. The word "content" makes God's blessings sound like a compromise. This is no compromise. I am so happy that God placed me here, and I couldn't be more thankful for what he's done in me during the past six months.

He's a brilliant being.

Dave is my feaux-father in Texas while I'm away from my real one. He's one of those people that happens to be a 17 year-old in a 44 year-old body. He plays little pranks and tricks all the time when he's supposed to be working. However, this past week he's been gone to New York to visit family.

He's back today!

When Dave is gone, things go along pretty smoothly without any hiccups - but things are also much more boring. This morning, I filled my water bottle at the Anchorage Cafe with Dave. When I took a sip, it tasted a lot like coffee... As I inspected my bottle closely, I realized that there were coffee beans in the bottom! I realized that, whenever I had my back turned, Dave plunked another bean into the bottom of my water bottle. What a jerk. I missed him. :)