Embracing Life.

Nineteen years. Nineteen years ago, This day changed everything. So many people had their lives flipped upside down. So many people had their lives taken from them. 

It was just supposed to be a normal day.

People went to work. Kids went to school.

Hugs were given. I love you’s were said. Laughter filled kitchens. Arguments from the night before were fixed. Some were late for the bus. It was someone’s turn to get donuts. Someone’s car wouldn’t start.

People watched the sunrise, not knowing that they would never see it set. 

Kids hugged parents before going into school, not knowing that it would be the last time. 

People said things that they never meant, and would have reconciled… if they had the time. The chance. 

Parents rushed out of the house that morning, maybe forgetting to say “I love you.”

The time it takes to flip your life upside down can be a matter of seconds. 

The 9/11 attack killed 2,996 people. Normal, quirky, happy, unhappy, frustrated, at peace. Everyday people. 

Lives ended prematurely. 

Wives became widows, husbands became widowers. Mothers lost their precious babies. A part of themselves. Fathers lost the ones they had sworn to always protect and love. Siblings lost brothers and sisters. Children came home to one parent that night, or were picked up by child protective services. Families were ripped apart. 

There was no one who was not directly affected. Some more than others, but everyone was feeling the effects. The loss. The mourning. This was an attack not only on America, but on life. On happiness. Religion didn’t matter. Ethnicity didn’t matter. Age didn’t matter. Sex didn’t matter. Who they loved didn’t matter.

2,996 lives. 

A murder of almost three thousand people. For nothing more than the nation they lived in. 

For weeks after September 11, 2001, people were shaken to the core. 

Today, we remember. We feel it. The tremors have not ended, nor will they ever end. Not only is 9/11 a day of remembrance, but it is a day to contemplate life and appreciate those who we love. 

In the midst of this pandemic, we are losing people. We are fighting an uphill battle. Losing thousands. Loved ones, of all ages.

And this virus doesn’t care who it affects.

Religion, ethnicity, age, sex, relationships. None of that is taken into consideration. 

People are people. Human. Equal. Alive. From the second our hearts first beat to the last breath we breathe. We are loved. We love. We matter. 

We all matter.

Life is unpredictable. Life is messy. Life is painful. Life is fragile. Life is a gift taken for granted. 

But life is beautiful. 

The cry of a newborn baby who fought its way into this world. The love of a mother and father, nurturing and helping their child grow. The patience of a boss, training a kid who has never had a job before. The cheers of a coach who pushes you, knowing you can do it. The laughter at midnight, over the little moments that don’t even make sense. 

It’s about the memories. It’s about falling in love. It’s about waking up to a kid’s excitement on Christmas Day. It’s about singing and dancing with your best friends. It’s about pinky promises. It’s about breakfast with family. It’s about hugs given, and kisses met. It’s about the relief following the anxiety of holding someone’s hand for the first time. It’s about taking a risk. It’s about taking a leap. It’s about faith. It’s about hope.

It’s about the adventures. 

It’s about living.

Life is meant to be embraced.

If there is anything that this life has taught me, it’s that nothing is promised. You never know who is going to wake up. Who is going to come back. Who you are hugging for the last time. Who is struggling and just needs to be loved.

Every day. Every night. No matter what we have talked about, argued about, laughed about, cried over, or if we have even talked that day, I refuse to go to sleep knowing that there is an “I love you” that needs to be said and I just didn’t take the time to do it. 

Today, don’t just remember. Honor their memory. Enjoy life. Smile. Laugh. Hug someone you love.

Don’t leave those I love you’s unsaid.

The King’s Lifeblood

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A lost girl walked among the brooding trees. Her eyes watched the ground beneath her bare feet with care. But a strange feeling surrounded her, and she lifted her eyes. There stood before her, a tall and twisted tree, covered in daggers of wood that, if touched, would pierce deep. She marveled at these aeonian thorns. They called her name alluringly, pleading for her attentions, and preying on her curiosities. But still yet, as nature would have, they pricked her delicate finger as she drew too close. As red trickled from the fair skin of her hand, she wondered. “What precious treasure could these daggers be protecting? What light could their shadows be hiding? What diamond could be found underneath the coal surface?”

A mystery never needed to be solved, a danger never destined to be faced. But it was the mystery that called to her, many before her, and many to come. It was a hidden beauty. A promise, an unknown. Without this mystery, the tree would lose is novelty, it’s hallow, and would become one with the forest floor. Lost would be the attention upon it, and the mysteries of the world would be unlocked and fade from existence.

 

As she continued her walk beneath the canopy, her eyes lifted towards the heavens and her hand raised above her head as if to cling to the komorebi light. The patterns of leaves, the varying shades, the breeze that made them sway in an effortless and predesigned dance. She knew the white clouds swam in the sea of blue behind the penumbra, out of reach and out of sight. But she took comfort and security in knowing that they would always remain.

As seasons past and as leaves fell, as snow lay and creatures slept, there would always be a Junoesque azure hanging above, and the simple white with the softness of a pillow would always drift in her midst. Even in the navy hue of night, with stars sprinkling the atmosphere and a sleepy moon smiling from the sky, there was a beauty that would never fade, and a security never to be lost. Even in the seemingly hopeless abyss, there remained a light. A hope.

Far above the canopy.

 

She proceeded to walk among the free roaming greenery, her fingers drifting over the waist high flowers, the weeds tangling around her ankles underneath her long skirts. Her bare feet sank in the soft tilled earth, toes digging through the soil, searching for the cool underground relief from the hot sun. As bugs crawled and buzzed, around her, she closed her eyes and listened the flourishment of the wood. She listened to the birds sing to her, and added lyrics to their song and lifted her sweet melody to join theirs, high above in the trees. As acorns and leaves fell around her, she was reminded that not all things last forever. But all things left something behind in the wake of their death. All things were significant. All things were alive. Even when not.

Even death could bring forth life.

The ground beneath her feet seemed to rise and fall with her breath, as if tied to her very lifeblood… or perhaps it was her, tied to the lifeblood of the wood.

In the heavens above her, a King walked among His trees, under His canopy, among His greenery. His crown of thorns lay on the ground by His feet, fallen from His brow.

This be the Creator of the mystery. The Creator of the blue azure, the navy hue, the sun and stars that brought forth life abundantly. The Creator of every bug, every acorn, every leaf, every tree.

This was the King.

The Creator of the very ground beneath her feet.

She was His heartbeat.

His breath.

His princess- no. His queen.

His reason to be.

The King’s Lifeblood.

He lived in her, and her, in He.

The Odds Do Not Define Me

10D55C40-46AA-4499-9A34-56C37D892E85If I said I have never wanted to quit, I’d be lying.

I’ve wanted to throw the book. Rip the pages. Delete every document. Erase every drawing. I’ve wanted to give up more times than I can count.

When I lay awake at night with all the thoughts and voices circling my brain until I feel dizzy and disoriented? I don’t want to think anymore.

When I stare at a page and can see the characters in front of me, characters of my own making, kids that are MINE, and I see them slowly fade? I sit and I cry and I don’t want to write the story anymore.

When I see my book not living up to my expectations, and it’s not reaching far enough, and I’m not where I want to be in this life? I get discouraged and I just want to quit altogether.

Sometimes I feel like it’s not worth it.

But then I meet little girls that were like me.

Little girls that aren’t interested in dolls and dress up. Little girls that are interested in adventures. Little girls that would rather paint a picture than their nails. Little girls that see a challenge and say “You think I can’t overcome it? Watch me.” instead of caving to the odds that are not in their favor.

Odds are a funny thing.

They go up, they go down, and they change every second of every day.

And despite all that changing, they have never been in my favor.

And that’s discouraging. It’s upsetting. To realize that my book may never make it, that I may never be recognized as a real author, and that I will probably never get to release all my stories, that’s… sickening. Disheartening.

And boy, does it ever make me want to quit.

But on those bad days, I think about one little girl specifically.

A little girl who HATES sitting down. Who HATES slowing down. And who REALLY HATES writing for school. One day she ran up to to me and grabs my hand and looks into my eyes and says “I want to be like you someday.” When those big eyes light up as she grins and tells me “I want to tell my stories. I’ve already started writing them. Wanna see?”

I think about when her mother walked over to me with tears in her eyes, hugged me tightly, and thanked me for being a role model and an inspiration for her young daughter. She thanked me for being a hero.

In my eyes, I am none of those things.

I’m not even a small percentage of the odds!

But then I remember.

Neither is she.

Her odds are even smaller than mine. She is seven years old. She tells stories, and writes little stories.

But there is a possibility she may never publish that story. She might never even FINISH that story.

The odds are not in her favor.

But she is not a matter of the odds.

I am not a matter of the odds.

Giving up has always been in the back of my mind. Just forgetting it, and moving on to something new that I can actually succeed in. Something that could help sustain me. Something that could help people.

But that is already what I do.

If my writing has changed the life of ONE person, it’s worth it.

If my writing has raised awareness for mental health and true American history, it’s worth it.

If my writing has inspired a child to shoot for the stars, it’s worth it.

If my writing has ever even crossed the path of a single person… It. Was. Worth. It.

I am already helping people.

My voice is a drop in an ocean. A small star in a galaxy of billions, all burning brighter than I.

But my voice is NOT insignificant.

It is NOT impossible to be heard and seen.

A small voice is NOT an excuse to go silent.

The odds for giving up are huge. The odds for making it are tiny. But I choose to defy the odds, and not be defined by them.

Giving up has never been an option.

I write, I stand, and I fight. I continue. My story is not over. My words will be shared. My voice will be heard. My small star will burn brightly for all the boys and girls, men and women, children and adults. My small star will burn to encourage those who, like me, never have had the odds in their favor.

Because we can make it.

We can defy the odds.

Sailing off on another adventure 😉

-Lorryn Holt

Stories From An Eye

976D3815-E9CB-4275-9C77-960C46FCF127My smile will give you examples of love, and parables of adventure.
But My eyes shall tell you the stories My lips never dared utter.

The crown of thorns once upon My brow told of a kingdom low, vile, and broken.
But the crown My Father gives speaks of a  blessed kingdom with streets golden.

My body bares the marks of humanity, in a manger among animals I began My life.
Yet My eyes mourn not for Myself, but for the souls lost to the war of sin and strife.

My blood flowed red, and the sins of men filled My lungs and becomes My breath.
I died as a gift of mercy of all that are and all to be, even those who give Me death.

The scars upon My hands will tell you how I lived, died, struggled.
But My eyes share the eternal love and bring light to the dark internal rubble.

The strength of a body is a strength you can only see.
But your eyes show the true you, the one I see hiding far beneath.

With every struggle, every battle, there is a strength I gain and give in love.
It is a strength in heart, it is a strength given from our Father in heaven above.

I am called by many names. The Son of God, and The Son of Man.
But when my eyes tell you stories, you will understand who I Am.

Living Messily.

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Life isn’t easy. Anyone who tells you otherwise, is lying. Life is hard. Life is complicated. Life is messy.

From the time I was a little kid, I’ve walked into my house with bruises, with skinned knees and elbows, tear stains on my cheeks, and more than once, I’m covered from head to toe in mud. Or snow, or grass, or I have sticks in my hair. (It varies but it’s always something.)

My mom looks at me, sighs and puts down whatever she’s doing, and asks “Okay. What happened this time?”

And when I think about this, I laugh. I can’t help it!

Despite being messy, despite leaving me bruised, scratched up, and tear stained, life is beautiful. Its memories. It’s a learning process. It’s growing.

I get frustrated when I can’t fix things. I get frustrated something is out of my control. I get frustrated when I can’t do something right. I get frustrated when I see something in my head but my fingers just WON’T cooperate to write it down or draw it.

Let’s face it, life is really frustrating!

I’m not a clean freak, I’m not obsessive about things being in of order, but when life gets out of order, yeah that freaks me out. When things are out of line, DUH I try to put it back. But life is stubborn, and sometimes it doesn’t wanna go back.

And THAT ladies and gentlemen, is when life turns chaotic.

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.

Control is a myth.

As much as we try, life will go it’s own way, we can’t change anything, we can’t put things back in order, and we can never have control over anything-

Or. . . is THAT the myth?

It’s true that life goes it’s own way, and we can never plan anything perfectly. Well, we can try, but that doesn’t mean it’ll go that way. Because that’s not how we were designed. We have free will, and as humans, we can never create anything perfectly, even plans. We aren’t God, and we can’t even try to fill those shoes.

Life changes, it stretches us, it pushes us down, and it gets really frustrating because we can’t control it. But. We do have control over one thing, and one thing alone.

Our responses.

Life is frustrating, and it doesn’t matter what we do, it always will be. But it makes things worse when you try to force it back into order. We can’t live perfect lives. We can’t even live easy lives. And it can be maddening. . . If you begin to obsess about it. And sometimes it’s just the overthinking factor.

Are my grades good enough? Did I do this right? Am I a good mom? Am I around enough? Am I making my family proud? Am I making God proud?

These thoughts can hurt us, because they become our lives. We are constantly worried about doing enough, and it becomes dead weight. A burden on our shoulders, dragging us down, and we can’t shake it off. So now, not only is life messy, but we are trying to take things on alone. And alone, we can’t pull ourselves out of the mud we are sinking in because the burden is too heavy.

Don’t try to take it on alone. Don’t let that burden tie you down. And it’s not just a matter of acceptance that, “okay, I’m stuck. Okay, I can’t be perfect. Okay, I need help.” 

We don’t just have to accept the chaos in our lives. We can’t pray for it to just go away. We can’t just pray ourselves out of the mud. We can’t pray that life gets easier. Because that’s not the design. That’s not the Plan.

That is setting yourself up for more pain, when the answer to your prayer was “I have more planned for you than you would ever face in an easy life.”

So instead, we embrace it.

We pray for love, we pray for peace, we pray for help.

We have to live it. 

It’s okay to live messily. It’s okay to go have mud fights, or go 4 wheeling, or play barefoot with your dogs. So laugh as ice cream drips down your shirt. Jump fully dressed into a pond with your best friend. Splash in creeks and wiggle your toes in sand. Dive for that volleyball.

It’s okay to cry when your heart breaks. It’s okay to cry out to God when you feel helpless and stuck. It’s okay to snort when you laugh. It’s okay to make stupid faces to make a baby giggle, and let that baby’s giggle carry you through your hard days. It’s okay to enjoy life. Life is not always kind, and sometimes it’s messy. But embrace it.

Because at the end of the day, all that dirt, the pain, the life struggles. . . It all washes off. It might leave marks. It might leave scars that fade, and it might leave scars that don’t. But it is proof of growth. It is proof of living to the maximum capacity.

It is memories. It is the life lessons, little adventures and big ones, and friends that become family. And theseThey stay forever.

Off on a messy adventure,

Lorryn Holt

A Beautiful Darkness

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Peaceful silence.

Not even a insect to be heard,

As the light fades to darkness

And the stars begin to stir.

 

Wake up, white moon,

It’s your time to shine.

Come light my hidden path

To our holy Love Divine.

 

Everyone loves the light and sun.

But if you saw things the way I do,

Then maybe you could understand why

Gravity draws me to the darker one.

 

The Stars begin their dance

As the moon yawns sleepily and smiles in the sky.

But me, I simply begin my applause,

Lying on the damp earth, wonder filling my gray eyes.

 

So peaceful and happy,

The dark abyss I will no longer fear.

Because in the darkest times,

I draw close to my Father dear.

 

Holy peace fills my heart happily,

Much like the stars up above.

From tips of my fingers to the end of my nose,

All I feel is an overwhelming Love.

 

The night isn’t loneliness,

The stars’ light shines just as bright.

People just see things differently,

And some eyes aren’t as fond of certain sights.

 

But the night I welcome,

Just like a dear old friend.

The moon and I smile and tell jokes,

As constellations paint the blue glass from end to end.

 

The mountains’ silhouette,

Even that darkness I admire.

The trees around me darken

But the light inside me burns as fire.

 

A overwhelming joy so strange,

A feeling I’m not very used to.

But in the beauty of this night,

I feel so loved, even in dark solemn hue.

 

My numb fingers sunk into the earth,

My hair threaded with grass,

My clothes dampened from the dew,

I wish this night, forever, would last.

 

But so rises the sun,

As comes the light of dawn.

Shades of yellow, pink, and blue spread fast,

And the birds begin their song.

 

I brush off my clothes

And shake away the grass,

Whispering “pure moon, my dear friend,

This night together will not be our last.”

Plans are made to be changed

IMG_3877Plans are only made to be changed.

I had some huge plans for last year, and this year. I think God just looked at me, read my plans, laughed, and said “Hey, watch this!”

One of the things I struggle most with in my life, in many different ways, is change. A lot of people struggle with change. But for the last few months… I didn’t really know how to respond.

Last year, my entire life was flipped upside down. In two months, both of my older brothers got married and left home. I am the only kid still at home.

I had spinal surgery, and even though I am now fully recovered and doing awesome, I am still learning my new limits.

School is, well, school! I am enjoying some of my subjects, but there is so much to learn and things begin to pile up. Assignments to be written every week, books to constantly be reading, experiments to be performed… studying has become the majority of my day.

My mom and I babysit, so I have an almost one year old walking around my house four days a week, talking and giggling, knocking on my door, yelling for me, and knocking spoons full of peas across the room.

I just turned sixteen a few weeks back, and I’m now driving, turning in several applications to begin a part time job, and sleeping when I get five minutes to crash.

The prayer journaling I’ve talked about previously is continuing, but now more in the form of drawings – one of my favorite ways to express myself.

Blogging has unfortunately been placed on the back burner, but I’m anxious to return to it.

All the things I’ve listed seem like they would be tough, but lately I’ve realized it’s not the changes that’s the problem. It’s me not knowing how to deal with it.

I have been writing and continuing my music, but the things I’m writing and playing are not things I’m used to expressing or experiencing.

Poems about the late night darkness… a story of a girl whose dream decides whether she will be written as the hero or villain of her very own story… a mystery of a clock that times everyone’s lifespan, and a game that decides when the clock shall chime… dialogue prompts and one-shots of a sassy preteen with an annoyed angel and cheeky devil on her shoulder… the list goes on and on.

I’ve began playing new songs, and writing themes for some of my characters. It’s inspiring. Creativity flows, even when it is unplanned – picking up my guitar, fiddle, or even sitting down to play on the piano at random times in the day can lift my spirits and boost ideas.

Things are different.

That’s really all I can say.

Do I like it? Uhhh… yes and no.

I like the comfort of knowing that there are some things will always be the same. And I love the idea of adventure… but there are some adventures I would prefer to only write about. Yet, it seems God has designed me to live them. I wasn’t sure how to adapt. Then I started looking at the things surrounding me as my own story being written.

One brother marrying after waiting five years, loving this girl more than anything… that’s romantic to say the least. The other brother eloping with a bridesmaid two months after… and comedic drama ensues.

Playing guitar in a wheelchair for patients’ families, learning how to walk all over again, and shooting pool in a hospital waiting room the day after getting titanium in my spine doesn’t exactly sound like the most adventurous tale, I’ll give you that.

But when you think of two parents chasing after their fifteen year old daughter who is speed walking around a hospital floor on a mission to get her own tea at eleven thirty at night (in Harry Potter pajamas and teddy bear slippers, nonetheless), all of the sudden the story becomes a comedy.

The changes we encounter in our life can be crazy, they can be sad, and sometimes they can be scary.

I’ve missed writing so much, and I’m really sad that it has taken me almost three months before I began really writing on my stories again. But I didn’t think I was ready. I didn’t think I could create anything good because life was so crazy. How could I have time to think about anything worth writing, much less reading? I could never get myself to do it. I was cranking out drawings and paintings like crazy, trying to express all my pent up emotions, but I was slowly going insane without writing the many stories building in my brain. I was waiting for a slow time, a peaceful time, to sit down and just write.

I never should have waited.

It’s not always peace that brings out creativity. Sometimes, we need a little crazy adventure in our lives to shake things up, inspire us in new ways, and bring out new things that we are to write about. I was waiting for peace, but God was throwing me idea after idea, challenge after challenge, saying “I know you can do it, just open your eyes and mind, and see that the adventure is right in front of you!”

And when I finally started living my own adventures, my characters’ adventures took off too. And I can’t wait to share some of them with you!

I can’t promise a blogging schedule, but I can promise it won’t be another three months before you hear from me again! After all, these adventures involve you too.

Off on an adventure,

                             Lorryn Holt

Praying for Courage

4ra3iurycuHow can something so terrifying, so gut-wrenching, so sickening… be turned into such a beautiful blessing?

My last blog, which was a huge testament of my faith, was absolutely terrifying to share. I’ve always found it kind of hard to stand confidently in sharing my faith, because I’m just not very confident of a person (despite being a very outgoing person). But for some reason, on Monday, July 29th, 2019, God gave me just enough courage to post share my faith with not only my followers but with the world. It felt amazing. Freeing. And then terrifying.

After I posted A Tired Girl’s Prayer, that courage kinda evaporated and I called some of my best friends (and my youth pastor, God bless him for being so patient and understanding) and I was freaking out saying “Oh my gosh! What did I just do?!”

I had no idea what possessed me to share it. But like I said in the previous post, God works in amazing ways. Sometimes we just have to take a leap of faith, hand it over to Him, and stand boldly and bravely in who we are and who we belong to. Not saying I’m brave, because I’m clearly a scaredy-cat, but now I can trust that God is my security and my strength even when I’m terrified. And when I give myself up to Him, and He fills me… well, I can stand brave. I can inspire others. And I can praise Him the way I was made to. On the bad days, the hard days, and the good days.

When you pray for patience, God will give you opportunities to be patient.

When you pray for strength, God will give you opportunities to be strong.

My prayer was for courage.

And here we are.

Thursday was a really good day. Waking up early didn’t feel so good, but it was a good day. My dad was off work, my mom was in a pretty good mood, fiddle lessons went incredible (for those of you who don’t know, I’m also a musician…) and it was just an overall good day. 

 

Thursday morning, I start to text with my friend, and we talked about what had happened the night before. We go to the same youth group, and had been there the previous night. The best part was, we had decided to start using our music (he also is a musician) and voices for worshipping together at youth. So we got to our youth pastors’ house early on Wednesday night, pulled out our guitars, and started singing and playing music to prepare for worship before the devotional.

We talked, we laughed, we sang, and had a great time. And right then, I just started praying internally and thanking God for all He’s given me. After we finished worship, I began writing the next prayer. The last prayer was a pleading for peace and hope. But this one… this was a prayer of praise. A prayer of thankfulness, of grace, and of blessing.

The biggest blessing on Wednesday and Thursday was that my tired prayer that hurt so much to post that came out of absolutely nowhere, had reached a hundred people across the world, was being shared repeatedly, and was inspiring and bringing people closer to God. And that number has almost doubled since then.

That was my blessing.

God took my fear and turned it into something beautiful that could touch others all around me and all around the world. He used my voice, as small as it may be. He gave me courage.

I always tell people to “take courage”. If you have a book signed by me, I promise you’ll see that inscribed inside in some messy teenage girl handwriting. Taking courage isn’t easy. In fact, it’s almost impossible.

But nothing is impossible with God. And when He gives you courage, whether it is to walk through a bad day or even a good one, or to make that bold step, or just the courage to tackle whatever is being thrown in front of you… it’s a gift. Accept that gift. And use it as an opportunity to praise, to worship, and to use it for his glory.

***

August 1, 2019

Psalms 119:114

“You are my hiding place and my shield; I hope in Your word.”

God, with every waking moment, I praise you. You are beautiful, glorious, the name above all names. You show me your glory in the small moments, those little “I love you”s throughout my day, and also in the things that are life changing and it’s overwhelming. You are the peace in the chaos, my shield in the battle, the light that guides my way through the darkness. When I’m scared, hopeless, alone, unloved, and insecure… You stand as my courage. My hope. Because of You, I know I’m never alone. I am never unloved or unlovable, because despite my broken parts, my scars, and my mistakes, You still love me and You will never stop loving me. You are my security. You stand at my side always. Whom shall I fear?

Lord, give me the strength, wisdom, and courage to continue showing Your glory. Help me lead others closer to you with my voice; whether I use my voice to sing, to speak, or even to write, help me use it for Your glory and not my own. Give me wisdom to follow what you ask and command of me, the strength to break the mold society has made for me, and the courage to stand boldly in Your name and show others the real me. The one who has been made new in Your love. Thank you, God. For Your love, Your healing power, and Your grace. For who You are.

-LH

***

Take courage.

-Lorryn Holt

A Tired Girl’s Prayer

1564435530573_image1Have you ever wanted to have a conversation with your character? Slip into your fantasy? Some actually can. I can. And before you leave and start thinking “Okay, this girl is NUTS!” (which I kinda am, but that’s just me), let me explain. No, I don’t see people in my rooms or talk to the shadows on my wall. But I do have an imagination. A very powerful one. And once I sink into it… yeah, all sense of reality is gone. So I get to live in a fantasy. Even for a few minutes. I’ve talked to many of my characters in the very dreams from which they were borne. I’ve sunk into daydreams where I can see and talk to them. I’ve fallen asleep where I am transported into another world with them and we go on crazy adventures. But sometimes… all I want with them is a conversation. Because to me, it’s like a bonding experience with a person who was made by my very own creative design to be absolutely, incredibly, and perfectly imperfect.

Sound familiar at all?… no? Okay, then let’s take a rabbit trail and let’s see if we can understand this from a different point of view.

A lot of people journal or have a diary. Almost all of us have had a journal or a diary at some point in time. I’ve tried many times to start one, but it always kinda fizzled out. I never could figure out what was so special about them or how to keep up with one. A busy lifestyle doesn’t really count in time to sit down and write about your day in a diary.

But recently I’ve discovered something new. Prayer journaling. It has helped me in ways that I never even thought possible. It’s been my way through some of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face.

Most people think that prayer journaling is where you keep a log of your prayers. You set a specific time to pray, then write about what you prayed for, who you prayed for, etc. But I’ve discovered a new meaning to the words “prayer journaling”.

For a girl who is so crazily outgoing and (usually) bold and creative, I find it very hard to pray. Why? Well, to be honest, I’m not really sure. This is not a new occurrence. It’s just always been difficult for me to pray. It’s almost awkward. Maybe it’s because I find myself praying for the same things (even praying the exact same prayer) and it becomes repetitive and boring. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel worthy to speak to my Maker, who also happens to have created every single living thing in the universe AND the universe itself.

But then I started realizing that the reason I struggled was; yes, I was insecure; but I was also giving a monologue. I wasn’t open to the idea of having an actual conversation with God because I didn’t think that that kind of connection existed. Until I recently started using writing as a way to talk to God. I’ve started writing my prayers. Instead of saying them aloud, I pick up my sketchbook or notebook and just start writing. Sometimes I don’t know what to write and so I sit and I listen. I listen to the things around me, even if it’s silence. I look around. It only takes a minute or two. And then things start to click. My pencil starts writing, almost by itself.

Yesterday, I had a really tough morning. I felt really stuck, hurt, and lost. I was at church, but felt so disconnected from my family, friends, and God. I just sat in my church’s bathroom in tears because I didn’t know what to do. My mom and friend came and held me for a few minutes, and while that was a big help, I still felt lost. I felt nothing and everything all at once. I needed some time with God.

So I stepped outside of my church, and went walking in the field. Praying. Talking to God. I poured out everything. I pleaded, cried, sang, and even yelled. I felt weak and vulnerable. But I knew that I wouldn’t find strength in yelling in frustration and anger, or in hiding what I was feeling from God. So I stopped. I prayed for wisdom, strength, guidance, patience, and peace. Then when I stopped crying, and let myself be enveloped by God’s love and let myself be held by Him, I went back inside. But God wasn’t done speaking. As soon as I sat down in my chair, I pulled out my sketchbook with intentions of taking notes of the sermon. God had other plans. I wrote down my prayers and poured out everything. My pencil was moving with no effort from me. Some of the things I wrote, I had no idea why I wrote it. But I knew that God was having me write exactly what He wanted me to hear.

After I finished, my parents asked to see my notebook. My dad was sitting beside me in church and could see pieces of what I was writing, but wanted to read it. So I handed my book over. I felt so vulnerable, but by sharing my prayer, I received even more love and support.

My mom greatly encouraged me to share my prayer from yesterday with the rest of you, and some of the other prayers I’ve been writing.

And I’ve been debating and really struggling with the idea of sharing this. I was torn. Torn between wanting to share what’s been happening and drastically changing in my life, and being scared of being vulnerable and losing the writing family I want to build. But now I think it’s time to share my prayer, because I don’t think it was only meant for me.

*****

 

July 28, 2019

Give me faith like Daniel in the lion’s den.
Give me hope like Moses in the wilderness.
Give me a heart like David, Lord be my defense
So I can face my giants with confidence. {Confidence by Sanctus Real}

I’m here to praise. My job on this earth is not to write, or to nurse people back to health, or to draw visually pleasing pictures. My job is to praise. To sing loudly and worship. To show others Your glory through my writing. To show Your healing power through nursing. To paint a picture as close as I can to the things You show me of Your glory and beauty. God, give me the strength to stand against these attacks from the devil. The patience to learn. The hope for another day. The faith of a child who knows as will be taken care of and loved.

Show me Your glory, that I may learn to walk in Your footsteps and show You to others around the world and introduce You as my Holy Father who is offering love, joy, and peace. Anxiety and stress and pain are tiring. God, I’m so tired. But You give us rest and love and healing. Thank you, God. Not just for what You do, but for who You are.
~LH

 

*****
As humans, we are perfectly imperfect. Prayer is not meant to be a monologue. It’s meant to be a dialogue. A conversation between you and God. For God, it’s a bonding experience with a person who was made by His very own creative design to be absolutely, wonderfully, perfectly imperfect. He wants to spend time with you and speak to you. God speaks in many incredible ways. All you have to do is open the conversation.

-Lorryn Holt