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.

These Beautiful Scars

D9AB4DB1-19C3-49FD-8021-FF6E4FBB37EDI’ve got scars on my shins, fingers and knees.

These scars are simple. Scars from childhood memories.

Scars from surgeries all over my chest and back.

These scars show my courage, where strength never lacked.

I’ve got scars that are hidden, where no eye can see.

Scars under the skin, scars holding harder memories.

I’ve got scars in places you wouldn’t think they’d ever be.

I’ve got scars in places where scars should never be.

Scars in my stomach, where many pills have dissolved.

Scars on my heart, from when I risked it all.

I’ve got scars on my mind, from the voices inside.

I’ve got scars in my eyes, the things I’ve seen, but hide.

I’ve got scars from people who have come, and left me broken.

I’ve got scars, proof of who I was, and who I will never be wholly again.

I’ve got scars I wear with shame, I’ve got scars I wear with pride.

I’ve got scars all over me. All over my wrists, knuckles, and thighs.

I’ve got scars from wars that no one would ever believe I fought in.

I’ve got scars from wars that I fought, knowing I could never win.

These scars do not define who I am, nor who I will be.

But these scars have helped me learn to be a stronger me.

These scars are thick, wide, and promise to stay.

But these scars are beautiful in their own way.

These scars prove that being fragile does not mean being broken.

These scars prove this this story is unfinished, a book barely opened.

These scars tell the story of unique beauty and power of will.

These scars tell a story of a lost and found little girl.

These scars tell the story of a broken hero, and all her battles and pain.

These scars tell the story of the many stitches that put her back together again.

Behind The Clouds

706605B0-9F67-47F4-B5EF-67A2AF7A4D16Behind the clouds, there is a beautiful light. A peace.
Through the sand, behind the gray, there is a hope.
Even with the dust that cloaks the mountainsides, still the mountains stand. Tall. Bold. Ever growing as greenery, flowers, and creatures run their trails.
Though the gray clouds hide the mountains’ beauty, this beauty doesn’t change.

Behind the clouds, there is a promise that they will someday be no more.
The clouds will move along with the slight breeze that cools the tears on our cheeks.
The clouds will fall to earth and lay on the ground beneath our feet.
The clouds will fade and move along, until someday they are only a distant memory.

The clouds may hide the light above us, but that light is still there.
The lights will never go out, they are only dimmed with the challenges of a day.
Until the moon fades away, the stars grow dim, and the sun goes out.
We must remember that these clouds will pass from us.

We must remember that things continue to grow, even in rain and shadow.
We must remember that there is hope, no matter how dim and dismal things seem. We must remember that there is still a light above, it is only momentarily invisible.

Someday, these shadows, these clouds, this gray. It will pass from us.
And the light we were once accustomed to seeing, will burn brighter than ever before.
And in the light, we will dance and sing, for we can see color again.
In the light, we will laugh and watch in awe, for life is beautiful to us once more.

This beauty was never gone, only hidden from the eye.
But even now, even though the life that lays before us is dark and sullen,
Should you watch close enough, you will catch a glimpse, a flicker of this light.
flicker as trees sway, the mountains stand, and the clouds pass us by.

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.

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.”