on choosing forgiveness.

(written on the second to last day of january)

you know, it scares me that it only takes seeing your name for the walls in my heart to start going up.
because i immediately remember the journal entry with a thirteen year old's hope scrawled into the words "maybe we can actually be friends now." and then the stabbing pain that came two days later when you literally ignored my existence.
you used me.

and just writing those three words brings a lump into my throat, it sounds so harsh, and i hate that. but it's true. you used me.

being used always hurts, but being used with a young heart so full of hope can almost break that heart. 

forgiveness. that word keeps being spoken to my heart. forgiveness. forgiveness. forgiveness. i have to choose it. it is so hard, but it is my only choice. this is what i have been called to do- forgive, love, be open and vulnerable, forgive, love, and forgive some more.  and i am choosing forgiveness no matter how big this lump in my throat is or how much my heart aches at the thought of risking the pain once again.

i choose forgiveness.
                          (because it first chose me.)

xoxo. -m

the ache of regret.

"the stupidest thing i ever did was move back when she was happy there.
 i would have never lost her if i would have just stayed."

we are all sitting around the kitchen table looking at old photographs that you had found in your old room. my heart broke when you said those words because i looked into your eyes and saw the regret built up like a brick wall. in that moment, i would have done anything to bring back the happy ending to the broken fairy tale.

you've screwed up a lot and you know that, but what i don't think you know is--
you are a fighter and you're still strong, even when the fight has been long and weary.
your laughter warms my heart because i can hear how deep it rumbles.
you still love fiercely, even with the long goodbyes and scheduled visits.

i don't think you know how much you are loved. it's a long chain of broken communicators and even i know how messy it can get when they don't know how to say the words. but, even when the words can't seem to take form and the silence is so loud, the love is still there, even if it's a bit rusty and buried in dust. and i think it's the reason you keep coming home, no matter how many times you get lost or broken.

and they may tell you that you're breaking their hearts again, but there is a reason their hearts can still be broken. and it's the reason they drive to pick you up at the bus station even when they don't think you made the right decision. you are loved.
and don't forget about the Love that is always flowing and always fresh. it's speaking loudly, over the brokenness and it's still saying the same thing it has said since the beginning of time-- "i love you, i love you, i loved so much that i died for you. come home... please come home."
you are loved beyond measure.

and i know you're trying, trying so hard to stop running, trying so hard to fix the mess, trying to be a father, trying to get back on the right track. but just remember, you don't have to try so hard, because there is still Love.
there is always Love.

xoxo. -m

incoherent rambling

*written last night*

it's 10:04 pm.  it's been a long day and i just have this urge to write. so unedited thoughts happening now.

today, a guy at church told me my combination of mustard yellow and dark purple was a "striking combination..." it was super sweet, although slightly weird because of who it came from. and somebody remembered my name from our brief meeting a month ago. i'm once again astounded how having someone simply say your name can be so heartwarming.

i'm turning seventeen in two weeks. holy crap. how even. i'm so not ready for this and yet i've never been more ready in my life.
i'm so freaking stoked for the adventures that 2015 has already promised. i'm going to meet thirty of the sweetest girls and women i've ever known. i'm going to fly to washington (after having it on the very top of my bucket list for years now) to meet these incredible women and i get to spend five days seeking the face of Jesus, cultivating deeper relationships, and learning about being an artist all in the same trip. i'm going to be headed to pensacola, florida for my high school graduation in the spring and i started all of my second/last semester classes. it's surreal that this is truly my last few months as a high-schooler. family reunions are being planned and i'm already dreaming of my driver's license and weekend camping trips this summer. along with hopefully going through a semester at ellerslie this fall.
there are so many possibilities and everything seems like a wide open slate, now i need to find the courage needed to boldly write adventures upon it. 

i've been reading do hard things by the harris brothers and it's been rocking my world. i strikes absolute fear into my heart to think that i've already been alive for seventeen years and yet i feel i don't have much to show for it. but, RIGHT NOW is the exactly the time i've always dreamed of living. except i've found that the freedom i thought "growing up" is, feels a little more like a mild sense of captivity and i never imagined it would be this hard to figure out why it's so easy to cry when your life is relatively great.
i never thought i'd be so caught in this gripping fear of being hurt and being vulnerable and yet such a longing for community while figuring out how hard it is to be the one cultivating that.

yet, i think my nine year old self would be proud to know that i wear pearls now and listen to one direction without shame (okay, i don't think my nine year old self even knew that one direction existed, but whatever). i think she'd be proud to know that i'm learning to manage my wild curls (still figuring that out, but learning to embrace the messy... and frizzy) and that i wear red nail polish and sometimes red lipstick. i know she'd be proud to know that Jesus has never been more real in my heart and that sometimes simply thinking about him makes my heart almost burst from pure joy. and i bet she's proud to know that after all the pain and drama, i've learned how to rise. 

it's 10:27pm and my toes are cold and my fingers tired.