Goodbye, Butterflies in my Mailbox.

I've had this blog since the beginning of high school.
It's filled with A LOT of stories.
It's full of good times & bad times.
I wrote about people I loved & the things they did to bring me joy.
I wrote when I was happy & when I was bitter.
I was open, I was honest, and I got so much feed back through out the years.

If you start from the bottom (don't) you'll see my process, you'll see who I was before I really let  Jesus in, and who I am now.
Sometimes I reread somethings I wrote and I give myself props for documenting it.
And sometimes, I want to smack myself in the head & I think "WHY DID YOU WRITE ABOUT THAT?!" Then I remember I was 15 & it's excused.
Because let's be honest, there's a lot of things I probably shouldn't have said.


All in all, Butterflies in my Mailbox was good to me.

Thank's for keeping up.

Here are some of my favorite:
Unemployed & Okay
Forever winking
If you like it then you should have..
Goodbye Highschool
Victory
I'm not the girl you date
He heard my voice
Bittersweet
Sometimes we forget to count ourselves in


I feel like I'm packing up and moving far away.
But in reality, my adventures continue, and you have full access to them.
Just click  right here: messy hair & thirsty hearts

unemployed & okay.

I sighed and glanced at myself in the mirror one last time. Surely, this was enough.  After two and a half hours, a burnt hand, and 1 hair tutorial video later, surely, I looked okay. But, his words were left roaming around in my head,” more… presentable” he had said. I had sported the same knee length, black, pencil skirt, a white blouse tucked in, and nicely adjusted to my upper half. I had straightened out my natural curls and replaced them with wanded curls. A neat braid picked up my bangs and my hair was in a teased pony tail (thanks to said tutorial). Then, I remembered the rest of the waitresses had exotic eye shadows, bright lips, and their skirts were shorter and tighter. I grabbed the blush and ran through my cheeks again; re curled my eye lashes, added more mascara, and a lipstick that gave my lips a hint of red. I couldn't have done more even if I wanted to, because I don’t really own make up.  Time was running out and I didn't want to be late to my 2^nd day of work.  Everything was running smoothly for the first hours, I had worked as a hostess before, so I knew the gist of it.

Business was slow, I started wiping down the menus and humming along to a song that had been stuck in my head. My bosses voice interrupted my train of thought, “So,” he said, I looked up to find him leaning over the register. “Yes?” I responded and gave him a puzzled look.

“Do you not wear makeup?” He remarked as his head tilted and he studied my face.

“I am wearing makeup”

“I need you to be more presentable”

“I.. tried.”

“Part of the requirement here is to be presentable.”

“I don’t understand..”

“I want people to look at you and say ‘wow’”

Oh. It clicked in my head. He wasn't using the correct word. No, presentable isn't the word. I wanted him to say it. I wanted him to say what he really meant.

“What is presentable to you?” I responded.

“You are the face of the restaurant.” He replied, NOT answering the question. Just say it, I thought, you want me to look sexy.

“You want me to wear more make up?”

“Yes, I didn't even say anything about your skirt being to your knees.. I mean, that’s okay.”

Gosh, I felt disgusted.

“I think we have two very distinctive definitions of what presentable is. To me, presentable is being clean, looking nice, modest in fact.”

A part of me was angry and I would be lying if I said he didn't wound my self-esteem. The audacity of a man to look a 19 year old girl in the eye and through indirect comments utter the words “you’re not enough.” I had spent so long getting ready for this. I’m not allowed to be bitter about it; I didn't let my heart turn cold, my face showed no sign of resentment. I kindly asked him if he could find another hostess because after this shift I wouldn't be coming back, I couldn't suit his standards. I wasn't going to put on any more makeup, I couldn't.  Someone else can be his Barbie doll, because I know where my identity rest.

The objectifying view of women is real, it’s scary, and it’s not how God designed men to look at women. Yes, we are called to be submissive to men, but in a way that honors God, not in a way that feeds their lust. It saddens me beyond belief that he sincerely believes that a woman's beauty is defined by the paint on her face. As long as they keep them costumers emptying their wallets, it’s okay to alter her appearance for this world’s idea of pretty.  You can say it’s not a big deal, but in a culture that is begging women for their purity, it is a problem. In a culture that makes our brothers stumble to their faces purposely, a culture that doesn't guard our eyes, or, our hearts.

Ya'll! I'm just a college student who doesn't get any financial aid, trying to get by and not make my parents pay for everything. Imagine the girls that don't have the support of their parents. She'll have to compromise her modesty to put food on the table. 

My cousin Cassie always says, “Only dead fish follow the flow.”

I am alive and well. I refuse to let anyone else tell me the opposite of what Jesus already showed me at the cross. That is, that I am

 Forgiven beloved,

 Hidden in Christ,

 Made in the image of The Giver of Life,

Righteous & Holy,

Reborn & Remade,

Accepted & Worthy. 

Ladies, don't let anyone ever convince you into the lie that in order for men to desire you, you have to show them skin or the outline of your curves. Modesty is on the inside and it reflects on the outside. You have the ability, the will, the confidence, and the back up, to stand up for you. Just remember that. 

So here's to being jobless, yet so dearly loved & pursued by the One who matters. 

The atmosphere of new mercies.

I was pulling out of church when my cousin Cassie stopped me and asked me this crazy question that only crazy Christians ask each other.. "Hey, do you want to get up at 5 a.m. with Lily and I every morning for a week to pray?"

In scripture we see the effectiveness of seeking God in the morning before the sun rises. I was down for prayer, but 5 in the morning? That's...early, Cassie. 

But, in the book of Mark it says that Jesus got up very early in the morning, while it was still dark, went to a solitary place.. and prayed. 

I was going to do it, but I didn't know why I was doing it. I knew Jesus did it, I knew that scripture says that the Lord hears you in the morning ( not that he doesn't listen at other times). But why? I wasn't going to research it. I wasn't going to ask an elder. I wasn't going to read about it. I was going to find out by myself.

5 a.m. rolled around, my phone rang, Cassie's sleepy voice on the other end said, "Awake? Time to pray girls."  & so it began.

And I learned why.
 Because as soon as my knees hit the floor and my prayer began there was an insane peace in the air. I prayed with no distractions. I prayed with no other thought in my head,  I was too tired to think of Yesterday.. and Today had not begun. 

Do not misread what I am about to say, I am a sinner every second of the day, I am in desperate need of a Savior every moment of every day. I live in this flesh, I carry this flesh that fails me, that betrays me, rejects me, tempts me. It. is. dust.

However, at 5 in the morning, I haven't opened my mouth and talked bad about my neighbor, or talked back to my mom. At 5 in the morning my eyes haven't strayed away, I haven't desired what isn't mine. At 5 in the morning my ears haven't heard secular music that I'm guilty of bobbing my head to. At 5 in the morning I haven't envied yet, I haven't been angered, my thoughts haven't entertained a no-good idea. No, I'm not perfect at 5 in the morning, remember, I'm still in this flesh.

But Lamentation says that Gods compassion never fails us, His mercies are new every morning. 

Ya'll, it hit me. All at once. 

I was not praying in a normal atmosphere, I was praying in the atmosphere of new mercies. 

How beautiful is that? I was bringing my petitions to the father with a mind set that hadn't been filled with the filth of this world. I was praying at the moment in my day where I am the most innocent. Because yesterday doesn't count. 

I was blown away. So I wanted to pray for everyone, I prayed for friends, family, strangers, all the babies that I take care of at work, my bosses, my co-workers, the men over seas, the weak, the broken hearted, the weary, the unmotivated. 

You are so vulnerable before the sunrises, there's a reason for that. I encourage you to be completely insane, and go through out your day tired as can be, and wake up to pray. If you wake up at 5 anyway, then pray, or wake up at 3. But challenge yourself, challenge your friends, the way Cassie challenged Lily and I. In the words of Kyle Shinault, "Early mornings with Him are holy ground."

 In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice;

    in the morning I lay my requests before you
    and wait expectantly.

                                         -Psalm 5:3

Here's to the girls with messy hair and thirsty hearts.

I liked the rush of secrets and what went down after sunset, because that's when I would come alive. I fed off of excitement, speed, jumping in a pond when I was supposed to be tucked in bed. I loved the adrenaline of interlocking hands and running full speed. I'm a hopeless romantic, but how could I accept a pursuit when I was addicted to the game. And that was me at 15. I was hair down, shotgun, window crawling, and vanity was at it's finest. It was care free livin' but something about it was not the least bit fulfilling. It was like having an amazing day at the beach, but afterwards, you're tired from all that walking, and you want to crash in your bed. That was my life, it was fun, but the need to come back to bed always elbowed my hip. Somewhere in my head a voice whispered "rest," but my flesh screamed "young". And in the middle of my race, I wasn't looking forward, I was laughing and looking behind me, making sure I always made everything an adventure. That's when I ran head first into the chest of trouble. But that made me laugh harder, trouble? She was my allied, and led me to the unknown. I became a walking mystery, never revealing the full story of all my wandering. Leave me alone, I mean, I just wanted to be free. But with every lie another chained wrapped itself around my wrist. Soon I was held captive to a world that I loved and that I thought loved me. I was just thirsty for liberty, I was curious, I was reckless. I made a mess of my heart. And no one could fix it, I was broken. I was a slave of my own cravings, of my pride, of always wanting to be beautiful. None of that ever took away the constant reminder, the lie, that I wasn't loved.
If you haven't realized it, this is my testimony.
Jesus chose me. He found me in my fear and helplessness. And I said "But Jesus! I'm too drawn to mysterious things, I'm afraid of the light because I've been so involved with darkness."
Jesus said, "I am the biggest mystery you will ever face, discover me."
And then I loved the gospel.
Then I said "But Jesus my heart is too passionate, it can't be still, I need adventure."
Jesus said, "I'm your adrenaline, your favorite story, your wild, your instability, I'm going to use it."
And then I loved apostle Paul's letters.
Then I said "But Jesus, my mistakes, my past, my filth."
And Jesus said nothing, literally, Jesus didn't utter a word when he was being crucified. That nothing echoed from Calvary's Hill.
And then I loved grace. 
One of the most beautiful things that God has given you is your individuality. God doesn't have a problem with my personality, he doesn't have a problem with my hearts desires. In fact, God gave them to me, it's me who misused them. I have messy hair and a thirsty heart. And God wants it, he want my passion for people, he wants my thirst to see the world. He wants my tomorrow, he want's my laughter, he wants my frustration, he wants ME. He isn't here to ruin the fun, Eric Leathers once said if you think Jesus is boring, you don't know him.
 Jesus is my greatest adventure, I know Him, He is my friend, He is my rush, always interlocking hands with me, He is my living water that I jumped into, He is mine, and I am His.

You take this heart and breathe it back to life.

Yesterday marked a year since the most important person in our family went home.
I remember the weary days that led up to the moment of her depart, but mostly, I remember the moment I found out.
School had just ended and I called my mom because I locked my keys in my car (imagine that).
I knew something was wrong when Yaritza answered the phone, her voice cracked when she told me they were on their way to see grandma.
I knew something was wrong, but she didn't tell me, and I didn't ask.
Sara ended up coming to get Lily and I, and the rest of the kids were in the car. Sara hardly spoke, we were almost home when I turned to look at her. I was searching for answers, and she knew it.
She grabbed my hand, squeezed it, and nodded. I still didn't want to believe it.
We made it to the driveway, and she told all the kids to get out of the car, because she needed to talk to the older girls.
I still didn't believe it. Maybe she just got very sick.
"Grandma's gone."
I looked at Lily through the rearview mirror, my grandma loved us all very, very, much, with out a shadow of a doubt. But her weakness, her joy, the little girl she took everywhere, was the one that was starring back at me with eyes that stung. But Lily was a lot stronger than I was at that moment, shoot, a lot stronger than I'll ever be.
Hot tears filled her eyes, but I think Lily knew then what took me a while to grasp.
I was thinking of my pain, of the misery, Lily was thinking of Jesus.
I put my hands on my head, and cried harder, and louder, than I've ever cried. Lily didn't. Lily cried softly, almost beautifully.
The worst part was that when we got out of that car, we had to pretend that everything was fine, for the sake of our siblings.
That's the part I remember the most.
The next part that invades my mind, is closing the door behind Emily who had came to do what she had been doing for months, comforting me.
My mom was home, she came in, and all the kids ran to her.
"Mi mama murio," she said.. my mom has died.
Before I knew it, we were all in the kitchen crying, the kids were hugging my mom, and the rest of us were just watching and weeping.
The days of the viewing, service, and burial, are a blur to me.

It's been a process since then, a process of grieving, of laughing at all the things she used to say, biting our lips to stop the tears when something randomly reminds us of her. Days of strength, joy, acceptance, and days of sorrow, tears, and disbelief.
We loved her so. But all our days have something in common, they were all days of victory in the eyes of the Lord. Because we've known every single day since she died, that she sleeps in Christ, she's with Him. He who called her, received her with far more love than we could have ever given her.
At times I wish she could see us, and hear us, how united we are as a family! But she is in such a holy place.

"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!' -Matthew 25:23

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. -Philippians 1:21

My mind cannot conceive how much joy there must be with Jesus.
We'll see you soon Mama.

Until then,
 as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.
Just like you showed us. 

Once again, this one's for you.

 
 
 
 

Nineteen?!
This is insane, oh, happy day to you my friend!
 
Thank you for loving me, for taking care of me, for always having my back.
You know me so well, and you love me so well.
Thank you for knowing that I love words, and writing me letters, notes, blogs. For knowing that I need the affirmation.
And thank you for turning right around, and following up your words with service.
Your actions, the way you treat my siblings like your own, the way you're always willing to come over and clean.
Thanks for 30 minutes of prayers, where you forgot about your problems, you forgot about the world, and you prayed for me.
Thank you, for your ears, because you always listen.
Thank you, for your arms, that both embrace me, and are a helping hand to me.
Thank you, for your spirit, that's always alive, and ready to run into adventures with me.
Thank you, for your mouth, that has got me in trouble, that has encouraged me, and that has defended me.
Thank you, for your heart, it goes with out saying, it's incredibly good.

Happy Birthday EmBigs,
I love you x3235879843725983439580439.

I need your help.

Hi friends,

I have a request that is actually a huge step for me in my walk with Christ.
I'm asking you to pray for me, how is that a huge step? I've never asked anyone
outside of my very closest friends to pray for me. Perhaps, it's been a pride thing, I'm not
sure, but here I am.. open, desperate, vulnerable, and asking for your prayers.
If you're reading this now then you've probably read my blogs before, therefore, you probably
are very much aware that I suffer from anxiety and nightmares.
Ya'll I have never experienced something so beautiful and so horrid as what I have these past few weeks.
My walk with Christ is on fire in the most wonderful, amazing, breath taking, way possible. I'm fasting, I'm digging in the word, I'm praying. It's been such a leap in my faith, my relationship with Jesus has grown in ways I could never imagine. It's like there's non of me left, I am shedding layers off, and I don't know how else to say that I am not myself. It's hasn't only been me, but my family as well. Since my grandma went home to be with the Lord my family has started to chase Jesus so fervently. His power is made perfect in weakness and that is so evident in my life right now.

Then what is all this fuss about?
On the other side is an enemy that exist, though he has already been defeated, he still has a plan to steal, kill, and destroy. Sleeping is something I've always struggled with, and it's gotten a lot worse. He isn't attacking with family issues, friend issues, not with partying, not with sexual temptations. It's with me in my most physically vulnerable state of being. I wake up in the middle of the night with my heart beating so hard I can't hear myself think. I wake up but my body is weak, so droopy, and something tells me that God isn't real. I try to fight back but in my weariness I can't think of scripture, I can't think of anything. At the moment, I feel like I believe it, all the way to my bones it hits me when I hear "Jesus isn't real." And I cry, and when I wake up I'm frustrated with myself because I felt defeated, because I couldn't say, "Yes He is, go back to where you came from." At times, I'm frustrated with God and I ask, "what do you want from me? What can I do?"  I'm scared to sleep, I can't find peace, and I need your prayers. Because Jesus is real, Jesus lives, and I believe in the power of prayer, and the power of Jesus Christ that rests in you.