Heard The Cry - heardthecry

Bedtime Stories - Curiousa, part 1.

It is May 6th, 9:32 p.m. There is a fireflie in my room. I don't know how he got in,but he is flying around all by his lonely self.

There was once a small person. Her name was Curiousa, and she grew up in a fairytale world, which consisted of only six persons. Her world was unlike any other. While it resembled ones around it, it was not quite exactly the same. Curiousa's favoritest thing in the world was climbing trees, tumbling down slides, splashing in the water, playing doctor, and daydreaming in general.

Now, There are so many things I can tell you about Curiousa. But I shall start with only a few, and slowly, over time, will tell you more.

First, she was the youngest of four children. They came in Pairs. Her older two sisters were four years apart, but best friends. Then, Curiousa,and her brother were two years apart, and not best friends,although often mistaken for twins. I can tell you for a fact, that the first 9 years of her life were filled with scraped knees, pulled hair, scratched arms, and small wars with her siblings. But she still had quite the ideal childhood. She loved spending time with her fellow mates in the cool abodes of her backyard. It was a lovely place to be, full of exciting things for youngsters to do. But I shall have to tell you about that another time.

Oh, and by the way, this story of Curiousa is one hundred percent true.

See ya!

Spring

Spring is when everything is new. New buds of bright green grass rise up, flowers unravel to show their faces to the sun. The new baby birds chirp to the world, letting them know they're here. And the earth is made new. But it took quite a bit of showers to get this place to be so beautiful.

The same thing is happening in our lives. Winter came, and there were storms, but they were only so that when the spring sun arose, we could open our eyes, show our faces to the world, and let them know that we are here, ready and new.

So let me update you just a tad. I have been in Albania for 8 months now. So MUCH has happened, it would take me nine months just to update you. But to summarize, we're having a baptism next month. Praise God for his unfailing mercy!

Megan and Moriah are back in the states. They left just this week. Moriah was accepted to FountainView Academy in British Columbia, Canada. Megan is working in Florida, raising money to go to ARISE, a small training college in Northern California.

Uncle David and Aunt Ellen will continue their work here in Albania. God is opening doors, and we know that he has a special plan for the project here.

And me? Well, in just 17 days I will be flying out to Egypt for a week to catch a glimpse of what work I will be doing there in the future. Then it's back home, and school for me.

Is that enough of a summary? I'm certain you're brimming with questions, but this will have to do for now. One day you'll know.

Fail.

I looked at her. Sometimes I hated her. Hated her for not knowing who she is. For not knowing how to act. For not being good enough. Her default was so strong, it often pulled her to the ground, making her feel like dust.

You might think I'm being to harsh on her. But I'm not. It's all true. She'll tell you so herself.

For example, she took the job on as being a teacher. She shouldn't have. She's no good at it. Frustration usually ends up to be the fruit of such a thing.

Then, she fails at relationships. She ends up saying things she doesn't mean to the ones she loves. I wouldn't wonder if she'll be old and alone the rest of her bleak life.

She tries to please to many people at once. That's an obvious fail. She needs to order her priorities and stick to them.

She never learns from mistakes. Always has to learn the hard way. Her mom often said she was hard-headed. No doubt.

Truth is, I'm downright angry with her right now. Problem? ... perhaps. Worst part is, I'm stuck with her.

No... I take it back, that's not the worst part. The worst part... you really want to know?

The worst part -

I'm her.

no inspiration, no energy, no motivation.

Boxes of books lie on the floor. A big red suitcase stands drunkenly empty on the side. The bed is covered with clothes. Work remains to be done. Time is slipping by. And most of all, I don't care.

My brain has shut almost down, I miss my newly acquired family, and I'm complaining. I never understood why complaining was ever a problem. It is just the means by which to put your thoughts out there without processing them first. Society demands that you keep complaining inside of you. But they never learn that it cripples. People keep thoughts of uncontentment inside, never deal with it. Then they erupt. What for? I say put it all out there, and you'll stay nice 'n' cool inside. But then, that's just me. And I'm not phenomenal enough of a person to not care what people say or think. So I go by what society says.

But this last month, a beautiful solution was given. It's called Penguin circles. And because I'm lazy, tired, have no inspiration, or energy to think/recall anything, you'll just have to believe and trust me that it's the PERFECT solution and that it works. So there you are world! I may not be phenomenal enough of a person, but someone else is and they gave me the key.

so go ahead and call it complaining. You're just not listening. Go ahead and say it's selfish. But that's YOUR problem, not mine. When you're ready to talk, not give a monologue, I'm here. When you need someone to listen, I'm here. I love you despite what you do. I know deep down you're gorgeous. All you need is someone to listen. So come and "complain" into my ear.

just please let me do it know and then in yours.

[note from the author: Because of the situation of recent events, thoughts of the mind have been allowed to flow unprocessed. This is a disclaimer. The brain is functioning under high stress levels. Understand with caution.]

A Hearts Cry

The heart has a cry. It rends at the soul, it tears at the mind. In it’s anguish, the sound is so mournful, it’s silent.

It’s silence is not contained only to the lips, but to the features. Indeed, manya times a hearts cry goes undetected. It is mourned alone, felt only by one.

“please. .understand me. HEAR me. Respond to me. Feel me. Hold me. Must I break?”

Let him that hath ears to hear, and wisdom to understand - be wise. Take heed. Respond before it’s too late.

Object of my heart's pain.

She wore a little tattered blue dress. Her hair was messy, and her face and hands were grubby. She stood quietly, looking around her. Catching sight of me, she smiled and dashed through the crowd and into my arms. Rattling something off in Tagalog, she patted my cheek. Taking her hand, we walked to a seat and sat to listen to the speaker. Throughout the meeting, she would cuddle into my arms. She was happy and content drinking from my water bottle, sitting on my lap. Even though we couldn’t speak each other’s language, the language of the heart had broken between us.

Days passed. We were inseparable. Then the day arrived. It was time to leave. Quietly, her brother explained to her that I was leaving. She looked bewildered. Once again, he explained to her that I was going home, to America, a country across the ocean. She searched my eyes, then burst into tears. Turning, she ran. I never saw her again.

Often I think of her. I wonder what is happening in her life. Is she growing up with the hope of a joyful future? Or will her lot be a hard one, a life full of disappointments.

Those are questions I have no answers for. But I want to be sure that someone else in the world will have that hope. What is that hope? Hope in Christ.

September 6th I will be flying out to Albania for the next 9 months. The people there say that they are the “People God forgot.” As a student missionary, I will be immersing myself in the culture, learning the language, teaching a 15-year-old, and tutoring a young 12-year-old Albanian boy.

This is my pain. To bring hope to the forgotten people is my solution.

Help me.

please.

My Love

Someday.... Someday I will meet a man. A man who is the one for me. And I will love him above and beyond. His courage, trust,and will power will envelope me. We will traipse the paths of trial together, walking through jungles, rivers - to save lives. The millions who silently cry out for help, the ones who maintain hope, and even those who have dried up the well of their hope. God will be our guide. Those who have passed the trail before us will be our inspiration. When he needs me, I will be there for him, to comfort him in my arms, to give him all he asks for. For my heart is within his. Tough times may come, but they will not weaken but give us strength for more. For God has handpicked him for me. And he has handpicked me for him. Thus I will lay aside the trifles that plague me, the puppy love that mocks me and will go forward in faith. My heart will be kept pure for my love. My one and only love.

June 3rd, Tuesday, year of two thousand and nine.

Euphoric Outburst

I stared at my mother. "What?" She paused. "News travels fast!" I despaired, knowing that she was not going to tell me straight out who, when, where, and all the other facts I needed to know. "pleasssee Mom!" Dad walked into the room "please what?" - "Mom said that I was accepted, and I want to know when she found out, and from whom - I didn't even know yet!"

Dad chuckled. "It's.." Mom burst in "..on the table in the dining room." Dashing into the kitchen, I surveyed the table and saw nothing. Dad walked in and looked too. "It's not here." "oh. ..oh yeah, it's in the other room." I ran around those dangerous curbs, past the couche and grabbed the printed out email on the table. "Dear Natasha..."

Jumping up and down, I grabbed my father's waist and squeezed. He gave me that weird "don't even start" look, but my ecstasy was too great to calm.

" I'm going to Albania, I'm going to Albania!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Mind Boggling and Weird

“Late last night, while we were all in bed, the old lady left the lantern in the shed, and when the cow kicked it over…”

Quietly the thought occurred in my head. Why don’t you write. “mk.” And pop! That old old song came into mind.

Now I’m sitting here wondering what to write about. I glance around my room, looking for some spark of inspiration to randomly pop up. Catching a glance of myself I examine my hair. Why is it that my hair looks nicest right before I have to go to bed and mess it up?

Random…

That was a random thought. Lately random thoughts have started to become more normal. Is that a symptom of ADD? Maybe. Can it be that when you’re having a conversation with someone on nature or some specific topic, and you suddenly get a question and ask “What’s your favorite color?” in the middle of it - a symptom?

One thing that has been mind boggling to me is my recent behavior. At times full of joy, expressed by excessive singing. The next moment full of energy, expressed by bounding on the trampoline. Next, excessive quietness, the long of a small comfy crook of a tree branch to read a book in. Then, thoughts come through about my best friend and her life situation. Animosity towards the person inflicting this rushes to mind, and I feel like rebelling against her, kidnapping my best friend, and saving her future. Daydreams flit in and out, showing pieces of my dreams and goals. I see myself caring for wounds overseas, perhaps saving some persons life, being a heroine. Then, I’ll see something that wets my tomboyish desires. Skateboarding. Snowboarding. Surfing. Free-style running. Ninja. My daydreams catch another tune . . .

Finding it hard to stick to a book, I look around for something else to do. My thoughts flit rapidly through my brain, making it impossible to sit and read quietly. Thoughts of what? I’m not even sure. They race ahead, not allowing me time to decipher. Too many goals maybe? Over committing somehow?

Even placing these thoughts on paper are at a random will. This writing has no specific purpose, and is not wanting to come to a productive conclusion. Why write then? It’s an unexplainable need.

Former conversations and ideas come to mind. Here’s a recent idea:

I’d LOVE to go to a thrift store, and buy some of their old rundown wedding gowns and formals. Invite a few girlfriends, go out to a nice valley, or some old building in the country, and run around in those gorgeous fading relics. Dream about how life was like for that dress. How many brides wore it? What was that day like. That meticulous choosing of a dress, kept for so long, finally ending up lonely among so many other treasured dresses in a old smelling store to be sold for less then they were worth. Can you imagine their conversations among one another? Rambling like withered girls, discussing where they came from . . .

Maybe I’ll dream of it tonight. Maybe I’ll dream about being a tomboy, able to do the things I can’t do now. Or I’ll dream about old withered wedding dresses talking among themselves, recalling their best days of gliding down the aisle, causing the Ooohs and Aaaahs of the younger girls there, dreaming of their wedding days. Or maybe I’ll dream about a bushman. I told a friend I would - about her and a bushman.

Or maybe, maybe, I won’t dream.

I wish I had sometime to tell me a bedtime story. That strong soothing voice, the comforting “Once upon a time. . .”

For now, remember the days of your youth - don’t ever forget. Grow up though, and when you do - give up the fear of being childish.

Leap out - be yourself. Then hold on tight, whether it’s a teddy bear, a fading wedding dress, or your life. Because it’ll be a wild ride.

My eyes grow weary . . .

‘night.

I'm Free-hee!!!

Today without knowing it, I was happier than I had been in a long time. Tumult had crashed into the lives of some of my friends. The reality of growing up struck my soul, making a gap for sadness, anger, and emotions to come pouring in. Outwardly I appeared fine. After all, the only impact was on my mind - inside my mind really. I struggled trying to rid myself from it, but to my despair found myself only sinking deeper. I tried to hide it by having a crush, only in turn to be crushed. Then pride rushed in - sometimes I think pride has been a lifesaver - and told me “you can’t let that bother you, you’re stronger than that.” Slowly I realized I was letting circumstances take over me and change the way I lived and reacted to things. As soon as it clicked into my reality, I was offended and bothered. Since when did I start to let people live my life for me and control me? I had a brain of my own! I could study for myself!

Determinedly I set my new years resolution - to be MYSELF. No one could change my personality. I was my own person - I couldn’t be my mom, sister, brother, or friend. I was born for a reason, not to be some clone.

Changes began to happen. I wasn’t as bothered by situations around me. I began thinking of ways to get around circumstances and even began to find more hope. And since when did I need to fall in love and depend on a guy? That would come in time, but for now I can take care of myself. That’s what God is for - helping me to be on my own - in turn, on Him.

Two of my biggest worries came back into my life momentarily. They were well, strong, and the same as ever.

Today, we did what we haven’t done in over a year. Running outside in the cooling afternoon we played capture the flag, and darted about with water balloons, dodging and throwing. The familiarity and fun sunk deep into my parched spirit. I was where I belonged. And although it may be another while yet - the sun is shining brightly and I can see my future a little bit clearer than yesterday.

Why? - because I’m free.

Free to fly to the sky beyond the clouds. I don’t need any guys to rest my head on yet. That’ll come in time. I tried to straighten that one out when I got home - and there was the opportunity, but the other end must not’ve liked it. That’s another story for another time though. Let’s just say that I’ve “got no strings to hold me down.” whether self inflicted or not.

It’s a new dawn! A new day! A new life. … and I’m feeling good.

Just part of life

Over and over again. I stare, my inner soul crying out in unison. Over and over again I listen, words piercing into me.

Over and over again, the lump rises in my throat.

Over and over …..

Again.

A dull light shines in my room. Raising my arm I push the curtains aside and peer through the dim light at my clock. The numbers glare back at me, indicating the remaining hours until I should wake up.

I grasp my pillow in an embrace. “cry…cry…cry…” The thought, the pressure bears down.

I tried to squeeze them out - then laughed at the patheticness of trying. Then actually began to cry as it pressed in on me. Laughing, crying, muffled into the understanding pillow.

But sometimes - that’s just part of life.

Thousands upon millions of people have dreams. Very few will ever achieve it. The ones I'm focusing on are those who don't have and most likely will never get the opportunity. . .