definitions

You are not a mark on the measuring tape encircling your waist,
Nor the size of your jeans that you are ashamed to reveal.
The flashing digits on the metallic platform beneath your bare feet
Do not define you.

You are not the tag in your shirt or the name that is printed on it,
Nor the sum of the bills that you used to purchase it.
The garments hanging neatly behind your closet door
Do not define you.

You are not the visible pores dotting your face,
Nor the tone of your skin that you are not comfortable in.
The reflections in the clouded mirror on your bathroom wall
Do not define you.

You are the songs you play over and over again
And the album you always go back to when your world is crumbling.
The lyrics written on your heart and the notes floating in your head
Are what define you.

You are the people you have listened to at 2 a.m.
And the fingerprints impressed upon the souls you have touched.
The hugs you give when you cannot find the words they need to hear
Are what define you.

You are the laughter that fills you up completely,
And the shining eyes flickering with dreams on the verge of unfolding.
The beautiful, miniscule details handpicked by your Creator
Are what define you.

my take on the wallflower movie

i've always kind of been a wallflower in real life.  i take in the details other people don't seem to notice or care about.  so obviously when a movie about being a wallflower came out, i wanted to see it.  everyone had given it rave reviews, so i was excited to find out what all the hype was about.

well me and my best friend watched it this morning and i was completely and utterly:
1) shamed
2) convicted
3) horrified

my Christian teenage friends, who claim to be followers of Jesus Christ, liked that?  not only was it the farthest thing from Christ-like, it was depressing, and though realistic, very horrible reality.

there's a verse in the Bible -- maybe i take it more seriously than most but for crying out loud that was disgusting -- that goes like this:

and now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing.  fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable.  think about these things that are excellent and worthy of praise.  [philippians 4:8]

i'm sorry if you like it, but then again, i'm not.  i'm not sorry because Jesus died for me and i'm ashamed that i hurt Him by watching something as appalling as the perks of being a wallflower.

words

I know that I said I was done with blogging and that I needed to live life.  Well, I'm living life.  But I miss blogging.  I miss it immensely.  It's like it's in my blood-- the need to write I mean.  I guess you could call it a God-inspired passion.  It's something I do naturally, comes easily.  Like I don't even have to think about it.  My fingers flow across the keyboard as if it's a familiar rhythm, and the words in my head are like lyrics to my favorite songs--  they're not going anywhere.  And I have to get them out, I just have to.  Because maybe my words will bring a smile to someone's face, tears to someone's eyes, a question to someone's heart.  And maybe that question will leave them in a search for something more, Someone bigger than you and me and everything we think is significant.

I've worried about comments and followers and inferiority long enough.  My words may not sound like a critiqued novel.  I might not speak in romantic language that causes your heart to sigh dreamily.  But if I can't ramble, if I can't write, it's like I might as well not exist.  If I can't tell about my passions, my failures, my heartaches, my struggles, then why am I here?

I am here to write words.  I am here to speak them.  Maybe someone will read them.  Maybe someone will listen.  And my heart spilled on paper will not be in vain.