If I were a Star

I felt the tears I cried dry like sugar on a child's cheek. I cried because of a love story. Strange of me to turn to cliche chick flicks. Entirely, preposterously out of character for me.

The story was simple. Two people, slowly fell in love, only to realize their lives would be cut tragically, unfairly short. Like all people, they both had a dream. The boy's dream was to be remembered for his heroism; to be written about, and talked about, remembered. Her's was to be remembered too, but by just one person. Both realized as death was tightening its noose around their necks, that neither dream would be fulfilled. They realized that there aren't lucky stars, and that life is unfair.

And while lucky stars are non-existent, there are stars we can look upon, and their twinkling lights remind us of the Great Being that created them.

If I were a star, I might wonder what my purpose was. After all, no one sees me during the day, and most wouldn't see me at night, because the beings are consumed by the business of the world; by it's empty appeal. But if beings were to step out, and look up; as a star, I would look into their wondering faces, and proclaim my creator's goodness. My purpose, though brief, would imprint itself upon the tender souls of the beings. I would glory in who I was as a star, because my glory would be pointing others to His glory.

5 Reasons to Keep a Journal

I didn't always delight in writing as I do now. In fact, I couldn't stand it. In school it was that 'have to' assignment. But my mother didn't give up. She bought me a beautiful journal, and told me to just fill it with anything, even if it was an outline of my day. At first, that is all it was. Just things like "I went to the park today, it was sunny." But as I got older, and kept on writing, new things started appearing on the page. Deeper things, and I realized that as I wrote, my writing found a different part of me. When I wrote, I was revealing the truest part of myself. Where without the scrutiny of others, I worried about nothing. I poured out my soul and dreams. And found so much satisfaction.  I believe you would discover this too, if you gave it a chance.

1. Able to be sincere: In the digital world we are now a part of, it's easy for anyone to shoot you an email or message, but somehow it's not as meaningful as getting a letter in the mail. Just to know someone took the time to find beautiful stationary and sincerely write to you. I think that is one thing I don't like about instant messaging and texting. Nothing feels genuinely sincere. But when you see written words, they have a deeper meaning. In your own journal, you have the ability to be that sincere person, to yourself and to God.

2. Leave your legacy: Have you ever found a grandparent's journal? Flipping through the aged pages you discover snippets of their life they never told you. And just like no fingerprint is the same, so too is no one's vantage point of life the same. Your journal is your fingerprint.

3. Your lifelong companion:You know Indiana Jones and his famous fedora? That hat went everywhere with him. And made it, banged up, through some rough times. That is how I view my journal. To go everywhere, and see everything, get nicked and wrinkled, hear of all my tales, my ups and downs. So chose your companion well. Make sure it is made of tough stuff.

4. Immortalize your thoughts: People say it's the small moments that make life wonderful. And it's true. Yet those small, happy moments are easy to forget. But they will never be forgotten once immortalized in the fibers of your companion's white pages.  How wonderful to have a journal (or perhaps several) of your early life, to flip back and read of how you grew and what you thought as life was taking you down different roads.

5. Forever part of your life: You can always grow to love something good. Think of good habits. You weren't born with them. You cultivated them, and therefore, they became part of your everyday life. The same is with writing, or anything else that you wish to do, but don't normally do. If you truly desire something good, make it a part of everyday life. And soon it will without you trying, stay for a lifetime.

"Keep all special thoughts and memories for lifetimes to come. Share these keepsakes with others to inspire hope and build from the past, which can bridge to the future." Mattie Stepanek

"Let us make a special effort to stop communicating with each other, so we can have some conversation." Mark Twain

"No matter what age you are, or what your circumstances might be, you are special, and you still have something unique to offer." Barbara De Angelis

Guest Post by Christy Vest: Starlight

The stars spun. The stars spin, still, and spin past sight. There is so much starlight I cannot see, but it only adds to the mystery of this whole, blessed night.

More than enough of the stars’ reflection gathers before me and I feast recklessly. There’s plenty for all.

Maybe this is the tiniest glimpse of trying to know eternity—the awareness that so much stretches beyond, but all that is beyond is also right here, undiminished. The awareness that total completion and desire-transcending thirst not only coexist, but somehow, someway, are the same.

It’s as if I walked past a door to a concert hall and, hearing the faintest, highest note from a violin—perhaps even only in my mind?—caught one, stray clue of a symphony, concerto, mass.

I could feast on one note.

Right now, there is no starlight, none visible to my weak sight. It’s there, It’s there, It’s there, I could repeat endlessly, but no matter how much I remind, I can’t will starlight to be seen tonight.

No, moonlight has taken center-stage. Its raining droplets are more maternal, softer, nurturing than starlight with its wildness and vitality. Still, though, I can feast every bit as recklessly.

My sister sitting beside me smiles and I marvel: there are half-crescent moons etched into the corners of her mouth! When I open my eyes and mouth to feed on a diet of celestial light, I see its emblems mark the corners of the galaxy and corners of someone’s face.

What of the corners of my heart? What happens there? They are etched too! Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, starlight, moonlight, and eternity etched scars into my heart. Scars I never want to get rid of. These scars are stretch marks from blissfully over feasting.

Read more of Christy's wonderful thoughts @ Dandelion Markings

Be Not Conformed

"And be not conformed to this world but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God." Romans 12:2

Against the flow. We've all heard it. But have we taken to heart what not conforming to the world means? Are we applying it daily in our lives?

We seem to always struggle to fit in. We want to feel accepted so we desire to be like everyone else. We worry about how we appear or what we look like; we worry about conforming instead of desiring to NOT be conformed to this world.

So why should we be set apart? What does it mean to be set apart? How are we to go about being different but still being loving in Christ?

"And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them." Ephesians 5:11

"See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, redeeming the time, because the days are evil." Ephesians 5:15-16

" Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers." Ephesians 4:29

"Let love be without dissimulation, abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good." Romans 12:10

"This I say therefore, and testify in the Lord, that ye henceforth walk not as other Gentiles walk, in the vanity of their mind, having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God through the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness of their heart." Ephesians 4:17-18

"If so be that ye have heard Him, and have been taught by Him, as the truth is in Jesus: That ye pit off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts: Put on the new man, and be renewed in the spirit of your mind." Ephesians 5:21-23

God placed us here to not only glorify and enjoy Him forever, but to shine as lights for His name. But we cannot be a light if we are walking in darkness. Or as Matthew says:

"You are the salt of the earth. But what good is salt if it has lost its flavor? Can you make it salty again? It will be thrown out and trampled underfoot as worthless." Matthew 5:13

The Bible has much to say about being set apart in Christ. These verses and many more can serve as our litmus test for being transformed instead of conformed.

Is the music I listen to "true, noble, and praise-worthy"? Am I focused on having the "adornment of a meek and quiet spirit" or am I focusing on my outward apparel? Is my conversation edifying to the hearer?

Let us be set apart, but let it be with grace. We must be very careful to not let pride creep in and destroy us. It's so easy to confuse "set apart" with righteousness. We aren't "more Christian" because we are set apart. We are set apart because we are Christians.

"For I say, through the grace given unto me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith." Romans 12:3

The Edge of the Knife ~ by Christy Vest

By my dear friend Christy at Dandelion Markings

The deciding point in life, most often, is not the cheery hand outstretched, offering a squeeze, offering a palliative sweet to taste. It’s the outstretched hand that has just struck you on the cheek, leaving a sting, leaving its imprint of embodied hatred. And then time slows, for you’re standing on the edge of the knife with several possible decisions.

Do you play the golden rule on your heart and leave the imprint of your own knuckles on the other’s face? Try to remove the sting with your self-made balm of “justice”? Do you, perhaps, more dangerous than anything, shoot shards of ice through your attacker’s eyes and walk away to nurse your hurt, bitterness, and hidden rage? Feel the adrenaline rush of victimization? Or do you, quite simply and with the most pain, turn to offer up your other cheek? Your soul left open and vulnerable?

The simplest action will most often turn standing on the edge of the knife into plunging the blade into your own heart.

In the theater world, a certain hierarchy exists between actors’ characters. Acting coach Robert Carne explains that onstage, a reflection of society, each actor has a certain role status he holds, relative to the other characters. The greater one’s vulnerability, the greater his status. The more guarded he is, the lower his status. This is because, in essence, the vulnerable character is sending the rather paradoxical message that nothing can harm him. He lowers his defenses, thereby opening himself up to attack that he knows he can withstand. He becomes the great king who refuses to stoop to retaliation. InLes Miserables, Javert is mentally, psychologically, and spiritually undone by Valjean’s mercy because he knows that, in reality, Valjean has become the better man. Defender of “justice” that he is, the thought of the status reversal is unbearable.

And so, left in that agonizing place on the knife, the real deciding point is whether or not your heart is open to be stabbed and, being so hurt, open to be healed and open to accept the untouchable status of Love. In that royalty, the awful sting is transformed into the wonderful kiss of ultimate Love.

Waiting- by Chrisy Vest

This guest post is by my dear friend Christy Vest author of Dandelion Markings....

"The room is quiet. Its’ strange, don’t you think, that a place filled with so much expectation, waiting—energy!—should be so still? I suppose when you’re anticipating something of which you’re unsure, that’s how it would feel: silence born out of the humbling knowledge that we really don’t know. I want to know, so I wait. How much do I want to know? I don’t know. I might be waiting for a while.

This is no gripping, mysterious court-room tale, ending in the suspense of waiting for a verdict. Nor even a story of forbidden love, with the forbidden lovers waiting in the forbidden parlor for forbidden lover’s father’s approval. Really, this isn’t a tale as most people think a tale should go.

Unsure of who should speak first—need anything be said?—everyone stalls by alternately avoiding gazes and staring with knowing glances. We all want to know. Will we?

We’re always told to write what we know. I’ve never been on a jury nor have I been a forbidden lover. I have waited, though, and expected and anticipated and hoped for—

How is the bond between people in a same place and situation formed? It’s odd how two strangers become sudden, magically connected kindred in a moment of action or reaction and redemption.

We’re also told—I’m told—to write what everyone else knows. You know what it is to expect and, often, be let down so that you wonder if it’s possible to ever trust again.

We are held in those eternally preserved and understood days of Marianne Dashwood in London, anxiously watching the door for the time when Mr. Willoughby would walk through…and he doesn’t.

The sweat pours off our brows just as much as Sam Gamgee’s as he stands in Mount Doom, begging Mr. Frodo to cast the Ring into the fires of the mountain.

Please! is echoed in our ears and at the backs of our palates, quickly moving to the tip of the tongue.

The quiet room isn’t “a” quiet room. It is “the” eternally quiet room. And I’m still waiting."