Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Sincerely, me.

Hello, my friends.

For two and a half years Porcelain Moments has been my place to tell the world (or my small piece of it) what I think, how I feel, and what life is to me. Those of you who have been reading here for the duration of that time have seen my musings on what have been, in retrospect, the worst - and also the best - years of my life thus far. I have laughed, mused, cried and fumed over the things I have written here, and over some of your responses to them. Having somewhere to go and knowing that someone, somewhere, has cared to read about it has meant the world to me.

This is my 201st post on this blog, and it is also my last. The time has come, I think, to move on from here and start writing somewhere new (particularly on a blog that is attached to my current email address). As you well know, I do hate it when things end, but I have been thinking on this change for several months now (unbeknownst to anyone else) and am ready for it. Overly attached young woman? Yes, but perhaps a little bit better than overly attached teenage girl, no? If you want to keep on hearing from me, the link to my new internet haunt will be at the end of this post.

I hope that at least some of what I've written here has been uplifting or helpful to someone, somewhere. I'll even take entertaining. I just hope that it's meant something to someone besides myself, but if it hasn't, that's okay, too. Thanks to all of you who read, or used to read, or read once, even if it was accidental. I hope that I have lived up to my own original expectation; the standard of proving to you, but mostly to myself, that every moment is a precious thing that makes life worthwhile. Glimpses of hope. :)

Keep the faith, everyone.

If you like, you can join me at:

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Keep my secrets.

Few living, breathing things I trust
to know me as well as I dare be known,
but this place where I lay my truest thoughts,
laid bare to all,
as close to all as I can come,
I will tell.

I am not ready.
I am not ready for a new life,
once again,
unknown streets and unfamiliar faces -
the world is a scary enough place
without adding the horror
of new, unexplored caverns of creation.

I am not ready.
I am not ready to be this close to death,
to look on with tears glinting in my own eyes
and witness the same sentiment echoed
in those of a dozen others.
Grief is not wholly new to me,
but how can I attempt grief and yet remain as I am,
an attempt at a pillar of stone?
And what am I to do with all these thoughts
and facts and questions?
I am not ready for this.

Keep my secrets, public place,
keep my secrets well,
for in due time it will become clear;
what I do I do with best intentions,
and 'tis the thought that matters most.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Because I needed to.

Voices all around her and even from within
whispered rumors of a life untasted - adventure.
So she packed her bags and boxes,
headed down the blacktop road at sixty-five
in the middle of the night
reading the signs in the stars and streetlights,
headed in the direction of nowhere, and anywhere,
anywhere to call home.

The well-meaning questions, the well-wishes and piercing glances
serve as nothing more than a reminder of all the reasons not to stay -
the wanderlust and the need for quiet are why she goes away.
 No ceremony, no farewell party, no grand gestures here -
only the knowledge of distance and anywhere but here.
She cries to herself and to the heavens, please,
anywhere but here.

Here, she cried; here, she loved and lost; here, the memories haunt.
Here, they dwell; here, it stays; here is the only home she's ever known.
Baptize those memories in the tears long since shed.
Wash away the pain of loss and the things better left unsaid,
but which were voiced anyway - that fact can never go away.
Reading the signs in the stars and streetlights
reminds her not to cry.
There's no need to say goodbye.
She's been long-gone since she learned how to survive;
it's what's kept her alive.

In the darkness of the night,
I can wave at her headlights, backing out of my drive,
for the next-to-last time -
I try to never say goodbye.
All these things better left unsaid,
some signs better left unread,
and tears not shed.
Memories baptized, but she never apologized;
life lived this way can only lead to one thing -
eventually, there will be a somewhere,
an anywhere to call home.


Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Life is good.

I've realized multiple times this last week how very, very good God is to me. I have the best job in the world, amazing friends, I have never had to go without a roof over my head. I have everything I need and more, and am loved by more people than I deserve. I have a great church. Life is just good, despite the little disappointments and sadnesses. So many reasons to live. Smiles and laughter and hope and one day at a time.

Life is good.

Keep the faith.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Post-script on brutality.

I promise I will do a re-cap on the year post later this month, but I just want to say thanks to those of you who read this blog and don't call me out for whining, especially in the last week or two. Yeah, I'm moving. I'm worried about it. Does that give me an excuse to whine? No. However, I do. Truthfully and honestly and while admitting my weakness, but still. So thank you for wading through the worry and the self-pity and the scared-ness.

You're a gem.

Keep the faith.

Brutality.

Tonight after studying for my algebra final (which is on Thursday), I packed boxes. Because of extenuating circumstances, I'm packing up about 12 days early and will be an actual gypsy from this Friday through Christmas. Thanks to loving friends, I won' be sleeping in my car or anything, but still. I put most of my boxes of gypsy-ness in Geneva's trunk tonight. It is amazing to me that an entire existence can fit into just one car, though I suppose it happens all the time, doesn't it?

I was thinking about it to myself tonight, as I realized that so many people are asking me if I'm excited about my adventure. My answer? Think about it for just one minute. Here I am, the girl who wants little more in life than to have the little brick house with the white picket fence and the little family and the dog and the flower garden, spending the better part of the last two years unpacking boxes only to re-pack them a few months later. Just think for one moment, please, how much this life is not what I want. I know I make it sound novel and exciting and just what a young woman like me would want for her twenties, but if I am going to be brutally honest with you, as only I can be, it is not a happy thing for me. Every cardboard box is a reminder of how very, very far away my happily ever after is, and of the fact that I have no way of knowing if that will ever even exist for me.

And I know, as far as I can know, that this is what God wants from me. This is what He asks of me. While I know that should be comforting, it isn't much, really. To know that what He asks of me is to surrender that which I crave - to try to trust in Him and the things He either does or does not have planned for me - to struggle through the conflicting desires and utter uncertainty of what is my life right now ... it is painful. And realize, please, that I don't have anyone to travel this road with me. As much as I wish that were untrue, it is me and God and no one else. There is no one else to shoulder these cardboard boxes full of clothes and books and dreams and doubt. Not that my girlfriends don't try, you understand - but they have their own lives to live, and I have mine, and they can't be my partner in this. That, too, is a trial that is a particular kind of struggle for me - the girl who hates to be alone.

And to know that that pain and disappointment is His way of loving me right now ... that He points me in a direction and puts decisions in front of me and hands me boxes and says, "Then, go." ... No, I'm afraid I'm not very excited. I'm scared. I'm sad. I'm doubtful. I'm ashamed. I'm weak.

I don't know what else there will be down the road. I don't know how many more times I will have to pack my boxes and make a trip to somewhere new. Florida? Maybe. I am half-hoping so. And after that? Back to Indiana? I don't know. Thankfully, I don't have to make that decision today. Like my grandmother says, one day at a time.

But there it is. I said it, and now you know the truth. I am doing the best I know how to take a leap of faith, but I'm not very good at it, and it is not without its false starts and backwards glances. As little as I trust everything else in my life right now, I do trust Him to do what is best, as much as I know how (little though that may be).

Thank you for reading, and for caring.

Keep the faith.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Heartache.

This won't be long. I just wanted to say a little something about heartache.

It isn't nice.

I'm just so glad that God is merciful enough to ease that burden with His love and comfort. I know His ways are right, and trusting Him will make all things worthwhile. He is always worthwhile, even when it means heartache and pain and tears.

Keep the faith.

What I Have to Say For Myself

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Indiana, United States
I would be lying if I said that I didn't want this blog to be read and enjoyed by a host of people who think I'm a good writer. I would also be lying if I said that I ever expect that to happen. However, I stick around and keep on writing about my adventures through life and love, sharing what I fervently pray is, in the end, a story of hope and joy.