The Social Porcupine

I've experienced responsibility much as Jonathan Button experienced age: rather opposite of most people, with an awfully lot at a young age and quite a bit less of it the older I've gotten. I'm turning into quite the gypsy, keeping my conservative appearances mostly because I like it. Some, mostly staunch conservative Christians have an issue with this. Why, I wonder, when it is they who sing old hymns such as  Wayfaring Stranger  and keep a copy of The Pilgrim's Progress next to their Bible.  They chide me on my wild ways, "You must have a home church. "  But this world is not my home. I am not meant to sit still, or to wait at home for the coming of some man or of the Messiah. We are all meant to be as children: wild and loud and happy. I should be able to pick my own flowers, thank you very much, without being accused of feminism.  I sometimes find churches to attend while traveling. Looking back on them I feel as if I experienced the same so...

Inspiration is what gives passion to story. No, it is what births a story worth writing. It's the idea, the concept behind the words. It's what breathes life into our words so that what we write aren't mere words slopped onto a page, but something that will leave the reader feeling like they read magic.  But inspiration doesn't write stories.  People do. Or to be more accurate, fingers and dead brains trying to grasp at fizzling inspiration that won't stay long enough to be translated into words. Inspiration, that loved but hated the  thing that mysteriously fuels every plot bunny and big idea. Inspiration, that thing that laughs and says, "You may have me only if you give me all your blood and tears." But how many of us are willing to make the trade? And is the trade even worth making? And here we come to my questions: Is inspiration a tool or a crutch?  Must we be inspired to write? Is inspiration even necessary?  Of course, that in...

When I first saw Gloria a little over a year ago I saw a wounded fairy: a small, petite older woman who had all the signs of having lived a hard life, yet still loving others abundantly. Hardship had not handicapped her kind and generous spirit. Though she had a trachea, her smile radiated warmness and that's all one could see or hear. Her last name only further validated my initial perception of her Gloria Hurtgen ... Though I'm not sure of the actual meaning of Hurtgen, it reminded me of the fairy-like creatures in Brandon Sanderson's " Stormlight Archive" called spren. Or of a precious gem, which Gloria certainly was. Though hurt or wounded, her spirit was still very much that of a spren or gem. Gloria had heard my dad had been badly hurt in a car accident, and though we did not know who she was and had never met before, she came to our house to give and help us. Shortly after I begin to clean for her. Whenever I came to clean, Gloria always asked how ...

Firsts are sweet. My memories are full of  firsts: My first baby doll.  My first sister.  My first time seeing my mom's parents. My first entertainment park.  My first best friend.  My first time leaving home.  My first time feeling like I was in love.  But firsts can also be hard: The first time your friend says they hate you.  Your first breakup.  When the world first seems dark and threatening and suffocating.  The first time you feel like you really hate someone. The first time you wish that you don't belong anywhere.  Firsts aren't always sweet. Sometimes they are miserable and you want to forget them forever by creating  new  firsts. I've come to see that most of us are trying to forget a  ruined first  by pursuing the thrills of  firsts Visiting a new country.  Meeting someone of another ethnicity.  Hiking three days in the wilderness.  Riding a bus...

So, one of my best friends finally started a blog. After I pestered her for MONTHS AND BEYOND. It's not your normal run-of-the mill blog. It's only for contests and challenges — meaning she hosts prompts contests and challenges and you get to create ANY KIND OF ART YOU WANT. Stories? ✔ Poems? ✔ Drawings? ✔ Paintings? ✔ Embroidery? ✔ Knitting? ✔ Carving? ✔ Use your imaginations and your fingers and it counts! So, what are you waiting for? This blog is FOR YOUR INSPIRATION . And I may have something over there waiting already  . . . yes, I won the first contest with a poem. And though I think Lauren hyped it up a bit, I do really like it myself. To read my poem, Split, Not Broken  check out Lauren's blog! And make sure to follow and  participate .  And that's it for this lovely Saturday morning.

Following God is simple, and it's complex. It's easy. It's hard. It's all about relationship. But we'd be lying if we said God doesn't have rules, guidelines, expectations. What does this relationship look like, this business of following Yahweh and Yeshua, our God and our Messiah? Some say it's a liberal love. It is. Some think God's way is legalistic. If you term legalism a perfect standard that can't be changed , then that would be true. If you term legalism as following standards rather than God then you would be wrong. Rules aren't bad. Serving rules is bad. Following God means following Him, including His ways ( rules ). But to only follow His rules is so empty. Who follows rules without a master? That would be like following a master without rules. Both methods alone are pointless and inefficient. Balance . It's a balanced paradox. Not too liberal. Not too legalistic. Just perfect... judging by love, free to serve, ...

I'm the type of person that loves to find meaning in everything. Pain only amplifies my desire to know why. That is why when my friend, Laura, texted me one day, telling me about some new thoughts of hers they resonated with me. "I started drawing random things this morning. Basically just lines and punctuation marks. It kinda hit me that question marks are hearts that have been broken and started to cry. The half heart with the dot at the bottom for the tear... And it just was hard for me to kinda re-realize that some questions will never be answered here on Earth and will sometimes just bring tears..." Drawn by Laura Santee This hit me like, "Wow, Laura, that is amazing!" As I said, pain brings so many questions... when you're hurt, alone you wonder why? When all you feel does become questions. "Why do I have to feel this pain? Why do I hurt so much?" "Why did God allow me to love if only to have that love ripped away?...

When life is stable you smile and laugh. You think you know what what is good, what is right, what is true. But when the sun falls – wow . Were you ever wrong. So wrong. What were you thinking? It was all an illusion… a rainbow that blinded your eyes from being able to see the truth that life is hard. Yet you are in the habit of laughing. You are in the habit of believing the best about everyone. How can you change? How can you know how to bring back the sun? You still laugh… but tears join that laughter. It is hollow and deep all at once. It hurts to laugh, to cry. But the numb feeling of just living is just as bad. Laughing tears. That is your life. Bitter-sweet. You cling to the sweet to not be overcome by the ugliness of the bitterness. But life and pain are so subtle, so mean. Like a rainbow shining in a thunder storm, so I smile as my heart cries. You don't know what lies to ignore, what truths to cling onto. Color is...

My mind is so full right now. My life is so busy. I feel overwhelmed by nothing in particular and everything at once. Yet I can't stop from doing . From not sleeping. Exhaustion is my addiction. To rest is not an option. Or so it seems. And I keep looking for more… more ? More of what? Why do I crave chaos ? Why do I laugh in my stress? Why can't I cry, even though my eyes are heavy? Life and all it's mysteries . Right now they make too much sense, yet are even more distant than ever before. I keep feeling like I am not doing enough. I need to make every breath count . But is just breathing enough? Must I constantly gasp for air? Is it okay to just live every now and then? My life is crazy. Yet I love it. My mind yearns to stretch out more. Every muscle in me, physical and mental, demand to hurt every second. And then I see color . Life stops - no pauses - for a second. ...

All the diaries I've completed. HOW IT ALL STARTED There's something about my journaling. It's the sign of the end of my day. Even when I'm tired, I cant rest until I've got my thoughts, joys and frustrations out in my diary. And once I do, I sleep so good. I've always written. For as long as I can remember I loved to write stories. I always believed I would someday be published, but after I died. When I was little I knew that someday someone would find my stuff and then publish it. For some reason I never considered the option of actually publishing it myself. I loved to read about other authors (most of which are dead.) I thought it sad that we knew little some of them. Because of that I decided I would make sure people could find enough about me, for after I was dead, so they could have a nice sized biography on me. Thus when I was 11 I started journaling every day. In fact, since then, I've only missed 4-5 days and I...

I'm doing a link up called Quote Quests from the blog Splendor Falls on Castle Walls. If you'd like to join, head over to Mel's blog!! And this is mostly my own story but I was thinking of Jonah in the Bible a little ;) Here I sit in the grey mist. It reminds me of how I was once more than a fading cold fog. The mist wraps its wet fingers around my cold body suffocating any remaining happiness I possibly had. One lonely tree spreads its drooping branches over me as if to hug my sorrows away. The leaves touch my cheeks as if saying, "I'm here." But it hides the sun's warmth. The tree does not -can not- comfort me. I look down from my mountain seat onto the city. The people go on as if nothing has happened. Yet my world has turned upside down. Once they shouted my name. Now the whisper it. Rylinn of Egan. Then, they adored me. I was praised. Now they think of me only with contempt or compassion. Both equally appalling. The King love...

Saved from  Pinterest Someone posted this picture on Ravelry a while back. My first reaction was laughter. But looking at it a second time, I gave it more thought. In fact. I thought about it so much that I HAD to do a blog post on it. This picture describes most of Christianity. Just think about it. People say that they are saved, born again. Their heart is what counts. It doesn't matter what they do, say, or look like. Their heart. As long as it is right, that's all that counts. The ten commandments, the laws, rules, dress code - none of that matters to them. But it does. As that picture said, certain things are just stupid. Dressing in a certain way is basically sitting on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall. Certain actions and situations that are borderline could be like sitting on a cliff. Yeah, they aren't wrong, but they sure aren't far from the real thing. One false move, and you're dead. If you ask me, that's just too c...