Tag Archives: hold


“How dare you.

There was a tragedy placed before me and those were the three words that rang through my mind. They were at the very forefront, refusing to be ignored.

“How dare you.”

I filled in the silence that followed:

“How dare you be so selfish. How dare you be so wrapped up in your own damn mind that, even as this story is being shared with you, you can’t push away your pain. How dare you be holding back tears because of your ‘pain’ when there are so many people in this world who are going through SO MUCH WORSE things than you. You are being selfish. You need to get outside yourself. You need to be there for the people around you. You are so consumed with the fact that no one has reached out to you that you’ve stopped reaching out to others. You’ve isolated yourself. You can barely handle other people’s pain because you can’t handle your own. How dare you. You are supposed to be able to carry other people burdens. Why can’t you put yours aside for a moment? Why can’t you get out of your own head? You should be taking care of people- loving people. Isn’t that what you do? You haven’t been doing that lately. You don’t even care about the people around you. You’re being selfish, only caring about yourself. How dare you. This is not how you are supposed to act. You need to snap out of this. It’s ridiculous. You need to get up. You need to do something. All you want is for someone to see you and, yet, you keep to yourself. You want people to ask how you are and then lie when they do. How dare you. How dare you get so wrapped up in your own problems like this. You are supposed to be better than this. What you are dealing with is nothing- NOTHING- compared to other peoples pain. How dare you. How dare you. How dare you.

I had no words to fight back and other peoples pain layered itself on my own and tears came to my eyes and weight came to my arms and my hands shook and my breath fought against me and I tried to think of ways I could help and my mind swirled and I wondered if there was anything that could be done and sadness hit me again and again and again until I fell. Helpless.




When I was in early high school, I was still riding the bus because I couldn’t drive yet. I remember some mornings, I would walk outside to wait for the bus driver and the air would be thick with fog. The kind of fog that covers everything. We would ride to school and I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t even see the school until we were pulling into the parking lot. And it seemed like it was popping up out of nowhere.

I think fog is pretty fascinating. I don’t know why. It’s always just seemed to contain some sort of mystery to me. You see, I think there are two sides of fog.

The first is comforting. It wraps itself around you; keeps you to itself. It’s inclusive. It welcomes you in and forms to fit you. It envelopes you with it’s presence and you’re safe.

The second is terrifying. It blinds you to everything around you. It steels your senses from you and forces you to go in blind. It isolates you. It offers no warning for the danger that could be lurking just out of your sight.

I kind of had a family emergency this week. That’s a lot more like the second side of fog than the first. It settles upon you without warning and catches you off guard and, senseless, you fumble through the blinding mist trying to find something familiar. When this happens, if you and your friend and family are Christian, people tell you to pray. And you should, they’re right. But sometimes, I just can’t. It’s hard for me to focus on anything because my mind is either spinning or it’s numb. And, especially at the start of it, I could barely talk about it. My words were slow and I left long pauses in between them because my thoughts weren’t… there. I can’t think. So it’s hard for me to pray, even though I really need to.

And you know what? I really think that’s okay.

Because I think God’s presence can be like the first side of fog. I think He surrounds us on every side and becomes as close as our breath. I think He wraps us in Himself and becomes a think blanket of comfort. In the midst of confusion and chaos, He’s there, holding our heads up or sitting next to us as we stare blankly into space, not being able to think. And, truthfully, in those moments, I think it’s enough to invite Him into that numbness with you. To simply utter, “Could You just sit with me for a while?” and rest in His presence. I think He has more than enough grace for that.

I also believe that, in distress, it’s the responsibility of others to pray for you. I pray for others a lot and so I hope when I can’t pray, they’re stepping up to pray for me. I just think that’s how it’s supposed to work.

“What can I do with my obsession with the things I cannot see? Is there a madness in my being? Is it the wind that moves the trees? Sometimes You’re further than the moon, sometimes You’re closer than my skin. And You surround me like a winter fog; You’ve come and burned me with a kiss. And my heart burns for You. And my heart burns… for You.” // David Crowder



As a person who blogs, I think it’s only fair to write about the things I’m thankful for. I realize it’s past the official date, but I’m one of those people who believes you should be thankful all year. After this though, I’m going to blast Christmas music and search for Christmas decorations to put up in my apartment, but this first.

I’m thankful for blogs. I’m a very private person and having a blog like this can help me breathe. I’m thankful for feet. Mine put up a fight a lot of the time, but they still work. I’m thankful for art. I’m not very good at any form of it but it’s one of those things that just makes sense to me. I’m thankful for fans. I’ve gotten addicted to white noise when I sleep. I’m thankful for hygiene products. I’m thankful for playlists. I’m thankful for scarves. I’m thankful for hats- I love them though I never have quite enough confidence to wear them. I’m thankful for candy. I’m thankful for socks. For good, worn in jeans. For long sleeves. I’m thankful for instruments and the ability to play a few of them. For books and movies that let me disappear for a while. I’m thankful for my pillows and for couches. For hair product. For pretty dresses and perfect skirts. For high heels and converse. I’m thankful for hot chocolate and fire places. I’m thankful for cameras to capture memories I would hate to forget. I’m thankful for the feeling of a good pen sliding across a blank page. For the feeling of water sliding down a dry throat or chapstick on dry lips. I’m thankful for guinea pigs and the little squeaks they make. For peanut butter. For blue shoe strings. For cups. Umbrellas. Wrapping paper. Index cards. Post-it notes. Stamps. Fake glasses. Sun glasses. Ice cream.

I’m thankful for people. I’m thankful for relationships lost because I wouldn’t be who I am without them. I’m thankful for steady relationships because they help get me through. I’m thankful for new relationships because they help me learn. I’m thankful for eyes; mine for sight and others for a window into their soul. I’m thankful for hugs, especially the kind from good friends that last just a little longer than normal. The kind in which you never want to let go. I’m thankful for cuddling up on a couch with a friend to watch a movie or listen to music. I’m thankful for acting crazy and laughing until your face hurts. I’m thankful for conversations and for being able to watch as someone’s face lights up. I’m thankful for skills of observation. I’m thankful for a heart that’s much too soft. For a body that desires to hold and be held. For hands that can greet or comfort. For a smile that can warm. I’m thankful for that feeling of release I sometimes get when I’m singing. For air filling up and leaving my lungs. I’m thankful for faces that will always be familiar. I’m thankful for the family I am so blessed to have. For the people that make it up, each individual. I’m thankful for their beauty, their independence, their love.

I’m thankful for my Lord. For His ears that hear everything. For His eyes that see all. For His mind that knows more than I could ever imagine. I’m thankful for His nearness. His compassion. His unbelievable patience. His comfort. His heart. His sacrifices. His utter goodness. I’m thankful for not only his willingness to acknowledge I exist, but also for His thought to pay attention to every detail of my life and be vitally interested. I’m thankful for my Lord because, through Him, I can be thankful for everything else. He is my reason to live. I’m thankful because through Him, I have a purpose. Through Him, my life isn’t meaningless. I’m thankful He taught me to be thankful.

It’s not too late, you know. If you haven’t made a list of the things you’re thankful for, you still can, even through we’re past Thanksgiving. It will help you appreciate life.

And this life isn’t something you should take for granted.


Hold on.

I don’t know you. 

I know your words. I know I look for them daily. I know the mixed feelings I have when I see something new. 

And I don’t know what you’re writing about. I don’t understand the words you say, how you speak in circles and lose me. Leave me wondering. There’s something about the way you write. 

I don’t understand it.

I feel the pressure of the skin on my forehead bunching together between my brows. The headache that’s been teasing me for days increases, so I try to relax. I re read your words, hoping to have catch at least a glimpse of something I must have missed before.

Don’t go. Please. 

Hold on. Please.