{poetry}

Fear creates exhales

and makes absences

something to relieve

this anxiety from off my chest.

If you say goodbye,

I won't have to wonder

when the ball will drop,

when the tear will start,

when my heart will break

because it will

- at least that's what 

fear sees best,

and it's always there to say

things that never set 

my soul at rest.

I'll  say it for you

-'Goodbye' - 

so as not to waste our time

with anything less.

We both have good hearts

and so and so.

We'll leave ourselves at good intentions

because that's all we are

-there isn't time

to pass the tests

and somehow find my trust.

I let fear tell me where to hide it,

and fear always plays

through the scenarios

so you won't ever find it,

then you won't let it fall,

and I'll still be okay

through it all. 

'Solitude is safest'.

In solitary wandering 

no one says you're lost.

No one says you're lonely.

No one calls your actions out

and says that fear is the loudest,

but fear is always the loudest.

Sometimes it fakes safety

when it's imprisoned you at home.

Sometimes it creates exhales

and makes absences seem safest.

- 'I'm happier when you're gone'-

How could I be happier when you're gone? 

Snapshots of July: The Month Wherein Meaghan Tries to Drown

        Hey everyone, it's be awhile, hasn't it? I hope you're all doing good. I decided I'd try to get back into blogging with something simple like end-of-the-month wrap-ups and work up from there, life and sanity permitting.

I don't know about you guys, but July was LOOOONNNGGGG for me. It started with a family reunion/early celebration for my grandma's 90th birthday. My dad's family is spread all over the country so we had people coming from Florida, Alabama, Kansas, etc. and we didn't even have a 'big' turn out. There was just a lot of people around for the weekend. Sure, they're family, but in this situation, they were practically strangers, too. Nothing like those kinds of situations to remind me that I am, indeed, an introvert.

The following weekend I went up into the hills with a friend from church to kayak on a lake about 45 minutes away. I have regrets about this. It was a perfectly cool day (65 degrees and sunny with a slight breeze which isn't bad for kayaking. It is bad for swimming, but I'm the baseball cap, long-sleeve shirt, and jean sort- of person so no worries there. For the Saturday after the 4th, it really wasn't busy on the lake. We were the one of three cars at the one boat launch (there's multiple camps/access points around the large lake). We had an inflatable kayak we filled up and set out.

Rimrock Lake. The island is somewhere off in the distant. 

        It was pretty fun. We were going with the current, and there were waves, small enough to make it fun, but not large enough to make us feel unsafe. We were headed toward an island  within sight of the boat landing. It's something I like to do when kayaking -- to have a destination, somewhere away from the people, somewhere you can explore. With the current, we reached the island in very little time. The disboarding of a kayak can be a bit inelegant and very much unsteady. It's probably my least favorite part since I generally feel safer with two feet on solid ground (so how come I even bought a kayak, you ask? I might be asking myself that now, too). For a second I was just picturing the kayak floating away with me in it after my friend climbed out (with the oars) and made it to shore. *shudders* These are the kind-of thoughts that haunt me.

Anyway, I tumbled out of the kayak, and we pulled it up on shore, took two steps, and the kayak, filled with a couple inches of water, lifted and blew across the rocky beach. It lingered for a moment on the largest of the rocks before somersaulting into the lake. My kayak, the only way off this island, was leaving me behind most lightheartedly.

And so, for better or worse, I scrambled across the rocky beach and plunged into the water after it. *pushes pause*

Now we interrupt this story to insert some facts. Firstly: Meaghan doesn't much like water. She isn't afraid of it so much as very wary of it. Early on in life I'd say she was afraid of it, due to some older siblings/cousin teasings and just...in general, but through much anxiety she was coerced? Prodded? Persuaded? Forced? into taking swimming lessons. She did, but that was twelve years ago. Unfortunately she hasn't had much practice or experience since then and so some of that discomfort has come back.

Secondly: there's this small but important aspect about the Pacific Northwest and places where the water sources come from melting snow on mountains -- the water is cold. It can be 80 degrees, 90 degrees, what-have-you, and the water will still be COLD, and that cold can be quite shocking if you haven't worked on getting adapted to it. In fact, as long as the water is below about 59 degrees, you are at risk of cold water shock and hypothermia. When you get cold water shock, your body automatically does a 'gasp for air' which is the cause of a lot of drowning. Meaghan actually did know this, though.

Thirdly: When does Meaghan actually make spur of the moment decisions? Like ever?

Rimrock Lake is on the left. This picture was taken in the Fall, though, when the water was being let out as you can tell by all the dry part. Clear Lake on the right. 

        *pushes play*

The water was cold, and instead of the bottom of the lake gradually falling away from the island, it dropped off. Within a couple steps, my feet could no longer feel the ground beneath me. The kayak was being pushed steadily along by the waves, and I was floundering. Hello, life vest, jeans, sandals, and baseball cap. I propelled myself farther from the island, but the wind picked the kayak up and somersaulted it ahead of me. The water was slapping against my chest, getting in my face, my mouth, up my nose. I was gasping for air.

         I don't know what made me jump into the water, but that was the moment I knew I had to get back to the island. There was no way I was going to end up floating in the middle of the lake somewhere between my kayak and the island where my friend was stranded. I managed to work my way back, and when I was close enough, my friend reached out the end of the oar for me to grab to steady myself as I came the rest of the way. And my kayak continued on its merry, careless way.

I was shaking. I couldn't stop shaking. The wind was blowing harder now, hard enough that it made it difficult for us to stand on top of the island and wave our oars in hopes someone somewhere would see us. With all my clothes soaked, I didn't last long. I ended up scrambling down to find the one wind-break on the island between two rocks while she kept watch up top. There the sun came and started to warm me and clear my thoughts. It would have even been a beautiful place to sit and linger, minus the whole 'stranded on an island' part.

       It was going to be alright. We would be alright. After all, I had just finished watching the Agents of Shield episode where Simmons is trapped on a desolate planet without food and water so I had a clear idea how long a person can survive without either. However, the parents were a whole different matter. Sure, spending a night on the island without food and water wasn't ideal, but it'd be an interesting experience, and we'd survive. It just wouldn't be great for the parents when we never came home and later they'd find the car parked near the lake, but all ended well. All our frantic oar waving paid off, and some non-clueless people came along in a small motorboat (while a few clueless people just kept going). It was only meant for two individuals, but one guy stayed on the island, and the other took us back to shore which was a whole a lot of fun *insert sarcasm*.

       They should have taken us one at a time because the front end where my friend and I sat was too low in the water. Subsequently when we were going against the current, the boat was hitting each wave and drenching us with water. I was just holding on for dear life, wondering if after everything, I'd still end up in the middle of the lake. Didn't help that the guy swore each time it happened. Real comforting and all. We reached land. Then we hiked back between the highway and the shore to the car. So ends the saga of inflatable kayak adventures.

I kinda haven't forgiven it for floating away on me...

          I don't know if I like water anymore, or being cold, but hey, I got to ride in a motorboat, and neither of us freaked out externally so that's always a plus. I'm starting to think mishaps like this just happen to me, though. I'm awfully thankful for a God who's watching out and saving me from myself at times.

           How are all of you doing? What exciting things are you doing this Summer? How do you feel about water? Kayaking?


       [Oh yeah, and I also bought a new (used) car in July. So there's that.]

     

Summer Hiatus

Hey there!

I didn't intend to let the blog go dark for a month and a half without any post of explanation, but my plate has been FULL, and the thought of getting a blog post out on top of everything else made me feel I was going to asphyxiate. Sounds kinda dramatic, but it's always ONE MORE thing, small as it may be, that tips the cart over, and I'm an easily stressed individual.

ANYWAYS, this weekend coming up we're having a family reunion/early 90th Birthday Celebration for my grandma. Not that many relatives from that side of the family are actually making the trek, but it will still be a full weekend, and we're the hosts so...yeah...if I have to do a lot of peopling, I prefer to be completely removed from my home world. Otherwise I jump off the deep end trying to balance everyday responsibilities AND quality time with relatives [Or strangers who happen to share the same blood] while still having a positive attitude [AND feeding people. Like...how are we supposed to feed all these people? I have a hard time feeding just myself enough in the Summer].

Even without this reunion, Summer is a crazy busy time for me. I dance a lot on the edge of burnout. I have a lot of long days, a lot of things pulling me in different directions, a lot of moments when I feel like I'm going to asphyxiate. I tend to be left feeling like I've given everything some small, sub-par piece of me or that I always should be doing something else when I settle in on a task. That's the worst feeling -- the constant ripping from contentment in THE moment. I have some bad habits that don't help the burnout problem (like sacrificing the things I need to feed my soul first when things become rush-rush), and I'm working on correcting them, but it's a brick at a time, and I think for now, I'm going to do a blogging hiatus for the Summer. It won't be an entire hiatus. Hopefully I'll be able to pop in from time to time with something, but it won't be consistent or scheduled. I have a lot of ideas that I'd like to get down. I just need to find some time, and right now I'm concentrating whatever sit down time I have on editing my WIP (And someday soon I hope to tell you guys about it! I'm working on the edits before finding beta readers)...or you know, stuff like breathing and eating, not stuffing every minute of every day full to the brim.

How are you all doing? I'll see you around!

Crooked Fence Builders {poetry}

Let's create perfection

like the fence we put up

those cold days

in that one December,

like its broken boards

and bulging veins

and crooked tops. 

We said we didn't care--

that there was charm

in all its 'we maybe

could've done better'.

That fence was the start

and end to our boundary building --

a different kind of modern art.

Let's create perfection

on shifting sands

and slanting elevation.

We'll lay all our foundations

in the clay-like soil

we break our back against,

but that's perfection for you,

that's fighting with all our might,

striving for something. 

You say we'll create perfection

like the fence we put up

those first few days 

in that cold December,

like the icicles on the edges of our legs,

and the aching fingerprints 

we left on every screw

and every aged board.

I think that's all the perfection I know--

the 'we try our hardest' and still nothing goes. 

Growing into Friendships {reflections}

We both remember the day. It was late October at the end of apple-picking time. Just as soon as the sun disappeared, the bitter cold seeped in. Everyone migrated toward the the towering bonfire or retreated to the house for warmth. I was a shy ten-year-old, prone to scurrying from shadow to shadow, from familiarity to familiarity, avoiding all the strangers or strangers with familiar faces. Yet at that year's apple cider party, I must have been braver or maybe one of the familiar strangers' face looked more familiar than strange because somehow I made a friend.

My experience with friendships have always been...awkward. Growing up, I was shy so for the longest time the only friend I had was my brother who was just older than me. I don't even know if I was capable of having any other friendship up till I was 10, but after that night, I did have a friend and no idea what one was supposed to do with such a delightful thing. It's been 13 years now. Somehow she's still my friend, and I still don't quite know how friendships and friends are supposed to work, but this particular one has grown from situational to much more. The last few months, especially, have opened my eyes to the true worth of a good friendship.

I think we all have that vision of 'kindred spirits' when we seek friendships. We have an idea of what a 'best' friend would look like, and oftentimes, those images are a lot like us. We dismiss people or the potential in people because off the bat, we don't have enough in common, but maybe the best friendships have more to do with shared values and less to do with shared interests. Because if friendships were based only on interests, I don't quite know why this friendship has lasted.

We're different. Like...in a lot of ways. She's 3-years older than I in the middle of 9 (10?) kids [I'm the youngest of 5]. I like things more strictly structured. She is more spur of the moment. I'm organized, mostly. She isn't as much. Somehow she's the optimist, and I play the pessimist. Yet she packs the first aid kits, and I imagine scenarios where she falls off those cliff edges and rocks she's always scrambling on out in the middle of nowhere with no phone reception [But I don't think about bringing a first aid kit].  A few times in the past months, our conversations have wandered to how we process and view life, and she asked: "How are we even friends??"

Growth. Through a lot of growth. Not just the fighting tooth and nail kind-of growth, but the dancing kind-of growth, the 'God isn't finished with me' kind-of growth [which is really the best sort. I think if you're ever discouraged and don't feel close to God, see if you're struggling, if you're growing. As long as you're scrambling about in the mud and not lying in stagnant water, I think you're good]. And in this growth, I have become immensely grateful.

It's not that everything is easy now or I've 'become so patient with this person's quirks'. I don't mean it that way at all. Yes, a person in a relationship might grow, but more times than not, it's you [and I had my share of stubborn, sharp edges to dull down]. You learn about yourself and are honest with what's actually going on inside. This knowledge helps you have the compassion to see beneath other people's outward actions to their heart. And your pride needs a few kicks. Naw, these people aren't less annoying, your superiority complex has been shot full of holes and God has let you catch a glimpse of them through His eyes and not through your inward-tilting ones. Humility and vulnerability are great for a friendship's foundation.

Honestly, though, one of the best qualities I share with this friend is we both make everything so much more fun: whether it be burying dead mice and dog ashes or lugging way too many rocks or hacking down thistles in the middle of the summer or going through papers or reorganizing book shelves or raking leaves or bringing in pumpkins from the garden or washing walls or painting rooms or weeding in the early morning. 10/10 recommend finding a friend like this or becoming one. Because of that...

This friendship has taught me more about living intentionally in community, rather than being dragged about by the busyness of our culture. It's easy in this day and age to say we don't have time for friendship because we probably don't, and it's easy to put a fence around friendship as something that happens in a set time on Saturday afternoons or a movie one evening or sporadic texts through really, really busy periods of our life. I understand the temptation because I do love the safety of structure, the safety of predictability, the safety of knowing when you can take off the mask and be your messy self again -- usch, but the truth is I like showing my best self. Whenever I'm stressed, anxious, overwhelmed, or cranky, I'm going to close myself off more often than not, but sometimes that's when I need this type of friendship, community, the most.

It's an hour round trip to where my friend lives which is probably the farthest I ever drive unless I'm going on an actual trip. The whole community idea takes a certain degree of intention because of the distance. If you're going to the same college, living in the same neighborhood, going to the same church, or are housemates, family, etc., then it's easier to cultivate friendships that are actually the 'I'm choosing to live life WITH you' type of ones, but as we grow older and create our individual lives, those friendships will be less and less easy to just have. There won't be anything convenient or easy about them, but oh, these are the best kind!

After 13 years, I think we're [or I am, to be honest] finally getting over the messy 'I'm swallowed in life. I can't show up' obstacle. A couple weeks ago, we were going to get together, but she sent me an overwhelmed text the night before so...[full disclosure: there was still some internal groaning and growing-- "There's so much I need to do. I can't do this." Let's be honest, there will always be things we need to do, BUT people over productivity. Acts of love over accomplishments. There's nothing that makes your burden seem smaller than when you go to lighten someone else's]...I made dinner early and went to her house after work to help her with projects. Last week she came to my house after work and helped me transport a bunch of rocks from one place to another [don't ask] and actually saw the worth in what I was doing [You know you've got a good friend when you both 'ooh' and 'aww' over different rocks, BUT they were cool and not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill rocks]. Yeah, sure, neither of us needed to do these things. We'd both probably get over our breakdowns and keep on keeping on, but living life in community is a gift, a privilege. We get to love people, and through loving people, we get to love Jesus!

Sometimes we dismiss God's fingerprints in our lives because it seems 'too coincidental', but lately I've wondered if God has sustained this friendship through all these years for such a time as this. We might have sowed the first seeds of friendship thirteen years ago and over time wondered why we even kept the thing alive as our paths pulled farther and farther apart, but now, now it's showing that its foundation might have been slow in forming but is truly a shelter and a safe place. Sometimes we have a picture-perfect view of friendship, but the view doesn't often include the nitty gritty work, the commitment to honesty and communication, the patience and presence, the pain.

Maybe the kind of friendships we want most are ones we have to grow into, but if we give ourselves the time to grow and have the willingness to change, there's nothing more precious than growing WITH someone else. Being polished and changed and then looking up and realizing that person is still beside you. Friendship is more sacred than we treat it. Yes, we'll have the kind of friendships where we only go to movies or out to dinner or are always 'do something' with people, and then there will be the friendship where we get to live messy life, not just our highlight reel, with someone else. The best part is we get to adventure with these people. We get to work and we get to be. We get to commune and we get to wrestle. We get to borrow God's eyes to see them with and God's love to remind them who they've been created to be, and it goes both ways.

Promise {poetry}

This world lays so still

between this life and death,

caught between what seems so real

and what we've been promised

it will be.

We will be alright

when all the dust has settled,

when all our blood has spilled,

and the tears mix with the soil.

Still, we will be alright.

Our names have been engraved

on the very palm 

of Someone else's hand,

and Someone's made a promise

that will be kept,

even if we go it alone

and every piece of our heart

is lost in the dirt and dust.

There is a promise

still standing 

somewhere we can't ruin it

with our filthy hands.

A promise that weighs more 

than our own soul

and the lying monologue

circling inside our mind,

circling in close for the kill.

The world seems

to hold its breath

to see which part of me

will make it out alive

from this silent war,

from this fight

between life and death, 

and how my soul is crushed, 

and Your promise lingers on.

We will be alright,

even if I choose to drown.

We will be alright,

even if hope and purpose can't be found.

We will be alright

because we will not be forgotten

by the One with scarred hands. 

Presence Over Perfection {rambling reflections}

These past twelve months I've been learning a lesson (and learning and learning and learning): It's called 'Meaghan didn't really think she was a perfectionist but actually she really is'. For a long time I put the idea of perfectionism in a box. It was something that could freeze a person or make getting 'small' tasks done impossible or getting the urge to redo someone else's work because it wasn't up to snuff. I *knew* of people who were frozen by this kind-of perfectionism, and no way was it me. I did things: I learned cello, guitar, piano, sketching, gardening mostly by just doing it. Sure, sometimes I'd be disappointed with the results, but I'd keep trying and trying. No, it wasn't the small things that made me stumble over this perfectionism.

My perfectionism shows up most in the standards I set for myself and the difficulty I have giving myself grace when I fall flat on my face. Perfectionism is a form of anxiety. It's a voice inside of your head condemning you quicker than a speeding bullet, and it lies. A LOT. That voice tells you your mess-up was of EPIC proportions when it was only a stumble or just a 'you have a lot of willpower, but your body is TIIIIRRREEED'. There's not a whole lot of ground being human and being perfect share in common (How 'bout none?), but sometimes we listen to perfectionism and that fear more intensely than we do the Holy Spirit. Oopsy. Here we are condemning ourselves over our lack of perfection while Jesus is up in Heaven interceding on our behalf when Satan condemns us. And condemnation separates which really doesn't help us (*will now put herself back on track*).

The past year has been a fight for me. There's been a lot going on internally. A lot of wrestling with myself. Wrestling between how I feel and what I know and then my flawed thinking patterns. My emotions have been all over the place, and when you feel like an extremely messy person (who is well aware that some of her thoughts are illogical but for the life of her can't get the emotions part to just STOP), you don't really feel like showing up in other people's lives. It's a pride thing. It's a fear thing. It's a 'I've overthought this X10, and now I will be the martyr and save other people from having to put up with me because if I can't deal with myself, how can I expect other people?' thing. It's kind-of stupid because 'oh no! People will now know I'm imperfect', but the whole dismissing feelings doesn't work great.

Because of some not-so-fun experiences in the friendship/people department growing up, my perfectionism appears here a lot. There's this thought that because some friendship didn't work out, it was directly correlated with something I did. I said the wrong thing here. I overshared. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I wasn't open enough. Maybe...maybe...That tunnel of thought is long and dark and filled with many under-stretched or over-stretched thoughts. Essentially I created the theory that if I made a mistake or did something stupid once, it could ruin a relationship. There was no room for grace, for the trust that people would give me open communication, for me if I was in a funky mood or was complaining too much or felt too unsure. No safe place. So...Meaghan is now shut for business.

But everyone is under construction, and we go through periods where the very walls of our heart are torn down for renovation, and it feels pretty naked in this place. I don't like it because I don't like sometimes how I feel about myself or how I feel about the whiplash of emotions or fall-out of logic so why would anyone else?  Why would I show this side of myself -- the side that can't even fake perfectionism -- to anyone else? Why would I lean-- how could I lean on their compassion? According to my relationship theory, it's suicide, and yet, I can't walk this path alone. So what are you supposed to do?

I get out of my circular circus of crazy thoughts, and I remember something: those who love you don't need your performances or your pretend perfection. Your presence is most important. Your so-called 'perfection' isn't what they see, anyway. You are you are you even if you are more Eeyore or Piglet than Pooh today, and sometimes you need that presence to remind you who you are when the whiplash of emotions leave you feeling lost or numb. There is laughter and fellowship and bright moments even when under construction, and presence without perfection creates the strongest connection.

Paint Your Soul {poetry}

I'll paint your soul with colors,

the brightest I can find, 

with sunsets and mountain meadows 

and afternoon sunshine.

I'll paint you the color of adventures,

of your hand in mine,

so in these winter months

you'll remember another time,

and even if you can't,

I'll remember it all for you.

I'll etch into your heart

my words of honest hope.

I don't know about tomorrow,

but I know as long as I have breath,

I'll face the dark with you,

just as I danced in the sunshine,

your hand always in mine.

I'll paint your soul with colors

when it grows too dim to be seen.

I'll sing you back your song

when your heart has lost its tune.

I'll add my favorite parts

--your laugh, your smile,

those long car rides

on deserted roads

in the early morning light,

and mostly, your hand in mine --

Those were all my favorite parts

because you reminded me what it means to be alive,

and now it's my turn

to decorate your world with brighter hues

and memories of perfect moments.

I'll paint this darkness with colors

Till it's so bright

your soul can't help but be light.

Your heart can't help but laugh

at the colors I've painted the soul-suffocating night. 

Something a Bit Rusty Like Hope {rambling reflections}

Love is a verb -- it's something we've been told many times and are consistently reminded of.  There are songs about it (*inserts 'Luv is a verb' by DC Talk*).  People teach about it. When you think of all the important relationships in your life, it comes down to 'choosing to love', and not just that, but also to do other actions propelled by this choice to love.

But you know that verse in the Bible about Hope, Faith, and Love? Because love is the greatest, often the other two words slip through the cracks. Hope more so than Faith, and yet, they are all verbs. They are all words of action.

Hope is a verb. I hadn't realized that until recently when I was reading a post on the To Write Love on Her Arms blog. This past twelve months, I've been disappointed, almost ashamed, by the lack of hope I felt. As a Christian, I should have all the hope in the world and my hope should be anchored on something untouchable by life, but I didn't feel hope. So what did that mean? Had I let my hope go?

And yet this blog post I read gave me a different image of hope. The author painted hope as something you do. You show up to life each morning, regardless of how you feel, regardless of the many times you ask yourself 'why', and you do the next thing and the next thing after that. Maybe like love, hope has little to do with how you feel and more to do with your actions.

Hope is more of a trust, and our trust is placed in God -- That He will make our attempts enough, that He will use even our most tired of actions to mean something, that tomorrow's tomorrow's tomorrrow will bring light and life and another spring. Hope is getting up every morning and still believing that someday, eventually, you'll want to try again and you'll have a hope you can hold in your disbelieving hands.

Hope, like Love, is not always dressed with perfection. It's a grittier thing, a stubborn thing. Maybe the 'feeling' is a bird with many feathers, but the real thing is time-resistant, two steadfast boots not about to budge, hands rubbed raw as they hang onto the end of the rope, taking care of yourself even when you ask, 'But why? What's the point?'

       We're imperfect humans in an imperfect world, and any hope less than the hope that involves clinging wouldn't be sufficient. So we will get up. We will lace up those boots, and we will try and try and try, and when hope in tomorrow and our resilience and those around us falters, our hope is 'built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness'.

Smoke Signals {poetry}

I'll send you a smoke signal

just so you'll know I'm alright.

It won't be much 

or nearly quite enough -- I'll admit it--

and you might even miss it,

but it's all I have the strength to do.

Sometimes...right now I ponder:

what's the point?

Do you even care?

But I remember what you've said

before it turns to ash,

and so that smoke signal comes

or is coming

as soon as I set this fire

or learn how to rearrange my words.

I'm trying to rearrange my words,

but written down,

they lack all meaning.

They're hollow. Too much. Too little.
Do you have the grace to see 

right through my confusion?

Maybe you can just read

between the lines?

Or will this smoke signal suffice?

Will it mold itself into an S.O.S?

Don't bother. 

It's just enough to let you know

I'm alright,

and I promise

I'll come back.

I won't know the date.

I don't know when 

I'll be happy again,

but you'll be the first to know.

Till then, look to the sky.

I promise I'll let you know I'm still alive. 

***

Hey there, I didn't intend to take a week off from blogging, but you know life. I actually persuaded my mom to write a guest post, but she hasn't finished it (she's a little bit out of practice with writing. Still -- I'm excited to share the post with you sometime this month). I've been spending more time and energy on writing stories again, and I've also been rereading some of my old favorite books. I haven't ever really been much of a rereader, but this year I decided to start. So far I've read The Magician's Nephew; The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe; The Gammage Cup and The Whisper of Glocken by Carol Kendall (I dearly love these two books, especially the second one. The characters are endearing, and I even chuckled a few times which is a rarity). Currently I'm working on The Horse and His Boy and Anne of Green Gables, too. I feel like I'm visiting old friends. It's so delightful. What are some favorite books from when you were younger that you'd consider your 'old friends'? 

Splintering Selves {poetry}

Maybe I'll just never tell you.

I'll let these feelings settle

somewhere below the surface,

somewhere someone would have to look

to see and know what they have seen. 

But broken parts have a way of splintering

and slicing through the surface 

so others start to know,

or at least they know the consequence

but not so much the brokenness

and the reason why we get like this.

So maybe words should be said

and scars shown to someone

whose heart will shatter with ours

simply because our souls 

aren't strong enough to bear

the crippling weight of all our sorrow.

And maybe it isn't even ours

-- we seem to borrow sadness

from every single soul we see

then wonder why hearts ache

and why we bleed

somewhere below the surface.

So I'll show my scars

if you'll let me see your soul,

if you point to where it hurts

and confess why there are holes.

Just please don't hide your feelings.

Don't let them settle below the surface. 

Forgiveness: 7X70 {rambling reflections}

Something brought her face to mind and the same old anger followed as a mask to hide the pain of being painted a different color, the hurt of a love misunderstood, and the sorrow of losing something irreplaceable.

If she really knew me...if she really loved me...if she was--

It happened every time without fail. The memory and then the rekindling of the anger to steal my joy, to sour the day, and that made me even more angry. Why was I letting her have this much power over me?

Each time the anger came, I'd try to smother it, to bury its sharp edges with forgiveness, because what good was the hurt now? If you're hurt or angry, swallow your words. Pretend you have a tougher skin. Don't ever let them know how much power they have. Besides, anger was of no use. I had chosen to keep silent and not direct the hurt towards someone who had wounded my heart so why would I let the memory wound me further?

I'd be walking the dog, cleaning a house, and there it was again, and there was the anger. How come the anger always came so swiftly when I supposedly already forgave and pushed the emotion out the door? Each time, I had to choose to forgive and not to dwell in the bitter resentment, but what did that mean? Had I even forgiven or did I just go through the motions of forgiveness?

She was in the wrong. She was the one who ruined it.

150 days of anger and the pretension of forgiveness?

She was the one who changed, not me. I would never have given up on her. 

Was my forgiveness really just an idea and not reality?

Maybe I don't even know about forgiveness which is funny since there's books and articles on it everywhere you look. There are the 'facts' you hear about over and over again -- forgiveness is healing. Forgiveness sets you free. Forgiveness knits hearts back together. Forgiveness and the asking for forgiveness is what heals relationships and makes them last. Forgiveness and the asking for forgiveness is what Jesus-loving people do and all that really matters with us flaw-filled humans.

Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. Leave your sacrifice before the altar and go make amends with your brother and then come back. Forgive them for they know not what they do. Don't let the sun go down on your anger. 

Why wasn't it working?

Maybe I don't know about forgiveness because I never really tried to give it, not when it mattered the most, anyway. To be honest, forgiveness is a hard thing to like. Even when I need it, I still struggle to like it because it's not fair (and we have a funny way of picking and choosing what is fair in life), but this time, forgiveness mattered, even if it wouldn't ever be asked for or likely ever knit hearts back together.

I say to you, if your brother sins against you up to 70x7, forgive him. 

70X7. That's a lot of times. Maybe when Jesus told that to Peter, it's because He knew we'd sometimes have to forgive someone for the same thing over and over again in our hearts. Every single time we thought of the person or the circumstance. It doesn't mean there is something wrong with our forgiveness or that we're not doing it right. It's just that we're humans, and we're forgetful, and we hold tight to things that hurt us, but God knows our frames. He knows how we stumble over ourselves.

Forgiving is easier mentally than emotionally, and so we work on our minds and our thoughts. We work on them day after day after day until our heart finally catches up, and our emotions right themselves -- a lot easier said than done. After six months, I realized there was no longer any anger, and a month later something happened, and I was angry all over again.  We're all a work in progress, and that's alright.

"Feelings are meant to be fully felt and then fully surrendered to God. The word emotion comes from the Latin for 'movement' -- and all feelings are meant to move you toward God." - Ann Voskamp

Emotions fully felt, not judged by us, and given to God.

The Long Way Home {poetry}

I will take the long way home.

The one path that's empty

and a little steep.

I'll grow used to 

the shadows along the edges,

the wind's sad cries

through each and every branch,

and the hole inside my heart --

the hole where I hoped 

you'd make yourself at home.

I guess I'll take the long way home

and remember how to watch my feet

stay steady on each shifting rock

and what it's like

to keep my eyes on God.

I'll decorate my heart

with each piece of beauty

I find along the trail

until my soul feels full,

instead of halfway empty. 

The loneliness can't be so bad

when there's no chance

you'll pull it from my heart,

like a band aid ripping off. 

Somehow sameness can be bearable

when there's no chance for it to shift.

Somehow flashes of a hope that then falters

cause me to veer right off my course.

So I will take the long way home,

the only path with no one else,

and remember what it means

to believe God truly is enough. 

Words Without Meaning {rambling reflections}

I am a lover of words. In the beginning it was just a story thing, but then the love grew to poetry and lyrics, quotes. Just words in all their many forms. I think you're like me. I think we write because words hold a unique power, and we hope and hope our words have a place. That these letters sewed together will, in turn, slip inside someone else's mind and become something to cherish and believe in. Oh, the beauty of words! The endless possibilities!

We create worlds and people with the paint of words. We take the achings from our hearts and etch them on pieces of paper in different forms. We save quotes, memorize scripture and poetry because well-chosen words is music to souls. There is a beauty to words, and yet... and yet, with all their power, words have this way of turning to ash and becoming nothing.

I write a lot words, but I find myself fighting to believe them day to day. They deflect off of me, never penetrating the surface, never being absorbed. Not the good ones, anyway. It seems strange, doesn't it -- that words of affirmation are low on the list of my love languages? I don't know why exactly. I can't pinpoint the reason. Maybe it's because there have been times when good words filled me with hope, and then later, they disappeared because there was no substance behind them. They were just easy words to say, and words are too easy to say without having any meaning behind them. And some words are spoken with good intentions, and the intentions were good, but there was no fulfillment of them.

So there's the issue then. It's not just the words. It's never just the words. It's a mistrust because people know the right things to say, the polite-even-though-there-is-no-substance words, and who's to say if there is actually heart behind them? It's best not to put too much weight on them then. It's not a fear decision. It's a practical decision, right?

I've grown hesitant to hope, hesitant to put too much weight on words because one action can turn a multitude of words into noise -- a chaotic, teeth-grating noise. Words can be lies, and there is only a temporary, skin-deep beauty to lies. So words deflect. The good. The bad covered with what appears good. Sometimes there is never a chance to weigh the words given too easily, and sometimes good hearts give me good words. Words that are supposed to be life-giving, that are supposed to be like an exhale to the chaos inside, but they slide off. They just slide off, and it's not that I believe my doubts and all the inner monologue in my mind more than hearts I'm meant to trust. I know my inner monologue lies. It probably lies more than anyone else and in more destructive ways, but why are life-giving words so easy to dismiss?

Maybe if someone clasped my face in their hands and made me look them in the eyes because eyes mean vulnerability, the words spoken might penetrate deeper. Maybe there are too many words, too many superfluous words mixed in. Too many opportunities for me to make excuses and dismiss them because they don't know me that well. They can't know me that well. They can't because then they'd see their words aren't true, and you can't accept words you don't believe.

There many words and many ways to make words mean nothing, and sometimes I lose sight of the words that do mean something. The God-breathed words, the ones I need to believe because God is not human, and His words are not tainted by flawed language and human misuse. His words are true and always will be, but I'll forget and then I'll remember again, and maybe each time some portion, will stay with me, and by learning to believe the words that are changeless, words given to me by good hearts will be easier to accept. It's all a circle.

I think I might grasp a small piece of the importance of writing words of meaning. More than that, to live a life where the words I SPEAK mean something because writing well without speaking and living in accordance means nothing. And maybe some other heart will become a little less hesitant and someone else's wound will ache a little less.

***

This is mostly just a thought dump.
 I haven't reached any grand conclusion so please, share YOUR thoughts in the comments! Any of you writers out there wrestle with these wonderings? 

This Sunshine Will Linger {poetry}

I think I can breathe now,

at least for today,

at least in this very moment

with you and the leaves

and the pumpkins and trees.

I feel like I can laugh,

and my laugh is as real as it's been for awhile.

The tightness inside of my chest 

has lightened its grasp.

You've ripped off the corners

of my smothering sky

to let the sunshine back in

so today I can thrive.

Maybe my darkness isn't so dark.

Maybe it's possible

to dig myself out 

and reach for bright skies

because I was happy 

with your happy,
even though we're still both

so broken inside--

You stayed up till 5,

persuading yourself

this life was worth

one more try.

Yesterday I couldn't see

how I'd ever be

truly at peace,

but here we are

just for awhile.

I'd like to imagine 

this sunshine will linger

when you go back home,

and I'm left on my own

because you've made today better,
but I don't want you to forget

that I'd even share in your misery

if you asked me to.

Please, don't be afraid to ask me to. 

2018

There's a reason why I save the year's recap till the very last post. It takes time for me to lift my head above the moment and gaze back at the year from a more aerial perspective as opposed to a 'still stuck in the middle of the throes' perspective. If I'm still stuck on land (and to be honest, I am), it's hard to collect the good moments in a tough year. 2018 was hard - a new kind of hard I hadn't experienced before. There was a lot of caves and tunnels and dead ends and places that looked like dead ends and places that might not be dead ends, but I'm still not sure the way out of.

Those places are the hardest to gain perspective on - the 'stuck' places - and so when I reach the end of the year if I'm still in the-place-that-has-no-way-out to my limited eyesight, it can be disheartening, almost suffocating. People are talking about the whole 'new year, new you', the big goals, the exciting goals, the 'I should be happy for them' kind-of goals, and the ways in which they have succeeded. And I don't know. I begin looking too much at other people's journeys (comparison - usch), and I'm not there. I'm not somebody else or living somebody else's life. Meaghan, get your head back over here. Narrow your focus. 

We all have those glowing moments we slug through the mire of 365 days to find so we feel good, so we know we really did do something 'worthwhile' with our limited breaths. The importance of productivity and progress and big things is emphasized everywhere we look. Whether in our minds or in society around us, our worth is tied up in what we produce or the profit from our production. Somehow that belief has been worked into my core, and even though I KNOW it isn't true, it keeps tripping me up. No wonder, I read it takes 21 days to tackle a thought inside your mind and replace it with something else, something better, something that will survive. 63 days to make it have roots and branches enough to thrive. That's a long time and about a million reminders to yourself through all kinds of chaotic emotions and circumstances. That's a lot of courage and a lot of plain old stubbornness.

And I don't seem to have a lot of either of those right now. I'm tired, to be honest. There's a lot of lessons I started learning in 2018 that I'm not finished learning. There's a lot of major construction and destruction going on over here and so I know the feeling of stumbling over other people's highlight reels and forgetting for the millionth time that it is their highlight reel, their collection of half-told stories (and let's be honest - even if people do say what goals they didn't accomplish, we tell them to have grace on themselves, that they did their best, but we don't extend the same grace to ourselves).

This New Year's Day was filled with a lot less bittersweet melancholy than some. A lot less pressure of making it into something. A lot less "Oh man, it's January. Where did the time go? Have I even done anything with my time? Now it's the New Year, and I'm suppose to have goals and dreams, etc." Worries and anxiety that start to suffocate. Instead I got up as if it were any other day, forget about the month or the year, and tried to focus on the moments and collect them because the moments -- the here and now -- they're where I'm most at peace. If I extend myself too far into the future and tomorrow's worries, then I find myself running and running to try and keep myself from falling. That running is exhausting. So for right now, I'm just here, and hopefully this year, it's where I'll spend most of my time.

And with that, here are some of my favorite moments of 2018.

-Snapshots of 2018 -

February 24th - I don't do spur of the moment, but I did. He was moving, and that's a lot of driving alone. I picked the soundtrack, and we crossed the mountains, and there was fresh snow on all the trees. The world transfigured into a Narnian forest. Car rides aren't so bad. 

May 20th - Riding tandem bike for the first time along the Columbia river. Warm day. Cool breeze. He bought me Captain America socks -- my first fandom clothing. 

July 2nd - Perfectly shaped, beautiful, white and purple turnips. Also my nephew's favorite toys. 

July 4th - "Please not again, God." Anxiety knotting up my insides, but it releases as I carry serious boy - nephew- through my garden and tell him about all my vegetables. He follows my pointing. He seems to know. 

August 15th - I'm on top of the world in arctic terrain. Pieces of Rohan. Valleys and peaks shrouded in endless apocalyptic smoke, but the noise in my head is gone.

August 16th - I can reach out and touch the mountain. My mountain in all its intimate closeness. I touch snow in August. My muscles scream, but I am happy. Happy among wildflowers and perfect places where worries seem so small, mountains are kind, and God is infinitely beyond all imagining.

August 17th - We had to backtrack and everything took longer, but it was alright. The music was still good. Kayaking in warm, clear waters in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Hot chocolate down by the lake in moonlight. The food was good. 

August 18th - Narrow roads that can't really be roads swallowed in early morning fog. The first glimpses of the pacific - old friend, you know, it's always been too long. Sand. Walking along the ocean shore. Ocean forests swallowed in eery mist. And the painters out in the morning light with
their easels. The endless rush of pebbles falling over one another. Starfishes. We didn't reach the most North-Western point of the consecutive United States, but it didn't matter.  

September 7th - Carrots. Perfectly shaped, purple carrots. One handful, two handfuls. Something worked, and I've never seen anything quite so beautiful. 

October 6th - Birthdays are blue days, but it's a day up in the mountains where there's fresh snow, and it's cold, and it's Autumn and Winter and beautiful. We drink hot cider up on the top of the highest point and eat sandwiches, and it seems like the best food I've tasted for awhile. The wind numbs our hands, but there in the moment of sunlight, it seems worth it. And it's not so bad talking to my knees in the cramped back seat of a pickup truck. 

October 11th - Wandering through a Fall Japanese garden in Seattle. So peaceful. And the colors are rich and the reflections are serene and the fish frightening.

October 22nd - After work, I'm kidnapped to the foothills to see the sprinkling of Autumn colors. The tradition for a couple handfuls of years. We drive along in the shadows of the hills, and they stop in the middle of the road so I can get out and take pictures of the yellows in the sunlight, and I want to take all those yellows and decorate my soul with them, to fill myself up to the brim and push back all the blue. I want to become a tree, planted by some lake, in the middle of an evergreen forest (later she said she would like to become a tree across the road from me). We walk across the bed of the lake to our island, and everything slides back into perspective. I never want to leave this place. Hot chocolate on the car ride home. 

November 7th - She said she was rooting for 'optimistic Meaghan'. Rooting -- someone is rooting for me.

December 12th - I got there late after an emotionally exhausting day of 'this seems too painfully familiar', and she had to work in the morning, but she brought me dinner in a bag, and we listened to music and drove all around looking at Christmas lights. And we talked and some of the load slipped from my shoulders. 

December 24th - We were all cooking and baking together, and I knew what needed to be done but didn't have to do it alone. After the church's Christmas Eve service, we searched for somewhere to eat and found Popeye's was the only place open, and we took it and the stockings to the Air Traffic Control tower where my dad had to work late. We all sat on the floor and shared plates and opened stockings. We stayed up till 3 am because of a late night Celtic Christmas with bagpipes and gift wrapping I should maybe have done long before. 

~~~

What are some of your favorite *small* moments of 2018? 

Movies of 2018

"I'm not much of a movie person," Meaghans says as she looks down at the 12 new movies she watched in 2018, plus the rewatches and the ones she might've forgotten about. To be honest, it's mostly a matter of whether or not people can make me sit down (or if I'm able to make myself) long enough for a movie because I do like movies, not as much as TV shows, though. And I didn't really watch TV shows this year, comparatively (in the past, I watched too much). The only complete season I watched in 2018 was the second season of Stranger Things with my brother (he made me. It hurt). And I also started watching the first season of The Mentalist over again with him (and I realized I actually miss that show...*sighs*). Also a dozen episodes or so of Monk with the parents. Overall, I tried to make movie/tv shows more of a thing I do with other people than something I do by myself. More healthy and all, right?

1.

-Christopher Robin -

I have a tradition for the past...six years(?) of going to dinner and a movie with my friend and usually all her sisters (except they keep moving away), and this was our movie of choice. I was so hesitant because the trailer made me smile, and I was really hoping it wouldn't be a let down. It wasn't. It was everything I hoped it'd be -- funny, bittersweet, endearing, cozy. The plot might not be the most unique -- guy grows up and becomes swallowed in work and loses sight of what matters most, but then it seems to be a general human problem. Despite the struggles Christopher Robin faces, they don't portray him as an idiot before he changes. He is always someone you can sympathize with, and I'm always going to be a fan of Agent Carter wherever she turns up :P  But just the cinematography of it, the music, how they created the stuffed animals, Eeyore, Eeyore, and is it silly that I love the friendship between all the stuffed animals? I love the worlds that exist in woods and in-between trees. 

2.

The Darkest Hour

I did not expect to like this movie as much as I did, and it wouldn't have been something I'd choose to go to the movie theater to see, but I was pulled along by a friend. This is more of war drama than an actual war movie (although, it did include one particular scene that was artfully done and left an impression) with more interpersonal arguments than overarching obstacles. First off, I've tended to enjoy British dramas because of the humor (Amazing Grace is one of my favorite movies, and there are some similar veins in that movie as in this one), and this had a lot of humor in it. Despite my resistance toward historical fiction books, I actually enjoy the genre in movies? Winston Churchill was such an interesting individual, and it was fascinating to see what was going on behind the scenes when you generally see stories concentrated on the fighting and major battles.

3. 

Antman and the Wasp

This was a fun movie. I appreciated before and continue to appreciate how the Antman series tends to focus on the small scale stories (because if the world almost ends too many times, it kind-of loses it's significance, maybe?). And overarchingly, it has a different feel to it. I love the collection of characters. I love the cars (wouldn't that be awesome in real life?). The assortment of obstacles with no reason 'evillest of all evil' villains'. I love the family-based story -- it was a nice breath of fresh air. I think one of the villains could have maybe been made a little more sympathetic. I can't say the ending credit scene got to me because I had seen something on twitter, not a real spoiler but enough for me to brace myself. It'll be fascinating to see how this ties into the next major Marvel movie. 

4. 

The Incredibles 2

My sister and I got to take my niece with us to see this in the theater so that made it extra fun. I love the cast of characters, especially Jack-jack (and Edna, always Edna), and really the whole family. I kind-of love the whole well-developed, large, family-like casts in stories, even if I am so far incapable of creating them. The tone in this one seemed darker than the first one, but maybe they did it on purpose since most of the people who originally watched the first movie are much older now.

5. 

Thor: Ragarnok

My brother was home visiting the week Infinity War came out, and since my sister and I were a bit behind on the Marvel movies, we did a marathon. Sure, it's great to spend time with my siblings and all, but man, a marathon of Marvel movies is not for the faint of heart. We watched this one between the two Guardians of the Galaxy movies, and I was surprised at how similar their tones were? After the fact, my brother said people had started to realize Chris Hemsworth was capable of doing comedy, too, and so that really, REALLY shows in this. I liked it. I liked the addition of the Hulk. It is hard to realize the gravity of the whole situation when everything is so...comical, though. And it was weird to think this was a THOR movie and not another Guardians of the Galaxy.

Others:

Black Panther - If they keep evolving like this within the Marvel Universe, it'll be good. Beautiful places and small-scale stories = awesomeness. Also, the 'Tolkein' white guys. 

Guardians of the Galaxy 1+2 - Lots of laughs. The idea of civilization in outer space always makes me feel like there are endless possibilities. 

Infinity War  - Well...that happened  -- the reaction when you expect everyone to die, but they don't, and you have faith some of them will actually come back. 

I Can Only Imagine - The Erwin Brothers make the best Christian films in my opinion. They don't shy away from the tough stories. In fact, the reason why they were funded by a more mainstream company this time was because no Christian company were willing to...which is sad. 

The Greatest Showman -...I wish I liked it more...But some good songs on the soundtrack? 

The Little Prince - Huh. 

Peter Rabbit -Uh...nope, nope, nope. 

~~~

What were your top movies of 2018? Did you watch any of these? If so, what did you think?

Books of 2018

As someone who is drawn to non-fiction more than fiction, 2018 held quite a few pleasant surprises. In general, I ended up reading more books I enjoyed, and that makes me happy. It also gives me hope reading might one day become something I can pursue as rest and enjoyment because it's been at least ten years since I've been much of a bookworm. I also actually bought some books this year? A hunking 6, and 4 of them were bought in faith (aka, I hadn't ever read them or any by those authors). Now I just need to get on top of review writing...I'm slowly becoming a responsible future-author, little by little. You would not believe how long it takes me to write cohesive sentences about why I like or didn't like things, though.

So, last year I read like...29 books? And this year I read 22 books, including 2 rereads, but I didn't really have time to sit down and just read. I also didn't travel by air which is usually a time when I read more. Anyways, here's my books of 2018!

1.

The Sacred Eneagram - Christopher L. Heuertz

This book. It's probably my most daring buy, but I've been curious about the Enneagram since Sleeping at Last started writing his Enneagram song series. I've read about the types on different sites, but when Ryan O' Neal (aka, Sleeping at Last) recommended this book (because it's written by the person who Ryan learned about the Enneagram from), I was really curious.

It's a Christian take on the Enneagram, and I'm so glad I bought it and read it at the time I did. I wanted to write up a whole post on it, and maybe I still will, but I realized it would end up a condensed version of the book instead. There's just so much in this relatively short book. About identity. About lies we believe. About how to see ourselves and others with so much more compassion and understanding. And a different way to become the healthiest versions of ourselves (which is meditation, but an early church version of meditation before all this new age stuff). There's so many things I would want to tell you about this, but you should probably just read it yourself, if you're curious about the Enneagram from a Christian perspective =)

2.

Blessed are the Misfits - Brant Hansen

This book was an exhale for me. It's written for the 'Misfits' or the perpetually guilty. The people who feel like they're always failing because they can't pray right or they don't feel the things other people seem to feel. The ones who are still lonely even though God is suppose to fulfill them. The ones who are depressed and must be the worst of all Christians. The introverts who keep showing up to cultivate community in spite of their set 'what's the quickest way to escape these people?' mindset. Just because you experience things differently than what seems the 'set way' doesn't mean you're guilty or you've messed up so much that God is done with you. These things that seem as though they separate you from God may be the very things God has chosen to draw you into a closer fellowship  with Him, and maybe that's all the blessing you need. 

I love the cover because I love penguins. And I love the this book. I read it in three days which is the fastest I read any book in 2018. Brant Hansen is funny. That's the best part. His writing style is very conversational and at times random (which is also great) and compassionate and relatable. His intent is to remind people who fall into the catagory of 'Misfits' what God thinks of them -- The Ones Who Apparently Landed on the Wrong Planet, The Unfeeling Faithful, The Introverted Evangelical Failures, The Wounded, The Ones Who Don't Have Amazing Spiritual Stories, People on the Autism Spectrum, The Imposters, The Introverts Who Keep Trying, The Perpetual Strugglers, The People Who Do Church Anyway, The Melancholy and the Depressed, The Unnoticed, The Lonely, The Skeptics and Those Who Don't Know Where Else to Go (These are chapter titles). 

3.

Winter - Marissa Meyers

This my favorite book in the Lunar Chronicles because Winter is my favorite character. She's a little weird in the very best ways, and her pain and mental anguish is so very poignant. Also, I absolutely love the conversations between Winter and Scarlet. I expected the ending to have a higher cost, and I don't know what I think. I mean...I do like happy endings, but after four books and such overarching destruction, to have nothing permanent happen to the primary characters? I don't know. It seems so perfectly convenient. Nonetheless, it's been a long time since I've read a series, and this one made the commitment a joy.  

4.

Some Kind of Happiness - Claire Legrand

I had seen this book on the shelve in a bookstore in 2017, and it's so far the one time I was tempted to buy a book because of its cover (and title). I read it later because it was recommended by a friend, and I even ended up giving it to my mom to read. It was different -- a book that's a combination of being a kid and make-belief + writing fantastical stories as a means to escape + mental health-- but a book there's a definite place for. I related to the main character's struggles to an extent (I wasn't necessarily as young -- I think the MC is 12? --but some things like fear and sadness don't mature. They stay the same). Maybe some children are born naturally inclining to struggle in these areas. Maybe some have experienced things that cause them to have anxiety or depression, but this book introduces the subject of mental health without dwelling so much. I loved the characters. The interactions. The subject. The bittersweetness of it. And the supportive family, in spite of all the rifts.

5. 

The Greatest Gift - Ann Voskamp

This was a Christmas devotional I wasn't very successful with (I started it...after Christmas?), but there were so many places in it I wanted to underline. Ann is very poetic, and she isn't always writing something new that I've never thought of or heard before. She writes the words in a language my heart can understand. She writes with vulnerability and strips things of the mundane and the 'I've heard this so many times before' so I see it in new light. One of the quotes included in the book is by Amy Carmichael: "Joys are always on their way to us. They are always traveling to us through the darkness of the night. There is never a night when they are not coming." --And that's the best part of her books. Ann doesn't discount the pain. She knows pain, and so it's easier to read of the hope. 

6.

All the Crooked Saints - Maggie Stiefvater

For the first two chapters, I really didn't think I'd like this book. Sometimes it takes me a while to adjust to author's voices (and sometimes I just have to get over the fact the author breaks rules. Lots of rules *ahem*), and Maggie Stiefvater especially has a unique way of writing. The next half of the book, I was sort-of in disbelief ("Welp...that's...happening.") because I hadn't realize what kind of book this was...or the genre of it -- there's literally a rain cloud following that lady around. And then I went ahead and decided I liked it in all its weirdness. I love how character-driven the story is -- character driven stories are my favorite, and I could relate to the characters. And the unique setting of the book (I know about the desert and rabbit bush and Russian thistle). And just the idea of the story. So interesting. I hope to actually get a copy of this eventually. 

7. 

Cress - Marissa Meyers

I don't remember exactly what part of the plot occurred in this book of the Lunar Chronicles, but I DO know I enjoyed it. I just love the cast of characters. Whenever I think of having many characters in my own stories, I usually unthink it very quickly because of the challenges created. The characters have to be unique, and they have to have conversations among themselves where each of the characters retain their own personality, but Marissa does this quite well. All the interactions are so fun and meaningful and...normal. Plus, out of all the many, many romances in this series (I know it's a fairy tale retelling, but man, there's way too many romances), my favorite is Cress and Thorne (and the fact he went blind for that little while -- That was interesting). 

8.

The Lost Girl of Astor Street - Stephanie Morill 

I honestly thought I was kind-of done with historical fiction, but this book changed my mind. I'll keep the door open on this genre awhile longer(granted, this was technically a mystery which is something I haven't read in the historical fiction genre). This was a bit of a difficult read because (as opposed to my usual apathetic book-reading self) I felt the MC's pain in the story. Usch. I believed the stakes. The setting was fun. And I loved the characters, and there were parts that almost made me laugh out loud. I wouldn't say the mystery was totally unique, but as long as a story plot has believable stakes, I'm not very picky. 

9.

Angel Eyes - Shannon Dittemore

I think this counts as a...paranormal (supernatural?) romance? It's definitely not the kind of book I'd normally go for, but I wanted to support Shannon Dittemore and her contributions to GoTeenWriters so I just bought it. I'm awfully skeptical of the whole Demon vs. Angel stories, and I still don't know what I think 100%, but the book was an easy read. The characters were likable. I could believe the stakes/the story problems, and I didn't dislike the romance...so there's that (- See, I'm really good at this. On my top 10 list, and I end the thoughts with 'so there's that'.). 

10.

Be the Gift - Ann Voskamp

Okay, so technically this one is more of a devotional with clips from Ann Voskamp's other books that I've already read, but it's still one of my favorite reads of this year because I love Ann's words. 'Nuff said.

-Additional Reads-

A Home for the Heart - Michael Phillips

~The last book in a historical fiction 8-book series. Starts during the California gold rush and ends sometime after the Civil War. Only finished because it was a series my grandma sent me, but I guess it was alright?  Kind-of have had an overdose of historical fiction, though ~

Boundaries - Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend

~A very stretching book but also kind-of annoying. Showed me I need better boundaries in my life and some of the reasons why I have a short-fuse. But also there's some parts where I feel like they stretched some Bible verses to fit their ideas. ~

The 'No Work' Garden Book - Ruth Stout

~This was actually a fun book, and the first gardening book I've read. I love her writing style, very conversational. She wasn't a 'know-it-all'. She just took notes of what she did and what worked and what didn't. She also liked to do things that aren't *scientifically* supposed to work. I tried to put into practice some of the things I gleaned, and it did help, but finding the same material readily accessible is difficult.~

The Treasure Principle + The Grace and Truth Principle + The Purity Principle - Randy Alcorn

~Three small books so I couldn't count them separately. They were all stretching and good. I like how straightforward and blunt Randy Alcorn is. The first book has to do with tithing and the idea of blessing to be blessed and re-emphasizing what I already believe about being only a steward of everything I have. Why do I hold so tightly to my money when it isn't even mine? Giving is a part of fulfilling joy. 2nd book: God is the God of grace and truth, and one without the other is as good as having neither. Convicting. I need to remember grace. 3rd: If you don't think you need to take precautions as a Christian in dating, etc. "You can spell your name S-t-u-p-i-d." - direct quote. Told you he was blunt, but he's just paraphrasing 1 Corinthians 10:12. ~

Fawkes - Nadine Brandes

~Another historical fiction with a dash of magic. That aspect was fascinating, and it reminded me how amazing authors are. How do we even come up with our ideas? Anyways, I really, really wouldn't have liked to live in London during the 1600s. ~

Parables of the Christ-Life + Parables of the Cross - Lilias Trotter

~I first heard of Lilias Trotter because Sleeping at Last composed a beautiful soundtrack to a documentary that was created about her life. She was a promising, mostly self-taught artist who was born in England in the mid-1800s. She decided to leave her pursuit of art and go instead to Africa as a missionary. There's one song on the soundtrack to the documentary called 'Art vs. Calling', and that idea challenges me immensely. I can't help but be drawn to people like her. I can't help but listen to their words and wonder how they decided what they decided to do. These two books are in the free domain now, and I really liked them. I loved how she included so much of nature in her writings and little pieces of her art. I hope to find the documentary somewhere to watch eventually. ~

The Dance of Anger - Harriet Lerner

~Usch. This deals specifically with women's anger and how we tend to go towards two drastic ways of dealing with it (I'll tear you apart with words vs. passive aggressiveness). And dealing with conflict in important relationships for growth. And boundary making. Taking full responsibility of your emotions and actions. And the importance of working through 1st family relational conflicts because of how they can cause weeds to rear up in other relationships and your 2nd family. Essentially, anger is only good if helps you learn more about yourself. Stretching book, but it gave me much needed tools.~

The Phantom Tollbooth - Norton Juster

~This was a fun read. Lots of interesting depth to it and cleverness. And an orchestra of color? I love that thought (and probably one of my favorite parts of the book). Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if all of creation broke into song. What would that sound like? It's a somewhat similar idea.~

Rebels - Jill Williamson 

~ Bought this...and then realized it was the third book in the series *insert very, very sad face*. This is what Meaghan gets for buying books she hasn't read, but since I bought it, I went ahead and read it and managed to understand what was going on. Lots of characters to figure out, but I mean...it was pretty interesting given the circumstances? ~

Hinds' Feet on High Places - Hannah Hurnard (reread)

~Reread this because it's one of my soul books. I needed to read it, and it's as good or even better than the first time because I understood more. It's such a beautiful allegory. I went ahead and ordered a new edition that includes illustrations and is just beautiful. ~

The Bible (reread)

~I read through the Bible every year. This year I learned to appreciate the Psalms a lot more, and I delved a little deeper, but I still need to implement an actual Bible Study method. ~

+Critiqued a Novel

~Tried to critique/Critiqued a critique partner's novel. Something I need to get better at, to be honest~

~~~

What are some of your favorite reads of 2018? Have you read any of these? What did you think of them? Any recommendations for 2019?