Words are symbols for real things, so please use them carefully

I think we too often classify things as good or bad, when rarely can anything be classified that way, unless talking about milk. Good and bad, when referring to people, is an opinion, unless coming from God. He’s allowed to throw around words like that because He is perfect, and even then he uses words more fitting such as “sinful” and “righteous” or “pleasing.” “Good” and “bad,” coming from us are usually judgment words.

Double Negative

There are a million and one things I need to do right now and being stubborn with you isn’t one of them. So I’m stopping. I’d love for you to stop too. Please don’t not stop.

Double negative.

Just like I will never not feel loved when you hold my hand.

Just like I will never not miss you when I wake up to Brand New Day.

If a double negative is a positive, and a double POSITIVE is just extra positive, does that go to show that everything is better in excess?

Probably not, because too much ice cream gives me a stomachache, but I think you are an exception to that rule, because I honestly can’t get enough of you.

Puke.

If you were here listening to me, you’d mime gagging into the nearest trash can.

You think I hate cute things.

The truth is, I’m kinda a sucker, even though I hate to admit it.

The truth is, I love you.

I and love and you.

(no longer are those just the words dancing around in my head and my mouth. No longer do I have to swallow them before speaking. And it feels so good.)

My uniform is white but my eyes are green and this is how I see the world

The shuttle sets off into a clip-clip-clip rhythm

Accompanied by a din of voices

Women in their 40’s and 50’s making small talk about their dayweekplanskidsdinner and the weather

I, of course, am forced to eavesdrop

And all I can think is that I hope I can never utter that sentence that

Mrs. curley-haired, turtle-necked, sensible-shoed woman in the 3^rd isle just said

I hope that I can never,

EVER.

With any sincerity, say

“This week was a blur”

I may, at this moment, look like a blur

My white, pristine, student uniform blending in with my skin tone and hair color

Clean.

Crisp.

Camouflaged.

White and spotless,

But in my mind is a mess of colors exploding

Inside the sounds are loud, dissonant, and unruly

One day, I may be in that woman’s shoes

One day I may be on the other side of the planet

We’ll see.

But no matter what or where or how my immediate and distant future turn out,

I refuse to let who I am be defined by where I am

I refuse to quit seeing the beauty in every day.

I refuse to quit being in awe at each new moment.

Sometimes Bekah has a thought explosion. This is the result of one of them

Sometimes I wish I had a better way of expressing myself. So often my vocabulary falls short of the vivacity of my thoughts and feelings. I’ve tried to paint it or draw it and I’ve failed miserably. Most of the time, a culmination of all of the senses are needed to conjure up the substance of my thoughts. The hard part, probably, is that most of the time I don’t understand myself.

Time. Time freaks me out. I never have enough time to invest myself as fully as I wish I could in certain friendships, projects, pursuits of knowledge, etc. Yet, when I have time I have no idea what to do with it. Time is such a cruel devise.

Foolish Ramble.

It's over. You

fooled

me into thinking this was something real, instead of a silly game. Well, you're the winner wearing your medal made up of distance, independence, excuses, and easy-way-outs. You stand tall because you have your pride clutched in your fist and perhaps you think that I am

foolish

for being vulnerable. I let myself hurt, rejoice, and be touched, maybe too often and too deeply. But at least I feel. So now, who is the one that is

fooling

around? You or me? Because you work so hard to make it look like you are having fun, but I know you better than that. You may see me as weak, painted in pastel colors and whispering soft sweet songs, but know this: I am nobody's

fool.

I just still believe in good things. I believe in kept promises and Truth and the type of Love that lays aside one's own life for another. For this, I think I am stronger, not weaker.

This isn't a literary masterpiece, it's just what I'm thinking about today.

Today I finished my mental health clinical and I was a little bit sadder about it then I expected to be. Yesterday, Connor told me it would be okay for me to cry if I needed to, and I shook it off like it ain’t no thang. No. Not like that. Because I never say things like that. Point being, today I realized how much I needed Connor’s words because working with the mentally ill this last semester is one of my favorite things that I have ever done. My heart is broken for the mentally ill. It breaks because the stigma surrounding “mental illness” and the way people have treated fellow human beings like animals just because they were labeled “crazy” in the past. I can’t imagine how terrifying and vulnerable it is to not be able to trust what is going on in your own head. Yet, if I’ve learned anything this semester it’s that those that have mental illness don’t have a voice for themselves; I’m learning more and more that being a nurse is being the voice for those that can’t speak for themselves. This is why I am so passionate about mental illness, about speaking out against abortion, and about bringing healthcare to women in Afghanistan who have been deprived of decent care for years.

We live in a world full of hurt, brokenness, and lies and I kind of wonder how we don’t all suffer from mental health problems. Hopefully, this is one tiny way that I can bring the Kingdom full of hope and restoration and good things.

“Listen.

Can you hear it?

Does it speak?

Will I feel it?

Will it hurt?

Am I near it?

...

I don’t know.”

Irrelevant

The scenery whipping past the windows as we drive home from Salina, Kansas, leaves very little for the imagination to work with. I therefore start thinking about bizarre things, like this web of asphalt stretching out across our country that humans constructed and then called the “Interstate System.” I start trying to quantify how much gravel and petroleum has gone into the roads humans have paved all over the world. This, then, triggers thoughts about what type of effect this has on the environment, after we have spread this concoction all over a significant portion of the earth’s surface… This whole tangent is extraneous. (or is it?)

Basically, my thoughts turn to really irrelevant things. Which means eventually they turn to us. “We” are irrelevant, aren’t we? Although at one point, I know we were relevant. We mattered. But time moves and things change and my mind and heart have a hard time catching up.

The Interstate system is relevant.

The road I’m traveling these days is relevant too.

We’ll see where I end up.