She has learned to love. To fear. To hate. And then to love again. Through it all, she writes.” ~Once Upon A Time There Was A Girl
You can make a difference in another person's life and not realize it, just by giving them One Moment of your time, One Memory to recall, One Motion that tells them they are not alone! OM!
He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?” ~He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
Those who live in memories are never really dead.
Become your own soulmate. Then you'll always have someone watching your back, and you'll always have someone who loves you.
They that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
This soul-o trip on Bessie was a spiritual renewal, a healing, a time to realize that no matter what life throws in my direction, I can cope, endure, and reach the other side of any situation a stronger woman.
I am not who I was. I am not even who I was yesterday. Tomorrow I will be new again, and again, until I am completely the woman I was meant to be.
So I died many times that year. In the cold, in the storm, on the run or on the drunk for my heart did not want to beat but kept on beating anyway and my pain was as real as real can be, and I tried to learn and deal and run and feel but nothing really worked. I built a comfortable home in my sorrow and settled into a quiet living. No sparks or grand gestures, just a simple daily hymn to comfort. The leaves fell off the trees and coloured this city in all kinds of pretty, and some days that was enough to make me smile at least a little bit, within.
I think this is what we all want to hear: that we are not alone in hitting the bottom, and that it is possible to come out of that place courageous, beautiful, and strong.
Life is always living.
God doesn't promise an easy journey, just a safe place to land
You know, everybody's ignorant, just on different subjects.
It has always been on the written page that the world has come into focus for me. If I can piece all these bits of memory together with the diaries and letters and the scribbled thoughts that clutter my mind and bookshelves, then maybe I can explain what happened. Maybe the worlds I have inhabited for the past seven years will assume order and logic and wholeness on paper. Maybe I can tell my story in a way that is useful to someone else.
Write about small, self-contained incidents that are still vivid in your memory. If you remember them, it's because they contain a larger truth that your readers will recognize in their own lives. Think small and you'll wind up finding the big themes in your family saga.
My own hearing has become careful and algebraic.
No matter how much darkness I was in, my bed was Switzerland. It was a no-man’s-land. It was where I laid down the weapons of war that relentlessly waged in my mind.
I had failed to make a gift of myself to God.
A person of average intelligence is capable of learning useful life lessons through the act of self-examination.
We're all the same whoever loves.
