A New Approach

I feel like I haven't been using this blog to the fullest extent of its potential. I was going to use it to share my writings but it seems to me that that may not be the best use for it. Sure, I'll share poems and lyrics and such, but as far as stories go, I'll share those in other ways. I've also been using this blog to share how God has been working in my life, but I want to expand and use it to express the daily goings-on, as well. So, here goes.

This month marks the 10th month that I have spent living on my own in a rented basement apartment. I have loved the freedom and independence that comes with living on my own and am glad for the experience it has given me as I prepare for the next step in life. I've learned a lot during these past few months, including calculating how much food costs and how long it will last me, paying bills on time, not buying things I can't afford and how to handle household problems. Although I had my fair share of issues while living with my parents (and I learned a lot from them, as well), there's nothing quite as unnerving as being temporarily displaced while you're on your own. Thankfully, God provided places for me to sleep while I helped my landlords get their basement (and my apartment) back to normal. The week of July 4th, one of their pipes leaked while they were away on vacation and the water got in under the carpet, which consequently had to be ripped out and replaced. It took several days to dry out the basement and I was in charge of doing so until they returned. At the same time, I was in charge of house-sitting and house-cleaning for my employer, who was also out of town that same week. Needless to say, that was the most stressful week for me so far this year. Having to be in two places at once was something I hadn't really ever had to do. As I juggled my responsibilities between the two places, I realized that I was getting my first real taste of adulthood. I began to view it as God's way of preparing me for the future. After all, if I couldn't handle this now with His help, I was doomed. (Okay, maybe not doomed, but you get the idea.) Thankfully, things were put back in order as quickly as possible and I have come away with some important information and experience (in case I ever need to know what to do at a later point in time).

30 hours of my time during the week is spent at work.  The rest is spent with my boy and friends, at church, at care group, at the Writer's Guild and around the house.  However, I want to devote more time to writing my stories, which have been suffering from neglect due to my busy schedule.  While I admit there have been times when I have been tempted to just quit and throw it all away, I haven't.  The characters and story that I first developed in high school have come a long way.  The story itself has gone through many edits, revisions, even entire scrappings and rewritings.  The characters, likewise, have taken their time in disclosing themselves to me and I feel that with all the progress I have managed to muster up in the past few months it would be unfair to do such a horrid thing to them as they have become so much a part of me.  I want them to be known, for their story to be told.  So many of them are based on real people.  So, you will know their story.  It's decided.

When Anger Threatens to Consume Me

I thought it was gone, but I was wrong. How could I be so naïve?

All I can say is that I’m thankful God is showing me through the Holy Spirit that I still have the issue. What issue is that, you ask?

Anger. Bitterness. Toward God.

Back when I was diagnosed with diabetes, I didn’t realize it was a sin to react the way I did. I wasn’t quite 9. Although I had prayed a prayer for God to come into my heart when I was young, I didn’t understand what it truly meant to be a Christian. I didn’t have a good grasp of the gospel, only a child’s understanding of not wanting to go to Hell when I died.

I was truly saved when I was 18, and God has been doing a great deal of work on my heart ever since.

On May 12th I was diagnosed with Celiac disease and, after a few weeks, I felt the Holy Spirit open my eyes to the way I was reacting to the reality of it. I was bitter, upset, angry that I could no longer eat the foods I was used to eating, that I had to cut my diet back and check food labels for gluten in everything I wanted to eat. I struggled the most when I was out with friends. I’ve always had a desire to be “normal,” and it was hard to watch them all eat whatever they wanted. I felt left out.

But God’s grace was more than sufficient. He gently broke my heart as I cried out to Him. I told Him I didn’t want to do it again, I didn’t want to fall back into the dark hole of bitterness. I didn’t want to be angry with Him. I have no right to be. He’s using these diseases not for evil but for good. I can see that now, though I’m not sure what good exactly will come of it yet. Perhaps I can help others who are struggling with the same thing. Regardless, I believe He used diabetes to lead me to the conclusion that I needed a Savior (my response to diabetes was bitterness and anger, which escalated to the point where I recognized it as sin and repented in desperation) and He is using Celiac to further eradicate that issue and refine my faith so that my character reflects Christ’s even more.

As Peter says, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” (1 Peter 1:3-7)

Even if the only thing for which God is using Celiac is to make me more like Christ, may He be praised; how marvelous that He would work in a broken, sinful girl like me to make me a perfect bride for His Son!

"I could feel God's forgiveness."

This is from a journal entry and Xanga blog post from January 2006...the day I accepted Christ as my Savior.

January 4, 2006
The message was extremely convicting, which is good. It was exactly what I needed to hear.
1 John 1: 5-10:
"This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in Him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with Him yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth. But if we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, His Son, purifies us from all sin. If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make Him out to be a liar and His Word has no place in our lives."

This passage explains exactly what I've done, and even gives a solution for those who need it, like me. It felt like, after I read it and compared it to myself, it was written about me, for me. So cool. So after the message, those of us who were still dwelling in sin but wanted to make things right with God were encouraged to remain seated, in prayer, and then to talk to a staff person about our problem and let them pray for us.

Honestly, I thought about just getting up, leaving with everyone else and healing on my own, but my heart was so heavy I couldn't rise from my seat. As I sat there, praying, I could feel the beating of my heart pick up speed. Tears formed in my eyes but didn't fall. I silently poured out my anguished heart, not caring how the words sounded or what order they came out in. With my eyes closed, I blocked out the worries I'd had about what others would think about me sitting there and focused everything I had on God. I prayed for what seemed like forever, until I had emptied my mind of words to describe my repentance and longing. After about 10 minutes, I picked up my head and blinked away the tears. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the staff members come up beside me. She introduced herself as Sonya Quiet. I told her my name and she asked what was on my heart.

"What did you tell God tonight?"
"A lot," I answered, and between tears, I explained it all. "I've been living a double life, and I want to make it right with God. I'm tired of wearing a mask."
"Would you like me to pray for you?"
I nodded. "Yes."
We bowed our heads, closed our eyes, and she put her arms around me as she prayed.
When she finished, I could feel the burden had lifted. My heart felt lighter, and a sense of peace and comfort washed over me.

I could feel God's forgiveness. I could feel, in my soul, in my mind, that He had forgiven me. Before, I had doubted. I'd been blinded by lies that kept me from believing there was hope for me. Finally, my mind and my soul were cleansed of the guilt and shame that had been weighing me down. The mask has been removed. To be a light for Christ, I have to be genuine.
And now I am.
Now
I am free.

"If You Want To Follow Me, Turn Around."

Yesterday I was reminded of how God called me to Himself through a dream. Some of you have no idea what this dream was like. Well, here it is.

There was this huge room, with a big table in the middle of it and hundreds of chairs around it. All these people, both friends and strangers, were sitting at the table talking to each other. I was sitting at it, too, and I could see a man walking around the table behind everyone, and tapping them on the shoulder to get their attention. Every time he tapped someone, they got up and followed him out of the room.

Pretty soon, it was my turn. He tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned around, I knew who he was. It was Jesus, and He said, "Come with Me." I followed Him out of the room and He transported me to an abandoned warehouse-type building that was (oddly enough) built on a beach. We went inside, and He stopped there in the middle of the room, facing the door. I stopped in front of Him, facing the back of the building.

Then my focus turned downward, to both of our bare feet, and He simply told me, "If you want to follow Me, turn around." Then He made me put my feet on His so that I'd face the other way (the way He was facing). Then, the dirt floor became the sandy beach, and I was left standing in His footprints.

Looking back, I can see how God was calling me out of my life of sin and darkness. I'd been living a double life: wearing a mask of happiness to hide the anger and bitterness I had pent up inside me - anger and bitterness that was pointed at God. But God...BUT GOD...in His great love and mercy and patience and grace reached down into my mind and showed me that - if I truly had the desire to live for Him - I needed to turn my life around...that I needed to turn and walk in the opposite direction. He met me in a personalized dream. He used my favorite landscape as the setting (the beach). He used a very simple illustration to make everything clear (turning me around to stand in His footprints). He spoke to me in my mind...not through some outer force...so that my attention would be turned inward, to my soul so that I could see how backward I was.

(Thinking back on it, I should make it clear that I did not actually see His face in the dream. I couldn't make out any features, such as bone structure, eye color, hair color, etc. It was as if, when I looked up at Him, that His face was just a bright light, all white, and when I "realized" who He was, it was as if the sense just came over me and I knew - "This is Jesus.")

Inspirations of Biblical Proportion

I was inspired to write this after Russell Moore's sermon on adoption this morning. September 19, 2010

Child of Darkness, Child of Light
A child of darkness, I am lost.
A slave to the devil, I've no hope.
My cries go unanswered, tears fall.
Wretched my condition; stained black, my heart is stone.
No light will touch my soul.
I'm a child of the world.
My riches will fade, my dreams will shatter.
All is for naught.

But what is that?
A hand reaches out.
A voice calls my name.
"Child, come to Me."
"Abba! Father!"
Arms envelope me, pull me from the darkness,
break my chains and clothe me in royal robes.
I am clean, I am free, I am home.
My heart is light; I am loved.
He wipes away my tears and lifts the burden of sin from my shoulders.
My riches are surely promised, my life is made new.
All my hope is in Him, the King, my Father.


I was inspired to write this after Joshua Harris's sermon on Fiery Trials. August 8, 2010

Place Me In The Furnace, Lord
Trials are not for punishment; they are for refinement. Place me in the furnace, Lord.
May my faith be tested and my ways made pure and holy for the glory of my King,
that I may be made perfect for the day I am presented as His spotless bride.

A Lesson on Forgiveness

I think I can say that I've created over 100 characters for my stories. Not all of them are main characters. Most are background characters, but they are all important. Two of the most dynamic are the brother and sister duo, Chris and Leslie Thompson. I had very little idea how much they would have to teach me when I first thought them up. As I continued writing their lives into my storyline, they revealed some very profound truths that I was only too happy to learn.

The main thing was forgiveness.

You see, Chris and Leslie's father is murdered before anything in the story takes place, but the suspect gets away without a trace. It's not until a few years later that evidence surfaces and his identity can be pieced together. However, the siblings respond in very different ways to their father's death and are driven in completely different directions.

Leslie becomes bitter and angry, passionately hating whoever took her father from her, but she keeps her emotions pent up until they turn into depression. She finds herself running farther away from God and deeper into sin.

Chris, on the other hand, turns his grieving heart toward Jesus and embraces the loving relationship he has with his heavenly Father. Because of his trust, he grows in wisdom and faith and helps to bring others to Christ.

In the end, both siblings come to realize (Chris more easily than Leslie) that forgiveness will bring the peace they need. Although Chris and Leslie took different paths to reach the same destination - forgiving their father's murderer - both have taught me very valuable lessons in the process.

Leslie taught me about the seriousness of sin and its empty pleasures. Leslie's struggles with anger and depression actually come from my own struggles. Giving her my same tendencies toward sin helped me to see and accept the struggles I might have denied otherwise. You know how it's usually easier to point out the sin in the lives of other people than it is to acknowledge that same sin in your own life? That's what I mean.

Chris taught me about how much I should desire a strong relationship with Christ. It's true. My own creation made me wish I had a stronger relationship with my Creator. Although I should've recognized this before, God in His great mercy revealed my regenerate soul's desire to know Him more while I was simply doing what I love to do. How awesome is He to come and meet me where I am, to connect with me when I am using the very gifts He gave me. Only a personal and loving God would do that!

I Am A Creature In Need Of A Savior

Imagine that you're writing a story. You have a character in mind: you've named them, figured out what they'll look like, what they'll think and believe, how they'll react in different situations - even how they'll regard your part in their life. You carefully consider every part of their being before you breathe into them. You give them little bits and pieces of yourself so they're like you, and they bring you joy because you created them in your mind - they are YOURS and no one else's. You love them and want what's best for them. You decide to give them what they need - family, friends, food, clothing, shelter, work - so they are happy and cared for. But you want more for them. You want them to show others what you are like, but they are only a slight reflection of who you are. They need to learn, to change, to grow more in your likeness. But in order to do so they have to make their own choices. So you give them free will. Once they're ready, you place them where they belong in the story and take pleasure in their existence as you watch them marvel at all that you've given them. But they don't marvel for long. With their free will, they take the gifts and run away, spitting in your face on the way out. They begin to behave in a manner that's unlike you. They steal, cheat, lie, and disregard your desires for their life. They only care about what they want. You no longer matter.

How do you feel? What do you think about your character? Are they a lost cause? Do you destroy them and start over? Or are you so full of love and mercy that you find a way to restore them?

This illustration, which I believe is God-inspired, came to me in the midst of one of my creative writing bouts. I found myself pondering it endlessly as I wrote and came to the realization that it was not just a random comparison. God was revealing to me the true nature of His character through the very talent and passion with which He had gifted me.

I am reminded of this amazing and humbling truth every time I write - or even think about writing. Placing myself in God's position as the one in charge of authoring someone's destiny has allowed me to better see myself through His eyes. I was not created by chance or by accident or for no reason. I was created with a purpose by a loving God who has nothing but my best interest in mind. Oh, how I need to seek Him and His plan for my life!

What God's Been Teaching Me While I Write

"Writing is no longer just a hobby. It is a very real way for me to meet with my Maker and learn about who He is."

Ever since I was a little girl, I've been fascinated with written language, particularly stories that could carry me away from my seemingly mundane life and into a world apart. As I grew older, I journalled regularly - both as a release for my pent up emotions and out of a desire to see my handwriting on a blank page, maybe one day making history in the form of a book. After high school, my journaling days became fewer and fewer until they faded away completely. The desire to become an author, to see my name and my work of written art in the spotlight on bookstore shelves, enveloped me completely. I wanted to be more than I was - more than a lowly student. I wanted to be famous.

I began working on the stories I'd started in high school - deciding on the plot, developing the characters, and giving my story meaning and purpose. It took a lot of planning, careful deliberation, and intent on my part. My story couldn't just be good. It had to be the best.

Looking back now, I laugh at myself. What naive dreams I had. What selfish hopes. What a self-pleasing, empty hobby.

I'm still working on those stories, but my goal is different now. Writing is no longer just a hobby, no longer a means of gaining fame and fortune. It is a very real way for me to meet with my Maker and learn about who He is. I've found more joy in that than I ever did in seeking to be the best author in the world. I still like to see my handwriting on the page, but out of a joy for the gift God has given me. I'd still like to be published, but out of a hope to share my faith with others. I don't have to be "the best author in the world" because someone else already has that title and He's more worthy of it than anyone else will ever hope to be.

The Diary: A short story by Dani

I.
One rainy Sunday afternoon, while I was visiting my Grandmother who signs, I stumbled across a box of old books and papers in her library. Curious, as all young children are - for I was only 10 years old at the time - I started pulling papers out and looking through the contents of the old books. As I neared the bottom of the box, I found a charming looking necklace. On the silver chain hung a small silver key.
Pleased, I hung it around my neck and continued to rummage through the parchments. At last, I finally removed the last of the papers and books. Staring down into the box, my eyes were captured by the sight of a strange little book that lay on the very bottom. Intrigued, I picked it up. The cover was hard and brown in color. A silver lock wound around the front to the back. I tried to open it, but ceased to do so after I realized the lock on the cover would not budge.
As I studied the keyhole, a thought at once occurred to me. It must be the key around my neck! The answer was literally right under my nose. Feeling quite impressed with my brilliant deduction, I removed the chain from around my neck and went to insert it in the lock. Turning the key, I heard a strained click, and the lock popped open. Gingerly, I pulled the cover open and stared down at the few yellowed pages bound to the spine. They were unlined pages, but that proved irrelevant due to the neat and straight lines of the writer’s simple handwriting. Enchanted, I began reading.

II.
The Fourth Day of the Tenth Month
Dear Diary,
Today is my 10th birthday and I have just received you as my birthday present. Mother and Father thought you would be a good thing for me to have, considering I am without any friends and still remain an only child. I know they worry about me dreadfully sometimes, especially since they believe me to be deaf. But it is not so. I have purposefully neglected to inform them that I can, in fact, speak. I simply choose not to. Why, you ask? Because they do not understand me, and talking bores me terribly. Plus, I find it to be a waste of precious breath. Other than that, I get headaches quite frequently and noise of any kind irritates it tremendously. I prefer silence, for I find it to be peaceful. But my parents do not understand, nor will they ever. They do not know me, their little girl. So you, dear diary, shall come to know and understand me, for you cannot talk and, therefore, cannot disagree nor argue with me. You shall be my best friend, considering you are now my only friend.

III.
The Sixth Day of the Tenth Month
Dear Diary,
It is quite silent in the house today; just the way I like it. Father is away on business for a few days and Mother is visiting her sick sister who lives two counties over, so I am left here at home with my Nanny. She is a plump old lady, roughly around fifty years in age, with pretty blue eyes and silver colored hair. She makes the most delicious butter cookies, but she refuses to allow me to sample the batter, which Mother always lets me do. I sneak a taste when she is not looking, though!
She is quite gullible, and easily spooked, so I quite enjoy playing tricks on her when she is least suspecting. I am quite clever as I always throw suspicion off myself. Instead, I love pinning the blame on her black cat, Maestro, whom I simply detest. Yesterday, after she finished baking a batch of butter cookies, she left the flour out and ran to greet a guest she was expecting for tea. Maestro was sleeping on his pillow by the fireplace, so I took one of my small rubber balls and threw it at him. It hit him square on the head and he leapt up into the air, yowling in fright. Well, he landed in the sack of flour and it poofed up in a big cloud all around him, coating his fur in a white blanket from head to toe. I grabbed my ball and rushed out the back door just in time to hear Nanny returning. She was absolutely furious!
“Maestro! You bad kitty! Get out of my flour! Now you must have a bath!” Her Italian accent echoed through the old halls of our country manor. I could hear it quite clearly from my room as she fussed over that stupid cat’s bad behavior. But I was quite pleased with myself and my naïve mischief.

IV.
The Ninth Day of the Tenth Month
Dear Diary,
Father returned from his business trip shortly after lunch today. Mother returned yesterday from her sister’s house. They have been talking privately in Father’s study and will not permit me to enter. I hope they will tell me soon whatever is the matter.

The Eleventh Day of the Tenth Month
Dear Diary,
Mother and Father announced to me today that I am to begin learning sign language as a means of communicating with them. They have grown weary of deciphering my little handwriting, as we talk through writing notes to each other, and are obviously prepared to move on to another means of communication. I was not sure how to react to that news. I was so tempted to speak, to tell them that I am not deaf, but held my tongue for fear of having to explain myself. Nor did I want them to go into shock, for I have never once uttered a single word aloud, not even in private, for the walls have ears and I do not trust them.
You see, after I was born, my parents realized that my hearing was not fully developed and I could not even make noises when I was a baby. My parents taught me to read and write as young as I was able, and I learned to recognize things by sight. It wasn’t until I was seven years old that I began to hear things and understand words. But I decided to hold onto my silence, since I felt they could never know me as anything but deaf. But now I do not know what to do, my friend. Should I reveal my unspoken secret, or endure the unnecessary yet easy task of learning sign language?

V.
The Thirteenth Day of the Tenth Month
Dear Diary,
I have made my final decision. I will not reveal my secret, but will instead learn the language of signs. It was not as hard of a decision to make as I originally thought. After I wrote my last entry I realized that I have lived with my secret for so long it has become a part of my identity and I shall not part from it. Thus, to please my parents and prevent them from uncovering the truth, I will begin lessons in three days.

The Sixteenth Day of the Tenth Month
Dear Diary,
Lessons today were quite stupid. For one thing, the tutor never spoke a word to me, he merely pointed to the word on the page of the textbook and made the sign for it with his hands. He, like my parents, does not know I can hear, so I guess I cannot blame him for assuming I am still deaf. All the same, I suppose I should be grateful that the lessons are not hard and it should not take me too long to learn all the necessary signs. I could quite possibly teach myself, if my parents would allow it. But alas, no, for they too are learning the signs, although at a rate slower than mine. It is simply because they are kept busy with their business meetings and appointments, which makes me wonder why they wanted sign language to become our new means of communication in the first place. Oh, how they vex me with ridiculous problems and senseless solutions. I simply do not understand them.

VI.
My reading was interrupted by the ringing of the bell that signaled tea time. There were plenty more pages in the diary to read, but I was not disappointed in the least. I had read my fill and was satisfied with the content. Thoughtfully, I closed the cover but did not lock it as I made my way to the parlor where my Grandmother was waiting. She looked up and smiled wisely at me when I entered the room. Then, her eye caught a glimpse of the unlocked book in my hand and she signed for me to sit down in the chair across from her. As I obeyed, I noticed a change in her demeanor. She gazed upon the book as thought she were being reunited with a long lost friend.
She knew what it was.
“This was yours,” I said, looking down at it.
She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. Then she spoke for the first time in her life.
“My best friend told you my secret.”