No thinking Just typing ---

They say the best time to write is upon first waking up. Well, I fell asleep earlier woke up and started to go back to sleep and now I have thoughts in my head. Since I don’t have a notebook by my bed but do have my laptop near it is going on my blog so as not to lose my thoughts.

Had it been this time last year I would have lite a cigarette and been writing while it just burned in the ashtray. However, the fire took care of my smoking even though that is not what started it. Hard to smoke when you are sound asleep.

Anyway, as I was lying in bed falling back to sleep a familiar feeling shrouded me. Like an old haunt whispering that it is still there even if I you have become better at ignoring it. It’s that loneliness that hits ya. So I was laying there pondering that and that and speculated if that was ‘born’ into me. I was born into the world alone; left to find my own way at least until I had permanent parents. Through the years that imprint never left. It seems to always loiter there just outside of reach.

It’s not like I don’t have friends I do and good ones. I have family, some I can say anything to and not get castigated or be treated less than or that there is something wrong with my perception or whatever. I have my faith. That should be enough. Yet, it’s not. There is something not there. Is it something not done? What is the objective of all this, not to mention this random stream of consciousness coming out through my fingers right now.

For me so many of these questions never seem far away and more and more are constantly added. Maybe lonely is not the right word. I can’t really explain it. Some would say it’s a deepness that lives in me that has been screaming to exit my body in one form or the other. Sometimes I feel like I have lived many previous lives. I sometimes feel things I should not know how to feel or understand. Love of history and my wish to save the world all culminate into this mess in my head that struggles to be free but the words just don’t flow easy. I remember just about everything. Many have a hard time imagining I can remember in detail almost everything. At least the most momentous ones to my mind.

In my mind I always think to myself if they only knew maybe they would understand more. I love working with the teens that yell and scream at you that I “don’t understand what they feel” that is until I would sit them done in the office and very bluntly tell them just how much I did. I knew what it was like to have parents ill equipped to handle me and be sent somewhere else with staff even more ill equipped. I knew what it was like to do only what you had to do, nothing more nothing less. Play stupid to lessen the expectations. At least for them they then knew at least one adult on this planet understood them.

I don’t know where any of these convoluted thoughts are going tonight. It just seems my thoughts as of late have been not only been somewhat reflective but philosophical as well. Maybe these types of things are the fillers in all those books on all those shelves in stores and libraries are made of, the segways to the next part of the story. Which leads me to the thought how do you write honestly about things when others will refute, deny, scold, have a different perspective or just out right say it’s shit because they internalizes it in a different way. It’s a push and pull relationship. I want to but I’m afraid. I want to but I don’t know how and am not good at asking for help. It’s my stubborn independence. I don’t hold on to the past with both hands frightened to let it go, but there are times I feel like I am trying to hang on to myself with both hands; one over my mouth and the other binding my hands. Lord knows everyone that knows me knows that they pretty much know where they stand with me and where I stand on issues in this world. I have always been like that.

Maybe this is the second part of why my grandma always called me her passionate one. She saw an angry lonesome, scared little girl but told me it was passion and if turned in the right way it could change the world. That hardly seems possible anymore especially when I have not only seen but experienced my own mortality first hand and the only one to ever change the world was Jesus and I am far from Him.

Maybe what my grandma was telling me was to just do it regardless of anyone else. They will spit you out and trudge you down but if it is your fervor let it out. People in the church tend to use the human body as an analogy for the church family. Some are the hands, eyes, feet etc… I have always been told I am a mouth. Well duh? Really; quick call the National news stations and bust in with breaking news NOW! Kristina is a mouth!! I know return you to your regular programming…..

All I do know is the more I search for my purpose the farther away it seems. The deeper the echo chamber sounds. The higher the drop and the lower the fog settles. I’m not anything special. I wonder if I have made a difference in anyone’s life or the world thus far, anything that will last when I am gone.

Wonder what this will read and sound like in the morning. I venture nothing but a discombobulated jumble of arbitrary things that have no connective tissue what so ever. I guess that will be up to the reader.

Don't speak it out!

OK it's been a while. I have not really had anything to say. Well, that's not totally true. I have said a great deal in my community about issues we have going on here, just not here on my blog.

Have you ever had something inside you that was so deep and personal? A hope, dream for your life, job or something similar? You don't want to talk about it, or express it to anyone. Afraid of what would happen if your dream did or didn't come to fruition? So you keep it between you and God. You don't tell or talk to your closest friends about it. Even if your friends know you have a talent or gifting for the area your secret sits in. So you sluff it off as a random event.

A prime example of this is: I have always had a love or passion if you wish for words. Any and all words. I loved the way random letters come together to form thoughts, opinions, feelings or anything. I picked up how to formulate these letters very young.

In school I was always "housed" in the "special education classes". I was a rambunctious kid with what some said was hyper. I say bored, bored to death. So I caused all kinds of havoc as a way to keep my brain from shriveling up and shutting down. The teachers didn't appreciate this too much. I had also figured out very very young that if I showed as little potential as possible little was expected. It was like "oh she tied her shoes YEAH!! clap clap" So that was my thought process in ELEMENTARY school. Scary right? It gets better. Every year my special Ed teacher would have to test us to see how close to grade level we were performing. I remember the day in 2nd or 3rd grade that this occurred. (That's another problem I remember everything practically, I forget very little. Some how things stay in the back of my mind yet available for instant recall.)

Anyway, I chose to actually try on some of the tests. So I randomly chose what I would and would not perform on. I chose to take the reading, vocabulary, comprehension and all that one seriously. So when the annual reports went home I peeked at mine. I tested almost out high school. I was only in 2nd or 3rd grade. I was the kid that would sit on my dad's lap and read the paper to him once in a while. I know crazy kid.

After those tests went home I had some explaining to do. I said it was a fluke and did my best to bomb every test I was given after that. It worked, I was successful., YEAH!

For all the years following up to where I am today, I held my secret. I have written things in the past. Creative writings, college papers, things for media outlets etc. and have had any number of my friends tell me "God made you to be a writer." Or things of the sort. I would think ya ya whatever. All while holding onto my secret.

Well, I have recently made the decision to test the waters. I responded to an ad in the same paper I have done front page articles for about my many Hurricane Katrina disaster response trips to New Orleans, they were advertising for freelance writers. I called, and was told they would give me a shot. WOW.

I was scared and elated all in the same moment. The simple first story was about the Daisy Girl Scout troop of 5 - 6 year olds. What is the old saying? Never work with animals or kids they steal your own thunder? I did it and was and am proud of such a simple story.

So for those that have tried to push me into some sort of writing over the years I am trying to do some sort of semblance of it now. Are ya happy? (snickering) However, putting some of my most private or emotional thoughts into those random patterns to create words and sentences are still difficult.

There is still a little fear left. I have put myself out there and been approved of. Not not only by humans, but by my heart. the silent, still place that lingers by itself afraid to raise it's hand to be seen. I have always known that there was something different about me and my fascination with words. As I got older I understood that it was a gift from God. I do not know if I would describe it as calling or anything but I know it comes from God, not me.

I know that sometimes when I do write certain things (and I know this may sound strange to some) I feel different. I don't feel the need to read it over and many times do not even want to. In college I always started writing my papers the night before they were due and handed them in without a re-read and got A's. I usually stayed up all night writing them. For some reason my most creative or open times always come in the middle of the night, and I do mean always. Figure that one out.. Sure, there are times that I become insecure and re-read edit, and repeat over and over again, but this brings me to my entire point.


We as humans can have gifts, talents, callings, skills etc, and we can be confident in them. However, I believe that if we leave that place of questioning and rest in our own confidence we move outside of God's grace. We step out on our own and hang ourselves over the cliff. There we dangle and wonder what happened to our giftings. It is not until we look back later that we see what happened. Is it pride? In part. Is it human nature? In part.

It is not that we are not comfortable in our individual skills. It is that we fail to remember it is God who gave it to us. Even if there are others with similar abilities it is He who made them so minutely different our human eye may not see the differentials. It is He who continues to re-supply us with it. That is what we forget in our own busy, hurried, self confident lives.

Just another tale from the rabbit trail.
I would love to know if this makes any sense to anyone else but me.

Preview

OK, this is guts.. I am going to add the prologue to the book I have started years ago. I really have to be inspired to write. I do have other chapters written, but I have only shared the prologue with ANYBODY. No one has seen the chapters, and they won't until I am more comfortable. GOT THAT MAR!!! HAHAHAHA