Guard your heart above all else, for it is the source of life.

The heart is such a strange organ. 
It beats. It feels. It attaches. It breaks. It heals. It gives life. 
It's so valuable, and we flaunt it with our chest wide open for the world to see. Hearts change. Hearts harden. Hearts are meant to be guarded, they weren't made to be broken. 


I think there comes a time in everyone's life when you decide to stop letting people hurt you. You decide that you don't deserve to be lied to, manipulated, used, and betrayed. You realize that sometimes you have the right to be selfish in relationships.
And you realize that love shouldn't hurt. 


People come and go. People leave marks on your heart, and sometimes just take the whole thing right out of you. People influence people. People hurt people. 


The heart can be a very dangerous weapon, or it can be the most effective tool.  


Our hearts were made to love... if only we knew how. 

Thank you, thank you very much.

I wish every day was Thanksgiving.


Not the food, and the football aspect of Thanksgiving, but the actual thanks giving part.


It's ridiculous that only one day a year is dedicated to acknowledging our over abundance of things. And even then, we've turned it into something superficial. 


I wish we would just take a minute or two out of our daily superficial and abundant lives to think about how truly blessed we are. 

I read her like an open book

"You cannot open a book without learning something." -Confucius


People are like books. Or, books are like people.


We all have covers. Some hard, some soft, some transparent, and some non-existent. 


Some easy to open, some hard to open.


Some full of pictures and easy-to-read pages, and some full of complex vocabulary, and not-so-easy-to-read pages.


Some are short, and to the point. Some take longer to read.


Some are used, torn, and neglected. Some are new, innocent, and crisp. 


And we all have a story.




I could go on and on with this analogy, but you get the point.

The point is: people are fascinating! And so amazingly deep and complex! 


Think about it, you will never know someone completely inside and out. They will always surprise you. There will always be something to learn because they are constantly learning. Every. Single. One of us has our own unique story, that molds and shapes us into who we are. The content of our inner pages determines the cover. Some people are incredibly hard to get to know, it takes a while for them to open up and be comfortable. I, being one of those people. Some people are incredibly easy to get to know, with what seems to be a transparent cover or no cover at all. 


A book, from the story being thought up, to the many drafts it goes through, to the publisher, to the printing press, then to the shelves, to the hands of the reader, has a journey. 


We have a journey. A story with conflict, resolution, climax, characters, dialogue. A front cover, a back cover. Highlighted lines. Torn pages. Readers. 


Me, I'm a soft cover book that's hard to open. I'm packaged in that plastic stuff that's secretly made of bullet-proof vest. But once I'm open, I'm open. Definitely an easy read. And my story is far from being finished.




People are beautiful, complex novels. I wish I put more effort and time into reading.

And I saw, without really seeing, that people are beautiful.

I love people watching. 
And I recently noticed that I look at people, but I don't see them.


I love smiling at strangers. 
I'll walk around campus or Walmart, and smile at everyone I walk by because I like the temporary joy I may give them; I like that I make them feel special, like they've been seen, even if it's for just a moment... but I never really see at them. 


Yes, I make eye contact and notice what they're wearing, how they walk, facial features, etc, but am I going to remember them the next time I smile at them on campus? Probably not. 


The other night, all 5 of my roommates and I were sitting around joking and talking. As we were laughing I looked at one of them, seeing her for the first time. I was so surprised that I hadn't before, I mean, I've been living with her for 3 months. But there she was, the same person as every other time I'd looked at her, and I was seeing her for the first time. And I realized there was so much to see. So much that I had been too busy to notice, or too careless to make the effort to take in. 


I love people. And I'm disappointed that this has become a habit for me. 


Mostly, I hate airports because they stress me out, but the people in airports fascinate me. I want to know where they're going and why, where they're coming from and why, and who they're traveling with and why. 
Even driving around town, I see cars and wonder the same thing. Is their reason as simple as mine? Or is it much more interesting?




Everyone has a story. 
Everyone has something weighing on their mind. 
Everyone loves someone, hates someone, loves something, hates something. 
Everyone is so much more than what you look at on the outside. 
But if you really see someone, you'll see that they're just like you.
When you see someone, you see that you're really not alone in this world. 
You see that they're made up of cells and atoms, and wonderfully complex parts just like you. 
You see that they have a beating heart, broken maybe, or maybe perfectly content. 
You see that they have a mind with synapses, memories, emotions, etc, all different from anyone else in the universe. 
You see that they have opinions, beliefs, reasons, and motives. 
You see that they have a countless number of hairs on their body, a pigment that can never be exactly matched or recreated. 
You see that they have wrinkles, on their brow or on their cheek that hold stories of every frown they've ever frowned, and every smile they've ever smiled. 
You see that they're walking, going somewhere, toward a goal, toward a destination. 
You see that they have dreams, and wishes, and hopes, and prayers. 
You see that their feet and hands are calloused from years of hard, or not so hard, work.
You see that they have eyes that observe, scan, blink, cry, perceive, and speculate. Eyes nonidentical to any other. Eyes hard or soft, with stories. Eyes that are the window to their soul, the deepest part of their being. 
You see that they have senses. They look at scenes, they hear sounds, they touch textures, they smell scents, they taste flavors, and their perception of each of those things may be completely different than your own. 
You see that they're breathing. Their body requires oxygen to survive just like yours does.
You see that there are so many things unseen. Their struggles, their pain, their guilt. It's all there beneath the layers of clothing. 


You see that they walk, make eye contact, flash a simple smile, felt or fake, and they don't see you either. 




Wow, I feel small. All this time I foolishly thought without really thinking that I was the only one. But I'm just one in a sea of faces longing to be seen.

I Will Wait For You

I Will Wait For You <----Video

By Jannete Ikz

So, it seemed that it was cool for everyone to be in a relationship but me… So I took matters into my own hands and ended up with him. Him who displayed the characteristics of a cheater, a liar, an abuser, and a thief. So, why was I surprised when he broke into my heart? I called 911, but I was cardiac arrested for aiding and betting, cause it was me who let him in.

Claiming we were, “just friends”

It was already decided for me by the first day that even if he wasn’t, I was going to make him the one. You know, I was tired of being alone and I simply made it up in my mind that it was about that time. So I decided to drag him along for the ride cause I was always the bridesmaid and never the bride.

A virgin in the physical, but mentally just a grown woman on the corner and he was tired of the weight. So, I was gonna make him the one.

He had a form of godliness, but not much.

But, hey, I can change him. So, I’ll take him! I mean, he’s close… enough. 

Ready to sell my aorta for a quarter, not knowing the value of it’s “used to be.” Arteries so clogged with my will, it blocked his will from flowing through me. So, I thank Christ that his blood pressure gave this heart an attack that flat-lined my obscured vision, put me flat on my back. Through my ignorance, he saw. So, through my sternum, he sawed and cracked open my chest to transplant Psalms 51:10. A new heart and a renewed, right spirit within. So, now I fully understand, better yet, thoroughly comprehend how much I need to wait… For you.

See, the bad thing is that I knew he wasn’t you from the beginning. Cause, in the beginning was the word and he didn’t even sound or shine like your son. Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. And all he could whisper was sweet, empty nothings. Which meant nothing.

He couldn’t even pray what I needed him to. Asking him to fast would be absurd. Forget about being cleansed and washed with water through the word. But, I know you. You’re already praying for me. Even never having met me, let me assure you, I will wait… for you.

I will no longer date, socialize, or communicate with carbon copies of you to appease my boredom or to quench my thirsty desire for attention of the short-live compliments from ‘sorta, kindas.’

You know, “he’s sorta kinda right, but sorta kinda wrong.” His first name, Luke. His last name, Warm.

I won’t settle for false companionship. I won’t lay in the embrace of his arms, attempting to find some closeness but have feelings so far, far apart cause, “I just want to be held.”

Cause all I gotta say is “No.” No more almost sessions of almost coming close, passing winks and buying drinks, and “Im’ma Im’ma Im’ma flirt.”

Who flirts with the ideology of, “Can you just tell me how much I can get away with and still be saved?” No more. I’ll stay in my bed alone and write poems about how I will wait for you.

He won’t even come close, our fingers won’t even interlock, we won’t even exchange breath cause I have thoughts that I’ve saved to ask, and our Father God only equips you to open.

I will no longer get graded down from ‘so called’ friends and family talks about the concern of my biological clock when I serve the author of time.

Who is not subject to time, but I am subject to Him. He has the ability to stop, fast forward, pause, or rewind at any given time. So, if we could roleplay, you would be Abraham, and I would be Sarah (-__-), or you could be Issac and I could be Rebecca, or servants, aunts, and prayer… I am bone of your bone, flesh of your flesh. Made up of your rib, Adam. And once we meet, like electrons, I will be bound to your nucleus, completely indivisible, Atom.

We even speak the same math- 1+1+1=3, which really equals 1 if you add them.

We were all created in His image, but you have the ability to reflect, project, and even detect the son. If I were to explain what you look like, you would have to look like a star. A son of the sun. I would get energy simply from the light you shine on me. I would need you in order to complete my photosynthesis. I await your revelation, but once again from the Genesis, I will wait for you. And I will know you because when you speak, I will be reminded of Solomon’s wisdom.

The ability to lead will remind me of Moses, your faith will remind me of Abraham, your confidence in God’s word will remind me of Daniel. Your inspiration will remind me of Paul. Your heart for God will remind me of David. Your attention to detail will remind me of Noah. Your integrity will remind me of Joseph, and your ability to abandon your own will will remind me of the disciples. But, your ability to love selflessly and unconditionally will remind me of Christ.

But I won’t need to identify you by and special ‘Matthews’ or ‘Marks’ becauseHis word will be tatted all over your heart. And you will know me, and you will find me where the boldness of Esther meets the warm closeness of Ruth. Where the hospitality of Lydia is aligned with the submission of Mary, which is engulfed by the tears of a praying Hannah. I will be the one drenched in Proverbs 31… waiting for you.

But to my Father, my Father who has known me before and was birthed into this earth, only if you should see it. I desire your will above mine so even if youcall me to a life of single-ness, my heart is content with you, the one who is sent. You are the greatest love story ever told, the greatest love ever known.You are forever my judge and I am forever your witness. And I pray that I’m always found on a mission about my Father’s business.

How I’ll always be yours and how I’ll always wait for you, Lord- more than the watchmen wait for the morning. More than the watchmen wait for the morning, I will wait.”

Never too late to start over.

I lost myself. For a very long time. For a major part of my life.
For the time that I most needed to find myself, I was lost. 


I don't remember that person I grew up with. She seems so different, like a stranger.


And now, I'm starting over. I'm defining myself the best way I know how from scratch. I'm paying attention and creating for myself a definition to stick to, a character that will not be altered by anyone or anything. 


I'm walking down this path in front of me, picking up bits and pieces along the way, to figure out who I am and who I want to be. I'm finding my identity all over again because I never found it in the right place. It was always in someone else. 


So... I am what I am and that's all that I am. And once I figure out who that is, that's all I'm going to be. 

I Can't Get No Satisfaction

Seasons. 

I don't like them.

I don't like that there are four, rather than one.

Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter are never long enough. 

It seems that they come and go in the blink of an eye.

Just as I transition from one to the next, it changes again.

As soon as I accept the change and want it to stay, it changes again.

And frankly, I'm sick of it. 

Not sick of the change in seasons, necessarily, but sick of the fact that I can't be satisfied.

It snowed all night and it's still snowing this morning. And it seems like just a week ago that the leaves were falling off the trees. I didn't get enough time to step on all the crunchy leaves. I didn't wear all my cute sweaters before I had to break out the big coats. I haven't had enough of the warm sunshine. There was hardly a transition or warning before everything slowly dying and changing, died and changed. 

And as I was thinking about it this morning, I realized I am never satisfied. I have a fatal condition, called Humanity, possibly Immaturity, where I can't get enough. I long for everything temporary to be everlasting. When I experience something good, I want to keep experiencing it. I foolishly chase after the selfish desires of my fleshly heart only to be left wanting more all over again. 

The seasons mirror our lives. Because of the natural laws of the universe, things change. Nothing ever stays the same. Seasons as fulfilling as Spring, Summer, and Fall, will always fade into Winter. Most of the time abruptly, without time for transition. Without warning or caution. 

No good thing lasts forever. And that's just something I'm going to have to learn to accept. Get as warm as I can during the Summer so the Winter doesn't seem so cold. 

But still, I'm pouring unsatisfactory water into a bottomless cup. I know it's bottomless, yet I still pour and try to fill it with this water that has no everlasting value. 

I know it's cliche', but I'm gonna say it. People search their whole lives to find that one thing they have yet to find. 

There has to be something that will satisfy, so they search only to become more lost. 

They drink, often and much, only to become more thirsty. 

They think they've found it, but the winds shift and suddenly it's buried under layers upon layers of snow. 

To me, the answer it obvious: 

 If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.   C.S. Lewis