Protected: captured by grace as this whole world falls apart…

She may never understand, living in a world where every move is criticized, every action numbered and counted as though it is all slowly being recorded on to the celluloid called “a series of unfortunate events: the tale of allegri, a journey of failure.” Tripping over foolish mistakes, of raising a voice; at a time that only demolished the hope of redemption in the ears of whom which had heard. The thought of being different than that of the surrounding culture, of that of her own home is hard, the thought of not being accepted for it is harder. Grown, and developed a platform of her own, she strongly made her mind up on what she believes. And yet she has made herself a minority in her own land, calling not but the place she lives her home but that of the place she feels safe, a place where she can believe that which she does. She can not hide under a security blanket of silence any longer, she will not waiver. Yet one believes that any difference in thought is to cause tyranny. A pain hits her gut as she attempts to swallow in the words, like poison to her body, the convulsions becoming unbearable as the mind numbing defenses go up.

Thoughts flittering like ballerina’s on a stage, attempting to find the words to say, as the tears glisten in her pool blue eyes as the storms of the night turn them to the lightest hew of ash. Her mind wandering lost in the woods of time, as the light of day turns to the vibrant shade of crimson over the mountains. The mountains, that once reminded her that the world is not actually so small. Praying that the cessation of hostilities will end as she lifts her head from the tear laden pillow, remembering that wounds one day will be come scars. That no matter where she lays her head at night, that her Lord Jesus will always bring her peace in her dreams. That the festering wounds both old and new, caused by those closest to her, have a chance to heal.

Unknowing of her future, blocking out much of the memories of the pain of the past, trapping them far from conscious thought. Escaping the pain of reality in her writing, in her books, her music, a lonely rooftop at the center of a valley as the place she feels closest to her God. One of the few places that she can be real, that her heavy laden heart can just be real. To get away from the mundane sorrow of humanity, to believe that she really can make a difference. That her one small voice can scream for a change – and for once, be heard. She would die to see it become a reality, would die just to see all her ways be true, to be what she wants the world to see. “To fight for what’s right, skip the middle man and keep your focus in sight” (silvercrush) To fight for what she believes is right, not what she is told to fight for, or do. Her heart must continue to cry for knowledge & freedom. Her mind must use its ability to freely think, & her mouth must be able to use that heart and mind to change humanity…