cartas.

i had forgotten how restful it is for me to write.
thank you jesus, for space to write and space to know that this is indeed restful.

i'll be writing letters this week.
particularly to three friends i've never met.
two to men overseas, who i hope are reveling in the news that Osama Bin Laden's lifeless body is in possession of the United States. i pray that they are resting after celebrating tonight.

the third letter is to a friend i've never met but have read her words, and been able to encourage her. i forget that jesus is larger and more intentional than limiting relationships to face-to-face interactions.

if you'd like a letter, let me know. i'd love to write you one. :)

i realized

that i'm generally pretty hasty
when it comes to writing.

i should slow down.

out of guilt.

a character in the book i'm currently reading says that she believes her father is writing her letters out of guilt.
he writes notes of his life: his wife, his children...essentially his new family to her every month or so.

she hasn't seen him in about 10 years.

something twisted inside me.
he actually writes to her.
he probably doesn't know what to say,
where to start.

and then i thought of you.
it makes sense, you're my dad.
i think of you in situations like this.

it made me wonder why you don't write.
why even facebook isn't small enough a window
for you to initiate a superficial relationship with me.

you don't feel guilty.
you don't feel guilty to write to me dated reports
of your life. of your wife.

and that really sucks.
i'd say it sucks for you, but i really don't think it does.
'cause it looks like you really don't care.

written words.

I've come to realize that I love the written word.
I love the fact that I can interact with different personalities, perspectives, and emotions within the words of blogs, books, articles or small quotes that appear in a fortune cookie.

Writers that are transparent, and who i read often have become friends. i laugh and excitedly wait until their next blog post, their next book. (when i finally get the book in the mail or buy it... it's an amazing day.)

Sarah Markley has become a hero to me. She is able to write with transparency, passion and truth. Her love of the word is strong, and her ability to transfer her emotions onto her writing space is incredible. She challenges me to make time to question. Question myself, why I do things, why I don't do things.

   One of the first blogs I read by Sarah was, "The REAL Real Me". It hit deep. It asked me consider the things I hide from others, and stirred that part of my soul that wants to be known by my friends.

   Sarah's a mother, a wife and as I jump into this new season of life (as I leave UCLA) Sarah's blog gives me a glimpse of what life as a mom and wife will soon be. The joys and trials of marriage, the beauty in raising daughters, all the while living a life full of hospitality, wonder and a much needed time of rest every day while walking with Jesus.
  
As I've learned more and more about myself as I read Sarah's blog, I have realized why I am addicted to the written word. She writes the way I desire to, like an open book. She gives her heart away to readers that she does not know, and she does so freely.

May my words one day reflect a heart (like Sarah's) that seeks after Jesus, seeks to be more like Him and challenges readers to do the same.

the spanish author in me is becoming dominant.

i finally wrote and spoke things in spanish.

i hadn't really done that to convey a lot of emotion before.

i'm excited to post.


soon.

To Dad:

Hi Daddy.
It will soon be my 21st birthday; I wish you were here to spend it with me. I wish that you would understand that I need you in my life, that I want to walk with you down the street, hold your hand and smile up at you like I once did sixteen years ago.
I already forgave you.
Now inside my heart I want to hold you and call you Daddy. Who knows if that day will ever come.

This is what I wrote during a Spanish class; I should have been listening, but my mind seemed consumed with finding him and knowing him as a daughter should.

However, my amazing Father gave me a great image on a night when I felt so alone; he gave me that same image I longed for: being held by the hand, and not walking down a street, but walking by the ocean (my favorite place) and to mind came this:

My God has called me daughter
there is nothing more precious to me
than the way he holds my hand
and draws me near

I can't describe what it means to feel that kind of love; to have it wrap around you. The closest I can get is how heat envelops you during summer and how you can't seem to escape it. That's how it feels, and I'll admit, there is nothing I'd have instead.