Memories.

I have lots of memories. Good ones and bad ones. Happy ones and painful ones. Some days I like memories and some days I want to avoid them. It depends.

I love the memory of my duo partner and me taking our shoes off and running through the college campus at 10:00 PM, the evening before a debate tournament. We kicked off our shoes and ran. I loved the feeling of the cold pavement on the balls of my feet. We laughed so hard. It was carefree and immature. It was lovely.

I love the memory of my childhood crush asking me to dance for the first time. I blushed and it felt like everyone saw it. I was so ashamed because my face was giving it all away. But I was on cloud 9.

I love the memory of telling my grandfather all my deepest fears and hurts. It was 2:00 AM. I cried and he held me like a kid again. I felt so warm and safe.

I love the memory of breaking in debate for the first time with my debate partner. I remember we both screamed like little girls. We cried. And we were debating our debate-crushes, so we had to go fix our makeup before the round, of course.

I love the memory of my little brother telling me his deepest hurt and crying in my arms. I loved holding his little body and telling him he was going to make it. I loved the teeny bit of personal healing that I got from that.

I love the memory of running down the beach naked with my best friend when we were five. Those were the days.

I love the memory of being twelve-years-old and my grandpa being the first guy to bring me flowers on Valentine’s Day.

And then there are all those memories I try to avoid. The ones I push to the deepest corners of my mind, shove under a pile of rubbish, and leave untouched for years. Those memories are nasty ones. They rarely come out of the corners of my mind. It is even rarer that they come out of my mouth.

The thing with memories is that they don’t leave. They are all we have of the past. Relics from the past disintegrate. People come and go. And yet memories tend to hang on tight.

I guess the only thing we can do with memories is remember them, accept them, and move on from them. Memories help us see why we are who we are, but they are not who we are. Don’t forget. Remember. And then you can move on.

You can’t choose what to remember, but I guess we can all choose what to dwell on.

~Yours Truly.

A Poem.

Run away, away, and long shall we run

O’er mountains, through valleys, or setting sun

And my hand, my hand, you hold it steadfast

We run away, away, far from the past.

And the snow, the snow, will cover old scars

And a cleansing grace will soften our hearts

The cold, the cold, will have taken its leave;

Oh darling, we’re free; free to believe.

We could hide, hide, under letters of prose

We could laugh till morn and crinkle our nose

We could hope, hope, in the words we’ve been told;

Or cry no, no!, and trust something more bold.

We could trust, trust, the hopes offered anew

We could discard pain and visions askew

But we will wait, wait, lest it be for naught;

Let us wait, wait, on provisions of God.

Let us heal, heal, and cling to His cross

Restoring, repaying, and mending our loss

And please stay, stay, while this beauty lasts

But run away, away, far from the past.

{EER}

Point 1: Definitions

Point 1: Definitions. If you’re not a debater, you completely missed that debate-pun-beautifulness. And it was, indeed, beautifulness.

Depending on the day, if you asked me to define myself for you, you might hear something like the following:

Good day: I’m Emily Rose, a music-loving, lyric-humming, overanalyzing, corduroy-skinnies-wearing, brownie-baking, punk-haircut-rocking, pun-sharing, poem-writing, coffee-sipping, candle-loving, sarcasm-quipping, old-book-reading, stay-up-late-ing, and homework-accomplishing teenager. I’m a debater, a speaker, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a Christian, a singer, a writer, a person. A person who loves to laugh, who is seeking hope and truth just like the rest of us. A person who loves to connect with other people and share their burdens. A person who loves hugs and distributes them ridiculously often. A person who is a fighter and a rebel. A person who thinks her life is beautiful.

Bad day: I’m Emily Rose, a sinner who hates everything. And that’s basically everything you need to know about me.

Snazzy day: I’m Emily Rose, a chica who loves and/or rocks red lipstick, jeans, red high-heels, long hugs, bedhead-hair, coffee with French-vanilla cream, snuggles, cinnamon gum, perfume splashes on my wrists, pearls, black evening gowns, combat boots, red toenail polish, leather jackets, Bon-Jovi music, slow dancing, really any dancing, and did I say red lipstick? Muah.

Bleh day: I’m Emily Rose, a kid with endless homework, a crazy family, and an overactive thought-process; who doesn’t really sleep well, who does not have a fun time with her kidneys, who probably needs a hug, who wishes I could redo a lot of things, who has lots to do and not enough time to do it. Is today over yet?

Again, depending on the day, you may or may not hear the following things if you asked me to define myself. I might be so busy telling you all the “stuff” about me that I forget to tell you the rest. I probably wouldn’t think to tell you who I really am.

Official Definition: I’m Emily Rose, a child of God. A sinner saved by grace. An individual who has been through much, but who has been loved so much more. A girl whose struggles have enabled her to drip with compassion and empathy. A girl on a journey, hand-in-hand with her Savior. A person undeserving of eternity with God, yet who has been given His eternal companionship. A wayward child whose sin could yet not blot out the hope of her Savior. A disciple and admirer of her God. A part of the Bride of Christ. His servant. His child. His friend. His Bride. His student. His light to this world.

So let’s start at Point 1: Definitions. And let’s talk about what really defines you.

Not pain. Not struggle. Not sin. Not things. Not regret. Not menial responsibilities. Not your own suppositions.

Whatever you think defines you, it’s not all-powerful; your savior is. It’s not capable of breaking your heart; your savior’s sacrifice is. It’s not going to define you; your savior’s love is.

Your humble opinion (and my humble opinion) aren’t capable of defining our worth as a person. Only your Savior has that capability. And that is really such a beautiful, beautiful truth.

-Emily

Bad day?

Isn't this perfect? The bestest thing ever sent to me.

To all my friends out there, if you're having a bad day, let me share with you some things that my friends usually do to make my bad days better.

In order to satisfy those of who are internet-privacy-friendly, I've used code-names. But you still know who you are.

Debate Partner: I love you.
"Also, Jesus": *hugs*
Grandfather: Let's go get coffee.
Schow the Scary Squirrel: Here is a picture of Snoopy hugging his yellow bird.
6'8": Here are sermons. Also indignant cuss words towards whatever is upsetting you.
Hammy: Here is a song from Winnie the Pooh.
Wogan: But you're cute.
Mr. Hillsdale-bound-Bon-Jovi-fan: But can you stay in debate? Also, remember college!
Blondie: We could make out.
Twin: *agrees with everything I say*
The Wise Owl: Here is the Bible.
Mr. Share a Pineapple Man: Hm. So. I don't know what to say.

I hope your friends are as lovely as mine when you're having a bad day.
Chin up,
-Yours Truly