Going through my things. Not the first time, but each time its like digging into your childhood. Have I ever mentioned I keep everything? Well... I am a pack rat... I keep everything. Letters, cards, papers, nick-nacks, stuffed animals, glow in the dark dinosaurs. Yep, you read correctly. Each time I start to go through my belongings, my junk, my treasures, I get better and better at realizing I don’t need it, yes, good memories and sweet things still in tacked, but they are doing no good sitting in a box in a closet or an attic. Balance. I also believe its okay to keep useless things within reason. I mean, think how wonderful it would be to one day pull out an old chest full of treasure and written birthday cards or special ol’ letters for your grand kids to see. I have always loved seeing old things pulled out by my greats, grands and parents. Yes, I like this. And so I go on to say, sure it may take me several years to finally narrow my stuff down to a single box, but for me, I am making much progress, and with my mother’s help I am organizing. She’s great with that.

Organization has never come second nature to me. I have to really work at it. I’m coming around to not being ashamed that I am messy, but rather admit that I am and work on it from there. I don’t feel its a terrible violation to be messy. Obviously if its gross and unruly that can be a drastic problem. I also understand “messy” can be a sign of “lazy” which is an embarrassing assumption. I have read many things about personalities though and taken tests and quizzes, because they intrigue me, and my personality tends to be less organized and more of the messy sort. I’ve also read it can be a sign that creativity runs through your veins. You just have to be cautious I guess that your colorful, marker-ed up shoes don’t trip somebody. All interesting thoughts. Even though [my mess] possibly has a little bit to do with the way I’m built and created I am asking for God’s grace to help me to gain a skill for not being such a clutter mutt.

Mongrel. Sounds so derogatory, but really its not. Its just many different mixes, breeds, or origins. I love personalities. I love learning how people work, the way they think, tick, tock and seeing what they’re good at. I have always enjoyed personality tests, comparing notes and then going, ‘wow, that is definitely you’. Even the traits that may seem not so appealing of ones personality I am trying to even see those on a brighter level. Personality differences are fun...errr... They can be. We’ve all come across those personalities that drive us up the wall. Heck, I may even be one of those personalities that drive you up the wall. But if we were all the same, we wouldn’t be different, and in turn we’d all be boring, and there would be no movie called the Wizard of Oz, which would be devastating to say the least. We’d all be Oz himself, I guess. Or those dreadful flying monkeys. What a travesty! Mmm... What mystery and wonder our personality brings. And what awesome hawaiian punch packedness it is! I mean, think of all the giftings people have! If all of it were used in a unified way... Wow... This is another story. Anchors away! The body of Christ. Oh the blood of Jesus, it washes white as snow. But back to different soil...

Origins. Ancestry. Tree. My roots have sprouted. I am moving into the next chapter of my book. A ship in a bottle is only good for looking magnificent, but really, what purpose does it have unless the glass around it is broken for it to set sail on the great waters? A rubber ducky can’t fly.... I mean the bubbles have been fun, but I have been given wings. I sit here thinking and sadly biting my nails(another bad habit that shadows me every once in awhile). There is a growing excitement inside of me. I’ve had trouble discerning the difference between my fear and butterflies. But I have killed that fear and buried it. Morbid but good. Though my eyes tear not in mourning my dead fear, but with a partially chipped heart. Truth be told that’s what it feels like I’m doing every time I think about leaving: chipping away at my heart. My family is so tight. SO TIGHT! I know its not goodbye, but how does that make it any easier? I love them so deeply. I watch myself in my imagination fly away, waving, trying not to cry hysterically (because when it involves my family I’m allowed to be that dramatic). I see myself crossing huge oceans, flying through the clouds, counting the hours and hours and hours of how far away I am. But then God quickly takes my visual thoughts up, up, up even further up! And He shows me His view. Its me, getting on the plane, and flying away from home to another country, another time zone, but it only seems 5 seconds away, not even as far as going across the street. Its then that I realize He’s showing me that in Him what seems like 24 hours to me is only a minute, and what seems a half a world away is only but an inch.

Inches, feet, miles... God goes wherever I go. He is a good friend. He’s actually the best friend. I wonder sometimes why He still hangs around me. I’m not exactly the coolest, funniest, most stylish or greatest person to be around, and i’m certainly not always the best friend I could be to Him. I guess that just proves His awesome love. He is always asking me how I’m doing and I’m continually telling Him everything that is either wrong, or on those few occasions how everything is right! But I feel as if I seldom am a good enough friend to actually ask Him what’s up. I will sit and have coffee with Him as He patiently and even eagerly listens, as He sips His delish, piping hot, grande cup of black coffee (that’s what He had that day), while I chattered about, even spatted a few tears, while my mocha with an extra shot decided to chill. I am so thankful that there is actually someone trustworthy, loving, willing and wonderful enough to actually listen to me, even when I’m not making a lick of sense, sound foolish or ridiculous and am seeming to be on the more selfish side. Wow, that is some kind of friend! What a friend I’ve found...

I feel I haven’t publicly written something outside of the norm for a very, very long time. My mind is going wild with random dingers, gongs, whistles and the like. I could just write and write about stuff that may never make sense to anyone else, but the thought of just posting it and acting like people will actually read it is good enough for me. No, that isn’t a ploy to see if you read it, skimmed through it or just happened to see this part. I’m not asking for attention or acknowledgment that s you read it. in fact I’d probably rather not know that you’ve read it just to save me from embarrassment later on down the road when I actually read it. I really just genuinely like to write every now and again and I tend to find it complete when it is actually published. I am fully aware that it takes a very rare and special bird to actually desire to read and get through this sort of thing. I don’t expect anyone to actually read this. I honestly believe if I were a reader and not the writer, I personally would probably glance at it and think, “she’s got to be kidding me”, and then frolic away to something much for intellectually, if not more mindless.

There is more... Fin.