And then I saw....

I had a dream. It was one of those dreams which stays with you for the rest of the day and taints every aspect of your daily routine. I remember being restless as I went to bed. I was completely botching my relationship with Jesus and I knew it- not that He'd ever let me wiggle out of it, but the restlessness and discontent gave me hope despite it's uncomfortableness: God's Spirit wasn't dead within me. I had begged for His forgiveness mere days before and had even sat in the middle of a worshipping congregation, tears pouring down my face at the faithfulness of God and marveling at the fact that He was now my personal Savior. And I slipped. Not just a quick misstep, but a crashing thud in the bog of sin. I despaired as I realized the extent of my own weakness and gave myself up for lost. This overwhelming depression just as I'd praised Him for His tenacious love for me. I fell again that night. Staring entranced at the images playing before me- morbidly engrossed by their antics. I finally laid down and promptly started tossing and turning. Do you love me? was whispered to me over and over. You cannot serve two masters. tickled against my consciousness. Come away with me and be my love taunted me with hope, freedom, and a purity that could reach me to my very core. And then I slept.

There was a massive field stretching out before me. On the far side, I could barely catch a glimpse of the tall trees lining the parimeter. There were woods behind me, though I didn't remember pushing my way through the branches and I had no scratches on my arm telling me so. I was between laughing and crying and the sensation that I was being pursued wrapped itself around me like a frightening, yet comforting cloak. I wanted him to catch me, whoever it was, and I was afraid of what would happen if he did. I was wearing a light pink gown which flowed to my feet and trailed out behind me. I had no jewelry on and my hair was long and, surprisingly enough, behaving itself. I was running barefoot and the grass was soft and wet- there were no small stones or sharp branches to inhibit my progress. I heard hoofbeats behind me and my heart skipped a beat as I realized he was getting closer. I looked over my right shoulder and I saw a man dressed in a white robe which flowed behind him, flapping in the wind. He was laughing and I knew I would never hear anything as wonderful this side of heaven. His eyes were warm, a deep brown, and they spoke of his feelings for me. He stretched his arm out to me and...

I woke up. This passage immediately came to mind:

"...and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True...His eyes were like blazing fire, and on his head were many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God...on his robe and on his thigh he has this name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS." (Revelation 19:11-16). NIV

This passage quickly followed:

"'Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and I will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt. In that day, declares the Lord, you will call me 'my husband'; you will no longer call me 'my master'. I will remove the names of the Baals from her lips; no longer will their names be invoked.'" (Hosea 2:14-17) NIV

Many of you are aware of how much I dwell on being "pursued". In the past, this obsession has been suggested to apply to God and the spiritual aspect of me, but I've always brushed it off with a shrug and the mentality that God doesn't have skin so it doesn't work that way. I have now been proven wrong. What boggles me is this: why would God choose to speak to me in such a vivid way? It's almost like I'm sitting in Jesus' lap and he's got his arms around me.

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." (Matthew 11:29-30) The Message

Darkness and Light

It's my Saturday. It's really Tuesday, but in my mind it's Saturday. I usually despise waking up to sunlight streaming through my window, so I have the blinds closed and two dark scarves thrown haphazardly over the top guard in a vain attempt to make my hovel as dim as possible. I actually would prefer an overcast day to a sunny one. Friends gawk at me when I say this and I can't really explain it. There's nothing depressing fueling my preference: it's not because "the atmosphere matches my desire to off myself" and it's got nothing to do with having an insatiable desire to join the undead. I would just rather spend my time strolling outside during a fierce thunderstorm than basking on the beach, soaking myself in sunlight. There is something utterly breath-catching about seeing fluffy charcoal clouds rolling over top of each other, vying for the best position above your head. There is something so inexplicable about that scent right before the heavens open up. I can't think of a better sound than the patter of heavy rain drops on a tin roof. I can't imagine a better feeling than squishing across a field, drenched with steady rainfall, barefoot, enjoying the puddles swelling and oozing over my cold feet. And the rain. The sweet rain. The more of it, the better, in my book. I crave a good thunderstorm that rattles the windows and wipes every trace of grime off Toby (my car).

But, it's Saturday. And it's sunny. I use to think there was something wrong with me for not caring too much for the sun. After all, light is good...dark is bad, childishly put, of course. So, because I enjoy steel skies over blue skies, that must mean I'm a bad person...right? Obviously not, but it does give one pause.

I have a point to make, but I'm not entirely sure of what it is myself, so I think I shall sign off for now and collect my thoughts. Perhaps I'll make more sense later....

A Precarious Peace

Everyone sit down and breathe deeply in and out. I know I haven't posted anything for a long time. For those few but faithful who were eagerly anticipating a new missive, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. The inclination to write hasn't been very strong of late and when it has, I'm nowhere near a computer or a notebook. So! Here I sit.

I was sitting in church last Wednesday night, awkwardly getting accustomed to my "cautious peace", as I've begun to call it. You all know that I went on vacation a couple of weeks ago to North Carolina. You also know that I have certain fears and trepidations when I leave Florida, knowing I have to return. I would like to ease into denial and say it's not negative thinking or unnecessary worrying, but that's what it amounts to in reality. It's a fact. When I board a plane to leave the Sunny State, I'm already obsessing over and dreading getting on a place on the other side and coming back. Ridiculous, I know. Why can't I just sit back and enjoy the reprieve from work? Why do I have to already be worrying about the end of my break? I do that with a lot of things, I realized. I focus more on the future than I do on the present; okay in moderation, but not so hot when taken to the extreme. I think I do this, especially about where I'm at now, because I'm so confounded by my inability to make it home. I was slightly alarmed and more than a bit suspicious when I boarded the plane to return and not only didn't bawl buckets (for once), but found myself cautiously looking forward to a new beginning here in Florida. My mom said, "Beka, I think you've turned a corner." I think she's right. Now, whether or not I'm going to keep walking in the new direction or turning tail and bolting the other way remains to be seen, but I do believe I have a choice and I do believe that for my own benefit, I should keep walking this new path. The reason I call this my cautious peace is, as usual, I'm already contemplating it shattering and throwing me deep into the emptiness I had before. I'm hesitantly extending my life out to Jesus in the hopes that he won't break me. The trust is coming back. You all also know that I wasn't walking with Jesus before I left. I'd made some pretty bad choices and an even worse one by chosing not to correct myself. I'd heard that voice...soft, but insistent asking me to give up the world, but I'd managed to ignore it. He then got loud. This is where church comes in. The sensation that I was being called out by God had been getting progressively stronger, but I was waiting for one more big blow before I allowed Him to mend my ways. It came in the form of Sy Roger. He'd been a Christian for about 30 years, but before he came to know Jesus, he was deep in the homosexual lifestyle. Through his testimony, God spoke directly to me...told me how He saw me, what He expected from my life, and more suprisingly, the benefits of turning to Him. I've never considered God actively "selling Himself" to one of His children, but that's exactly what He did with me. I won't tell you details (if you want them, my number is...just kidding). This sense of contentment has continued and with it has come the long awaited excitment for the things of the Lord. This is a feeling I never thought to experience again. But, (quite literally), praise the Lord, He's given my the 2 x 4 upside the head that I so desperately needed!

Wishing Upon A Star....

Admittedly, most of my blog post ideas (or is it just blog ideas?) are thought of at work. Like today. I was sitting at the reception desk, innocently manning the phone while the lady of the hour took her break when I was struck right between the eyeballs with a plethora of wishes. Some would label this "The Bucket List" or "25 Things I Want To Do Before I Die". I have no name for it, but if I did, it wouldn' t be any of those. But I did want to share some dreams I have.

1. I would love to ride in a stretched limousine: Hummer version preferably. I want to wind my way through the streets of a huge city, like Chicago or New York; at night with the city lights surrounding me, standing on the leather seats and poking my head out of the sunroof, waving to the people passing by.

2. As many of you know, I'm in love with llamas. I really want to pet one. I'll take this dream a step further and say I want to spend a day at a "llama farm". I want to hug them and fill my camera with pictures. :-) I'd say more, but it'd be redundant.

3. Parasailing, she says with a victorious giggle. Before I croak, I want to experience the thrill and positive horror of being hoisted off the back of a speed boat and lifted sky high. I want my parachute to be a splatter of rainbow colors and I want the entire coast to hear me squealing.

4. After watching movies such as Secondhand Lions, I have the urge to go cantering down the beach on horseback. Of course, in my dreams, I'm graceful and move with the horse, whereas in reality, I'm jerky and almost guaranteed to get an up close view of the sand when I topple off the horse mid-stride. Be that as it may, I'd still like to try.

5. I'd like to spend three or four days visiting Disney World, Epcot, and Universal Studios in Orlando. Considering my current location, this wish may not be as difficult to satisfy, but this is where the tricky part comes in. I want to go with a bunch of my closest friends. I want to stay in a five star hotel with a hot tub in the room. I want to be able to order strawberries and champagne (eh, forget the champagne) at 2 am. I want to sleep in a king-size bed with at least four fluffy pillows. The only thing I can think to compare this to is the bed I slept in while in Frankfurt, Germany. Dad, you'll recall that one. :-)

6. I want to go to Jerusalem and kneel at the place where Jesus died. I want to stir the dirt with my hands and be able to cry without a thought of who's watching.

7. Oh, to be able to pack my bags and head to Italy for 8 months. I'd want to get a small apartment in a building which overlooks a courtyard. I want to sit in a street cafe at dusk, sipping espresso and watching the people go by. I want to stand in the middle of the Coliseum arena and spin in circles, taking in the rows and rows of seats. I want to ride on a scooter through the streets of Rome. I want sit in a balcony and paint in Tuscany. I want to go to an Italian opera and relish in the fact that I can't understand a word they're saying, but still understand the beauty of the emotion being expressed. I want to sit across from an old man with a beard, drinking wine and eating cheese while he graciously hands out advice. I want to lay on my back in the middle of the vineyard and stare at the stars. I want to go to the museums and spend hours upon hours gazing at the paintings. I want to go to the Sistine Chapel and witness first hand Michelangelo's masterpiece.

8. I want to go to a Blue October concert and stand in the front row. I want to be able to cry at some of the songs and jump up and down at others. I want to get a guitar signed by them.

So, 8's an odd number to stop at. No one said I was conventional. :-) I'll be adding to this in the future, I can promise you that. May this inspire to chase your own dreams!

Peculiar Curiosity

How in the world do they get the peanut butter inside the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup? Why does hair grow back thicker after you shave? Why is it that two people can eat the exact same thing and one likes it and the other detests it? Seriously, where does your fat go when you lose weight? What makes water so...unique? What really happens when you crack your knuckles? Why do deaths seem to happen in threes? What is the secret to joy? Why do we always wish for something better? Why are the colors richer in a sunset than they are in a sunrise? How come things seem more real in dreams at times than they do in waking hours? Why do we, as humans, need companionship? What is it that makes the smell of an upcoming rain storm so utterly irresistible? How does the Internet really work? Are we naturally bad and work at being good or are we naturally good and the world makes us bad? Why does God take such an interest in us? Why do we keep ignoring Him? Why don't we treat others the way we want to be treated? So, the answer to most of these question is "Well, Beka, we live in a bad, bad world. It won't be better until Jesus comes again." That could be true. In fact, it probably is, but I did want to send these questions out into cyberspace.

The Wake Up Call

It was Thursday. Monday for me, but Thursday for those who adhere to a "normal" work schedule. I was once again desperately trying to ward off a horrific case of sleepiness with a strong dose of coffee. While some of you may scrunch up your nose in disgust and hug your cup of tea tighter to your chest, I will stand by my morning beverage come hell or high water. I unlocked the office door and flopped down at the communal desk. After staring at nothing for a couple of minutes, trying to process the fact that I was indeed meant to be productive, I noticed a copy of Newsweek laying on the keyboard. On the cover, in the shape of a cross, were the words, "The Decline and Fall of Christian America." Coffee forgotten and suddenly very awake, I was immediately up in arms. How dare they! I shrieked in self-appointed righteous anger to no one in particular. Christianity is not dead in America! Get your facts straight! Harumphing with a vengeance, I snatched up the magazine and began tearing through the pages, daring the right article to pop into view. It did. My brow was furrowed and my mouth curled in a snarl as I skimmed the printed words. In all fairness to the write of that particular article, I don't think I read it very well...and certainly not with an open mind. But it made me think long and hard about where our nation is at today and what I've done personally to help or hinder that downhill progression.

About twice a year, in order to add a little perspective to my life, I'll pick up a book by Randy Alcorn called "Safely Home". This book was introduced to me while I was a missionary kid in Nigeria. Being completely consummed with myself and whether or not I was following the latest fashion trends, I paid it little mind. I heard fellow missionaries say over and over. "Wow, what a fantastic book!." or "I cried so hard at the end, I choked." or "How I wish I could have the view of Quan." If you've never read this work of Alcorn's, I highly recommend, but in difference to you, I shall not spoil the story by yakking about it incessently. The theme of this book is the persecuted church. I have always been interested in the persecuted church, but have never gone so far as to do anything tangible to help those in distress and I've always quaked in fear at the thought of actually having to endear what some of my brothers and sisters in Jesus go through. Even after I'd read Safely Home a couple of times, the idea of the persecuted church was, for me, something to pray for, but never something that hit close to home. It happened in far away countries, not America. It happened under foreign dicatators, not our President. It was physical and mental agony experience by people who's names I couldn't pronounce, not Betty down the street. It was unfamiliar. And I laid awake thinking, Thank you, God.

"The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church." It is stated in Safely Home and illustrated in the form of a man who threw a glass to the ground and, in frustration, stomped on all the pieces, until the shard became like powder- strewn in a wide circle. The man was, at the time, unable to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ, but used this demonstration as his sermon. The believers in the crowd understood the actions while the unbelievers were mystified: the glass was the church; the man represented those persecuting the bride of Christ. Even though "stomping on the church" seemed to produce an awful result, the pieces were spread. The Gospel of Jesus was brought to places perhaps it wouldn't have been brought before had not those who claim Him as their Savior been persecuted. Those of you who know me at all know that I can not abide the idea of torture. I can't wait it on TV, I can't read about it, and I certainly don't want to listen to it. Yet, I am fascinated by the dedication of those who undergo it. I abhorr the idea of physical pain- whatever the cause. But the things I've read and see on TV done to those who believe in Jesus make my stomach turn. And those suffering don't capitulate. They stand firm. It makes me wonder if there isn't something to be said for undergoing such testing. I firmly believe that those who are allowed to pass through such rough waters have a much more deep and meaningful relationship with God than any of us who live the "cushier" lifestyle. I hold to the theory that because of their earthly pain (be it mental, physical, or emotional), Jesus meets them in a very special, very real-almost tangible-way.

America boasts of freedom: freedom of speech, freedom of religion, free thinking, etc. But with all this freedom comes the danger of unusually high levels of apathy and ingratitude. We take advantage of the various churches, sometimes two or more on a street. We take for granted the Wellspring of Life, because we've never been seriously dry. We are just so unaffected. Our bubble spreads from New York to California. And heaven help the person who pops it. Sure, small doses of reality creep in now and then in the form of convicting sermons or atrocities in the News, but our lives as a whole are untouched by thing, events, or people that make us lay face down in the dirt and choke out Jesus' name in pure desperation. We don't rely on Him because we don't have to. We have computers, televisions, cars, freedom of worship, right, a democracy, and a roof over our head. Now, before I get scathing replies, let me say that I am not saying all those things are bad. There aren't. Not by themselves. But the complacency, laziness, and general apathy they foster is. I'm not suggesting that we form house churches, sit on the cement floor, and pray for 6 hours (although serious prayer is a MUST). I am suggesting that we shake the dust off our heads and focus on why we're really here. Our persepctive is shotty. And I think its due to the fact that we don't face much persecution here in the United States. Is it easy to pray for harder times? No! Do we want to be uncomfortable, unsettled, and suffere? Of course not! But, I do think that price would be well worth paying if it brought us to a right relationship with God. What is a right relationship with God? Sounds boring, if you ask me. Great Caesar's Ghost, no. What could be more exciting than seeing the face of Jesus? What could thrill you more than being able to walk towards His throne and have Him wrap His arms around you? What could tingle more than walking hand in hand with your Maker and having Him say "Well done!"?

Is Christianity in America dead? By no means! Is it well on its way to becoming dormat? I think we've reached that point. We, as believers in Jesus, need to stand up, stretch, and joyfully do the work He has for us which is bringing in the Harvest. By adhering to the true Gospel and clinging to His teachings, we are allowing Him to flourish in this desert. It is my prayer that America will shake off her drowsiness and rise up to take her place as a nation chosen by God.

Heaven Met Me Here

You blink your eyes in wonder, casting quick glances from side-to-side as an uproar fills your ears. It's like that Metallica concert back in 1998, but more...round...more full. Your ears start to tingle and the sound goes deeper. There are people. So many people. Every color. Every language. Every shape. Every size. And everyone is smiling. It looks like midday and you try to feel suffocated by the bodies pressing you from all sides, but you can't seem to manage it. You feel relief. You have the same sensation you had when you ran into your dad's arms after falling off your bike. It consumes you. Tears pool in your eyes, threatening to spill over as the chant is picked up. "Glory to the One seated on the Throne! Glory to His Name! Praise be to Him!" They're saying it in their native tongue, but you understand every word. Spanish, French, Italian, English, Portugese, Fulani, Arabic, Greek, Swahili, Mandarin, and Hebrew. It blends together to create a great chaos of joyful adoration. A wrinkled old man is stooped next to you and you notice the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. His arms are stretched upwards and as you gaze into his shining eyes, his back straightens and he stand proud and whole, shouting out his thanks. The little girl in front of you squeals in delight and you stare amazed as her left leg grows from what use to be a stump. A woman spins in circles, laughing uncontrollably as her scars are removed. A blind man sobs as he sees crimson for the first time. And the hole...that deep, despairing, life-sucking hole in the middle of your chest is being filled. You can hardly breathe as you feel worthy. You feel whole. You feel precious. A small boy tugs on your shirt and when you lean close, he whispers. "That man woke me up in the middle of the night. He told me to pray for you. I'm so glad you're standing next to me." You lift him on your shoulders and press forward. The light gets brighter and the singing grows louder. Soldiers drop to their knees, battered men lifting their faces towards the One seated. His name is shouted over and over. Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Hands are joined and the circle stretches for miles and miles. A teenage girl squeezes your hand and her eyes smile into yours. "I can forgive him." she says. "Do you see him? He's here." You quickly scan the row of bodies and lock eyes with a Chinese prison guard. His bruises fade as you watch and he grins. "He beat and raped me for three years. He wanted to know why I cried out for Him. He said there was no hope. Then He gave him hope." She giggled and the dance began. The walls of heaven shook as thousands upon thousands of people danced the same rhythm, always giving glory. You see Him rise from His throne, His laughter booming across the ages. You fall to your knees as He speaks. Do you see now? Do you begin to understand the depths of my love? Are you able to comprehend your worth? He stretches out His hand and you hold on for all your worth. He spins you around and around, laughing. There is deafening applause and a clamor of cheering. You're home.

Obtaining Freedom

Freedom isn't a word I've given much thought to until recently. When it has been mentioned in the past, the only thing that came to mind was long-ago wars which were completely removed from the world I'm living in today. Take our great fight against the English "back in the day" for instance. The brows of Americans nationwide tend to crease it righteous rage as they firmly shake their fists in the air, bellowing victory chants. We were free. It not only our privilege to remember our win with patriotic pride, it hovers on duty. Our sense of accomplishment, when questioned (why is your face scrunched up almost beyond recognition when the defeat of the British is mentioned?), is vehemently defended with statements such as "...because now we're free." or "...because now we can do what we want with no tyrants." Ah. No tyrants. That begs the question of what exactly is a tyrant. Here's what Webster says. "Tyrant: an absolute ruler unrestrained by law or constitution; a ruler who exercises absolute power oppressively or brutally." Let me ask you something. Being human, have you ever let evil reign in your life? Your definition of evil may not be the same as the next person. I think evil is whatever makes your stomach recoil. It's what makes you put your head in your hands and weep when no one is looking. It's getting to the point you swore you'd never reach. For some, it's lying. For others, it's murder. Still others, it's cheating on the wife or husband. I call it sin in general, but taken to extreme: the complete saturation of sin. Lately, I've been like a sponge. Anything "bad" is getting soaked in and just when I think I can't take anymore, I do something more horrific than the last deed. For those of you familiar with the Bible, I feel like Jacob wrestling with the angel in Genesis. I've told some of you this...Jacob got out with a limp and the satisfaction that he didn't just take someone's word for it. I'm still looking in horror at the divine being standing in front of me, my mind rebelling at the thought of what I must do. I think of the sin in my life as a the tyrant. It's oppressive. It's brutal. It rules without law or constitution. I'm so far deep I can't see the dim haze of light at the entrance of the hole. I'm like baby North America right before the Revolutionary War: in the throes of unacceptable enslavement. Naturally, now that I've finally come to this conclusion, the thought of freedom thrills me and seems like a daunting accomplishment- near impossible. Freedom from these failings is to me like a starving man tasting his first steak. He rolls the bit of meat around in his mouth, simply savoring the taste and reveling in the wonder of something he thought he'd never see again. And then he eats ferociously. I want to throw my hands in the air, spinning around, basking in the free air. I want to be able to laugh out loud again. I want to smile. I want to not dread getting up in the morning. I want to giggle for the sheer joy of being alive. Tyrants don't usually step down quietly. Drastic measures need to be taken by those oppressed. A revolution is necessary. Is it any different with spiritual warfare? I can't calmly and sedately go about my regular routine and expect my outlook to improve. Change. I need to change. I need to take extreme measures to overthrow the "tyrant" in my life. It's not going to be easy. I know this. Perhaps that's why I'm so hesitant to begin the grueling march towards freedom. Is it worth it? I can unquestioningly answer that in the affirmative. But, you'll have to decide that for yourself. I have Someone who knows the ins and outs of this particular battle quite well. He's memorized the strategies of the enemy, knows when he'll strike, is familiar with my weaknesses and strengths, and also knows His own limitations- completely nonexistent. And why have I procrastinated moving forward? What stops me from putting my hand in His and walking into the light? I don't have an answer to that right now. But I do know that I should probably stop thinking and skip and jump into freedom, fighting the oppression with every weapon I have. Onward to war!

Society At Large....

It has recently come to my attention that WalMart is slowly, but surely decreasing the amount of size 18 jeans from their shelves. This could alarm some people, including myself, but I think the real question is, will this induce a nation-wide diet? If larger clothes become increasingly difficult to obtain, will that alone provoke an American Revolution unlike any we've seen before? Or will WalMart be forced to surrender it's role in the noble fight against obesity? Whether or not the lack of larger garments was meant to be on purpose or simply a coincidential shortage, I applaud their efforts- intentional or otherwise. In my opinions, Americans as a whole have come to rely heavily on happy pills and sedatives to survive the routine they themselves chose to adhere to. Let me be quite clear. I am not bashing anti-depressants, nor am I advocating herbal remedies, diet solutions, or other methods used to promote happiness and contentment. If one truly has a problem with negativity, depression, self-esteem or any other ailment that attacks the psyche, then by all means, do what you need to do to become functional. But I have to wonder if our overall lack of exercise, poor diet, and sedate lifestyle are not aggravating our apathetic mindset. I am preaching to the choir when I write this. I have, and still do, struggle with depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, suicidal thoughts at times, and even som paranoia. But I've begun to ask myself if my problems have not become worse because I chose not to take a daily walk, eat cucumbers instead of potato chips, or go out and socialize instead of sitting on the couch watching TV. I refuse to point fingers at anybody and blame myself entirely for my current way of living. How can I accuse others of not "living up to their potential" when I myself am not trying? So, here's to all of us who are battling the bulge...it may feel like an inevitable defeat, but tomorrow is always a new day!

A bad case of "what if...."

You've said it to yourself many times. It's the phrase we use when we're mentally kicking ourselves for a situation we can't go back and change. What if I just.....? What if she said.....? What if they.....? Some would rationalize their mess up. Others would shrug, casting the blame on their circumstances. Still others roll this question over and over in their minds until they can't remember how they lived before the thought, event, or spoken word which got them in to their current situation. In my mind, it all boils down to one thing: regret. It could be a missed opportunity. It could be a misunderstood sentence. In my case it was an opportunity I should have ignored, but jumped on. I knew I was in the wrong. I walked into it with eyes wide open. Here comes the rationalization....I was trying to put the shattered pieces of my life back together and this was the only glue I thought would work. I'm here to tell you that I wish I hadn't done it. I didn't feel this way immediately after I disregarded all the advice that had been handed to me since I could understand English. I think that's what alarmed me the most. I didn't regret it. I wasn't beating myself up over it. I chalked it up to societal pressures, an inapplicable set of rules, and loneliness. The deed is done however, and I am really hoping I can pick myself up and move on. It was nice to be thought of as beautiful. It was nice to have a man look at me in admiration. It gave me a sense of feminine power- something I'd never felt before. I'm not here to judge anybody. By no means! I'm just saying that I hope others can learn from my mistakes. I shall do my best to make my next post be of a "lighter" persuasion.