Disposed Of Girlhood

"Twenty is a horrid age, so final; it puts a period to one's girlhood and drags one across the line of being entirely grown up."

On the Tuesday last, I crossed the line of "being entirely grown up". Instead of seeing the event of my passing girlhood as punctuated by a dreary period mark, I feel it deserves an exclamation!!!
To name a few reasons for this right of passage... I survived puberty, high school prom, awkward 90's fashion trends and, thankfully, made it through without broken bones or needing to visit the orthodontist for braces.

!!!!!!!

On a serious note:

Looking back upon my girlhood, I think of the hardships that broke me down and seemed impossible to survive. The pain made no sense at the time, but in retrospect I see those times brought me back to the promises in Scripture. There is difficulty ahead of me, and I know the lessons learned already have prepared me for what is yet to come.
I discovered my "life-verse" when I was 14 years old, and I have clung to it ever since.

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." ~John 16:33

Now, as I happily (and finally, if I might add) conclude my teenage years, I am excited to begin this journey and see where the 20-somethings will lead me.

Living life can seem like a daunting task to me, but peace comes from the fact that I know Who I live for and why. I've so much yet to experience, I know, and this scares me at times, but I hope that I'm up for it!

If you haven't caught on by now, I really like to use poems and quotes when I write. Perhaps this is because it seems so much easier to use others' brilliant words to make my points.

"How Did You Die?" by Edmund Vance Cooke

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce
Or a trouble is what you make it.
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there- that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts
It's how did you fight and why?

And though you be done to earth, what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only, how did you die?

With Each New Day

A Mindset of Color

Perhaps my pair of favorite colors came from my inability to make a decision; perhaps, but not likely. I believe that the connection of the importance of these colors to my life can be made through the facet of mindset, or way of thinking. I think in black and white. Therefore, those are my favorite colors.

When I was a child, my favorite color was blue. My basketball uniforms were blue, as were my eyes, my house, and the family car. I distinctly remember feeling a sense of self-accomplishment in being able to adamantly state my favorite color. Then I was questioned on the topic, and forced to reconsider.

Nicole, my childhood friend, was a know-it-all who found solace in making me squirm. She would question my judgment incessantly on the topics of fashion, music, religion and, as it turns out, favorite color. As soon as I had stated that my favorite color was blue, she began to retort in typical fashion.

“Just blue? That’s it? Is it like sky blue or ocean blue or dolphin blue?” She, naturally, had expected a sudden answer. If the shocked look upon my face was any indicator, she should not have expected a hasty reply; my world had just been shaken. Being a girl of very certain and specific nature, this situation was an overload for my senses.

“Um, all of them…?” had been my desperate, insufficient answer. I had desperately hoped that it would suffice for Nicole, and that she would allow me to sleep on such a weighty decision and get back to her in the morning. Or, better yet, to just accept that a person could simply like the color blue. The thought was not to be born; she demanded I choose a more adequate answer. Now, it wasn’t that I was such a sensitive child whose only identity was found in her favorite color. No, this situation went deeper than that. It was traumatic because of the continuously arrogant, confrontational manner of my friend. In that moment I was experiencing the last straw of my patience. The last button had been pressed, and apathy was on its way out of my life.

From that conversation I gleaned the following life experience: standing up for what I believe in, no matter how trivial the belief, and making sure that I know my reasons for believing. As I am now a very outspoken person, my beliefs are questioned every day. Instead of giving a meek, befuddled answer to my critics, I can speak my heartfelt answer with equal frankness. I know what I believe, so watch out.

On that day, it was impressed upon me to do a childlike searching of my soul. Why did I say blue was my favorite color? I knew that if I were going to continue to give that answer, I would need to be prepared to give reasons, along with a specific shade that I had an affinity for. As a result of this bout of soul-searching, I deemed blue to be a lesser among my favorites. Instead, I decided that my favorite colors would forever be black and white. It is surprising, to some, that I feel so passionately about this topic. If one sits through my listing of reasons, however, they can be clearly seen.

I have an appreciation for writing, and the contrast of black ink on white paper. The written word testifies to the opinions and insights of individuals, which is of very high value and importance. Also, though it is not a happy event in history, the Civil War was based upon the contrasting of black and white. The horrible issue of slavery does not add to these being my favorite colors, but rather adds to the fact that they are, inarguably, important. In addition to the previous two reasons, I also appreciate the clean, definitive state of these two colors. When I tell someone my favorite colors, I can rest assured that they will not ask for specifics. Black and white… enough said.

If Poetry be the Fruit of Love...

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

~Shakespeare Sonnet 116

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing."
~John Keats

Merit in Meaning

‘tis not a love worth loving
If it borders on a task.

‘tis not a love worth having
If, for a return, must ask.

‘tis not a love worth keeping
If two merely play the game.

‘tis not a love worth quitting
If true loving be its name.