I’ll believe it all

“And to the young ravens who cry…”

I would like very much to know what it would be like if I could be a bird. The beauty and mystery behind the ability to be tweeting with one bird and to suddenly fly and leave like it was the easiest thing. No attachments, no commitments, just beautiful birds in flight, enjoying the large open sky and endless ocean. 

I find it amazing that even these small animals are taken care of and have no teenage angst or work life stresses. 

These birds are completely dependent on some way of getting food that day. 

Yet we, who live in the wealthiest country in the history of man, worry about if we let in the “immigrants” that we will not be able to provide for our families. 

I don’t understand this. Call me a minimalist, an idealist, and a purist for the rest of my days, but I will never understand the decision to uphold ideas rather than protect innocent people. 

Trust and depend. Do not blame those who cannot help how or where they were born for your own insecurities and worries. 

I’ll believe it all
I won’t let go of your hand

Two birds of a feather
Say that they’re always gonna stay together

But one is never going to let go of that wire. 

And he is a liar. 



Human Nature: America

We grew up on Disney Channel and our role models told us to “follow our hearts” and “be true to who we really were.”

And yet they wonder why our culture is spiraling into Jersey Shore, 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom. 

When we all convince ourselves, oh so willingly, that we can do as we please and love how we want and hate who we want and throw it all on relativism, it is a big mess of Ubermensch. We all can be overcomers right? Overcomers of parents, overcomers of rules, overcomers of everything that does not “apply to me.” 


How do you apply that to the young girl who is suddenly in prison for killing who she wanted, since she decided to buy it to nihilism? Do you explain to her that society has rules? Girls are smarter than you think and she will be quick to quip back that she is in charge of her own destiny, the captain of her own soul, so why should she buy it to someone else’s rules? 

We all grew up believing in Hannah Montana…

How do you explain Miley Cyrus? 

No homo

Once upon a time, I thought that I was gay. 

I kissed a girl before I knew what that means. Did I like it? I’m not sure. When I was in sixth grade I was friends with girls, yet we all dated too. I didn’t even know what that meant. It was all so innocent. 

Right? I’m not gay, surely I’m not. 

Yet when I went into my junior year of high school, I realized that maybe I wasn’t so normal. No one else I knew had made out with other girls. I kept it a secret; kept it hidden. I was ashamed of it. I was afraid. I was embarrassed. I still had not kissed a guy, and I was really nervous too because if I didn’t like it, what did that mean? Did that mean I was gay? 


When I did kiss a boy for the first time, I didn’t like it. I was in a tree, with a boy I didn’t like, who didn’t respect or really care about me at all. 

So why was I surprised? 

I was not gay. I realized that later. 

I remember crying after that event to my best friend and telling her that I didn’t want to be gay. I find that comical now because if you don’t want to be gay then you are clearly not gay. But at the time I was really distraught. I even still thought I was gay after and went out with another boy who I didn’t like but wanted so badly to feel something for. When he kissed me, I also felt nothing. Even though I was mentally convincing myself that I was gay, externally I was determined to not be gay. I ignored it.

When I first started dating my boyfriend, I was not sure how I felt. I felt casual because he was just a friend and I didn’t expect to feel anything for him anyway. But when I went to the prom with him, I felt something real.

When we kissed the first time, I’m not sure how I felt about it. But I didn’t say anything. I just kept quite. After we kissed a few more times, and I actually got to know and care and love him, I realized I wasn’t gay, but simply confused. 

I am eternally grateful I met the man of my life and he is ever accepting of me, s I am.

But more so, I am grateful that the person I fell in love with was my best friend, and I will never be confused on that again. 



Occasionally, I no longer wish to continue in the race of celibacy.

From time to time I hear the stories of casual sex and I feel alone, oddly. As if I am the only one who is still complete and not a fraction.

I should be encouraged, yet I feel discouraged.

I believe I am longing for something I have never had.

I will continue, I will not give up.

The most beautiful thing in the world is being tempted. Is slipping out the question, the statement that I don’t want to wait anymore.

No, that is not the beautiful part.

The beautiful thing is the response: “We will wait together. I love you. Until the end, I love you.”  


Beauty is lying next to someone and laughing hard and loud in the dark. 

Friendship is watching a film you both enjoy over again, just to get back a glimpse of what made you love it the first time. 

Love is two who become one on a night set apart by celebration and cheers and laughs and a set of rings and all of it has an undertone of commitment for a lifetime. 

Purity is finding the one whom your soul loves and craving indulgence yet refraining out of recognition of a greater Love from the Father above. 


The only way to fail at life is to abstain from it. 

Don’t you forget about me. Will you look my way? Will you walk on by? 

What does it mean to abstain from life? What does it mean to lose your way? To give up? To quit? 

To divorce? To commit suicide? To stop eating? To binge drink?

I wish that I could say that I know. I wish that I could give an amazing speech on the hope of humanity and tragic optimism and love never fails. I guess I could. 

What I have found is so much more encouraging, however is an older couple holding hands in the rain. Or a young heart going through depression find the light again through the eyes of a friend. Or the freedom to express the feeling of skinniness beyond skinny. Or the Batman who never gives up on people, even when they hate him. 

Don’t give up.

I can whisper that into the void of writing and never hear anything back 

Or, I can continue to live as I write and mean what I say. I will listen. I will hold your hand. I will be a shoulder for your quite tears. 

I will always intercede on your behalf. 

Again, I say: Rejoice.