To the lovely women I'm honored to call my friends,
I realize I haven't been the best friend I can be to you and I really need you to know how much I appreciate you. Lately I've wanted to pull away and be by myself while I'm dealing with...just life. I tend to think these things are personal and that everyone has their own stuff they have to sort through. But now I realize that when I fall into any kind of sadness or trouble, it's you guys who lift my spirits. So I apologize for sometimes not telling you how life is really going when you ask. I don't like to play the victim but I’m realizing, sometimes stuff happens and we can't do it on our own! That's when our girls are the best people to go to for encouragement & comfort, after going to God of course.
Also, I apologize for being so sucky at communication. I'm not the best at verbalizing how I really feel; y'all know I'm a writer. When I talk, things don't come out the way I intend them or I don't make sense. Anyway, I'm also sorry that I fear speaking truth into your life because I don't want you to be mad at me or to put our friendship at risk. You may not speak truth into my life because I tend to get really quiet which may make you think I’m hurt. I'm sorry. From now on, please know that I will grow some & be honest, and that I really want you to be honest with me as well. Yes, even if you think it will hurt, because I want to grow spiritually and be a better person.
Iron sharpening iron is scratchy & produces sparks, but God calls us to do it. And I ask that when you do speak up, it would be between you & me, and out of both love for me and obedience to God. I'm sorry that I haven't been willing to invest in your lives lately. I've been self-centered and selfish. I haven't encouraged you in your walks as much as I'm called to. I'm also sorry that sometimes our conversations end up being gossip or worldly things because that stuff is what's on our minds anyway, so might as well vent with our girls right? Wrong. I want to really honor God with the things we say and do when we spend time together. I also want to let you know that I consider myself so blessed to be able to call you up when I need prayer, a shoulder to cry on, or someone to save me from boredom. You all are lovely! Know that I'm here for you for anything and if you need a listening ear or have a prayer request call me up! And we'll have coffee/hot chocolate, a Bible in hand, and some Kleenex if they're needed. I love you. So much. God bless you always & keep you safe.
Love,
Miyah Faith
Sunday, April 15
To My Brothers
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain--mine or your own-- without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being a human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even if it’s not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God’s presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver moon, ‘Yes!’
It doesn’t interest me where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary, bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside, when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Your sister,
Miyah Faith
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain--mine or your own-- without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being a human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even if it’s not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God’s presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver moon, ‘Yes!’
It doesn’t interest me where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary, bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside, when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Your sister,
Miyah Faith
Monday, April 2
Here's to the Fangirls (And Fanboys)
Here's to the fangirls (and fanboys); I will never be cooler than you, because, well...I am you.
Here's to the ones who have found that some form of art changed their life. It was a good book, a thrilling movie, a dynamic tv show or, my heart, a rock and roll album.
Here's to the literature nerds who read something and felt the words to jump off the very page and surround them and keep them wrapped up in pages, unable to leave the story behind, and often, unable to tell where said story and reality differed. Here's to the television enthusiasts who never miss a week of excellent screenwriting and storytelling and for years, follow the same characters and grow up with them. Here's to movie-quoters and cinemaphiles who go to midnight premieres and dress up as cast members, who talk about directors like they are old friends and mentors, who get goosebumps upon seeing trailers for the first time and who have seen the originals of today's remakes and foreign versions of classics. Here's to all of you! You love the characters, you love the screenplays, you love the dialogue, you love the authors, you love the cinematography, you love the memories you have associated with your movie or book or show and you love those that love all of it too.
Here's to all of you-- you make me feel so much less alone. You make me laugh sometimes with your dedication, but in the end, your passion is so amazing to me. In a generation of apathy and cynicism, you've found something you love and you're not afraid of loving it so deeply and so brashly at times that you can't help but be a little obnoxious. You found something else besides yourself, some little piece of art and you ran with it. You filled your days with it, planned your schedule around it, saw the beauty in it and it changed your life. You talk about it like it's living and breathing and you love it. You LOVE it with every fiber of that beating heart in your chest, and I'm begging you, please don't ever stop. Loving things should be much cooler than it is. It's so cool these days to put down and criticize every single thing and your artform-loving heart gets crushed. Please don't turn into that critic who may have made you reconsider loving what you love. We need more love in this pessimistic society.
And now, for the ones who I am associated the most with-- here's to the band fangirls and musically-obsessed boys; you crazy ones.
Here's to the ones who talk about concerts like they are religious experiences (and find that they often actually are). Here's to the ones who know the names of the four bass players the band has gone through since they started, the birthdays of their favorite lead singers,and have all the old eps and remixes memorized. The ones who buy the cd the day it comes out and listen to it for weeks straight. Here's to the fans who frame ticket stubs and beg the security guard for the setlist taped ontstage and ask for guitar picks and keep them in a scrapbook, no matter how nerdy.
Here's to the music nuts. I am so grateful on my behalf and yours that some band or singer decided to put pen to paper and voice to microphone and instrument to pedalboard and then to an amp, as a result, made something that resonated with you. And it didn't matter if they were the best-reviewed band on Pitchfork or Rolling Stone because they were yours and your ownership was important. Because you see, it wasn't just another song; it was your song, your album, your lyric and your life in a melody. It made you feel young and old at the same time, alive and joyful and sad and scared and hopeful and connected. You played it on important days, you played it on random Tuesdays, you wrote the lyrics in pen on your hand in middle school or in puff paint on a homemade tshirt or in permanent ink in a tattoo. You used it to explain yourself and to express your feelings all at once.
Here's to all of you, because you are my kind of people. I hope that one day we can all meet up and wear the ill-fitting band shirts we haven't thrown away and tell all our concert stories. We can talk about that moment that the singer locked eyes with you or that time we heard a great song and it stopped us in our tracks or how we thought the last album was maybe too experimental but we still bought it or how we should have been alive or at least old enough to attend that one band's shows during their good years or best era of music.
Here's to all of you crazies, and may you never stop listening, never stop reading, never stop watching, never stop singing along, never stop believing in silly things like tv and books and movies and rock and roll and soul and pop and country and acoustic and bluegrass and metal and even dubstep and screamo and new-age synth.
However idealistic it may be, don't grow up and forget what being a fan feels like. Don't forget what you love.
I sure do think the world could use a whole lot more of you, as well as venues that accommodate for a whole lot more front row seats so that we can all sit together.
{Lion-Haired Girl}
Here's to the ones who have found that some form of art changed their life. It was a good book, a thrilling movie, a dynamic tv show or, my heart, a rock and roll album.
Here's to the literature nerds who read something and felt the words to jump off the very page and surround them and keep them wrapped up in pages, unable to leave the story behind, and often, unable to tell where said story and reality differed. Here's to the television enthusiasts who never miss a week of excellent screenwriting and storytelling and for years, follow the same characters and grow up with them. Here's to movie-quoters and cinemaphiles who go to midnight premieres and dress up as cast members, who talk about directors like they are old friends and mentors, who get goosebumps upon seeing trailers for the first time and who have seen the originals of today's remakes and foreign versions of classics. Here's to all of you! You love the characters, you love the screenplays, you love the dialogue, you love the authors, you love the cinematography, you love the memories you have associated with your movie or book or show and you love those that love all of it too.
Here's to all of you-- you make me feel so much less alone. You make me laugh sometimes with your dedication, but in the end, your passion is so amazing to me. In a generation of apathy and cynicism, you've found something you love and you're not afraid of loving it so deeply and so brashly at times that you can't help but be a little obnoxious. You found something else besides yourself, some little piece of art and you ran with it. You filled your days with it, planned your schedule around it, saw the beauty in it and it changed your life. You talk about it like it's living and breathing and you love it. You LOVE it with every fiber of that beating heart in your chest, and I'm begging you, please don't ever stop. Loving things should be much cooler than it is. It's so cool these days to put down and criticize every single thing and your artform-loving heart gets crushed. Please don't turn into that critic who may have made you reconsider loving what you love. We need more love in this pessimistic society.
And now, for the ones who I am associated the most with-- here's to the band fangirls and musically-obsessed boys; you crazy ones.
Here's to the ones who talk about concerts like they are religious experiences (and find that they often actually are). Here's to the ones who know the names of the four bass players the band has gone through since they started, the birthdays of their favorite lead singers,and have all the old eps and remixes memorized. The ones who buy the cd the day it comes out and listen to it for weeks straight. Here's to the fans who frame ticket stubs and beg the security guard for the setlist taped ontstage and ask for guitar picks and keep them in a scrapbook, no matter how nerdy.
Here's to the music nuts. I am so grateful on my behalf and yours that some band or singer decided to put pen to paper and voice to microphone and instrument to pedalboard and then to an amp, as a result, made something that resonated with you. And it didn't matter if they were the best-reviewed band on Pitchfork or Rolling Stone because they were yours and your ownership was important. Because you see, it wasn't just another song; it was your song, your album, your lyric and your life in a melody. It made you feel young and old at the same time, alive and joyful and sad and scared and hopeful and connected. You played it on important days, you played it on random Tuesdays, you wrote the lyrics in pen on your hand in middle school or in puff paint on a homemade tshirt or in permanent ink in a tattoo. You used it to explain yourself and to express your feelings all at once.
Here's to all of you, because you are my kind of people. I hope that one day we can all meet up and wear the ill-fitting band shirts we haven't thrown away and tell all our concert stories. We can talk about that moment that the singer locked eyes with you or that time we heard a great song and it stopped us in our tracks or how we thought the last album was maybe too experimental but we still bought it or how we should have been alive or at least old enough to attend that one band's shows during their good years or best era of music.
Here's to all of you crazies, and may you never stop listening, never stop reading, never stop watching, never stop singing along, never stop believing in silly things like tv and books and movies and rock and roll and soul and pop and country and acoustic and bluegrass and metal and even dubstep and screamo and new-age synth.
However idealistic it may be, don't grow up and forget what being a fan feels like. Don't forget what you love.
I sure do think the world could use a whole lot more of you, as well as venues that accommodate for a whole lot more front row seats so that we can all sit together.
{Lion-Haired Girl}
Sunday, April 1
Post-Modern FairyTale
Once upon a future,
In the farthest land,
In the tallest tower,
The knight had tarnished armor,
The dragon was a lady,
God became a monster,
and Sleeping Beauty had to rescue herself.
In the farthest land,
In the tallest tower,
The knight had tarnished armor,
The dragon was a lady,
God became a monster,
and Sleeping Beauty had to rescue herself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)