Heroes & The Hard Things

Hello Readers,

My heroes have been many different people over the years. Men and women, fictional and real, famous or unknown, these people have inspired me. They have made me try harder, reach further, dig my feet in when the world tries to pull me off the edge.

I want to surpass my heroes. I want to dig in deeper, fight harder, be smarter. I want to fight like my life is too short to care about what people think of me. I want to sing when I feel a song in my soul, I want to write the words that buzz in my fingers, I want to tell people I love them without reserve or “only when”s.

I want to do all these things, and I try to do them, but the fact remains that I get scared.

This life feels long to me. The songs too awkward, the people too broken, the words too hard.

But the truth is, this life isn’t long. And I can’t do the hard things. But He can, so I don’t need to be strong. I am weak, I know this, but if God is strong, then I can be too.

Somehow, it’s hard to remember this.

It’s hard to sing when you sometimes forget the tune and your voice wavers.

It’s hard to write when the words don’t flow and things don’t make sense, when the plot doesn’t come together and the characters don’t seem genuine.

It’s hard to tell people you love them when you don’t always feel like you do. When they do things that you don’t love and it’s hard to remember to see the person and not the filth they are smearing on themselves.

The things we want to do, need to do, are hard.

But I hope I will do them. Today and tomorrow and the next day. The next week. This year. Next year.

And at the end of my life, I hope I will stand before my Maker, my first and last Hero, and look him in the eyes as my knees shake and tremble because my inspiration, the comforter of my soul, is standing in front of me. I hope that while I stand in front of him, my mouth dry and a grin on my face, that I will force out the words “I did my best with what you gave me.” That I will mean them. That then, the words will tumble and I will tell my Father what I did.

I wrote the words that you put into my soul. I sang the songs that you handed me to sing. I loved the people you put into my life. I followed in your footsteps.

This is what I want to be able to say.

All of my heroes are fighters.

I hope I will be one too.

I want to fight to write the words that He’s given me, to sing the songs that play on repeat in my heart, to love everyone with open arms.

This is my heart, and it is many of yours. So let’s fight for this.

May the grace and strength of God allow us to do so.

~Ruby

Who are your heroes? What do you want to say at the end of your life? 

I’m Not Enough and That’s A Good Thing

Hello Readers,

Something I’ve been thinking about lately is a personal battle of mine. I’m sure that many of you feel this struggle I’m about to describe, but even if you don’t, it still can be applicable.

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Or, you know, deep introspection. Huns works too, though.

I’m good at borrowing guilt, or “borrowing depravity”. I will feel guilty about things I have never done (and things I would never want to do) simply because I feel the need to wallow. Simply because I think if I’m not reminded of my own depravity, I might get an ego. Because I feel the need to wallow in my own sinfulness instead of His righteousness. If you’re nodding your head right now in understanding, let me tell you something.

That’s the Devil talking. Not God.

I like to remind myself that I’m not enough (more on this concept in a bit). Maybe I think that’s humility. Beating yourself up is humility, right?

Wrong.

 

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That’s not humility, it’s not even close.

So what, if I’m not enough? So what, if I fail expectations and fall on my face now and again? Reminding myself of that does not make me humble. It might not even be fully true.

Humility is defined as follows:

a modest or low view of one’s own importance; humbleness.

A modest view of my own importance is not focusing on what a horrible person I could potentially be. In fact, that’s the opposite of humility; what I’m doing in focusing on my errors and shortcomings and potential for wickedness is focusing again, upon myself. That’s not a modest view of how important I am, now is it? The world doesn’t revolve around us, it doesn’t revolve around me.

 

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You’d think we’d have figured out this concept by now, right? Wrong.

 

I know this, but it always manages to give me a shock when I’m reminded of it.

Going back to the “I’m not enough” statement now. Which is absurd. I’m not enough for God, most definitely. But when has he ever required me to be enough? This is the God that loved me when I was drowning in my own sin. This is the God who did not just drag me out of that hell, but the God who died the most excruciating death just so I would never have to feel my own sin coating my throat ever again.

So yea, I’m not enough.

Yea, I’m human. Yea, I mess up. I’m not ever going to be enough, I’m not ever going to succeed at everything, I’m not ever going to be right all the time. And I’ll be honest, that thought scares me, when I really let it sink in.

But here’s the flip side of that.

Jesus is/was/will be enough. Jesus already succeeded at everything; even defeating death, which strikes fear into all that meet it. Jesus will always be right.

So yea, I write to you now as a messy teenager, confused by the struggles in her head and knowing without a doubt that I’m not enough. I worry too much, I don’t know all the answers but I act like I know them and I get too heated about little things. I’m not enough.

And that’s more than ok.

Actually, that’s the greatest thing ever. I’m not enough, so He became enough. I wasn’t enough, so instead of leaving me there, in my not enough state, He hugged me close and informed me that the burden was no longer mine to bear.

So if you find yourself being reminded that you’re not enough, look that straight in the face and tell it yes with a smirk. You aren’t enough. But you aren’t meant to stay there, staring into the mirror and crying.

That has no power over you anymore.

Jesus doesn’t want you to stay there, looking at your hands and seeing how small and frail they are; too fragile to hold the weight they should be carrying.

He wants you to look at his hands, scarred and calloused. He wants you to see his wrists, where your burden found its final rest.

My friends, we are not meant to stay staring our depravity in the face. We were meant to defeat it. We were meant, you were meant to move past it, to refuse it any ground.

So if you find yourself trying to borrow guilt or depravity because you feel the need to remind yourself of your depravity, remember that Jesus is enough.

He doesn’t want you walking around with your head down and shoulders hunched, so why are you doing it, my friend?

Walk with your head high. Keep walking. Don’t look back to see if the shadows still look the same.

Keep on walking in the sun.

You are loved, no matter who you are, where you’re at in life, if you’re a church kid or want nothing to do with God, doesn’t matter where you call your home or who you call your family.

What matters is that you’re not enough, but He is.

~Ruby Sky

 

 

 

 

 

A Poem Made Of Hymns and Worship Songs

Hello Readers,

The words fail to come to my fingers, my friends. They swirl in my head but don’t look right on paper. Like a misspelled word or a painting turned sideways. I want to write a poem, but I do not have the words to one. I can not write because what I have been saved from is overwhelming. I have a debt paid for that I can not explain in the simple words I know.

But that’s alright. The words will come. Until then, I can only rehash the words I know to be true. The words that have given me so much comfort.

Take heart, we are not in control.

there is power in the name of Jesus.

though satan should buffet, though trials should come…

make my life a prayer to you.

amazing grace,

how

sweet

the

sound

it is well, it is well

amazing grace

that

saved

wretch like me

there is power in the name of Jesus

i want toi need to

be more like Jesus. 

prone to wander

lord, i feel it.

Amazing grace

it is well

with

my

soul. 

nothing lasts, except the grace of God, by which I stand,

in Jesus.

it’s your breath in my lungs

hallelujah

your love broke through

~Ruby

(all lyrics are not mine)

A Few Thoughts

Hello Readers,

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Me after my long hiatus.

I know I’ve been completely absent kind of quiet this past month. I’ve just been adjusting to my new home and doing a decent amount of school. Camp NaNoWriMo is coming up next month and I am extremely excited to write a completely new novel for it.

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Me with my novel characters. -cough-

I really like Mushu gifs, alright? Give a girl a break.

Anyway, Mushu gifs aside, this has been an interesting month for me. I moved across the ocean, have lived and am currently living in a hotel for a little over three weeks now, been to a mall with a ski slope and penguins in it (no, I am not joking, that is a legit thing), and met a lot (and I mean a lot) of new people.

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Here are some things I’ve learned or relearned about moving:

  • It gets easier once you’re actually there.
  • Emotions don’t make sense, just go into it knowing that. Let yourself feel the emotions, eat a bag of goldfish, and move on. No sense in dwelling on them.
  • Moving is an adventure, it’s a chance to explore something new. You have a completely blank slate. Nobody knows anything about you. You have so many opportunities to make minions to read your books one day new friends.
  • Find an anchor and you’ll be fine.
  • You’ll dream about all the goodbyes you said and wake up disoriented. It’s alright. Relish the feeling of knowing you’re done with goodbyes for a while and rub the sleep from your eyes.
  • If you want to get to know people, you need to go and make the first step. Prove that you’re going to stick around.
  • People are much friendlier than you might think.
  • Moving is scary but it’s not as scary as we make it out to be.
  • If you eat more ice cream than normal, it is completely fine.
  • Remember, goodbyes are hard but they are worth the hellos you said.
  • If you leave, it isn’t the end of the world. Rather, the beginning of a new one.
  • An end is required for the next chapter. Don’t hang onto the last words, rather, make new ones.

I hope you all have a great week!

~Ruby Sky

 

 

A Sketch of An Airplane Ride

Hello Readers,

You arrive on the plane, ideas swirling in your head with no place to write them. Excitement yanking your hand and that already home sickness feeling burning the back of your throat. The wait until take off is a feeling that tingles all throughout your body.

This is it. This is it.

You hold onto your armrests even though the takeoff is smooth and easy. It makes it more exciting as you exchange grins with your younger brother. You watch as people peer through the glass to watch the world become small before their very eyes. You wish you would have gotten a window seat. Maybe next time.

You swipe at the screen in the seat in front of you, turning up the volume as you watch that new action movie while a blond head finds its way into your lap. You were once small enough to curl in the seats too.

You turn off the screen after the third end credits roll. They weren’t exaggerating when they told you it’s near impossible to sleep well on an airplane. You shut your eyes and shove your earbuds in, trying to get some sleep. One thought keeps breaking through your music, keeping you awake.

This is it. This is it.

You drift off to sleep after accepting this fact. Turbulence wakes you up, but not the young blond head using your arm now as a pillow.

Only seven more hours to go.

This is it.

~Rubix

 

Falling Off The Face of the Earth

Dear Readers,

First off, may I say thank you for sticking with me. I have just passed the eighty follower mark! I really appreciate every like, comment, and read. I hope that I will be able to continue to write content that will bless you, make you laugh, and make you think. You all are amazing! 😀

I have made a discovery. We, as humans, are so scared of being forgotten. We’re scared of being left behind, that our names will mean nothing one day. We want to leave a legacy.

(If you can’t tell, I’ve recently been listening to Hamilton.)

Legacy. What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. -The World Was Wide Enough (Hamilton)

It’s an incredibly interesting story, and caused me to examine some things about myself. I am not scared of being forgotten, but I am scared that I will not leave a mark. I am scared that my life will be a waste of time. I am scared that at the end of the day, my life will have not meant something to someone else. I am scared that the stories I carry on my shoulder will die with me. The stories that are not just mine, but the people back and back. I am scared that the important stories of the past will die on my shoulders.

I’m scared of letting the people who made me down.

Because, you see, it’s not so much my name I want to be remembered, as the changes I make. I want to change things. I want to leave an impact.

I love old things, I love antiques, I love old music, I love old books, I love old photo albums.

I think I love them because they’re lasting craters of something someone made. They have left an impact. They have changed things, for better or worse. They have made a difference, they have laid a foundation, dug a hole to plant a seed. I have never lived somewhere long enough to put down roots, to absorb a culture as my own, and these old things ground me to the surface of Earth. These old things that have proven true over time, the ones that have not, ease out of my grasp like rotten wood when I cling to them. I hold them so tightly my knuckles turn white as I cling to the stories I know to be true.

It’s as if I didn’t have my heritage, my stories of the people that came before me, I would simply float off the face of the earth. I would drift, I would be just another voice yelling to hear the sound of myself. But because of these old stories, I can dig my fingers into this time proven soil, bracing myself against the wind that batters against me every day. I have a story to tell, a purpose as I talk out into the void. But I have enemies there too. The voices that come with the wind, yelling against me, my convictions, my beliefs.

Do you not see why history is so important? We have no roots without them. Even if you stayed in the same place your whole life, digging your fingers into the soil, eyes shut tight, you would still be blown off. The winds would claim you.

We just can’t live long enough to dig deep enough.

So listen to your stories, and add to the roots, add your stories, throw your words back at the voices in the wind. Don’t let them batter you down. Dig deep with dirt under your fingernails and hold on as tight as you can.

What is holding you to the skin of the Earth?

~Rubix

Impression of A Grieving Church

“When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll”

An entire congregation is brought to its knees in a horrible beautiful way, weeping for something that they can not ever replace. Nor would they ever wish to. There is a wound now, a gaping red wound. The regular services are canceled and the pastor up front states that there are no words to describe this loss. You can feel it in the air, this tangible, horrible tragedy.

“Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul”

Three people have been lost in a car accident. Three souls have flown away to heaven. They were too good for this world. We long to be among them, and we rejoice in their joy but weep for ourselves, left behind in this broken world.

It is well
With my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul.”

The church reacts as any ordinary family would. They weep. They hold each other. Tears flow easily and words come hard. It is the most painful beauty that we can ever experience. The bitter taste of a brush with death. The harsh sting of being left behind. They ask the hardest question known to mankind, looking up at the heavens.

Why? Why did you do this?

“Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control.”

But through it all is a steady thread that the congregation grabs onto, strength flowing along that taut line. It grounds them, keeping their heads above the waters of grief. The thread is Jesus. We do not understand why this horrible tragedy befell us, but we do know this.

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul

#singforsophie

 

Coming ‘Home’

Hello Readers,

How does it feel to be home?

Ah, I hear this question so much. What people are asking is how does it feel to be back in familiarity, in a house that I know, where the food is familiar and the language is mine.

But home isn’t that for me.

Home is my aunt hugging me goodnight like she can’t believe I’m there. Home is binge watching British shows with my cousin. Home is trampolines and pizza and avoiding trips to Walmart.

Home is sarcastic quips and jokes that take too long to get to the punchline. Home is waiting on my Gramma to hurry up and blow dry her hair already.

Home is this weird bunch of people that I love in the living room telling stories.

And what stories we have to tell. I could write a whole series of them, but I don’t think I ever will. Part of me is selfish and wants to keep these stories hidden away for myself.

I don’t want to share my home.

Because home isn’t a big red house with a white picket fence. Not for me.

Home is butterfly wings and cicada shells in my hair. Home is screeching laughter and bike rides. Home is a crazy wild thing that I do with the people I love.

I suppose it’s all perspective, isn’t it? My home is my stories of long summer days and cold winter nights.

And maybe one day I will share them, but for now, I’ll be selfish and keep them hidden away to keep me warm.

~Rubix

 

The Sea’s Calling

Hello Readers!

 

I’m sorry for the long hiatus, and I wish I had a good reason for it. I simply couldn’t think of what to write.

I don’t know how to write what I am feeling because I do not understand it completely myself. And if you can’t understand it, how do you explain it to other people? How do you explain things that you don’t know?

I’m scared. I’m happy. I’m excited. I’m nervous. I feel like a walking contradiction.

I’m moving, as some of you know, and I know it’s time to go. But the thing is, knowing it’s time to go doesn’t mean I don’t feel sad.

Lots of people think that kids like me, moving around a lot, don’t really care when it’s time to pack up and move because we can feel the sea calling. But we do.

I miss things, I’ve missed things my whole life, and that’s fine. It’s the way it goes, and for everything I miss there is something different to discover. Something new, something exciting, maybe something better.

It’s always scary walking out into the unknown, leaving what you do understand behind. You don’t know if this new world will accept you, or if you will accept it. But I have learned that there is always beauty to be found, always wonderful people to meet, and that everywhere you go there is God.

It all happens so fast. You talk and talk about moving, and you know it will happen, and then one day you wake up and somebody is moving your couch out, you’re taking down posters, and then you know. And it’s not a bad thing, knowing it’s time. It just shocks you for a bit and then you realize that you get to go out into the world again. You get to meet new people, make a difference in a different way.

I believe moving is a good thing. I know this next move will be good for my family. And I know it’s time to go, because I can feel it.

Missing things is like listening to the sea. It’s there and you know it, and sometimes you can sit there and listen to it, but other times, you have to move beyond the warm beach and dive into the freezing water. There are things that must be done and you can not listen to the water forever. You have to get out there.

I am excited for a new opportunity, I am excited for a new house, a new schedule, a new way of doing things.

But I will not forget the old ones.

~Rubix