That's me from the hands and eyes of an eight year old artist.
I knew my bangs were too thick.
Why didn't someone tell me?

I sprawled on the floor last night.  Stretched out in the hallway and I prayed with every part of me.  Please, please, please.

I'm balancing on a thin line.  Walking a tightrope and my arms are flailing wildly.  Part of me would love, relish, adore falling down, down, down.  Part of me wants nothing more than to walk up to the next stranger on the street and kiss him on the mouth with no words.  To say exactly what I'm thinking all of the time with no grace. 

So please, please, please.  Reign me back in God.  I'm feeling very unruly. 

Tania is here with me now.  I didn't realize how tired I was until she got here.  Not sleepy tired, alone tired.  I didn't realize how desperate I was for someone to lean on, someone who wouldn't let me fall away.  Someone to help me up.

I'm a sister.  Someday I'll be other things too.  Maybe a wife or a mother.  An aunt.  But right now, I'm a sister and I absolutely love it.  We talked about how much fun we're going to have when we're old and we live by each other and our yards are littered with bikes and balls and water guns. 

How crazy it feels to be this old and this young.

And how small it feels to live on the line.

How women of God were wild.

In a classy way, of course.

Passionate.