Very Inspiring Blogger Award


So, I’ve just been nominated for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award, and I couldn’t be more surprised.  I’ve only been blogging for a few weeks and was both shocked and excited to see that someone nominated me.

I won’t go on and on about how surprised I am.  I’ll just get on with want you want to know:

  • Who nominated me?
  • What are the rules (If you are a fellow nominee)

A very big, huge, ginormous thanks goes to wildspiritonthelose of  [Pen to Paper].  Thank you so much for nominating me!  Spirit’s blog is pretty awesome, so if you haven’t seen it, check it out.

If you are here to read the rules, then congratulations are due; You have been nominated! So, congrats!  I hope you are as excited as I am, and good luck to you.

The rules:

  • The nominee shall display the Very Inspiring Blogger Award logo on her/his blog, and link to the blog they got nominated from.
  • The nominee shall nominate fifteen (15) bloggers she/he admires, by linking to their blogs and informing them about it.

Because I’ve only been doing this a few weeks, I thought it would be  difficult to find 15 blogs, but it didn’t take long for me to stumble across some fantastic blogs that I was happy to choose.

Now for my list of nominees (no particular order):

  1. Vik Tory Arch
  2. aurakarma
  3. The Paper Butterfly
  4. [Pen to Paper]
  5. Never Short on Words
  6. Wordy & Nerdy
  7. Inkoutloud
  8. Feels Like Fiction
  9. Stories & Scripts
  10. My Corner on the Earth
  11. Thoughts of a Christian Girl
  12. Lost Quarter Books
  13. Silent Spells
  14. …and then there was Sarah
  15. Nirvana’s Pocketful

Good luck to all, and keep being an inspiration!





Red: the color of roses, the color of love. It was also the color of danger.  Caution and alert were  exclaimed by red.  I didn’t see the danger though. My color red couldn’t be anything dangerous.  Blue may have been the color of depth and purpose, but red was the color of passion and excitement.

The night we met, he was wearing red.  Right away I was intrigued; red was a color I had rarely seen.  I was told the color wasn’t safe, but he assured me that it not only harmless but enlightening.  The color red was superior to blue.  He held out a scarlet ribbon, and I discarded my blue one so it could take its place.  Red was filled with possibilities.

We danced the whole night.    I saw no one but him.  The respectful gentleman in blue was ignored.  We were witty, we were clever.  Our words danced along with our bodies and swirled around as gracefully as our feet.

The dance did not end our clever banter.  We met the next day.  He gave me a brilliant red rose.  I tucked it into my hair for the world to see, the sapphire roses received the day before lay forgotten.   The next day he gave me two roses and the third day three.  He never stopped his profession of love for me.  Red roses filled my thoughts.

I tried to get my friends to come with me to see my rose giving man of red, but they stanchly rejected the idea and told me blue was a much safer color.  I laughed at them.  Blue was safe, but red was thrilling.

Time passed and my calm, stable blue sea was replaced by a raging fire.   I was never seen without the color red on my person. It was my declaration to the world that I was unashamedly his.   My clear, tranquil blue sky turned red.

There was something missing—something inside me that was not filled by the fiery whirlwind that was created by this new fascination.  My head filled with a vast blue ocean I use to know—a memory of something deeper.   A voice inside reminded me of the deep closeness my heart had known before that crimson flame came into my life, but I ignored it.  I was devoted to the man in red.

He took me places I never would have gone, and together we did things I never would have dreamed of doing.  The game I played was daring and exciting, but soon it was more than I could control.  Soon there was no color left but red, and my world was consumed in a scarlet whirlwind.  The roses wilted and died, and all that was left were thorns which pricked my skin and drew glistening drops of crimson.  The color that held such allure was now my pain, my prison.   Through my shame, I felt intense blue eyes watching.

A pale blue envelope—I thought I had lost it.  It held a letter from the one whom I had loved before I was swept away in a scarlet frenzy.  As I read, I realized I would give anything to wear the color blue again.  I was reminded of how selflessly the one in blue loved me.   How blind I had been by the consuming rush of red that I neglected to notice just how deeply I longed for that steady blue sea that called out to me.   The letter gave me hope that I may wear blue again.

Red is the color of roses.  It is also the color of lies.

My color is no longer red.



I hear the lowly spirits of the devil reminding me of my pitiful past.  Two of them flock around me, Deception and Guilt.  Both of them whisper delusions and untruths to my mind as I try to pray.

“Give it up Christian,” mocks the ugly spirit named Deception, “If you really were a follower of God you wouldn’t have done the things you did.”

“But God forgives. The Bible says so,” I say.

I realize how pitiful my words sound.  The Bible says so? I sound like I am trying to sing a Sunday School song.  I try to continue praying.

Guilt cackles and says, “You may as well stop your useless mutterings. Don’t you know that your measly little prayer is a foul smell in God’s nostrils?”

It probable is, I think, my face burning in shame. How can a God so completely flawless even consider listening to my inadequate appealing?   I am only a human dressed in the putrid rages of iniquity. He is high and lifted up on a throne of rapturous glory.

Deception whispers, God doesn’t really love you.  He is up there laughing at you for thinking you could ever be his child.  You are unworthy.”

Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy.  The word echoes through the core of my heart.

I let the mocking spirits take hold of my mind and blow their spiritual bombs in my soul.  I am unworthy—unworthy of God’s love—unworthy of his forgiving power and healing grace.

Bright light fills the room, blinding me for a few seconds.

My eyes fall on a cross.  Jesus hangs limp, almost lifeless on its cruel, splintered boards.  They are so covered with red, dripping blood that I think he must have no more blood to give.

Salty tears run freely down my face.  All I can do at the horrific sight is fall to my knees and stare in awe.  I think of all the things I did wrong.  The list seems endless.

I look at all the people as they scorn and jeer  him.  They laugh and point at the mock crown made of painful thorns.  Don’t they see what they are doing? He doesn’t deserve to die, they do.

I do.

You do deserve to die,” Guilt chuckles, “Christian.”

I ignore him and began to scream at the people, “Stop!  Leave him alone. Don’t you know who he is? Don’t you see?  Are you so blind, so deaf that you can’t see that you are killing an innocent man?  He did nothing wrong, and you’re killing him!”

“You’re the one who’s killing him!”says Guilt, “You are the blind one. You sit there, so righteous, accusing others when you are just as filthy with sin as they are. Your precious savior is dying because of you.  Murderer!”

No! No. I didn’t want this to happen, I tell myself.  I bury my face in the ground and weep.

It’s true; I am a sinner, a killer.

Jesus starts to speak, than coughs, sputtering blood.  I raise my head.

Oh God I’m sorry—sorry for what I did.  Sorry…just sorry for everything…unworthy… I’m unworthy.   I stumble over my thoughts, hardly thinking straight from my guilty despair.

His lungs heaving, working overtime to take a simple breath,  Jesus lifts himself up using the nails as a crude pedestal.   With drops of blood and perspiration running down his face, he gasps, “Father,” he grimaces and he pulls his head up, his face heavenward, “forgive them for they know not what they do.”

My throat constricts, and I close my eyes.  He forgives them?  Forgives me? I open my eyes. The cross is gone.

“He didn’t forgive you, child of sin,” says one of my tormentors.

“But he did! I heard him.”

“You heard wrong. He said, ‘For they know not what they do.’  You knew what you were doing,” says Deception, “You knew you were sinning.  You have no excuse iniquitous human.”

“Your sin is too great for God to forgive,”Guilt gruffly adds.

“No!”  I clench my hands into fists.  “You’re wrong. I won’t listen to you anymore! Leave!”

You can’t make us leave,” Deception’s voice is smug.

“You have no control over us!” snaps Guilt. I stand up, knees weak. My lips tremble as I whisper, “Jesus, help me.”

“Stop! Don’t say that name!”  Fear creeps into Deception’s voice.

“You are not worthy to even say that name,” says Guilt.   I look up and scream the name, “Jesus!”  Strength comes into my knees and I stand straighter.

The demons try to keep control over there trembling voices.

“You cannot say that!  You will stop!”

“You have no control over me,” I say. I raise my hands above my head and close my water filled eyes, “Jesus!”  The two demons suddenly disappear and all is quiet.  The strength leaves my body, and I fall to the ground and cry with thankfulness.

An overwhelming peace washes over me.  I let my famished soul soak it up.  Then a sweet joy spreads through my veins.  I jump up and spin in a circle, arms stretched out, laughing. I am free!  No more will they spin their black, ensnaring web in my mind.  The fog I was lost in is now lifted. I am  unworthy, but that’s no longer how I see myself.  I am set free.

I am forgiven.


Another World

What if there is a world2


What if there is a word where things out of the ordinary happened?  What if a world exists where invisible forces were at work and strange powers manifested themselves? Welcome to the world inside my head.  I ask the questions: What if spirits are real?  What if they communicate with us? What if the world isn’t all it appears to be?  Then, I let my overactive imagination answer.  Most of the time the answer comes in the form of a short story or fictional scene.

In this blog, I’ll be sharing excerpts from my imagination (don’t worry, I’ll explain them; my imagination can get pretty wild) in the hopes that they will trigger you to contemplate on things beyond the visible and cause your eyes to be opened to what is unseen.

Some of the things I write may spring from the world inside my head, but it may not be so far from what is actually happening in our world.  If you let it, what I write can be more than an entertaining story or a thought-provoking tale.  If you look deep enough, you will find a whole new way of seeing things.

I hope what I write will open your eyes to—not just the world inside my head—but the world that goes on around us that we can’t see.