God lives.

God is expanding his presence in my life. I can hear his voice again crystal clear. Last night when I was opening up my bible (because I hadn't in a while) I asked him to encourage to me through his word. He told me Isaiah 41. "Don't be afraid, for I AM your God. I WILL strengthen you and help you. I WILL hold you up with my victorious right hand."

He is my God. He is strengthening me and helping me. He is holding me up with his victorious hand. Can you imagine a stronger more trustworthy more perfect hand holding you up?

Tonight, we were swimming. And because of my challenges vertically, there were places in the pool where I could not reach and if I did not know how to swim and if I would have been alone, I could have drowned. But of course, I have known how to swim since I was 5 years old. But I imagined God could have saved me multiple ways. Because his right hand holds me up, I imagined his hand pushing me up into the air, up into the oxygen I needed for life. I imagined him underwater with his outstretched hand, giving his life to keep me above water. But he already did this on the Cross, so I knew that wasn't accurate.

But then I thought about how he provided me with the knowledge of swimming to keep from drowning. Although I know God could have brought in his hand physically like that, what if, instead, he used the years of practice I did in previous times in my life?

And then I thought about this year and this fasting and this time-tithe to the Lord. How much greater is it that he is having me learn this way, rather than just providing the correct emotions/mindset/heart toward him and toward a possible spouse. It's like having to work all year, rather than winning the lottery with the same amount of annual income. I'd choose the work. Jesus endured all 40 days of suffering and temptation on earth with demons as companions, to prove his perfection. God is proving to me that I can be worthy enough to be called Christ-like. I will not reach perfection, but I can run the race. "Don't you realize that in a race everyone runs, but only one person gets the prize? So run to win! All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away, but we do it for an eternal prize. So I run with purpose in every step. I discipline my body like an athlete." (1 Corinthians 9) I want to wake up every morning to run to God even when I don't feel like it. To offer any kind of surrender of sin or of self to God in order for him to fill up any dark place within me, to fill up any hole within.

To fully submit myself to God as a wife would to a husband. "The wife gives authority over her body to her husband, and the husband gives authority over his body to his wife." (1 Corinthians 7) Jesus offers us his body over and over again: "Jesus took some break and gave thanks to God for it. Then he broke it in pieces and said, 'This is my body, which is given for you.'" (1 Corinthians 11) Paul commands in Corinthians 7 for the submission to be mutual. If I am married to the Lord, then every single day I want to offer my life to him, that he is free to use me for his will. These are my vows.

Come Away by United Pursuit Band - a word from the Lord.

Come away with me, come away.

It's never too late. It's not too late for you.

I have a plan for you. I have a plan.

It's gonna be wild.

It's gonna be great.

It's gonna be fully me.

A PROMISE-so be it.

This is personal. If it was up to me, I wouldn't share this in my blog. But when the Lord compels us, do we really have a choice? The answer to this is yes of course, but why would I want to deny something the LORD of the UNIVERSE is compelling me to do?

First, an explanation. If you know me at all you know I love men. I love man friends. I love brothers. I love old men. I love young men. I love sons. I just love 'em all -- not in a creepy way but in an admiring way. I love their brave, wild hearts. I love their natural craving for adventure.

But for years now, there has been a terrible habitual pattern taking place in my heart: every time a new man walked in my life, I walked out of God's arms. It was like clockwork. New guy, no Jesus. New crush, no Bible. New close man friend-i-thought-could-be-husband-potential, no more quiet time with the true LOVER of my soul. And it ALL LED TO HEARTACHE. I wish I didn't have to be this honest, but there is no holding back confessing this kind of truth.

So after another round of this heartache this summer, I knew God was going to soon convict me of something big, really challenging, but worth it all. After seeing Christ-followers in Colorado who were willing to give their lives for God overseas, something in my heart changed. I suddenly knew that if God asked me to be a martyr for him, I would. But here's the strange catch, I became willing to give my life to him til death, but I was STILL holding on to the fact that I wanted to get married and have all my sons. That doesn't make any sense really, but just understand that is where my heart was at.

After worship Friday morning, the Spirit kept saying to me "I am here. I can't leave you. You are not alone." Just all these different phrases about how I was not alone. (Note: all this freaked me out because I knew God was going to soon ask me to do something which involve me feeling alone or solitary.) So on the drive home sunday, I was thanking God for the amazing trip and all that jazz, and asking him how can I stay close with him this coming school year with all the distractions of schoolwork, and of course, men. I kept asking him for a solution for me to be able to love Him and a man. I was asking him this over and over again, but I kept shutting down God's voice anytime he would try to speak, because he was going to say something I didn't want to hear.

(Yesterday) Monday morning came, and I felt at the bottom of a pit of despair. It was this incredible heavy ache within me and clogged my thoughts and my will. THIS led to me finally truly turning to God in surrender and asking his WILL be done completely in my life. Then, at last, I let him speak.

He asked me to have a year long fast of men. Sacrificing emotional attachments, dating, crushes, creating future marriage plans in my head, EVERYTHING for a year. This meant if someone were to ask me if I wanted to get married and have children me replying, no. And then he told me, in turn for me giving him those things, HE would expand my world. Then, he asked me if I was in. The God of All was holding out his hand like Aladdin and saying "do you trust me?" (And yes, I totally referenced God to a middle-eastern cartoon character just then) I hesitated. And I told him I would think about it, because I didn't want to commit to something I wouldn't follow through with, and He said "fair enough."

So yesterday throughout the day, God kept reminding me of things He had shown me in the past that were coming together to make sense now. I had been reading a book where the guy took a year off to KNOW the Lord. Really to know him, in the biblical way, inside out. And also God had told me once that my relationship with my future spouse was like a pearl. That it was going to be tossed around and scraped and shook and formed into something else entirely before it was ready to be removed from its place into a beautiful pearl. So on my way home, I knew I was going to commit to this deal, but I didn't know how it was possible because this would mean (in my eyes) that I would be lonely for an entire year. But then, Baylee came over and gave me something perfect for my birthday. It was a promise from the Lord that He and I could do this thing together and it was going to be amazing. Baylee had been praying for me (while we were in different states mind you) and got a word for me from the Lord saying, "I Promise I will never leave." Then she created this piece of art with pearls and keys and pages of an antique book that says this word. I am looking at it now hanging from my window just amazed at its effect on me. Every time I have come into my room looked at that, I have been filled with peace. Here's why: God is all about PROMISEs. If you do not know this, read the Bible. God likes people who make promises and keeps them. God makes promises and keeps them. He fulfills any PROMISE to his people that he has previously establishes. and the God of the universe is saying, I want you to take off a year of men, because I want you to be fully devoted to me and I PROMISE I will never leave. I PROMISE I will not look at you a few months from now struggling with this fasting and then just walk away. "I PROMISE I will never leave."

So, why I am sharing all this to my internet journal which is often publicized by my sister and my facebook profile? Because I need accountability. If you read this, know that I HUMBLY admit I need prayer for this endeavor, not only to give up on men but to use this time to solely get to know the Lord again. And who knows what will come of all this. Maybe after a year God will say okay another year. Or maybe after a year, God will ask for seven more years. Or maybe God will tell me I am ready to meet whoever he has for me. I do not know, and I know he will not tell me til the time is right. But in this conviction is another truth, God has said this will be the last man. In my past, I thought that I would date loads of people before I was married; but I no longer feel this way. I believe God is saying, if it his will I ever marry, that it will be the next man after the fast is over, however long that may be. Perhaps, that is why I was so worried about being waited for in my previous entry. Everything is piecing together; that is another sign this is all from the Lord.

And if you are reading this and you like someone or are dating someone KNOW that there is no condemnation in Christ Jesus. And that I don't believe this is the right way to live, I think God knows I need a strict diet of him without men emotionally involved, in order to change me. BUT KNOW THAT NOT EVERYONE IS THIS WAY.

So today is the end of the first day of the year of our Lord -- just 364 more to go -- KIDDING, I am not counting down. I was telling God that I wish I could go to an all girls school for the next year. He told me that that would give me no opportunity to learn from being tempted. For an example, it is much more of a beautiful thing for an alcoholic to give up on drinking not because he is stuck on an island with no alcohol, but because he is a bartender and he wants to kick the addiction square in the jaw with his abstinence. In other words, if I was not tempted then that would not make this year much of testimony at all.

Anyways. Now that I have written all this down, I would like feedback, in my vulnerability I ask for your vulnerability. If you read this, please leave an anonymous comment below on your opinion/prayer of this matter.

God PROMISES to never leave us. So be it.

Will you wait for me?

On the pieceofamani list is lyrics. I just love them. Justlove'em. I am not sure why a picture of a raspberry ended up here except that sometimes lyrics of songs grow on me like fruit on a tree; first, the tiny blossom blooms and of course it is beautiful, but then the fruit of these words grow and they are... satiable. Like this raspberry here.

And like this song by Alexi Murdoch

Feel I'm on the verge of some great truth
Where I'm finally in my place
But I'm fumbling still for proof
And it's cluttering my space
Casting shadows on my face
I know I have a strength to move a hill
I can hardly leave my room
So I'll sit perfecty still
And I'll listen for a tune
When my mind is on the moon

And if I stumble
And if I stall
And if I slip now
And if I should fall
And if I cant be all that I could be
Will you, will you wait for me

Cause everywhere I seem to be
I am only passing through
I dream these days about the sea
Always wake up feeling blue
Wishing I could dream of you

So if I stumble
And if I fall
And if I slip now
And lose it all
And if I can't be all that I could be
Will you, will you wait for me

And wait for me
And wait for me
And wait for me
Won't you wait for me
And wait for me
Please wait for me
Please wait for me
Won't you wait for me
And wait for me
Please wait for me
Please wait for me
will you wait for me?

I have found myself asking this question recently. I believe it is a legitimate question. If I mess up, am I still worth waiting for? It is questioning grace. If I do this, and that, and the most horrible actions you imagine, can your love still be expanded further in my life? If I sin, and hate, and lie, and lust, and cheat, and make mistakes will you still want me at the end of the day? Is your blood enough to cover ALL of me?

I like to ask God questions because he always answers one way or another. His reply: Does the earth sustain from the saturation of this rain? Does the ocean run out of water? Does the desert run out of sand? Does the sky always fill the horizon? In this same way, I am fully enough for you.

Or how about poetry? I love poetry.

THIS ONE IS MINE.

Someone put/ You on a slave block/ and the unreal you bought/ you.

Now I keep coming to your owner/ saying,/ "This one is mine."

You often overhear us talking/ and this can make your heart leap/with excitement.

Don't worry,/ I will not let sadness/ possess you.

I will gladly borrow all the gold/ I need

to get you/ back.

Or quotations?

"Your love should never be offered to the mouth of stranger, only to someone who has the valor and daring to cut pieces of their soul off with a knife then weave them into a blanket to protect you." I am a sucker for romance. This quote is roMANtic (emphasis on the MAN, heh heh--I crack myself up). But I am waiting for someone with this sort of valor. And I know this sort of love exists. Because I have seen it happen in others, for others, and in myself, and for myself. But will you wait for me? Cause everywhere I seem to be, I am only passing through. I dream these days about the sea, always wake up feeling blue,

wishing I could dream of you.

Adventure.

High up on the list is one single word with around a hundred different meanings: adventure. I love adventure; this is a learn-through-experience-love. God has been showing me how to let go of some of my fears, to enjoy instead His adventure he offers everyday. So I could try to write about all the different adventures I have had, or ones I hope one day to have, but I don’t think that would be sufficient. The only necessary thing to say, is that if my brother wants me to do anything with him or for him, he just has to tell me, “Come on, Liv, it’ll be an adventure!” And then I’m hooked. Convinced. Utterly Persuaded. I am pretty much terrified of dancing in public, but if someone tells me that there is a possibility of missing out on an opportunity of an adventure, most fears are subsided because I can feel the righteousness of God’s hand in my life through adventure.

I know I have said this word around 27 times now, but I don’t care. I grew up with too many fears in my heart to keep them there now, there has been too much strength and trust poured in my soul, to keep me from all the things I thought of doing but didn’t do. God has transformed me too much, I can’t go back to fear, my flesh clings to it, and my spirit resists it.

In declaration I am an adventurer scouting the world for whatever I am supposed to find: love, family, broken dreams, monsters underneath beds, broken hearts, children, a spouse, God. The enemy calls this foolishness. His demons whisper my “immaturity.” Satan attacks what we are meant most to do, God encourages what He desires for us. Thus, in the paradox of this Jesus faith, I reject fearfulness, and cling to the fearless heart of God.

Pets: dogscatsturtlesfishiesandmore!

Pets made the list, so I must write. I love these animals. They are scoundrels and killers, but I just love them. This is Gracie Full Leacox and Luke Studguts Leacox. In my lifetime there has also been a Sammy, a Sophie, a Jack, and nameless kittens, and the Regulator cat who still visits every once and again, and Harvey Wallsucker (fish), and tens of other fish that were once named but I have now forgotten. How about Burnt Marshmallow--who was one of around thirty baby turtles we have temporarily owned, rescued baby owls, a crushed baby snapping turtle named Snappy, three baby opossums, around twenty quail, bright blue robin eggs, and at my old house we had chickens and roosters galore. When I was younger, after it had rained on a summer afternoon similar to the one today, I would pick out a worm friend for a play mate that day, I think the typical name for my female worms was Amy and for the male ones it was Max (don't ask me how I decided the sex of the worm, I have NO idea, just a strange imagination).

Yesterday, a mayfly was stuck in a pool of gathered water on the kitchen counter, I named him Tucker, picked up one of his stick legs, and led him to his safety outdoors with the other bugs. My family mocks me for this. I am aware that the average lifespan of a mayfly is not very long, but some part of my heart hurts a little bit when someone crushes the little guy for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know I am ridiculous, but it's just a quirk I guess.

Anyways, I have grown up with many non-human companions in my lifetime and have lost all but two of them now. That is a strange thought. Maybe this is morbid but I say this in complete sincerity, having small doses of grief as a child opens up a thousand different lessons on growing up. Realizing that we do not live forever on this earth is a big one, and that when we do die something far greater is in store for us. And I do not care what theologians theologize about, there are animals in MY heaven, and they'll be worshiping right along next to me to the most high king. Even my little Snappy who I only knew for three seconds, I hope he is there.

My sister was telling me she didn't know if she ever wanted a dog again just because she feels slightly traumatized from all the loss, but I disagree. Not that pet to owner relationships are THAT strong of a real love, but it is still a giving and a receiving of comfort and affection. So LOVE is a dangerous dance. So much extreme joy or extreme hurt can result in this crazy back and forth. And especially if you give out your heart to a thousand different people, mathematically, the opportunity for you to get hurt is at least a thousand times. But let's say you only love a hundred different pets or people, then lucky you, only have the chance of being hurt a hundred ways. YET!!! Let's say the first person is only hurt by half, that means they are LOVED BY 400 more people if the second person is loved by 100% of their pets or people or whatever-beings. That was confusing, but the point is: It's a gamble. Everyone can admit it is a gamble. Whoever said loving is easy, was lying to you (hopefully nobody ever said this, but just in case). It may be easy in a sense that at times it is beautiful, and breathtaking -- yet, when was the last time you were gasping for your life-giving breath, whilst simultaneosuly thinking: "This is a piece of cake!" -- sorry bad joke.

I don't know if any of this had a point, except my mother once told me something I will never forget. She was saying that after she had my oldest sister Lindsey, and then found out she was pregnant with my other sister, Kelsea, she was so nervous because she thought she could never love anyone as much as she loved her beautiful daughter, Lindsey; she was terrified of not having enough love for two children and a husband. But then she said as soon as she had Kelsea, her heart grew double the size and she was overwhelmed with love for her second child. And she never had that same fear again.

One of my favorite quotes by one of my favorite authors speaks on this matter as well: "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possible be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell." -- C.S. Lewis

The point is, Love Expands the heart. It stretches and grows. Love does not shrivel your soul into an 880-year-old dead skeleton, in fact, the lack of love can accomplish that one. Ask God for more of His love to give for yourself and for others and perhaps a pet or two in there, he has unlimited supply, I promise. Ask God for more compassion. Ask God for strength to handle this new love and compassion. Ask God for wisdom. Jesus, our Savior, said ask and you shall receive. Let go of the fear of pain, and give and receive a little from Him and hopefully me and hopefully a spouse and hopefully a puppy or a kitty can fit in your life quite pleasantly as well.

When I asked God to speak to me last night He told me something about this acceptance of our questions. He first told me the verse that says come to me all who are weary and I will give you rest. Well, he said to me: come to me all who are lost, happy, defiant, peaceful, here, loud, quiet, working, sleeping, smiling, stressed, bored, faithful, tired, and ten other adjectives, and kept saying every possible character trait of a person, and then he just completely stopped and said: Come to Me All.

Come to me all, He says. This is the good news.

What to say about this day.

This summer, I am starting a photowritingartproject. It will be HealingHealthyandHappy. It will be called PieceOfAmani. It is a pun (I love puns). Amani means peace in Swahili. So it is a piece of peace.

Even now I am chuckling at myself chuckling at the alternative spelling and definition. Chuckling is not the right verb -- what is a word for a half-turned up mouth exuding sporadic chuckle-puffs?Now I am actually quietly laughing about the new created phrase chuckle-puff. But you have all heard the chuckle-puff. It is the laugh which occurs when something isn't funny, but only slightly entertaining. Chuckle-puff. Say it out loud, use it before the week ends, I don't mind.

I am off course; I must return! A while back I started making a list of things of this earth, or not of this earth which I love. Some are things everyone loves like hand-holding or the ocean, but others are uniquely gifts from God, like my love of dirty feet. The list is about 140+ long and I want to photograph or write about each one before 2011. I originally was only going to photo the project but then I started adding things like "the blood of Jesus" and "the Spirit" and "Doing crossword puzzle with my mother" and I realized some things are better written about. The reason behind all these "wild and whirling words": I want to use my blog as a vessel for some of pieceofamani. This will hopefully keep me accountable to keep practicing photography and writing.

But,

I must say this evening has been all together...(looking-for-the-right-word-pause)...strange. Off. Atypical. I am going to tell a story and emphasize the unconventionality of this night's events. The strangeness all began weeks ago when I told my mother I would be the photographer for my brother's eighth grade formal dance (she told me there would be some sort of small monetary compensation, because after all, they ARE eighth graders). I wore khaki pants and a button up dress shirt, and I kept putting my hands in my pockets like my father does when he is listening to someone drone on for a long time, you know the guy who over-explains the same thing in seven different ways, kind of like what I am doing now. Bless my dad's soul, he always nods his head upwards and keeps it there, all while his fingers feel around for keys or a wallet in his pockets--I kept doing that, but I only had lint to play with. Anyways, after my mother and I had entered the nostalgic arena, complete with my ex-leprechaun-principal not recognizing me--I think I misplaced those hyphens--she is my former principal, but she is still a leprechaun--I realized that it was going to be a very strange night. And it was. I was called bitch by an eighth grade boy who did not know the reason behind muttering something under your breath is so no one else can hear it. Despite my adult-attempting-to-look-professionally-legit-apparel, I was asked by countless teens if I was the photographer. I think they get confused with the contradiction of my young baby face and the fact that NO ONE ELSE AROUND WAS CARRYING A CAMERA, they kept asking me "are you the photographer?"

Alas, I am portraying them in a poor light and that is unfair to the unripened bunch of squaggly hormone-hyped gaggle. There were many well-behaved kids there -- but honestly, who wants to read about them in a story? The naughty ones are 10x more entertaining. Yes.

Something else weird: the stark contrast I felt between myself and the little chitlins. (I am using the term 'little' here referring to young, NOT their actual size because most were heads taller than me.) I didn't necessarily want there to be a line between myself and them, because last week I jumped off the swing while going too fast and high and scraped my elbows and hands. And two weeks ago, I tried to fit my entire body in trunk which could probably only hold a five year old. And just a few days ago, I cried and cried after a truck ran over a baby snapping turtle on the road near my house. My point is, there WAS no distinction between me and them, and yet, the separating line was broad as daylight in the dimly lit cafeteria. Of course, I could blame this on my mother (like most human daughters do) who was close in proximity and kept telling the chalk-full of energydrink jumping boys to "Settle down, please." Okay, now I am actually laughing; I wish everyone in the entire world could one day meet my mother. I know NO ONE like her. No one. Each time I posed a different couple or group to photograph, there were two boys who were entertained by jumping in the picture right before I snapped it. After this behavior was repeated , my mother physically removed them from the picture (pun intended). Neither one of them repeated their action after my mother laced all ten of her fingers around the smaller boy's forearm and drug his back across the tile flooring.

Anyways, the truth is, I think I was much worse than them in 8th grade. I didn't know the Lord and I hated myself a little bit, so I was cruel, and I cheated, and I faked, and I lied, and I, and I, and I, the list is endless. It is strange to return to the place where you were once someone else entirely. It was like I could still see the skinny thirteen-year-old Livi running amuck, being disrespectful and blindly selfish and peer-pressured to kiss amidst all the other junior-highers.

But that Livi is very separate from myself today. And that, my fellow friends and brethren, despite all the absurdities, is a damn good feeling.

fiction.

Broken Sink

The knobs on my mother’s bathroom sink

spray and spurt squirting water when twisted on.

Hot or cold--the pure porcelain, worn silver-trimmed, farmhouse handles--

spew cloudy well water on their nearest user.

In my last encounter, I swung open the door to shout toward the kitchen,

Mom, when are you going to get these fixed?

She did not respond,

but a faint whir of bubbles popped in her boiling water

as I smear my shirt with a blue hand towel.

She then said, there’s a sweet spot, honey, you just have to find it.

Back to the sink, I spun the four-pronged knob with force,

only to be puked upon again.

Frustrated,

I grasped the sink and looked up at the mirror

to see my father’s frustrated

eyes staring back at me.

Their watery blue hue reminding me of the loss and his absence,

and her loss, and why the broken sink handles stayed broken.

I left the bathroom and responded,

you claim there is, but I have yet to find it.