envy train

my nonbiological sister is doing well

looking well

smashing her goals

getting closer to her Savior

worshiping from her heart

dancing to glorify him

getting compliments

being praised

getting things i have wanted

being blessed….

and i feel my heart resenting it.

slithering ugly envy dragging its fingers through my heart

but i don’t have time for that.

because looking at her with a spirit of comparison,

is taking my eyes off of my savior.

of what His plans hold for ME

my time on this earth is the briefest breath

and i don’t have time to compare my life to hers

to want what she has

to be who she is

when there is a wonderful plan laid out for my life,

full of blessings and traits He has designed for me,

we’re on the same team, so why should i be tearing down my sister?

her victories do not mean my defeat,

her worth and growth does not negate my own

i do not have time for this envy game,

this tear down train,

this feeling of shame that i’m not all that she is, listening to lies that i have to be able to measure up to the standard she’s been given in order to be loved and different,

no.

when i see my sister doing well, living well, crushing her goals, walking closely with her Savior,

i will cheer for her, cry with her, walk with her, admire her, praise with her,

but i will not be bitter. i will not resent her over the petty stupid facts that i do not

look like her,

walk like her,

get attention like her,

worship like her

speak like her.

because i’m not made to be her.

i will not take my eyes from my savior and His plan for me to spend it in envy over what He is doing in one of His other beautiful creations.

i will not side-eye my sibling to see if she’s “ahead” of me, i will link my arm with hers and help her walk to the best of my ability to Him and His glory,

whether she knows about it or not.

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roles

you are

a

leader.

red opinions and bold voice

classy lines, smirk, stiletto heels.

standing behind your beliefs unflinching and unapologetic, bringing your arguments and convincing, bold and beautiful, getting things done. completely capital.

passionate, abounding, paving new ways and being that voice, structure and day planners and math homework.

laughing with family, always having those words to say to others, deep eyes.

precise measurements, a glorious sunset that turns the sky red, bonfires raging, neon lights and lipstick stains.

and i admire you.

and

i

am

a healer.

green and feet down grounded

soft light eyes that see you and your emotions, helping you untangle the threads of what you’re feeling. strong arms, gentle hands, crying hugs, smoothing those physical and emotional knots with honesty and sensitive fingers.

i am

bare feet, watching a purple sunset from a tree, drinking tea on the counter, running through the woods, very mixed up playlists.

most comfortable when i’m around emotion, i don’t have enough words. quietly watching, yet ebullient, little bit of a paradox, huge fuzzy blankets and journals everywhere.

scattering ingredients for anything all over the place, but it connects back in the end because there’s a method to my madness and an order to my chaos, and i throw my pens and paper and paint and salt and flour and other components all over the place to make art while i make art.

i am flow of consciousness poetry and puns and open mouthed laughs, you are wit and argument and raised eyebrow sass.

i am citrus and cinnamon smells and pink words, and you are crimson and leather and pepper.

and you, intrigue me.

i’m glad we’re both on this earth with our differences.

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open hands

over and over and over again

God will tap my hands, so gently,

lift my chin to look up at Him from whereever I’ve been gazing off to,

and show me that I’m gripping something too tightly.

literally

I hold my pen in a death grip, I tense up when I’m working on other people, forgetting to breathe unless I consciously tell myself to let go and let my shoulders drop. to inhale. exhale. let my hands soften.

I tend to operate in the ‘fight or flight’ mode more than I’d like to admit,

outwardly looking calm and grounded, possibly being quirky or amusing,

inwardly heart and head kicking me faster and faster, but giving me fast reflexes so hey.

metaphorically

I enjoy change. I like different things, plus change is a consistent thing and helps with growth. But sometimes God will give me something or point me in a certain direction, and instead of holding His hand or putting my head on His shoulder and letting Him bring me there in His time,

I get my little tunnel vision glasses on, lean forward, and speed walk in the direction all by my own self, where I try to wrap myself around that thing and forget to look at God, who gave that good thing to me. Or if it’s a trial, He wants to walk with me through it and I’m floundering all over the place trying to figure it out by myself.

That’s not how it’s supposed to be. It really, really does not work well.

Today, my heart rate has been all over the place and my breathing has been weird. Spiritual hangriness, rain, long thinking drives, and talking to God a lot.

He tapped my hands and lifted my chin.

He is so gentle. It brings me to tears.

He showed me I needed to let go of some things. I was confused for a few minutes, looked back for a moment, and let go.

And immediately afterwards?

Blessings and more peace than earlier.

He is always good. He knows better.

Open those hands.

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10:47 9/18

L E A R N I N G

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it’s almost Autumn. The rains came back today, giving us more rain in a few hours than we’ve had in the past few months. Everything is more green but also dying at the same time.  I watched a sweet baby who pronounces my name “dracie”, and I love it, watching children can be really refreshing. A few trees are starting to change color and drop their leaves.  I’ve had a weird dread of this autumn since the first sunny days of the spring. Which was odd, because I normally like the changing seasons. I get the whole seasonal depression/vitamin D deficiency during the “cloudy” season here in WA, so maybe it’s that. It’s getting cold again too, and that’s never a thing I completely relish, as I’m almost always cold already.

L E A R N I N G

I hate seeing things die. Even if it’s needed and will be more beautiful later. In past years I’ve liked seeing the changes, but this year I’m really disliking it. Watching the trees change their colors and then drop their leaves, going to sleep. Retiring into the depths of their trunks and roots. I miss my trees. I miss the green. I miss the sunrays.

But it will all come again later. That much I’m certain, because we aren’t in Narnia. I’ll get to see the tree grow buds, unfurl them, watch the blossoms come out again, and that makes my heart happy.  Seasons are weird. They are strange. They aren’t all my most favorite. But they are necessary, and they have purpose.

L E A R N I N G

To hold my precious things with open hands, to hold them out to God and give them to Him, and trust that His plan is better than mine. Because it is! He is the creator of the universe who has intentionally created us down to the smallest detail, and who sees us. Who hears us. Who loves us so deeply. He isn’t angry at me, I don’t have to face His wrath. I haven’t figured out how to properly explain how my heart feels at that truth.

He has a purpose and a plan for everything in our lives, and I’m so grateful for that. Free falling to trust Him is easier if you’re keeping Him in your primary focus. He is wholly good.

L E A R N I N G

He is just. Growing up, I always took ‘just’ in the punishment sense, in that if you deserve to be punished, then you can bet you will be.  But it also means that when He makes promises to us, He’s going to carry out those promises. And you can completely count on it. He rewards, He makes promises to us, and we’re allowed to claim those promises and tell Him we’re looking for His rewards. He loves to reward, God is a generous God. It’s like giving a little kid who you love a present, and you get that really happy feeling at seeing their delight. I believe that’s how God may be. He wants us to want His gifts.

L E A R N I N G

Who I am, again. Finding Gracie. Grace. Elisabeth. Reading old journals and notebooks of mine. I hate cliches, unless I’ve had that moment where the cliche comes real to me.  I love sushi. I love hiking. I don’t like strong coffee. I love plants, notebooks, cozy blankets, watching stars and sunsets from mountains. I like mornings, I like late nights, I’m just not a “waking up” person.  I really don’t like arrogance in people. I really admire gratitude. I’m more like my dad than I realized I am, but still very much an INFP. I crave purpose and direction.

I love the color orange, and also blue. I will people watch whenever I can, and I’ll notice your eyes first, and then what your presence feels like. I collect different sized cardboard boxes so that I have just the right size for the purpose, apparently I inherited that habit from my grandma. I’m empathetic, it’s a blessing but also weird at times. I don’t really worry about what people think of me unless they’re a select few in my close circle, and even then I’m aware that people aren’t always going to get you, and it’s PERFECTLY ok if they don’t. You do you and listen to God. Put your focus in the right place. I love yoga, enjoy running if someone will force me to do it, and can now do three consecutive pull ups, which is three more than I could do last week.

I love growth. I admire trees a lot. I’m learning where God wants me to go in life.

He is good, so it is good, I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I’m content.

Introductions

Since I’m working on starting up this blog again, I figured it was time to do an introduction, which I don’t believe I’ve ever properly done here.

My name is Elisabeth Grace Hacking, commonly called Gracie or Grace. I am 20 years old, a Christ Follower, an INFP, a licensed massage therapist, and also a nanny. I am the second oldest of 11 kids, ages 23-3, with three of them being from West Africa. It’s an adventure!

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I love citrus fruit, blankets, being on or in or around water, massage, bird feeding, reading, hiking and road trips, cannot spell “definitely” right on the first try to save my life (which is odd because I enjoy spelling.), I was born in California but have lived my entire life in western Washington, with rain and mountains and woods and tea.

I don’t tan, I burn, and am figuring out where God wants me in this season, and what He wants me to do. I feel a little lost right now, and that is one of the reasons I’ve decided to be more frequent at writing here. I love writing, always have and don’t intend to ever stop. I have many many notebooks, random poetry, and I don’t even know how many unfinished stories I have.

I’m dating the man who I’ve known since I was 10 and have had crushes on since then. He is tan and can talk to pretty much everyone and make them laugh, works harder  than pretty much everyone I know, loves adventuring and is a fantastic adventure buddy, and is also one of the most generous people I’ve ever met. He’s the best blessing I’ve ever had.  You’ll all probably be hearing lots about him in the future! ❤

There you have it readers, a little portion of who I am now put out on the internet, and hopefully you feel better introduced to me!

Blessings,

me

 

to ground

I hate falling.
From a cliff.
In my dreams.
At the fair.
Into sin.
To uncertainty.
I love feeling solid structure beneath me, whether a physical or emotional assurance. Grounded. Secure. Why I have such an abhorrence I’m not sure, maybe subconscious remembers reaching for a lying branch, falling far, waking up bruised and hanging by my knees who knows how much later. Or maybe it remembers the dirty feeling of falling morally, of missing the mark. That isn’t a bad fear, per se, I should strive to stay strong. It’s the fear that I have of myself (in a sense) that is wrong.
But such is life as a flawed being, falling (whether physically or otherwise) so what should I do with this fear?
I can either dwell in it, entangling myself until I’m a hyperventilating paralyzed mess, a rabbit with wide eyes afraid to move.
Or, I can find my grounding. I can sink my heels deep into my Savior and know that He’s got this. I can cling to His mane when the fears come running toward me, and know that His net is close below when I fall.
He walks with me and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. There is no reason for me to replay these fears.

brought out

So, I’ve actually started quite a few blogs, and I literally just “refound”, if you will, one of the ones I had last year.   I still like it, so you all get to see it today. 🙂

 

Lately I’ve been thinking about beauty. I’ve been seeing posts and tweets and pins about this, and normally I don’t pay much attention to them, but as of late they caught my eye and got me thinking about this subject in more depth. I noticed that much, if not all, of what I saw labeled as beautiful was flawless, photoshopped, artificially enhanced. Altered. Which I’m not saying is bad, I love editing pictures and appreciate perfection and aesthetics.
But it made me think of beauty that normally isn’t recognized; the painful, the small, the overlooked type. The melancholy sort of beauty.

Don’t get me wrong; I love the happy beauty; the perfect symmetry of someone’s face and a flawless smile, a perfectly arranged bouquet, photoshopped eyes that are absolutely breathtaking, a textbook perfect moment, but I also love the other types of beautiful things.

The beauty of holding someone as they cry, seeing their tear stained face, and all of their emotions churning just below the surface of their reddened and moist eyes. The rawness. The realness. When someone trusts you enough to pour out all of the ugly problems and messes in their life, that is also beauty, just a different type. Little flowers growing on top of boulders. Patterns in the mud, an imperfect smile, a homely face but a beautiful soul. Crooked teeth, large noses, lips that are “too big”, different shades of skin, eyes that aren’t symmetrical. People rambling on and on about completely random things, vulnerability, shiny glints in granite, vocal and “clumsy” prayers that are completely honest and open. These are beautiful.

Weakness, there’s just something alluring about it.Watching someone break and realize that they can’t do it alone and that they need to lean on their Savior. Brokenness.
Emotional goodbyes. Sadness. Even though it stinks, it still shows you that you can care and feel, that you’re alive. Abandoned houses, broken windows, peeling paint. Imperfectly sanded objects and ripped jeans from being on your knees. Calloused hands. Graveyards with crumbling memories and strong
emotions. Scars, they show that you’ve overcome. Worn and broken books, specifically Bibles, coffee stains and taped pages. An open manifestation of grief. The moment when you honestly don’t care what people will think and worship and pray with wild abandon. The hard times that shape your story and mold you into who you are.

Missing friends, the heartache that is evidence that you care. Broken down cars by the side of the road with windows smashed in and glass glittering, fallen trees that were once majestic but are now giving back, muddy riverbeds, swamps with all of their secrets, when a fictional character dies and your heart goes through an emotional blender. Piles of leaves gathered up like old memories, chipped teacups, and gruff voices. Finding bones in the woods, cleansing tears, shattered mirrors.

I love those happy, perfect moments and people, but I also love this melancholy beauty. I like imperfection and odd things as much as I do perfection; being different makes you irreplaceable, and so often we’re told to be the same as everyone else. But rawness is intriguing. Such a mystery.  I love it. So wild and imperfect, and yet it is perfect in it’s imperfection, and I’m grateful.

Adventures of the frazzled poet

These past few days have been hard. 

  
Combine disappointment with long work shifts, trying to catch up in a class that I had to miss the first week of, my first college math class (as someone who really struggles with math), rampant emotions due to hormones, homework for three other classes, and you get a very frazzled little poet who’s learning how to adult. 

Last night I got over whelmed, and woke up the same this morning, but then I read my Bible. And I talked to God. It was comforting. 

There are not “bad days”, per se, just hard ones. 

The plus sides of this?

  1. I’ve gotten back into a time management mindset. Time is valuable, I have many things to  do with only so much time to do so. 
  2. It has shocked me into getting back into my bible study and more prayer (haha). 
  3. I understand math a tiny bit more. 
  4. My procrastinating brain has thought up lots of poetry. 

Just my five bits for today. 
Love,

me