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| I am writing this for you. I ask whoever you are to please read this. This isn't your average Xanga post. This could change lives.
Hi, I'm Charity Miller & I approve this message.
This year is a big change for me. I'll be turning 18 this June and therefore be eligible to vote in our country's next presidential election. I don't know exactly who that vote will be for yet, however, I can assure you it will not be for Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton. Many people I know have endorsed Obama. His ads and speeches, compared to the other candidates, are vastly superior. I, too, was impressed with how well he portrays himself and how genuine he seems. I liked how instead of bringing down candidates, he seemed like the only one who told how he would instigate plans that would help our nation. Then I noticed he seemed to focus more on those amazing plans and stayed off controversial subjects and his beliefs. So I did some research and have discovered that he is a man I could never vote for. I might have been able to, except for his backing of partial birth abortions. Now, before you go away because you have your mind made up on voting for Obama or support partial birth abortion, please just read this article. To find more information on Obama's track record, you can read this article.
Thank you,
Charity | | |
| "For all alike have sinned, and all consciously come short of the glory of God"
Romans 3:23
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Could I kill a man?
What does it take to kill a man?
Do I have it?
I think of myself as a genuinely caring and compassionate person. I try to be nice to everyone. But deep inside, there is the root of evil. And it asks me this question: "How good are you?" You can say you're caring and compassionate in your safe, loving little home, but once placed in desperation what you say could all become a facade.
I walked cautiously out of The Kingdom and into the parking lot. Traffic moved regulated; stopping and starting at traffic signals, allowing others to pass. No gunshots sounded out in the night air. I felt safe. The product of being a spoiled American. All my problems seemed so trivial in that moment. My biggest problem before the movie was trying to get my parents to understand me growing up. For many people in war-ridden countries, their biggest problem is just staying alive so they can grow up.
I feel like a good person. I live in America and obey the laws. But I have no reason not to.
Thou shalt not kill.
How long would it take me? Those people were born into the world innocent like me before they were exposed to the hate and violence of war, the balance of life and death, & the desperation to survive & protect what they love. They feel they have no choice. How much pressure would it take for my mind to consciously press my finger against the cold metal trigger and wipe out another life? What would I have to go through?
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| I think about my future a lot. Today I realized that my life is like a game of connect the dots. I can see the ending dot that I want to go to, but in between that dot and the one I'm on are a bunch of unnumbered dots. What should I do next? Which one should I use to get to where I want to be? I might be able to just go from dot to dot till I reach the one I want, but who knows what picture this will make in the end. God knows. Only with God's guidance can we make it to our purpose and form the complete & perfect picture of who He wants us to be.
The hardest part for me is remembering that. I'm pretty selfish about my future and I hate to admit it. I have a list of things that I want to do before my end. I sometimes get the feeling that if I let God lead me He'll just do what He wants to do and leave my desires out. I feel like a pawn; that if I don't take the reins He is going to lead me off to the other side of the board where I don't want to be.
I love candy. My mom always tells me not to eat so much because it's bad for me but I always just think, "I'm a big girl now, I can eat it anyway." Today I had too many leftover candy corns, Junior Mints, and Flaming Hot Cheetos. Not a very good mix. In fact, I almost puked. I lost all apatite for candy. Afterwards it hit me that this is a lot like how I treat God. God warns me not to do something, but I feel that I can take care of myself. A little bit of sugar isn't going to hurt me. I'll eat real food later. But my choices ended up burning me. I thought the candy was what I wanted. I thought it would make me happy. Now I can't even stand it.
Reality is that God does want the best for me. To have a covenant with someone you have to trust them. How can He entrust us with His goodness if we can't trust Him to give it to us? We get angry at God when life isn't going our way, but how can He protect our lives if we don't give them over to Him completely?
Even saying this to you right now it's still so hard. The candy tastes so good. I still want to do what I want to do. I want to be in control of my future. So the question is, am I my future or is God my future?
-CM-
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Graffiti inspires me. Art moves the soul and graffiti is art created by the person as a certain accomplishment to be done in secret and yet to be shown to the world. What personally drives the individual to create graffiti changes from person to person, or piece to piece, and that passion is viewable in the art its self. There is no profit that the artist can hope to gain other than the accomplishment of leaving their mark. Which is quite an accomplishment to feel rushing through you.
Weeping paint covers grief
Grief unsheathed by life beneath
Crying, burning, tearing, yearning
Toughen image, ignore desires burning
Go take it all out on a wall, Man
Your life story in a spray can
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| Herh. I didn't even know people still read Xanga. Much less commented on one.
I looked back on some old entries. It seems that my last posting is a common thread throughout my thoughts. The desire for something real in this world. Especially people. To have someone to straightfacedly philosophize with about life. I never really noticed it before. I'll try not to repeat myself anymore.
Today is one of those days when everything blends together; life feels like a rainbow that I've squeezed until all the colors have become a murky, dull brown. Quite uninteresting. Which is why when that happens I drift out of life. People are talking around me, I'm traveling in a car, sitting in a chair. It all seems the same because I'm in my mind, not outside. Things that interest me, such as a class discussion, seem so bland and detached. It it days like these that I long to just curl up like a fetus and lay in the cool green grass and shut my eyes. Today is a day where I just feel; it's not meant for words.
It may sound very uncolorful to feel this way. But I have all these images in my head when I shut my eyes.
Children playing in a park. The metal swing-set is painted bright red. They're laughing at the little boy who just fell down while trying to run the merry-go-round into going faster than ever before. They are future. Future at play.
A women, sick in a hospital bed. Her graying hair light brown at the edges, showing she once used a fake dye. Her eyes are closed. The only notion that she is alive lives through the green pyramids peeking on the monitor beside her and a shallow breath, whose survival hangs precariously on a clicking timebomb that is life. She is an entire life, stuck inside a moment. A moment, which to me feels is stuck inside my life. Who wins this war is all a game; the hardest game you'll ever play.
There is a sweatshop. Dark-skinned women are piecing together fabric- it looks like they are making jeans. Their hair is pulled back. Two in the corner babble to each other in an understood dialect which separates us from them. They are talking about what they are going to fix for supper when they get home. Lolita has 3 children to cook for. Her husband just left her. She is wondering what she can get on her 30 cents an hour paycheck as she finishes her last pair. These are your jeans. The ones you eat in, the ones you hug your lover in, the ones you went out in the rain today and got the rims wet in. These are Lolita's jeans. The ones she sewed on, the ones she fed her children on, the ones she socialized with her work-mates on. One pair combining two worlds.
I open my eyes and stare at the grass in my suburban neighborhood. I close them again. Today I think I'll keep them that way.
-CM-
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