Quality Time

Quality Time.
What a stupid, disasterous, needy love language. I want so badly to hate this, and be repulsed by it.
"You are repulsed by the things most like you."
Steph has been reading the love languages book. She's been stuck on Quality Time for a long amount of time. She said to me last night, "I'm going to say this to you, and I truly want you to think about this. I think your love language is Quality Time."
My first thought- "No. It's physical touch. You're wrong."
But then I realized I was doing exactly what she told me not to do. I wasn't thinking about it.
So I thought about it. Tears started to well up in my eyes as she looked at me. She knew I didn't know what to say, so she continued. "I thought of it, when you told me you were so excited that Chris had realized that you liked "being" dates, rather than "busy" dates. You'd rather spend a whole day at the library doing nothing, than run and be busy with everyone all day. You like the BEING."
My heart started to crumble. My walls were deminishing beneath her words.
"I think that might be mine, too," She said. We both laughed because we keep finding out more and more things about us that are so alike. "I would literally wait for my Dad to get home from work, and wait from 6 to 9, because he'd be out for that long. When we'd ask him about it, he'd shrug us off, and go read the newspaper and watch tv. That's why I hate my Dad. Mel, that's why you hate World of Warcraft."
That's when I broke. Physical touch got a reaction. My Dad would hug me, and give me a kiss on the head, and I felt special because I was the only one he'd do that with. Tears rolled down as I replayed why this made so much sense.
Quality Time.
It's why I love making things. It's why I love photos. It's why I love letters-not for the words-but for the time spent in writing it. That's why Nikki and I are so far apart, because she isn't a be-er. That's why when my Mom worked at the school, I would spend my lunches in her office instead of with my friends. That's why I'd pretend to be sick, so my Mom would come home and take care of me. That's why I'd spend every night on the edge of my parent's bed talking with them, because that was often the only time they were still. That's why the most fun I've had with Chris was the days he came out to the house, and spent all day, into the wee hours of the next morning, simply talking and laughing and doing nothing. That's why it's so hard for me to have a conversation with anyone in my family, because they can listen and do things at the same time. That's why it hurts so bad whenever someone asks the question, "Alright, are we going to do something?" or "What are we going to do now?". That's why I hate games, because that Quality Time was ruined by fighting, and that's left a scar on me. The same with cooking and baking. That's why I hated high school, because no teacher would give me the time of day. That's why I hate crowds, because I am unnoticed in them-not because I'm needy for attention, but because I want someone to look me in the eye and have a conversation with me. That's why I hate the phone, because often times people continue to do while talking to me, and I don't have their full attention. That's why Steph and I are up late every night-because we both like to be. That's why I want to mission, because it's okay to be when you need to be, and do when needed to do. That's why I love Steph doing my hair, even if sometimes she hates it.
That's why it hurts my heart that no one is willing to make the drive to come and see me. This is why I had so much fun with Wooree. This is why it's hard to be with the people that mean the most to me, because they're all at a place of doing. This is why it hurts my heart so greatly that no one is willing to come out and spend time with me, simply because the drive is so long. Maybe my standards are too high, but I would expect from my closest friends, that they would take time out of their day to come spend time with me. And no one does, even though we've told them all that our house is open, they still choose somewhere else to go, that I can't go because I can't drive and no one is willing to get me. It hurts my heart.
I won't give up trying, because I know God has placed them in my life for a reason, and I won't give that up easily. I am going to fight for that.
This is why Hosea means so much to me. Because God spends all the time in the world, just trying to get my eyes focused on Him again. Time and time again, He took me back. Eventually leading me to that desert place so He was the only one that I had.
And this is most definitely why I told myself physical touch is my love language.
Physical touch gets a reaction. Physical touch feels good to almost everyone. But that "feels good" is physical feels good, not heart feels good. And since I couldn't get a response from Quality Time, I forced myself to love physical touch, but for me it was about the reaction. Physical touch caused people to stop what their doing, and give me Quality Time.

As soon as I found this inside of me, I wanted to shove it further into myself and leave it there. My thought was, "My love language isn't Quality Time. I won't let it be Quality Time because I don't receive Quality Time."
I'm haunted by the thought of not being loved. Not that I'm needy, but, who doesn't want to feel loved by those closest to you? Not just "loved"-but deeply cared about?
But then I searched that thought deeper.
God's the only one that can give me unfailing love. And that's all I need.
So even though my first reaction was to shove it down my throat, and erase it forever-I've changed my mind.
My love language is Quality Time. And I'm going to embrace that whether I get a response or not.

Destination

(It's taken me all day to find the finish to this thought. Now I see why.)

Lately, I've been feeling off. Not simply off-centered, or off-balanced. But it felt more like when in the car, and you have the bass on a few notches too high. The bass rolls through your body, vibrating everything around you. But the song feels unfinished, because everything else isn't quite as fantastic as that big, booming, rolling bass. It just feels...off. An unfinished thought.
It isn't enough to satisfy.

Finally, tonight, it hit me. My heart was broken by the news of a dear friend in need of some serious prayer and love. Satan is fighting for her soul, and I was torn by that. I was there. I was that girl. My mind, went straight to the selfish way of thinking,
How can I help her?
I can't go see her. I can't send her mail. I can call her, but I hate the phone, so maybe another day. So, I decided on a letter to give to Steph going to go visit her. All day, my mind wrestled around in my head trying to find the words to say. What can I say? What words will help? How can I tell her what I know? How can I help?
I put off writing that letter until 10:30 tonight, when Steph told me I couldn't write Chris's birthday card until I had written her.
So, I sat down, stalling a little bit by cutting out pretty paper, picking a pretty polka-dot envelope, picking the perfect pen color. And then I sat down.
Finally, I found the problem.
How can I help?
Do you see what's wrong with that sentence?
I.
Me.
Myself.
How can I help?
I then knew why I couldn't think of anything. I was trying to figure out the words that I could say to bring joy and life into her life. When in reality, God is the only one who can do that.
I started to write.
I started to tell her how I felt. How I knew what she was going through.
And it bothered me. I even wrote it in the letter, "I feel like this letter is going all wrong."
Finally, I stopped, and thought about it.
"God, I need to know what you say about this. How can you help her? What words will heal her heart? What do you say about it?"
And finally, I found a place I love in the Bible. Hosea.

14 "Therefore I am now going to allure her;
I will lead her into the desert
and speak tenderly to her.

15 There I will give her back her vineyards,
and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.
There she will sing as in the days of her youth,
as in the day she came up out of Egypt.

16 "In that day," declares the LORD,
"you will call me 'my husband';
you will no longer call me 'my master.'

God, romancing her. Showing her. Loving her. Isolating her, so all she has is Him.

And then my heart sank.

I had lost track of the day God did that for me. I had lost track of the fact that God doesn't only love the people around me, He loves me too. I had lost the idea that I am intimately known and loved too. He led me to that desert, and spoke softly to me. And I had forgotten that.

How prideful, to think that I could offer anything to that girl without Him.

How prideful, to assume I could come up with the words that would even slightly calm the storm in her.

How prideful, to think I had God figured out.

How prideful, to think my words were my own.

How prideful, to think I was enough without Him.

Pride. I have a lot of it apparently.

And that needs to stop.

Right here, right now.

I will mark this as a day of change. No, it's going to just go away over night. But I will fight for that, because I am nothing without God. And to assume I am, is absolutely foolish of me.

God died for me. And I never even deserved it. I should know better than to cast Him aside in my life, and assume I could handle this racing car around a spinning track I'd never driven down before blindfolded. I can't handle that! God is the only one that can.

And I'm giving Him the driver's seat.

Because I know He's the only one that knows my destination, He is the only one that can get me there.

There's Something About Driving

There's something about having the windows rolled down, Jon Foreman flowing through the speakers.

There's something about watching the world race past you, almost too fast to even see what everythng is.

There's something about seeing the clouds stretch out for forever, and never stop.

There's something about simply being with someone you love.

There's something about passing trees, and looking up, and seeing the branches and leaves above your head.

There's something about seeing the reflection of clouds on your window, in your rear view mirror.

There's something about driving.

I've always loved driving. Well, being a passenger in a driving car.

I've loved the comfort of not having to say anything to the person next to me, but simply being able to be with them. The world racing past me, I take in every small detail, because I know that it will be gone in a matter of seconds. Like I'll never see it again, like there's actually something to look at besides buildings, other cars, and shops.

There's something about driving.

I'll never understand it, my love for being in a car. For watching the world race by, for sticking my hand out the window and feeling the breeze on my fingertips, my wrists, my elbows. But I will forever know that there truly is something about driving, that moves me, speaks to me, wants more of me.

There's something about driving.

While driving, I am free to fly.

Only The Beginning

Barry, this Sunday, told a story of a girl he met while in Africa. He saw her again at a mission's conference a while later. He asked about Tanzania (where she was when he met her) and how long she was in the states. She answered, "Oh, I'm going back soon. I can't stay here. God wants me there. Tanzania is my home."
My breath caught, and my heart skipped a beat. HOME. Her HOME was a third world country. Missioning, serving. And that caused something to stir inside of me. My hands got a little sweaty, and my throat closed up. I took this as God wooing me, romancing me, pulling me closer, inch by inch, to His heart, where everlasting love lies.

I am not meant to stay here.

Yes, this is a time of rest. But this is also a time of preparation. I do not know where I will go, why I will go, how I will go, but I know in my heart that I am meant to go.
This Summer, I will be going to Honduras. I will spend a week in South America. I have never been on an airplane. I have never been out of the country. But I know, this is just the beginning.
I am prepared. No, I am not completely there. I never will be, I will always have learning to do. I know I'm going to get there and have my mind BLOWN by how much I thought I knew. I am not expecting it to be easy. I am not expecting anything. I am not expecting to go, and be carefree, having fun, and not once get my hands dirty. I KNOW my heart will fight with me over many things.
But like I said, this is only the beginning.
I will be going on an airplane. I will have no contact with my family, or any loved ones. I am afraid of forgetting something. Afraid of being unprepared. Afraid of SO many things.
But this is not about me.
Oh, how God is continually proving this to me. He is everything. He is my reason, my joy, my all. He is my source of life, without Him I am dead. So, I am absolutely giving it to Him, and His plans.
Someday, I will go.
And like I said, this is only the beginning.

I Have An Issue With Feet

I don’t know when it started, how it started, or why it started. But I hate feet.
I hate the look, the smell, the touch…everything about feet grosses me out. I hate it when people touch my feet, or get near my feet. I hate it when people see my feet, and I’ll do everything I can just to hide them-under socks, shoes, and anything else it takes. I even have issues wearing flip-flops.
But one thing I have noticed-the people closest to me, can touch my feet. When my toes are cold, I stick them under Chris’s leg to make them warm. When I’m being goofy, Sam tickles my feet to make me laugh harder. Chris rubs my feet sometimes. My Mom and I sit with feet touching.
And I’m not disgusted.

What is this? Where did my disgust with feet start?

Recently we had an “Experiencing Easter” thing at our church. People went around, washing feet, as Jesus did to the disciples. I skipped out. I got up from the blanket I was sitting on, and left. I simply could not stand the thought of someone touching my feet, I couldn’t stand the thought of me having to touch someone else’s feet.
Ms. Monica also skipped out. We were standing in the kitchen, and she was giving me a hard time. Messing around with me, she asked me,
“Melodie, are you holier than Jesus?”
I know she was kidding, and just messing around with me. But that though stuck in my head.
Am I really that stuck up about feet that I can’t humble myself enough to wash another’s feet? Even though Jesus himself would?

The other day, Sam, Chris, Kayla, Audrey, and I went out to a spot to shoot a bit. There was water under a bridge. Standing on the edge of a rock, I made the decision to take off my shoes, and walk around in the water.
It felt good. There was sand between my toes, and I didn’t think twice about it. My feet were muddy and gross, and I didn’t even think about it. I simply ran around and played like I used to play as a child.


Chris took a picture of me, sitting on a wall, my pants rolled up, my feet bare.

Stephanie and I were looking at it last night. She says to me, “You know what my favorite part of that picture is?” “What?” I asked.
“Your feet. They’re bare. And they’re beautiful.
Your feet, Mel. They’re gorgeous.”

My heart wrenched at the though. Beautiful feet? How gross!
But thinking further-Stephanie meant that. Stephanie meant that my feet were beautiful.

What is my issue with feet?
They are used for walking on. They lead me places I couldn’t go without them. Some use them for hands, as they do not have hands. How would I feel without feet?

I don’t really know where this thought is going yet, but one thing-

This Summer, I’m going to wear flip-flops.
And I will wear them proudly

"And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written,'How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!'" Romans 10:15

Nothing To Fear

It's been a long time since I have felt my past creeping up on me. It's been a while since I have felt the pressure of past things weigh on my heart like an anchor. Holding me in place, with nowhere to go.
I woke up yesterday morning, and there it was. That deep sinking feeling in my heart. That weight of disgust I felt for myself. That hatred for who I am, and everyone else in my life.
I began to let lies creep in.
"You're not enough."
"You don't deserve what you're getting."
"They're only being nice because they have to."
"He doesn't really love you, he just wants something from you."
"What you had was good, it was thrilling, it was fulfilling. And you could have it all back."
At youth group, some teens hung around for about 15 minutes just hanging out.
Standing between two cars-one with a boy beckoning me in, one with a girl and her boy making out, I prayed.
"God-I'm scared. I've always been scared. But I know you're bigger. I know you are stronger. My past...it has nothing to do with myself now, except for throwing up red flags so I know when I'm headed to the wrong places. Lies are seeping in, and I'm afraid. I know that I will always be tempted God, but I do not want to cross the line of temptation into sin. I need you, God. And I always have. I need these lies to go away, because I know they are not from you."
And yesterday, I walked away from the boy beckoning me into his car.
I got the kids we were taking home, and we got in the van. The girl driving got in, and we drove home with cuss words blaring into my ears from her cd.
I laid my head back on the seat and fought back tears. I rolled down my window, so I had a place to look. The wind would blow the tears away.
Through Satan's eyes, and through my eyes-I am nothing. I am simply a human being, an evil sinner.
But through God's eyes-I am His child. I am beautiful. I am enough.
And I can do absolutely nothing without Him.

I will not be driven by fear.
I will not allow fear to be what drives me.
I will not let fear overcome me.
Because through God-I have nothing to fear.

Love

Today, I found out what love means.
Of course-I've always known the definition. I've always known the meaning behind it. But it was all such head knowledge. It's been so long since I have felt love from another human. It's been so long since I have felt sincere love from people on this Earth. Today, I was provided with that.
There is so much that I would like to write here, and yet words simply cannot describe it to the extent that I would like them to. So I am going to do my very best.
My Mom and I went out shopping-just the two of us. We simply sat in silence, and talked when words were needed to be said. The music was not loud, just a low roar in the background. We drove along, words not always being said. But simply, just simply, enjoying each other's presence.
I went to Alyssa's house, and we talked like we have not talked in so much time.
Alyssa, Chad, Chris, and I went to California Pizza Kitchen. We laughed like I have not laughed in so long.
Yesterday, Chris was able to meet my family (Uncles, Aunts, cousins, grandparents). He played with my four-year-old cousin as if he would never get the chance to again. He laughed more than I have ever seen him laugh. He put up with my grandma like no one but us Pruitts can. It's impossible, to explain to you the level of love that that forced into my heart.
Tonight we went and saw The Thorn. I've never seen it before. I know, so many people are bitter about New Life, and everything big and showy they do. But I have to be honest, and saw it was a fantastic show. I cried tears I have not shed in years.
This is my first Easter.
This is my first Easter as a woman of God. As I sat there, I was not saddened by the fact that Jesus was whipped. I was saddened by the fact that he did that for such a people as you and I. When was the last time I sat in that? When was the last time I read the story of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection?
It's been so long. Last Easter, I was still not thrilled. I was still confused. Still broken. Still not truly trusting and believing.
But this Easter, as I sat arm in arm with Chris, it sunk in.
Jesus died for me.
Jesus died.
for me.
I don't know how anyone could know that, and not fall on their faces at His feet and praise Him. His love for us exceeds anything we could ever imagine.
Here I am-in the best relationship of my life. I can't even tell you the amount of love that Chris makes me feel. I can feel it in his gaze. I can feel it in his touch. I can feel it in his words. I feel it simply in his presence. My heart explodes with the thought of him loving me.
And yet that love is not even close to the way that God loves me. It does not even compare in any way, shape, or form to the amount of love and forgiveness God has given me.

One of the many things I am learning from my relationship with Chris-is not so much the fact that he loves me. But more of the fact that I have been given the chance to love him.
And that's such an image of Christ.

I, a completely undeserving human being, am loved with the fullness of the creator of the universe. And He has given me-time and time again-the chance to love Him in return.
I cannot count the times that I have "come back to Christ". But a few months ago, that night in Stephanie's house, changed my life. And ever since then, I have been living for Christ.
I absolutely am not going to take advantage of the chances I have been giving. I can do nothing but praise and worship Him, because He has been so good to me.
Instead of spitting me out of His mouth, instead of throwing me to the curb, instead of leaving me to a life of loneliness, failure, and worthlessness-he gave me new life. He healed all my wounds, He recreated my heart, and washed away everything.
I have been given the chance to love Him-the man I rejected for so many years.
I have been given the chance to love Him.
And I absolutely am going to love Him with everything that I am.