Cups

I walked into a large ballroom with a friend by my side.

It was dark and beautiful, lit from the ceiling and wonderfully crowded. Most of the guests had already settled in and grabbed a cup of the punch. But as my friend and I walked about the room, something began to seem off. At a closer look, I figured it out.

Every guest had a glass of punch, but some had a tall cup and some had a short cup. In addition, some had a long, pink straw and some had a short, orange straw.

I began to watch as the people in the room moved about. Those with a short cup and a short straw roamed about thirsty, constantly returning to refill their glasses.

Those with a tall cup and a taller, pink straw lasted the night,

I turned to my friend to see if he noticed the same thing. With a sad sort of smile, he directed me towards the kitchen. There, in a corner, stood a friend of my, looking very distressed over her cup and straw.

"I'm so thirsty, always thirsty." She said.

"Here," I reached for her empty cup." She handed it over to me and I left to refill her cup for her. When I returned, she took the cup and immediately began to drain her glass once again. I held my own cup close to my chest, tapping the rim and feeling sorry for her.

Then I was amazed. The strangest of things occurred.

My friend drained her glass within moments, but still she sucked on her straw. I looked down at my own tall cup and watched as the contents began to diminish until it was almost depleted.

Even still, she seemed insatiable.

I couldn't let such a tragedy continue. Taking her cup and exchanged it for one of the taller glasses and plunked her straw back into her new glass. She smiled and began to sip.

Watching her, I felt felt some relief, thinking I had solved her problem. But as she sipped, her short little straw rapidly sapped up all that it could reach, and she couldn't even begin to drink what remained. Then I saw why the pink straw had to be paired with a tall cup. And together, we exchanged her short straw for a taller one.

She drank and was satisfied.

Blink And You Miss It

the older I get, the faster time passes. Sometimes I can hardly believe high school was two years ago already (I know, anyone who's going to their 10 year reunion or more laughs at a measly 2 years). But thinking about the passing time, I started to really remember what high school was like for me - how I remember it and how I wish I remembered it. I have a different perspective now, being on the other side. But trust me... don't wish the years gone. Blink and they're gone. You can't go back. You can't change things. All that will remain are the memories. Do what you can to make the most of the days ahead of you and trust that God will be faithful.

To my wonderful friends... whether I know you or not... who are still in high school, I want you to know that two years isn't so much that I don't remember all the craziness of being 14, 15, 16, 17 (I started college right after I turned 18).

When I am sitting alone bored in my dorm room, I love to watch HS drama shows. They make me laugh because they are so ridiculous. But then... when I was a sophomore in high school, I remember sitting with my group of friends, rolling my eyes at the petty cheerleaders, avoiding the band geeks, envying the pretty girl who sat on the lawn twenty yards away with her football player boyfriend and all the while wishing my friends wouldn't be so dramatic about everything that was going on. Funny how those TV dramas aren't really too far off.

But on the inside, I just felt really overwhelmed and misunderstood. I was a mess of emotions and I was so frustrated because no one but my friends really tried to understand what I was saying - so I thought. Maybe my parents thought they understood, but I used to get so mad whenever I tried to explain, couldn't quite word my feelings correctly and then my parents would try and repeat back to me what I said - getting it all wrong.

We used to have a tree swing out under a big oak in our back yard with heavy branches that somewhat closed it in. I used to go sit on that swing and cry my eyes out because even if my friends "understood" I still didn't tell them everything because they wouldn't have liked some of the things going through my mind.

Worse still... I was the "Christian Girl."

I didn't cuss, date, wear bikinis or short-shorts, have a cell phone, dye my hair... you name it. I wore jeans and t-shirts most of the time and I didn't have the slightest idea who lady gaga was. I was a JV softball player, 4.0 GPA, tutor girl. YUP. plus... I was shy.

I felt like no one got me.

I spent four-years wishing that some Christian guy would come along and fall in love with me. Or maybe some awesome, Christian friend would come into my life - maybe then I would have someone who FINALLY understood where I was coming from.

But you know what?

My life was pretty decent. First off - I wasn't a starving kid in Africa (#firstworldprobs)

And well... High School is probably the one point in your life where you have the most freedom. I wish that I had recognized that when I was 16 and moping around. I didn't have any bills to pay, I could go places without my parents, I had a little bit on babysitting income and my homework load wasn't so bad. I saw my friends everyday between classes and my Christian friends twice a week at youth group and church.

If I went back... honestly, I don't think I would be able to change all the hours I spent crying on that swing or into my pillow on my bed. That life... that's High School. I just want you guys to know that you're normal. Even if no one can really get inside your head and understand what's plaguing you - we were all somewhere similar once upon a time.

Just don't blink and miss it.

Treasure this... even if it seems hard. God will see you through. He's faithful and good. Trust him and savor the time you're given. You won't always have this.

The day I graduated high school, all of a sudden, I missed everything that was coming to an end.

So treasure this.

Keep hanging on.

Hugs,

Emily

The Burdened Ones

“The Burdened One”

by Emily Bergstrom

They go on with smiling face,

thinking all is well,

for I can walk and step in grace.

Who can fear what’s known and good?

As long as they are unaware,

and I remain,

if I walk with care –

all will be fine, no smiles chased.

But if I walk the untrod road,

and something new wells up and out?

If I cannot bear my heavy load?

Then who is to say what will come?

For kindness is bread for the burdened one.

Without their bread, they shrivel,

like grapes beneath the sun

So, “keep all the same, don’t smile, don’t frown!”

Don’t tip the apple cart.

Truth is death for the burdened one.

March 25, 2014

Don't be discouraged by mood in poetry. I believe that sometimes bringing a feeling out gives the opportunity to address the solution. 

This poem is something I wrote in light of a personal struggle of my own. I have never liked sharing my burdens with others. It's embarrassing and strange - even awkward. No one wants to be the complainer or the martyr. And even more importantly, no one wants their dirty laundry potentially shared beyond a confidence. My own worst fear is that I don't want anyone's opinion of me to change. 

Sometimes I find the will to share the burdens I carry, but I'm fairly certain whatever I say still comes out in an awkward way. Maybe no one else notices, but that's the way I perceive myself. 

Still, God created us as a body, to live together in community and support one another. 

Recently, I have started reading the book of Ecclesiastes. and while I'm certain you might have heard the verses before, it speaks very well to the purpose of seeking community with other Christians and surrounding ourselves with the support system God has so wonderfully put into place for us. 

 "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12

waiting for my heart to beat again.

Sometimes I wonder what God is doing. With the rush of a breath, I am at a loss for words, head over heels and unable to think beyond wonder.

When something you never really expected, though always thought you saw yourself doing is suddenly handed to you it can feel as if for a moment the world stands still and all you can think is, "really, Lord?"

My world is frozen in time right now. I'm waiting for an answer and wondering if God has something very intentional in mind. I know everything intentional with God, but as I sit here on the verge of the unknown, waiting and uncertain, I wonder if this is more than intentional, but somehow encompasses some kind of plot marker in the scheme of life.

For the moment, I'm listening for the beat of my heat. It stopped the minute I received the news. The opportunity. I can't really hear a thing. It's utterly silent. I keep thinking about the other things I ought to accomplish, but I just can't push myself to start until I have an answer. That's my type, I suppose. The finisher. When I start on an adventure, I HAVE to know the outcome. The way it will turn out. Until I know, I can't think, breathe, eat, fathom any other course.

The unknown is exciting. Something to anticipate and hope for. To wish for with all of your heart. Since I never asked for this, though I knew I would enjoy it, I can't know if my heart will break if the answer is no. But if the answer is yes, regardless of how insignificant, I truly believe that I will feel as if all of my dreams are coming true.

But until I know, this unbeating heart is making me feel just a little bit sick in the chest.

It's no longer in my hands.

I've trusted God with my life.

He let this happen for a reason.

I can know for certain he intends to use the outcome whether yes or no.

So with that, I can close my eyes and wait... wait for my heart to beat again.

Hope of Glory

What's in a story that makes you laugh?
that makes you cry?
that wrings forth from the lips a heartfelt sigh?
Is it mood that sways with persuasion?
Like sappy songs and presentation?
Or strange words that lacked a voice
and now resonates perfect word-choice?
Maybe it is joy, camraderie
that makes us cheer
and gives us glee.
And if that's so, then what is life?
but a shared story
that gives us peace
and hope of glory? 

50 Words

It's rather incredible what individuals we are. There are roughly 7,140,386,800 people on the planet... and that really is a rough estimate. But out of that number, not one of us is alike. Even twins are unique. In high school, two of my best friends were twins. No matter how much they looked alike, they were their own person.

Imagine a list of 50 words (phrases) that describe yourself. I'm sure no one else would pick the same words.

books
writing
reading
romance
history
family stories
old movies
Sandra Dee
Julie Andrews
Superman
lace
teacups
doilies
dresses
pearls
vintage styles
cooking
mexican food
baking
scones
cookies
Beauty & the Beast
Snow White
fairy tales
Happily Ever After
children
drawing
painting
crafts
hot chocolate
camping
boats
wandering
creeks
rivers
lakes
swimming
rabbits
mixed breed dogs
horses
riding
wildflowers
roses
lavender
braids
music
singing
whistling
day dreaming

and laughing infectiously at any joke... especially the cheesy ones.

Remembering My Childhood Through Theirs

Someday I think our house will be exciting again... Lindsey and Nate were here today and all the legos, dolls, dresses and animals came out of hiding. Once again they were loved and played with and treated as something exciting and special. As I put the dolls away and the baby crib back into place, I started to picture grandchildren in this home, playing with all of our well-loved childhood momentos. Many of these things I'd forgotten about. But when Linds and Nate came to play, once again I recalled what fun I used to have before I grew up. 

I'm not so good at playing anymore, but I love remembering. I love bringing out the toys for them, making hot chocolate, and listening to their stories. 

Lindsey wanted to play Barbie Horse Adventure, a game I used to play at her age. But it was getting late and they were leaving soon. Still, hearing her beg to play made me remember playing the game at my grandparents house. She made me remember playing at Christiana's house and knowing our parents would often talk for hours, hearing them say, "we'll leave in just a minute," always used to mean, "we'll probably leave in about another hour or so." I wonder if Lindsey thought the same?

My own childhood is over. But I can't wait to be a mom someday and watch someone else's childhood begin. I can't wait to pass on my beloved toys. I'm excited to remember my childhood through theirs.