Essay. Nikki. Nicole.

I think in lists, so I'll list off all the things I love about you:
1. Number one and most important, your love for God's word. I have never had a teacher teach me the Bible with the heart that you do. You have this way of making it real. Even the other day when you played Ruth and told it from first person, all of the sudden Ruth has life. Her muscles hurt from bending down, and she's sweaty from working and she hurts for Naomi, and she has life that she doesn't have on the page. You fill in the blanks, you add the practical aspect to the stories. I consistently forget that the people in the Bible are real, living, breathing people. I see them as stories, but you trample that with interest and a new realness. I love you for that. You inspire me to hunger after the Word like you do. You are honestly unmatched in your love of the Bible.
2. Your eyes. You speak with your eyes a lot. They're big and blue and beautiful, and they're dripping with words. It seems funny, but you can love on people with eye contact. You can say a deeper thank you with your eyes than with your words.
3. You are so talented. So, so talented. You are studious and brilliant. Creative and artistic. Thoughtful and caring. Emotional and real. Honest and direct. You have revolutionized KidsMin into a working, well-oiled machine. God pours out through that building, and you head up that whole process. You do a good job. I love working for you. I have a hard time imagining working in Children's without you. You are KidsMin to me, I've never known anything different. I don't really want to know anything different.
4. I want you in my life. I respect you and your opinions and thoughts. I think you're so knowledgeable. Pretty much I just think you're awesome. Stick around in my life.

I'll remember you and this place and these summers forever Essay. I adore them with my whole heart.

Lives Are Lines

Lives are lines, running parallel, perpendicular, simultaneous, intertwined, knotted, strained, fraying, braided, slacking, continuing...

There's nowhere to run. You can't escape what's inside.

My heart hangs heavy; a sponge, dripping with excess emotion, wrung out in tears of blood.

My love cup is a shallow one, I figure. It doesn't take much to fill it up; an invitation will do, a "hello Amber," a genuine "you're doing a good job," a pat on the back, some eye contact. Being easy to fill up is a good thing, but that also means it's easy to empty. I drain out with lightening speed. The contents of cup are sucked out into a black hole of bitterness and hurt with the avoidance of eye contact, the neglect of a hello, ignorant actions, attention given to someone else and not me - pretty much not being initiated to. If you don't reach out and touch my heart, it shrivels...