If God Made You Kindly

If God made you kindly, then kind you should be.

Delicate face dripping lightly with grace,

trim arms and legs frame an hourglass waist.

No bumps or wrinkles, skin smoother than glass,

slightly inhuman, chiseled art of the past.

Formed with such kindness, so repayment should be.

Or wanting for nothing, no suffering or pain.

Veins rush with luck; what you want falls like rain.

Fortune and glory and love and respect,

ooze from your soul, take from life all regret.

Creation most generous, the kindest God can be.

Or thinking and wondering, curious and smart,

creative and loving, the world at your heart.

Easy to grasp and fast to learn,

gazed at in awe, have what all others yearn.

Baptized in brightness, but the gift… can you see?

Or lazing about, every whim, every want

can be done without doubt, clothed in envy everyone.

Broke from the shackles, life is green grass and peace.

Truly no hassle, like doves you fly free.

No worries, no cares, touched by God like a king.

Or simply blessed to have opened your eyes,

inhale, exhale, see the sun rise.

Alive in the now, not devoured by rot,

on Earth as a human, not beast, plant, or rock.

A soul in existence, kindness most holy.

Yet all we offer in return for being made

are gripes and greed, death and war, abuse and fear and rage.

Humanity’s no brotherhood, just shameless self-obsession;

stabbed our Father and ourselves, a sorrowless transgression.

Yes, God takes time to make us kindly, but kind we’ll never be.

Gleaming White Lily

Cracked, barren mud layered with dust

Little green bloom in the wasteland rust

Glimmer of hope, but how could it grow

with nothing but tragic loss to know?

Crying, mourning, knowing the fact

that Little Green Bloom will be no more than that

Sweet little angel, tainted by time

Wishing to save you, hoping you’ll be fine

Departing with life, returning in years

Thinking of you, holding back fears

Little Green Bloom that I left back at home

Now Gleaming White Lily, inner strength made you grow

What’s Taking So Long?

With every noise,
I jump.
Is it you coming back at last?
With every jump,
I can’t breathe.
Why would you do this to me?
What are you saying?
I wish I could know.
I wish I could follow you out of this home.
But privacy is your right,
and I trust that this time,
you’ll do what you have to do.
Just please come back soon.

Just had a little spark of inspiration to write this poem. Not my best, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Until next time ❤

Thought Roulette

I’ve wanted to post on here again for quite some time, but I honestly haven’t had a clue of what to say. I’ve been a little overworked and thus lacking in the creative department lately, so I’ve just been pushing this whole blogging thing aside in hopes of getting a giant spark of inspiration at random that causes me to drop everything I’m doing simply so I can come on here and write.

Well, that hasn’t happened and probably is never going to happen, so instead of continuing to wait, I’m just gonna start rambling on about anything that pops in my head. I think I’ll call it idea roulette, for reasons that are hopefully obvious to everyone out there. This’ll be fun — probably more so for you than me, but fun nonetheless. So let’s get started!

First up, I’m heading to South Korea this week. Yup, South Korea, about as far away from Pennsylvania as I can get. This is a trip that’s been several years in the works, and I’m so, so excited for it to finally be here. Like, it doesn’t even feel like it’s actually happening. But then again, it does, which really stresses me out.

I’m gonna be traveling with a friend who lives there the whole time, but it’s still a little freaky to think about being so far away from home. Like, for the next six weeks, I’m gonna wake up in the morning, and all of  my family and friends will still be living out their lives in the day before. What?? I’m gonna be ahead of basically everyone else in the world time-wise. Isn’t that insane?? I’m so used to being behind everyone else! It’s gonna be so freaky!

But I guess I’ll get used to the change pretty fast, so long as the jetlag doesn’t destroy me first.

Oh, but I’m going to be taking so many pictures while I’m there, omg. (Super sorry for continuing to talk like the 20 year old that I actually am in this post.) I literally can’t wait for all of the beautiful things I’m going to have the chance to photograph. It’s gonna be INSANE. So follow me on Instagram if you like photography, cause there will be a ton of [hopefully] awesome travel pictures appearing on there every single day.

Shameless self promotion, I know. More to come in a bit.

I’ll also make a conscious effort to blog multiple times a month while I’m there, so don’t worry about me falling off the face of the earth once again. I’ll probably be exhausted from walking around so much everyday, but I’m gonna force myself to get up early and blog (as well as edit vlogs and talk to my family back home lol). And I’m sure my homegirl who I’m staying with will also help me stay motivated and actually make me make posts lol. (Love you, Jenny ❤ ) So have no fear this time around. I promise I’ll still be here!!

So yeah, I’m going to Korea. That’s a thing. What else?

I’m still single lol, no surprise there. Cute men abound, but I just can’t bring myself to try to date any. I don’t want any of them. It’s very hard to explain the exact emotion that I feel toward relationships right now, so I’m not even gonna try. But just know that I’m still all mixed up and confused about everything. However, despite the constant confusion, I don’t hurt anymore. That’s a glorious thing.

And while we’re on the topic of relationships, I also want to take a second to share with you a great quote that I saw the other week: “Don’t fall in love when you’re lonely. Fall in love when you’re ready.”

(Sorry if I somehow quoted it wrong. I penned it off of memory. Anyway…)

I’ve obviously felt pretty lonely and down at times over the past few months. Now, I am very, very, very much an introvert who enjoys being left to herself to do her own things, which means that being single has really never bothered me, even when it’s lead me to feel lonely. Even now, despite everything, I’m virtually unfazed and thus have been very good at resisting the urge to simply choose a random suitor and start up a fling in order to fill the void. That kind of thing just doesn’t appeal to me — or normally doesn’t.

This time, however, due to all the circumstances surrounding my singleness, it appealed to me for just a second. I got a little too lonely and thus decided to break free from my norm of ignoring guys and try going out with a dude I met online (not through a dating website, just randomly online).

I never explained all the details of it on here and probably never will, but the dude, who’s the same age as me, started out great and then turned into a total DISASTER. We had two dates, and I left in the middle of the second one, stressed and anxious and reminded of the reason why I don’t want to try dating again right now. Or maybe ever. Who knows. It’s kind of nice not having to answer to anyone but God, tbh.

But anyway, that incident proved that the quote I showed you a few paragraphs ago is true. Anytime you try to find love just because you’re lonely, it’s never going to work out. You have to be wholeheartedly ready to find love, and so does the person you’re with. If both of you aren’t fully ready, it’ll never work. Ever.

Trust me, cause I know from experience.

Ah, but while we’re still on the topic of dating, I guess I should talk about the vacation I just got back from.

I spent 10 days in Aruba with some of my family, and it was amazing ❤ It was one of the best vacations I’ve ever had in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. I vlogged the whole trip and have been posting the videos as often as my crappy computer is letting me. Check the vlogs out here, and pretty please subscribe. Pretty, pretty please. With more sugar on top than has ever been on top before ❤ I only have six subscribers. That’s pathetic and speaks nothing to the quality of videos I’m actually posting.

(Told you there was more self promotion.)

But anyway, while I was in Aruba, I got asked out on a date by a bartender at my resort. We had become friends over the days, and us going out was definitely more of a friend thing than anything (even though he made it clear multiple times that he thought I was beautiful and awesome and yadda yadda ya).

Well, he ended up hardcore standing me up, and we haven’t really spoken since lol, except for an awkward fake apology he tried to give me in front of my sister. What a guy XD

There was also this dude staying at the same resort as us who was super cute and who I could tell was interested in me. But nothing ever came of it cause he was from the Netherlands and spoke no English, and I speak no Dutch. Sad day 😦 (But also not really lol because he probably sucks, too. Or he’s the greatest guy in the world, and I should’ve tried to drop a “hallo.” Who knows. Only God does.)

And speaking of God, the past few months have basically been me just sitting back and letting Him take total control. Cause what else can you do? Our choices only intervene with the plan He already has set, so why not just let go, relax, and follow the course? He can only take us higher than where we are now.

Anyway, that’s all I can think of to say right now, other than happy Sunday, and isn’t Harry Styles beautiful???


Thanks so much for reading my little game of thought roulette. Hope you enjoyed.

Until next time ❤

Every Single Thing I Do Not Know

For every single thing I do not know,
there are 12 more things I don’t know I don’t know.
You may be confused, so to make myself clear,
I know that I don’t know just why I am here.
But on top of that, there are 12 missing links
that I never thought I ever would think,
like the next great invention
or what was your intention.
And what things I know that are actually wrong,
or if she really was there all along.
Or maybe even if nothing is real,
including the way that you said that you feel.
And how about when the world will end,
or the reason why I am still your friend?
There’s also what makes up the stars and the moon,
plus what I will do now that I’m without you.
And here are two that I cannot forget:
Why you love me so strong yet have so much regret.

A Preview: “Run”

The following is a brief preview of the novel I have been working on in my spare time for about five months now. I don’t want to explain what it is about. I just want to offer you a snippet for your (hopeful) enjoyment. If you would like to give any feedback, please feel free to do so in the comment section below.

Now without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter of the book I plan on fully writing within this year:

Continue reading

Love and Water

The more I think, I know love is like being in water.
One minute you sink, and the next, you’re just like fodder,
slowly floating away after having been so enclosed.
But the more you start to fade, the more you start to grow.
And the more you start to grow, the more you start to know,
and the more you start to know, the more you start to row
back from where you drifted, into each other’s arms.
And you realize just how gifted you are to have love in your hearts.
Yes, just like water, so refreshing then so bland,
you never seem to ever miss it ’till it’s no longer in your hand.

I wrote this in the car the other day while I was on my way home from Florida. I don’t know if it’s actually good, but I like it. So I’m posting it. I haven’t written any poetry in awhile, so this was very refreshing to do. Also, with school having started yesterday and already being a little hectic, it was something easy to get out. Hopefully, you enjoyed, and I thank you for reading regardless.


The Third Hour of Creative Writing

I should continue this story more often. Read the last part here.

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, this is a series where I write for one hour straight and then take about ten minutes to edit it. After that ten minutes, whether the story is good or not, I post it.

Enjoy. Continue reading

The Second Hour of Creative Writing

It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Well, here’s part two. Check out part one here if you like.

And for those of you who do not know: This is a series where I write (what is currently a continuous story) for one hour straight and then take about ten minutes to edit it. After that ten minutes, though, whether the story is good to go or not, I post it.

Now please enjoy the so-called fruits of my labor.

“Uh, well, yes, actually. I do.”

He casts his eyes slightly down to the ground, just a bit away from both the book and I, as if he is suddenly extremely shy and unsure of himself.

It’s a bit odd, but it only lasts for a fraction of a second, so I let it go, easing the confused look that has come across my face and thus furrowed my brows. The man quickly recovers from his character lapse once I do so, putting the confident, smiling eyes back in place and grabbing the book gently out of my hand, adding a slight, polite bow in as he takes it, obviously trying to show me a bit of respect.

“Thank you so very much for being so kind about this,” he says as he takes it. “I wish you the very best.” He widens his smile slightly at that, then spins around on his heels and returns to his bench. A bit too quickly, might I add, but just a bit.

“Um, thank you?”

I tried showing gratitude for his odd kindness right there, but I do not think he heard it. I am grateful for that, though, for it came out in an incredibly questioning manner, which could have easily been thought of as rude. And considering how this guy has treated me, rude is something I certainly do not want to be seen as by him.

As the man takes his seat on the bench across the way again, I no longer know what to think of him. Were my fantasies of a few moments ago all wrong? No, they couldn’t be! Normally I’m not that bad of a judge on character. But now he is acting so strange — with much emphasis on the acting part! It’s as if he is putting on a show for those around him. He looks a bit flustered and a bit embarrassed, yet its so well hidden that anyone who was not watching him before would never even notice. Honestly, what is up with this man?

Betts, leave him alone. He’s probably just scared of what you think of him now that you know he can speak German. I’d be scared, too, this day and age.

And so I let it go. His behavior really could be from anything. Maybe it’s fear, or maybe he’s just a bit more socially awkward than my imagination pictured his handsome face as being. But still, I just can’t get the way he interacted with that apologetic woman out of my head. It makes how he talked to me seem so…

Oh, well, Betts. Why does any of it even concern you? Just let it go. Gentlemen can act however they please. They don’t need you constantly judging.

Ah, my voice of reason, always so logical. But still, he’s suddenly too odd for my liking…

Oh, well. I’ll simply count him as another strike. Nothing new.

Train 452A departing from the city of New York, New York, and embarking for the town of York, Pennsylvania, has just arrived at Terminal 11C and will begin boarding immediately.”

The very short, very well-dressed man standing at the gate to the platform announces this to all waiting in the terminal through the very large microphone he has attached to his ticket collection podium.

What? Already?

Well, that hour certainly went by fast!

Let’s get going, Betts!

I stand up, briefly pat down any wrinkles in the skirt of my powder blue dress that may have formed during my sitting, grab my suitcase and purse, and begin walking toward the man at the gate. I turn to look back over my shoulder in order to check on my handsome German-speaker, but, alas, he is gone.

“What?” I accidentally ask out loud in shock. Luckily, though, no one is around to hear me.

But where did he go? He was right there planted firmly on that bench just a few moments ago! I turn all about the terminal but find him nowhere. Maybe he briefly ran to the bathroom?

“Odd,” someone next to me says. I glance at him and see that he is middle-aged, wearing a wedding ring and balding. He’s dressed in a slightly old business suit and gives off the aura of a father. He’s rummaging frantically through his bag, as if he’s lost something.

“Yes, very odd indeed…” I say under my breath, agreeing with him while also not speaking at him. Then I turn to face him fully on. “Can you not find your ticket, sir?”

He looks at me desperately, and replies with a no, that it seems to be lost. At that, my mind begins to kick into full gear, which, in a moment, causes me to reach into my purse, pull out my own ticket, and hand it over to him.

He looks completely stunned, but before he can protest, I am gone, already halfway across the terminal, heading for the hallway that leads to the restrooms. I hear a “thank you, miss” called from the distance behind me, and to it I simply raise my hand and give a thumbs up. Let him get on with his life. While, yes, I am once again giving up a chance to reunite with my own family, I know deep down that I must remain in this city for now. I can always go back home to the farm, but I can’t always follow a good lead, one that’s so solid I can feel it in my bones. And so I am off, heading into the bathroom in order to figure out just what happened a few moments ago in Terminal 11C.

The First Hour of Creative Writing

Exactly what it says: Below is what I spent the last hour writing, with only a few minutes of editing. It’s how I’m relieving some stress/wasting some time today. Hopefully it doesn’t suck too much. *insert thumbs up/wink here* Enjoy! Oh, and it’s the first installment, so hopefully you don’t hate it!


He sits down in front of me, and, my gosh, he’s beautiful. I didn’t think there would be anything to get me through this next hour of waiting in excited agony; of waiting in the holding area for the train to arrive; of waiting on a hard, mahogany bench for my future to come chugging on through. Oh, my future, my dreadful, dreadful future! Yes, I had no inclination that there would be anything over this next hour that could take my mind off the uncertainty of my soon-to-be life and thus help the time pass quicker. But there he is, sitting on the bench directly facing me, bent over and fiddling with a buckle on his left penny loafer. They’re awfully wonderful shoes he has on, a gorgeous shade of brown and seemingly made of a rather expensive leather, Italian probably. As he fixes the decorative piece, moving his hands around the gold metal in a rather jerking motion, a book slides off his lap and onto the floor about a foot in front of him. He takes a quick glance in its direction and then continues the job at hand. I guess the thing really isn’t that important to him, at least in comparison to whatever is wrong with his shoe.

I like to think he’s rich. Yes, being all alone in this city train station means you’re either poor, rich, or desperate, and since I know what both poor and desperate persons in here look like, I have to say he’s one of the rich. Either that or he’s simply good at pretending to be, but I doubt it’s the latter. Everything about him screams wealth. From those brown leather loafers to the perfectly fitted–and therefore carefully tailored–navy pants that hit at just the right spot–two inches above the ankle when sitting so as to show off the most stylish amount of thin joint covered by sock–to his maroon, woolen, v-neck sweater to the white button down underneath to the thick, navy tweed suit jacket he wears on top, it all looks deliciously lavish. Yes, he’s dressed completely to the nines, yet it’s midday and he’s taking a train from here to York, a twelve-hour trip. And gathering from the one brown suitcase he has sitting at his feet that perfectly matches his shoes, he’s only staying there for a day or two. So there’s no denying he’s wealthy. No one travels twelve hours in complete discomfort to stay only for a day or two unless they’re absolutely rich. The only other scenario would be that he really is staying in York for quite some time and has simply already sent his bags ahead. But, again, only the rich can afford to do that.

So he’s a beautiful, young, wealthy man. He must have inherited it, though, or at least have ridiculously kind parents who enjoy paying their son’s way, for he’s far too young to have struck it rich on his own. He’s my age at least and two years older than me at most. Between 20 and 22 years of life is definitely nowhere near enough time to make it big in this world, unless you become an actor, of course. But that’s hard to do; you either lack the talent or simply never get discovered, and being that he’s traveling to York of all places, he’s certainly one or the other–or very possibly both. Yes, young, well-dressed, beautiful face, soft hands, travelling alone, few bags; it means he’s bred from wealth.

I let out a soft sigh. He was born rich, and I not. While class really wouldn’t be detrimental if we ever fell in love, it still would make me feel a bit odd, as well as a bit of a nuisance. It’s simply something I’d never be able to get past, having to rely solely on a man for my wealth and well-being. It may seem silly, but I just don’t want to be tied down. I want independence and self-sufficiency and freedom and my own things. That’s why I’m leaving this city in the first place; I simply can stand leaning on others no longer, and so a rich man just does not fit into my equation. Not right now, at least. I either want a love that is naturally on my level, or I want to be in love with the rich only after I work my way up to equal them. But I don’t want to fall for one now, to be rescued, provided for, and pitied, for that’s all a wealthy husband can provide a poorer wife: money and sympathy, neither of which love can last on. And I want a love that lasts. So this man, as intriguingly handsome as he is, is a no-go. What a shame.

Although, it probably would never work out between us, anyway. Knowing my luck, he’s most likely already engaged to the princess of some far away land, or at least some tycoon’s heiress daughter, and is happily in love with her. Yes, he already has a lover, and she’s someone quite special, someone who has much more to offer than a relatively kind smile and generally irksome intellect, unlike myself. I bet he’s off to meet her right now, to spend these next two days further courting her with sweet whispers and gentle kisses. That would at least explain why he’s leaving for York, for rich heiresses never live in big cities. Oh, I bet he’s just so thrilled to be heading off to meet her! Good for him. I’m glad he’s happy. You can see his happiness even amidst his frustration just by the way he moves , just by the way he carries his shoulders even while bending. Yes, he must already be in love. I’m glad he has love.

So clearly it would never work out between us, anyway, even if he did finally quit trying to fix his obviously beyond-repair buckle, look up, notice me here, and fall madly in love, even if only for a moment. Actually, that’s all it would ever last, only a moment. After spending just that much time looking at plain, old me, he’d very soon remember his beautiful, wealthy fiance and then quickly disregard any feelings for myself he may have briefly gained, for I could never offer him even half as much as whomever he is promised to. But so goes the story of my life.

As I sit here letting these thoughts carry me far away from this bustling, headache-inducing station, I become dimly aware of an ache in the center of my back. I grimace slightly at the nuisance and sink further down into the bench, trying to lessen the pressing of the wood against my spine, but it is useless. I am simply too bony for it to not. I sigh once again. If only I wasn’t so skinny! My dearest friend’s words from the other day come flying back into my head.

“Well, if you’d just pack on a few more pounds, Betts, then maybe guys would start noticing you!”

Maybe. Maybe if I just went up a few dress sizes, I’d be more desirable, seen as more feminine, finally be wanted as a wife. But how I am now, I’m too thin, and so I just fade into the background. With few curves in a world full of male lust for the buxom, I’m seldom noticed–and when I am noticed, it’s for being anything but attractive, pretty, beautiful, or the like. Guys see me and ask me to be their best friend. I don’t blame them, though. When there’s a nice girl who’s shaped like a guy, she’s certainly less intimidating to befriend than the average woman–and the average man.

So even if this guy does end up noticing me, it won’t be out of awe for my beauty or for the quickened pulses that come with instantaneous love. It will be for no other reason than the fact that there is another person seated across from him, most likely staring at him in a very odd, intense, and unsettling manner.

Which finally reminds me to quit subjecting this poor man to my naturally intense eyes, what my dearest friends and family so lovingly call my “thinking stare.” But he’s just so beautiful that I simply cannot help but stare in awe and ponder it. I decide to look away when he finally looks up. For now, though, I will happily memorize who he is, or, rather, guess at who I believe he is. What a strange thing we do when we see people we don’t know! We instantly make up their life stories in our heads and wholeheartedly convince ourselves that they must be correct. Why do we do this? We know it’s wrong to judge, yet we do it nonetheless. What odd creatures we humans are!

Suddenly, though, I am jerked forth from my thoughts as something hits hard against the toe of my right black heel. And also just as suddenly, there’s an apologetic, middle-aged woman wearing a very funny purple hat bending over me and grabbing my hands, saying sorry very sincerely for not having seen the book on the ground. I reassure her that I am fine and have been hit by much worse things in my life than a book on my toe, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling badly. What does is the book’s beautiful owner as he comes up behind her and speaks.

“No, no, madame, it was not your fault,” he says with genuine concern in a smooth tenor. “It was my book, and I neglected to pick it up out of preoccupation with a broken shoe buckle. Please don’t worry yourself. It is I who should fret. I really do hope you forgive me.” He clasps his hands and bows slightly forward, as if he isn’t worthy of her presence.

“Why, that’s quite alright, dear,” she says, touching his arm gently. “Just be a bit more cautious next time you drop something in public,” she adds with a warm, maternal smile. She turns again to me and apologizes once more before carrying on her way.

I look down at the book on the ground. Its title is in German. Out of an odd combination of politeness, fear, and physical attraction, I hold back a gasp. German? At a time like this? But I decide that I have judged this poor man enough today already, and so I keep my mind from wandering any further down the path it has already turned down. Maybe he is simply studying the language. Or maybe he is actually in the Allied Cause. Or maybe he isn’t rich but is rather actually one of the desperate in this station…

No, Betts! You said you wouldn’t judge! Correct, and so I won’t. Whatever his reason for reading German, it does not concern me. It is his life, and he can live it in whichever way he wants.

I bend over and casually pick up the book, then hold it out to him.

“So, you speak German?” I ask, with a slightly jesting tone to my voice. In all actuality, I’m dying to know the answer, but I don’t want him to know I’m curious just in case. And so I’ll play this conversation off as simple fun.