Dear 2013,

2013

You were beautiful.

This past year has taught me so much.

I've graduated from a wonderful school that I've called home 

for 13 years with people I consider family, 

Been accepted to my dream college and scholarship program, 

Fallen in love with academics and education all over again, 

Discovered a passion for writing,

Met people who have truly and permanently changed my life, 

Grown up, 

much too much,

 much too fast, 

Made some of the hardest choices of my life so far, 

Taken countless leaps of faith trusting God's ever abounding safety net to catch me, 

Learned more about myself than I ever could have dreamed, 

And have encountered true passion in it's purest form more times than I could possibly count. 

But most importantly, 

I've grown tremendously in my faith over the last year. 

There's nothing I want more than to be used for the work of His kingdom. 

I hope to look back, 

365 days from now,

Knowing I lived every day seeking after ways I could serve Him. 

I've struggled with allowing anxiety to overtake everything else in my life for a very long time. 

But I'm learning to be still, 

To listen, 

To trust God to take me where my faith is without borders.

As of right now, 

9:36 PM

December 31, 2013, 

I have no idea what I want to do with the rest of my life. 

I don't know what I should major in, 

Or where God wants to use me. 

I don't know where I'm going, 

Or what exactly what I should be working towards in 2014.

What I do know,

I want more of you God. 

2013, 

you were incredible.

I've been blessed beyond measure. 

But honestly, 

you were about me. 

2014 will be about HIM. 

I'm so thankful for this past year and everyone who has touched it. 

Wishing you and your loved ones every happiness in this new year. 

With all my love, Meg

Dear Soul Sister,

When I read your letters, 

My heart feels so close to yours.

The strength you've found in words surpasses that of anyone I've ever met.  

Your passion is so present it's practically tangible. 

Your passion breathes life into fury, 

into incredulity, 

into restlessness, 

discomfort, 

and maybe even one day, 

change.

People so often want to turn away or ignore the things they find uncomfortable, 

or are "too big" for them to fix or handle. 

They want to silence the screams heard by the Red Light District girls by getting far enough away so they can't hear them,

rather than quieting their ever pounding hearts with something that will show them someone cares for them. 

Can we help them?

Even if it seems like there is nothing we are capable of that would make a consequential impact, 

Why turn away?

I sure am glad that's not how God looks at us.

I'm glad He doesn't look at the muck and the mire of our sin and say

"Well, they're never going to be worthy of me, 

 they'll always be overcome by their own selfishness.

What difference will loving them make?" 

Loving them,

Just loving them. 

You've written letters to the perfect summer girls on the beach, 

With sun-drenched smiles masking insecurity.

Society would recoil from the suggestion for girls to "let their bellies out"

They would never tell us that exhaling and finding comfort in the way that we are

would not result in everyone running away in fear or drenching us in judgement.

They would never reveal that someone gave their last breath for every girl to have the chance to celebrate their imperfections and rejoice over their bodies because they are temples of the Most High God. 

You've shared the stories of Soraya M, the Sweet Stranger, A Baby Girl of Kensington, and Trucker Mouth Mama, 

making me cold down to the inside of my bones.

Their stories are gut wrenching.

My heart broke over and over again with every line. 

Your words resonate so long after reading them. 

I find myself thinking of these women you've introduced me to throughout the day, 

praying for them, 

wishing I could pour God's love out to them the way you have. 

You've reprimanded words themselves for not understanding the expectations they set, 

and spoken deep into my soul about the power of seeking control.

But what I feel is the most powerful letter you've yet to write was to the arrested pimps and rescued children. 

Soul Sister, 

It is a gift to have the ability to make the audience feel what others feel, 

that's what a true artist does, 

they convey emotion.

Raw emotion.

That grates and scrapes the inside of their guts, 

that rubs their throats raw as they consume the words you've written, 

that brings anguish and grief with the closing lines, 

making the audience, 

in that moment feel even the slightest fraction of what those children felt, 

what their parents felt...

Your gift is going to evoke change. 

Passion is what sparks movement.

Progressive movement that impacts, 

relentlessly, 

until a difference is made. 

You are filled with this jarring honesty. 

"There's no lie in her fire" 

Your fearlessness…

I wish I had the strength to write to that torn curtain of the temple, 

or to the lioness.

If I could muster even a fraction of your strength, 

maybe I, 

like you,

 could be used to pour God's love out to the broken hearted. 

If only I was strong enough to write out my heart to the Father's Son,

If I had the courage to tell him how I cried for hours after reading your letter to him, 

If I could find the intrepidity to tell stories like his the way you have…

I truly believe you are my Soul Sister.

Your voice is so much stronger, 

and your beautifully raw words are inflamed with an unquenchable passion that moved under my skin and spreads like wildfire catching every single nerve and setting them ablaze. 

But your heart beats with the breaking of mine. 

Your words speak directly into the furthest corners, 

seeking out and illuminating everything I attempt to repress. 

Challenging me, 

Encouraging me, 

Calling me to act. 

Thank you so much for sharing the stories you've encountered.

Thank you for your bravery, 

and for your passion. 

Your words hold the power to set the world on fire. 

With all my love, Meg 

P.S. Please Please PLEASE do not deprive yourself of the opportunity to read these incredible letters! 

Check out Sincerely, Your Soul Sister at 

http://sincerelyyoursoulsister.blogspot.com

Dear Mistress of Elusion,

I wish I could breathe poetry.

Fill my lungs to the maximum capacity with metaphor and simile, 

and exhale winding graceful verses, 

inflamed with raw emotion.

I wish I could bleed out all of the word I want to say.

Slash my porcelain skin and let the scarlet speak for itself. 

Show you exactly what is written all over my fractured heart.

I wish every blink of my eyes, 

every small step, 

every gesture, 

would reveal the words I so desperately wish I could articulate.

But this Mistress of Elusion stands in my way.

I know the game you play.

You shamelessly flirt with the tip of my tongue, 

coyly revealing just a little, 

but never enough.

Like the most artful pick-pocketer, 

In just a second lost in contemplation, 

You snatch the words right out of my mouth. 

Mistress of Elusion, 

You are a wretched scarlet woman, 

and you are killing me. 

With every word that goes unsaid, 

with every word that you stifle,

another line forms, 

another bag finds rest under my eyes, 

another stress ulcer forms, 

and yet another hour of sleep is lost.

You toy with my mind, 

Dance back and forth with it, 

teetering between what I should bring to life with my lips, 

and what I should leave buried deep in the abysmal depths of my disheveled mind. 

You think it is a game, 

And to you it is 

You are reckless. 

You are filthy.

You are selfish.

I despise you with every fiber of my being.

The heavy words you hold captive have such potential.

They could soften heartache and silence shudders of emotion.

They could shed light on so many questions I just couldn't find the words to answer. 

They could change everything. 

Or maybe nothing at all…

Because of you I'll never know. 

If I could meet you face to face, 

I'd tell you just how much I hate you.

I'd tell you of all the distress you've inflicted on me and the ones I love,

How you've brought so many beautiful things to ruin, 

I'd show you faces of all of the people you've hurt.

And tell you of the countless tears you've provoked. 

I'm sitting here typing furiously, 

flushed with rage and pure unadulterated hatred of all the pain you've inflicted. 

But as I read over this fragmented letter, 

I've become wrought with the realization that if I was to meet the Mistress of Elusion face to face, 

I'd be looking in a mirror. 

It's me who has broken hearts and brought ruin to lives.

It's me who has stifled potential. 

It's me who has stood in my own way.

I hope one day the countless people I've hurt will find some place in their hearts to forgive me.

Know there is nothing I wouldn't do to remedy the ruin. 

I am so deeply sorry. 

With all my love, Meg

Dear Professor Chris Butynskyi,

Your 9 AM

 Monday Wednesday Friday 

Ancient Western Civ course was the very first college class I ever attended. 

I made sure to arrive early.

Much too early. 

And came fully prepared,

 not really knowing what to expect.

I sat in the front row to set myself apart,

 and waited nervously for you to begin. 

You appeared to be very confident, 

almost arrogant, 

striding back and forth in front of us. 

You introduced yourself, 

Told us to never call you Doctor, 

and that you had absolutely no sympathy for us as students. 

You began by promising us you were going to destroy us. 

You read us your class introduction entitled "Welcome to Purgatory"

and followed with the assurance of our emotional demise. 

I believe the words were something like

"I will strip you of all positive thoughts you have about yourself, 

and reduce you down to nothing but a pile of ashes. But as the phoenix, you will then rise from the ashes and be stronger for it." 

You told us you HOPED to offend us. 

That you would challenge us in ways we had never even thought about prior to stepping foot in your class. 

That you would dispel within us the notion that education is tied to utility,

 and that "higher education" is synonymous with "employment agency."

You promised to help teach us how to live a "life of the mind."

And I was TERRIFIED. 

Initially, 

I was fearful I would be unable to meet your standards. 

This was my first college class.  

I had to prove to you but also to myself that I was capable of this. 

I was always a good student, 

and unflinchingly determined to succeed, 

but the promise to vanquish what little confidence I had evoked a deep seated fear in me. 

My stomach began to flutter and turn like Satan's wings in the innermost circle of Hell in Dante's Inferno. 

What if my insecurity kept me there?

What if like Satan in the Inferno I was desperately trying to rise from the ashes and fly, 

but couldn't?

What if I was beaten down and destroyed,

but then became so entangled by my own feelings of inadequacy that I remained entrapped in the ice of cold criticism? 

I remember turning the thought over and over in my mind. 

I have a sincere passion for learning.

It feels like the most incredible luxury to be in college. 

To have the chance to read and study so many different and amazing things I otherwise would not have the opportunity to. 

To glean wisdom from countless inspiring professors with diverse backgrounds and stories, 

not to mention perspectives and beliefs. 

To wake up and be genuinely excited about going to my classes. 

I refused to be fearful or defeated. 

The next class I came prepared and excited to see what class with you would actually be like. 

Before long your class was one of my favorites. 

I loved everything we read and was so eager to discuss the topics. 

The class period is far too short.

50 minutes to discuss some of the most remarkable minds, 

to analyze questions philosophers have been grappling with for years, 

and to completely alter our perspective on life and literature.

I leave every single one of our classes completely reaffirmed this is where I am meant to be. 

Some of the reading is hard.

The papers take me hours, 

You expect a lot out of us, 

And really make us earn an A. 

I could't possibly be more thankful for each of these things.

I have grown beyond what I could ever possibly measure through your class this year.

You've challenged my views and made me question just about everything I believe.

I've laughed, cried, and yes even bled over class discussions, readings and papers, 

desperately seeking to earn my place. 

You have corrected, rebuked, and encouraged us when appropriate, 

shown us how literature and philosophy impacted history and vice versa, 

dispelled various false ideas we've been trained to know, 

empowered us to break the cycle, 

shaped us into better writers and debaters, 

made several of us ponder converting to Catholicism and History majors,  

told us countless stories and somehow always tied it seamlessly into our readings, 

connected with us,

inspired us, 

given us a stellar summer reading list through all of your suggestions, 

and taught us how to seek after a life of the mind. 

I have been waiting my entire life to be in a class like yours. 

The feedback you've given me has meant so much more than you know. 

For the first time I really believe I could make something of myself. 

I don't know how to articulate it exactly, 

but I feel like I can hold my ground. 

Like maybe, just maybe, 

I could really do well here. 

That my unquenchable passion for learning and literature can transpire into my work and I could be genuinely proud of it. 

That I can be more than a listener, 

I could be a participant. 

I've always been incredibly fearful of mediocrity.

I want to look back 50 years from now and know that I never settled in my education. 

Even through writing this letter, 

there are still so many thing I wish I could find the words to say.

I am so incredibly thankful for all of the time, work, dedication, and energy you pour into your job.

Your passion is infectious and has inspired me in so many ways. 

I am sincerely going to miss your class.

Thank you so much for terrifying, exacting, and supporting me. 

I sincerely appreciate the standard of what you expect from us and how you help us reach it. 

Words are futile in trying to adequately express my gratitude,

But once again, 

Thank you. 

With all my love, Meg

Dear Words I've Left Unsaid,

You deserve to be heard.

Your voice should be released for all to hear.

I am so sorry for repressing you, 

for not having the courage to release you.

To let you see the light and feed off of the oxygen in the atmosphere.

I've kept you locked in for ever after, 

like a pure princess with golden locks and far too much bitterness for one heart.

I've buried you deep, 

you're pushing up daisies,

yet much deeper than 6 feet under the soil.

Some of you remained in for fear of others judgement, 

others were locked away because my weak tongue and frail voice were simply not determined enough to bring you to life.

How many opportunities have I missed by extinguishing you?

How many lives did I miss the chance to touch?

Selfishness overtakes my heart like unruly vines,

 latching on and growing around everything in its path. 

Insecurity has locked you in.

Forcing you to pace back and forth in my disheveled mind.

Between the tip of my tongue and the back of my head, 

back and forth until you are overworked and unintelligible, 

Insecurity rebukes your advancement.

Always second guessing…

I am so fearful of leaving more things left unsaid.

These words are like water slowly filling up my lungs, 

drowning me slowly with each accumulating droplet.

Words of encouragement, raw honesty, and resentment.

Words from God placed on my heart to be spoken to the congregation, 

Words given to me specifically to touch someone else. 

Yet I selfishly hoard them. 

Locking them away from innocent ears.

If I were to write you out, 

all of you.

If I were to breathe air into your dusty hearts,

Bringing you bodies of paper and ink, 

swelling with emotion, 

standing firm unmoving on the page, 

yet running fast and all together eager to be free…

What would you do?

What weight would you hold?

If I brought life to everything I suffocated within myself, 

If I demolished the chains of all that held me back.

If I laughed in the face of insecurity and danced in place of judgement.

If I were to relinquish the things that were more beautiful than silence, 

Sincere yet raw.

I am so sorry for not having the courage to tell you how deeply you hurt me.

And how desperately I wish you would see me, 

Really see me,

And care.

Instead of telling you,

 I let resentment and bitterness overtake the corridors of my heart.

I am so sorry I never told you how much I despise your apathy.

You are capable of so much more than I could ever express, 

Yet you squander your power in filth and lethargy.

I am so sorry I didn't tell you how gorgeous you are, 

That I was fearful vocalizing emphasis to your beauty would diminish my own.

I am so sorry I was unable to tell you how much I loved and admired you before you slipped through the cracks of this mortal world.

I'm sorry I never told you that you were the absolute light of my existence through some of the hardest years of my life,

 And I would never be the person I am today without you. 

I'm sorry for not telling you the second I doubted,

You deserve that.

I'm sorry for not telling you that your pants were too small and your shirt was too low.

You are a beautiful daughter of the Creator of the Heavens and the Earth and you deserve the proper attention.

I should have reminded you of that.

I am sorry I never told you how deeply your fire scares me.

You are full of this roaring passion, 

And with it you will do so much.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you how worthy of being loved you are.

I am so sorry for not telling you what you do to my heart.

I apologize sincerely for not adequately expressing my love and gratitude to you for everything you are, 

and all you've done for me. 

I am so deeply remorseful I am now unable to say everything I've left unsaid. 

In retrospect,

Years flee like seconds. 

Time swallows us whole.

Hearts can be crushed in a moment, 

Never to pulsate with love again…

Don't leave a single word unsaid. 

Write letters.

Laugh uninhibited.

Be honest, 

With others and especially with yourself.

Seize every opportunity, 

And paint every day in PASSION.

Once gone, 

Today is irretrievable.

Don't let it pass without speaking every word on your heart.

With all my love, Meg 

Dear Tumultuous Waves,

"He gave the sea its boundary 

so the waters would not overstep His command…" 

Proverbs 8:29

Lord God, 

How could I even begin to articulate your majesty?

Father, 

How could I even speak of your 

immense power?

Abba Father God, 

You are the master and creator of this entire,

crazy,

BEAUTIFUL 

cosmos! 

You are so much bigger than we could ever imagine or credit you to be, 

and God you want to use ME,

little me,

 For the work of your kingdom.

Your oceans God are vast beyond measure, 

Eons deep,

They rage and roar, 

Consuming all sound that dares to compete.

They do not concede to our control.

Nothing manmade can compete with the furious thrashing waves.

We are frightful of the depths,

And are wary of the mystery of what lies beneath their breaking crests.

The waves of your oceans God are such an exclamation of your power!

 And God we are fearful of it. 

But you Lord, 

You tell the ocean where to stop.

You have shown the sea its boundary and are God over all of your creation!

The waves of the water fold under your power! 

The water follows the waves of your voice,

And flows in the melody of your mercy.

You are greater than the raging seas, 

Your control God is so present! 

Lord help me remember that you are in control of the the tumultuous waves in my life. 

That I can hear your still small voice LOUDER than the deafening roar of the lies of the enemy,

 and the words of this disgusting, broken, sinful world! 

I can hear your sweet whispers above all of this, 

If only I choose to listen. 

Lord,

I am so small. 

I am weak.

I am helpless.

I am childlike.

I am broken.

I am inadequate.

I am sinful.

I am SELFISH.

But God, through all of that you will be made strong! You will be glorified! 

In my weakness your strength is magnified so far beyond what I can see! 

Through YOUR NAME God, 

I am redeemed.

I am accepted.

I am hopeful.

I am forgiven.

I am usable.

I am WANTED! 

I am clean.

I am made new.

God, you are 

making me NEW! 

Father God, 

I want so desperately 

to be used for the

work of your kingdom! 

I want you to work

 through me Lord God!

Break me Lord,

Fill me Lord to be emptied again! 

I stand in complete awe of your work.

Every day God, how can I do anything BUT PRAISE?

Father thank you for not only allowing me to rest in you through the midst of the the turmoil, 

Through the seemingly untamable and all consuming waves of anxiety, stress, and fear God,

But for allowing me to walk with you God upon the water.

In your name God, 

I can walk where feet fail, 

Above the burdens. 

I can tread upon that fear Lord because it is made into dust in your name! 

Help me keep my eyes on you Father.

Help me keep my eyes above the waves, 

Looking up, 

Trusting you with every single piece of my heart.

Without borders God. 

You limit the turmoil of the waves God, 

But help me not limit what you can do. 

Help me rejoice in the waves God! 

For when my feet fail, 

Your arms are there to carry me, 

And your strength is proved GREATER!

Thank you so much, Abba Father.

With all my love, Meg 

Dear LFP Family,

There have been very few times in my life so far where I have looked back at one particular moment and felt immensely proud and confident in the decision I've made. 

I'm not really in the business of being proud of myself to be honest. 

But the day I sent in my application for LFP,

was the day I placed the first steps of the most remarkable journey into motion.

I had no idea what I was in for. 

A year before we met, 

I was terrified of you.

I was so afraid to leave my little Christian school and try to fit in with all of you.

You all seemed so much more qualified, 

So much more deserving of your place than I did. 

All of you are captains, founders, organizers.

Leaders.
Sure,
I'd met the"qualifications",
But I still felt so far from meeting the standard.

August 18, 2013
 rolled around and we all finally met for the first time.
Placed faces to names and trying desperately to remember them all.
Excited and scared,
completely unsure, 
yet ready.
In omnia paratus.
Ready for anything.

It's a good thing we were too! 
We had no idea how that first week would change, challenge, inspire, grow, and bond us. 
We learned to trust each other in ways that were foreign to most of us, 
and became close in so much less time than I even realized was possible.
Through trusting complete strangers to guide us, lift us, catch us, listen to us, work with us, unknot us, sing with us, and jump into this crazy experience together. 
Worship in the auditorium and the Great room, 
our voices unified and echoing strong, 
praising our beautiful Savior as one body, 
one family. 

I had no idea that first day how much all of you would mean to me. 
Each of you has touched my life in an irreversible and very real way.
You have shown me so much about myself.
I've grown beyond measure since being here.
God has worked tremendously through each of you

I love you dearly friends, 
Each and every one of you with every single piece of my heart.
LFP has utterly and irrevocable altered my life,
and each of you were a part of that. 
Thank you so much. 

We are a family.
And that means so much more to me than what I could ever tell you.
We will stand by each other through the storms that will inevitably come and devastate,
through the quite joyful moments spent amongst each other in comfort,
through times of chaos and complete confusion, 
through the big news, 
and the little blessings.
To keep each other from being stupid, 
and encouraging each other to sprint towards what we want,
uninhibited, 
and full speed ahead.
We are a family.
No one gets left behind, or forgotten. 

I have no special talents or gifts, 
except that I truly and genuinely care about people.
I am nothing more than a little girl who genuinely cares for, 
loves, 
and would do anything for you. 
I am so fearful I will leave this world leaving things unsaid. 
It is so important to speak whats on our hearts because you truly never know when you will be silenced evermore.

I believe in you all so much more than you know. 
Each and every one of you is such a clear EXCLAMATION of God’s majesty and glory!
I had no comprehension of how dearly I could care for a group of people.
I am tremendously blessed to have the PRIVILEGE of knowing each of you,
 and being able to say I am a part of this family.

Thank you so much.

With all my love, Meg 

Dear Lemony Snicket,

I'm sorry to tell you this blog post you are reading will be very unlike the work you've produced.

It will tell the tale of a young girl who became very fortunate through reading about the lives of the very unfortunate Baudelaire orphans.

As the Baudelaire children encountered numerous villains and schemes,

I discovered novel vocabulary and a deep passion for reading. 

As the children's despair progressed throughout the series, 

so did my ardor for literature.

In this short post alone, 

you may encounter mass amounts of admiration and gratitude,

accounts of prepubescent stubbornness,

an inspiring gym teacher, 

and a sincere love for your work.
It is my duty to express the impact you've had on my life,
but there is nothing prohibiting you from closing this window and reading something darker,
as you are more accustomed to reading that kind of thing.
---------------------------------------------------
When I was in elementary school,
I hated reading.
I associated it with school and work.
I was completely ignorant of the power it possessed.

In the fifth grade,
I was unaware that mere words could completely transport you,
they could take you far away
 from work and stress,
the burdens that weigh heavy on your heart and mind,
fighting families,
sickness,
heartbreak,
loneliness,
and even death.

The black print on those crisp uneven cream pages,
when consumed had the ability to remove me,
if only for a little,
from the worries of my little mind.

Apathy and intransigence characterized my academic scope at this age.
Clearly there were other things that took priority,
such as that cute boy who sat just two seats away,
and where the popular girls bought their jeans.
Socially,
I was craving acceptance.

My fifth grade teacher was named Mr. Morris.
He also taught gym and connected with his students in a way that most teachers are incapable of.
We respected him,
were enthralled by him,
and loved him dearly.
It was his mission to teach us the importance of developing a love for reading.
While Mr. Morris was the catalyst for change,
you,
Mr. Snicket,
Inspired the change itself.

I fell in love with your pros from the first page.
Reading your work evoked passion in me for the very first time.

I connected with the dark humor you incorporated,
and the undeniably captivating intelligence and wit.
The continued sense of mystery and intrigue.
I devoured the words as if they were essential to my very existence.
And at that point in my life,
they were.

The tales of the Baudelaire orphans completely defied the norm for children's literature.
You transformed an entire generation of children into readers.
Not only did you convert apathetic and complacent students into avid readers,
but you also taught them, inspired them and challenged them.
It was through reading your work,
I was first inspired to write.

You showed me where the world was quiet,
where I could grow,
and question.
Where curiosity and intrigue could be translated into winding words
 that dance and sway on emotions edge.
Mr. Snicket,
Through A Series of Unfortunate Events,
you gave me a priceless gift that I will forever carry with me.

Even years after reading these books,
I am still completely overwhelmed with gratitude and admiration.
Thank you so much Mr. Snicket for your contribution.
I am just one of many people whose lives you have touched and transformed.
You have inspired me to pursue a career where I can use your work to touch other students.
I hope to reference you often as a teacher one day,
and to possibly even transform students into readers through it.

Thank you again so much Mr. Snicket.

With all my love, Meg

“At times the world may seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe that there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. and what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may in fact be the first steps of a journey.”

― Lemony Snicket

Dear Little Princesses,

I am so sorry.

Darling,

Precious,

Innocent little girls,

 I am so sorry.

I am heartbroken for you.

This world you are growing up in, 

Our hideous society,

This atrocious,

Disgusting,

 Double standard.

Sweet angels,

 I am so sorry.

The way everyone talks to you,

from even the youngest age.

Admiring your lovely locks, 

and your darling little dress.

Drawing emphasis to everything but your brain.

What they won't ask you is what kind of books you like to read, 

or if you even know how to read.

What you learned in school today that you didn't know before,

or who do you think is the most important person you've learned about in history, 

and why.

How you could make a difference in your town, city or district,

Or if you had any life altering revelations on the playground after lunch.

They discredit you.

They undermine you.

They diminish you.

You are capable of so much more than nodding politely and saying thank you.

You have such power.

You see this disastrous cosmos through an entirely different scope.

You see through both innocence and intrigue.

Your curiosity is such a beautiful gift, 

Don't let anyone ever tell you to stop questioning.

Though you are small my dear you are not insignificant.

You may even know just a bit more than they do.

Your discernment is unbiased,

Untarnished,

Pure.
That is one thing they will never be.

But these things are not what you are praised for.

You are called to grow and mature in the midst of a culture that is anything but progressive.
This culture places toddlers in tiaras, 
middle schoolers in mid-life crises,
high schoolers in self hatred, 
and leaves adults damaged.
These are the people who are called to raise you.
These are the ones who are supposed to instill you with confidence and hope.

My poor little darlings,
I hope you never feel the whiplash of our society. 
I hope you learn from as soon as you can understand that these people do not determine your worth.
That you will never see an image in the media that hasn't been altered beyond recognition. 
That your mind is a magnificent creation,
and should be greatly praised.
That your body is only one aspect of your awe-inspiring being.
That what lies beneath the cosmetics, 
and under the adornments, 
is nothing short of extraordinary. 
You are extraordinary.

Your kindness.
Your generosity.
Your compassion.
Your sparkle.
Your elegance.
You are strong little princesses, 
and you should be treated as exactly such.

Do not concede to the deception you will be bombarded with.
Do not allow the filth of this world to seep into your pure little hearts and minds.

Define your own beauty.
And inspire others to do the same,
Through your speech,
Through your mind,
And through your unwillingness to permit others to belittle you.
You are so much more than the size you wear,
The clothes you buy,
The make-up you apply,
Or how well you conform to what the media calls you to be.

You are extraordinary,
Strong,
Brilliant,
Dazzling
Little Princesses.

With all my love, Meg

Dear Hill Seekers,

To the determined,

the persistent. 

To those who are fearful of complacency, 

and petrified of mediocrity.

To the boundary pushers, 

to those who don't have an apathetic bone in their bodies.

To the fearless, 

the pursuers of greatness.

To those who think about quitting, 

but then push even harder. 

We are the hill seekers. 

What makes us crave the hills? 

What is it that makes our bodies ache for the burn of accomplishment?

Is it the satisfaction of sweat trickling down our faces,

or the rush of the wind thats is conjured solely through strength and speed?

The rush.

The burn. 

The pulsating pain you convince yourself is

strength.

The deafening heartbeat throbbing in your ears.

The focus,

The adrenaline,

The sweet gratification of reaching the top. 

Nothing in this world that is worth having comes easy.

All of the best things are only achieved through dedication and struggle.

A college degree, great abs, a wonderful marriage, 

the perfect little black dress...

The most remarkable part about the struggle, 

is not that it is the means by which you achieve the goal, 

but rather that the hill itself is the catalyst for change within you. 

It's not what you accomplish that makes you who you are, 

but how you did it, 

and the journey you took to get there.

The struggle is the most important part of your story.

Understand, 

Life truly does begin outside of your comfort zone.

Outside of the boxes of conformity, 

and life spans past the realm of the ordinary. 

Life happens on the hills.

At your weakest moments, 

You prove you are stronger than you ever imagined.

When you feel like you can't do anything else but give up, 

You discover you have the will to keep going.

It is in that moment you grow.

You are powerful beyond measure.

Your fire is unquenchable.

The determination and passion that is embedded deep in your bones

is so much stronger than any hill you will ever face. 

The flat ground may be easy, 

but growth is not bred through stagnancy. 

Keep climbing.

Keep pushing.

Keep growing.

With all my love, Meg

Dear Beloved Friend,

(Please watch video first)

You are so loved. 

You are valued. 

You are important.

This world needs you, 

just as YOU are.
You are a beloved child of the 

MOST HIGH CREATOR 

of the heavens and earth.

You were crafted with beauty and purpose.

He has monumental plans for you and your life, 

You are needed.

You are wanted.

You are not a mistake.

There is NO truth in the lie that you don’t matter.

You are inspiring.

You are encouraging.

You are worth so much more than what you value yourself to be.

Everyday you decide to keep pushing forward, 

Every time you wake up and make it through another day,

no matter the circumstances,

You inspire me, 

and you inspire so many others,

With your power, 

Your strength,

And with your perseverance.

I know what it’s like to reach a point where you can’t even feel anymore.

That enveloping numbness.

You feel like it would be better to feel pain, 

because then at least you would be feeling something.

And then the pain comes.

It comes in waves, 

sometimes hard and close together,

other times farther apart, 

but crippling. 

You feel as if you are suffocating. 

But you’re NOT.

You have the ability to reach down deep within you, 

and find the strength to take a breath. 

Take a big one.

Now take another.

You can do this.

Don’t give up on everything you have to offer.

Because my dear, 

Your heart is so beautiful.

And even when you are at your darkest moments, 

you have power.

Do you remember when you were little little little?

Back when your hair danced in the wind, 

and the birds sang just for you?

When everything was literal.

Do you remember when loosing control meant falling off of your bike?

Way back when tears were shed over missing teddy bears, 

and skinned baby soft knees.

Back then apathy was a result of innocence, 

rather than experience. 

These things you’ve seen, 

These things you’ve had done to you,

These things they’ve taken from you,

These things....

These things are not a reflection of 

who you are,

or 

what you are worth.

My dear,

If i could even begin to express to you 

just how cherished you are,

How highly regarded,

How prized!

The God of all creation,

The God of the mountains,

The God of the raging seas and superior starlight,

The God of perfect sunrises,

The God of deep belly laughter,

The God of sweet dessert and summer nights,

The God of family, 

The God of FORGIVENESS,

This God,

Loved and valued 

YOU SO MUCH,

He gave up his only son,

So He could call you his own.

His child.

His beloved.

HIS.

You are wanted.

And honey,

You deserve this love.

He wouldn’t offer it to you if you didn’t. 

I know you feel like everyone leaves.

He won’t.

Everyone says they’ll help,

but they never do.

People forget.

HE WON”T.

You may not understand why you are here,

But He does. 

I know trust is hard for you,

it is for most people.

We live in a damaged world.

The planet is damaged,

The atmosphere is damaged.

The population is damaged. 

We were intended for good,

yet overcome by evil. 

But there is this beautiful hope,

firm and secure,

like an anchor for our souls.

You may not feel the gravity of that anchor yet,

but you will.

Just hold on. 

This world aches for the beat of your heart.

Your story isn’t over yet.

http://semicolonproject416.tumblr.com

With all my love, Meg