Our first snow.

Dearest,

Pretend those are your feet, and that the crunching snow I heard beneath my feet, were what you heard.

This is our first snow.

Merry Christmas, sweetheart!

With love,
Phoebe Lee Mathius
(Your sister who loves you very very much!)

Don't Know Why I Didn't Come

It's definitely too late for apologies so i shan't bother. I wasn't here for Christmas and neither was I for New Year's. Sue me.

Decembers have always been and always will be my most occupied time of the year. And if it were a race, my Januaries would come in second. But i'm not being read for my daft excuses as to how busy I was the past couple of months, neither am i being read for my boo-hoo reasons of why i shouldn't have even started a blog anyway due to my severe lack of discipline for it.

Come to think of it, I have no idea why i'm still being read. (Using this opportunity to thank the two of you who log on religiously to get your daily supply of Pocket Tissues.) All I know is, it's a new year.

Gosh, I have to let that sink in. It's a new year!

Too late to mourn for lost time, too late to make resolutions, too late for apologies. What's my new year good for? At least, that was the exasperating question that has been swirling off the top of my cranium for the past few days. It isn't anymore.

I have been suffering gastiritis for the past week. That's what the doc said anyway. Well technically, no. He suspected indisgestion, but experienced buddies told me that it was really gastric pains that was sending my stomach AWOL. Nothing Actal pills couldn't cure though.

*whispers*

I've always just suspected that it was an insurgence of little purple smurfs, having the time of their lives just hacking away at the walls of my fragile stomach.

It's my stomach. I have a say too.

But going through the pain for a week, I felt almost robbed of my time. There was just so much i wanted to do, but i was so restricted by my cage of pain then that all i could do was just sit around and be sick all day. I couldn't so much as breathe without aching. i resolved to thinking instead. Brilliant idea, right?

Wrong.

"What's the new year for then?" I interrogate myself. Do i feel any 'newer'? Do I forget mistakes of the past and press on with much valor only to make new ones? And if one is allowed to be sarcastic, the purpose of the new year would be: EXASPERATION. Hah!

Truthfully, I think I'm just tired at the fact that I'm human. I'm exhausted at the thought of making my kajillionth mistake for the kajillionth time! But then again, who isn't tired? Why be like everybody else? Why be tired? Why be human for that matter?

Blah.

So yeah, gastric-smurfaritis does that to people. It causes you to think of things you really don't want to. they cause you to make heavy attempts at answering rhetorical questions. They cause you to think like the loneliest, and the most insignificant person on the planet - and then when it leaves....

.....Hoho, if the bleeding pain ever leaves, it leaves you in want... in the sickening desire to actually have answers to impossible questions.

Sigh.

I miss being human in my innocence. I miss being able to be human and still dream. I miss being human and the ability to be reckless.

Lord, help me learn from my mistakes. Not cower behind the fact that I've done them and suffered the ugly consequences.

Lord, help me live.
Lord, I can't wait for the Switchfoot concert!

So, what's my new year for?

For unborn ideas waiting to be delivered.

For dreams yet to be dreamt.

For goals yet to be achieved.

For love yet to be conceived.

For healing yet to complete.

For mistakes yet to occur.

For friends yet to be made.

For the God yet to be experienced.

And all bleeding thanks to gastric-smurfaritis! Hurrah!

Yet I Love.

It’s been a good few months since I entered this after-life. It was probably for the best, leaving that world for the next. I’ll probably be saying the same thing when I leave for my subsequent world next year, I expect. No argument there. But there’s so much missing still.

Human beings are so frail.

I am. You are.

As fickle as touch-me-nots at the side of the road. As permanent as the Christmas décor put up each year. We change and expect the world to change with us. I change and expect you to understand. You change and expect me to take that transit flight with you.

Change and Expectations. Is this what life is all about?

If it was, then would it be fair for anyone to say, that they’re tired of change? This perspective may be a little out of proportion. But this is one truth. I’m tired of waking up from my dreams. I’m tired of finding out that the happiness I’d felt had only meant to be an interim intermission between the then and now. I’m tired of the accumulating bags of hindsight and tears slung over my shoulder; I’m tired of waving off my deepest regrets and saying, “It was probably for the best.” I’m tired of trading in my innocence for the pointless wisdom of the world. (Bah, wisdom? Balderdash!)

Surely; Surely, there must be something more true. More divine. (Like… God.) More permanent. (Like joy.) More ...right. (Like integrity.) Why must I settle for second best? Why must I chase short-termed happiness? Why must my heart die a thousand deaths before I discover this? Why must I reach a point of desperation before I finally understand why?

I suppose there’s my solution right there. In order to touch him, I must be compelled into a position of sacrifice, of giving. I asked for this. I remember.

“Teach me to love the way you do.” I asked him that.

Clearly, I didn’t know what I was asking for.

He was betrayed, yet he loved. He was turned against, yet he loved. He was gossiped about, yet he loved. He was harmed, yet he loved. He was broken, yet he loved.

Can I ever truly get this?

I was betrayed, yet I ___________.
I was gossiped about, yet I ____________.
I was deceived, yet I _____________.
I was harmed, yet I _____________.
I was broken, yet I _____________.

Maybe discovering LOVE is what life’s all about. If it is, then it’s time I got to the point where:

I was ______________, yet I love.

Yet I LOVE.

Hot Chocolate (or The Kid at Christmas)

I bite into a sugar cracker and gently stir my little mug of thick, hot chocolate. I can hear tiny clinks of my teaspoon's ocassional meet with the ceramic-wall, on the inside.

Clink.

"Phoebe, don't dream! Hang the angel already!" I heard my elder sibling say. My 5-year-old stubby little fingers stopped playing with the little bell around the pretty angel's neck and began peering between the leaves for a place suitable to display it. That angel, I remembered, was my single, most favorite ornament then. After hanging the angel, I turned back to our little box of glittery decorations to pick another piece to hang on our Christmas tree. Something twinkled at the bottom. I reached for it.

Blink.

How the little bits of sugar on my crackers twinkle so. It reminds me so much of Christmas ornaments. My mug of hot chocolate reminded me even more of our favorite time of year. I chew my biscuit quietly in the deafeningly silent night. I bring the mug to my lips and take a long...

Sip.

"Don't take so long with your drink! When it gets cold, it's going to taste horrid!" I heard my mother say. "But I'm waiting for the marshmallow to melt," I heard myself protest, in a voice i'd forgotten and ceased to use for so many years now. How strange I sounded. I saw my mother put her hands on her hips to complete the "Look". Bah, I thought, rolling my eyes. As if that was going to work on me. It was then, that I noticed her hands looked different. They were pale-white and young. Where was the age,... the tan,... the freckles? "Well?" Mother prompted. The tiny heart that pumped in my little chest, began to beat furiously. Why was I so afraid? And as if by reflex, I quickly tipped the heavy cup higher, at a steeper angle. The brimming hot chocolate rushed down my throat, scalding my lips and tongue! My little eyes widened as I placed my cup down in a hurry.

Thud.

I place my little empty mug on my table. It's still warm from the hot drink that was in it. It gives me the best feeling in the world, hot chocolate. I feel sad somewhat that my mug is now void of the drink. It feels so much like my...

Heart.

Check. Mind. Check. Soul. Check. Body. Check. Strength. Check. Great! They're all in place, I thought, as I closed the envelope. Yes. That's my Christmas present to you this year, my friend forever. I'm sorry they're second hand. But they're all I have and ever can afford. I sealed the envelope with a kiss. I know you'll know how to use them. Yes, they are weak, tainted and a little broken. But only just a little. I smile meekly, ashamed of my immature attempt at deception. As if I could ever lie to you. But... you'll take them, won't you? You can make them new....,

Right?

Left? Why are there so many roads? And where do they all lead to? I was looking out into the world through my little left window. "Phoebe? What are you thinking? Are you alright?" I heard a gentle voice ask me. I turned to the driver's seat on my right, smiled sweetly and answered, "Oh, nothing. Yeah, I'm good. Just looking out the window." The voice laughed and said, "All right, we're at my house now. It has wireless internet connection, so you can use your laptop!" There was a certain kindness to the voice that I couldn't comprehend. "Coo~," I remember responding gratefully, still in my stupid grin. I gathered my things, opened my car door and stepped out.

Crunch.

Yum! More sugar crackers. Gosh, I miss Christmas! I distractedly reach out for the teaspoon laying idle in my empty, used heart.

Clink.

I think I need to fill it with more hot chocolate.