On blessings and birthdays.

All I ever wanted was to be saved. I wanted a pass into something that wasn't going to suck, for once. Heaven didn't seem to suck, didn't seem to want to hurt me, abandon me or forget about me, so I wanted it. And that's it. All I wanted was to not be hurt in the eternal like I had been already. And I came to salvation one day in April 3 years ago, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that I had something to hold on to after the loathsome experiance of Earthly life.
But I got so much more than that.
I'm uncomfortable with blessings, really. I think I feel like I got what I came for, and to ask for more is to be ungrateful, but these are things that Yhwh wants me to have. Things like adoption, trust in Him, to feel safe and cared for and to have unswerving faith that I am not foresaken or forgotten. I never looked for a God who wanted to love me or speak to me or work in my life, but that's what the God who looked for me ended up being like.
Blessings flow from the cross, my friends.
Are you truly living in the blessing you've been given?
Are you receiving all that the God who gives good gifts is desiring to give you?
Resisitance is futile. And just really lame.


Speaking of blessings, I just burst into tears
I officially turned 19 approx. 19 minutes ago, and in that time got 13 text messages, 4 facebook posts and a phone call.
These friends of mine are amazing, and so much of my delight is in them.

Hallelujah.

Drop the bags, walk home. No longer will we ever be alone.

Last night I dreamed about some stuff that Dan had just moved out of the Mitchell house (in real life) being moved back in. It was really inconvenient, obviously. My interpretation upon waking was wondering if I've been letting the junk that I have kicked out of me come back in - quickly.
It really just comes down to choice. I need to choose this day whom I will serve. Do I serve Yhwh? The God who brought me forth from captivity? The one who found me abandoned on the side of the road in a pool of my own blood and took me home, scraped the crap off me and called me beautiful? Or do I follow the god I've carved myself. The one made of driftwood etched with the names "misery, isolation, despair, rejection, suicide". The one who has no mouth to speak to me, nor ears to hear my cries, nor eyes to see my turmoil. Only names to brand me with.

As for me and my house, we will serve YHWH.

May the Lord bless the sanctifying work He is doing in me.
I am not who I once was.
I am resurrected.

peace and fullness in Christ,
caitlyn.