Top 25 on iTunes

Since I'm always obsessing over music in my posts, I thought it would be fun to share what's the most listened to songs on my iTunes.

I was SUPER surprised with what songs were on this list. Some of these songs I don't even like that much, ha ha. I really thought there would be a ton of different songs on this list than what's here.

However, I can look at the songs on this list and I know exactly what I was thinking and feeling that made these songs my top 25 most listened to songs. And some of these songs I haven't listened to in forever, so it was nice to listen to them a few more times.

I think it's rather pathetic that my favorite song of ALL time is at #9 and it's so far behind #1. And, to be honest, I'm rather ashamed of what #1 is, ha ha.

But, I am happy to see that there are more happy, feel good, silly and party songs then there are sad songs.

Beauty from Ashes

Source.
I truly believe the reason why I love to write, why writing is easier for me then speaking, why I have a ‘gift’ in writing is because I never felt like I could speak to my parents. I never felt like I could tell them exactly how I was feeling or what I thought. I still didn’t think my parents cared about what I said or took it to heart. I was afraid to speak to my parents. I was afraid to share, with anyone. I felt like I had lost my voice.

I bottled up all my deepest, truest and hardest emotions & thoughts deep within my soul – until they ate me alive. When I first started my process of healing, it was so HARD for me to share/expressive how I felt. It was easier for me to type out, write out or show my mentors/counselors my journal entries. I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud everything I had been keeping under lock and key.

I’ve slowly learn to use my voice. To speak how I feel and to share what I think. It’s been a slow and hard process that I’m still working on.

I’ve been keeping journals, blogs, poems and stories for as long as I can remember. They were/are my precious treasure. They are me – raw, true and vulnerable.

If I had the choice, I wouldn’t change anything. I’ve learned how important a voice is and how precious words are.

This is why I have my gift. How I can write the way I do.

This is why I love music and why I like to draw. It’s the reason why I love tattoos.

This is what God first used to show me that He can make beauty from ashes.

Amazing parenting tips to show that you do care and listen to your children, click here.

I’ll be the One.

One of my ALL time favorite songs is ‘Wishes and Dreams’ by Stellar Kart. No matter what mood I’m in (good, bad, life changing, etc.) this song instantly snaps me out of my reality and into a state of worship.

I don’t remember when I first heard this song and I don’t remember when this song became a favorite of mine. What I do remember is the desire and the deep aching of wanting a relationship described in the song.
’I’m watching you from a scenic view
Taking in your every move
Who you tried so hard to be
Full of Wishes and dreams
That did not come true for you
I can read you like a book
Sad stories everywhere I look
Faded pictures remind you when
What could have been
Did not come true for you [2x]

[chorus]
I’ll be the one who makes you laugh
Make up for the memories
That made you sad
Me and you together forever
We could be someday
You will find me in all your
Wishes and dreams

Is it so hard to believe what
Your eyes cannot see
Your dream come true
A love to fall into
I’m waiting to show you [2x]’
I tried to find a physical relationship, described in the song, but it failed – horribly. I was hurt, scarred, devastated and for a little bit, lost. I couldn’t listen to this song for a very long time; it hurt too much to listen to it. It reminded me of the relationship I tried to build on these lyrics.

It wasn’t until I invited God into this heartache that He started to heal me from this relationship. And that’s when I realized that this relationship that I was idolizing – I could have. It was in my reach.

It’s a relationship with God.

Here I was hoping, longing, wishing for someone to come and sweep me off my feet and take away every little pain I had EVER felt in my life. And all along it was right in front of me – I had already started it, I just had to nurture it. I had to allow God into my hurt, into my pain, into my emotions, into my memories, and into my heart. I had to allow Him to rewrite my story and retake my pictures.

I had to allow God to make me whole, so that we could be whole together – forever.

Breathe

There’s a thing called ‘DUSTING’

I try to trick myself on a daily basis that I’ve come to terms with my mother’s passing. Some days I can even convince myself that it was the best thing for her (she was in so much pain). But sometimes, I can’t sell myself the lie.

Today I’ve spent a good part of the day packing up my mom’s left over belongings. After seven years they’re still key objects that haven’t been packed yet. I picked up an angel figuring that I remember use to sit in different locations in my parents room. Mom moved it around all the time, I think she just loved to look at it, as do I.

I picked it up off the shelf and I said a little prayer out loud, “Lord, please don’t let any of these things break.” I placed the angel on my bed to grab newspaper to wrap it in – and then, I stood in shock and terror as it rolled off the bed and bounced on the carpet towards the tile hallway. I knew if it bounced on the tile that it would break. “Don’t break!” I cried out as it stopped a few inches away from the tile. I rushed to the angel’s side, held it in my hands and to my chest .Then, I had a panic attack.

As I stood there, holding the angel tight to my heart, I tried to remember how to breathe and cried heavily. As I became frantic I prayed a pleading prayer, “Please God, don’t let anything break! Please don’t let anything break. Please God! Don’t let anything break!... It’s all I have left… It’s all you’ve left me…”

I sat on the bed, still holding the angel close to my heart as a memory came back to me.

I was about 13 or 14; mom and I were Spring-cleaning my room. Mom was up on a ladder dusting off the shelves above my window, she had been picking on me all afternoon about how dusty my room was. “There’s a thing called dusting, you know,” she repeated over and over as we both laughed and giggled.

I sat on the bed smiling slightly as I heard her playful tone, “There’s a thing called dusting! Gosh Stella!”

The Lord has left me more than just her belongings. He left me happy memories of our time together and a sense of knowing that He cares for me and mourns with me.