Who's There?

Hello.
I am not sure if anyone reads this blog anymore.
If by chance you do, please shoot me a line so I know who you are.
With all the social networking websites I doubt very many people even use blogs anymore.
I had a facebook for a long time. Too addicting.
I will never get a Twitter. Too hip.
I like blogging. I will stick with it. But I was just wondering who was here with me?
So I'd like to hear from you!
Have a great day!

Volleyballs Do Not Make Good Friends

Today.
I am realizing the need to move forward.
Nobody else can do this for me.
Why would I have ever thought they could?
This is between me and You now.
I suppose it always was.
Papa, it is You. This is all about You. About sifting through endless rooms of junk. Of countless distractions vying for my heart. One part of me wants to go out on my own to seek you in solitude. Another part isn't sure how, but wants to find you while still engaged in every day life. Solitude only goes so far before driving a person mad. I am sure you've seen Tom Hanks and his friend Wilson the Volleyball. Although my carefree imagination as a child afforded me friends with the likes of stuffed animals and hot wheels, each having their own unique personality, I no longer think it wise to make friends with rubber balls.
I guess I need to focus. To focus on each moment I am given. To use each moment purposefully. I need to funnel my energies. To You.
There are many things left unfinished in my life. A messy room only half cleaned is still a messy room. I want to put my hands to good use. To create. To selflessly love. I want to play guitar. To write a song. To write a book, even if it was never published. To carve simple beauty.
Motivation. Devotion. Passion. Genuineness.
Papa, please give me just what I need for the day. This is all I want. I only want what you know I need. Nothing else "does it."
Amen.

Trainwreck

Late night.
Lots of thoughts.
Heavy heart.
Wearing a grey beanie.

Sitting on the floor, Indian-style and hunched to reach this keyboard.
Bad posture.
Listening to Owl City.
Meteor Shower.
Replaying song over and over, hoping the words might seep through my skin, crawl past my ribs and around my lungs, and be welcomed into wherever that invisible heart lives. That heart which does not pump blood, beat, or attack a person, but rather is. Is the person. The being. All the characteristics and elements which make a person who he or she is. All contained somewhere deep within.
A cold chill sweeps through my navy polo shirt and grey waffle undershirt. The cold surrounds me, as if a pack of wolves had found me alone in the woods.
My thoughts make no sense.
Neither do my words.
Analogies only go so far sometimes. Doubtful C.S. Lewis always found the words to describe how he was feeling as his wife lay dying. I cannot seem to make the words come tonight. Not really sure how I am feeling. Isn't that what words are supposed to help with? But what happens when the words even fail? My apple tree is picked bare and I am starving. The doctor will not like this one bit.
Where is my foundation? What happened to the ground I thought I was standing on?
GOD... where are you? What is happening? I desperately need you! Please forgive my actions, for they betray my confidence.
Somewhere. Deep. My heart can feel you. It knows you. It struggles to understand you, but it knows you exist. It tries to give you certain personalities and physical features. You can't blame it, that is all it knows to do. It tries to fathom, I promise. I am sorry for getting so distracted. Sorry doesn't seem like enough.
I run my fingers through my blonde hair, pushing the beanie back a little.
Fireflies now plays.
My breathing is steady, controlled.
Mouth is dry.
If you're still reading this far and waiting for the plot line...
...wait, come a little closer...
*whispering* ... so am I!
Maybe sleep would be a welcome guest. Apparently Owl City hasn't slept in two days! That is what he just told me. I promise!
I don't normally write this absent-pointedly. I just needed to try. Try and say something that you could tell all your friends on facebook tomorrow. Something you would find yourself saying at strange moments in conversations with people. Those moments when you are trying to sound all "thick-rimmed black glasses." Something deeply profound. Haha. That is funny.
Ok, I will let you go now. Have fun on facebook. Tell all your friends that Nat says HI.
I will close with the words of Mat Kearney:

"Where could I turn from you
The darkest nights, you know you'd find a way
What else have I to do
What words are there left to say
You are the air that I breathe in
Here is my heart I give
You are all of my reason
You are my reason to live"