oh, you know... just stuff

July 18, 2007 - Wednesday

I was going to be an artist.
A famous one. I had it all figured out. How could I not be? I was born drawing and creating. Always holed up in my bedroom, hard at work on my next diobolical contribution to the art world. It usually involved glue and glitter and smell markers, until the age of 10. In my teens, it was paint. And clay. I even had my very own potter's wheel and a nice little kiln one time. But I had to get rid of it, because I was using them 'round the clock, ignoring both my husband and my daughter. I have no set pace. I only know how to run. Can somebody help me with this, please?
Anyway, I'm saying that art has always been my thing. I never really considered doing anything else.
So this is why, in my early 30's, I was beyond baffled when I sensed in my spirit that it was time to lay it all down. All of it.
Wha...? But I know His voice and I know when He means business.
And at this very point in time? Why would He require this of me now? I finally had my paintings in galleries, and even, yes, finally.....had two galleries contact ME, for cryin' out loud!!! That's a real landmark moment for an artist. So here I was, going strong with my paintings, and it consumed me. I mean, it's ALL I thought about. I was living at my dad's at the time, and my bedroom had it's own bathroom, and a sliding glass door that opened up to the patio. I was in my own little world, I had everything I needed at my fingertips. The bathroom became a paintbrush-rinsing station, and the patio became a canvas-drying area. Of course my dad would beg to differ on this, but we go way back on this argument. He still doesn't get it. One CANNOT paint in the garage. Or, I WILL NOT. What, am I a dog who's not yet housebroken, being banished to the garage? Surrounded by all his junk??
How on earth did I stray so far from my point. It's funny when I write, you know what I have to do? Every few minutes or so I go blank, so I have to scroll to the top and read what I've been saying, just to bring me back. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to do that now....
I do believe my intentions for this blog was to talk about sacrifice, and obedience to God.
I had been convicted in my spirit of something a few months earlier. I had been making these bookmarks and trying to sell them. Each one had a beautiful cross on one side (cut from my very own hand-marbelized paper...nice and colorful and swirly...) and a scripture verse on the other side. They were then laminated. I was trying to sell them, because about a decade earlier I did the same thing, and had orders from all over the place. Except at that time, they were free.
I'd place little ads in Christian magazines and such, saying, "FREE! Beautiful and unique hand-made bookmarks. Send name and Bible verse of your choice to....."
This little venture took off like wildfire. I had lots and lots of orders from prison inmates. That's how I ended up in a little bit of prison ministry, accidentally. They just started writing to me, and I couldn't resist writing back (the women only)...I made lots of special friends during that time. Tommy was not amused. I think he only knew about one inmate. Oh and I asked him to drive me down to see her one time. Her name was Raquel. We had been corresponding for about a year. It's not like it was a far drive or anything, just a few hours. He was not happy about it but he loves to drive. So anyway, we finally find the prison, and go in, and.....next thing you know, we're being searched and scanned and questioned. As it turns out, you can't just show up at a prison for a visit. You have to call in advance. They have "visiting days."
To describe how Tommy was on the drive home (it was in Gatesville) is really not necessary. He was pretty mad. But again, he likes to drive, so I tried to cheer him up by putting in one of his stupid country tapes...the one with that idiotic song, "Amanda...they should 'uve made yoo, a gentlemun's wafe..." Soon enough he forgot how mad he was and started singing along.
What on earth am I talking about now??? The bookmarks! Wait, I have one more thing to say about inmates. I have a big heart for them. I want to be involved in prison ministry one day. The real kind. Not just my own made-up version of it.
So these bookmarks were a hit (I didn't realize at the time it was most likely due to the fact that they were free)...but eventually I got tired of doing it and moved on to something else. This was in the early 90's.
So back to my early 30's, when the idea hit me again. But this time, I'll be smart about it and charge a little for them. I think it was $2.50 each, or something like that. I placed very expensive ads in various magazines and independent newspapers and waited for the orders to come piling in, like they did before.
And I waited.
And waited.
About a month passed, and not ONE ORDER came in. I was baffled, thinking, these look even better than they did the first time around, and I've placed even better ads...what on earth?
So I prayed about it. And then I sensed in my spirit that:
(and I quote my Maker)...
"There are those who are peddlers of my Word. You are not to be found among them."
Yup. I was floored. Bonked on the head with truth. Convicted like a thief. Corrected like a bad kid. And I just started bawling, because I knew it was true. I was peddling His Word. Trying to make a buck off of His scriptures. (each bookmark came with whatever verse you requested, on the back.)
My heart was not in the right place, this time around. The first time, all I wanted was to share my talent and bless others with it. This time around, I wanted a personal profit.
There is a very, very fine line when it comes to serving God with your talent. You have to be so careful about your motives. Because trust me, He sees your heart, and he KNOWS.
So, long story long, I ditched the whole bookmark venture and turned back to painting. At least with the painting I was honest about it, I wasn't serving God with my splatter paint. It was just for me.
But that had to go as well.
Becuase at this point in time, when I was going strong with painting, I began to feel the call rise up inside me, that God had something else for me. That it was time to lay down the paints and realize that "art" is not the only way to express oneself. I argued with God in prayer, telling Him, "But art is my thing!! I've been doing it forever!!"
It then began to dawn on me that "art" was simply the only way I knew how to express myself. That it's not about painting or ceramics or whatever medium you use. It's about the expression and what you're trying to convey.
I was born with an incredible amount of nervous energy. My mom says at just one day old, I was pushing myself up, on my belly, in the hospital nursery. Like a push-up. Completely lifted myself up off the little mattress. The nurses told my mom they had never seen a baby do that. It's not physical strenth, it's a burning energy I carry around inside of me. It burns. It always has.
And finally I learned, that if I turn that fire over to God, really cool things happen: Other people catch fire.
So, after getting rid of all my canvases and paints and the bookmarks and all selfish goals and plans, I was like, "Ok God, what are you doing??" It's like He needed me to clear the slate and make room for something new.
I waited. Then things started happening. For one thing, my daughter came back to live with me. I was able to put all of my energy into her and helping her with some struggles she was having.
Secondly, I began to feel my fire swell, and the desire to write.
To write my story. My testimony.
I'll never forget the night I finally wrote the first draft.
It was October 10, 2003. A friday night. My birthday.
I had been seeing this guy who....oh I better not go there. I'll just call him White Mustang.
He knew my birthday was that week, and he told me, "Yeah, I'll take you out for your birthday, but it probably won't be ON your birthday...." Ok. How hard would that have been? It fell on a friday night! But, I'm not one to expect that anyway...I don't really get into cards and gifts and superficial offerings, it's all fake. But the point is, he made a POINT to not do anything that day. That's just how he was. I think he was still really angry at his ex. She must have been really demanding or something. But, here I am, on a friday night, on my 33rd birthday.
I sat there facing the computer. I stared. I thought about everything. And I knew it was time to do it: I had to start writing.
I sat there for hours like a crazed lunatic, my fingers flying all over the keyboard, memories and experiences just pouring out of me. I did it. I wrote my story.
That first copy was a little rough, sort of blurry and rambling, and over the years I've edited it and refined it. But I tell you what. It was pure heaven to hand White Mustang a finished copy. And then tell him to kiss my ass.
So this is how I started writing.
And I suspect I shall continue, until the fire burns out....



I just remembered something. Several years ago, I was at a birthday party for my co-worker's 16 year old daughter. These folks were totally sold out to Christ. This was a teenage party like you've never seen, it was held in a small church, and they were blasting alternative praise music, and the kids were totally jamming to it, praising God, hands lifted in the air....I had never seen teens do such a thing. I was amazed.
I sat at the back and just watched. Then this song came on that I had never heard before. The name of it was "Here I am to Worship" by Praise Band. Something about that song caused me to rise to my feet and join in the praise. It moved me to tears. I found myself so lost in this experience, music blaring and tears streaming down my face....and I began praying quietly to myself....
And then I felt a hand on me.
I opened my eyes and looked. It was a woman, just some woman who came over to me. She had one hand on my shoulder and the other hand lifted in the air. I watched as she started praying in the Spirit and then she was crying. I was thinking, "have I made this lady cry??" But no. She was praying for me, and then, she opened her eyes and had this look on her face....I can't describe it....
And she says to me:
"From this day forward, your life will never be the same. IT WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. God will cause your words to burn like smoke."
I was stunned, to say the very least.
Just sayin'.
Just sayin', where there's smoke, there's fire....





I think I'm just going to cease all real-life communication completely, and just write for the rest of my life. I have noticed that my talking is a little slowed down anyway. As in, a real conversation, things just don't go as fast in my head, and I go blank way too easy. And it's hard to keep up with other people's thoughts if they go too fast. And for me to come up with a good response can take a while. Conversation used to be so much fun. Now it makes me look very, very dull. But hopefully that will get better over time. Or not. Who cares, anyway? Do I really care anymore?
One thing I do care about is my little occasional limp. I've noticed it comes on when I'm really, really tired, or really stressed. So it has to do with my nervous system. I don't need an EMG to tell me that. I'm glad I got out of that. I knew I'd find a way.
I've been wide awake all night, thinking. I've been wondering why I have so many God stories to tell. I never meant to have all this to talk about. I'm looking at my life and wondering, what on earth?
Only God knows why He picks out certain folks for certain things. But I'm getting suspicious. I'm remembering lots of crazy things I've done for Him. I'm thinking, does He use me in crazy ways because I'm open to crazy things?
When I got saved at 17, that's when all these ideas started coming into my head. Creative ways to spread the Word. I had to do it, I was so amazed at the whole salvation thing. It was all new to me, and I just had to make sure the rest of the world knew about Jesus. I took it upon myself to spread the Word in my own way. Most of these things I did secretly. Never told a soul. Except my little brother, who was an Accomplice.
The first things we'd do were make little tracts, or just go buy a few packs at the Christian bookstore. And we'd wait till late at night. And go for a drive, all over town. I'd drive, and he'd litter. It was so much fun. I was 17, he was 7. This is how it all started, and it came to be known as "littering." Sometimes I'd go to the bookstore and get a few good books, or even Bibles, and go to my bro and say, "Psst--wanna go littering??" His face would light up like a firefly. We had so much fun.
And this idea was actually his: we tied a bunch of tracts to helium balloons, and just set them free. This was his favorite way to litter.
This activity sort of morphed into other things....like driving through a really poor neighborhood, praying, picking out a house, and running up to the door, giving a one hundred dollar bill to whoever opened the door, saying "Merry Christmas and God Bless You!!" ...and running back to the car and driving off before they could say anything. I can't describe the surge of adrenaline you get when you do things like that. It's almost too much.
When I finally wrote my testimony several years ago, I wasn't satisfied just passing it around to my friends. I made sure one got sent to Australia. To an old friend. He was a mess at the time and really needed some good old-fashioned inspiration. And then I also sent a copy to this minister in Africa, who wrote back and said they read it aloud at one of their services, and many people were touched.
It's always best to do these types of things anonymously. Never knowing the outcome, never putting my name to anything. Because then I might be tempted to want to know the results. I'd rather not know. I'd rather view everything through eyes of faith, and not base anything on what my real eyes see. Plus, I never have to answer to anyone or explain myself that way.
I think we should all be more free with God. Loosen up and do something unexpected. Be creative. Actually instead of doing something crazy, do something free. Be free with it. Think freedom. Be an open vessel that God can use. I refuse to share Christ in a normal manner. There's enough folks on God's green earth who do things right. I just let them do things their way, and I do things my way, and that's that.



At first, I thought the west nile was going to make me crazy.
Now I realize, if it weren't for the west nile, I would have gone crazy for sure.
It saved my life. My internal life. It tripped me up and made me fall. It forced me into seclusion. It broke open my mind and slowly began to flush out everything stored up in there.
If I would have been allowed to continue on the self-determined and self-sufficient path I was on, I would have burned myself out, for the very last time.
But anyway, on a lighter note~
I am realizing that I have created a Diabolical Matrix. An online snake. The Amy Snake. Hey! That reminds me. My old manager used to call me "Blake the Snake." And when he'd call up at the store, he'd say, "Yes, Blake the Snake, please." And I'd say, "sssssssspeaking......"
But back to my Crafty Web of Interlocking Profiles Created For Your Ultimate Viewing Pleasure. I think I'm on 5 now. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you just simply don't deserve to know.
It's the middle of the night again. My mind is all over the place...
I just keep thinking of those Christian bikers. I looked up their website today and noticed how they name their local chapters. Cool names. Like band names or something. Stuff like, "Sons of Thunder". I want a Son of Thunder!!!!!
Also today, I remembered a dream I had a long, long time ago. It was in my early twenties, back when I was living in my little "nothing's wrong, nothing has ever been wrong" world. In total denial about everything. I got like that after a traumatic event that broke my mind in half. Really. Well, figuratively speaking, of course. But I was just going along, in happy-perfect-stay-at-home-mom-land, totally forgetting my old life, having nothing to do with who I used to be.
One of the things I kicked to the curb was my music. All of it.
So about this dream. I saw my old room. And there was a poster on the wall. It was nice and pretty. I think it was something like a vase full of flowers or something like that. And then, the dream sort of zoomed-in on this poster....closer and closer it got.....until it focused on one tiny corner, that was just barely peeled back. I looked, and saw that there was another poster underneath! And then- the flower poster was totally peeled back, and guess what was under there?? An AC/DC poster!!! The "Let There Be Rock" tour poster. I was shocked! Totally freaked out!!!
I woke up and knew this dream was really trying to tell me something. That I was covering up my old identity. With lots and lots of false layers.
You see, I never outgrew certain things like normal people. I didn't give myself the chance. I just decided one day at the age of 18 that I wasn't going to have anything to do with my old life. Everything had to go, all my music, crazy clothing, wild hair and jewelry....everything.
But the poster in the dream told me that you cannot push truth away. Maybe you can push it down for a while, but you cannot deny your own reality. The truth about who you really are. No I am not a metalhead anymore (never really was anyway, just liked hanging out with them)...but I'm sure not the prim and proper floral arrangement in the poster on top.
Whatever it is that you have endured or experienced, it is not going to go away. It's still there. You cannot live in denial about things regarding your past, no matter how painful they may be.
You have to deal with it, all of it. Some people don't know what that means. Well, to properly deal with something, all you do is face it, and then ask God to bring it all up to the surface, all of it...old memories, old feelings, all that messy stuff...you have to ask Him to be in charge of it. It's like a delicate surgery. Don't attempt it on yourself.
And He will. He'll bring things up to the conscious level, one at a time, and you can face it and cry if you need to, and ask Him to cleanse the wound. This part can be uncomfortable. But do it anyway.
And then when it's all cleansed and sterilized with HIS BLOOD.......you can experience healing and freedom and then laugh about all of it and be freaking AMAZED at the beauty of it all....
It goes on and on and on......life is so good.....God is so good!


Wait...don't think I'm sitting around these days listening to AC/DC again.