The Boy's I Didn't Trust

It started when I was young, this belief that boys weren't trustworthy. I was maybe four or five when I was mistreated by a boy and I knew it. Something in my little heart told me that this was very wrong and I was right. Fast forward through the years and my heart got crushed as boys proved over and over again that they weren't trustworthy. I learned about pornography, desertion, betrayal, infidelity, and that was before the big news stories about molestation and rape. By the time I was an adult, I knew I didn't trust boys.  It wasn't just a subconscious reaction; it was a voiced reality.

"I don't trust guys . . . . I have been hurt by guys," I told him. "I don't ever want to hurt you like they hurt you," he said it with sincerity and I believed him. I believed him and that was my choice.
Dear Girl, whose heart flinches like a frightened child every time your man does something that makes you question your trust in him, the choice is yours. Maybe you've forgotten that,
maybe you never knew it. Maybe you were like me and you didn't even know trusting was a choice but it is. I didn't have to trust those boys and I know that now.

Our hearts don't usually break over people we weren't sure we could trust
they usually break over people we thought we could.

Trusting is my choice and I'd rather give my trust too generously than live believing it can be taken and broken. If I know I gave poorly this time then maybe I can grow and give better next time. See Dear Girl, it's about ownership, owning our mistakes, owning what rightly belongs to us.  I want to learn to not leave my trust out on the table like a cheap trinket but to keep it safe, give it wisely, and choose to be braver than the people who mistreated my gift. Dear Girl, trust in God who is greater than your last heartbreak, stronger than your past resolutions, and more loving than your own fierce heart.

The Girl I Won't Forget

"Don't forget me!" she called over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

Forget you? Forget you!? Oh, dear girl, I will never forget you! She had a plane ticket for her home on the other side of the globe and I knew I might never see her again but I also knew I'd never forget her.

To remember is to respect, it is to give value to what was. There might be an ocean between us, a culture that separates, or a memory that divides but let's never forget any of those whom we have known and shared life with. Let's be bold enough to say this relationship mattered even if it was short, or painful, or frustrating. Whatever we do, let's not forget. 

Dear Girl across the ocean, in one split second, you became a miracle in my life because you were an answer to a prayer. I grew because of you and I won't forget you.

When The Giver Needs The Gift

I smile, laugh, and chat lightly because it's my way of sharing hope. If I can smile, there must be something worth smiling about, something worth laughing over, something worth being light-hearted about. In all the standing strong and living hope I brush up against her broken heart, his anger, and my own deep struggle to cling to the truth I know. I start to break over all the pain and look for a corner in which to cry. I wonder if there is hope. I wonder if I'll find love. I doubt, grow discouraged, and wonder how I can be a hope giving girl when I feel so little hope myself.

Because my hope is a greater hope than a sunny tomorrow; it's a bolder hope than a someday romance; it's a braver hope than the perfect job. It's a hope that believes in one divine man dying so we can live without guilt. It's a hope that knows your war with God can end like mine has. Yes, I believe in hope. Some days it's harder to believe than others but don't let the flickering of my flame dim the reality that the flame of hope exists in a bolder and brighter form than I can possibly show the world.

Because Broken Hearts Still Beat

We, girls, talk about busted up hearts. We sing songs about loneliness and wasted love. I remember the first time my heart was fractured down the center. I was a teenager and he promised to always be there for me but a few weeks later he refused to speak to me. My heart felt all kinds of numbing pain and grief as I sat feeling helpless to bring life to what was dying. Opening my eyes in the morning became a victory.  Letting the world spin without screaming for it to stop brought on pain so severe it was hard to breathe. Never had I felt so abandoned and betrayed. Never had my heart ached with such fierceness, a fierceness that forever changed the rhythm of its own beat.

No, he never came back. He didn't pick up all the shattered pieces and glue them back together one by one. It didn't matter how much I cried or prayed; what had ended was meant to be forever gone. Yes, something inside of me died but something else was born. While my heart kept beating it found a new rhythm, one that beats today to share the hope I've found with other girls who've been broken in their most tender places.

You, see there is a crazy thing about broken hearts, they keep beating. There is this song that talks about a naïve heart. I don't want that to be me. I want to love bravely; I want to care boldly; I want to give graciously. Broken hearts don't have to heal into fear filled and insecure ridden masses of beating memories. Broken hearts can heal into braver, stronger, and bolder rhythms of grace. I know it hurts. I know he took your love and made light of it but Dear Girl, what he does is not who you are.

Blog Relaunch: Born Running

I was born a runner. Some days I run from people, pain, memories, and fears. Some days I run towards progress, goals, others, and Jesus. I'm seeing that there's nothing wrong with being a runner; I just have to monitor my direction. I'm an 110%, all in kind of gal with a drive for perfection and a hunger for raw authenticity wrapped up in beautiful messiness. This little space on the World Wide Web has been less than perfect and all kinds of beautiful messy. I started as a hobbyist photographer and today I find myself running on in life with a desire to go in a new direction with this little space on the web.

                Dear gals [soul sisters, cravers of beauty, and lovers of insanity]

                Welcome to Moriah Mari!! It is a place of inspiration, encouragement, and healing for gals who long to live life to the fullest. It's for those who sometimes put too much on their plate, get excited about new opportunities, and desire to make the most out of life. It's for those who've grown weary when they didn't want to, been broken when they least expected it, and lost what they didn't think they would.  It's a place of healing because we're living in a world with a heart breaking from an ache too great to carry.

                What will you see here on the blog? A lot of inspiration and hope. I'm praying that every post will bring rest to your soul, whether it's a tasty new recipe, creatively inspiring photo shoot, or words tumbling out of my heart and hoping to be heard with grace by yours. I'd love to see this as a place of connection. So, please reach out, leave comments, and send e-mails.

               I'm here to live a story of insane love. Come join me!


Over Coffee (or tea) : A Favorite Memory

It's a series about hearts, the raw, and beauty.  It's the lights stuff and the hard stuff.  It's what we might share if we were sitting down over coffee (or tea).

When I asked for questions, Haley commented and mentioned the word "memory". That inspired today's post.

I was two years old when I made a decision.  I don't remember how I made it or what inspired it but it must have been the same thing that inspires hundred of other big sisters. I wanted a little sister. I began praying, they were two year old prayers that grew to six year old prayers.  Two little brothers and four years from that big decision the last child in our family was born and that baby was a girl! I remember being incredibly excited.  I can still distinctly remember when my dad came down the hall at the hospital and told us that it was a girl.  I remember seeing her for the first time.  She looked nothing like me (she still looks nothing like me:).  I have dark hair her's is blond.  I have green/hazel eyes her's are blue.  Yep, we stick out but we're okay with that.:)

She's my baby sister and I'll probably never forget that moment when I found out God answered my prayer!

 This is us one year ago. Photo: courtesy of my wonderful aunt.:)

Over Coffee (or tea) : A New Sereis!

I like coffee with all the good stuff in it. You know maybe some hot chocolate if I'm at home or a maple carmelle (includes whipped cream, of course) from my favorite coffee shop down town. I like tea too. A delicious cup of peppermint tea or some of my favorite honeybush tea by Tazo. I do like hot drinks but they're even better accompanied with good conversation.  Those first conversations you have with a new friend or the jump-right-in-where-we-left-off kind you have with your bff, that's what this series is about. It's a sereis about hearts, the raw, and beauty.  It's the light stuff and the hard stuff. It's what we might share if we were sitting down over coffee (or tea).

To get started I'd love if you'd leave some questions for me in the comment section.  What's something you might ask me if we were sitting down to talk over hot drinks?

Hannah (In Which the Photographer Models) : Portrait Session

This is Hannah, she's a photographer but on this day it was her turn to model.

I've talked about and shared Hannah's photo before.  The reason we indulged in another photo shoot was this new dress Hannah made (yes, she can sew beautifully too!) and the need for new head shots.  True to tradition we took the opportunity to indulge in some coffee, only we went for the cold kind this time, since it's warmer weather these day's, cold coffee is officially allowed in my book. 

It was a fine shoot with a lovely girl!  Enjoy!!

Hannah : Portrait Session Preview

She needed some updated photos and (of course!) I was willing to oblige.  More coming soon!!
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