Taylor Beisler's blog
where I talk about my life as an 18 year-old author and freelancer . . . jump in; we'll have some fun!
You decide…
What’s your caption for these fellas?
Look what I can do! Modern version of Bambi . . .
Must . . . have . . .
The snack that smiles back . . . until it bites your head off . . .
Smile . . . you’re on candid camera . . .
Dananaaaa . . . dananaaaa . . . dunuh . . .
Untitled work
I see him everywhere. He falls with the snow that graces the tops of the trees. He flies with the wind that kisses my face, the type of wind that wants you to inhale and exhale so deeply that it becomes you to sigh and let your burdens loose upon it. He glows in the thumbprint of the moon that gives light even when it shines as a sliver. He appears in the darkness when it’s lucent in its ideas of fantasy, bringing with its dimming scenery the drowning of an eerie sun that wisps its feathery fingers of fuchsia against the black ocean of dusk. He’s even in that darkness, when eyes can’t see him. Like the very sun, the evidence for his existence casts a shadow; when the sky of your life drowns in overcast clouds, the brief slices of his heavenly rays precipitate into your heart—when you find that he’s real in the midst of your hurricane.
Life without him is not possible. Nothing, not even words with their symbols and small denotations, defines him. Thus, when something tries to capture him, it fails almost unutterably into a state of diluted meaning, boxing him in as if he were as small as that container.
He walks on water . . .
. . . calms storms . . .
. . . speaks so clearly . . .
. . . died . . .
. . . and rose . . .
For you and for me, he performs all these things. He even creates the sunny licks of light that spill upon your face in the morning. He is, in essence, life itself. And, he defeated all of the fears of this world that tie us down with broken promises and enticing dreams of life and fluttering fantasies. He broke the strains of death, the tear-filled eyes of the past. He reined the stallion of worry and bucking, beguiling bereavement. He broke that wild horse of death . . .
I strolled through the house today, watching the fleeting pictures of snow every so often that filled my sight, and I asked God Almighty, “Lord, who in the world is my hero? I have no idea . . .”
Then, it struck me. God was silent. I was silent.
Finally, he spoke, “Who in the world . . .” My hero spoke of himself.
He walks on water . . .
. . . calms storms . . .
. . . speaks so clearly . . .
. . . died . . .
. . . and rose . . .
He sacrificed for me . . . everything. He gave himself.
My God, my Jesus, is more than a hero to me. He defines my everything, where “every thing” speaks to me of his acts of courage, his desires of life, his call to death, his bold readiness to sacrifice, his righteous beauty that reigns over the world . . . All these things speak of a hero greater than heroism can imagine—someone of whom the characteristic “hero” can’t even hold a candle to because he is, in fact, the sun.
If the world were parchment, the stars quills, the ocean a pool of ink . . . “no way in this universe” fashions itself fit enough to portray to you how I believe, how I know, how I see Him as my hero. For, “hero” is too small a word. Do me a favor – look at my life, for that is my paper to you on how my hero lives.
Psalm 84
verse 6
“As they pass through the Valley of Baca (Valley of Tears) they make it a source of spring water.” Wow…what does that mean for us as we go through the hardships in our lives? Christ allows those hardships to be seen and made as sources of spring water.
Skit
God told me to speak to His children before the first skit; do you remember that one? I told Him that I had no clue what to say. He smiled, and He waited for a while. I took out pen and paper, and He began, raining His words down . . .
Watch His Words in action.
Tell them
. . . Through the pain, when they’re shattered, when they’re breaking, I will see them through even when they know without a doubt that I can’t be there . . .
Tell them
. . . Through the sleepless nights, when tears drown out peace and silence, when they cut themselves, through the drinks they take and when they throw their chastity away, I Am there. It is not the shame that calls My attention; I’ve already taken care of that . . .
Tell them
. . . I’m pierced for them daily; I feel their aching lives pulsing in my hand . . .
Tell them
. . . I see; I know . . . I am not absent. Friends fail. People fall away. But, what you can’t seem to get is that I Am here if only you would push out of the crowd and the seemingly good things in your life and fix your eyes on Me . . .
Tell them
. . . I’m crying out even though their ears are deaf toward me now . . .
Tell them
. . . The complacency breaks My heart . . .
Tell them
. . . Each one’s life I crafted, I wove, I deliberated, I designed . . .
Tell them
. . . To look into My eyes instead of the mirror for their reflection . . .
Tell them
. . . That if I had meant to be gone from their lives, I wouldn’t have saved them. I wouldn’t be here now . . .
Tell them
. . . The depression–I’ve been there before; I sweat blood for them, remember? My Name is greater than the darkness . . .
Tell them
. . . Stop failing to define Me . . .
Tell them
. . . The berating words they speak to each other they just spit in My face . . . They just spoke those words to Me . . .
Tell them
. . . The fear they have in them I have already broken. I shredded it to pieces, but they keep picking it back up like paper confetti . . .
Tell them
. . . To take off those finely ornamented masks they’ve made; I don’t like it when they fool themselves like that–they’re too smart for that . . .
Tell them
. . . That My grace . . . is more . . . than enough . . .
Tell them
. . . I care . . .
Tell them
. . . They know where to find Me . . .
Tell them
. . . To stop watering Me down when they speak . . .
Tell them
. . . To step out, to live . . .
Tell them
. . . I’m deeper than an ocean of emotions, and I’m more powerful than they could imagine . . . Yet, even now they doubt . . .
Tell them
. . . That the pieces of their souls scattered on the ground of this world is where I come in . . .
Tell them
. . . To talk to Me when they pray . . . I don’t want an empty, hollow person. I want REAL, and I want BRokEn . . .
Tell them
. . . I never fail . . .
Tell them
. . . I always trust, always hope, always protect, always persevere . . .
Tell them
. . . I’ll always take them back . . .
Tell them
. . . I understand . . .
Tell them simply
. . . that I love them . . . And, I Am here . . .
. . . God is here . . .
I think it’s saying something . . .
There’s something to be said about . . .
Think about it . . . what comes after about?
Well, anything you like, of course!
That’s one of the beautiful things about the word about . . . never really leaves you hanging for that long.
So, fill in the blank, please. What about? I don’t know . . . shoot for the moon, I’ve heard it said. If you miss, you’ll land on a star.
Thus, a word to the cautious sojourner of pens and inks. Proceed with wild words, letting them flow from your fingers, indelibly untamed, lucent in their ideas of fancy. Portray something fantastical, vivid, somber, vile, limp, hungry, benevolent, straying, bright, but never diluted. Let it be you. Let it be about . . .
My life is average
This is what my best friend and I do when we get bored in second period . . . we look at MLIA quotes . . .
Vjola! Does anyone really know how to spell that word btw?
Here are a few . . .
Today I looked up how to spell “Voila!” . . . and I came up with every other word in the English language . . . wallaroo, walla walla, which is a kind of village I found out . . . MLIA
Today at the pool a little girl kept running. All of the lifeguards blew their whistles and yelled walk. Finally, out of frustrating I blew my whistle and yelled run faster. The girl stopped running and walked the rest of the day. MLIA
Today, I found who has the locker next to mine. His name is Davy Jones. MLIA
Today, I was sharpening my orange Crayola crayon over the trash can when I realized the air smelled like oranges. I got really excited but then I realized that there was a clementine peel in the trash. MLIA
Tonight I was multitasking listening to music, writing an essay, looking up quotes for my essay in a book, and drinking hot chocolate. Everything was going pretty well until I tried to take a drink from my book. MLIA.
Today, I was walking to the dining hall on my campus when a mouse appeared out of a bush. I freaked out and stopped walking, I realized the mouse freaked out too and stopped scurrying along. For about 10 seconds, we both would start to walk but then stop when we saw the other move, wondering who would go first. The fear is mutual little mouse. MLIA.
Today, someone slid into my back bumper. She got out of the car, wouldn’t give me her insurance until I wrote down her license plate number, and she was mad at me for being parked. The next day, she filed a claim saying that I hit her . . . while parked . . . We have pictures for evidence . . . turns out – a parked car can’t hit another moving vehicle. Who knew? MLIA
The last one and the first one are mine! heehee
God sprinkles morning
God has sprinkled the morning with His beautiful sunrise again. You know, when this book comes out (I don’t know if anyone’s going to be reading this post, but) I want it to be a platform for Christ and His Name, nothing less. I want people to be able to see the underlying theme of Christ in the pages of this book…the theme is basically: But you are the ones chosen by God…God’s instruments to do his work and speak out for him, to tell others of the night-and-day difference he made for you—from nothing to something, from rejected to accepted. And that’s where my favorite character comes in: Xavier. :)
Tweaking a picture
I had a little fun with the camera the other day. Here’s what I came up with.
