<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546</id><updated>2011-07-07T16:49:55.528-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...Beauty Divine...</title><subtitle type='html'>&lt;center&gt;Where do they lead to?
&lt;br&gt;-No place.
&lt;br&gt;No place? A stairway to nowhere. That's elegant.&lt;/center&gt;</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>16</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-1942823591945362139</id><published>2009-10-13T00:40:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-13T00:42:07.826-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...change is gonna come...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;There's been a lot going on. And that is the biggest understatement of my life. I'll update you later, but for now...got a new blog...it's for funsies. I'll still do my "theraputic writing" here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;check it if you like.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;www.krystinbehannon.tumblr.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-1942823591945362139?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/1942823591945362139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=1942823591945362139' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/1942823591945362139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/1942823591945362139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2009/10/change-is-gonna-come.html' title='...change is gonna come...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-392883085248821346</id><published>2009-03-27T11:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T11:42:02.584-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...there's a war outside my heart and mind...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;Oh, hey. Good to see you. It's been a while. Things going good? Great!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;A lot has been happening the past month or so here in Texas. A lot of good, a little indifferent, but not too much bad - with the exception of the weather, of course....hello, spring in southeast texas. While I've got you, I guess I'll go ahead and fill you in. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;For about two months, I've been having these very vivid dreams where I'm sitting at some of my favorite places with my favorite places in Nashville...Jackson's with Rachel, Fido with Stoltz, Centennial with Jess, etc...and every time it turns into a sort of scene from "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and things start slowly popping out of the picture until suddenly I'm standing in a white room. When I turn around, I face a group of about 5-8 of my juniors - both guys and girls from both Young Life &amp;amp; Youth Group. No one says anything...but they're all looking at me like they're waiting on an answer. And then I wake up. So confused, I pray. Two words that were first heard as a whisper and are now a sure and peaceful reassurance: not yet. I will admit: I was not happy at first. I couldn't believe that He would want me to wait even longer, further putting off my dreams and hopes and loves. I know that He makes all things work together for my good, but I just couldn't see the good in this. But a week went by and I prayed and realized my selfishness "not mine, but your will" ...it's not the seniors, it's not the sophomores. It's just the juniors. They've opened their hearts and let me in. They've allowed me to invest in them and in turn have taught me so much. So, one more year. One more year to stand beside them and cheer them on as they journey into "life as we know it". One more year to spend with my family. One more year to hang out with my best friends. One more year to really taste and see that the Lord is good.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;Today, I leave for Dallas. It will be my second time there in two months. It is my best friend's birthday weekend extravaganza. I love traveling. I love getting to spend time with friends that I don't normally get to see. I'm just hoping for good weather.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;It's been a long time since I've been really challenged in my faith; learning new things, yes...but challenged, not so much. By some circumstance that I'll never understand, the Lord has plopped a woman into my life who is challenging me to think. To think about my beliefs and why I really believe them. And it is so refreshing. Needless to say, I think I'm gonna be racking up some more southwest points this year. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;There's a lot going on inside my mind. And I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do with all of my thoughts. But for now, I know that it is enough. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-392883085248821346?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/392883085248821346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=392883085248821346' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/392883085248821346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/392883085248821346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2009/03/theres-war-outside-my-heart-and-mind.html' title='...there&apos;s a war outside my heart and mind...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-2877047419195118807</id><published>2009-02-24T11:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-24T21:35:30.786-06:00</updated><title type='text'>...you got some kinda nerve...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;With each new day on this earth, I learn something new about myself. Sometimes, though, I'm just refreshed as to certain personality traits that I have. Over the past three months, I've seen one of the core truths of who I am come into the spotlight and shine brighter than anything else in me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;This truth is: I cannot stand stupid people.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Obvious statement? Yes. Yes, it is. Let me expound to you for a moment. We all know the state of my heart in regards to my high school friends. I love them. I love them without fail. I count myself very fortunate to be able to work with them on a consistent weekly basis (four days a week; twice with Young Life and twice with Youth Group). I love my fellow Young Life leaders. They are kids at heart, just like me. And I get along with most of the Youth Group workers, even if a lot of their beliefs are swinging to the far, far right. To each his own. I've encountered a woman, however, who is really giving me a challenge. She is just about as ignorant as they come. No, really. She's the kind of woman who makes you mad to be a woman. Or, if any fellas (really, krystin?) read this, she's the kind of woman who makes you cringe when you hear her name. uuuuughgghhhh....heebie jeebies. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Moving on, she seems to think that she is better than me....which I can assure you, she is not. That is problem numero uno for me. I can't stand people who think that they are so worthy of everything that they get. I have made solid connections with my high school girls. I've invested precious time and lots of money into making sure that they are happy, have someone to talk to and so they know that they are loved. They, for reasons I cannot explain, think I'm cool (I can assure you, I am not). But she (the woman) can't stand that. It's a competition for her, which I highly detest. You can't put the opinions of vulnerable 15-18 year old girls up as bait for your own benefit. It's sadistic and it's wrong.  Any idea I have, she is the first one to shoot it down. She is the first one to accuse me of living a less-than-righteous lifestyle (which is the very essence of why me and christianity don't always get along. How can you claim to be a Jesus-follower when all you do is point the finger? But, I digress). And what's weird to think is there is a time when we were good friends. Real good friends. But, she decided to steal the rug from right under my feet and I chose to, rather than fight, walk away. So, she comes begging for forgiveness wrapping her apology with "but it's not my fault that you misunderstood me"...which is not an apology. Lady Shanks-a-lot. I, in time, forgave her. But things never were the same. Which is fine by me. I still wanted nothing to do with her, mainly because she lies to make herself look better in front of the girls. Again, I detest that. Is your life that meaningless that you look to the approval of 15-18 year old girls? I love them, but their opinion of me doesn't matter. My goal, on a daily basis, is to love them so that they can see the love of the Father. These girls &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt; that I make bad choices sometimes. They &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt; that I have not always done what is "right." But one thing that they know for sure is that I would &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt;, under &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;any&lt;/span&gt; circumstance, lie to them about &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;The end. Not. I get an occasional text from her- which I consider a cop out, as far as means of communication are concerned - saying that basically I'm a horrible role model for being "worldly." WHAT?!?! Did you really need to go there. Which is always followed by an "I'm not trying to make you mad, I just think you should know" type of text. Again, Lady Shanks-a-lot. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Sunday morning was one of my girl's birthday. So I brought cupcakes. I was told to wait til afterword to hand them out. Then, conveniently, time ran out. No cupcakes were given (see also: me being out $30) and I was given a look that read "haha. I win." Go ahead, take it. I spent the rest of the day with that girl talking and laughing and celebrating her life. What did you do? Nothing? Congrats. Again. You win. You always do. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I mean, I really hope she doesn't want to put her life up against mine as a contest. Because even though I think it's a ridiculous idea, I know I would win. Hands down. I've been further, seen more, met more, have done more than she could ever dream of. She's married to a man that she consistently argues with (again, we were real good friends...you don't want to be on my bad side when I've seen who you truly are) and has two children that make her feel tied down (her words, not mine). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I'm over it. She's not worth my time. And yes, I did tell her that. I just needed it to be completely off my chest so I don't have to worry about it anymore. Time is too valuable. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;In other news, I get my tax refund this week. Hello iPhone. I can't wait to join the masses. Phone bill, not so much a fan of, but I digress. Time to be a big girl. I've lived a year and a half with no bills. I think I can take it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Loving the new Fray record. Get it. Was on the fence. Now, I love it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;No more drama.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-2877047419195118807?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/2877047419195118807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=2877047419195118807' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/2877047419195118807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/2877047419195118807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2009/02/you-got-some-kinda-nerve.html' title='...you got some kinda nerve...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-5239269921504739057</id><published>2009-01-23T21:18:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T10:25:59.463-06:00</updated><title type='text'>...your best intentions may not be enough...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I learn something new everyday. There is, however, one thing that seems to be resonating with me here lately...and that is: (for the most part) all people are the same. If nothing else, people are all the same in my life. Everyone I know, with the exception of two, have let me down (but those two are perfect, so it doesn't really count.) It seems like everyone likes to watch me hurt, and for some reason, the jokes on me. Tonight, I was slapped by the reality that the one person in my life who has consistently been an image of strength, hope, persistence, and encouragement now falls into that category of "everyone I know."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It hurts to know that not only was I lied to, but this woman lied to my face. I've never been anything less than honest with her. I've never been so hurt in all of my life. And to find out the way I did, it feels like I've been kicked in the stomach.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The only thing I've ever asked was to be a part of people's lives. To not be there for this is the worst. I feel betrayed. And it's ruining my weekend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-5239269921504739057?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/5239269921504739057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=5239269921504739057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/5239269921504739057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/5239269921504739057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2009/01/your-best-intentions-may-not-be-enough.html' title='...your best intentions may not be enough...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-1695940593096205383</id><published>2008-12-31T21:54:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T10:24:38.761-06:00</updated><title type='text'>...i don't believe you...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;New Years has never been a favorite holiday for me. It's always unbelievably awkward or unbelievably boring or just a blur. Last year, I went and saw P.S. I Love You by myself at 1030 and then got home and went to bed. The year before that, I spent with some great friends after a wedding weekend and kissed a boy who is now married. I thought this year was going to be wonderful. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I flew back in to Nashville for yet another wedding and started the day with friends. Picking up some from the airport, visiting with others that I haven't seen in over a year and then with my best friend watching the "on-screen love of my life". I then get back to her apartment, shower up and am putting on my makeup to go to a pre-wedding get-together. Just a typical Wednesday evening. And then it happened. My damn phone rang. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I don't know why he thinks he can just waltz in and out of my life as he pleases, when he pleases, but I'm tired of it. How am I supposed to put on my makeup when I can't help but cry? I really don't think he has any idea of just how stressed out and how much of a whirlwind he can send me on with just a single word. It drives me absolutely crazy! I mean really? Do you really expect everything to be just fine just because you say you're sorry? What if I'm not ready to just treat it like water under a bridge? unbelievable.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;dear taylor swift,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;how did you know? regardless, sing me to sleep.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;all this time i was wasting hoping you would come around&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;i've been giving out chances every time but all you do is let me down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;and it's taken me this long, baby, but i've figured you out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;and you're thinking we'll be fine again but not this time around&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;you don't have to call anymore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;i won't pick up the phone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;this is the last straw&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;don't want to hurt anymore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;and you can tell me that you're sorry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;but i don't believe you, baby, like i did before&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;you're not sorry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;you're looking so innocent, i might believe you if i didn't know&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;i could've loved you all my life if you hadn't left me waiting in the cold&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;and you've got your share of secrets but i'm tired of being less than known&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;now you're asking me to listen because it's worked each time before&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;you got me going for you honey and it never would've gone away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;you used to shine so bright but i watched all of it fade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;you don't have to call anymore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;i won't pick up the phone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;this is the last straw&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;there's nothing left to beg for&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;and you can tell me that you're sorry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;but i don't believe you, baby like i did before&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;you're not sorry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-1695940593096205383?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/1695940593096205383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=1695940593096205383' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/1695940593096205383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/1695940593096205383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-dont-believe-you.html' title='...i don&apos;t believe you...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-6677836813293755431</id><published>2008-11-13T09:13:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T09:59:53.533-06:00</updated><title type='text'>...no, she doesn't believe...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;If anyone knows me, they know one thing about me: I have a heart for High School students. I get the greatest thrill in getting to know them and to share my heart; letting them know that it's okay to be weird or awkward and to not know what's going to be the next step in their lives. Which is such a gracious statement - a sigh of relief, if you will - to me...because Lord knows I still have no clue what's going on. At both Young Life and with my church youth group, we've come back to one topic recently: Forgiveness. Go figure, right? Christians talking about forgiveness...as if its a foreign subject. But we've been talking about deeper forgiveness like what the unforgivable sins are (or if any...and there is...only one, though) or what our thoughts are on suicide or what about the innermost secluded tribes in Africa who have no idea of civilization, let alone Jesus, and how forgiveness affects them. In all of this talk, I have confidence because I know what I believe and I stand behind it. And at the same time, I feel unresolved. I'm forgiven, but I don't forgive the one person I really should: myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a weird concept, and if you were to really think about it, I think you'd agree. To me, its so easy to tell someone else that their mistakes are okay or forgotten about, but for some reason, I hold tight to mine. Mistakes ranging from lying to my parents about where I was for a weekend in the Summer of 05 to my last night in Nashville walking to his door. That never should have happened. And I think, in his own weird way, he's letting me know that. In not forgiving myself, I also give up on myself. Don't get me wrong, I am completely okay with being single. I do, however, "crush" a lot...a...LOT. But, I find myself wondering who's gonna want to be my roommate in 10 years, because I probably still won't be married. I'm in no rush, but I would like for a guy...just one to look at me the way that my dad looks at my mom. I give up on myself in other ways, too. It's just that one seems to sting the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is now November. And with that comes the saddest truth in my life: I have officially been in Texas for a year. 6 months longer than what I wanted, and still there's 6 months to go until I'm home. I'm making the most of it, working and saving, trying to learn whatever lesson I'm supposed to be learning. But in all of this, the one thing I'm learning is that I belong in Nashville. I belong in Nashville more than anyone I can think of...and when I close my eyes at night and pull the covers up, if I listen carefully, I can hear her calling me. I've tuned her out for far too long. I've been complacent with who, where, and what I am, and its time to finally take my stand and take my life back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've made some careless mistakes with my life - in the choices of friends, jobs, etc. Now is the time to forgive. Forgive myself. Allow myself to finally move on and reach my full potential.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake to the clouds surrounding me on every side.&lt;br /&gt;My soul is swimming in the rain of my tears.&lt;br /&gt;I find my heart in a thousand pieces on the ground,&lt;br /&gt;But surely, the sunset will take my breath away&lt;br /&gt;Surely, this heart will see a brighter day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look up ahead a mountain is all I see.&lt;br /&gt;And walls - what are you doing in front of me?&lt;br /&gt;Winds of passion are roaring deep "I must be free."&lt;br /&gt;No matter how high or how steep there's no stopping me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surely, the beauty is worth the pain.&lt;br /&gt;Surely, the unseen is holding me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wind blows, my faith arose.&lt;br /&gt;The sun falls and I long for you.&lt;br /&gt;Surely, the sunset will take my breath away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-6677836813293755431?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/6677836813293755431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=6677836813293755431' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/6677836813293755431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/6677836813293755431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/11/no-she-doesnt-believe.html' title='...no, she doesn&apos;t believe...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-3952594024796691186</id><published>2008-09-05T12:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T13:49:55.777-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...open up my eyes to the things unseen...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I had a dream last night that was quite entertaining. SPB showed up and tried to explain the reasoning behind why he hasn't been who he always was to me. I don't remember everything, but it did involve: moving to L.A., being on the set of No Country for Old Men, getting shot at, and recovering from an old flame. My first thought when I woke up was &lt;em&gt;what a waste!&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I can feel the Lord pulling me into a new season. Kicking and screaming, of course, but still pressing forward. My eyes have been completely opened up to what I've been blind to for so long. Life is chock full of harsh realities, and last night - while driving to get gelato with my best friend - I found the source of my discouragement...in the most unlikely person, and the last person I would've ever thought it to be. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I almost got into a wreck last night. Through my tears, I begged of God that He would open my eyes to see myself through his eyes. Instantaneously, I had a vision. I walked into my parents' office and approached my mom's desk. I don't believe that I was actually there because no one seemed to see me. A fly on the wall, if you will. She hangs up the phone and rolls her eyes and lets out a grunt, then begins to complain about everything - the person she just got of the phone with, how annoying her co-workers are, etc. Not a moment later, my dad walks in looking chipper. He's carrying my mom's favorite Starbucks drink and sets it down for her with a smile on his face. He's looking at her with &lt;em&gt;so &lt;/em&gt;much love, and all she does is look up at him, cutting her eyes, and says &lt;em&gt;where's my change?&lt;/em&gt; My dad says&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt; there wasn't any...I gave all I had.&lt;/em&gt; It was then that he turned and walked away and suddenly I was in front of him and was able to see the look of sheer heartbreak on his face. Everything faded away into dark and I sat there all alone in my car hoping that when I asked God my next question, He wouldn't confirm my fears. Was I becoming my mother? &lt;em&gt;Yes. &lt;/em&gt;My dad played the role of our God - our Loving God, our Nurturing God, our Father God - giving everything he had and wanting to give me the desires of my heart, and it wasn't good enough for me. I still wanted my change. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;I have been completely broken. I am so far beyond repair and I don't feel worthy of Him or His love. But He still gives it. I don't feel like a Princess, a daughter of the King. But that's who He says I am. I am so tired of running, so tired of having to bandage my hands after trying to pick up the broken pieces that are left of me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm learning to be careful what I wish for. I ask for eyes to see, I get them. It's not the most pleasant thing in life, but I don't believe for a second that life was intended to be perfect. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;My heart is healed. I haven't felt so alive in a long, long time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;And just so you know, I pray for you everyday. I pray that God protects you, wherever you are. That He's working in your heart, just as He is in mine, and that He's sculpting you into His perfect image. That you are able to relay the message of His love, His perfect love to everyone who comes in contact with you and is willing to give you a listen. I pray that you get every recognition you deserve and you receive a hundred fold of what you've given. I pray everyday that you are falling in love with Him. And I pray that you are praying for me, too. And I pray that the Lord teaches me to love people the way you do, without any inhibition.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;My only problem in all of this is confronting the person who makes me feel the lowest. How do you do that. There should be a manual for that...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-3952594024796691186?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/3952594024796691186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=3952594024796691186' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/3952594024796691186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/3952594024796691186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/09/open-up-my-eyes-to-things-unseen.html' title='...open up my eyes to the things unseen...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-4991900467562280704</id><published>2008-08-12T15:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T15:57:33.881-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...i find rest in you...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;My choice title for this little excerpt is quite ironic. I spent last evening in a house with 15 girls, most of whom are between 15 and 18. Young Life sleepover. It was as fun as it sounds. Until this morning - talk about a train wreck. I'm just not wired to stay up until 4 am anymore...especially when I have to be at work by 9.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;I find it quite ironic that I find solace in the faces of the ones who used to intimidate me. I'm more comfortable hanging around with these high school girls than I am almost anywhere else; I relate to them so well - of course, I blame my love for the disney channel, the word "like" and the Jonas Brothers, but I digress.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;Really, I think my thought process right now (in the rest department) is this: there's a guy that keeps showing up in my dreams. I'm the kind of person that if I talk about something excessively, that something generally shows up in my dreams. However, this guy is hardly ever the topic of conversation with me until someone walks into my office and asks who he is (a picture of he and I are sitting on my desk), my mom asks how he's doing (she adores him) or if I randomly get a text from him. The weird thing is it's never an obvious situation when he shows up in a dream, its ALWAYS somewhere completely off the wall where he would never be. AND he always shows up to somehow save me. Last night, for example, this really scary man was walking his two larger than life dogs (they really were huge...think the movie "The Sandlot" when Squints is telling the story about "the beast"). The dogs started barking as I walk up the sidewalk trying to get to my car and one begins to lunge toward me - the owner doesn't care, if you were wondering - and just as soon as I start to jump to the left to avoid the ferocious beast, I jump into this guy's arms and all he says is "It's okay. You're okay." I look up at him and then we start walking and I woke up. It's always something like that. He's always coming to my rescue. I wonder what that means...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;I think that parallels with real life quite poignantly. I feel like I'm in need of a rescue. It would be real nice if this guy were the one to really do that. I mean, he does. He's one of the best. Not many people can make me feel like I'm the only one in a room when we're surrounded. I don't love him, or really even like him. I just really appreciate him and wish I could see him more than a couple of times a month. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"&gt;For now, I'm glued to the Olympics and thanking God every day for Michael Phelps. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-4991900467562280704?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/4991900467562280704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=4991900467562280704' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/4991900467562280704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/4991900467562280704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-find-rest-in-you.html' title='...i find rest in you...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-8063191824774836552</id><published>2008-06-12T23:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T00:14:53.831-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...i'll come back when you call me...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" &gt;My best friend and I had talked yesterday about dreams that sounded unrealistic, or out of character at least, and if pursuing them made us crazy. I love listening to her. She makes me think. She solves my problems and answers my questions just by talking out her own. I like to consider her my very own special miracle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked in the mirror a few hours after our chat and didn't recognize myself. I spent a good bit of my night in my room praying into the open for a lot of things - my parents, my siblings, my friends, my heart, my mind, and my future. I've had a lot on my mind lately. My new job is great, I get along with everyone in my office, and they remind me every day just how glad they are to have me. They talk about getting me new equipment for the office in the next budget year...all kinds of long term talk. When this happens, my stomach sinks and I can hear a small voice in my head telling me not to settle. During my prayer time last night, I asked, pleaded, even begged the Lord to open a door or a window to show me that I'm not crazy in pursuing Nashville again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, I have this crazy desire to feel. For the past six months, I've been stuck in an icky rut and couldn't understand why the Lord wanted to punish me so badly. It has been the darkest time in my life - my walk struggled, my heart hardened, my body shut down. The last time I felt like myself was on November 10th, walking from my Music Row apartment to Starbucks. I can tell you even the tiniest details about that day; its still so prevalent in my mind. As upsetting as this sounds to my family and friends, Texas isn't my home. I don't belong here. The Lord gave me wings, and I soared when he did. But, after a while, I thought I could upgrade them and make them better. Before I knew it, I was crashing down to the ground. I left my wings in Nashville and have spent the past six months trying to grow new ones, knowing they wouldn't appear until I learned exactly what it is that the Lord wants me to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what I've learned:&lt;br /&gt;-As much as I think I do, I do not know what's best for me. AND I need to stop telling the Lord what should and shouldn't be in my life.&lt;br /&gt;-My parents care so much for me, and I need to show my appreciation better. I truly believe that the Lord has shown me a glimpse of unconditional love through my father and mother. I've never seen two people fight so hard, even when every ounce of their strength is gone, to make sure that everyone else around them is taken care of. Selfless to a fault. I am blessed.&lt;br /&gt;-Sometimes family isn't family. Sometimes friends are family. This famlee needs to be treated with just as much respect.&lt;br /&gt;-Christianity isn't one huge event after another. There are times when I'll be in a valley. But as much as I hate going into it, its called the "refiner's fire" for a reason. I'll be better on the other side.&lt;br /&gt;-SPB is not the one for me, and I shouldn't have let myself think anything contradictory of that. I can't make someone a priority if I'm only their option. There is a guy out there that the Lord is molding for me. Patience is a virtue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My best friend sent me a verse today that couldn't have summarized this season of my life any better. Exodus 14:14 "The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rewind with me a little bit. I looked in the mirror after praying to God for some sort of sign that I wasn't crazy and that I belong in Nashville. The face that looked at me was bright, clean, and peaceful. At first I was confused because I didn't feel that way. So, I shut my eyes, shook my head, and then took another glance. This time a rush of calm swept over me.  And there it was...peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I got the message. The job of my dreams is hiring, and I have a shot at getting it. Now, whether or not I get this position, the Lord answered my prayer. I am not crazy. I belong in Nashville...and it hasn't forgotten about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the current moment, I'm trying not to get my hopes up. But if this all pans out the way my heart is speaking to me, I could be home in a matter of weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Lord is good. And finally, I can breathe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There had to be a breaking for my heart to change&lt;br /&gt;the winds have blown against me, but I've learned to stay&lt;br /&gt;cause I can be still in the middle of a storm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You give me peace to rest my soul&lt;br /&gt;inside this hurricane that blows&lt;br /&gt;and I will anchor in the harbor of your love&lt;br /&gt;Within my weakness you are strong&lt;br /&gt;to stand against the rain that comes&lt;br /&gt;you give me peace to be still&lt;br /&gt;in the middle of a storm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll sail into the gentle waters of your heart&lt;br /&gt;I'll rest within the haven of your open arms&lt;br /&gt;I know where to be still in the middle of a storm&lt;br /&gt;yes, I know where to be still in the middle of a storm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You give me peace to rest my soul&lt;br /&gt;inside this hurricane that blows&lt;br /&gt;and I will anchor in the harbor of your love&lt;br /&gt;Within my weakness you are strong&lt;br /&gt;to stand against the rain that comes&lt;br /&gt;you give me peace to be still&lt;br /&gt;in the middle of a storm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe my new wings are in...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-8063191824774836552?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/8063191824774836552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=8063191824774836552' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/8063191824774836552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/8063191824774836552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/06/ill-come-back-when-you-call-me.html' title='...i&apos;ll come back when you call me...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-2105640264886459979</id><published>2008-04-22T23:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T00:05:25.972-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...you're shakin' me up so...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I had the craziest dream on Sunday. It really was strange. I was driving home with my favorite friend after one of the best weekends I've had since being back in Texas. Then, my phone started ringing; playing a song I haven't heard in quite a while. It was his song. It was SPB. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I panicked. I hesitated. I looked at my friend, then down at my phone. It seemed as if the phone had been ringing for an hour. In a fit of every emotion a human can feel all at once, I hit the answer button. Then, I hear it. His voice...and it was like he was never gone. The first words out of his mouth? "I'm sorry." I felt numb. My heart sank as he filled me in on what has kept him at an arm's length. And at the same time I felt upset when he muttered that he missed me. Every word out of his mouth was a searing pain and a soaring joy. I laughed. I listened. I closed my eyes. I held my breath. He said it again: "I really do miss you." And with no strength to fight anymore, I collapsed into my words..."I miss you, too."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Before I knew it, twenty minutes had passed. And just as soon as he came back to me, he was gone. I opened my eyes to wake from the dream. Only, there was one problem:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I had never been asleep.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Four months of silence. Four months! It only took twenty minutes to send my recovery into a spiral. I thought I was beginning to write a new chapter. That weekend had helped me close everything up. He must have felt me letting go. I had seen some of my favorite people on the face of this earth, listened to a great friend tear up the stage at Island Party, and just all around felt free. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Wait...I should've known better. Life has a funny way of pulling the rug out from under me. And I have a funny way of forgetting that. Just as soon as I get comfortable, I find myself flat on my face with no strength to pick myself up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So, what now? Where do you go from here?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here you come again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; Just when I've begun to get myself together&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; You waltz right in the door&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; Just like you've done before&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; And wrap my heart 'round your little finger&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; Here you come again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; Just when I'm about to make it work without you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; You look into my eyes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; And lie those pretty lies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; And pretty soon I'm wonderin' how I came to doubt you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; All you have to do is smile that smile&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; And there go all my defenses&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; Just leave it up to you and in a little while&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; You're messin' up my mind and fillin' up my senses&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's another daily battle that I have to, reluctantly, fight alone. All the advice in the world can't help me let go. It can't help me hold on. I don't know what's best. Only one Person does. And so far, He's been rather silent. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;...all I know is here you come again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;and here I go....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-2105640264886459979?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/2105640264886459979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=2105640264886459979' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/2105640264886459979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/2105640264886459979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/04/youre-shakin-me-up-so.html' title='...you&apos;re shakin&apos; me up so...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-5108902210026706705</id><published>2008-04-18T00:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T01:00:02.047-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...all i know is that i should...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's pretty unreal just how fast the time has gone by. I've been here since November 11, 2007 at 5: 42 a.m. and I can't figure where the past 5 months have gone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I should be packing my bags in one month and 2 weeks to go home, but I don't think even Houdini could pull that off. I've received two very enticing offers to come home to. Both start on June 1. There's just so much at stake and I want to do it right this time. Maybe I can pull it off, but maybe I can't...who knows. Anything is possible.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;In exactly one month, my best friend will be married. Wow. I can't seem to get my mind wrapped around that concept. It came so fast...too fast. There's just not enough time. Am I excited for her? Absolutely. Whatever makes her happy, makes me happy. I think just the thought of marriage in general terrifies me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And in the same breath, my heart is aching. I've never taken this long to bounce back from a fall this hard. Its like he doesn't say a word, but he won't leave me alone. I see his mouth in a TV interview, I see his truck pass me on the interstate, I hear his laugh down the hall at work. He's giving me those amazing hugs through my friends. He's playing every song that comes up on my iPod. I have no escape. I just want to be free...I just want to move on...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I think I'm in hate with myself. I think I made a subconscious decision to just let go of everything that was important to me the minute I walked through this door. I feel numb to what should matter. I miss the comfort of a little porch swing in East Nashville and the beauty of my most amazing mentor showering love all over me on a daily basis. I long for dinner with my bests at jackson's on the patio with sunglasses on and a nice breeze and discussing our shoes and insecurities. I'm dying for some sort of community where I can pour my heart out and in turn be encouraged to make a difference.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I found a church that brings me life. I found it in December, but have only made a trip to it once a month, seeing as its 2 hours away from me. And how excited was I that they announced last Sunday a "Styles Your Soles" party! TOMS is a huge chunk of my heart. I can't wait. May 18. The Loft in The Woodlands. 1 p.m. I'm there!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I feel like these never make much sense...I don't think I'm a good "blogger". Everyone else seems to be funny or write about specific topics or at least make points. I tend to jut type until I feel better.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I don't know who I am, who I am with out you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-5108902210026706705?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/5108902210026706705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=5108902210026706705' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/5108902210026706705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/5108902210026706705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/04/all-i-know-is-that-i-should.html' title='...all i know is that i should...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-5704910537166453402</id><published>2008-03-19T11:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-19T12:15:28.806-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...waiting for my real life to begin...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The past few weeks have been pretty interesting. I'm learning more and more about how important the people I choose to call my family (my friends), are to me. One is planning a wedding, one a funeral, one is having a baby, and others are preparing to graduate college. And they all ask me to play a part. Me? Seriously? For some reason, I am great at organizing and preparing other people's events and lives down to the last detail. I just can't seem to get my own straight. Until now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm making executive decisions on who I want to be, what I want to be doing, where I want to be doing it, and whom I want to be doing it with. (That sounded mildly promiscuous.) It's hard to change your lifestyle when it's been determined for you for so long. But I'm doing it. My eating habits are much better. My workouts are intense. And I'm already reaping the benefits. Our bridesmaid's dresses got in yesterday. Mine is too big. YES!! What a great feeling!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've also come to conclusion that I am SO much better off without Super Power Boy. Everyone tried to warn me from the start that he would break my heart. And he did. Carelessly. There's no more room for people who treat me like this in my life. At least not like that. I'm done. And I'm glad! I deserve better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As far as what I want to be doing, that's been apparent to me for about 3 years now. Music Industry. So, now it's just working to get back where I need to be. I'm glad that I have a famlee and great friends that are ready to open their arms back up to me when I get back, and maybe even some new friends for coffee (RJTrue?).  Nashville is my home. It's where I choose to hang my hat at the end of the day. Temporary Hiatus, but always home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random side note: I've started carrying a purse. I realized that my clutch can only hold so much for me and eventually I'm gonna lose something. I forgot how sore my shoulder gets when I carry a purse! There's gotta be some happy medium. Maybe I was meant to carry small bags. Who knows?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope St. Patrick's Day was wonderful for you all. It's one of my favorite holidays. I'm spending it in Chicago next year. I want to see the river dyed green. FUN! Spring officially starts tomorrow. Mmmmm shorts. Which reminds me...I need to go workout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-5704910537166453402?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/5704910537166453402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=5704910537166453402' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/5704910537166453402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/5704910537166453402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/03/waiting-for-my-real-life-to-begin.html' title='...waiting for my real life to begin...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-3275261559976090493</id><published>2008-03-10T23:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T12:05:19.494-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...what's a painter supposed to do...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Let me just start this out by saying this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I'm ridiculous. Period. But these are things about myself that I'm learning and I figure "why not share?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I'm obsessed with music. It is most of my being and what I love to be a part of. Over the past month, I've been compiling a playlist for my best friend's wedding reception and have loved it. Seriously? I get to create the soundtrack to one of the most important days in her life? Um, yes please! Even outside of just this one situation, I love making mix cd's for my friends. I love picking songs that they might not particularly listen to or have even heard of. I love placing them in an orderly fashion to generate certain emotions. Sometimes, I'm convinced that I should be one of the people who picks songs for movies. I think I would love it. Anyways, in making this specific playlist and a cd for a new friend of mine, I've discovered my favorite thing about music. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Have you ever listened to a song and were immediately transported to a different time or place? It's almost as if you close your eyes and BAM! you're boarding a plane to NYC or sitting at a bistro table with a cappucino in Paris, France. I love this feeling. A good friend of mine, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.brandonheath.net/"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Brandon Heath&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;, has a song called "The Likes of You" that anytime I hear, this feeling overwhelms me. Almost instantaneously, I'm walking through tall grass, in a flowy sundress with long, gorgeous hair (which I don't have) accompanied by the man of my dreams (who's face isn't quite clear...damn). We're walking, sort of casually running, towards a large tree that a porch style swing is hanging from. Not a single cloud in the sky and the sun is slowly setting and there's a combination of heat and a cool breeze. Just perfect. And all we do is sit there and swing throughout the duration of the song. And just as soon as it started, its over. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Of course, I have a very active imagination, but I know someone out there can relate to just how fascinating music can be in our lives. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Moving on to another thing I find interesting about myself. I'm sure most girls understand this predicament. Body image. Yes, I'm going there. This morning, I found myself mildly content with my body, but complaining about my arms. Now, I find it just the opposite. I'm in a wedding in 2 months and 6 days. I just want to feel pretty walking down the aisle...even though the day is no where near being anything about me. I think every girl has a desire to be pretty at a wedding. Even if we're not in it, do we not worry about what we'll wear? Do we not worry about who we'll be going with? Why do we put up so much of a fuss over one day? (If you're the bride, you have every reason to. Otherwise, why?) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Now here's one thing I'm tired of. Britney Spears. Why is our media so fascinated with her. I just had the TV guide channel up trying to find something to entertain me now that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/02/feet-nailed-to-floor.html"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Law &amp;amp; Order&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt; is off the air. They were talking about how Britney hit her head on a beam while walking out of a door. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Who cares? First of all, since when does the TV guide channel need programming? I only want to find something better. I'm not sticking around. Tell the host of The Bachelor to stick to being "the host of The Bachelor." Secondly, do you really think I care if she hit her head? I cut my finger today, and sure, I'm not a celebrity, but honestly, I think people care as much about my finger and her head. I just don't understand the whole ordeal. She needs to be in a metal rehabilitation program and just stay there until they've figured out what's wrong with her. I honestly do feel sorry for the girl, I'm just tired of hearing about her. We've got much more important things to worry about...such as the Invisible Children in Africa or even the Presidential elections. Bah.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Okay...stepping off my soapbox.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I've found a date for the wedding, and I couldn't be happier. I love introducing friends from different places to each other. I think he'll fit in just fine. But at the same time, he will always stand out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-3275261559976090493?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/3275261559976090493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=3275261559976090493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/3275261559976090493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/3275261559976090493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/03/whats-painter-supposed-to-do.html' title='...what&apos;s a painter supposed to do...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-4532058362321970277</id><published>2008-03-03T23:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T13:47:16.426-06:00</updated><title type='text'>...safe til st. patrick's day...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I think, for sure, February is the best month to get your heart broken. Random thought, I know, but I'm certain it's true. If I can stand to see so many happy couples and still be okay with not having a "love of my own," nothing can hurt me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;The beauty of a broken heart, in my opinion, comes in dissecting it. I've spent the past couple of weeks in a very introspective mode trying to figure out why I am the way I am. And I thought I had it penned down when the words of a friend confirmed my every thought. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I am a mistress. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;No, not like that. Let me explain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I will do anything to take care of the guy that I truly care about. I'll feed him. I'll make creative gifts for him. I'll take him shopping to show him what looks best on him. I'll send him little notes with gift cards. I'll help him when he needs help at his house. I'll take care of his friends and make sure they feel welcome when they come to town. I'll bring him soup when he's sick and rub his back after a bad day. I'll show up at his work with his favorite treat for no reason at all. I'll do everything in my power to keep a smile on his face. In doing this, I've found that the guy usually gets used to it and, in turn, becomes needful of my time and attention which I, of course, am more than willing to give. He starts to turn to me for advice or to call me when new things are happening in his life that he's excited about. I start to feel comfortable with the casual flirting and the back and forth of it all when...it happens. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I get the call. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;The one that brings me to my knees.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;He's in love. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;But not with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;But of course, he still wants all the benefits that come with being my person of interest, just without the "person of interest" part. There's awkward tension between the girlfriend and I because, although we weren't "dating", he still considers me to be one of his best friends and I'm sure that he tells her the things I do for him that she, of course, does not. And at the end of the day, I'm the mistress. I'm the woman he needs, but not the woman he wants. And he, just like the ones before him, is too blind to see this. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;And its not always the girl thing. Sometimes, its just that they don't want a relationship or worse yet, me. Which is more like this last thing, for sure. And like I've said...that's okay. It hurts less and less each day. And that's all I really want.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I know that one day some lucky guy will see me for what I am and not only need me but want me. For now, I'm just trying to figure out the balance of being a good friend and crossing the line. Hey, I have to remember to guard my heart too, right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"  &gt;It's cold outside. Nothing make me happier than the cold. Something about big sweatshirts, hot chocolate and a nice brisk breeze to make me feel warm and fuzzy inside...contradictory as that seems...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-4532058362321970277?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/4532058362321970277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=4532058362321970277' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/4532058362321970277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/4532058362321970277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/03/safe-til-st-patricks-day.html' title='...safe til st. patrick&apos;s day...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-428277855607187405</id><published>2008-02-26T01:49:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-26T22:25:07.545-06:00</updated><title type='text'>...it's just a shame to let you walk away...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I love meeting new people. It's kind of an addiction of mine. I love to know where people come from, what makes them tick and what type of personality they have. The one thing I ask to everyone I meet is this: If you could have any super power in the world, what would yours be and why? It's really neat to hear each individual's answers and to match that with their rationalization of said power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time, I met a boy. When I asked this boy what his power of choice would be, he responded like no other person I've met in my life. Sure, flying is common. And I get a lot of mind reading or super-human strength nods. But this boy said that out of every option of any power in the whole wide world, he would choose this: to be able to give as many hugs to as many people as humanly possible for the rest of his life. WHAT? Amazing, I know. It absolutely floored me. I had no idea that night at the Grille, but this boy would forever change my world in every beautiful way possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In - I want to say - the seventh grade, I went through a program at my church called "True Love Waits." For those who aren't familiar, it's a celibacy agreement saying you won't have sex until you're wedding night. In this class, they made us write down a list of what we considered our perfect soulmate. I found that list the other day when cleaning my old room from high school. I've changed a lot since then. I don't act the same and I certainly don't wear over-alls anymore, but, that list is still everything that I want in my husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After getting to know "Super Power" boy, I've learned that we share a lot of interests: sports, leisure, movies, music, etc. He is one of my greatest friends. I have no problem talking to him about anything. And forgive me, but I am a girl. Even though I consider myself a guy's girl through and through, sometimes my feelings have a mind of their own and take control. And I did the unthinkable. I fell for "Super Power" boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a great chat with my best friend last week. I finally was honest with her about my feelings and what's been going on in my life...I tend to bottle up my emotions and problems and push them to the side so I don't have to deal with them. In sharing these issues with her, I finally was honest with myself in saying that my heart is broken. After finding that list, I realized that "Super Power" boy has every characteristic of my ideal soulmate. Sad thing is, for one reason or another, I haven't talked to him since just after Christmas. Sure, he's in Tennessee and I'm currently in Texas, and yeah, we're both pretty busy people. But that's never stopped us before. We were together a lot during my last weeks before coming here. That's okay. Maybe it's for the best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I find myself in the "what do I do now" predicament.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tara-Leigh Cobble, a friend of mine and very talented writer, in her book "Here's to Hindsight" had this to say: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;In my experience, the inherent problem with male-female friendships is this: girls tend to fall for familiarity, and guys tend to fall for mystery. As the girl gets to know her guy friend better and learns about his character, he becomes more and more attractive to her; meanwhile she becomes less mysterious and intriguing to him, and she slowly sinks into the quicksand of 'Just-Friends Land'."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pretty smart, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girls, when they're younger, love to write their names with a boy of interest's last name or to put KB hearts CH on their notebooks. I always felt risqué in knowing that I had a class with CH 4th period and maybe he would see my notebook. And although I haven't done that in a long, long while, I feel like I had carved "Super Power" boy's name on the door of my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is there will never be a time when I'll be more honest, when my convictions will be stronger, or when my motives will be more pure than they are right now. So I'll paint over my words and start a new story. The words I wrote, the urgency I felt will always be there underneath the paint. The love I professed will always be there - the spark of something undeniable, a seed of hope, the truth, for better or for worse - burning fiercely under the surface.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" &gt;"I'll tear myself away&lt;br /&gt;If that is what you need&lt;br /&gt;There is nothing left to say&lt;br /&gt;But&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there a chance?&lt;br /&gt;A fragment of light at the end of the tunnel?&lt;br /&gt;A reason to fight?&lt;br /&gt;Is there a chance you may change your mind?&lt;br /&gt;Or are we ashes and wine?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My only thought is what color paint I should get....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-428277855607187405?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/428277855607187405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=428277855607187405' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/428277855607187405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/428277855607187405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/02/its-just-shame-to-let-you-walk-away_25.html' title='...it&apos;s just a shame to let you walk away...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001942652629827546.post-7792611115391211565</id><published>2008-02-08T20:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T23:15:31.327-06:00</updated><title type='text'>...feet nailed to the floor...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I've seen so much Law &amp;amp; Order in the past week that I think I could commit the perfect crime AND get away with it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Okay, maybe not, but I really have seen a lot. Nothing new to some, I suppose, but it definitely has given me so much perspective. I've caught myself more than once wanting to change the channel during the middle part and only watching the ending to see the outcome: the bad guy gets caught...some witty comment from Detective Stabler...justice, truth, answers. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;Here's the tie in - my life is far from perfect. There have been some amazing times and I know what I want to do and where I want to be. But the Lord has a different plan. One that I have still yet to understand, and maybe I never will. I catch myself dreaming of what my life should be and waking up the nightmare of knowing I'm not where I want to be. I want to fast forward to my next great adventure. Give up the here and now, not caring who that hurts because, well, my life is about me. Then, I get mad at myself for being so selfish. But should I? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I've let myself be walked over time and time again here. It seems I can't do anything right. I'm not good enough. Yes, these are all lies that I've allowed myself to believe, but regardless, it's how I feel. So much is expected from me, but I have so little to give.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;If I close my eyes tight enough, I can feel the breeze and smell the beginning of fall from a little porch swing in East Nashville. I can almost hear the hustle and bustle from a back booth in Fido. Why? Because that's where I left my heart. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;I'm in a wedding and I have to look top notch in my dress. 97 days. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;The other thing that Law &amp;amp; Order has taught me is that I have a major crush on Stabler. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3001942652629827546-7792611115391211565?l=shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/feeds/7792611115391211565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3001942652629827546&amp;postID=7792611115391211565' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/7792611115391211565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3001942652629827546/posts/default/7792611115391211565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shoes-and-insecurities.blogspot.com/2008/02/feet-nailed-to-floor.html' title='...feet nailed to the floor...'/><author><name>Krystin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13893384583527737734</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_vdJTXhFewhY/R6vnfg9m9uI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/hb4N2o4heKc/S220/redid.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
