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[robobeth94]

hope.

Recently, I've been thinking about the word hope a lot. I think it's because I am in this strange transition where I am becoming who I am meant to be, yet I feel so far away from her.

Last year was the year I began shedding the old me--the version of myself that learned by diving headfirst into circumstances, the me I didn't fully understand but still somehow acted out as. In order to become this new person, however, I had to go through a great deal of pain and suffering, and in many ways I still continue to do so. I wish I could say that my suffering was purely about love--though I did suffer in that way--but i has been present in every aspect of my life. Yet through it all, I never lost sight of my vision: graduating getting married, growing my relationship with Christ, and doing the things I once only ever dreamed of. Nevertheless, the years that have passed almost seem easier compared to this version of my life. The struggles now are much quieter, yet suffering feels far heavier somehow-- like carrying thousand-pound elephant on my shoulders.

Sometimes the fighter gets tired of fighting upward and simply wants to fight forward.

In this new "era", as I so eloquently love to call it, I am embarking on much bigger things: applying for law school, networking in spaces I once only dreamed of entering, becoming more proactive in the things I am passionate about, and truly living by faith-- not just saying it.

But at the same time, I find myself being more cautious, walking away from unknown possibilities.

Why get exposed? Why put yourself out there just to be hurt? And what if the risk leads nowhere at all?

And somewhere in the middle of all these thoughts, I find myself wondering: Did I ever really have hope?

The definition of hope is the feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. When I think about it this way, I realize that sometimes I do experience something like it, an intuition, almost. A sense that something will happen, even though I may be wrong at times. But that isn't the kind of hope I feel slipping through my hands. The hope I wrestle with is the kind Scripture speaks of-- the confident that the future will good because of God's faithfulness and His promises for hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). And yet when I sit with that thought, I often find myself completely dumbfounded by it.

I love the Lord, and I know He is good. But when life unfolds the way it often has for me, I can’t help but ask why.

Why does it feel like pain and suffering are always close behind the good things?

My heart aches in a way that feels familiar now—like a roller coaster ride I’ve been on for the better part of a decade. And if I’m being honest, I’m tired. I’m tired of the rise and fall. I’m tired of the constant motion.

In Lamentations, Jeremiah writes,

“I have forgotten what happiness is… my strength has perished, and so has my hope from the Lord.”

And I understand that feeling—not because I believe God cannot change my circumstances, but because I grow weary of the merry-go-round.

I know there is probably a bigger picture to all of this, something far beyond what I can see right now. A macro understanding that will make sense one day. But in the meantime, I find myself questioning the God Most High and quietly wondering where hope actually lives.

Right now, my life feels very much up in the air. It could turn out wonderful. It could turn out terribly. And that uncertainty is what makes hope feel slippery in my hands.

Sometimes the future feels so uncertain that you sit there for a moment and wonder where the ground is.

But then I remember the hymn I’ve known for as long as I can remember:

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know—yes, I know—He holds my future.

[robobeth94]

2009

In 2009, I wanted to be loved.

I watched teen shows and thought, this is exactly how I want high school to go. I wanted boys to like me, people to want me around, to be that girl—cool without trying, the one everyone gravitated toward. But those things never happened. I could never figure out why; I just assumed something about me was off, like I was never enough.

Maybe it’s because old wounds were already there—wounds tied to abandonment, to being chosen, to being enough. I never tried to go against the status quo—it just happened. Between the distance my father left behind and the steady quiet of life with my mom, solitude raised me in its own way. It made me self-aware, cautious, independent—but also longing to be seen, to be chosen. At fifteen, the last thing you want to be is an outsider. But that’s exactly what I was.

In my early twenties, I tried to fit in, but those clothes never felt like mine. I surrounded myself with people and places that mirrored the life I’d once dreamed about, but it was never authentic. I didn’t have many friends, yet I kept piecing circles together, chasing the sense of belonging I craved—but they filled the space, never the void.

My faith sat quietly in the background. I still believed, but buried that part of me beneath who I was trying to be. I made peace with the noise around me while ignoring the stillness I used to find in God. Somewhere along the way, I started looking for “love”—gravitating toward people who gave me just enough attention to feel wanted, even if it was just breadcrumbs.

Looking back, I realize I wasn’t searching for love; I just wanted someone to like me for who I was. I kept entertaining them because being wanted, even halfway, felt good—it felt like recognition. But in doing that, I lowered my standards and quieted the parts of myself I should’ve protected. I just wanted to be chosen.

And then I was.

At twenty-three, I fell in love and got married. For the first time, I stopped thinking and started feeling. I’d spent so long analyzing every word and move, but with him, I didn’t have to. He lived in the moment, unconcerned with consequences. That way of living fascinated me—it made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t before.

Those years were unpredictable—laughter, arguments, late-night promises we thought would last forever. For five years, I learned to move through life with emotion instead of fear. But somewhere along the way, what made our love feel free began to make it fragile. I loved deeply, but that version of me wasn’t built to last. I outgrew her, and when my new skin began to form, everything that no longer fit fell apart.

Even in the pain, heartbreak became a teacher. It stripped away the noise until all that was left was me—the raw, unfiltered version of myself. For the first time, I began to see who I truly was. After years of waiting for others to choose me, I realized I had to be the one to do it.

This time, being chosen meant choosing Him too. Through heartbreak, I found faith again—the kind that anchors you quietly but completely. I learned that God’s love doesn’t spare you from pain; it carries you through it. His love became my foundation—the kind that doesn’t falter when the world does.

It’s strange how life tests the same wounds twice, how lessons you thought you’d learned come back just to see if you’ve really changed. Recently, I found myself in familiar territory—an old pattern wearing a new face. The kind of connection that dazzles first and disappoints later. Someone who craves being seen but hides the moment you look too closely.

It wasn’t heartbreak—it was recognition. I knew what was behind that door: polished charm masking emptiness. I’d met this energy before, just in a different body, and this time I saw it clearly. I named the inconsistencies, stayed present through the discomfort, and refused to abandon myself to be understood. I may still be untangling the lesson, but I’m no longer masking the pain or blaming myself for it.

Another lesson learned.

All of it—the pain, the faith, the healing—has created a new version of me. One that faces her thirties with less illusion, more truth. I used to chase the kind of life that looked perfect from the outside—the love, the attention, the belonging. Now I know nothing compares to what it feels like to truly belong, to truly be wanted, to truly be chosen—not by the world, but by God.

I may not have the life I once imagined, but I’ve become someone my younger self would find a little mysterious, maybe even magnetic. The kind of woman she’d watch from afar and think, there’s something about her.

She wouldn’t know it yet—but that someone is her.

[robobeth94]

the exhale after holding your breath too long.

[robobeth94]

[walkswithmyfather]

[robobeth94]

[robobeth94]

The Sound of Silence.

Does sound have a silence? I meant does Silence have a sound? I mean the literal definition of silence is the complete lack of sound. So is it an oxymoron to ascribe sound to silence? Yes and no. In the literal sense of course it is. But in times of silence, one cannot help but bare the sound of everything around us. Silence allows us to feel, feel the loneliness, the hurt, the pain, the deficiencies, and the joy. Everything appears to be more amplified when there is silence.

Once I was told about how loneliness feels and I never understood it, I guess I never felt alone even though I've been alone-- until I experienced the silence of being ignored by someone I loved. That silence, more deafening than any sound, became a presence of its own. It was the silence of rejection, of distance, of absence. It made me feel not just alone, but abandoned.

How do silence and loneliness compare? Loneliness is the complete lack of company. Silence is the complete lack of sound; to get sound two things have stir -- in the absence of sound, there is also absence of presence.

Silence isn’t just an emotional experience—it can also be a profound spiritual one. The Bible tells us that after Jesus was crucified, there was a complete darkness for three hours, a silence that mirrored His separation from the Father. "My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?" He cried out, expressing the loneliness and abandonment He felt in that moment. This moment of silence was the most profound expression of isolation in history—the separation that made His sacrifice possible, the silence that made room for the ultimate redemption.

In that silence, there was meaning. It was a silence that carried with it pain, sacrifice, and a purpose that extended far beyond the moment itself. Three days of silence led to victory and new life. The pain, the abandonment, the suffering—they were all part of a greater plan.

Silence itself may not have sound, but it carries deep meaning. It teaches us to reflect, to feel, and to understand the value of what is often left unsaid.

[robobeth94]

Death… and taxes are the two things that are inevitable in our lives.

I feel like death is so far away from everyone’s mind but it’s impending at every second. Obviously when we think of death the first thing that comes to mind is the death of human life. But death is also the end of anything in our lives relationships, eras etc.

Death has been all around me recently and I can’t help but think about it. It scares me to think that one day we will all die and then we’re gone. But at the same time those who are left behind will continue on.

That’s the thing about death that even after it happens life continues to happen.

I feel sort of at peace now, I think, about my own death specially this year. It’s been a year of death all around me from my most important relationship to myself and yet by the grace of God I continue to live.

I don’t know whether I’m completely done mourning the death of my relationship but I know I’m getting there. Lives a bit easier, less sad and just like that my new normal is well “normal”.

The most important thing about death is that it allows for new beginnings and that’s what I’m praying for and I have faith that’s what will happen.

The Bible says in Psalm 30:5 “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning".

I am praying to God this season of my life comes to an end soon.

[classicfilmcentral]

Lil Dagover in Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (1920) dir. Robert Wiene

[twixnmix]

Rita Moreno photographed by Loomis Dean for LIFE magazine, 1954.

[movie-gifs]

Lucille Ball in Dance, Girl, Dance (1940) dir. Dorothy Arzner

[robobeth94]

current mood. 

[isabelladjanis]

JENNIFER JONES Cluny Brown, 1946

[robobeth94]

Whole Lotta Platforms

This should be taken as a work of fiction. Sometimes I talk in little doses of me and sometimes I talk in little doses of who I want to be. A more confident and internet savvy Beth.. I think the word I am looking for is “Influencer” but ewww, right? Who wants to be that? --- Ahhh everybody?! I mean it’s the dream job being successful by being you. To be frank by being Popular. That’s it, that’s what it’s about, social media or these platforms are a way for us to make ourselves known, make ourselves something and if I am really being honest make ourselves popular which is what everyone wants to be right? Or maybe that’s just what I want to be? -- I don’t know that’s the dilemma.. Will she or Will She not?-- I am not sure but I do have the Platforms to do it.

[robobeth94]

A Star is Born... Maybe??

Do you ever get the sense that maybe just maybe you’re destined for something big? That your personality albeit normal is also different. Do you ever feel like even thinking that you’re different sort of makes you obnoxious to think about? --This isn’t an ad, I am not trying to sell you on anything. 

But sometimes I wonder if the people around me also have these internal feelings of being somebody. In movies actors and/or musicians always have this bug that tells them they are destined for something great. Accompanied by this and an undeniable talent it pushes them to be well.... a SOMEBODY. 

I’ve had these feeling for a while but always push it down because well I am a nobody that doesn’t really have a talent. Even if I did I don’t know it. I don’t think that I’ll ever become a great star or anything just that my name should be or will be known. But maybe that’s just the way I see myself a somebody being successful in whatever field I decide to be a SOMEBODY.

[robobeth94]

Lazy, Crazy Days of Summer.

Did you ever watch Gilmore Girls? I have never watched the entire series of Gilmore girls. I know how it ends, I’ve seen a year in the life (which ugh) and I know Rory is just a product of her environment. -- I say all this to say my stepdaughter is in town. Being a step mom isn’t easy, for me being a stepmom was harder because I don’t have the material instincts that a women who has given birth to a child has. Anyway, growing up I always wanted to have with my own daughter the sarcasm of Rosanne, the Grace of Cory’s mom from (Boy meets world) and the friendship that Lorelei and Rory had in Gilmore girls (S1-3)... I think yesterday was the day that I started to evolve from mere friend to mom and honestly it feels good. I thought about my stepdaughter's feelings, I cared for her in a way I knew she would want to be cared and we just hung out like friends. It feels good and I am proud of myself.  

[robobeth94]

Start of something new.

I named my very first blog the start of something new because I am starting something new. I also have that annoying High School Musical song that Zac Efron and Vanessa “Anna” Hudgens sung in high school musical. By telling you these two details I have admitted that I am a millennial and two admitted that yes, I am a secret High School Musical Fan. Of course 11 year old me is mortified by this admission because I always wanted to be different I always wanted to go against the status quo. However, I am much older now and waaaaaay cooler so I now I can admit that Yes, I loved the first high school musical movie. Now my new journey begins, shall I prosper? Shall I not? Who knows. All I know is that it feels soooo right to be here with you.