Affinity for Semicolons

Hello! My name is Stacie. I have a BA in English Literature, so this is serving as my writing outlet. (You can find anything from life experiences and stories, fiction, and poetry on here.) I enjoy reading many authors including, but definitely not limited to: Edgar Allen Poe, Emily Dickinson, Mark Twain, Franz Kafka, William Shakespeare, etc.

[staciestates-blog]

Sacrifice and Mercy

When it comes to anything we do in life, whether it be something as mundane as our jobs or the occasional helping hand we extend to a stranger, our actions gain a completely different meaning in our lives if we make a sacrifice for it (i.e., our time, our desires, etc. instead of doing so out of necessity or to feel better about ourselves). This sacrifice of self is what Jesus is known for, just look at the cross.

With the holiday season quickly approaching, let us show our thankfulness by extending and stretching ourselves thin for others, just as He did. We can start with the people surround us, such as family and friends before we move towards strangers God easily places in our way. Then, let us challenge ourselves to seek out those in need who may not be so present in our lives. Surely, Jesus is among the brokenhearted, the homeless, the spiritually dead, and the socially outcast we pretend to ignore. (Remember, Jesus placed Himself among sinners constantly, regardless of their “unworthy” and “outsider” status during His time; He states in Matthew 9:12-13, “‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’”)

Further, Jesus says he desires mercy instead of sacrifice, so let me make His point clear since I have talked about sacrifice being the right thing to do this holiday season. Mercy is defined as “compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm” while sacrifice is known as “an act of slaughtering an animal or person or surrendering a possession as an offering to God or to a divine or supernatural figure.” Therefore, mercy is an act of the heart while a sacrifice is a physical act. Thus, when I say that we must sacrifice ourselves, I really mean we must show mercy to others; hence, we can use our resources (which can begin as financial but should move towards spiritual, or with mercy) to tell others about our Lord and how great He is! Let us not push our religious beliefs but let them see Him through our kind actions and words, or mercy, before they ask about God, allowing us to bring them home to His kingdom.

[staciestates-blog]

Instagram photo by Stacie Marie • Nov 19, 2016 at 5:40pm UTC

See this Instagram photo by @staciemcoaches

Since all parents enjoy providing for their children's needs, helping them solve their problems, and gain joy from blessing them with gifts, won't your Father in Heaven as well? In His Word, He promises to respond to our wants and needs. Like all parents, He won't give us everything we want, which is definitely for the better, but He is the source of each and every blessing we have and will ever receive, starting at the cross and continuing into our eternal lives.

[staciestates-blog]

Instagram photo by Stacie Marie • Nov 18, 2016 at 3:39pm UTC

See this Instagram photo by @staciemcoaches • 9 likes

We are the salt and light of this world: let's give the world a good taste of Him; let's provide healing and help those in need; let's preserve ourselves and others from evil; let's reflect Him, allowing any and everyone to see who He is; let's allow Him to guide our feet and go before us, showing our dependency on His ways and how we have died to ourselves.

[staciestates-blog]

[24]

Autumn: When Death Proves to Be Beautiful.

[staciestates-blog]

Fresh Start

"They are darkened in their understanding and separated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them due to the hardening of their hearts. Having lost all sensitivity, they have given themselves over to sensuality so as to indulge in every kind of impurity, and they are full of greed. That, however, is not the way of life you learned when you heard about Christ and were taught in him in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus. You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness. Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body. ‘In your anger do not sin’: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. Anyone who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with their own hands, that they may have something to share with those in need. Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." - Ephesians 4:18-32 NIV

With all the negativity that has been going around (due to school wrapping up, family, friends, work, and whatever else is bugging each and every one of us), I feel the need to bring positivity to the forefront in order to prove that there are still miracles occurring on a daily basis. Let me start off by saying, just two days ago, two days, I was dragging myself through the muck we know as negativity. How did my perspective change so quickly, you ask? God. God has been reaching out to me through these past few dark months of mine in numerous ways. Customers have asked if I accept Jesus as my Savior and if I know God is my Father. Of course, I would reply; I have accepted Him as my Father and Jesus as my Savior since I was about 14 or 15-years-old so acceptance was an automatic response. However, what I didn't realize was God was reminding me how far I had drifted from my beliefs, not to mention Him. Retrospectively, I realize that I was no longer fully aware of my surroundings and I was always mentally and/or physically exhausted; I could never catch up on sleep and, due to my consistently busy schedule, I never had time to relax. I stopped listening to my Christian radio stations, started swearing, was angry all the time, hung out with friends who drink regularly, and was not making any time for God. Two days ago, my coworker posted a Bible plan on Facebook which reminded me how much I missed reading His reassuring words. I downloaded the app she was using and started some plans. Yesterday, I listened to my favorite Christian radio station, K-Love, all day. Now, the Stacie He created, and had already surfaced before, is back.

"Sing joyfully to the Lord, you righteous; it is fitting for the upright to praise him. Praise the Lord with the harp; make music to him on the ten-stringed lyre. Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy." - Psalm 33:1-3 NIV

During those anxiety-ridden months, I became a person I wasn’t. Sure, there were many times in which I had fun and learned a substantial amount about my friends and, more importantly, myself, good and bad. It was someone I wasn't meant to be; it was an earth-focused, Satan influenced persona. I am meant for more. Yes, I will still go out with my friends to sing karaoke and have drinks, but I won't go as often or be unsafe and insecure about it. I won't give into the peer pressure; I won't let anyone lead me to decisions I wouldn't normally make. I will be me: the true me who God created. Because, even though this alternate persona taught me how to become more confident and sure of myself, I still need to focus on God’s aspect that comes with that; I learned how to be that person through other, earthly influences, not by God.

"So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!" - 2 Corinthians 5:16-17 NIV

Thus, if you fell in love with the girl I was these past few months, I'm sorry. That girl wasn't the truth: she was in a psychomachy with God and Satan; that girl was a daughter who drifted from her Father and her purpose in order to gain instant gratification, a trap we fall into at least once during our time on earth. So, my friends, go forth and know that I am doing better. There is no need to worry about me any longer. The anger, stress, frustrations, and other worldly emotions that I held for no good reason have rid themselves from my body. To be honest, I cannot remember the last time I felt this at peace and reassured in my life and I cannot wait to spread that happiness and love into the lives of those surrounding me.

[staciestates-blog]

[21]

To think you will never see me through rose-colored glasses, When all I see is gold.

[staciestates-blog]

[20]

No pain compares: Loving someone who cannot love the same.

[staciestates-blog]

[19]

Without its hat, a backwards “R”; It is not the clothing of a man. There is a frame and footing lost. Haphazard piping— Bearing weight in rest.

[staciestates-blog]

[18]

No one knows How I feel, See, Think. No one understands My life, Emotions, Words. No one can Experience Three.

[staciestates-blog]

[17]

Each day passes like the rest, Repeats like the past; Becomes blurry: in this, I live; Acts like a refill: Each less precious, held dear, than the last.

[staciestates-blog]

[16]

Novel feelings: Locked, Deep inside. “What about you?” You Spark Me.

[staciestates-blog]

[1]

Summer’s whispers— Grass’ waltz— Trees’ waves— Wonderful movements.

Air’s whirlwinds— Sky’s wails— Clouds’ wraths— Beautiful woes.

[staciestates-blog]

Who I Am

I have always been a tomboy.

When I was a little girl, I wore baseball caps and played with my brother’s toys. When I started school, I befriended boys as often, and sometimes even more, than girls. When I was in middle school, I strayed away from makeup and Victoria’s Secret. When I was in high school, I dreaded the gossip and relationships girls became caught up in. Now, during college, I enjoy spending time with my guy friends as often, if not more, than my girl ones. I watch SportsCenter every morning at the gym, keep up-to-date on all things Detroit Tigers and MLB, and love getting out of the house to stay active. Because of my personality, some people have assumed I was gay without having second thoughts. Being a tomboy is something I take utter joy in, but it also caused me a ton of problems.

Sometimes, I like to think that God wasn’t sure if He wanted to make me a boy or girl. I didn’t think about this until recently, but it would make my entire life make more sense. I have always found myself to be a mix of guy and, a little bit of, girl. If I was a guy, my love for sports, a simple wardrobe (complete with about 30 ball caps), driving and road trips, shows, and so much more would fit in with the social construction we have created for males. Sure, I like to dress up every once in a while and leisure shopping is sometimes fun but, for the most part, I dress in t-shirts and jeans and like to have a mission when I go to a store. If I was a boy, I would be able to be myself without being judged and misjudged. If I was a boy, I would have played baseball until I landed myself a shot at the minors and majors, or at least until someone told me I didn’t have a chance. If I was a boy, getting a job as a baseball broadcaster would be simpler. If I was a boy, people wouldn’t wonder why my mother and I aren’t close and wouldn’t call me a daddy’s girl simply because I get along with him better. If I was boy, my life would have been easier; that’s not what God wanted. God wanted to make me stronger. He wanted to make me a fighter. He wanted me to realize that, even though I have the odds stacked up against me, He is on my side and He has and will give me all the tools I need to do what is necessary.

Because I’m a girl, I struggled with fitting in and keeping an “appropriate” body image. Because I’m a girl, I had to deal with heartbreak and broken friendships. Because I’m a girl, I had to do my “guy” activities by myself or with my dad, when my guy friends couldn’t be there. Because I’m a girl, I had to take a backseat to my guy friend’s girlfriends. Because I’m a girl, I have to fight for my second dream job. Because I’m a girl, my dream job isn’t even possible. Because I’m a girl, I’m stronger.

And, no, I’m not saying boys aren’t strong. What I’m saying is, based on my life and what social constructions I had to battle, being a girl, in opposition to who I am, made me stronger. The same is true for everyone who had to go against the flow of something as large as society on the macro-level or as simple as family members on the micro-level; everyone is strong in their own, special way, and this is mine.

[staciestates-blog]

Writing Exercise: Author Within Their Fiction

There was a drug store on the end of our street. My younger sister, Katie, and I always went there during the summer months. We would always get a bottle of Coke or a few pieces of candy with our allowance, but we wouldn’t tell our parents; it was part of our summer secrets. This year was different though.

Mom found out where we were going; she wasn’t mad and she didn’t ground us. She just wished we would have told her so she knew where we were, since we didn’t have phones. She was protective of us. But she didn’t watch our brother, Dylan, as closely. He used to come to the candy store with us before he started hanging out with the bullies at school. He used to play games with us in the yard and laugh and smile. Now, he was never home and always came home late.

I missed the old Dylan and decided to talk to him one night after he returned.

I knocked on his door, “Dylan?”

“Yeah?” his voice sounded from the other side.

“Can I ask you something?”

 “Sure,” he said as I opened the door.

He was sitting at his desk, blood-shot eyes staring into mine.

“Are you alright, Dylan?” I asked.

He nodded, “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, sis.”

“I’m starting to get worried about you. You’re always out past midnight and I have been covering for you, saying you get home right after mom and dad go to bed.”

“Yeah. Thanks, sis,” he said.

He looked at me with a stone glance. He showed no emotion on his face. That’s when I noticed a bag of cocaine under a pile of papers on his desk.

His eyes followed mine as my mouth opened in shock.

“Dylan!” I screamed, not thinking of our sleeping parents.

“Dana, shut up!” he whispered loudly. “You’ll wake up mom and dad!”

“I don’t care, Dylan,” I said, lowering my voice just a bit. “You are doing drugs! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. You’re with the rudest people at school and you are never home. Can you think about Katie? What if she found that bag? It looks just like sugar. She would eat it and then what would happen, huh? Do you think about anyone in this house?”

He walked over to me and led me to his bed, where we sat down to finish our conversation.

“Dana, I’m in too deep.”

I looked into his eyes: sadness and regret filled them.

“I thought these guys were cool and did the stuff they wanted and now I’m just fucked up,” he continued as he placed his hand on my thigh. “Just… please don’t tell mom and dad. I’m doing everything I can to slowly back out of this group and get off of drugs. I am… just… trust me.” That was the old Dylan I knew. That was the Dylan that I trusted and loved.

“Okay,” I said and he smiled.

The next week, mom told me to take Katie to the drug store on the corner of the street to get her some candy; I figured it was because she was bothering my mother but, as I was about to leave the house, I heard her say, “I can’t believe it… I can’t believe he does this…”

Oh no… I thought. Did she find out about Dylan’s drug problem?

I turned around and saw my mother holding onto the same bag I noticed the week before, although it was nearly empty now.

I shooed Katie out of the house quickly.

“See you in an hour,” my mom said as we walked out the door.

Oh gosh. Oh no. Dylan was trying to quit and they were going to ground him… no, something worse than grounding. Kids that did drugs didn’t just get grounded, they never gained their parents’ trust again… or did they?

[staciestates-blog]

Writing Exercise: Victorious

My entire college career depended on that day. I had to audition for the music and theatre design and technology programs at Oakland University. I gathered up photos from all the sets I helped create and hired an accompanist, who I met with four times before today. I prepared two songs; one that I could sing in my sleep and a more challenging one. I still wasn’t sure if I could hit all the notes at the right time, due to the resistance the voice part had against the accompaniment. I wasn’t sure, but I was ready. I was ready to stop stressing and quit practicing the same songs. I was ready to start a new chapter in my life, doing the things I loved the most. I was ready to tackle a double major, something I never thought I would want to take on; it was something I wasn’t even sure I was ready for, but, in that moment, I was ready.

My singing audition was first, thank goodness. I could get through the jitters and the shaky voice I was used to having when I sang my voice part alone in pop quizzes in choir, before presenting myself and my portfolio in front of a panel of theatre directors. I remember meeting with my accompanist one last time before that audition. We went into the practice rooms and ran over the piece I was still unsure of; we perfect the couple of measures I consistently had issues with before heading to the stage.

There was another audition taking place when we arrived; a baritone’s voice rang from the other side of the door. He was so good and I was so insecure and terrified. I had never had a solo before, not because I wasn’t good, because I never tried out for one. I was always surrounded by voices that brought me to tears, yet no one could ever say that about mine; even though I sang loud an proud in the ensemble, I was meek and shy when I sang alone.

The boy came out with a grin on his face. He obviously got accepted. Then, I realized I was next. I checked my phone for the time. Yup. This is it. I slowly walked towards the door and my accompanist followed in after me. It was dark from this backstage entrance, but a single spotlight could be seen on the stage. There was a long, rectangle table set up straight ahead with two women with one man between them, all sitting down, with papers stacked in front of them; they held my schooling in their hands. They might be my teachers down the line. I was terrified. I took the spotlight.

“You may begin whenever you wish,” one of the ladies said.

My accompanist and I locked eyes and I nodded to her.

The music took over my thoughts and I felt like I was transported back into the practice room in her basement. The fear left and I knew I could sing my stronger song without any issues. I sang the song to the people, looking them in the eyes and sometimes right above their heads. I felt confident when I sang my last note.

Then, it was time for the tougher piece. I kept my hands at my side and could sense a difference in my internal tension. I tried to forget it as measure twenty came around, which marked the beginning of my voice part. I let the music flow through my ears and into my heart, trusting my voice to come in on the correct counts; thankfully, they did.

The song ended and I felt a smile erupt on my face, before I thanked the people standing in front of me, who, I finally realized, held stone faces the entire audition.

“Great job,” the other lady said. “You made it.”

I gave a shy laugh and they all smiled at me, easing my thoughts and worries.

They went over the parts I seemed to slip up and the ones that were strong and impressive. After this review, they said I would receive an email in a few weeks if I was or was not accepted into the program. I told them thank you, once again, and walked backstage once more.

Two hours later, I had my theatre audition. I was always behind-the-scenes when it came to theatre; there were so many lovely actors at my school that I never believed I would get a spot on the same stage as them, so I never tried. I liked making sets from my bare hands; whether it was painting, building, or anything of the sort. It was also fun to go school way after hours and feel a different vibe from the place I went to learn.

I walked into the room for my theatre interview. There were six or seven people in placed at a few tables on the other side of the room. A music stand was placed a few feet in front of them. I walked up to it and placed my pictures and experience papers on it. They asked me questions about what high school I attended, what shows I worked on, what my roles were for the shows, and asked to see my pictures. They were laid back and I felt comfortable the entire time. They even seemed surprised when I told them what things I had done for shows, despite only have two years of experience. Being assistant stage manager for the previous show probably didn’t hurt, either.

After the interview, the stage manager came outside the room and talked to me. He said he would love to have me in the program and I would make a great asset to their program. He even gave me his business card. I had never felt more successful in my entire life, yet I felt undeserving; so many others in my tech group at high school did more at set builds. I was dedicated and did whatever I was told, but I was not as handy as the men in our group.

[staciestates-blog]

Writing Exercise: “Collective We” Narration

He had dirty blonde, gel-styled hair that was pushed up and to the right side of his face. He was almost six-feet-tall and was still in high school, in addition to accelerated college courses. He worked one job during the school year and added another during the summer.  He had been in relationships before but this one was the source of his downfall.

He fell in love with a girl at his year-round job. He was a busser and she was a waitress. We were never sure of how he fell in love with her so quickly. It seemed as if one day they were coworkers and the next they were acting like a couple. Go figure, they did date for about a week. She ended it quickly. The relationship ended just as quickly as it started. He seemed absolutely crushed but she never showed anything but happiness.

We were curious to find out what went on between the two of them. He only worked weekends, so we asked her what was going on the instant we knew it was through. She said he idolized and depended on her. She was his source of happiness and source of sadness, when they barely spoke. She felt like she was dragged into the relationship because she did not want to see him become more depressed than he was at the time. She enjoyed how happy she could make him, but despised how upset and jealous he got when she gave her attention to others. He wanted to talk and be with her all the time, but she needed space. She didn’t want or need a boy that was four years younger than her clinging to every word she said and every hug she seemed forced into. He was a sweetheart, she told us, always complimenting her and making her feel special. She got sick of that though. She didn’t need someone to tell her how cute she was every time she turned around or how much he loved her every time there was a break in the conversation.  She felt like she was using him. She didn’t need a relationship, nor did she want one; however, she thought he may tone it down once they began to date. She assumed he was saying all those things in order to be with her and wouldn’t need to state them once they were together because he would understand that she knew. She was wrong.

The hugs became more suffocating. The butterflies left her stomach when he held her hand. The times they spent together became more awkward. She felt herself becoming distanced from him. She had fallen in love with the idea of being in love, not with him. She had hoped things could work out, she told us, but she was wrong and she regretted it. She did not want to lead him on or get his hopes up, but she had to cut it off.

She woke up to twelve text messages on a Sunday morning, after a night they worked together, because he was convinced she had lost interest in him since she talked to her other coworkers more. He was jealous and selfish. He only had eyes for her, but she did not see him in the same love light. He was obsessed and talked about how he could see them getting married. She knew he was simply feeling lust. He said he would always want to be with her, regardless of their relationship status, but she could not say the same. He talked about all the things they would do, when they would talk, and made plans for the near and distant future. He talked more than her and talked over her, without even noticing. He always asked if she was okay, but she would lie. She didn’t want to see the joy from his face vanish, so she put on a smile and pretended it was alright. She warned him, from the beginning, that if he depended on others for his happiness, he was setting himself up for failure.

Once she broke up with him, he was devastated. She explained why she wanted to stay friends and he was glad of it, we found out. He said he had done the exact same thing with other girls, but they never stuck around to explain why they left. Now he knew why. She explained it all to him. He was thankful, but could hardly move on. It was obvious how tough it was for him the next few days. She was worried about him, but did not want to contact him. She wanted him to realize how much more growing up and maturing he had to do. He was still so young and she needed someone who matched her mental age, not a teenage boy with more emotional range than her. She would not succumb to being someone’s mental foundation and strength; she needed someone who could match or be greater than her own. She was too independent for a partner less than her. She needed someone to be able to challenge and push her to her limits in faith, dreams, and overall life.

He was broken. She grew stronger. He lost his faith in love. She overcame obstacles. He would not move on. She left the past behind.

[staciestates-blog]

Writing Exercise: Flashback

“Sam,” my mother said. “Aren’t you going to be cold?” I was about to walk out the door and into the garage to start my car on the cold, winter morning, “No.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I have two coats on, mom,” I told her. “I think I’ll be okay.” “Do you have gloves?”

“Yes.”

“A hat?”

“I’m wearing one.”

“Oh,” she said. “What about—?”

I had already made my way onto the other side of the door and slammed it shut behind me. I was sick of her questions, as always, and was running late for work. She did this to me every day and I had no clue why she acted so concerned when she wouldn’t talk to me about more serious matters like school, my job, friends, or anything else. She made small talk; that was it. Whenever I did talk about those serious matters, she always made me feel like the most insignificant person on earth.

About two years ago, this side of her began to surface more than normal. I still remember the day she called me a bitch and I had to leave the house and go for a walk, in order to prevent myself from saying or doing things I would regret.

“I’m fine, mom,” I remember telling her. I wasn’t sure what the context was.

“I’m just worried,” she told me.

“I know,” I said. “But it’s nothing you have to worry about.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” she asked.

“I’m not being mean,” I told her.

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, sorry,” I told her.

“Watch that tone.”

“What tone?” “That one!” she began to raise her voice. “I’m your mother. You don’t talk to me like that. If you want to treat others like that, go ahead but not me. I deserve more than this. I clean this house. I do the laundry and what do I get? I get nothing. I don’t get any respect from you or your father. You guys just make messes and I clean them all up!”

“That’s because you clean everything while we’re making the ‘messes,’” I mumbled.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“No one’s going to marry you,” she said. “You treat me like shit. You’re a bitch. You don’t respect me at all. You should just move out.”

And people were always wondering why I couldn’t get along with my mother.