Looking for more to read? Head over to my new blog, Rebekah Joan!


The Sunshine Award

"For bloggers who positively and creatively inspire others in the blogosphere."
the rules are:
I. thank the blogger that nominated you and link to his/her blog
II. nominate other bloggers and let them know on their blogs
III. answer a list of ten questions
IV. the Sunshine Award button must be posted on your blog
The lovely, beautiful, inspiring, amazing Elisabeth from a flyleaf nominated me. *Blushes.* Thank you, m'dear.
The Ten Questions: (you can either answer these questions or make up your own 10 questions and answer those. These ones are the ones in Elisabeth's post):
1. What is your favorite Scripture verse?
I feel like I've said before that my favorite Scripture verse is Isaiah 40:8. It has been for years. It still is.
"The grass withers, the flowers fade, but the word of our God will stand forever."
2. Would you sacrifice your life if it would save that of a stranger's?
You know what? I have no idea. No idea at all. Jesus died for me, so I should be willing to do the same. I hope I would. But as Tris Prior said, "A lifetime of training [in Abnegation] wasn't enough for me. My first instinct is still self-preservation." -Divergent, Veronica Roth. Sometimes I feel like this describes me, sometimes I don't.
3. Given a chance to swim with dolphins . . . would you accept?
Probably not. Well, maybe.
Okay, train of thought:
2. Okay, they aren't that big, compared to other things you could be asked to swim with.
3. I've heard of dolphins saving people's lives before.
4. Dolphins are cool.
5. Eh, why not?
4. Are you more "fascinated" by the light or by the darkness; why?
Are we talking metaphorically or literally here? -_-
m e t a p h o r i c a l l y
fascinate- vb. to arouse the interest or curiosity of; allure.
Oh, geez. I think this is a tie-breaker. I hate to say that, but...yeah. I grew up in a Christian home. Christianity has always aroused curiosity and interest, but sometimes I don't cling to that. Sometimes, I peek around the curtain into the dark night and stare at the frolicking monsters. Why? Because they also arouse curiosity and interest. But they also arouse disgust and fear. I guess that's why I've stuck with the light this long.
l i t e r a l l y
Light. Darkness is just the absence of light, so there's really nothing to be fascinated with except the absence of the the cool stuff that glows and does awesome weird stuff.
5. Can you speak with a different accent?
Yes, but not well. I was watching Brave with some kids I was babysitting, so I was trying to speak in a Scottish accent. But I sucked. So I said that. And then Adiel's oldest daughter (she's ten, I believe) agreed. >.<
6. Would you rather be disliked or forgotten?
Forgotten. Absolutely and completely forgotten. Because you can't really forget a person even if you've never met them. (<--That is not a blanket statement. Possibly it's not even true. It depends on your definition of forget.) Because someone influences someone, who influences two people. Then those two people influence three or ten or sixty-two and the cycle goes on and on and on. Soon enough, you have a huge ripple effect that might never end.
7. Has the ocean ever filled your dreams?
Nope. I know how to swim, but I'm terrified of boats. Water is cool. I like it. But not so much that the ocean would fill my dreams.
8. Presuming you own one, how often is your journal put to use?
*Goes and checks.*
Um...well...For the past month, about once a week. Before that? Maybe twice a month.
9. Favorite fictional character of all time?
You're kidding me, right? Just one? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
I think I'll go with the Doctor because he has (and will have) so many different personalities that he's like so many of my other favorite characters. So, I present, The Doctor(s).
10. What is your favorite hymn?
ABSOLUTELY In Christ Alone. <3


but what if there were no threads?

Sometimes, I feel like a flickering flame, burning on top of a small candle in the middle of a wintry field during a storm.
I feel like I'm a leaf in the fall, clinging to my branch, but the wind is just so strong.

[i'm dying out and withering away.]

Sometimes, I feel—hold that thought—know that I'm just one thread in the biggest blanket ever.
I'm one pixel in a grand picture of a roaring waterfall or the sun rising over the trees.
I'm one leaf in a giant forest.
I'm one grain of sand on a Florida beach.
I'm one piece of grass in a great field.
I'm one grape in the bountiful vineyards of Pennsylvania (or at least my part of Pennsylvania.)

[i'm so pathetically small.]

Sometimes, I feel like I don't matter in this crazy-big world of college and conferences and people and terrifying things.
I'm homeschooled.
I'm not a prodigy, and I don't claim to be.
I've never made a big splash. Just a small ripple here an there, to help move along a stick or a leaf. Not a boat.
I'm not brave, but I'm trying.
I'm clumsy.
I'm not perfect.
I'm being exactly like Augustus Waters when, in fact, I should be trying to be like Jesus's mother, Mary. Or, heck, Jesus Himself.

[i'm perfectly ordinary.]

But maybe there's Someone shielding my flame from the winter storm.
Maybe, once I fall from my branch, someone will collect me and keep me warm and safe inside a scrapbook.

[maybe i'm supposed to struggle so that i'll hold on to God tighter.]

I am just a thread, just a pixel, just a leaf, just a grain of sand, just a piece of grass, just one grape.
But what if there were no threads?
What if there were no pixels?
What if there were no leaves?
What if there was no sand?
What if there was no grass?
What if there were no grapes?

[we're all small, but together we can be quite big.]

The center of attention is something I've always tried to hand off to others.
Yeah, I am ordinary. I probably always will be. But I have an extraordinary God, and He loves me so much that He died and came back from the dead. Not that's love. (Yeah, wow.)

[and maybe ordinary is what we're supposed to be.]

Because what's different from the thread at the top of the blanket to the thread at the bottom? Maybe some colors, one might be a bit more damaged than the other. But is there really any difference?

Bekah Joan

*just a little note about that last paragraph, because i think my pastor and my mother will read it and go "hey! that's wrong!"
the blanket i'm referencing is not the world. it does not include every single person on this planet. it includes the church. because Christians are different from non-Christians. Not because we're so amazing, but because we have an amazing God.



"Every Word He Spoke was a Lie."

Here's a random picture, because. {via}
(My entry for Go Teen Writers' recent contest.)
   Every word he spoke was a lie. He didn’t know what he was doing, though, so I’m not sure if it counts. All I know is that his whole life—everything he ever learned—was a lie. He literally grew up thinking green was purple and orange was blue. The grass was the sky, the children were the adults. Strange, right?
   When I found him wandering around on the street—a “river,” he called it—he was confused, asking where his enemies were. I took him in, hoping to teach him the truth.

   But now I’m wondering—what if I’m the one living in the lies?
 . . . .
These thoughts have been whirling around inside my head ever since I was a little kid. I remember distinctly when I first came up with the idea. I was walking toward the shed at my old house, and I wondered, "What if green was actually purple?" I then tried to imagine a purple crayon with the word "green" on it. It looked absurd, so I shrugged it off. But, really, what if we humans labeled everything wrong?
 I got all positive feedback, except they said there's too much backstory going on, especially for the 
first paragraph. And I have to admit that I agree completely. I wasn't a finalist, but I was honestly just excited to do the thing. It was my first time. Congratulations to all the ones who made it as finalists!
Bekah Joan



Do you want to write a book but haven't made the time to yet? Have you contemplated doing NaNoWriMo, but then got too intimidated?
Well, I have good news for you. DOOM.
Photo from Amanda, the lovely maker of DOOM.
Officially, it stands for Definitely O-normous O-uthor Months, with the "O's" pronounced "E" and "A," respectively.
DOOM will be in March and April. We'll still be writing 50,000 words, but over two months. So, if you want to do Camp NaNoWriMo at a slower pace, or you just want to get some writing in—whatever your reason, come join us!
You can find posts on Amanda's (she came up with the idea of DOOM with a friend, I believe) blog, The Ramblings of a Wayward Author, that talk about DOOM here and here.
Personally, I'm really excited to do this. I loved doing NaNoWriMo, and I'll do it again and again and again. But I also think that if I would've done it  at a slower pace, it would've been so much better. I believe Amanda said something along the same lines.
How to Join:
-You can comment on one of the DOOM posts on Amanda's blog, letting her know you're joining.
-If you have a Facebook account, Amanda created a group for DOOM right here. Ask to join, and you're committed! (I think, anyway. It would probably still be a good idea to let her know on her blog, too, just to be all sure and stuff.)
If you have any questions, you're supposed to direct them to this email: awikoff16@gmail.com
Amanda said she wanted DOOM to have a community like NaNoWriMo, so the more people, the better!
I hope you all join us. :)

Bekah Joan
(On a completely different note, this is my 100th post. Yay, me! *Celebrates.*)


and then the gun went BAM (or something like that).

Killing characters...
Said character, Alyssa {via}
I've done it before. I think I counted six characters that I've killed. They were either bad guys or people you heard about dying and never actually met. I could handle that.
This is about to change. It was supposed to have changed probably about an hour ago. But, gee, I never thought it would be this hard. This character is lovable and silly and goofy and gorgeous and caring and a blonde even though she has brown hair.
And I'm going to kill said character.
I was supposed to have killed said character about an hour ago. And I really need to, because this book is for my Novel in a Year class, so it's homework, and homework has these annoying little things called due dates.
*Sighs again, even more dramatically.*
I've been procrastinating. I was on Pinterest, and then I read some blog posts, and now I'm here. Oh, and there was this sevenish-minute period where I was pacing around the house like a crazy person muttering to myself about how "I can't do this." Then I made some tea, which is now gone.
Asdfghjkl; I. Can't. Do. This.
But I guess I'm going to have to, huh? Tonight, preferably, if I don't mind (which I do).
Ugh. Okay, whatever. I'm going to write the stupid scene and get it over with.
Many sad tears and terribleness,

Bekah Joan
Edit: I did it. I posted this at a bit before 10:00. It's 11:27, and the scene is done. Now on to the next, even scarier scene. But she's dead, the poor thing, and I'm feeling quite guilty. Her mother can barely move. Her friend is basically about to commit suicide. I'm exhausted. Goodnight.


an excerpt [4]

[From The Three Worlds, book one. It's from Alexa's POV. Enjoy, lovelies.]

Alexa {via}
Clara hands me a bow. We’re in a clearing, the trees towering above us. Most of the leaves are on the ground now, giving it a colorful covering and the chilly air a thick scent of decomposition. Grandpa says it’ll snow any day now.
     “You’re holding it upside down.” Clara’s voice doesn’t show any agitation or amusement. Neither does her face. She’s stoic.
     I fix it. “Like this?” I have the string away from me and the handle toward me.
     “Not unless you want to shoot Kenneth.”
     I turn around. Kenneth is directly behind be, holding in his laughter. Blushing, I turn back around to find the tiniest inkling of a grin on Clara’s face.
Kenneth {via}
     “All right, now stand sideways, so your left shoulder is facing the target. You are right handed, aren’t you?”
     “Yeah.” I turn.
     “Now watch me.” She steps so she’s facing away from me. “The end of the arrow with the feathers, or the fletching, attaches to the string. This is the nock.” She points to the end of the arrow. “It goes right underneath the nock indicator.” She points to a metal knob thing on the string of the bow. “Load the arrow so the odd-colored feather is facing out.” She puts it on, pulls back, and aims at the target at the opposite end of the clearing. When she releases the string, the arrow flies straight and lands perfectly in the center.
     “That was insane.”
     “Normal. Your turn.” She faces me, her arms crossed and her blonde braid falling over her shoulder. I didn’t hear the pride in her voice, but I swear she’s standing a bit straighter. “Go on,” she says, and I realize I’m staring at her.
     “Right. Uh…” I nock the arrow. She stops me, and I realize I have the odd-colored feather facing in. Fixing it, I step into position, pull back, and release. It flies far to the right of the target and lands in a tree. Cringing, I take a step back.
     “No, no, no. Don’t move. A good archer never moves her feet while shooting. If you do, it ruins your consistency.”
Clara {via}
     “But you were running while you shot at me. You know, when I first came here.”
     Clara rolls her eyes, as if she feels like she’s dealing with an incompetent student. But then I realize I am incompetent—when it comes to archery, anyway. I have no idea what I’m doing. “That’s different. I know what I’m doing. I was using a special bow, too. Besides—it’s not like I was trying to hit you.”
     “What kind of special bow?”
     “You’ll find out later. Shoot again.” She hands me another arrow.
     I nock it, this time correctly, and aim. Pointing the arrow farther left, I take a deep breath, hoping it will hit the target this time. It doesn’t. It goes to the left of the target. But instead of the tree, it lands amongst a whole bunch of half-dead, tall weeds.
     At the sound of the startled cry from the brush, my heart leaps, and my stomach contracts.


[1] [2] [3]

Bekah Joan


neglected songs

[i was looking through a playlist of mine that i haven't listened to in a long time. i had been sick of the songs. then, today, i played them and fell in love with the beautiful songs all over again.]

a few favorites:
seventeen-mat kearney
the violet hour-the civil wars
fireflies-ron pope
castle on a cloud-les miserables
lovely-twenty one pilots
i wouldn't mind-he is we
hallelujah-kate voegele
light up the sky-yellowcard
song for you-jenny & tyler
it's time-imagine dragons
i am yours-jason mraz
the lucky one-taylor swift

whole playlist here.

Bekah Joan



It was on January fifth, exactly one month before my seventeenth birthday. The beautiful sunrise greeted me as I walked through the still hallway of my house. It reminded me that while I'm coming to the end of my sixteenth year, I still have a whole month left to make the ending—and the beginning—as beautiful as I can.
Bekah Joan


Me, Being Artistic

{inspired by this lovely post}
I made this a few days ago. At first, it bugged me that the "s" is a smidge too far to the left, and that the "y" is weird. But, after awhile, the thing as a whole started growing on me.
I made something, I thought. And I think it's beautiful. Because I made it.
I don't really have any talent with paints or pastels or pencils (yes, even pencils. My handwriting is terrible, and as for my drawing skills...well. We won't go there). But I had so much fun making this. My hand shook for the most part, but once I got used to forming the letters after I practiced on newspaper, it came a little bit more easily.
It's not perfect. No, it's definitely not perfect. But I made it. I created it. And because of that, and because of what it stands for, I will cherish it and keep it on my wall.

Bekah Joan


A Year in Twelve Sentences

[my year, in twelve sentences.]
January taught me that there will be hard times when I feel down, but in the end I'll emerge, battered and dirty, but with a victorious smile.
February was full of beauty, good times, and a blooming sixteen-year-old girl.
March was when I caught up with life.
April was super long, full of poetry, and it taught me the importance of discipline.
May was when I really kicked my butt into gear, and warm weather finally showed up.
June was full of tears, kids, and lots of relationship-building between God and myself.
July brought along the end of camp, good friends, and the beginnings of piecing my life back together.
August was a big sloppy mess of both joy and sadness.
September was quite depressing, really.
October was when I learned that hot showers and a good night's sleep aren't always enough.
November was when I rediscovered beauty and why life is so worth it.
December was when I crawled out of the pit called "Fear" and started climbed the mountain called "Bravery."

Happy 2013. No, not 2014. 2013. We have a whole year to celebrate 2014. So, for right now, celebrate 2013 with me. It was beautiful, wasn't it?
I had a few hard months. Nothing horrible happened, but for some reason, they've been extremely hard.  But as you can tell, over the past two months,  I managed to turn that struggle into what will, one day, be a triumph. I'm at the edge the dock, ready to dive into the water. My fingers can almost brush against the stars. I'm learning to let God be my wings so I can finally fly.
And, without 2013, I wouldn't be here.
So, happy 2013.

Bekah Joan
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