When I Run to Ma

“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.”

– Abraham Lincoln

I am going to be bluntly honest. I must. Raw truth is the only way I can possibly illustrate my point.

There are a lot of people who do great things. They overcome great sickness and survive endless wars.

I haven’t been the victim of an endless war, but I am overcoming great sickness.

In January of this year, I went in to see my holistic doctor. Upon being checked, I was told that worms had invaded my body and my thyroid and adrenals were severely inflamed. My doctor, who was eager to expel the parasites from my body, gave me a six week plan that has lasted for five months. Gluten, dairy and sugar have come off of my menu and I take twenty pills and five medicinal liquids each day. Before bed each night, I am given a coffee enema and juiced fruits and vegetables.

I am reluctant in sharing these details with you all, but it is blunt truth, and as I said before, blunt truth is the only way I can express my feelings today.

As I am slowly coming out of this period of healing, I often selfishly pat myself on the back and look at how I have stuck to the healing process and how my efforts are beginning to come through.

Until a few weeks ago.

Most mornings I awake to the smell of boiling enema coffee, which I think happens to smell rather nice. It was about 7:30, which was thirty minutes before I had to head to work. Upon my arrival downstairs, I saw my mother picking up the large, heavy, and green dutch oven full to the brim of enema coffee. As the liquid poured out over the strainer eager to be free of the pot, Ma struggled to hold it up. I shrank back into the shadows of the stairs and realized what I had not in so long.

My ma is the one who pours endless cups of enema coffee into mason jars for my enema. Mom is the one who let go of all her old recipes to make gluten, dairy, and sugar free food. Mom is the one who prays for me every morning more than I even pray for myself. Mom is the one who makes juices every morning, reminds me to take my pills, and rubs inestimable amounts of essential oils on the ailing parts of my body. Mom is the one who rubs my cramping stomach at one in the morning when I begin to pass yuck. Mom is the one who stays up at night on the computer until three in the morning trying to find home remedies and solutions to ease my healing process. She is the one who stays up late doing the dishes for me when I cannot. She is my advocate and my body guard. She is my teacher and has given me the best education any human being alive could ask for.

Sometimes I ask myself why.

My mother does not school me at home because she has to. She does not pray and heal and care for me because she has to. She does nothing for me because she has to.

She does it for me because she loves me.

When I consider how I often treat her, my heart writhes within me.

Last week, I was desperately sad.

I do not remember what for, but I remember that I was distressed.

I cried in my bedroom, with my Bible in hand. Mother, coming to ask where a cell phone was, entered in and saw me weeping. Concern clouded her beautiful, big, brown eyes and she begged to know what was the matter. After telling her what I do not remember now, she smiled and, putting her hands on her hips like she always does when she gets a good idea, she proposed a thought.

I took that day to spend time with her and my sister and my brother instead of staying at home finishing up school. We spent the day laughing and looking for birds, beavers, fish, and bugs. We washed the car at John’s favorite wash, ate Chick-fil-A grilled nuggets and waffle fries (those are gluten, dairy, and sugar free if you are wondering), and I brought money to buy Emma and Sense and Sensibility at Barnes and Nobles (all the classics are on sale for $5 so go buy yourself some).

It was one of the best days I have had since the school year started.

And Mother, once again saving my day, declared it the first day of summer.

I do not know how one can make it without a mother, but I know it can dreadfully and distressingly be done.

As a child, I would often have frightening dreams. I always knew this:

When I ran to Ma, everything would be alright.

Me and Ma at Disneyland when I was five years old

I love you Mom,

Emily 😉

“My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. All I am I owe to my mother. I attribute my success in life to the moral, intellectual and physical education I received from her.”

– George Washington

Amen, George.

All the More Joyful

 So then Pilate took Jesus and scourged Him. And the soldiers twisted a crown of thorns and put it on His head, and they put on Him a purple robe. Then they said,”Hail, King of the Jews!” And they struck Him with their hands…

Then Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. And Pilate said to them, “Behold the Man!” 

Therefore, when the chief priests and officers saw Him, they cried out, saying, “Crucify Him, crucify him!”

…they cried out, “Away with Him, away with Him! Crucify Him!”

John 19:1-3, 5-6, 15

Good Friday.

The day when grown men’s eyes water and women wail.

The day that gives every man breath yet chokes us in the grip of solemn remembrance, agony, and death. Since I was a young child, I will honestly say that I have shown an unhealthy partiality towards the Friday before Easter Sunday.

I dreaded Good Friday.

Every year my heart writhes and struggles intolerably in the furious, bubbling cauldron of sorrow and death and sin.

A tradition that has lasted for a long time in my family is Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. We watch it every year during either Good Friday or the Saturday that Jesus was in the grave. Its explicit and accurate details of Roman crucifixion and Biblical truths is incredible, and every year I have to watch it with a box of tissues on command.

Once more, my heart writhes and struggles intolerably in that furious, bubbling cauldron of sorrow and death and sin.

Until this year.

It was naught but a few days ago, as I was bracing for my epic clash with Good Friday, that I sat up one night thinking. What I am about to say you might possibly think ridiculous, ludicrous, stupid. Think what you will, and say what you will, but I believe it, and that is what matters.

Anyway, as I was saying, I sat up one night thinking. I always think of Good Friday as a mountainous, terrible hump before sliding down into a heap of goodness: Easter. I sat thinking of how that hump was only a few days away. I decided that, since everyone else was asleep, I could talk to the One who was not: Jesus. I smiled and began my complaint. “Why do we have to remember Your death every year, Lord, when we know You have already conquered it? Why do we have to shed tears and pray prayers and remember sorrowful things? Why can we not simply celebrate the Good News that You are alive and offer us eternal life and salvation and everything?” I did not have to wait long for His answer. It was blown into my head and soul, and my heart skipped a beat then just like it always does whenever I get an answer. “If there was no awful torture on Friday, there would be no miracle or joy on Sunday.”

Shame flooded my mind and I wanted to cry.

I stared into the wall and thought.

Thought more.

Thought even more.

How selfish I had been. Neglecting to acknowledge pain and torture that I myself never even felt. The love that compelled the God who made me to willingly choose the path of mockery, beating, flogging, crucifixion, and ultimately, death.

I have heard that the whips the Romans used when flogging a criminal had animal bone and glass in-bedded in the cords of rope. The flogging exposed the bones in Jesus’ back and made Him bleed exorbitantly. Flogging was a death sentence to all criminals, but Jesus did not die when He was flogged.

I have been told that the cross Jesus carried halfway to Golgotha was 50-100 lbs, and he struggled to carry it on His raw, bleeding, and weak back.

I have listened to men say that when nailed to the cross, the nails passed through Jesus’s wrists and would have burst the Median nerve, which would have caused excruciating, burning pain in both of His hands. His legs would have been angled forty-five degrees and his feet nailed one atop the other. Due to this position, His ribs were angled up, causing unthinkable pain just to take a breath.

And He hung there, just like that, for six hours.

Such love I do not understand. Such love is so deep and infinite that our human minds will never understand.

Sometimes I wonder if He saw my face. I wonder if He thought of me up there on that cross. As the blood fell in streams from his gushing wounds, perhaps He thought of Emily. Perhaps he thought of you. When the temptation to end it all in the blink of an eye filled His tormented, wracked body, He pressed on because of us. “No, I must do it for her! I must do it for him!” You fill in the blank.

Such love is incredible, unimaginable, indescribable. I can not understand it. When Jesus was in the Garden of Gethsemane a few hours before He was arrested, He prayed:

And He was withdrawn from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and prayed, saying, “Father, if it is Your will, take this cup away from Me; nevertheless not My will, but Yours, be done.” Then an angel appeared to Him from heaven, strengthening Him. And being in agony, He prayed more earnestly. Then His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground.

– Luke 22:41-44

Jesus, knowing the torment, the betrayal, the humiliation and death He would face, willingly walked into it anyway. He was in so much pain even before the hour had come that he began to sweat blood! But He did it nevertheless. Why? Because He loves me, and He loves you.

Now when one sits back and thinks about that, it is incomprehensible. Then when you combine that with the fact that He never stayed dead, it is even more amazing!

That is why today, on this Good Friday, it was the best Good Friday. I wept in church, sang with tears on my face, and, though felt so strange, I was in anguish and felt the peace of Christ’s Great Love.

This Easter season, I encourage you to reflect upon the sacrifice Christ made on Good Friday. It makes it all the more joyful when you wake up on Sunday, exuberance fills your heart, and you remember that Christ is risen!

In Him,

Emily 🙂

“‘It means,’ said Aslan, ‘that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards…”

– C.S. Lewis, from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe

Concerning Snacks, Lent, and Inflamed Thyroids

Life demands a lot.

I guess I knew that before this year, but I guess you could say that it just “sank in.” Since turning fifteen last month, I’ve learned a lot of different things about life. Life has become…how can you say this without saying the word “dutiful?” I’ve taken on a lot more tasks these past few months, and I suppose that’s why this blog has been crying out for a post.

It all started on March the first: Ash Wednesday. I was very excited for the season of Lent to fall upon us, and I was just as anxious to fast “something.” I decided on snacks. That was hard enough to make me really pray and seek my Savior for the things that really mattered in our relationship. {I say hard enough because you people really don’t understand how many snacks I eat. I’m a hobbit when it comes to food. I eat breakfast, then I eat second breakfast, then I have elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper.

Ok, not literally, but seriously, I eat a LOT of snacks because I have a thyroid problem which always makes me hungry.}

Considering that, I was going to have LOTS of time to pray and seek the Lord during Lent. I carried myself well until Sunday when Mumsie Mum offered me a tortilla chip she had just fried up for dinner. It was a sample. It wasn’t a meal, so it was a snack in my mind. I instantly freaked out.

“No thanks, Ma. I’m good,” I replied innocently with a smile on my face. She scrunched her face. I never refused a taste-test. “No, here, try some,” she urged. I smiled again, a little uncomfortably, and said, that it was alright. In the end Ma was offended and I ended up having to divulge my secret and spill the beans about fasting snacks.

Worst move.

It turned out that Mom thought it was a heart-felt fast and a good one, but when one’s thyroid is out o’ whack, you can’t starve yourself; when you’re hungry, you MUST eat. So, I decided to give up fasting snacks.

I tried fasting second helpings at dinner, but I crashed and burned.

It was essentially impossible to fast for Lent, and I felt utterly despondent and defeated. I couldn’t possibly be right with God if I wasn’t fasting for Lent! Come on! This is Lent! I kept thinking “I need to fast something, I need to fast something…” but kerplunk. As soon as my thoughts took off, they fell right back down again.

So, here’s what I did in retaliation to my predicament: I skulked about and walked like a hunch-backed person. Kicking myself (not literally 😛 ) whenever I thought about Lent and how everyone fasts during this season. I couldn’t fast, and now the Lord wouldn’t see my love for Him. I continued to feel this way until Mom opened up the Bible and read from Matthew chapter nine, verse thirteen. Jesus re-quoted a verse from the book of Hosea:

For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.

– Hosea 6:6 NIV

It really hit home for me, as I had been stressing about not fasting for Lent. I love Jesus, I know I do. I thought that fasting would prove to Him and maybe even myself that I did love Him. Because of this passage, however, I realized that all God wants is my heart. He sees my love for Him, and He knows that I want a deeper relationship with Him, and I don’t need to fast to pray for those things. I can still pray for them whether I’m fasting or not.

One of those things that Christ has shown me is to have grace on myself. I won’t go to hell and He won’t abandon me because I’m not fasting for Lent. Just because I feel sick from thyroid ailments and can’t serve in Children’s Ministry doesn’t mean I’m an evil person. The Lord desires mercy, not sacrifice. He wants me to love and observe Him rather than be the perfect Christian. He wants me to live my life for Him, and whatever comes my way, to accept the circumstances and carry myself as the young lady He has equipped me to become.

Jesus loves me this I know.

That line is one of my favorites, and I think it can be turned around to look like this:

I love Jesus, this He knows.

For my love will tell Him so.

Jesus knows that I love Him. He sees my heart that yearns to please Him and live in His ways. He knows all, and sees all and since He can see the inner depths of my soul, He can see my hunger and my thirst. I don’t have to prove my love to my Maker. He already knows everything. I don’t have to convince Him of my love.

I hope this encourages you, my dear readers! I feel as though a burden has been lifted off my shoulders and I can let go of legalism and unnecessary stress. Having a thyroid problem has been a gift from God. It’s shown me how to NOT be stressed. Before I knew my thyroid was inflamed, I was constantly stressing about everything. EVERYTHING. I’m not kidding, everything. Recently, however, I learned that high stress levels are bad for your thyroid. So, this has made me calm down. It’s made me totally “chillax.” Living life with no extra freak out moments and panic attacks has made my walk with Christ stronger and also, ironically, my thyroid. I am happy to declare that on my last visit to the doc’s office my thyroid was not inflamed.

Love ya,

Emily 🙂

P.S. Here’s a little cosplay update 🙂

So, this Friday is opening night for Beauty and the Beast! Eep, I am very excited! So, I’m getting last minute preparations done on the Village Belle. I’m not giving anything away until opening night (I’ll post picks then). Here’s one cute non-give-away picture for your enjoyment.

Haha, I know it’s pretty boring, but trust me, you’ll be glad I saved the finished product for Friday.

Love you!

I Shall Not Want

I bit my lip. I squirmed uncomfortably. I sighed. I knew no one else sitting in the chairs knew what my heart was feeling. But I did, and therefore I wanted to run and hide in a hole from the truth in my heart. What made me feel violently compelled to shrink away from my own soul? Perhaps it was what the speaker spoke. He spoke it with passion. “Our identity comes from being involved in our community and from good Christian relationships with other brothers and sisters!” In the back of my mind I was thinking, “Wait a sec, that doesn’t sound right…” and in the front of my mind I was thinking, “You need to be more involved in people and your church, girl!” When the last hymn was sung I bolted from the room in pursuit of my mother, who had left early because my little brother Joshua was getting fussy during the session. He lasted an hour without moving, but babies will be babies, I suppose. As I walked out of the building into the biting, bitter January bluster, I held my gloved hands up to my face to warm my freezing cheeks. “Was the speaker right?” I wondered. “Is it wrong to not be in a current friendship or deep relationship with another believer?”

That was the first of my always revolving thoughts. It haunted me awhile, and everywhere I went it always seemed like every speaker and pastor put such a HUGE emphasis on the Christian “community.” I’m not anti-social, but I’m in a season right now where it’s hard to get plugged in with a bunch of Christian peeps. I feel condemned very often for not being in a circle with lots of Christian familiars.

I’ve been working hard lately. High school is so overrated, for all you elementary and middle-schoolers who dream of high school. It’s not what Disney makes it out to be, trust me. Algebra, Geometry, Biology tests, essays, reports. It’s a lotta hard work, no kidding (my favorite subject, however, is probably literature…I’m in the process of reading the beautiful novel from eighteenth century England: Pride and Prejudice – it’s got to be my favorite read this year and one of my new all-time favorite books). Anywaaayyyyy, back on topic. I’m a busy girl. Plus, I’m an athletic girl. This spring is my first hunter jumper show season, so I’m getting cooking with my beautiful equestrian sport. I’m getting all set to work with my Dad in his logistics company, and I’ve got SAT’s this summer. *Exhaling for a brief moment.* It’s been so hard to get anything else done, and I’ve been trying to write this post for a while! I barely had time today!

In a nutshell, The Lord’s got me in a season right now (click HERE for a post about seasons) where it’s simply impossible to have some friends. But, whenever I got to church or hear a message on the radio, etc., I feel condemned for not being apart of relationships with other believers.

Christian friends are beautiful friends. I’m not against having friends. I wouldn’t mind some friends about now, trust me. But I’ve learned to let friends come into my path, not go out seeking them. I’ve learned to let them come to me. Let God lead them into my life. If He wants me to have a Sam Gamgee, then he’ll give me one. But for now, I’m without friends…or am I?

The truth suddenly dawned on me when I left the building into that biting, bitter January bluster. I had had it up to here, as my Ma would say, and I couldn’t tolerate that sinking feeling anymore. God knew that, and that’s why he gave me this thought: “Sometimes people are so concerned about the community outside of the house that they forget to see the community already in the house.” My heart leaped and I’m sure if my chest wasn’t there to push it down it would’ve soared beyond the moon. I turned to my mother, and told her of my newfound revelation and she rejoiced with me.

I had it.

The community given to us is the community we must serve.

The community God has given me at present is not a community outside my home. My community is my family. My Mum (lol, Ma), my Dad, my sister and my brothers. They are my friends. Friends that can never be taken away or friends whose ties can never be severed.


Mother and Father of Asgard and Hulkie Me

What is so often missed is the community you are born into; the community of the family. If anyone can understand you more than you understand yourself, it is your mother who has already walked in your footsteps. If anyone can make you laugh harder than you ever believed you could, it’s your Father and your little brothers. If anyone with whom you can talk about handsome male persons of your liking and not feel ashamed, it’s your mother and your sister.

My duty is to Christ, my family, to the people whom I love (and that’s a lotta people!). I love them more than I could any friend or acquaintance. I share more with them than I would any other familiar or colleague in this world. They mean more to me than a thousand horses or a million dollars. I do believe I would die for them.

My dear friends, look to your family. They were the first friends that the good Lord ever gave you. The first person you ever locked eyes with was probably your father or mother.


Families are so often overlooked, and yet they were the first system God ever created in human nature. My family has become precious to me more than ever and through God’s teaching and lessons, I have not want for any friends. God has been my shepherd and I am no longer in constant want. Let God bring them if he may, but for now I am content.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

– Psalm 23


Beefy Bro Joshua


When you have way too much fun taking selfies with your four-year-old brother.

What better friends could a girl ask for? Amen.


Emily 🙂

P.S. I don’t know if I ever told you guys how to pronounce Namárië. It’s Nah-marr-eeey-eh. Thanks guys. I’m a big Tolkien junkie…love ya

Welcome, 2017!

Hey, everyone!

Happy New Year! I hope y’all had a beautiful Christmas-y season! I kept telling myself to write a Christmas/New Year post, but I was literally swept away with the tide and every time I got myself set to blog, something happened. I haven’t heard any news of what to blog about in my daily worships in the OLGMC (over-sized lime green moon chair), so I’m still waiting for a good topic. I know I’ve been MIA for a month, but I can tell the Lord’s cooking up something good to teach me, so sit tight. Also, the Legolas Cosplay Tutorial is just about finished being cooked up, so I’m excited! Getting ready for POTC in May, guys and I’m debating whether or not Beauty and the Beast is happening in March. I’ve got my fifteenth birthday next month on the thirteenth, so totally stoked! I’ll keep you guys posted, so stay tuned…God has got some good stuff he’s gonna divulge this year! Yippee-kai-yay (LOL, Mom)!

In Christ,

Emily 🙂

Let Us Pray

“I would rather die than do something which I know to be a sin, or to be against God’s will.”

– Joan of Arc

Dear friends,

A few weeks ago (November sixth and the thirteenth) was the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. I received an email from Blog for Asia on the twenty-first of November imploring me to write a post and make my readers aware of the intense persecution followers of Christ face in countries around the world. I haven’t written a Blog for Asia post in a while, for which I regret. But, I couldn’t let this one go. It has been literally pounding in my heart and has not been silenced ever since I received the email.


So, I read a story.

It was a story that was not meant to be kept to oneself. It was a story meant to be shared. It was the story of a man. A man imprisoned for believing in the one true God.

His name was Roshan*. As a boy, he called himself a Christian, but never truly entered into a personal relationship with Christ. Despite this, he became the president of his youth group and the secretary of his church. In the village that he lived were a group of rebels who put an impending danger upon the hearts of all the villagers, including Roshan and his newlywed wife, Lalasa*. They fled to a village one hundred fifty miles away. In this village, Roshan and his wife became the parents of a son and a daughter. With more mouths to feed, Roshan was overwhelmed. He felt the need for a change.

When Roshan’s brother, Aran*, came home on break from Bible College, he would tell his brother often of the love Christ had for him. Suddenly, Roshan, along with his family, knew what change needed to be made. Roshan enrolled in Bible College. While there, he listened to many missionaries share their stories of the field. The more and more he listened to them, he too wanted to be a missionary and put his life on the line to share the love of Christ with others. That was exactly what he did.

He became a missionary and moved to a village. However, he was completely unaware that the same members of the rebel group he had fled from many years ago were scattered among the inhabitants of this village. But still, he went.

During the first year, he and his message were mocked at and shamed. It wasn’t until the year had passed, that Roshan’s endurance paid off. His ministry began to prosper and lives were changed. He began construction on a church.

Midway through the construction of the church, falsehoods about Roshan began to spread. Unknown to him, many said he was a member of the rebel group that resided in the village. While at the grocery store, Roshan was taken by police, asked questions, and before he could realize what was happening, was thrown into a cell. Lalasa continued construction on the church whilst her husband was away and frequently went to visit him.

While in prison, Roshan ministered to his fellow prisoners and began a prison ministry.

After two and a half years of life behind bars, Roshan was liberated. Him and Lalasa haven’t ceased to support and uphold their community in Christ. They are very aware of the risk they take, but they are even more aware that what they believe is worth any persecution they could ever face.


*Names of people and places may have been changed for privacy and security reasons. Images are GFA stock photos used for representation purposes and are not the actual person/location, unless otherwise noted.

What do you feel? I know after I read Roshan’s story I felt almost ashamed. The price of Christianity is so much higher in other places in the world than it is here in America. The consequences of Christianity that millions face include shame, public embarrassment, called a lunatic, torture, and death. It made me think of the story of Joan of Arc.

One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.

– Joan of Arc

Now, you must know that Joan of Arc is my very favorite female figure in European history. Called by the age of thirteen by God to lead the people of France to freedom from the people of England, she was burned at the stake for witchcraft and heresy by the English at the age of nineteen. She triumphed victoriously and had the prince/dauphin of France crowned King, just as she said she would. Soon after she was burned, the Hundred Years’ War ended and France was free from English force.


I feel that Joan is my very best friend, and when I heard what modern folks say about her, I wanted to avenge her. Today, Joan still burns on the stake of Hollywood, society, and history. Many make her look like a superstitious, raving lunatic who was never chosen by God at all but coincidentally.

It’s stories like Roshan’s and Joan’s that puts our lives into perspective. I was chosen for this task: the task of making my readers realize the excruciating and horrifying truth: millions around the world on this very day are tortured and imprisoned for their faith. They are mocked, laughed at, and made helpless.

Friends, it is our duty to pray fervently for our brothers and sisters who are persecuted daily for their faith. For that is who they are: our brothers and our sisters who live a world away from us. Men like Roshan are our brothers and women like Joan are our sisters. As their Christian family, we have an obligation to support them and stand with them in prayer. That is just what the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church is all about. Yet, it should not just be observed for two days in November, but everyday, for everyday they suffer.

Guys, I know I’m not usually this gloomy, but this must be something we all should be aware of. I urge and beseech you immaculately to pray regularly for our brothers and sisters who endure indescribable plights for the cross of Christ.

Join me in praying for at least five minutes a day for the persecuted brethren.

They are people just like you and me. Burning inside with a fiery passion for Christ, yet they are in danger for proclaiming it. What if that was me? Wouldn’t I be comforted to know that somewhere, across the ocean, a Christian just like me is praying for me and my family.

Let us pray,


Legolas Cosplay Photoshoot 2016

Ahhh, peeps. Soak it up, ’cause here it is! I finally got to it: The Official Legolas Cosplay Photoshoot. The tutorial will be released in a few days/next week, so be prepared for more awesomeness. Other than that, soak up these photos, people. Have a Happy Thanksgiving, too! P.S. I couldn’t use my arrows for this photoshoot just because the park authorities say you can’t carry without a permit. So, I don’t wanna break the law 🙂 . Anyway, enjoy:















When your twin gets annoying… 🙂












Legolas Greenleaf Cosplay: Complete 🙂 Thank you, Lord, for cosplay.

Farewell for now (Namárië),

Emily 🙂