Tag Archive | love

Irony and Dementors: Exceedingly Joyous Musings of a Hogwarts Drop-out

Guten tag, friends!

That is German for hello, by the way. I have taken it upon myself to teach my tongue the beautiful language of German. Not that I am completely confident that I will finish, but my language-learning-app says I’m already 9% fluent in German. That’s enough to keep me going.

I had better get right to the point instead of boring you with my linguistic endeavors.

Well, here goes.

The story begins on one blustery autumn dawn, before the sun came up, and the wind was coming so hard that all the trees turned into skeletons within minutes. I had just gotten my cup of Dandy Blend “coffee” and was now sipping it with great etiquette in the covers of my twin bed. I reached for my journal and started writing earnestly.

“Dear God,” I began, as I always do. The letter to the Almighty God spanned about two pages, and all through it something in my heart was bitterly wrong. I felt strange. I had no feeling of enthusiasm, and there was no sense that I was close to God as I had always felt. I began to pray aloud, but something was not right. It felt like a dark cloud was raining and thundering over my heart, and I wanted to open up my chest to check if that was possible. It felt very real. As I reached for my Bible, there was a strange impulse to withdraw my hand. I resisted, and opened the thin, fragile pages of God’s love letter to the book of Matthew.

Something was dreadfully wrong.

There was no wish, no crazed zeal to hear what God was speaking into me. I felt gross, ugly, wicked. What was happening? I did not want such feelings to be in my heart, yet there they were. I wanted to just sink into a hole and never come out. “God!” I cried. “Please, I do not understand!” There was something very funny going on inside of me. I had just finished that Hinduism paper I mentioned from the last post, so I concluded that it was the source of my troubled spirit.

As the day drew on, however, the dark clouds gathered over my heart in torrents, and the darkness descended on my countenance. I searched my mind, and was determined to figure out what was the source of my sadness and the indescribably miserable feeling that I was very far from God’s hands. I missed the joy that flooded my heart and the soothing sound of the Spirit’s voice deep within my soul. I thought I could hear Him sometimes, but lies were creeping in, and I decided that either it was God’s voice, or it was a lie. I did not know whether it was God or Satan whispering into my mind. It was scary that I couldn’t discern which was which. I instantly remembered the verse “My sheep know my voice.” If I didn’t know God’s voice, then…

I cried to my parents, I poured over my Bible and cried out to God in my journal, but there was inevitably something in the way. Something I knew very well was a block in my path, but liked too much to remove.

In a desperate attempt to free myself, I listened to praise music, decided I needed to stop being legalistic, and was determined to be free and happy. I just wanted to live in joy of Christ, after all! All I want to do is live for Jesus!

Didn’t I?

A thin beam of freedom came through my dark box of sadness on a day I did not expect. I was sitting lazily in the car as we drove home from a recent college visit in California. My sister and I had just started listening to Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban. It was turning out to be my favorite book in the series: Buckbeak the flying Hippogriff, Professor Lupin who was really a tormented, lonely werewolf in disguise, the new menacing dementors, Sirius Black, and Hermoine’s time-turner were elements that were fantastical and symbolic. I loved every word of it.

As I listened to Harry talk to Professor Lupin about his dementor complex, it made me think about my own predicament. Professor Lupin’s words were something that made me start thinking. Instead of quoting the book, which I tried to do, I will briefly explain Lupin’s lecture here.

He told Harry that being around a dementor was terrible because they sucked out all the happiness from you. They were cold, soulless beings who had no emotion, no sight, and no anything, really. If you were a immensely horrible person, you would get the “dementor’s kiss,” which is where your soul gets sucked out of you. Without your soul, there is nothing left for you to live for. There is no you.

It made me think of C.S. Lewis’s quote:

“We don’t have a soul. We are a soul. We happen to have a body.”

Instantly, I felt like my soul was slipping out of me. Myself was being drained from my body. My “self”—the self that is me. My identity. Me was leaving me. I was being drained and replaced with something all the more different.

Automatically, I knew what it was.

The hilarious irony of this grand story is the fact that Harry Potter was the dementor sucking the soul out of me. All I wanted to do was go to Hogwarts. I wore my Gryffindor scarf on cold days, I talked about Harry Potter at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I dreamt every night about being in a class with Snape or McGonnagal. It was horrifying.

After returning home, things began to change. Harry made me feel strange, and after asking Google a few questions about J.K. Rowling and such, I found my patronus! I decided that it was time for me to bid farewell to the world of Hogwarts. I got a bag and filled it with all my HP stuff. As sad as I was to see it all go, if this—this temporal, draining, sad stuff—was going to get in the way between me and Jesus, it had to go. I wanted my joy back. I did not want dementors sucking my identity out of me and filling it with nothing but empty stuff that’s all going to burn in the end.

I have missed Harry and friends a great deal. Ironically, we taught each other some great lessons, but in the end, I think I owe Harry both a hug for showing me the source of my bondage, and a smack on the nose (which would ultimately crack his circular glasses) for giving me such bondage.

After I closed the lid on our monstrous, green and very plastic garbage can, I felt like the sun was shining through those clouds and my heart started singing again. I felt like laughing, crying, singing, and dancing for joy. There was nothing that could take God’s love away from me. Nothing can ever steal my joy again, because I will not let it. Hogwarts failed to, and so will everything else. I started thinking.

I feel like the whole world is living in such a bondage. They’ve all got dementors hot on their trail, following them everywhere, and sucking people’s selves out of their bodies. Everyone has all got something that drains their joy, their energy, their vivacity for life, and in the end, their entire self has been murdered and is replaced with a horrific, lifeless figure who has no cause to live in the world.

I have started using the internet a little bit more for school, and some of the articles I get for my research projects are devastating. Sexual abuse is the media’s hot topic, pornography is ruining marriages (but is considered constitutional), the divorce rate is immensely high, North Korea wants to blow us up, racial tension divides our country, and millions of people are so tangled up in their strings that they do not know who to get out. They’ve all got dementors, and they do not know how to shoo them away.

They need the patronus of Jesus Christ.

Just speaking the name of Jesus Christ is even more powerful than “expecto patronum,” because it not only frightens away our dementors (like Harry’s patronus), but it destroys them, obliterates them, and reminds them that the devil is already defeated.

So, instead of listening to the Hermoine’s who tell you you’re only going to mess things up, go out there and yell the name of your Savior, your God, your King: Jesus Christ. Because you will save the day, you will bring light to others, and you will deliver yourself from bondage and freedom! So, I challenge you today, my lovely friends, to stand up and put off your bondage. Throw it off. Do not let it rule you anymore. You have so much to live for, and so much God has planned for you. Do not let a little dementor suck you dry just because you’re afraid to let it go. Ask God for that strength and courage to let go.

Maybe Harry and I will catch up one day, but I do not think that’ll happen. Besides, I kind of LOVE living my life dementor-free.

I love you, all!

Auf Wiedersehen,

Emily 🙂

P.S. Speak the words of Christ and speak your freedom with the power and authority that you have. Take Harry for example. For the love of gifs…

Expecto Patronum 😉

P.P.S. I have started work on my Rey costume for STAR WARS VIII! Yahoo! I am so excited. I made a few tweaks to my original design, but it is still going to be awesome. I will keep you all posted on it (once I get some nice pictures), and I’m going to work on it today after I finish waking up…even though it’s 2:00. heehee 😉

I’ll keep you updated on my German skills 😛

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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