The Diary of a Fictional Character in Love

Alas, I am afraid NaNoWriMo has ended, but my story has not. So far, you've heard from Lorcan and Elroy. But it's my turn now. We're still writing in our journals, since Jill has not yet completed the novel. In my opinion, giving us journals was a great idea. I mean, seriously, I'm one of two girls surrounded by a group of loud, smelly boys. A journal is long overdo.

You see, none of the guys would want to sit through me talking (except Corlan, but . . . he's kind of an old guy and he went back home some time ago). And, of course, Princess Neala is a girl, but I doubt she wants to hear me whine about feelings and other things that bother me.

So, that's what you're here for. :) I suppose I should first introduce myself and then my predicament.

My name is Fiona Harren. I'm seventeen years old and I am currently traveling with a group of nobodies (and one somebody!) to find and rescue King Ieli, bringing him back to safety. My real home is in Hanoria, Dalithorne. My middle name is Arlene and I hate it (so don't you dare tell anyone). I dream of being rich and able to afford nice things. I'd also like to live somewhere nicer. I stay with my mother, but I spend a lot of time hanging out with my friend, Driscol, who runs a bar in our small town. I have recently fallen in love with the most incredible guy on the planet and . . . Well, that's where the predicament comes in.

It's natural for people to fall in love. It happens all the time, everyday, all around us. Sometimes it's love at first sight and, at other times, a friendship slowly blossoms into something beautiful. In my case, it was the first.

Rylan Laury is his name. He has shaggy, blond hair and eyes so blue the sky can't even compete. It's no wonder it was love at first sight. But, you see, love at first sight won't always work out, for a person has to have at least some sort of personality. And let me tell you, Rylan Laury's personality completes him. He is, indeed, perfect, in every sense of the word.

In fact, just the other day he--

Oops. Hold on. Jill needs me for something. (I think it has something to do with my father, who recently returned. That's a LONG story. I'll whine about it when I come back.)

~ * ~ * ~

"I think I'm gonna throw up," muttered Elroy, scanning the page once more to make sure he hadn't missed anything important. " 'His eyes so blue the sky can't even compete'? I mean, really, what is that?"

"Dude, it's called love," Donovan explained, reading over his brother's shoulder. "Maybe she's just faking, though. I mean, why would she leave something like this out in the open?"

Gael rolled his eyes from where he was leaning up against the trunk of a tree, sharpening a stick with his knife. "Isn't it a little childish to be messing with something that doesn't belong to you?"

Elroy snorted. "Yeah, because you're such a saint." He shook his head and stood up. "Just mind your own business for now. It's not like we're doing anything wrong. She left it here."

Gael never responded, so Donovan turned back to his brother. "Maybe he's right. We shouldn't read her diary. Girls don't like it when guys invade their privacy."

"And how do you know?"

"I got caught reading Neala's journal earlier . . ."

Elroy sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll just put it back where I found it." And he did, but not without scribbling something of his own on the page first.

~ * ~ * ~

I'm back. SO much happened while I was gone, but I'll have to tell you about that later, because it's getting dark and I don't want to get too off subject before I have to stop writing. Where was I . . .?

. . .

. . . . . . . . .

What.

WHAT?!?!?!?!

Okay. That's it. I won't write anymore tonight. In fact, I might throw you into the forest to be forgotten forever. Thanks a lot, Diary. Now excuse me while I go wallow in my embarrassment.

~ * ~ * ~

Slamming her diary shut and letting out a scream muffled by her hand over her mouth, Fiona Harren truly did wallow in her embarrassment. She made a big scene, pacing back and forth, muttering angrily to herself, wallowing in her embarrassment some more, and then finally deciding to simply collapse on the ground, since there was no one there to see her. Everyone had gone down to the lake when she went to retrieve her diary.

She officially hated her life.

And she hated it even more when, suddenly, she opened her eyes, and realized that, not only was it dark outside, but directly above her stood Rylan Laury himself, concern written all over his beautiful features.

She stood up quickly, brushing the dirt off her clothes and trying to make her hair look presentable (of course it never did). "Rylan . . ." Her voice trailed off and she could feel her face turning all shades of red, so she ducked her head.

"What's wrong?" he questioned casually, like he knew nothing about what had happened, like everything was fine, when it definitely wasn't. "Why were you sleeping on the ground?"

"I wasn't sleeping," she explained quickly. I was trying to forget about how perfect you are.

He nodded slowly. "Oh. Well, we're about to have dinner, if you're hungry."

"Berries again?"

"What else?"

She rolled her eyes and then the two of them fell into awkward silence as the crickets chirped around them. She was still kicking herself for ever writing in that stupid diary. It was the worst decision she'd ever made and she'd never stop regretting it. But Rylan knew everything now and there was nothing more to hide. It was both thrilling and terrifying.

"I'm so sorry about the diary," she blurted, causing him to jump in surprise. "I didn't know you'd see it, otherwise I would have never admitted those things. But I didn't know anyone would read it and I didn't realize you'd--"

"Wait, what?" he asked and she wondered if he was just trying to make her feel better.

"The diary!" She groaned pathetically and ran a hand through her short hair. "I'm sorry, but I really can't take any of it back! I mean, I want to -- trust me, I want to -- but it was all true! Your eyes are more beautiful than the sky and you are perfect! And I know it sounded stupid, but that's just how I feel and I completely understand if you never want to talk to me again!" She took a deep breath, looking right at him and feeling almost free. It was finally out in the open. "I feel the way I feel, Rylan. You don't have to feel the same way, but I do expect you to accept the fact that--"

"What diary?" he questioned, just as she exclaimed, "I'm in love with you!"

Both fell eerily silent, staring at each other with wide eyes. Brody shouted at them from a distance, saying something about eating berries, but neither one responded, or moved, or breathed. They only stared at each other, unsure of what to say or do next.

"U-Um," she stuttered, trying to avoid his gaze as her face started turning red again, "you didn't . . . read my diary?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "No. Why would I do something like that?"

"Then who . . ." She looked up. "But there was a note from someone in there! It said you'd read it all. Your name was signed at the end. It had to be you!"

He shook his head slowly. "Nope."

Now utterly humiliated, she slowly turned around and started back toward the journal she'd left next to her favorite, large, oak tree. "I know who it was," she muttered, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never come out. "Just leave me alone for now. Go eat."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he turned and started back up the hill, where the others, oblivious to what had just happened, were waiting for him.

She picked up her diary and quill, sighing again as she cursed herself for ever agreeing to write in that stupid journal.

~ * ~ * ~

Dear Diary,

Elroy is so dead.

Oh, and I hate you.

Love, Fiona. :)

Dear Diary/Journal Thing, Elroy Was Here

Yo. <----- That's the cool word I discovered this morning. No one ever uses it in Dalithorne. According to my author, yo is a word used to attract someone's attention. It can also be used as a greeting. In this case, it was both. Right . . .?

In honor of finishing Pretenders by Lisi Harrison in four days during NaNoWriMo, Jill assigned me and the guys (plus Neala) journals. I know. What you're thinking is probably the exact same thing I'm thinking, Journal. What. A. Stupid. Idea. We don't need journals! We're adventurers! We're men! We can handle ourselves and we don't have to write about our feelings to do so!

But she said if we write in our journals every single day, we'll get free food.

Yes, that's right.

She starves us. Such a slave driver. It's supposedly "for a good cause," but I doubt starving us could ever save some kittens.

Anyway, Donovan (my few-minutes-younger, twin brother) doesn't mind. He still has month-old candy in his pockets, so he won't be going hungry. But he writes, anyway. He was so excited when Jill brought this idea up. He grabbed a quill and started writing immediately. I mean, what is he? A girl? No man should ever have so many feelings welling up inside that he must write them the moment the idea is suggested to him.

No.

We put a fight, we argue, we lose the argument to a girl, and then we write. :)

. . . Phew. Close one. Jill was reading over my shoulder. I had to write that.
 
I'm not speaking to her anymore, not after what happened this morning. We're not on the best terms and I'm making sure she knows that. She deserves more than just the silent treatment after the way she treats her characters.

(P.S. Lorcan's blog was a lie. Characters don't control the story and, even if they try to, the author still dictates it.)

You see, I started a food fight in King Morain's castle and what did I get? Almost arrested.

Donovan resists arrest and what does he get? A kiss from the princess of Spirulous. Like he's all that. I'll have you know, he's a dork. (That's another word I learned today. It means, "a stupid or foolish person.") All he used to do back in the village was cook, or help Mama in the shop, or do all his chores like a perfect kid. He was nothing like me: a bad boy with ladies chasing after me left and right. I'm the exciting one. If anyone deserves to kiss a princess, it's me.

Oh, well. She didn't like it, anyway. I could tell by the way her face got all red. She asked to come with us after that, when we were heading out of the castle (more like running from guards, but whatever). I think it was because she saw me coming. I don't blame her, really. I am devastatingly handsome. You know that. ;)


Anyway, I really don't like the way Jill has set things up. I mean, what made her think I wanted to be with a bunch of idiots on this journey? Granted, she probably didn't want (a) girls, because they'd fight over me, or (b) smart people, because then it wouldn't be as obvious that I'm the greatest of all characters. But, you know, it's a lot of pressure being this cool. Jill really likes to put all that work on my shoulders, but I take it like a man, since I am one.

Which brings me back to the first part about why I shouldn't have a diary.

She said if she had to write all November, we did, too. Gael was brave enough to challenge her, but he lost when she threatened to have Morella (his five year old sister) appear and tag along for the journey. She threatened Rylan with having Fiona show up. She threatened me with Mama. That's why I'm writing right now.

I'm not sure whether or not Mama or Fiona will show up, but I've read some of Jill's ideas. Lying to her characters . . . Tsk, tsk. Poor Gael won't even see it coming. I don't plan on telling him, not now. There's no way I'm sticking my neck out and risking my mama showing up. She's scary when she's mad.

"Just write about how you feel," Jill explained earlier, as we all stared at her like she'd grown seven heads. "Or write about your day. I don't care what you write as long as it's nonfiction and something you wrote yourself." Lorcan groaned and then she added, "Fine. Write fiction if you want, but you have to write it yourself."

IMHO (a phrase I learned, it stands for "in my humble opinion"), she didn't give us enough details. So, I don't know what to write. I think I'll just sit here and pretend I'm writing. Oh, wait. I am writing. I guess this counts, since it's taking up space. Word. Word. Word.

Elroy.
 
Plemmons.

Is.

Awesome.

Wow. This is nonfiction. :D

Well, I guess I'll get going for now. My author is about to start writing again and apparently I'm needed on the set. Or something.

BTW (stands for "by the way"), Jill has the key to your lock, Journal. Please don't let her open you. Resist. Be strong, even if she tries to read the true words I've written, don't let her. She will take it and turn it into something else. You're the last bit of freedom of speech I have.

Great. Now she's yelling at me. With a smirk on her face. Her blog is open. I know where this is heading.

BE STRONG, DIARY MANLY JOURNAL WITH FEELINGS OF ONLY AWESOMENESS WRITTEN IN YOU.

With Love From Characters Who Hate Your Plot :)

Hello. It is I, Lorcan Madill. My author left her blog open again and, since I recently discovered all the terrible things she's going to do to us -- particularly me -- this November, I decided it wouldn't hurt to type something up here. I should have just started this post pretending to be her, but it's too late. I'm already here and I'm not erasing anyhting anything.

So, I considered writing a story about Jill and seeing how she likes it, but Donovan won't let me. He says it's too dangerous. He's probably right. However, instead of a story about my author, I'll write one about myself that'll be ten times better than that silly novel of hers. Prepare to be amazed.

~The Legendary Lorcan and Friends~

He stood there, surrounded on all sides by the vicious knights who'd come to take the princess back to her palace. There was no escaping. With their swords drawn and their bodies fully covered in armor, they were prepared for a fight and a fight they would get.

You see, they weren't about to battle just anyone. They were going to battle Lorcan Madill, the greatest fighter Dalithorne had ever seen. He'd won numerous fights against villainous thugs and his idiotic friends. He wasn't well-known, but only because anyone who had ever crossed him never lived to tell the tale.

He stared at his enemies, confidence evident in his brown eyes. This was going to be a piece of cake.

"Your eyes aren't brown," came a voice suddenly, startling our protaganist and all the knights surrounding him. "They're gray."

Lorcan rolled his eyes as he turned to face Elroy, who had been given no permission to enter his story. "I think I would know what color my own eyes are. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to save my darling Cahira from those evil men over there."

Elroy smiled mischievously as he stared at something behind his friend the person he was annoying. "Ah, but your darling has already been saved."

"What?" Whirling around to see who could have possibly ruined his story further, Lorcan spotted none other than Donovan Plemmons, Elroy's brother, running away from the sea of distracted knights, holding the hand of Princess Cahira, who looked rather ticked off. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"This isn't realistic at all," said Cahira, who let go of Donovan's hand and glanced back at everyone else. "If you're going to write about me, at least don't make me a damsel in distress."

"But you are one."

She shot a glare in the direction of a smirking Rylan Laury, who had appeared out of no where. "Who said you could be in this story? And, if you're here, you might as well help me out. Don't be such a guy."

He rolled his eyes, climbing into one of the nearby trees and motioning for everyone else to quiet down. "I hear something."

Elory snickered to himself, elbowing Lorcan playfully. "Careful, guys! He's thinking! This could get dangerous." And then a hole appeared in the ground beneath his feet and he fell straight down it, never to return again. Even as he dropped further and further, his voice could still be heard, "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO MEEEEEEE!"

"It's my story, so, yes. I can." Lorcan grinned proudly. "Now I see why Jill likes this stuff!"

"Something's coming," Rylan told them again, but Lorcan ignored him, snapping his fingers. The princess appeared in his arms and he was nearly giggling with glee before the knights all took a step forward, pointing their swords at him. He held Cahira closer to him, closing his eyes and smiling. "If writing is always a dream like this, please don't wake me up."

"Lorcan?"

"What is it, darling?"

"Put me down."

"My apologies, Princess, but that cannot happen. If I put you down, I'll wake up."

Pushing herself out of his arms, the princess laid flat on the ground with everyone else just before a humongous creature swooped down, nearly hitting all of them.

Actually, it did hit Lorcan, who found himself suddenly hundreds of feet in the air, falling from the sky. He considered screaming, and even fainting, but, after a while, he finally came to his senses and realized that neither of those things would be very manly, especially not when he was the best fighter in all of Dalithorne. So, instead, he closed his eyes and smiled just as he had earlier, not even thinking about how it would feel when he collided with the treetops or whatever it was he found his face crashing into, several seconds later.

"Hey, Lorcan!" someone shouted at him over the wind. Looking up, he recognized Princess Neala Fulton, that crazy chick who followed Gael around everywhere. She looked pretty enchanting, sitting there with the wind blowing through her hair and her smile lighting up the cloudy sky. (Really. You write yourself into my story to say something cheesy like that? -_-)

Wait. Why was the wind blowing through her hair? He looked down cautiously, holding on for dear life when he realized he was on the head of something green and scaly.

A dragon? Okay. Who gave the crazy girl a dragon?

"This is fun, right?" she exclaimed. Her eyes were sparkling with joy, or maybe it was just the wind, but, either way, she looked like she was having a good time. At least that made one of them. "I've almost figured out how to steer this thing!"

"Almost . . .?" It was true that there were not a lot of things that scared Lorcan Madill, but he figured anyone in his place would be terrified, so he took a moment to close his eyes and hope he'd make it out of this to tell the guys he'd survived yet another life threatening situation.

She giggled, looking more like a hyena than a princess. "Hold on tight."

He was about to ask what she was going doing when he suddenly felt himself sliding downward as the dragon started a nose dive toward the treetops. "Hey! No! Neala, go up, up! What's wrong with you?!"

"The others are probably worried about you," she explained, like it all made perfect sense. He finally allowed himself to scream as they got closer and closer to the trees and, finally, she knocked him right into a branch, sending him free falling toward the earth again. "Sorry, Lorcan!" And then she was gone, her half hearted apology echoing in his pounding head.

He was pretty sure Neala had just done the knights' job for them, but he couldn't bring himself to hate her for wanting to have some fun. So, he shouted for someone to rescue him as he hit branch after branch, getting closer and closer to the forest floor.

He was almost to the bottom of the first layer of branches when, suddenly, he hit something, hard, and went right back up into the air again, this time with someone else in front of him. "GET OUT OF MY STORY!" he screamed.

Gael barely glanced back at him, but the icy glare was unmistakable. "Fine. Next time I'll let you drop to your death."

Lorcan made a face, but didn't say anything he'd regret later. "What were you doing down here, anyway? It's dangerous for dragons to fly this low."

"Well, since that idiotic princess is set on getting herself into danger, I didn't have much of a choice, now did I?" His jaw clenched and he leaned closer to the dragon, a red one Elroy had named Phoenix, just as they soared upward, away from the treetops. "She took one of the dragons when I wasn't looking. She's more trouble than she's worth."

"So, you're just going to chase after her? Can't you at least drop me off?"

Gael glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. "Do you really want me to?"

He was about to say yes, but thought better of it. "Nah, I changed my mind . . ."

They were just catching up with Princess Neala when they flew right into a cloud and then, suddenly, they were back on the ground, with no dragons in sight and Neala right by their side. "What happened?" she asked.

Donovan shrugged. "You guys kind of pushed us out of the story. Oh, besides, Fiona and Driscol showed up."

Fiona waved enthusiastically and Driscol offered a nod, smiling a bit.

Lorcan sighed dramatically, leaning his head up against a nearby tree. "Why me?" he muttered pathetically. "Why me? Why can't you guys just stay out of my story and let me save Cahira from all the knights?" He cast a sideways glance at the knights, who weren't even concerned with the princess anymore. They were now all sitting down, laughing and telling stories. "See? Even they aren't working with me."

Rylan smirked, hopping down from the tree to stand next to his best friend. "And you expected all of us to cooperate why . . .?"

"Because you guys are my friends! And you could have been in the story, but no one got to see my awesome skills thanks to you and everyone else."

They all fell silent, each of them exchanging guilty glances and apologetic expressions. "We'll try to let you have the spotlight next time," Driscol promised and everyone else nodded.

"No, you won't," came a new voice. They all froze.

No.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

There stood Jill, only a few feet away, Elroy by her side. She had her eyebrows raised and she wore a look of accusation. "Which one of you hacked my blog?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Wasn't me," Elroy said softly, sticking his tongue out at Lorcan.

The other boy shot him a look that probably could have killed, if he had anymore control over this story. "Why are you back?"

The redhead shrugged. "The plot needed me, I guess."

"What plot? I'm not even sure this is the same story anymore."

Jill smiled, walking over to Lorcan and cocking her head to one side. "So, tell me, what happened today?"

He shook his head. "I was going to write a story while you were gone, but all the characters wanted to do their own thing and it was ridiculous! They didn't follow the script. They wouldn't even listen to me, for crying out loud!" He shot an unpleasant glare at everyone surrounding them. "They made up their own minds and this story didn't go anything like I planned. Idiots."

She smiled wider now, but tried not to show how happy she was. "So, what have you learned today, Lorcan?"

"Never hack your blog?"

"No."

"Never write with friends in the room?"

"Nope."

"Never write at all?"

She shot him a look.

"Never let your author participate in NaNoWriMo?"

"YES!" everyone else shouted and Jill rolled her eyes. "That's not it either."

"I don't know!"

"What everyone learned today," she began, "is exactly how the author feels. She--"

Elroy gasped. "Or he!"

"--Or he can have something brilliant in mind and the characters often want to do something entirely different. Unfortunately, there's nothing the author can do about that, other than just go along with what the characters want and see where the story goes. Sooo . . ."

Lorcan looked down, biting his lip as he thought. "So . . ." A wild smile appeared on his face as he glanced up at the others. "So that means that no matter what you have planned for this November, we're in control!"

The others were silent as they exchanged looks of excitement, but it wasn't long before they caught on. "YEAH!"

"Whoo! Characters rule!"

"We're the real authors!"

"Have fun with NaNo, Jill!"

"BEST. DAY. EVER."

"Stop quoting Tangled, you idiot. We're not supposed to know about that movie."

"Who are you calling an idiot, idiot?!"

"Ladies, please. You're all gorgeous."

"ELROY!"

"Hey, where'd the dragons go?"

"Don't. You. Dare."

Jill sighed, but this sigh was a happy one. She loved them all, as crazy as they might have been. So, with a smile on her face and her head held high, she eagerly awaited November 1st, when she and many other writers would begin their novels and write about characters that would grow very dear to them over the next month. She was about to publish the blog post, but Lorcan jumped in front of her. He had to finish his story first.

And so, Lorcan Madill overcame everything he was forced to endure. Although he went up against lazy knights, a crazy princess with a dragon, and the wrath of his author, he survived, but not without many battle scars. And as his tale comes to an end, he realizes he has learned a valuable lesson. He doesn't remember which lesson that was, but he knows he learned one. So, with a crazy smile upon his face, his story ends until November, when he and all the other characters will return, writing their own story and giving Jill the credit. :)

The End.

Closed Doors Are Opening and the Light Is Shining In

Lately, I've been realizing something important about life, God, and myself. It's kind of hard to explain, so bear with me.
  I've come to a place in my life where I don't want to care about anything except my Heavenly Father and what He wants me to do. It sounds simple, and, really, it is. The world tries to get in the way, though, and it has a way of distracting us without us even noticing.
  Picture this: You feel fine. Life is going exactly the way you want it to go. Everything's seemingly perfect and then, suddenly, you realize that you don't want to be happy anymore, because happiness isn't as great as it seemed from so far away. You realize you're still lacking something, even after all the trouble you went through trying to get what you have in the first place.
  Isn't that sort of disappointing?
  So, naturally, you do one of two things. You either (1), give up. It's easy, it involves no effort at all, and you don't need to care anymore. Or, you do 2, which is basically going out and looking for something to fill the void in your life.
  This might sound terribly upsetting, and hopefully it won't crush your dreams, but you will never, ever find that thing that fills the void in your life. Never. Ever.
  It might fill the emptiness for a while, but eventually, just like with everything else, you'll realize that your happiness isn't all it was cracked up to be. So you start searching again.
  At this point, it's an endless circle and you keep going around and around, because you believe that, maybe, someday, you'll find exactly what it was you were looking for, even though you have no idea what that was.
  "Love" will come and go, as will dreams. People will come for a season, and some even for a lifetime, but they won't fill the emptiness in your life. Stuff won't, people can't, and you'll probably still go dancing in circles like you'll actually find something.
  But lately, I've realized that there's nothing you can find, at all, unless you look in the last place you ever expected: Inside of yourself.
  There. You see it. You want to laugh and cry and scream and shout, because you were so silly. You literally spent all that time searching for something that had been with you the whole time. Your emptiness flies away, just like a butterfly on a spring day, and then you're okay. You're not happy anymore, for that's overrated.
  Happiness is something people want, and often find, but they don't like it once they have it. A lot of things, a lot of people, will make you happy, but they don't seem to matter anymore. Your happiness is now replaced with joy -- unspeakable, unbreakable, everlasting joy. And you love it.
  It's like being a kid on Christmas, getting the greatest present anyone could ever get: Even simply holding the box in your hands -- the box wrapped up in gorgeous, sparkling paper -- you feel like you're on top of the world. You feel like you're so loved, so accepted, so totally amazing, because someone cared enough to give you that gift. Just the wrapping is perfect, so imagine the gift itself.
  Finally, you've found what it was you'd been searching for. You've found that it was inside of you all along, and that, ironically, it had nothing to do with you. It was Someone who loved you and cared enough about you, to bless your heart, life, mind, and spirit with the gift of Himself. He's been there all along, and yet you had searched the world, knowing you would never find true joy there.
  He doesn't mind, though. He isn't angry. And that's the cool part. Even after all this time, after watching you search endlessly, He still smiles at you so lovingly, and reaches out His arms, pulling you into the warmest hug you will ever get. His warmth, His radiance, His life, you can feel it all, even in such a simple hug. He isn't angry. He's Papa. He loves you, no matter what you might do.
  And in that moment -- in that beautiful, blissful, amazing moment -- you feel completely different. You forget about everything bad you've ever done, you forget the things people have done to you, and your forget every insecurity you've ever had, and just . . . stay there, in that moment, in His arms. You're safe. You're okay. You're loved.
  You finally understand something that had once been so complicated. You finally realize the simplicity of love, of life. You are able to grasp what real acceptance is. You're able to comprehend that worldly happiness, and worldly "love," will get you no where. You know now what true love is. You know now you have a Father who will always, always love you, with an unconditional Love.
  Take a moment. Be thankful, be excited, be blessed, be at peace, be absolutely crazy, and just enjoy Papa's love, because it's always been here. It never left and it never will.
  My doors, that were so tightly closed, keeping me locked away, are open now. There's a light shining in -- a light so beautiful that even words cannot describe. It's filling up the room, leaving not even a speck of darkness, loneliness, or any other worldly thing. The light is engulfing me, engulfing you, and it's now surrounding our hearts, our lives.
  Our Papa is calling. It's time to run into His arms.