Being nice is not overrated

Some days I see the point of all this. I wake up passionate and ready and brimming, almost spilling over with effort. And it's easy. It's easy to sit through the lectures. It's easy to read the countless articles and pages of pages textbooks. It's easy to watch the documentaries. It's easy to memorize and recite and practice and discover and explore.
And then there are days.
Then there are mornings.

There are mornings when all I want to do is quit.

But I am coming to see that this is only what I make of it, and those mornings, those mornings are my choice. I choose whether or not to fully embrace today or every day. I choose that.
So I am choosing to make this what I want it to be.
I am choosing no bad days.
I am choosing to forgive others + myself.
I am choosing no regrets.
I am choosing to work harder, and then harder.
I am choosing to hide the love letters in the hallways and books and cracks and desks and chairs.

I am choosing to make a difference + an impact in these years.

I am choosing to love.

I am choosing to be salt.

I am choosing to be light.

This morning was one of those mornings. I woke up and poured my tea on my hand not in my mug + I wanted to cry for no reason at all. I had a sad song in the back of my mind, my French homework was hard to understand, and I hadn't gotten enough sleep for precisely those two reasons. I missed people. I wanted to mope. And sob. And give up. And frown. And do everything but exude joy + bursting.
So I wrote a love letter.
I scratched some happy truths out on a small painted card. I sealed a creamy pale yellow envelope. I pressed some bright fall leaves into the back pages of my Bible. I put my headphones in + listened to Josh Garrels while I walked to the bus stop. I pondered grace. I got over myself.
And I made a choice.
I made the most of today.
I know that sometimes it is hard. I'm definitely not preaching happiness constantly and in a never-ending manner, but I am preaching persistence. I think that oftentimes we don't try hard enough. And yes, I have my teary-eyed moments + I sob my tiny heart out in very true form, but many of those times have been more of a lie than a truth. It was just me giving up. It was just me wanting to quit. It was just me, all about me.
A + I are by no means doing everything perfectly over here. We've been down south for almost two months now — longer for me — and we still don't have jobs. I have turned in over twenty applications and resumés. We sometimes lack motivation. We deny ourselves things we want or need because we fear the future. We procrastinate. We don't understand. And we stand for Jesus in a way here that is already beginning to bring condemnation in a fiercer manner than I would have thought.
But all is well.
We choose for all to be well. I choose it, daily + with an anchor of a soul. This will be one of the greatest portions of my life. This will be one of my best mountains I conquer. This will be beautiful. I am determined for it to be so. With small paintings of letters + flowers at our kitchen table and love letters and dedication and a perpetual pressing forward.

I just want you to know, this morning I chose to be nice.
It was one of the best things.
You should try it.

I have some dear, dear things to share with all of you soon, about changing churches + being a single woman + pursuing things. I am learning a lot these days as I am striking out on my own, and I hope to be more of an encouragement as I express the things that God is working in me. He is so constant + good friends, always, always. He is blossoming some new dreams in the pockets of my heart — or — more likely I am only just now uncovering the buds that were already there, but they are wondrous. That you need to know. They are wondrous, and you have some too. I promise, I'll help show you. 
Sometimes all we need is someone to help us out a little bit. Sometimes all we need is a little niceness. 

Leonard Woolf.

Dear Fleur.
Today I sat&read Letters To Crushes for inspiration. It is magnifique. Written by shy people. Brilliant people. Confident. Awkward. Petite. Tall. Athletic. Random. Stupid. Wise. Amazing.
All of them are cute.
And one day I hope one of those 'crushers' will find a story written by me, and like it. And then go and tell their little crush how they really feel.
•

"freckled boy,

you're the only person that i can't stay mad at. the only person that can make me laugh with a simple look. the only person who makes me feel on top of the world. but most of all you're the only person other than me who can control my emotions. without you, i'd be lost.

shy girl"

"harold,

you are adorable and funny. every time we have one of our lengthy chats i fantasize about our wedding. we are both cubs fans, so basically you passed the ultimate 'marry me' test. even though you have a silly last name, i would take it because that's how wonderful i think you are.

secretly yours,

margaret"

"This is a problem, gawky boy

My heart plummetted a little bit when I heard that she might like you. She's way prettier than me. And she's really nice, I know. But please...keep heading down the path that you're on. I'm waiting at the end of it, and we would be just magical.

Off-kilter girl"

"Dear Choir Boy,

Sit with me on the plane to New York?

Love, Choir Girl"

"you,

are red, freckled and strong-armed in the best way. a way that wraps around me like down comforters, weighing me down and pulling me deeper into my mattress on snowy mornings. please don't ever leave,

me."

"you,

i like when we sit next to each other and your leg fits perfectly against mine. i like when our feet bump and we don’t apologize. i like this comfort. i like this closeness. i like you.

— me"

"her,

i like it when you ramble.

— him"

"you,

I only allow you to mess up my hair because I like you. I only allow you to steal my french fries because I like you. I only allow you to make fun of me because I like you.

I like you. Too, too much.

Let’s cut paper snowflakes and play Jenga all night forever.

— me"

"virginia woolf,

today you asked me to hold your handbag while you passed your little porcelain palm over your hair (stubborn, you'd called it, stubborn and nasty) and tried to smooth it out. well, while i stood there, i saw one hair thrown out in the sunlight, rising up from the rest and falling down, like a wave; like a poem; and it came to me that moment, watching that one hair, that the sun was there solely for this. for you. and - you had caught it by now, united it with the rest - each living thing lined up, took order, and surrendered themselves under your precious flat shoe.

i would've told you, virginia, right then that i loved you and perhaps forever would. but a cloud passed in front of the sun; you took your handbag back and muttered something about how we must be going; sound rejoined; and the imperfect world thumped on.

in cowardice,

leonard woolf."

•

See why I read them? They make my heart skip a beat.

And whoever that Leonard Woolf boy is, he deserves that girl. Hands down, he does.

Love from Bella.

Heureux&content.

Dear Fleur.
Today is nice. The sun decided to peek out. I missed him. He is a dear friend. Worth every ounce of wishful thinking.
I am in a good writing mood today.
•
Her legs were crossed. In that particular way that meant she was happy. That she was content. And she was at the moment. Heureux&content. A good duo.
Her hair was poofy. It was a big hair day. She didn't exactly feel in mood for poofy hair, but she just piled it up on her head and was satisfied. Her hair wasn't something she could exactly control. It had a life of its own. And it was stubborn.
She wore a little skirt her older sister had sewn. High on her waist with a yellow striped shirt tucked in it. It felt like she was wearing summer. All over herself. A little pearl hung around her throat. And her feet were bare. Maybe that was what made her feel like she was wearing summer. Her bare feet. But then again, she was always barefoot.
Her head was wishing for a French boy.
But there wasn't one.
So she just went to get her French flash cards out. And practice. Saying things like 'je t'aime'&'frere'&'petite.'
And she was heureux&content once more.
•
I like you sun.
And I like the way I'm writing today.
Love from Bella.

A little hat.

•
She was tired when she woke up. It was 6:23 in the morning after all. She wasn't an early person. But her hair looked nice this morning. It was curly. Just the way she liked it. She slipped a little pink sweater on over her head and made her way out into the kitchen. It was snowing outside. Her face lit up. And she went out the back door. She stood on the porch barefoot. And looked up. The sky was white. Her cheeks were red and blushing from the cold. Her toes were cold. She was happy.
•
That night she sat on the sofa with her sisters watching Bonnie & Clyde. It was one of her favourite movies. She loved the way Bonnie dressed. Classic. The woman looked put-together while robbing banks for goodness sake. Who else could do that? It made her jealous. And she liked that one little hat that Bonnie wore in the movie. She wished she had a hat like that.
•
This morning was Church. The alarm went off at 6:30. She didn't get out of bed till a half an hour later. And when she did, she was still sleepy. But she shrugged it off. And got dressed. Printed tights, white skirt, cowboy boots, and that pale pink sweater again. It made her feel good. Not as pretty as Bonnie Parker, but good. And her older sister had made her coffee. That made her 'heureux.' Just as happy as when she pretended that she could speak French. Coffee and French. Kind of like Bonnie and Clyde... It was a joli day.
•
Love from.
Bella