Don't get me wrong, I have always loved what has taken place in summer-camp, no school, travel, sleep, berries, fresh tomatoes, lightened hair, freckles on faces, endless nights, etc. But this summer is teaching me to love the season as a whole.
I have been living in Boring, OR for a few months now, but I feel I am finally coming alive here. The clear, sunny days followed by sleepy rainy days followed by cold windy days is probably my favorite weather. Guess what? That is summer here. The mornings are so cold and the evenings tepid. There is enough gloominess that the buoyancy of the afternoon heat doesn't get a gal down.
Today, while tackling a patch of overgrown brush (with hand tools) in the June heat, I felt a rich thankfulness rise up in me. I can only describe the feeling as a smooth surety.
The past year has held a lot of unanswered questions for me. After graduating, I moved three times before traveling across the country. I had three different jobs. I got engaged, endured more long distance, said my goodbyes, moved to Oregon, watched my most loved person/fiance´of all time grieve loss, answered two calls having to do with said person in a car accident, spent my birthday on an uncomfortable faux leather chair in the trauma ward, commuted so long to go to a job that was draining (at best), and all the while, my prayers began and ended in questions. I finally quit my job without knowing what was next the beginning of this past month. Fortunately, I was hired as a nanny/farmhand for a small family in a neighboring town the day after my last day.
The question "what do I want to be doing right now?" was answered.
The farm is small, but the large property is wildly overgrown with beautiful, pesky green things. The girls I usually watch have been at camp this week, so I have been slowly helping tasks get crossed off the list. I have used my hands to nurture life, hack down weeds, enjoy farm fresh veggies for lunch, harvested wild herbs to (hopefully) make my own medicine, and gotten more sunburnt than I remember getting in the last five years. After my work was done for the day, I stood barefoot in the terrace garden. Earth was all around me and I felt capable, loved, and fulfilled. I am re-learning who I am and who I want to be. To be honest, I am thrilled at what is being revealed.
All my questions may not be answered, but the Lord is so good. He blesses richly and His coming is as sure as the dawn. What more do I need than this and Oregon sunshine?
lost in an uncharted sea.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
what week is it?
Week one of camp was so crazy and exhausting that it kind of felt like week five. Week two was so high energy and refreshing that it felt like week one. By the middle of week three, I was feeling rested. I'm now halfway through all nations camp (it's already July!) and I'm so confused.
Anyway, the real week one of resident camp was an incredibly large week. We had a record number of campers and half the staff lost their voice by Wednesday. I lost mine mostly because I had to yell so loudly to get someone pass food from one end of the table to the other. Regardless, my campers were so enthusiastic about camp and really well behaved. They meshed well and there was little to no drama. I could not have had a better group to dress up like robots and learn how to do headstands with. Todd and I taught a super cool activity (1Peter1 club) that was all about encouraging words and acts of kindness. We ended the week out by giving Dirk (the camp dog) a bath. A good time was had by all. There are so many other stories I could tell, but those will have to wait for another day.
Week two was so challenging. My cabin was full of interesting twelve year old girls with layered lives and an unhealthy obsession with farts. I'm serious. Our whole skit on thursday was camp songs with new, flatulent lyrics. I had so much fun this week. The girls were really receptive to what was being shared with them. I also taught "Wild Women" this week. Anna and I teamed up and shared wilderness and self-defense skills in this class. We built fires, punched the boy counselors, and made something out of wood. It was one of my favorite activities I've taught all summer. The week ended with hard rain and one of the sweetest talks with my camper in the warm, dusty woodshop.
I expected week three to be crazy. I had thirteen thirteen year old campers with Hannah in the new cabin...which just so happens to be on the boy's side of camp. Honestly, I was predicting drama, sleep deprivation, and purpling issues. Instead, the girls were all friends, I napped often, and they all seemed pretty aware of the fact that boys are gross (especially at age thirteen). The week included some of the deepest cabin devotions and most open porch talks yet. I can honestly say that this past week is one of my favorites I've worked at Cedar Lake. I saw some incredible spiritual growth and experienced the peace that only Jesus can supply.
Rain, rest, and too much coffee can pretty much sum up all nations camp so far. It's been needed and nice.
Sorry for the excessive amount of information. I'll try to not let three weeks go by next time!
Anyway, the real week one of resident camp was an incredibly large week. We had a record number of campers and half the staff lost their voice by Wednesday. I lost mine mostly because I had to yell so loudly to get someone pass food from one end of the table to the other. Regardless, my campers were so enthusiastic about camp and really well behaved. They meshed well and there was little to no drama. I could not have had a better group to dress up like robots and learn how to do headstands with. Todd and I taught a super cool activity (1Peter1 club) that was all about encouraging words and acts of kindness. We ended the week out by giving Dirk (the camp dog) a bath. A good time was had by all. There are so many other stories I could tell, but those will have to wait for another day.
Week two was so challenging. My cabin was full of interesting twelve year old girls with layered lives and an unhealthy obsession with farts. I'm serious. Our whole skit on thursday was camp songs with new, flatulent lyrics. I had so much fun this week. The girls were really receptive to what was being shared with them. I also taught "Wild Women" this week. Anna and I teamed up and shared wilderness and self-defense skills in this class. We built fires, punched the boy counselors, and made something out of wood. It was one of my favorite activities I've taught all summer. The week ended with hard rain and one of the sweetest talks with my camper in the warm, dusty woodshop.
I expected week three to be crazy. I had thirteen thirteen year old campers with Hannah in the new cabin...which just so happens to be on the boy's side of camp. Honestly, I was predicting drama, sleep deprivation, and purpling issues. Instead, the girls were all friends, I napped often, and they all seemed pretty aware of the fact that boys are gross (especially at age thirteen). The week included some of the deepest cabin devotions and most open porch talks yet. I can honestly say that this past week is one of my favorites I've worked at Cedar Lake. I saw some incredible spiritual growth and experienced the peace that only Jesus can supply.
Rain, rest, and too much coffee can pretty much sum up all nations camp so far. It's been needed and nice.
Sorry for the excessive amount of information. I'll try to not let three weeks go by next time!
Thursday, May 14, 2015
December 2014-May 2015: a synopsis
This site has been comatose since last fall and there are so many reasons for that, but I am too hungry right now to list them. I figure I should recap this year because in a couple weeks, this page will be my main communication with the outside world:
December began with the most involved art show and ended with the weirdest celebration of New Year's Eve. I graduated and did not feel that much more accomplished as I walked across a little stage in a robe plagued with static cling. I celebrated Christmas at home and moved out of my trusty little basement apartment. Somedays, I still miss The Den. Three camp friends and I counted down to what we thought was midnight in the car after having a drink and appetizers at a random pizza place in Hixson (of all places). We crossed into a different time zone halfway up the mountain, so when we looked at our cell phones, they said 11:00.
January started with a trip to Cedar Lake Camp and ended with me in Nashville almost half-adjusted to my new life. I packed my car with my things and drove to the house of the parents of someone I hadn't seen in nearly two years. Needless to say, I was nervous and awkward during my first days in the Hanson house. I was also nervous and awkward during my first day of interning with Humanities Tennessee, but I don't think anyone noticed. I got lost a lot this month.
By February, I had gotten a job working as a barista at Atmalogy and kind of knew what I was doing at my internship. "Icemaggedon" happened during this month too, so lots of days were spent doing yoga with Lauren and her black cat fella. I celebrated most of my birthday at work, but mama Sue and Lauren threw me a taco party when I got home. Age twenty-two was well-honored with margaritas and the Bachelor. Lots of driving happened in February, because David and I met halfway in little towns and sat up all night in a Waffle House.
March had a rocky start. David got hurt and I ran a half marathon alone. In spite of ruined plans, tears, and crutches, He and I were able to celebrate our two-year date-iversary in Asheville. By this time, I had started visiting coffee shops around Nashville and documenting them with little sketches (these will be shared and written about in due time). The end of March brought sunshine and friends with it. David visited and the Big Hero 6 crew was established. I don't know how I ended up being Aunt Cass, but it fits.
April was poetry month, so I decided to write a poem everyday (I almost succeeded). David and I went to the Frist on his birthday and so David crutched around saying "pip-pip." I met Robert Morgan, Rodney Jones, and Jane Hirshfield in one weekend and spent the rest of the week thinking of smart things I could have said to them. Before I knew it, I had my last day at Atmalogy and at Humanities Tennessee. Margaret Renkl (the editor at Chapter16) presented me with a gift on my last morning with her. Her inscription in the book is as inspiring as the book itself. I'm still so amazed at how great it was to work with her and the exceptional people at Humanities Tennessee.
May is blurring by quickly. So far, I've packed, moved, unpacked, organized, separated, and repacked. Adventures ahead include: Nashville, visiting David, and settling down for the summer at Cedar Lake Camp. I currently don't know anything for sure past August, but that's just fine with me.
There you have it, the last five months in six hundred words.
December began with the most involved art show and ended with the weirdest celebration of New Year's Eve. I graduated and did not feel that much more accomplished as I walked across a little stage in a robe plagued with static cling. I celebrated Christmas at home and moved out of my trusty little basement apartment. Somedays, I still miss The Den. Three camp friends and I counted down to what we thought was midnight in the car after having a drink and appetizers at a random pizza place in Hixson (of all places). We crossed into a different time zone halfway up the mountain, so when we looked at our cell phones, they said 11:00.
January started with a trip to Cedar Lake Camp and ended with me in Nashville almost half-adjusted to my new life. I packed my car with my things and drove to the house of the parents of someone I hadn't seen in nearly two years. Needless to say, I was nervous and awkward during my first days in the Hanson house. I was also nervous and awkward during my first day of interning with Humanities Tennessee, but I don't think anyone noticed. I got lost a lot this month.
By February, I had gotten a job working as a barista at Atmalogy and kind of knew what I was doing at my internship. "Icemaggedon" happened during this month too, so lots of days were spent doing yoga with Lauren and her black cat fella. I celebrated most of my birthday at work, but mama Sue and Lauren threw me a taco party when I got home. Age twenty-two was well-honored with margaritas and the Bachelor. Lots of driving happened in February, because David and I met halfway in little towns and sat up all night in a Waffle House.
March had a rocky start. David got hurt and I ran a half marathon alone. In spite of ruined plans, tears, and crutches, He and I were able to celebrate our two-year date-iversary in Asheville. By this time, I had started visiting coffee shops around Nashville and documenting them with little sketches (these will be shared and written about in due time). The end of March brought sunshine and friends with it. David visited and the Big Hero 6 crew was established. I don't know how I ended up being Aunt Cass, but it fits.
April was poetry month, so I decided to write a poem everyday (I almost succeeded). David and I went to the Frist on his birthday and so David crutched around saying "pip-pip." I met Robert Morgan, Rodney Jones, and Jane Hirshfield in one weekend and spent the rest of the week thinking of smart things I could have said to them. Before I knew it, I had my last day at Atmalogy and at Humanities Tennessee. Margaret Renkl (the editor at Chapter16) presented me with a gift on my last morning with her. Her inscription in the book is as inspiring as the book itself. I'm still so amazed at how great it was to work with her and the exceptional people at Humanities Tennessee.
May is blurring by quickly. So far, I've packed, moved, unpacked, organized, separated, and repacked. Adventures ahead include: Nashville, visiting David, and settling down for the summer at Cedar Lake Camp. I currently don't know anything for sure past August, but that's just fine with me.
There you have it, the last five months in six hundred words.
Monday, March 3, 2014
safety in silence.
i am a buyer of this lie that often crosses my mind:
"there is safety in silence"
it soars to the rafters of my head and wriggles its way down to my heart. this lie that says if i don't speak, write, or express, i will remain unharmed.
so far, this year has been a year of struggling to break the silence. i want so much to write, speak, or express how i felt when i found out my mom was in an emergency room six hours away from me. or how much my heart has been broken over my little sister. or how much i long to hear the still, small Voice. or how all i've been hearing instead are the loud, obnoxious, powerless voices that originate from my heart's deepest fears. this silence has grown like kudzu and wrapped itself around my mind until the words are trapped and lost in the vines.
i feel so ready for those words to "roar" out of me.
to crash onto the page, the paper, the surface, the atmosphere.
there is no safety in silence.
instead, silence is only the over-indulgence of my heart's deceptions and fears.
i know that to be true now.
the real challenge is to know what comes next.
i am so hurt and the prospect of further hurt-the possible coincidence of speaking,writing, expressing what's on my heart-is almost too much for my vulnerable self.
it is a tricky thing to believe silence is best. i feel like i am relearning how to speak.
"there is safety in silence"
it soars to the rafters of my head and wriggles its way down to my heart. this lie that says if i don't speak, write, or express, i will remain unharmed.
so far, this year has been a year of struggling to break the silence. i want so much to write, speak, or express how i felt when i found out my mom was in an emergency room six hours away from me. or how much my heart has been broken over my little sister. or how much i long to hear the still, small Voice. or how all i've been hearing instead are the loud, obnoxious, powerless voices that originate from my heart's deepest fears. this silence has grown like kudzu and wrapped itself around my mind until the words are trapped and lost in the vines.
i feel so ready for those words to "roar" out of me.
to crash onto the page, the paper, the surface, the atmosphere.
there is no safety in silence.
instead, silence is only the over-indulgence of my heart's deceptions and fears.
i know that to be true now.
the real challenge is to know what comes next.
i am so hurt and the prospect of further hurt-the possible coincidence of speaking,writing, expressing what's on my heart-is almost too much for my vulnerable self.
it is a tricky thing to believe silence is best. i feel like i am relearning how to speak.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
protected
she just looked at the wall while she sat in the hallway. nothing mattered. nothing was happening. the walls were white just like the floor except the floor was not really white anymore because it had been walked on by lots of heavy boots all caked with mud and leaves and snow and dust and problems from the outside world. she still sat and looked. wanting nothing. caring for nothing. time ran by her with little feet and didn’t ever stop, not even to say hello or to slap her face and say “snap out of it!” or to change her hair to gray. he had told her yesterday that a golden age was coming. he whispered it deep into her ear so it could enter there and make its way all the way to her heart. he hoped she would believe it. he hoped it would make her blink, speak, move.
she had heard it.
she had felt him kiss her lips as she sat, eyes wide open, in the hallway.
she had, for the first time, felt alive. just for an instant she felt this way. she felt awake and felt her heart beat and her brain tick. but then someone opened the door and a cold wind blew into the hall where she sat and she felt the numbness of winter creep over her.
if only he knew that life cannot hurt you when you are this way.he would join herhe would come and sit and face the blank wall, not thinking, breathing, feeling. not really living. but still being alive.
Friday, November 15, 2013
because i do not want to do statistics homework on this friday morning
my focus is split:
(my mind is sizzling sizzling simmering simmering
two halves of grey matter always straining separate ways.)
i am here at this table
typing on my expensive equipment and
drinking average coffee from a non-descript mug.
i am in a ravine filled with gravel and railroad ties,
trying to be still enough
to make sense of what is to come.
the trees blowing in the wind clatter and shatter
the silence i long for
as they beat the tall dirt walls that encompass me.
the voices in the coffeeshop,
the dishes chinking, clinking
the little girl jumping into the squares of linoleum,
all remind me of the chaos of solitude.
my textbooks (sitting in front of me) tried to teach me
everything i needed to know
about this
about being caught and tangled in
the swift current of time and space and psychoanalysis and friendships and lovers and religion and clay caught between my fingers and cuts and abstracts and music and laughter and life and death.
but they didn't know.
they didn't know that within one person is two minds.
they didn't know that i would die to live longer and live to die later.
they didn't know that my heart was dark from the beginning and only made light by what they called "spirituality"
they didn't know.
and yet and yet and yet
i trusted them with my dark heart and my fractured mind.
i waited for them to tell me how to write and what to think
and paid them tremendously for it.
i have sacrificed my rest and my peace to them,
o those gods of academia,
and now knowing when this intellectual purgatory will end
i am lost.
(my mind is sizzling sizzling simmering simmering
two halves of grey matter always straining separate ways.)
i am here at this table
typing on my expensive equipment and
drinking average coffee from a non-descript mug.
i am in a ravine filled with gravel and railroad ties,
trying to be still enough
to make sense of what is to come.
the trees blowing in the wind clatter and shatter
the silence i long for
as they beat the tall dirt walls that encompass me.
the voices in the coffeeshop,
the dishes chinking, clinking
the little girl jumping into the squares of linoleum,
all remind me of the chaos of solitude.
my textbooks (sitting in front of me) tried to teach me
everything i needed to know
about this
about being caught and tangled in
the swift current of time and space and psychoanalysis and friendships and lovers and religion and clay caught between my fingers and cuts and abstracts and music and laughter and life and death.
but they didn't know.
they didn't know that within one person is two minds.
they didn't know that i would die to live longer and live to die later.
they didn't know that my heart was dark from the beginning and only made light by what they called "spirituality"
they didn't know.
and yet and yet and yet
i trusted them with my dark heart and my fractured mind.
i waited for them to tell me how to write and what to think
and paid them tremendously for it.
i have sacrificed my rest and my peace to them,
o those gods of academia,
and now knowing when this intellectual purgatory will end
i am lost.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Pisces
your love's like a cool breeze
i'm staring at the fish swimming above me
mud clings to my knees
i'm painted silver by the moon
you laugh at my nonsense
and kiss me on the mouth
light ripples behind Notius
as she swiftly swims south
i'm growing out my gills
so i can join my friends
i sigh as you look up
we watch them glisten
i hear you breathe as i dream
that i'm swimming with the stars
i'd try to reach that ocean
but i know it's much too far
Boreus soars northward
but you stay close to me
there's a cord that binds them
with Kullat Nunu shimmering
you're growing out your gills
so you can join your friends
you sigh as i look up
we watch them glisten
i'm staring at the fish swimming above me
mud clings to my knees
i'm painted silver by the moon
you laugh at my nonsense
and kiss me on the mouth
light ripples behind Notius
as she swiftly swims south
i'm growing out my gills
so i can join my friends
i sigh as you look up
we watch them glisten
i hear you breathe as i dream
that i'm swimming with the stars
i'd try to reach that ocean
but i know it's much too far
Boreus soars northward
but you stay close to me
there's a cord that binds them
with Kullat Nunu shimmering
you're growing out your gills
so you can join your friends
you sigh as i look up
we watch them glisten
Thursday, April 11, 2013
willow springs park
she thought to herself / "we're tremendously young" / as the sun shown bright upon his face / three small children flew their kites / they ran past the hill / panting and laughing simultaneously.
she thought to herself / "is this what love is like?" / as he wrote a note in his textbook / a family threw a football a few yards away / the mother spoke harshly to her children.
she said audibly / "you make me smile" / as he held her head in his hands / the clouds ran away and exposed a rich blue sky / it towered above all the mountains that they could see.
he proclaimed out loud / "oh I just love you!" / as she kissed him softly on the eyes / they were graceful in the sun / they were joyful under the blue and the kites / with the harsh mother and gentle mountains nearby.
she thought to herself / "is this what love is like?" / as he wrote a note in his textbook / a family threw a football a few yards away / the mother spoke harshly to her children.
she said audibly / "you make me smile" / as he held her head in his hands / the clouds ran away and exposed a rich blue sky / it towered above all the mountains that they could see.
he proclaimed out loud / "oh I just love you!" / as she kissed him softly on the eyes / they were graceful in the sun / they were joyful under the blue and the kites / with the harsh mother and gentle mountains nearby.
Friday, April 5, 2013
this kind [or how i'm never prepared]
there's not a lot i can tell you now / that you don't already know / no new ideas of faithfulness / all i hope is for us to grow
the sun caressed your face / with a golden grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather
the candle-warmed nights in my bedroom / all of my half-completed sculptures / and your lovely laughing lips / oh they are gentle reminders of our youth
the moon caressed your face / with a silver grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather
that time we walked together / hoping to see the stars / i touched your hand twice as i fell / into you so deep and far
the snow caressed your face / with purity and grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather
the sun caressed your face / with a golden grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather
the candle-warmed nights in my bedroom / all of my half-completed sculptures / and your lovely laughing lips / oh they are gentle reminders of our youth
the moon caressed your face / with a silver grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather
that time we walked together / hoping to see the stars / i touched your hand twice as i fell / into you so deep and far
the snow caressed your face / with purity and grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather
Saturday, February 16, 2013
quiet
an expiring flashbulb
in the skies
the bright street lamps
and my blinking eyes
the asphalt shifting below a thousand tires
and the smoke rising from the forest fires
this drought of my heart
now plaintively crying for rain
expected satisfaction
when the thunder came
your arms held me close
but no showers did pour
instead my heart was left
as parched as before
so fill me with your emptiness
the kind i think i want
while this land becomes drier still
while i tell myself i can't
because in the arms of a near-stranger it suddenly becomes clear
my masochistic tendencies are created by an insatiable fear
a fear of a love that comes
quiet
like the rain
a fear of a love that comes
quiet
like the rain
Saturday, February 9, 2013
polaris (A/B)
falling asleep
the sounds of lovers above me
and the rain hitting my window
i think of you
your face in the daylight
and the way you would react to things unsaid
oh this holding onto nothing
this grief
this sorrow
i thought i'd be spared because i am young
but you drifted away from me
no longer in proximity
with hopes that i have had
and songs i've sung
two silent stars
burn into my back
marking where i last felt your kiss
can there be anything
between knowing
and not knowing me
a twilight of acquaintance
where we'll meet
those two stars will sing again
and i promise the moon won't look
while we repair
each other's hearts
so i listen to lovers
lovers and the rain
the clouds cover my body
oh my heart
and my guidance is gone
the sounds of lovers above me
and the rain hitting my window
i think of you
your face in the daylight
and the way you would react to things unsaid
oh this holding onto nothing
this grief
this sorrow
i thought i'd be spared because i am young
but you drifted away from me
no longer in proximity
with hopes that i have had
and songs i've sung
two silent stars
burn into my back
marking where i last felt your kiss
can there be anything
between knowing
and not knowing me
a twilight of acquaintance
where we'll meet
those two stars will sing again
and i promise the moon won't look
while we repair
each other's hearts
so i listen to lovers
lovers and the rain
the clouds cover my body
oh my heart
and my guidance is gone
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
i can try
i can try to tell you what it means to barely remember:
the film reel in my mind is flawed and blurred and discolored.
your touch. your name. your voice.
all fading.
little pins pricking my heart just to remind me.
the love once.
oh yes.
the love.
ticks and flickers are moving pictures of you.
your face. your lips. your eyes.
oh hello. oh goodbye.
what does it matter?
i barely remember.
the film reel in my mind is flawed and blurred and discolored.
your touch. your name. your voice.
all fading.
little pins pricking my heart just to remind me.
the love once.
oh yes.
the love.
ticks and flickers are moving pictures of you.
your face. your lips. your eyes.
oh hello. oh goodbye.
what does it matter?
i barely remember.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Use your words.
one week of classes has gone by.
this week was beautiful. full of freezing cold and snow and grey and now I look out and there's beautiful rain.
days like today just make me live a little more vividly.
Anyway, that has nothing to do with what I wanted to talk about.
The other day, I tweeted (I have a twitter. not I'm not going to tell you what my name/thing is, and no, I'm not proud of it) a Bible verse. After I had done so, I experienced a nice feeling. It's the same feeling I get every time I share a hymn on Facebook or write about Jesus on here.
It's like a "yes! I'm sharing my faith!" feeling.
The sad truth is, that feeling is so artificial. It's not satisfying. When I use social media to promote my word view, it's doing just that. It's promoting my ideologies and beliefs. It's not really "sharing" my faith.
This thought causes me to be overwhelmed with my own inability to really tell someone about the hope that I have.
I used to think (and say, quite often...which, when you really think about it, is quite ironic): "preach the gospel, and when necessary, use words." I would live by that. So when I shared something or (more recently) tweeted something, it was like an extra credit project. My thought process was seriously and totally "I live out my faith, so writing about it is basically going the extra mile." OH MAN, how deceived I have been.
Since the beginning of Humanity (and most likely before) God has used words. That has been his way of communicating. His actions have been the affirmation and an accessory of His words. While on earth, Jesus was all about personally communicating His truths and mercies and lessons to people. Physically (more or less) speaking to people has always been God's way. So where do I get off?! Thinking that I can just keep quiet and be satisfied with that. SHEESH.
Last night at Cru, the leader read this passage:
And I saw the Holy City, new Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. Ad I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."And He who was seated on the throne said, "Behold I am making all things new." Also He said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."
-Revelation 21:2-5
That is what our life on this earth amounts to, points to, and rejoices in. The Lord describes the most incredible picture of complete satisfaction and just when you think He's done He adds: "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."
I guess this whole post boils down to three points:
If you belong to Christ, the trustworthy and true message that you believe in is too gorgeously fulfilling to keep to yourself
Preach the Gospel, and (because it is always necessary) use words. God did, so we should too.
(I feel like this last point could be a whole other post) Your actions are the affirmation of your words. They accessorize your life. They are the physical illustrations that accompany your Spiritual story.
this week was beautiful. full of freezing cold and snow and grey and now I look out and there's beautiful rain.
days like today just make me live a little more vividly.
Anyway, that has nothing to do with what I wanted to talk about.
The other day, I tweeted (I have a twitter. not I'm not going to tell you what my name/thing is, and no, I'm not proud of it) a Bible verse. After I had done so, I experienced a nice feeling. It's the same feeling I get every time I share a hymn on Facebook or write about Jesus on here.
It's like a "yes! I'm sharing my faith!" feeling.
The sad truth is, that feeling is so artificial. It's not satisfying. When I use social media to promote my word view, it's doing just that. It's promoting my ideologies and beliefs. It's not really "sharing" my faith.
This thought causes me to be overwhelmed with my own inability to really tell someone about the hope that I have.
I used to think (and say, quite often...which, when you really think about it, is quite ironic): "preach the gospel, and when necessary, use words." I would live by that. So when I shared something or (more recently) tweeted something, it was like an extra credit project. My thought process was seriously and totally "I live out my faith, so writing about it is basically going the extra mile." OH MAN, how deceived I have been.
Since the beginning of Humanity (and most likely before) God has used words. That has been his way of communicating. His actions have been the affirmation and an accessory of His words. While on earth, Jesus was all about personally communicating His truths and mercies and lessons to people. Physically (more or less) speaking to people has always been God's way. So where do I get off?! Thinking that I can just keep quiet and be satisfied with that. SHEESH.
Last night at Cru, the leader read this passage:
And I saw the Holy City, new Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. Ad I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."And He who was seated on the throne said, "Behold I am making all things new." Also He said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."
-Revelation 21:2-5
That is what our life on this earth amounts to, points to, and rejoices in. The Lord describes the most incredible picture of complete satisfaction and just when you think He's done He adds: "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."
I guess this whole post boils down to three points:
If you belong to Christ, the trustworthy and true message that you believe in is too gorgeously fulfilling to keep to yourself
Preach the Gospel, and (because it is always necessary) use words. God did, so we should too.
(I feel like this last point could be a whole other post) Your actions are the affirmation of your words. They accessorize your life. They are the physical illustrations that accompany your Spiritual story.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
people always write that sentimental new year's post
so i've put this one off.
i've decided that i am not making any sort of resolutions this year. (except to appreciate purple more. i feel i've always overlooked it)
no projects. (except this book called "642 things to write about")
complete freedom.
complete release of all that was shackling me last year. (and previous years)
i want to treat this year like a sweet little infant.
it's clean, new, and i'm not going to assume anything about it.
all i know is:
it's going to sound like this
it's going to look like this
and it's going to be full of love and grace and peace.
and i will be condemned by my own heart no longer.
"for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart.
and He knows everything."
first john three, verse twenty
i've decided that i am not making any sort of resolutions this year. (except to appreciate purple more. i feel i've always overlooked it)
no projects. (except this book called "642 things to write about")
complete freedom.
complete release of all that was shackling me last year. (and previous years)
i want to treat this year like a sweet little infant.
it's clean, new, and i'm not going to assume anything about it.
all i know is:
it's going to sound like this
it's going to look like this
and it's going to be full of love and grace and peace.
and i will be condemned by my own heart no longer.
"for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart.
and He knows everything."
first john three, verse twenty
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
fifty two
year of our lord
two thousand and twelve:
to you, two thousand and twelve.
to the calming explorations of sounds the half-hearts, and the icy bridges.
thus ends fifty two weeks of writing.
thus begins a lifetime more.
two thousand and twelve:
to you, two thousand and twelve.
to the calming explorations of sounds the half-hearts, and the icy bridges.
oh the abundant sunshine for all of the rambunctious law-breakers.
how it did rain in the morning, how the heartache did swell in the evening, and all throughout
the glorious mountains remained.
the mountains who reminded me that grace and love and faith are abundant.
the mountains who reminded me that grace and love and faith are abundant.
divine blood filling the empty cups and the birthday of no one terribly important.
all of the lazy artists, the do-nothings of society, thinking thoughts and creating beautiful things.
remember the adventure unparalleled? the pure hearts? the young dreams? the faithful Father?
trees with ghostly white petals.
stars in the sky.
stars in the sky.
a friend who died.
and a thank you note to those dear little ones who kept me alive.
and a thank you note to those dear little ones who kept me alive.
the living too large and dying too old.
the trying to exist in reality.
the trying to exist in reality.
the comfort of darkness.
the joy of being in the presence of light.
the joy of being in the presence of light.
the blowing of too many kisses and that little ginger candy obsession.
the notes to self.
my pink, freckled shoulders.
the number nineteen.
many lazy lightening bugs.
the number nineteen.
many lazy lightening bugs.
this dirty city and this filthy heart.
my beautiful ayiti, who takes turns haunting me and comforting me daily.
my beautiful ayiti, who takes turns haunting me and comforting me daily.
a noodle-crazed panda.
the fact that my friends are not sailors.
old canoes and rough living.
singing crickets and singing chad.
Jesus the man who knew what it was like.
the truly believing.
the river, so full of peace.
those flashbulb memories.
when i couldn't come out and really say "iloveyou".
the waning moon and the dying sun.
the fact that i'm disappointing, my dear.
those panic-stricken birds.
the missingmissingmissing.
scary/happy/lovely/nice/strange dreams.
mysaltytears.
mymountains.
the no good heart that was so wrong.
the fictional story about my dear sister and misplaced love.
my love-affair with roan mt.
may day merry making.
reminding myself to sieze the day.
remember how i diagnosed myself with selective attention deficit disorder?
oh and those moon walkers
and that divine little boy doomed to die because he loves us and is obedient to his father
and finally, all of the children screaming for peace.
i have survived the end of the world.
i have seen love.
i have witnessed the strength that only grace can supply.
i have been reminded of my own darkness.
i have been comforted with the fact that it is not my own any longer.
life has gone on.
the breathing has begun.
i have seen love.
i have witnessed the strength that only grace can supply.
i have been reminded of my own darkness.
i have been comforted with the fact that it is not my own any longer.
life has gone on.
the breathing has begun.
may grace and peace come to you, next year.
and may the love of Christ infest and infect you so i have no choice but to accept it.
and may the love of Christ infest and infect you so i have no choice but to accept it.
thus ends fifty two weeks of writing.
thus begins a lifetime more.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Christmas.
every year, i have a different Christmas. i know that's a result of passing time and changing experiences. but it still takes getting used to.
this year, i didn't have a very long Christmas season. it really only hit me that it was Christmas a couple days ago. my mind has been full of questions and those questions have distracted me. not questions like "why?" and "how?" or "when?"
the questions in my mind have been the kind without the question marks.
like:
Jesus was born a perfect child who carried both death and life with Him his whole time on earth. He swallowed death for us, and the killing of death was the only way humanity could ever hope for life.
the kind of people that surrounded and admired Jesus when He was a child were the same kind of people who actively killed Him later.
we sing all these songs about how the night that Jesus was born was silent and holy and beautiful when the fact is, they were in a crowded little city in the middle of a census. mary was probably bedraggled and joseph's nerves were probably worn thin. Jesus, God of the universe, was not born a spotless babe. He was born gross and weird looking- like any baby. (don't get me wrong, i love babies, but they are are gross and weird looking at the very beginning...) the shepherds weren't sweet men with trimmed beards and the angels weren't these white, blonde-headed, winged, androgynous beings. it is wrong to sugar coat these things. or it's just human nature to make the best of the situation.
seriously though, what is this Christmas thing all about? (i feel like Charlie Brown)
it is about a baby who was doomed to die by His own loving choice.
it is about a night when the heavens rejoiced and mourned.
it is about the fact that we all die. and through death, we all live.
it is about the end of the world and what happens afterwards.
it is about love. wondrous love.
it is about joy.
it is about peace.
and most of all, it is about hope.
a hope that won't let any of us go.
so we sing songs.
and we put up lights.
and we hang out with our families.
and we give eachother things we need and things we don't need.
and we watch silly movies where everything ends up as it should.
and we get excited about snow and pretty trees.
it's one day where we can stop and be thankful for the little boy that was born with the world on His shoulders. the Prince of Peace. born out of conflict. into a bleeding world.
happy christmas.
i could say "don't forget the reason for the season" or something cliche like that.
but i think i should say "continually remember the reason you're alive."
a little babe swallowed death for you. be thankful, be hopeful, have peace.
this year, i didn't have a very long Christmas season. it really only hit me that it was Christmas a couple days ago. my mind has been full of questions and those questions have distracted me. not questions like "why?" and "how?" or "when?"
the questions in my mind have been the kind without the question marks.
like:
Jesus was born a perfect child who carried both death and life with Him his whole time on earth. He swallowed death for us, and the killing of death was the only way humanity could ever hope for life.
the kind of people that surrounded and admired Jesus when He was a child were the same kind of people who actively killed Him later.
we sing all these songs about how the night that Jesus was born was silent and holy and beautiful when the fact is, they were in a crowded little city in the middle of a census. mary was probably bedraggled and joseph's nerves were probably worn thin. Jesus, God of the universe, was not born a spotless babe. He was born gross and weird looking- like any baby. (don't get me wrong, i love babies, but they are are gross and weird looking at the very beginning...) the shepherds weren't sweet men with trimmed beards and the angels weren't these white, blonde-headed, winged, androgynous beings. it is wrong to sugar coat these things. or it's just human nature to make the best of the situation.
seriously though, what is this Christmas thing all about? (i feel like Charlie Brown)
it is about a baby who was doomed to die by His own loving choice.
it is about a night when the heavens rejoiced and mourned.
it is about the fact that we all die. and through death, we all live.
it is about the end of the world and what happens afterwards.
it is about love. wondrous love.
it is about joy.
it is about peace.
and most of all, it is about hope.
a hope that won't let any of us go.
so we sing songs.
and we put up lights.
and we hang out with our families.
and we give eachother things we need and things we don't need.
and we watch silly movies where everything ends up as it should.
and we get excited about snow and pretty trees.
it's one day where we can stop and be thankful for the little boy that was born with the world on His shoulders. the Prince of Peace. born out of conflict. into a bleeding world.
happy christmas.
i could say "don't forget the reason for the season" or something cliche like that.
but i think i should say "continually remember the reason you're alive."
a little babe swallowed death for you. be thankful, be hopeful, have peace.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
fifty one
little filthy children.
screaming.
so loud.
because they know that no one can really here what they really want to say.
the blood in their veins lets them know the music's playing.
lets them know their dirty little hearts are working.
their screams a result of their want for love.
their want for life.
their guaranteed death.
it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.
death and the coming apocalypse is an accepted fact instead of a feared coincidence.
the turning world will come toa halting stop.
the impending death of a finite existence.
coming to a close.
it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.
screaming.
so loud.
because they know that no one can really here what they really want to say.
the blood in their veins lets them know the music's playing.
lets them know their dirty little hearts are working.
their screams a result of their want for love.
their want for life.
their guaranteed death.
it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.
death and the coming apocalypse is an accepted fact instead of a feared coincidence.
the turning world will come toa halting stop.
the impending death of a finite existence.
coming to a close.
it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.
Friday, December 7, 2012
fifty
the celestial boy that was told by his father to become human to die and wanted to because he loved us so
or
the true meaning of christmas
the little babe
with the songs of angels
ringing in his little ears
they are whispering
"death will bring forth life
and love and
joy and peace"
the little lamb
saving men
with his blood
and selfless love
you will bless and cleanse
our filthy hearts
we love you Jesus
for being born
for being perfect
and suffering greatly
and carrying darkness
to the grave
carrying darkness
to the grave
the grave
ah baby boy
choosing to die
we celebrate you
with silent night
and candlelight
and white snowmen
and chestnuts roasting
now christmas is here
proclaiming joy
caused by the death
of the baby boy
in the mangers
in our living rooms
and law-firm lobbies
and department stores
we love you Jesus
for being born
for being love
for bringing peace
for killing death
and giving life
giving life
life
post script: just a reminder that i am fully aware of two things: 1) i am shamelessly copying sufjan by using really long and depressing titles 2) i know there's more than three weeks left in the year. i swear i don't know how my counting was so off.
or
the true meaning of christmas
the little babe
with the songs of angels
ringing in his little ears
they are whispering
"death will bring forth life
and love and
joy and peace"
the little lamb
saving men
with his blood
and selfless love
you will bless and cleanse
our filthy hearts
we love you Jesus
for being born
for being perfect
and suffering greatly
and carrying darkness
to the grave
carrying darkness
to the grave
the grave
ah baby boy
choosing to die
we celebrate you
with silent night
and candlelight
and white snowmen
and chestnuts roasting
now christmas is here
proclaiming joy
caused by the death
of the baby boy
in the mangers
in our living rooms
and law-firm lobbies
and department stores
we love you Jesus
for being born
for being love
for bringing peace
for killing death
and giving life
giving life
life
post script: just a reminder that i am fully aware of two things: 1) i am shamelessly copying sufjan by using really long and depressing titles 2) i know there's more than three weeks left in the year. i swear i don't know how my counting was so off.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
forty nine
"what if we were on the moon instead of driving from elizabethton?
or
that time i looked at the moon and thought about what it would take for me to hold your hand"
the moon was so large we could've driven into it. the mountain highway turning into a moon highway. the trees around us turning into large grey boulders. the road beneath us turning into thick dust.
i would grab your hand, if we found ourselves on the moon. you probably wouldn't mind on the moon. i wouldn't want you to float away from me.
to lose you forever to the black space touching our shoulders.
and now i become glad we're in the mountains and not on the moon that's rising round above the tree line.
or
that time i looked at the moon and thought about what it would take for me to hold your hand"
the moon was so large we could've driven into it. the mountain highway turning into a moon highway. the trees around us turning into large grey boulders. the road beneath us turning into thick dust.
i would grab your hand, if we found ourselves on the moon. you probably wouldn't mind on the moon. i wouldn't want you to float away from me.
to lose you forever to the black space touching our shoulders.
and now i become glad we're in the mountains and not on the moon that's rising round above the tree line.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
electrical apocalypse
i could not stay awake
though the large earth quaked
and your voice came down to meet me
my eyes closed slowly
"hold me if you love me"
were the last words i heard you speak
remember the road east from nashville,
the morning in our eyes?
you wrote me love songs
while i told you lies
we thought "this will be forever
we thought the end would wait
now we're stumbling together
as the
electric
sun
breaks.
though the large earth quaked
and your voice came down to meet me
my eyes closed slowly
"hold me if you love me"
were the last words i heard you speak
remember the road east from nashville,
the morning in our eyes?
you wrote me love songs
while i told you lies
we thought "this will be forever
we thought the end would wait
now we're stumbling together
as the
electric
sun
breaks.
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