Le Bon Berger

“Lord You know I’m such a stupid sheep. 

I worry about all sorts of things;

whether I’ll find grazing land, 

still cool water, a fold at night in which I can feel safe. 

I don’t.
I only find troubles, want, loss. 

I turn aside from you to plan my rebel way.

I go astray. 

I follow other shepherds, even other stupid sheep. 

Then when I end up on some dark mountain, 

cliffs before, wild animals behind, 

I start to bleat: 

Shepherd, Shepherd, 

find me, save me, or I die. 

And You do.”  

—Joseph Bayly

Jésus dit: "Je suis le bon berger. Le bon berger donne sa vie, pour ses brebis."

—Jean 10:11

A Very Tiresome Level of Worry

It is fearlessness that I desire most.

In the situations that make my heart ache, that make my mind dizzy, and make my stomach churn with worry.
A very tiresome level of worry. And complete weariness. Moments when my mind is consumed with nothing except the terrifying thought that I might lose control. That I might fail. That I will lose something.


Like a friend I hold dear.

I am so scared of failing, so scared of losing control sometimes, that I lose sight of God. I lose sight of the only one I can wholly rely on, for He is wholly in control.

I forget not only his sovereignty, but his faithfulness and goodness. His ability to transform ashes into something beautiful. To purify and renew that which has been stained and distorted. Even filthy sinners. And I constantly forget that all he asks me to do is simply trust him. To lay my worries--the things that plague my mind, body, and soul--at His feet. To believe that the people that I hold dear are indeed very dear to him too. And that He loves us.

My heart is ridden with worry, and aching, and fear. But unless I fully trust God, unless I lay my heart before him and put my worries in his hands, I will never know fearlessness.The fearlessness I seek is only gained by fully trusting my Savior and believing he can do what I deem impossible. As I have been reminded time and time again, nothing is impossible with God (Luke 1:37).

Psalm Eighty Six

Hear me, LORD, and answer me, for I am poor and needy. Guard my life, for I am faithful to you; save your servant who trusts in you.

You are my God; have mercy on me, Lord, for I call to you all day long. Bring joy to your servant, Lord, for I put my trust in you.You, Lord, are forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you.

Hear my prayer, LORD; listen to my cry for mercy.

When I am in distress, I call to you, because you answer me. Among the gods there is none like you, Lord; no deeds can compare with yours. All the nations you have made will come and worship before you, Lord; they will bring glory to your name. For you are great and do marvelous deeds; you alone are God.

Teach me your way, LORD, that I may rely on your faithfulness; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name. I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart; I will glorify your name forever. For great is your love toward me; you have delivered me from the depths, from the realm of the dead.

Arrogant foes are attacking me, O God; ruthless people are trying to kill me—they have no regard for you.
But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness. Turn to me and have mercy on me; show your strength in behalf of your servant; save me, because I serve you just as my mother did.

Give me a sign of your goodness, that my enemies may see it and be put to shame, for you, LORD, have helped me and comforted me.

Enough

This is why I love my mom.

I've struggled often lately to keep from worrying about you two - your uncertainties or your struggles with faith and obedience. Today, at work I was distracted again, and I called out to God for grace. God is so faithful! He brought to mind a poem I learned years ago. I searched for it and attached it here. Previously I only knew of the last two stanzas.

Enough
by Frances Ridley Havergal

I AM so weak, dear Lord, I cannot stand
One moment without Thee!
But oh! the tenderness of Thine enfolding,
And oh! the faithfulness of Thine upholding,
And oh! the strength of Thy right hand!

That strength is enough for me!

I am so needy, Lord, and yet I know
All fulness dwells in Thee;
And hour by hour that never-failing treasure
Supplies and fills, in overflowing measure,
My least, my greatest need; and so,

Thy grace is enough for me!

It is so sweet to trust Thy word alone:
I do not ask to see
The unveiling of Thy purpose, or the shining
Of future light on mysteries untwining:
Thy promise-roll is all my own,

Thy word is enough for me!

The human heart asks love; but now I know
That my heart hath from Thee
All real, and full, and marvellous affection,
So near, so human; yet divine perfection
Thrills gloriously the mighty glow!
Thy love is enough for me!

There were strange soul-depths, restless, vast, and broad,
Unfathomed as the sea;
An infinite craving for some infinite stilling;
But now Thy perfect love is perfect filling!
Lord Jesus Christ, my Lord, my God,
Thou, Thou art enough for me!

I have so much longing for you to live constantly in the knowledge that God's perfect love fills our deepest cravings with stillness! Anything else we seek to fill us is an idol that traps us, robs us, destroys us. It is all "lesser things."

God's encouragement to me today is my encouragement to you tonight.

His strength is enough!
His grace is enough!
His Word is enough!
His love is enough!
He is enough!

Let's all be done with lesser things!

Love you!
Mom

Brown Penny

I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

--W.B. Yeats 

Go Up Higher

by Edward Heppenstall

When you receive an invitation, go and sit down in the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say, “Come up higher my friend.” Luke 14:10, N.E.B.

Jesus was speaking to men who eagerly grasped at the best places. Half the misery and anxiety in people's lives springs from the exaggerated importance they attach to themselves and continually cherish. These are people with a selfish temperament, who covet earnestly the best scats rather than the best gifts, status with men rather than standing with God.

Most of us proceed from the idea that we live in a society where self-defense is the first law of life, and the second is like unto it—self-assertion. It may just be that Christ's recommendation that we take the lowest place is worth trying.

About forty-five years ago in Oxford, England, there lived a brilliant young university professor, H.A. Hodges, an English don in Balliol college, Oxford's most illustrious school. He was passing through a period of doubt and skepticism. He had spent years arguing the fine points of the Christian religion. The he experienced a complete change in his life. He himself tells the story. One evening he was walking down the main street of Oxford and happened to pass a bookseller's window. There among the books was a nineteenth century print of Jesus washing the disciples' feet. His eyes were riveted to that scene. A ray of light from the Holy Spirit illumined his mind. It suddenly dawned on him what kind of person Jesus was. Hodges said he know then that the God of heaven was his footman; all the truth about the Incarnation, the life and death of Christ, came into proper focus.

Do you know what a footman is? Hodges spoke as one familiar with the role of footmen in the great houses of England. The footman is the flunky. He does all the lowest menial duties. Hodges told himself, “If that God is like that, He has my life. If God can descend from heaven and become the servant of mankind and give His life for men, I will commit my life to Him.” He did just that.

Christ is saying to us, “The best way up is the way down.” We are to humble ourselves, accept the low place of service in which our Lord Himself sat.

Snickerdoodles

Someone told me I'd be a good mom today. And it terrified and thrilled me all at once. Because as elated as I am for those days ahead, I am no where near ready.

My friend Chloe shared a note of hers with me the other day:

When I, Lord willing, get married and have kids, I want my home to be filled with love. And laughter. And giggles. I want it to be filled with history. I want the rich voices and joyful laughter of visitors to ring loudly. I want the scents of Christmas cookies and Thanksgiving pumpkin pie to fill up the whole house. I want the sounds of piano playing and the strumming of guitars to grace my ears constantly.

I want to hear voices blending together in song. I want the singing to fill every empty space. I want strangers to feel welcome the second they step foot into our home. I want to hear the rain pitter-pattering on the window on lazy days. I want to see the sun caressing the carpet through the windows on sunny days. I want to curl up by a crackling fire while the snow gently falls to the ground outside. I want to hand out sweet, tangy popsicles on the front porch on summer afternoons. I want to relax with my hubby on our cozy, front porch swing, simply because I want to be with him.

I want to play in the fields surrounding our house during the spring and I want to jump in the leaves with my kids during the brisk, autumn months. I want to lay on the carpet with my dear ones and put together puzzles, no matter how tedious they may seem to be. I want bookcases filled to the brim with oodles and canoodles of books. I want hugs all the time, both given and received. I want the spirit of love to fill our house and warm the hearts of all who enter.

I want to make pancakes on Saturday mornings and not get dressed until three in the afternoon. I want to play Balderdash and Scattergories at the kitchen table. I want snuggle-on-the-couch-time with my kids, underneath layers and layers of warm quilts and afghans. I want bubble baths; I want to hear little kids giggling uncontrollably from splashing each other, fully aware of the mess they’re making. I want the smell of snickerdoodles to waft upstairs and wake my kids on Christmas morning. I want first words, first steps, first bites, first days of school, and first-times-driving-behind-the-wheel all to be considered milestones. 

But most of all… I want everyone to feel God the second they enter our home. I want every visitor to enter into a home in which God’s glory is undeniably evident and His love is proclaimed. I want it to be a home that celebrates the treasure and blessing is to be called children of the One and Only Redeemer! I want them to feel and see all that He is through the lives of my family. Happiness. Kindness. Grace. Mercy. Love.

Every one of those words are overwhelming to me. Because yeah, of course that's what every mother wants her home to be like. Her life to be like. We're all afraid of dreaming that big, because we're afraid of being let down. And perhaps, more than likely, our lives will not be "all of the above." It won't be everything we've ever dreamed. There won't always be sun beaming through our windows when we wake up. There won't always be pancakes on Saturday morning. Or smiles and giggles.

There will be times of tears. There will be spankings, time outs, plenty of back talk, arguments and discipline. And it won't be awesome. Life won't be perfect. I won't always say the right thing as a mother, or have the perfect amount of patience, or choose the right course of action to deal with every issue I face. I won't always be the perfect wife. I won't be perfectly selfless, and won't always be thinking of the needs of my husband and my responsibilities as a wife. But, with God's help, I will still strive for all of those things. I will still strive to be a woman of God, even if I don't have the perfect house, the most obedient children, or always hear whining instead of giggles. I pray my house will be a house of the Lord, even when we are faced with struggles. That I would continually seek the Lord's face, even when I feel unhappy, ill-contented, or completely spent. I pray He will give me strength and make me a woman, a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a mother who seeks only his face, and can be content with everything he provides for me and remind me that it will always be enough. That I would notice every blessing he crowns me with on a daily basis, even if it's amidst not having enough money for Christmas presents, staring at a sink full of dishes, or dealing with an unruly child.


I pray that he is already making me that woman now.

The Joy of Your Salvation

I've been pretty blind. For a while now. 
And it's such an awful blindness.


Here I am. Your wretched child. 
I turn my shoulder to each and every blessing you crown me with on a daily basis. 
My mind is constantly consumed with selfish thoughts. It is a mind that never slumbers, churning up sinful thoughts, and planning out sinful actions. And it never stops. 


You have saved and redeemed me. Shown me a love that transcends any love I'll ever know.
But save me again each day.
Rescue me again daily. And remind me of your love, forgiveness, and faithfulness.
Give me the strength to serve, imitate, and bring glory to you without ceasing.


Help me strive to live in the knowledge of my freedom in you (my redemption by the blood of your son). I owe you my life. Help me to give you that each day. Help me to serve you, even my poor, wretched state. 


Take my meager heart, God.
Take me. Break me. And make me.
Transform me into a better servant. All for your glory. 


Amen.



"Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me." --Psalm 51: 10-12

Reckless Intrepidity

Little bird, you're reaching high.
To grasp the promise of an unshackled sky.
That wild expanse which before you lies.

This nest that holds you won’t let you fly.
So you stare at the ground which beneath you lies.

Bursting forth in reckless intrepidity,
You will meet the air with a virgin cry.

The wings you deemed ready
Will only now prove a lie.
And you will feel the fall.
Realizing you know not
How to die.”

—L.D.

Set Aflame Our Affections

Almighty God, you are the Creator and Lord of all that is.  From you, through you, and to you are all things, and we stand humbled and empowered to be in the flood stream of your grace, love, and life.


As we come together to begin this new academic year, we confess to you that we come entangled in our sin and profoundly aware of our finitude.  You will always be the Creator, and we always your creation; so to you we look as we study the intricacy and mystery of your world.


We ask that you would illumine our minds, open our hearts, and set aflame our affections.


Would you, as you both reveal and cloak the wonders of your world, give us enthusiasm and patience, diligence and rest?


Would you, as you humble us, give us ever-greater confidence in your character?


Would you, as we become ever more aware of our sins and struggles, soak us in your Gospel.


Would you, as you teach us, also heal us?


Father, we are thankful for the gift of your Son, the one who not only holds all things together, but who also knows the pains and struggles of our lives.  We thank you for the hope of redemption he achieved which lifts our gaze to the new creation.


And we ask that by your Spirit you might refresh our community, giving us a taste of the heavenly communion which awaits, where we will stand in your Triune glory, captured by your beauty, secure in your presence, freely loving one another and living in harmony with the rest of your creation.


We ask these things in Jesus name,
Amen.




(Kelly Kapic, Covenant College, Convocation 2010)

Humming Someone Else's Tune

“After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning 
And company doesn’t mean security. 
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts 
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats 
With your head up and your eyes open 
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child, 
And you learn to build all your roads on today 
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans 
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight. 
After a while you learn… 
That even sunshine burns if you get too much. 
So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. 
And you learn that you really can endure… 
That you really are strong 
And you really do have worth… 
And you learn and learn… 
With every good-bye you learn.”

—	Jorge Luis Borges

Wide-Eyed & Terrified

Jesus, I’m done. I’m spent. And I’m scared. I’m terrified of everything.
Of who I could be. And where I’ll end up. I’m scared of what I’m losing. And the joy I’m not finding anymore.
I’m losing hope.

Please hold me. :(

There Is No Fear In Love

God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.
1 John 4:16-18

Southie

Of ladybug magnets with broken wings. In a cozy kitchen where vitamins got lost behind the fridge every day.

Of fountains nestled between brownstones. Lazy frogs with wiry tongues and flies darting about with no hope.

Of a cat who ruled the ever-winding stairs. Stairs that went on forever, up to the heavens. My heavens.

Of a church, a pastor, and a father. School on Sundays, with Laura.
And reeling in paper fish on my line, while learning of better fishermen.

Of innumerable grandmothers and innumerable kisses.

Of Melba & Eddie. And green grapes always on a counter beyond my grasp.

Of push-up icecream pops that never reached our tongues, but only the apples of our cheeks.

Of polkadot swimsuits and blue plastic pools.

Of Betsey's fear of motorcycles.

Of being waited for, longed for, and loved.
Of his scratchy beard and her butterfly kisses. <3

Of the cracked light from the study door, just enough to see a forehead creased in thought. Or sometimes shoulders hunched over a guitar.

Of faces pressed against the pane, watching the K Street garbage man.

Of all the things I remember now,
That all took place in Southie.

Halfway

Tomorrow is my half-birthday. For some reason it's always been special. Exciting. God only knows why. It's really just like every other day. But at the same time, it's not. It glows and gleams a whole lot more than the other 364 days of the year (with the possible exception of my actual birthday). Usually, to celebrate properly, we buy a pie crust and fill it with a half-gallon of icecream, cut it straight down the middle, poke a candle in each hefty half and then Tim and I devour it. Tradition.

And most of the time, we just take it easy the whole day. Do something together. Hang out with just our family. Go a little crazy.

This year, there probably won't be any icecream pie. Our lives are crazy. And besides that, I only get to celebrate with half of my family. Though it is, however, the half that usually eats the other half of that pie with me.

I am thankful that God made me a twin. That he gave me a brother, and a really spectacular one at that. A brother who's been with me all year at college and now here with me this summer too. It's been a bumpy one. I keep taking for granted how much of a blessing it is that I have him so close.

And I have been immeasurably blessed with two marvelous parents who let us both stay here to work, letting Georgia steal us for the three and a half sacred months of what was supposed to be a summer spent with our family. It was a hard decision. I can't measure the heartache, the impatience, the frustration... the loneliness. But God knows. He knows it's still a hard decision. But he has made it clear it was the right one and he's been present along this whole bumpy and terrifying ride. He has been faithful.
And we're halfway there.

I'll Be Doing My Best

Somebody Loved // The Weepies

Rain turns the sand into mud.
Wind turns the trees into bone.
Stars turning high up above.
You turn me into somebody loved.

Nights when the heat had gone out,
We danced together alone.
Cold turned our breath into clouds.
We never said what we were dreaming of,
But you turned me into somebody loved.

Someday when we're old and worn,
Like two softened shoes,
I will wonder on how I was born
The night I first ran away from you.

Now my feet turn the corner back home.
Sun turns the evening to rose.
Stars turning high up above.
You turn me into somebody loved.

First-Born

This is my future first-born.

With Independence Comes Great Responsibility

“With great power comes great responsibility.” Thank yoooou, Spiderman.

As much as I’d like to brush off Uncle Ben’s momentous movie quote, I can’t really deny that it’s a small but bloody brilliant tidbit of truth.
And I need to stop shoving that tidbit down everyone else’s throat.

This summer, I’ve fallen into the category of being truly independent. Independence is a strange sort of power. And with it comes a plethora of responsibilities. Well I promised myself I’d accomplish lots of things this summer. I also promised myself I wouldn’t fail at any single one of them. I convinced myself I could be that invincible. Buuuuut, I’m human. I’m a sinner. That isn’t an excuse—I suppose it’s just life. It’s who I am. However, instead of accepting the fact that I’m broken, I try to cover that up and tell God yet another time that I am, in fact, able to accomplish things without him. That I don’t need him. Well, I do. Waaaaay more than I will probably ever be able to admit. Or even realize.

“Okay God, here I am. Help me acknowledge my weaknesses. I’m so awful at trusting you. Thank you for grace, and for your impeccable timing in bringing me to my knees. Thank you for humbling me daily. Help me to find my weaknesses and help me to realize that you have a purpose for me still. Help me to grow even in those weaknesses. Help me to see your power in my life. Help me to listen to you. And most importantly, help me to be more obedient and less stubborn. Help me to see your grace and help me to honor, glorify, serve, and imitate you every day. Every single moment.”

I just shared the following verse with someone else. And it made me realize how quick I am to prescribe verses. Like the Bible is medicine (of course, in some ways I suppose the two are somewhat comparable). Except I haven’t even taken it in myself.

“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Sometimes, (actually, quite often) I have to fall flat on my face in order to realize what’s right in front of me. I need that moment where I’m picking myself up off the ground. I need that misery. I need that pain. I need that humiliation. I need it to see where I am and what I’ve done. I need it, so that when I lift up my eyes, I’m finally looking straight ahead. I’m finally looking where God wanted my focus the whole time. I need that moment, to gaze in the eyes of Christ. To see his grace and love in my moment of defeat, transformed into a blessed moment of significant growth.
Our God is a patient and gracious God.

He has given me strength. Even strength in my weaknesses. I have this strength. To be courageous, confident, and unwavering. I rest upon a solid foundation. God holds my heart and feet steady. He has made me immovable, but given me faith to move mountains.

I have a lot of independence this summer. And with that, a lot of responsibility. Particularly to myself.

It’s a very important part of growing up. And it’ll be a summer chock-full of challenges. But I have a God who is faithful, who is gracious, and who is loving. Loving enough to grow me even in my obstinance. And who holds me, and shows me overwhelming His love and grace, even when I’ve fallen flat on my face.
I have a Father whose power is made perfect in my weakness. And I am humbled and grateful that I can still glorify him in all my imperfections.
I am so small. But even still, He gives my life significance.

Fear

“Why be afraid? 

You lose so much in fear.

If you love it, chase after it.

There is no fear in love.”

Some Songs For June

1. Girl Inform Me // The Shins
2. Fitz & Dizzyspells // Andrew Bird
3. There Goes The Fear // Doves
4. Sweet & Low (Acoustic) // Augustana
5. The Dress Looks Nice On You // Sufjan Stevens
6. The Heart Of Life // John Mayer
7. Never Finish // Leigh Nash
8. Easy To Please // Coldplay
9. Shoot The Moon // Norah Jones
10. Mykonos // Fleet Foxes
11. There She Goes // The La's
12. Learning How To Die // Jon Foreman
13. You're Still The One // Shaniz Twain
14. The Fox // Nickel Creek
15. Jolene // The Weepies
16. Sweet Disposition // The Temper Trap
17. You're Beautiful // Phil Wickham
18. Lyin' Eyes // The Eagles
19. April, Come She Will // Simon & Garfunkel
20. Us // Regina Spektor
21. Swallowed In The Sea // Coldplay
22. Citywide Rodeo // The Weepies
23. Time To Pretend // MGMT
24. Hey Now // Augustana
25. Landslide // Fleetwood Mac
26. Won't Stop // One Republic
27. Blood Bank // Bon Iver
28. Nothing I've Ever Known // Bryan Adams
29. Amie // Damien Rice
30. Stop This Train // John Mayer
31. Haikuesque (When She Laughs) // Bibio
32. Such Great Heights // The Postal Service
33. New Slang // The Shins
34. This Road // Jars of Clay
35. Lullaby // One Republic
36. Yet // Switchfoot
37. Pilgrim // Enya
38. Lion's Mane // Iron & Wine
39. The Funeral // Band of Horses
40. Why Do You Let Me Stay Here? // She & Him
41. Percussion Gun // White Rabbits
42. Eyes // Rogue Waves
43. After The Storm // Mumford & Sons
44. See You Soon // Coldplay

Honeypots and Thoughtful Spots

I’ve been sitting in my thoughtful spot today. No honeypot. Just me and my thoughts. Think, think.

And I don’t really have much to say. It’s been one of those days when my mind has already gotten a head start and is miles down the road before my mouth has a chance to hop in the car and gun it to catch up. Words are in last place in this race between the mind and the tongue.

They’re taking their time. But they’ll make a comeback when they’re good and ready.

And when I’m ready, I’ll write.

Eternal Reverie

Morning stopped,
To listen to the mighty whisper
Of the heron's unfolding wings.
It stopped for the oaks,
Their arms outstretched
Against a rosy and roused canvas.

The sanguine sky with his timid demeanor sat,
Rubbing his slumber-glazed eyes.
And the morning stopped to admire him,
Rendering his cheeks an emblazoned red.
Morning stopped for the barefoot hills,
Scampering with pleasure towards the horizon.

It stopped for the callow ground,
Set like a dream amidst a lazy tier of fog,
And embellished with altogether flawless beads of dew.
Morning stopped to compose itself,
Beaming with the youthfulness of daylight.

It is a mystery.
Morning stopped,
But aroused an eternal reverie.

Let Me Never Forget The Delight of Reading

Listening to: "The Heart of Life" (John Mayer)

I started thinking about books today. Well, actually I've been thinking about them all week long.
Moreso I guess about how much I miss them, and what a big hole my life has when I'm not immersed in one.

I wish I were as crazy book-obsessed as I was when I was a kid. I was a voracious reader. My parents didn't let us watch television until we learned how to read. And before then, I would grab books and stand in front of my grandmother with my back to her until she picked me up to read to me. (Even as a three-year-old, I'm sure that was not the most charming thing I could have done.) So I'm not real sure what happened. But I don't like it. I miss the worlds I used to get lost in daily. I don't even intentionally find time to read anymore.

It's more than pathetic. It's tragic.

Books are incredible. I'm missing out on a heck of a lot. I'm missing out on worlds that I've never even discovered. It's a blessing I suppose, that I have worlds to remember. They're what's motivating me to pursue books again. Let me never forget the delight of reading. Libraries are exhilarating. They are portals to a neverland where the imagination is set free and where the mind may go wherever it pleases. Books are vast worlds, that are ours to envision and hold dear. And words. Words are extraordinary. They are glorious. And words are unforgettable. They resonate. And endure like memories.

So, this summer, I have a simple goal. Just, read.

Ten Books I Plan On Devouring This Year:
"Anna Karenina" by Leo Tolstoy
"Till We Have Faces" by C.S. Lewis
"The Four Loves" by C.S. Lewis
"The Stranger" by Albert Camus
"The Sun Also Rises" by Ernest Hemingway
"Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott
"The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger
"Mein Kampf" by Adolf Hitler
"Walden" by Henry David Thoreau
"The Death of Ivan Ilych" by Leo Tolstoy

And many more...
Comment with your five favorite books, books you plan to read, or just book suggestions:

Today...

Originally uploaded by Tommy Petroni

This is what I miss.

The Strength of My Heart | My Portion Forever

Surely God is good to Israel, to those who are pure in heart. But as for me, my feet had almost slipped; I had nearly lost my foothold.

For I envied the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. They have no struggles; their bodies are healthy and strong. They are free from the burdens common to man; they are not plagued by human ills. Therefore pride is their necklace; they clothe themselves with violence.

From their callous hearts comes iniquity; the evil conceits of their minds know no limits. They scoff, and speak with malice; in their arrogance they threaten oppression. Their mouths lay claim to heaven, and their tongues take possession of the earth. Therefore their people turn to them and drink up waters in abundance. They say,

"How can God know? Does the Most High have knowledge?"

This is what the wicked are like—always carefree, they increase in wealth.

Surely in vain have I kept my heart pure; in vain have I washed my hands in innocence. All day long I have been plagued; I have been punished every morning. If I had said, "I will speak thus," I would have betrayed your children. When I tried to understand all this, it was oppressive to me.

Till I entered the sanctuary of God; then I understood their final destiny.

Surely you place them on slippery ground; you cast them down to ruin. How suddenly are they destroyed, completely swept away by terrors! As a dream when one awakes, so when you arise, O Lord, you will despise them as fantasies.

When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered, I was senseless and ignorant; I was a brute beast before you. Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.

Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

Those who are far from you will perish; you destroy all who are unfaithful to you.

But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign LORD my refuge; I will tell of all your deeds.

Psalm 73

Every Day Has New Beginnings

Tomorrow I will:
Move into my first apartment.
Start my first full-time job.

Goodnight. :)

Compasses

Thank you for the encouragement and motivation to write again, Ellie.
This one's for you.

We always try to hold it in,
Because we don’t know how to let it out.
These are our lives.
We are scared of losing all the time.
And losing ourselves.

We are our own riddles and rhyme,
Trying to sanctify our minds.
We are hollow beings.
Trying to maintain our souls.

We are not lost.
We know our direction.
We have stopped looking at compasses
Because we know the way.
We know the road.
But we choose not to go.
We bury our hands in the pockets of our coats.

We stand and never sit.
We are always ready to go,
But never ready to leave.

You Don't Know Me At All

Hi, my name is: Lydia
Never in my life have I been: Out of the country.
The one person who can drive me nuts is: My brother. And I love it.
High school: Was one of the hardest songs I've ever played in life. I was under the impression that dissonance couldn't make a melody. But instead, dissonance saved the melody.
When I’m nervous: I tend to bite my nails.
The last song I listened to was: "World Spins Madly On" by The Weepies
If I were to get married right now my best man/maid of honor: Rachael.
My hair is: Cooperating. Yes!
When I was 5: I met my best friend.
Last Christmas: I was home. At least at one of them.
I should be: More loving.
By this time next year: I would like to have a plan. Or be content with not having one at all.
I have a hard time understanding: My ever-fickle mind.
You know I like you when: I tell you my sad secrets.
If I won an award, the first person I would tell would be: Chloe Payne. :)
Take my advice: God will always be enough.
The thing I want to buy: Certainty.
If you visited the place I was born: You'd fall in love.
I plan to visit: The west coast and fall in love.
If you spent the night at my house: I would take care of you.
I’d stop my wedding if: I felt like I was making a mistake.
The world could do without: Foolishness.
I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: Suffer heartbreak.
Most recent thing I’ve bought myself: Bubbles.
Most recent thing someone else bought me: Dinner.
My favorite blonde is: Chelsea.
My favorite brunette is: Mom.
My favorite black hair is: A secret. :)
My middle name is: Karstin.
In the morning I: Struggle to be ready.
Last night I was: Quite undeniably sick.
There’s this guy I know who: Has made me forget what life was like without him.
A better name for me would be: Hard to pinpoint.
Tomorrow I am: Going to be better.
Tonight I am: Going to be thankful.
My birthday is: A day that I feel like I don't deserve sometimes.

Swallows At Our Window

Rousseau had no recollection of learning to read, but he remembered how when he was five or six his father encouraged his love of reading:

"Every night, after supper, we read some part of a small collection of romances [i.e., adventure stories], which had been my mother's. My father's design was only to improve me in reading, and he thought these entertaining works were calculated to give me a fondness for it; but we soon found ourselves so interested in the adventures they contained, that we alternately read whole nights together and could not bear to give over until at the conclusion of a volume. Sometimes, in the morning, on hearing the swallows at our window, my father, quite ashamed of this weakness, would cry, "Come, come, let us go to bed; I am more a child than thou art."

A Heart That Trusts Wholeheartedly

The afternoon is perhaps the best part of a day. For more reasons than I can even address. Especially if you know well the afternoon sun. A contented sun. A sun well-spent by the day.

Something about today changed everything. To the degree that I have realized, I CANNOT BE THE SAME I WAS AN HOUR AGO. I WILL NOT BE.

A mere half-hour of sitting and being still, and just listening, and one positive presentation changed my thoughts about everything.

Somehow in listening, in observing someone else, everything in my own life started to make sense.

I felt like I was finally progressing-- moving one solid direction.
And all in one overwhelming moment, I felt like everything was going to be okay. Like I knew who I wanted to be. And EVERYTHING made sense.
Comfort isn't even the pertinent word. Or excitement. It was close to pure DELIGHT. I was perfectly and utterly speechless. Very contentedly so I might add.

Suddenly, blogging is easy again. Poetry is easy again (yet still thoughtfully challenging). Life is easier. It flows again.

He has revealed to me--unraveled-- a small part of his precious plan for my life. And has made my path clear.

Life has become
Two eyes looking
At the horizon again.
Two ears listening
For the melody that trials bring.
And a heart that trusts wholeheartedly.

Where You Are Within Yourself

“I think there can be a downside to anything you choose in life, depending on where you are within yourself, whether you’re happy and that’s what I’ve learned over the last while. This can be really hard, you know some things can go really right and some things can go really wrong and it’s when the things that go wrong, it’s how you deal with those”. --Damien Rice

One More Try

Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try...

When Poetry Escapes You

When poetry escapes you,
And you are stripped of your eloquence,
Robbed of your rhythm
And aching for rhyme...

When life lacks color, and confidence,
And you cannot find words,
But only the end of yourself...

When stillness & silence are not enough
To quiet your heart,
And the light in your eyes is fading
Like the day at dusk...

Be still.
I will still be here,
Patiently waiting for you.

I am yours beloved,
And you are mine.

Formspring.Me

Questions are meant to be asked.
http://formspring.me/lydiakarstin

I Threw Away The Key

Thinking about Andrew Peterson's song "Hosea" this morning.
These lyrics are woven so beautifully.

Every time I lay in the bed beside you, Hosea, Hosea, I hear the sound of the streets of the city. My belly growls like a hungry wolf and I let it prowl till my belly's full. Hosea, my heart is a stone. Please believe me when I say I'm sorry, Hosea, Hosea, you loveable, gullible man. I tell you that my love is true till it fades away like a morning dew. Hosea, leave me alone. Here I am in the Valley of Trouble. Just look at the bed that I've made: badlands as far as I can see. There's no one here but me, Hosea.

I stumbled and fell in the road on the way home, Hosea, Hosea. I lay in the brick street like a stray dog. You came to me like a silver moon with the saddest smile I ever knew. Hosea carry me home again. Home again. You called me out to the Valley of Trouble just to look at the mess that I've made, a barren place where nothing can grow. One look and my stone heart crumbled--it was a valley as green as jade. I swear it was the color of hope. You turned a stone into a rose, Hosea, Hosea.

I sang and I danced like I did as a young girl, Hosea, Hosea. I am a slave and a harlot no more. You washed me clean like a summer rain and you set me free with that ball and chain. Hosea, I threw away the key.

I'll never leave.

When You Looked For Hope

You looked for hope where it sought never to be found.

In darkness.
Even when the night was upon you,
And you could not see the love
Written upon our faces
To offer you hope,
Hope whispered:
“Remember the morning.”

Your ears yearned to be deaf to hope’s voice.
You ached to ignore him. to die, free of his beleaguering charm.
You fought his embrace, but he held you.
And your unbridled heart never stopped beating.
Hope came to you though your heart couldn’t stand the thought.

Hope found you, and so will you find hope.

In the corner of a smile.
In the poetic chatter of a streetlight.
In the sound of wings rising to meet the sun.
In the barren innocence of dawn.

You will find hope, when you seek it where it seeks not to be found.

Of Mornings As A Child

Remember the mornings? The mornings that first opened your eyes? And the vision that the night left as it poured gold across the skies?

Remember the hands? The hands that swept across your young brow as your eyelids yawned? That hid your hair behind your ear and stroked your lazy skin awake. Those hands.

Remember the feeling of a new beginning? As you pulled away from each dream, turning to the pleasant uncertainty and hopeful thrill of reality once again.

Is it unfair? That the mornings greet youth with excitement and hope, but greet man with only fear? With dread?

All man can feel is the chill of dawn. The cold misery that meets him every sunrise as each blanket is peeled forth from his listless frame. As he begs those hands, his own burden, to let him lay still, and be lost in the comfort of dreams. He fights for a reason to awaken. For a reason to let excitement and the thrill of reality overwhelm him.

But then he remembers those eyes. Remember those eyes? Those eyes, so pure, that met yours, as you met the world on those still fond mornings?

Those mornings long ago.

When The Silence Is Piercing

This has been your quiet journey.
A long road in the darkness.
You have let the silence pierce you.
Numb you.

You have let emptiness fill your soul,
But don’t let its cold hands trespass the corners of your heart now.
Remember the feeling of nothing?
When silence was piercing, and your ears rang.
Don’t ache to feel numb again.

May the perfect words escape my lips

And softly sing to your impatient ears…

Not on the days when the silence needs to be piercing to wake you up.

But let it be on the days when the silence has made you deaf.

The days when your eyes don’t smile.

When I need to say the things that your heart needs to hear.

And, let peace begin to shine.
Let the quiet that you have ached in wrap it’s consoling arms around you.
And the silence that has pierced you?
It will pierce you no longer.
It’s voice will be but a lullaby.

For Who I Once Was

Who I once was
has changed.
I am no longer quiet.
No longer still.
I am raging.
For I cannot find
the shores.

I am the violent waves.
But I am a tempest
that grows weary.
I long to be
the tide that comes.
To be the docile
waves that ebb upon
the shore.
Anywhere I can call home.
And rest my head
upon the sand.

Who I have become
is ready to go down
drowning.
With arms raised.
But who I once was
is a gentle wind
calling. And it
whispers to me,
“Oh, the strength
you have.
Don’t stop looking
for those shores.”

Perhaps My New Favorite Poem

Thanks to Dr. Wildeman, I've got a new favorite.

Introduction to Poetry 

by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Dog-Eared

"Sometimes,

life becomes

too black

and white,"

I said.

"And we get

dull and

dog-eared

from the

monotony

of routine."

I said,

"Why not

revel

in the

magic

that comes

between

the two?

Why not

dance

in each

dapple

of grey?"