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.