If I find in myself
desires nothing in this world can satisfy,
I can only conclude
that I, I was not made for here
If the flesh that I fight is at best
only light and momentary,
then of course I'll feel nude
when to where I'm destined I'm compared
Speak to me in the light of the dawn
Mercy comes with the morning
I will sigh and with all creation groan
as I wait for hope to come for me
Am I lost or just less found?
On the straight or on the roundabout
of the wrong way?
Is this a soul that stirs in me
is it breaking free, wanting to come alive?
'Cause my comfort would prefer for me to be numb
And avoid the impending birth
of who I was born to become
Speak to me in the light of the dawn
Mercy comes with the morning
I will sigh and with all creation groan
as I wait for hope to come for me
For we, we are not long here
Our time is but a breath,
so we better breathe it
And I, I was made to live
I was made to love
I was made to know you
Hope is coming for me
Hope, He's coming for me
Hope is coming for me
Hope, He's coming
Speak to me in the light of the dawn
Mercy comes with the morning
I will sigh and with all creation groan
as I wait for hope to come for me
For me, for me, for me
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
I'm ready for a change. something big. something drastic. I'm ready to be shaken off my feet by god, to be pushed to a new limit of comfort and honesty with josh, to be questioned on what I know and what I'm prepared to give, to follow and grow and change. I'm ready to be real. I'm ready for adventure, for the kind of adventure that breaks you and puts you back together, that meets people, takes people, molds people in its way. I'm ready to recklessly love, to stretch young life relationships and muslim relationships to the breaking point with the recognition that I have lots to lose and they have the world to gain. I'm ready to run that goes more miles than I knew I could, to breathe harder and faster than I thought was possible, to fly. I'm ready to read something in the bible that makes me fall to the floor in worship--giving thanks for all things, all times, always--and to be forever changed by it. I'm ready for this year.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
something I want to think about now that jt is in tfa:
1) is what I'm about to say going to take away a piece of his happiness about this thing? because if so, that's the LAST thing I want to do. and I know that with every roll of my eyes, that's what I'm doing. I'm usually an incredibly happy person, and I'm not okay with that not being so. I want to exude christ's joy in everything that I do, and I want that to be evident in his life, that I am a positive addition and a blessing.
so: when I hear something like, "I just got car insurance" or "I got a computer, but there's no way to install apps," my first thought needs to be, is what I'm saying going to be productive, or is it ruining his happiness? He's an adult, he's being an adult, and I feel... I don't know. I guess I feel like I want to contribute, but I can't, because we aren't doing this jointly. my opinions matter, but not really, because it's his life at the end of the day. I think there's just a lot of worry in me that I'm not doing this right, all the time.
Lord, please. Please give me your grace and wherewithall and ability to hopscotch through difficult situations and make you proud. I know that this is a learning experience, and I'm learning how to love josh. I just need your guidance and teaching to be able to do it. Please help me to take the quiet time I need to learn how you love me, in order to learn how I love josh.
you're wonderful, and such an incredible blessing, father.
1) is what I'm about to say going to take away a piece of his happiness about this thing? because if so, that's the LAST thing I want to do. and I know that with every roll of my eyes, that's what I'm doing. I'm usually an incredibly happy person, and I'm not okay with that not being so. I want to exude christ's joy in everything that I do, and I want that to be evident in his life, that I am a positive addition and a blessing.
so: when I hear something like, "I just got car insurance" or "I got a computer, but there's no way to install apps," my first thought needs to be, is what I'm saying going to be productive, or is it ruining his happiness? He's an adult, he's being an adult, and I feel... I don't know. I guess I feel like I want to contribute, but I can't, because we aren't doing this jointly. my opinions matter, but not really, because it's his life at the end of the day. I think there's just a lot of worry in me that I'm not doing this right, all the time.
Lord, please. Please give me your grace and wherewithall and ability to hopscotch through difficult situations and make you proud. I know that this is a learning experience, and I'm learning how to love josh. I just need your guidance and teaching to be able to do it. Please help me to take the quiet time I need to learn how you love me, in order to learn how I love josh.
you're wonderful, and such an incredible blessing, father.
apellido determinado
"but when I knew him, he was just a little old man who loved to grow roses."
my father has always loved to grow roses.
a skill he learned from his grandfather, he nurtured them
like children, each differently coloured, tempered, but sweet and responsive.
he pruned them daily with a talent I have not inherited,
knowing how and when and where to snip
cutting in a way that, somehow, left the plant more whole.
he tells that when we moved from maine,
he and my mother drove past that little old house a few weeks later
and he was heartbroken to see bushes of roses lying by the side of the road,
ripped up and given for garbage.
"why wouldn't they have offered them to me?" he asked himself for days after.
I wondered what the big deal was, at the insightful age of 11.
They're just plants.
this love for roses is genetic.
while my father idolizes his grandfather, telling stories of his legendary laugh
and long portuguese pipe,
he remembers the sweet little old man,
standing in the yellowing photo with big ears that nearly stick out of the frame,
wrinkles abounding on his forehead,
rose bushes in the background.
why he was allowed to know this man, I will never understand.
as a father, he was cruel, with a portuguese temper to match his apellido
ruling his household with a gefilte fish on christmas
and disciplining with his fists.
he was something to be feared,
a man that battled through asbestosis everyday in underground tunnels
and until his death at 81,
everyone thought he'd been victorious,
never touched.
In fear, my grandfather choose engineering over medicine,
his brother, the army over life in a New Jersey factory.
My great-grandmother, a quarter century younger, defaulted to his wisdom
and worked in a factory, testing lightbulbs on a line, for 8 hours a day.
(Whether her choice was also influenced by fear,
we'll never know).
But when my father was born, this man who inspired fear had mellowed,
softening with age into the sweet little old man in the photo,
a man worthy of his grandson's emulation:
who trapped and released squirrels,
shoveled the snow off of the sidewalk,
and loved to grow roses.
my father has always loved to grow roses.
a skill he learned from his grandfather, he nurtured them
like children, each differently coloured, tempered, but sweet and responsive.
he pruned them daily with a talent I have not inherited,
knowing how and when and where to snip
cutting in a way that, somehow, left the plant more whole.
he tells that when we moved from maine,
he and my mother drove past that little old house a few weeks later
and he was heartbroken to see bushes of roses lying by the side of the road,
ripped up and given for garbage.
"why wouldn't they have offered them to me?" he asked himself for days after.
I wondered what the big deal was, at the insightful age of 11.
They're just plants.
this love for roses is genetic.
while my father idolizes his grandfather, telling stories of his legendary laugh
and long portuguese pipe,
he remembers the sweet little old man,
standing in the yellowing photo with big ears that nearly stick out of the frame,
wrinkles abounding on his forehead,
rose bushes in the background.
why he was allowed to know this man, I will never understand.
as a father, he was cruel, with a portuguese temper to match his apellido
ruling his household with a gefilte fish on christmas
and disciplining with his fists.
he was something to be feared,
a man that battled through asbestosis everyday in underground tunnels
and until his death at 81,
everyone thought he'd been victorious,
never touched.
In fear, my grandfather choose engineering over medicine,
his brother, the army over life in a New Jersey factory.
My great-grandmother, a quarter century younger, defaulted to his wisdom
and worked in a factory, testing lightbulbs on a line, for 8 hours a day.
(Whether her choice was also influenced by fear,
we'll never know).
But when my father was born, this man who inspired fear had mellowed,
softening with age into the sweet little old man in the photo,
a man worthy of his grandson's emulation:
who trapped and released squirrels,
shoveled the snow off of the sidewalk,
and loved to grow roses.
so, this is something that stumps me. Viktor is here, electrical Viktor (not the pastor), and he came to my mother yesterday morning, knocked on the door, and said with his hands raised, "any work, Mrs. Mary?"
He has incredible work-ethic. He's been outside in the hot sun for two days, not even wanting to take a break from trimming trees to eat the cake my mother brought him, and he's not a young guy. He's probably 60 or 65, but he's bee-boppin around outside with the tree trimmer and wanting to make our yard beautiful, because he needs money and isn't afraid to work for it. Why is it that we Americans struggle with the welfare system so much? Our government wants to provide for the people that genuinely need it, like retired old men and women with kids, but we also expect that if you're capable of working, you will, and not everyone does that.
In fact, most people don't do it. Women have more babies so they can get more free money and spend it on their cars or their tvs and not shoes for their 5 kids, and young guys that should be working find a way to get on welfare and knock up chicks so that they don't have to work. that makes no sense to me, and it makes me understand how frustrating it is to deal with welfare, and why people like Carlos, one of our YL leaders, wants to get rid of the welfare system and thinks it's a terrible thing that's happened to black people. No wonder he hates it. It's used in a corrupted way with 90% of the people that use it, and it's frustrating.
And then I watch Viktor, who has lived a long life and might have the chance to retire in a good job, but instead is trimming our trees in a hope to get money for his family. And I respect him for it, quite a lot.
He has incredible work-ethic. He's been outside in the hot sun for two days, not even wanting to take a break from trimming trees to eat the cake my mother brought him, and he's not a young guy. He's probably 60 or 65, but he's bee-boppin around outside with the tree trimmer and wanting to make our yard beautiful, because he needs money and isn't afraid to work for it. Why is it that we Americans struggle with the welfare system so much? Our government wants to provide for the people that genuinely need it, like retired old men and women with kids, but we also expect that if you're capable of working, you will, and not everyone does that.
In fact, most people don't do it. Women have more babies so they can get more free money and spend it on their cars or their tvs and not shoes for their 5 kids, and young guys that should be working find a way to get on welfare and knock up chicks so that they don't have to work. that makes no sense to me, and it makes me understand how frustrating it is to deal with welfare, and why people like Carlos, one of our YL leaders, wants to get rid of the welfare system and thinks it's a terrible thing that's happened to black people. No wonder he hates it. It's used in a corrupted way with 90% of the people that use it, and it's frustrating.
And then I watch Viktor, who has lived a long life and might have the chance to retire in a good job, but instead is trimming our trees in a hope to get money for his family. And I respect him for it, quite a lot.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
because it takes two to whisper quietly.
When I was still in Ecuador, Josh and I had this great conversation about the future, and what it means, and what it holds. To consider stopping using so many "maybes" and "what ifs" and phrases like "I hope my future husband does that." I told him that I'm constantly of two minds, between wanting to get married right now, because everyone else around me seems like they are, and I so love the idea, and fully logically wanting the last two years of college, wanting my roommates and wanting to be slow and rational about things.
I think I'm just trusting that josh is listening to God and that we both have his timeline as a guideline. It's just hard, I think, to watch everyone get married and want that, you know?
I think I'm just trusting that josh is listening to God and that we both have his timeline as a guideline. It's just hard, I think, to watch everyone get married and want that, you know?
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