Heart's Cry

Well...here I am again, Lord.



You already know this, of course, but I have a bit of a confession to make: I have this horribly disgusting habit of making everything else in the world so much more important than You.




I'm sorry.







I'm so, so sorry.



I have no idea what is wrong with me, why I do things like this, why I don't just allow You to sweep me away in the beautiful freedom that You daily offer. Why am I so insistent on closing myself off to you? Why do I live in this sickening pattern?

I think that at the start of things--and of course, it's a cycle without a start, but I mean the start of my falling away from You--I think that I must know that I'll end up here. I must have it somewhere in the back of my mind...that's got to be the case. I have to see this coming. I should see it coming. I mean, I've done it to myself so many times before, I would have to be some kind of idiot to completely be unaware to the truth that I'm setting myself up for hurt.


Lord, oh...it's just...there is such a huge, revolting disconnect between what I know to be true and what I live out and testify to be true. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry...I'm sorry. Does this pathetic life of mine disgust You like it does me? Does it hurt You to watch me do this to myself? It must. It has to.


...I think.


I don't know.



I'm sorry.


I'm sorry that I don't come to You. I'm sorry that I deny you the joy of satisfying me. You would feed me with the finest of wheat, with honey from the rock You would satisfy me...you see, I know your promises. In my head...I know them. But why don't they matter to me in my heart?? Why don't they affect my life???? Why don't they absolutely change who I am?


Why, oh why, Oh my God am I still searching for satisfaction and contentment and love elsewhere? I am so sorry that I don't allow You to meet these needs of mine,. I am so sorry.


I am such a stupid, foolish girl. There is no reason for me to grieve as I do, I know this. My answer is found in You, I know this. Please, please forgive me for throwing my soul at others...Oh I am so sorry. It must hurt you very much that I just...reject the relationship You've offered me. Forgive me, Lord, please forgive me.


Abba, I am hurting. I am longing for satisfaction in my life, and I confess that I have tried to find it in everything but You. Of course...I haven't found it. I feel like such a fool. I don't even deserve to be able to say this to You. I'm not worth Your love. I don't know why You even allow me to know about Your existence, much less your grace or love...I am so unworthy.

Help me, Father, please help me to come to You, to appreciate the beautiful relationship You have offered me. Please reshape my mind, help me be transformed to the knowledge of You. I am so tired of paining myself by denying you. I am so tired of having to deal with the knowledge that I have only myself to blame for my hurt.

I am a stupid, foolish girl. But...for some reason, You have chosen to love me. You love me. Oh, my Lord, my God, my friend--You love me. Why? I don't know why. But I know that it is true. Your love is there. Thank You. Thank You a thousand times...I am so undeserving. You are everything. Please...give me the grace to see that. Give me the conviction to live that truth out. You are everything.

Sometimes

Sometimes you just don't go to sleep.


Sometimes you just stay up, stand out on your porch all alone and try to take in as much of the sky as you can. You just breathe.







Sometimes you just spend a little time longing for someone to share the starlight with.

Sometimes you just cry.


And sometimes I just pray.

These Days...

Since my last post...everything in my life has changed.




Okay, you're right, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was founded on a shred of truth. Maybe more than a shred. A lot has changed.



For instance, I dyed my hair red.









Just kidding!!! Gotcha!



Here are the real changes:



Change number one: my location has shifted. I am now back in the VA. (That's read, "Vee Ehy." And no, I don't have a good reason for prefacing state abbreviations with an article. It's just what I do.)

Change number two: there has been a significant adjustment in how I spend my time. I am now re-instated as a full-time student and as a part-time employee at Panera Bread. Hoorah.

Change number three: the girl whom I have claimed as my best friend since I was six years old got married on Saturday and is now moving to Argentina.

Change number four: this is my Senior year of college. In May I will graduate and for the first time in my life the next step will be entirely in subjection to my choices.




If you don't see the significance in the first three...I hope you're catching on with numero quatro. This is a big deal.



I know that the only thing that stays the same is change...but knowing that doesn't make it easy.




I'm a little scared.











----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure."

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

"O visionary world, condition strange, Where naught abiding is but only change."

- James Russell Lowell

"There is a certain relief in change, even though it be from bad to worse; as I have found in traveling in a stagecoach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's position and be bruised in a new place."

- Washington Irving

Consumed

I've not posted in a bit...we'll all just have to deal with that our own ways.


Here's what I'm thinking tonight. I'm thinking about my life. I'm thinking about...my blog, at the moment.

Do you know why it's called By the Word? The answer is multi-faceted actually. The answer which might be the most obvious is that I love words. I do. I love the power of language. I am ever fascinated by the fact that each word is wholly its own...so much more than just a dictionary definition is attached, and therefore one tiny little word has the ability to speak volumes, to change the temperature of a statement entirely. I love literature and poetry and communication...and Boggle, Scrabble, Upwords, and Letter Getter. I really love words. I live by words.

But there's another side to "the Word." In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Bible, the manuscript to my life, that is the Word. I am particularly fond of the blog's title because it is a message to me, a reminder that I want to live my life entirely "By the Word."

I know that I have a bit of a reputation for my love of words. But do I have a reputation for my love of the Word?



A sense of urgency has been on my heart lately. I am not of the opinion that a Christian's life is "wasted" if he or she does not go in to full time ministry; working a nine to five with a briefcase and tie is not a sin. However, I am convicted with the thought that a Christian life can be wasted. All of mankind was created to glorify God...it is my special duty to glorify God. My life can be a showcase of His glory whether I punch a clock or preach to the tribes...and it can likewise be a pointless waste of time in either endeavor.

Every moment, every thought, every decision, every word...it can count for eternity and glorify God,


or it can be a moment, thought, decision, or word that is lost for eternity.


A moment, thought, decision, or word that glorifies...something other than God.







I am overwhelmed with a desire to be overwhelmed by a passion for the work of the Lord. A friend of mine wrote a song a few years ago...to be honest I only remember two words: consume me. I am pleading with the Lord now that He grab my heart and fully consume me with a desire to glorify Him. People are lost. God is being mocked and cast aside...taken in vain.





Oh God, let me not forget that You are my purpose. Let me not be taken with my own vanity and desires; allow me to be all consumed by a fire for You. I yearn to be with You, to live a life that is pleasing to you, to not waste my moments. Keep me far from those things which will keep me from Your purpose, don't let me stray. I love You. Consume me.

Just Putting It Out There...

I've been temping for the last few weeks at a plastics factory, working in the assembly department. Essentially this means that my hands are completely occupied for eight hours while my mind is free to roam about where it pleases, doing what it will.

On my breaks I often have to pull out my journal and jot some things down because my mind has chosen to write a substantial amount of poetry...here's one that I like:


Today

I've thought about you a lot today
And I have some things I'd like to say
But instead I think I'll let them drift away
And I've thought about you a lot today.

I've thought about you a lot today
From smiles to frowns my lips have swayed
But my true feelings won't be betrayed
And I've thought about you a lot today.

I've thought about you a lot today
My heart and mind began to stray
There's a memory dragon that I can't slay
And I've thought about you a lot today.

I've thought about you a lot today
So I bend my knees and heart to pray
And my burdens upon this altar I lay
And I'll think of you no more today.


j. marie




There are some that I'm working on which are better...but this is what I'm willing to give for now. I think it's....complete. Yes.

Enjoy?



Peace and blessings.

The Jessica Chronicles: Wiper Worries

Things happen in my life. They're funny, ironic, crazy, and sometimes just things. Like, for instance, right after I broke up with the guy I had dated for two years, the first song I heard on the radio was "I Don't Love You Anymore" by Teddy Pendergrass. Go on, listen to it. Seriously? If you don't think that's funny, ironic, crazy, or some combination of the three, you owe me a dime. They're those moments when I'm sure my life is secretly a movie, or some sitcom that I don't know about. I'm sure they happen in your life, too, but I can only write about mine. These are the Jessica Chronicles.


This week in the Jessica Chronicles....


We have huge storms in southwestern Michigan. I know that I can quote some person or other claiming the county I live in as located in the very tip of Tornado Alley. That's not a true statement, but nonetheless, we often have huge thunderstorms, and our fair share of tornadoes.


There was a huge storm the other night. Friday night. The night I decided to transfer my dad's newly purchased vehicle to our friend's house.


Why does a new vehicle need to be taken to someone else's house, you may ask? Well, allow me to elucidate. My family has this thing about getting good deals. My mother is the most skilled coupon clipper in the world, my older brother will die before he buys something new that he could fix, and my younger brother is so often at Goodwill that they now have a place for him to sleep. My dad is a compulsive good-deal-getter. You can see it in his eyes and the way he scrunches his face when he is contemplating a good buy. I know exactly what his face must have looked like when he put in the bid for the old Sunfire that was available in the silent auction at the county jail. (Apparently, they repossess and sell the cars that belong to those whom they arrest...) I saw his face when he found out that his bid was the winning one.

It was ecstatic.

I took him to pick it up and followed him home. Upon getting out once we had reached our house, he informed me that it smelled bad and that the brakes needed work. (Still ecstatic.) He then declared that it should be taken to Bruce (our amazing mechanically-gifted friend who has saved us HUNDREDS of dollars in car repairs) so that all of its various issues could be determined.

I'm trying to become the favorite child in the family, and my attempts include fulfilling the requests of my father.



Thus, Friday afternoon found me making the (what should be) 5-minute drive over to Bruce's house. I was following my friend Tara, with whom I planned on jumping into the lake after dropping off the car. She'd been pushing me to swim with her for days. This trip would be two birds, one stone.

Lovely.

Or so I thought. I had been informed by a friend that it was raining in a town about fifteen minutes to the west of where I live, and that it would be headed my way. It would have been great if he had let me know that along with the coming rain would be a storm that would tear the world at the seams. He didn't, though. I did see the lightning begin to flash in the not-so-far-off distance during our little jaunt around the lake, and was right in the middle of thinking that swimming would be a no-go when the first drop of rain ominously hit my windshield. I closed the sunroof and (manually) rolled up the windows. Moments later it was pouring. Pouring-pouring. Not just the kind of pouring that people refer to when they want to make a story sound dramatic, the kind of pouring when the rain might as well be a cement wall in front of you. I couldn't see a thing.

Naturally, I start fumbling for the switch to turn on the windshield wipers.

...I fumble.

...and I fumble.

...and fumble.

A few terrible moments passed as I realized that the switch upon which the control for the wipers sat had been broken off at the base. It doesn't even exist. Awesome. I fumbled again for the hazard lights and stepped on my brakes, hoping Tara could see well enough to not smash into the back of my car. I contemplated just stopping the car and making a dash for hers, but was afraid I would be hit and killed by some driver as equally unable to see. So I began to roll down the window...

...and then promptly rolled it back up when I deduced I was getting wet.



There few a few more seconds of indecision before I gave in to the conclusion that I had to look out the window to drive. Thus, I dramatically threw my purse to the side and thrust my head out the window in a very Angelina-Jolie/chick-in-an-action-film kind of way. I'm pretty sure I yelled, "Move the purse!" in order to help myself along. It was a great plan.


But you know what's not easy to do when there is a load of rain and 80mph winds?

See.



There was a lot of bobbing in and out and thankful prayers that I knew the roads well enough that I didn't have to stay out the window, but nonetheless I was drenched by the time I parked the car and dashed into Tara's.


She stared at me, mouth hanging open, and asked, "Why are you soaked??"







That was the moment I remembered that all the windows back at the house were wide open.









*there was plenty of laughter/screaming in terror involved in this episode of the Jessica Chronicles.

Father's Day Flowers

Today is Father's Day. :)

Unfortunately, my father is several time zones away from me today, and I haven't been able to reach him on the phone, but I'm loving him anyway.

I'm particularly inspired to think of him and appreciate him because I'm sitting in my backyard.

I have made the claim before that my backyard is the best in the entire world.


...it may be a slightly schmaltzy statement, but I'll hold to it. All of the brickwork, the patio, the burm with the pond...that is entirely the work of my father's hands.


He is an unceasingly talented man who can make or fix just about anything.

The credit for the beautiful landscaping...that is the work of my mother's hands.


She should probably also receive credit for a portion of my love for the beautiful outdoors. There have been many afternoons when I've been beckoned outside to sit in the sunshine with her and enjoy the flowers. We certainly do.



Can you blame us though?

I took these pictures because I came home one day and was just floored by how beautiful it all was.

This beauty...

...this is the work of my Father's hands.

My Father in Heaven.



Pictures never do his masterpiece justice, but I hope that with these photos you can catch some small glimpse of that simple, beautiful work of His in nature which will forever fascinate me. When I have moments like this, moments where I am so forcefully, violently struck with the beauty of creation that I can scarcely function, I can't help but think that God does this just for me. I like to think that He has me (and you) in mind when He's crafting the intricate petals of the flowers, when He's letting the sun play off the sky in such a way that it creates such a brilliant blue that it can't be matched except by the vibrantly green rolling hills and fields that swoop up toward it.


It will never cease to inspire me.



My father on earth has worked so that I have the most wonderful best yard in the world in which I may contemplate the world that my Father in Heaven crafted just for me. (And you.)

Thank you, Dad.

Thank you, Lord.

Springshine

I have had a rather lovely time the last few days. They have included nothing particularly fascinating...in fact I've really only just risen, gone to work, and then had quiet evenings at home, but they've been so fulfilling. I spent a little time last night admiring the lake and a wonderfully interesting pink sky (yes, pink) with my grandmother.

Tonight....*sigh*...tonight I had my dinner outside, enjoyed the presence of a good friend, cozied myself in my hammock chair under the trees and did some writing. (Oh, how refreshing!) I finished the rough draft of a few poems, and then just did some journaling...which ended up as praying and...just thinking. It was amazing. Right now, I'm wrapping up my night after having fun chatting with some friends, listening to a mixed melody of the rain and "Wish You Were Here" by Starline Drive. Such peace.


I don't live a life that would ever be characterized by quiet...but I do have my quiet days.



Since they're rare, they're precious. I'm quite fond of them.


Have yourself a lovely evening.
And perhaps some coffee. :)





Psalm 131

O LORD, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty;
Nor do I involve myself in great matters,
Or in things too difficult for me.
Sure I have composed and quieted my soul,
Like a weaned child rests against its mother,
My soul is like a weaned child within me.
O Israel, hope in the LORD,
From this time forth and forever.

Sort of Sorting

If you haven't noticed, I decided to spruce things up around here a bit by visiting this site. Give it a go, Chels.

I've got a laundry list of things to do, including sorting through all of my belongings for our upcoming garage sale, cleaning and detailing three of our vehicles, preparing things for my friend to move in, running to town to apply for any jobs available, working out (but no laundry, interestingly enough)...all while dancing to the various and sundry different songs that will present themselves to me today.

Yes...that's how I function.




Despite my busy day, I'm here to sort some things out in my head. Or perhaps the sorting needs to go on in my heart...I guess it depends on your opinion of where my spirit makes its home. Regardless, here comes the sorting.

I am a Christian. If you're here and you're reading this and you don't know exactly what that means, allow me to explain. I believe in one God, a God that came to earth in the form of a man, Jesus Christ. I believe that Jesus lived a perfect (yes, wholly perfect) life in order that He could be the only person deserving the glory of God and Heaven, and that He sacrificed His perfect relationship with God the Father, taking on the sins of the entire world and sacrificing Himself. I believe that His sacrifice on the cross makes it possible for you and I to enter as those who are blameless into a relationship with God, and that belief in this is all that is required to spend eternity in Heaven.

There is really...SO much there that I could write on and on and on and on and on about...but for right now I'm going to focus on the fact that I have a relationship with God. A relationship. We are not friends on facebook, or in a campus society together, but nonetheless, He knows me. The thing with relationships is that I am forever inconsistent. I have shifted in "best friends" since I was a little girl. I'm not good about keeping up with my friends which are not directly in front of me. Neither am I very good about spending time daily focusing on the relationship which I have with the Lord.

This lack of attendance to my Savior leaves me frustrated and yearning. I am frustrated because I know things are not as they should be. I am yearning because I have knowledge of how things should be, I've been there, and having strayed from the point of contentedness in the Lord, I long to go back.

I long to once again come boldly before the throne of grace, knowing that I belong.
My spirit yearns to again be sensitive to the whispers of the Holy Spirit as they move the strings of my heart.
I love the Lord. I miss running to Him as my Father and best friend. It's been too long.



Far too long.

Cornfield Craziness

I live on a lake.

It's beautiful, serene, and juusst populated enough so that the happy cheers of those people that are tubing and knee boarding can be heard without getting too obnoxious. It provides for the most beautiful backdrop to an already picturesque backyard, and I won't even try to get into the benefits of that sunsetty time of day. I love (LOVE) living on a lake.

The thing about living on a lake is that cities don't generally spring up around small bodies of water, seeing as how they aren't consequential enough to provide any source of living like one of the Great Lakes would.

Therefore, I live on a lake...in the country.

This is a fact about which I am generally quite pleased. There have been a few periods of time in my life thus far when my abode rested within city limits, and I must say that I found it far from my liking. I'm all about enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. I'll take cornfields and forests over freeways and buildings pretty much any day.

(By the way, Dennis, I'll take them on without a shotgun. But thanks for your concern. ;))

However, a lack of metropolis is equal to a lack of accessible activity, and that is the very reason that I was at Wal-Mart at two in the morning last night, streaming bubbles through sky in order that some of the other late night shoppers could hack them to pieces while LARPing with their recently bought battle-axe and sword.

Yup. This summer can only get more interesting, I think.

And you know what, John? I did have a good time. You kind of stomped on my soul a little bit with your open mockery...but it's making me smile now. You made it into my blog. Ha.

I think I will keep dancing "to the beat of my own drum," thanks very much.

Peace and blessings.




Oh, by the way, get ready for the debut of some of my poetry. Oh yeah. I'm embracing the blog world.

Home Sweet...Where Am I?

So...I'm home for the summer.

Just home. In Michigan. Surrounded by cornfields, Amish people, and lakes.


Home.


There should be a great deal of nostalgic significance behind that word, or behind the fact that I'm here, but for some reason or another, I feel that something is lacking from my "home" experience. I can't quite wrap my head around why, but this past week has not felt like home. I feel as if I've lost home.

(Take a brief, unrelated pause with me while I contemplate the phrase "wrap my head around." Who came up with that? Considering it literally...man, it would be so painful. Anyway...)

There are a good many reasons why this summer will be different from others, potential explanations for my strangely twisted gut. For one thing, neither of my brothers will be filling the nest with me this summer; one of them will be working at a camp in Arizona, the other at a camp in Florida. The flow of our family banter is seriously affected by the loss of even one member, and thus the prospect of missing two of them for several months is a bit sad. This doesn't feel like a complete explanation for my feelings of loss, though.

Can I better explain my feelings? When I took the exit off of I-80 and drove into "my town," I expected to feel the flurry of excitement and comfort that generally greets me upon seeing the familiar street signs and businesses. I expected to want to shout and roll my windows down and take it all in. I expected to be pleased at the sight of home.
My expectations were...not fulfilled.

Instead of comfort I felt an agitated distress. Instead of familiarity I was struck with the impression that those streets and businesses were exactly like the streets and businesses of a thousand other towns. I recognized them, certainly, but they were no longer my own. Sturgis was just another town, it was no longer my town.

Why has this happened? I'm now feeling a bit lost. I want to be home, but I'm not sure where that is or what it consists of. Surely I'm not longing for Virginia...but maybe.

What?

Stuffed

Being new to the blog-sphere (that's a blog term, right?) I hadn't yet realized the convenience of just blogging for the sake of it until today. I've been kind of stressing myself out about it...feeling like I have to work something up in order to produce a post. I have now come to realize two things:

1. Very few, if any, people read this. Therefore, what I write is not really all that consequential. (Yup, I've seen the "nobody cares about your blog" t-shirt....it made me laugh.)
2. Even if eight thousand people read this...okay, let's be honest, eight thousand people will never be reading this.

That being said, I'm just going to wing this one.

(This is the legit beginning, by the way...ready? go.)

I am sitting on the floor in the hallway, in the middle of piles and piles of my stuff. I can't even see over all of it; my guitar and a box of fabrics are blocking my view of the window, a fact which is pretty disappointing because the trees seem particularly green today. More t-shirts that any one person should own are obstructing any hope of escape, and I will certainly die if a spontaneous fire erupts.

It could happen.

As I sit here, folding more t-shirts (where are they coming from???) and hyperventilating, I have to ask myself how this happened...How in the world did I get all of this stuff? And that which surrounds me is by no means the extent of all my crap, I have a basement, a room, and a shed full of my belongings still in Virginia. Beyond that, I have whatever may be in my bedroom, as well as everything scattered hither and yon throughout my parents' house.

Feel free to take a moment to appreciate the phrase, "hither and yon."

Back to the stuff. I have a Rotato. If you don't know what a Rotato is, Google it, then come back and agree with me that this is ridiculous. I am 21 years old, but the amount of stuff that I have is befitting someone at least 15 years my senior.

And, in case you don't know me, just know that I am not high maintenance or a hoarder. I am not the girl with eighteen thousand pairs of shoes. Neither am I the grandmother who lived through the Depression and therefore saves EVERYTHING (because you never know when you'll need it). I would pin myself as an average, middle-class American citizen when it comes to the amount of my belongings, neither excessive nor...the opposite of excessive.

About ten minutes ago, I wrapped up writing a letter to the little boy in Uganda that my family sponsors. On the guidelines for writing, the agency through which we sponsor Mumbere, Compassion International, they advise that you not go on about all your possessions, in order that you not intimidate or create a gap between yourself and your child. In the letter which Mumbere wrote to my family, he talked, in an adorably attached manner, about his favorite possession...the pet he has goat that provides his family with milk.

And here I am in my stuff.

And there you are in your stuff.

Anyone else thinking that we might have some stuff to think over?

I Reserve The Right To A Take Back

There is new overwhelming beauty to be found at every moment of this spring, it would seem.

I was leaning out over the railing off a friend's porch watching a beautiful Virginia sun set. You know the type...a light blue dusk sky being persuaded by the pink and purple companions of the sun to fade to a deep steel blue...only so much more than that. Then, beyond the "so much more" I was able to add the sense of belonging, joy, and love that comes from being surrounded by true friends.

Beautiful. So beautiful I could only breathe and try to take it in.

I was jarred from my reverie when a close friend of mine joined me at the rail. Knowing my fascination with words, and quite enjoying the sunset himself, he asked me how I would write what we were seeing down, how I, with words, would capture that moment.

Right when he asked....I realized that I would not. Even more, I realized that I could not.

Bummer, eh? NO! That's the crazy thing. The instant I knew that capturing such a perfect moment was impossible, I experienced such a beautiful freedom it was like flying.

Well, maybe not flying....but something equally exhilarating.

I love that I am incapable of capturing a sunset. I think that there is nothing quite like mankind's forever-disappointing inability to show how great God truly is. I have no idea what possessed me to want to be able to reproduce the Lord's handiwork, especially when I recall how many times I have been disappointed at various paintings' representations of various scenes in nature. It cannot be done to a satisfactory level...man's attempts will always be found wanting when set against the masterpiece that is God's creation.

The beauty in nature is so overwhelmingly fulfilling that I am constantly left paralyzed by it, stymied in my attempts to thoroughly take it in. I can, quite literally, do nothing other than sit and breathe and appreciate.

Contrast that feeling to that which is to be had when I'm looking at a painting of a sea scape or a mountainside...not one of complete disgust, but I am always left wanting more. I am always left dissatisfied.


Praise God for the fact that I cannot create what He has created. My being an equal in ability with the one who rules the universe would be disheartening indeed.

I'm not entirely certain that I've made sense tonight.





But I think I'm entitled to a bit of confusion.

Bottled Up

The nice thing about March is that it comes right after February.

There is a song by Paul Overstreet called "If I Could Bottle This Up." If you've heard it before, I will be shocked. Actually, I'll be shocked twice: once because you've heard an incredibly obscure and less-than-popular song, and again because "you" (i.e. a reader other than myself) actually exist...

...but about the song. It's a nice song, full of all that one would expect from a country artist in the 80's, twang and female backup vocals and, of course, refers to love. My guy Paul wants to bottle up the wonderful love from his sweetie, and then, in a less-romantic moment, schemes to turn around and sell that bottled up emotion, capitalizing on the world's desperate need for emotions that don't require Prozac, Cymbalta, or Paxil. Can you blame him, though? I mean, sure, he might do something a bit more noble than sell it but...to have a perfect moment captured? It would be to succeed at the task which every artist, poet, and musician strive for...

...it would be to satisfy my heart completely.

I am often overcome with the desire to capture moments. Today I was in my car, enjoying March, and thanking the Lord that he had sent this month in like a lamb as opposed to the lion. March is so incredibly refreshing after the dreary slush of February...it feels like jumping into a pool after you've become all pruny in an over-chemicaled hot tub, only much much better. Sublime bliss was mine as I drove through curved roads with one window down, inhaling the vivacity in the sweet warm air, listening to music just loud enough so that it seemed like the soundtrack to the movie that is my life. I took supreme pleasure in the way the dust sparkled and danced in the light that was streaming through the windshield, warming my skin...It's so frustrating, though, to only be able to tell you the components of the moment, and be entirely incapable of informing you how it affected me. The effect is so important...because it is really the sum of the moment. It is not exactly perfect, but it has an element of perfection in it...it is what I want to express, what I want to capture. My desire to do so is a desperate one, a need, an impression on my heart that I absolutely cannot shake and long to give to others. It is supreme satisfaction, contentment, joy, peace, and heart-swelling fullness. It can be felt in the very deepest parts of my soul, and every part of my body. I don't know enough words for it, but i so want to share it with you, and everyone I know...

Don't be mistaken and think that it is only car rides that leave me stumped in this way. Being in my backyard at home right at twilight, watching the sunset on Lake Michigan, an ideal gathering with friends or family...

As my most eloquent professor put it, it is the feeling and knowledge that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Someday I'll catch a moment, I'll put it to words, squeeze it into a frame....something.

I'll share it with you when I do. For now, I'll just go on feeling these moments as deeply as I do, and enjoying them on my own.

For Starters...

I've wanted to start a blog for awhile now. The problem with blogs is that they are supposed to have some central purpose or theme...at least, that's what I'm told. And the problem with central purposes is...well, I am incapable of them. When it comes within the context of one expected answer, I have never come up against a more difficult question than, "What are you passionate about?" As if everyone in the world is subject to having only one passion. I am passionate about a lot of things...and I'm capable of being passionate about almost everything. I am passionate about people, music, art, creativity, nature, the Lord...

...and writing.

Ah, there we go. Writing. Language. Literature. There's something for a blog, yes? Now, don't worry, I see the redundancy in writing about writing, but what I also see is the beauty and freedom and obvious necessity in having a space and a time when I focus on writing. As a college student, I do a lot of "writing." As an English major, I do even more of that "writing." When it comes to busting out papers, I am a factory with one of the most efficient production lines out there. However, that forced production doesn't really satisfy my writer's itch. As a matter of fact it kind of squelches the itch and thus, the joy, which is sad. So here I am, metaphorically scratching away. And here's the real beauty in endeavoring into my joy of writing: when I write, I can involve any and all of my other passions! So I have, then, a platform from which I can dive into all my various sources of enjoyment...and fully enjoy the dive.

Perhaps I am the only one who considers this a brilliantly perfect solution to fulfilling my desires. Perhaps not. Nonetheless, let it be considered that I have here established for myself a means of expression. I've an awful lot to express, you know. At some point I'll want to know just what I was thinking in college. Now I'll be able to know.

Peace and blessings.