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.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
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?
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?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
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?
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?
Monday, April 19, 2010
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.
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.
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