"Sometimes life...most times I feel just like a sailboat"

My mind finds visceral expression on the ocean. The waves crinkle and pulse like the neurons charging through my brain canals... if that's even how it really works.

"It sounds like difficult season of uncertainty for you."
The question made me laugh. "Yeah, I guess so. But it's like being out at sea, you learn to find stability in the constant pitch and sway." I've got good sea legs, as my parents and grandparents would say.

Is it the plight of the adventurer to always start over? To settle into unsettledness?

I have an ache for things remote. The curve of the horizon calls me. "I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'/Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fade/For ever and forever when I move."

I will never be satisfied.

But I am also tired. 6 years of roaming and changing isn't that long a time, so what's three more years? And hasn't it all been glorious beyond imagining? Hard as hell at times, lonely at times, but glorious. When I really think about it all, I am deeply grateful and ashamed of ever feeling otherwise. 

And I know myself. The moment I stop and believe I've landed for good the air will suddenly grow think and stifling and I'll need to step out.

And maybe it's right to never feel completely comfortable, to click into place. It certainly keeps you on your toes. Lin's right, "that's a great way to make a writer - be a little out of place everywhere."

And no matter how lonely I feel, I can't go anywhere in this little universe that doesn't belong to my father, that isn't (in a way) home.

I wrote the post below almost 3 years ago. Much has changed since then. I am running out of chocolates...

How do I write out the depths of my soul echoing in that scene? in the sun sparkling off crinkled flecks of water? the mixture of cool breeze and hot rays like unstirred coffee and cream? the hum and whistle of wind cut by fishing lines and rigging? the baking of bare, calloused feet? the dance of light waves rippling on ship bows and the soothing lap of waves against hulls? the creak of swaying masts? the sea-colored sky with white-capped clouds?  The haunting cry of one gull becomes a chorus of cries, over 20 years suddenly synchronized into one devastating moment. = My childhood.  I read myself in these scenes. my father. my grandfather.  Every story I read, heard, dreamed of when life was indulged in beauty and I never measured it.  Beauty.  Life.  I've been handed armfuls of beauty; my storehouse bursts with it.  I will need those reserves.  In darkness and despair I will need to pull out these remembrances of beauty like a bit of chocolate from my pocket, unravel the wrapper and slowly suck on one little piece at a time.  

Reflecting Justice

This past week I had the incredible privilege to participate in powerful events and listen to convicting and encouraging conversations about ending slavery once and for all. Many of those conversations centered on the demand for sex trafficking in particular. If the demand didn't exist, the market wouldn't exist. But just as every little girl does not dream of growing up to become a prostitute, every little boy does not dream of growing up to buy sex with children or sell and exploit women’s bodies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not pulling the forgive-and-forget card here. People will not be able to receive the Gospel without understanding the depth of their offence (Isaiah 26:10). It is critical that offenders pay severely. It is critical that the buying of sex is recognized as a degradation and a crime against humanity, and that this reality is reflected in our laws. But, we must also take responsibility for the culture we encourage which produces these perpetrators. In the words of Sir Thomas Moore, "For if you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners to be corrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this, but that you first make thieves and then punish them?"

Yes, changing the law is one powerful way to change our exploitative culture, but it is not enough.

What part do we play in creating criminals? Look at the things with which we choose to entertain ourselves – Dr. Dre’s net worth is $750 million. His lyrics, and the lyrics of many popular music artists (male and female) are flooded with derogatory terms for woman, sexual exploitation, and sexual, physical, and verbal abuse. Grand Theft Auto sales amount to over $40 million worldwide, a videogame that not only allows but also encourages rape and murder. 50 Shades of Grey released on Valentine’s Day as the #1 date night movie. That’s just scratching the surface of the entertainment industry, but it goes so much further. Have you looked down a girls’ toys aisle recently and seen any human looking dolls mixed in with the highly sexualized Barbies, Brats, and Disney dolls? Have you ever opened a comic book? It’s easy to think about these things and say, “how dare our entertainment industry!” And yet we must not forget that WE are paying for this entertainment and are shaping our culture by the choices we make every day.

I’m not attempting to tell you how to make those choices. I’ve probably already offended to with the list I selected above. It will help no one for me to draw moral lines and tell you what to watch, what to read, what to wear, what to listen to, or what to buy, so please don’t let that be your take-away from this. What is needed is for you and me to get down on our faces and ask the Lord to search our hearts and convict us – and then we must get up and stand on those convictions and no longer be swayed by convenience and what is culturally acceptable. 

Justice starts with us. Reducing the demand for human trafficking starts with us. It starts when we humble ourselves and stop justifying conventional morality. We must no longer be people of convenience, but people of conviction.

Dead Hearts are Everywhere

What good is my broken heart?

My heart aches under the weight of so many hurting children in Ukraine. The emotion alone is enough to reduce breathing to strained gasps. Vova, the boy who changed everything for me and who ran alongside the van until we were out of sight. Vlad, who called me his mother. Yulia, who smiled for the first time. Sasha who pretended not to smoke. Ira whose black eyes were filled with light. Vanya, whose story shook my core beliefs, Sveta who swore she would never speak English again while sobbing in my arms the night we left. Dasha, Masha, Kolya, Nastia, Daniel, Denise, Alanna, Vovas, David, Oksanna.... so many faces, children. Children who would grow up and continue to face cruelty, rejection, abuse, despair. It rends my heart. But what good is my shredded heart? How I feel doesn't help these kids. Even if my guilt lifts with satisfaction in my own ability to sympathize, nothing is actually done for the kids. Yes, I can pray for them, and I do not value prayer lightly, and yes, I know I am not responsible for these kids' salvation, but I'm sick of dwelling on my own selfish sympathy. What does honestly and truly loving these kids look like?

You will hear thunder and remember me,

and think: she wanted storms.
-Anna Akhmatova

Four ice cubes clinked, echoed, and settled in a moist mason jar on the corner of a glass table-top where two kids sat slumped on stiff patio chairs. Her chin rested precariously on the cap of one knee as she stretched her opposite leg onto the table in front of them.
"Don't knock your water over."
"I see it."
Both of his feet remained parallel to each other on the tiled deck.  His left forearm drooped across the arm rest toward her chair next to him. The blue veins in his wrist seemed to glow under the florescent patio light buzzing on the wall behind them next to the sliding glass door. She often studied those veins, imagining them as lightning bolts shooting electricity through his body, the symbol of a superpower he had to cover up with a secret identity.
Thick with the smell of threatening rain, the Florida air strained against their breath, weighing on their lungs.  Silence blanketed the rich darkness of the empty golf course beyond the patio.  Only the faint outline of a distant clump of trees was visible in the violet light.  The stars hid behind clouds that hid behind the darkness.  The moon was new and not yet ready to make an appearance.  Breaking the stillness, the girl's chair screeched across the floor as she heaved herself forward, letting her knee slide down the chair as she stretched her fingers toward the mason jar.  Gently, she began wiping beads of condensation with her index finger down the sides of the jar.  The ice had melted.
The boy allowed the slightest movement of his head in order to stare at the red spot imprinted on her chin from resting it on her knee for so long.
Thunder cracked through the silence.
A smile rippled over her face.  His face remained withdrawn to a center point somewhere between his eyes.  He scratched the nape of his neck where his dark feathered hair faded and disappeared at the beginning tip of his spine, then pushed his glasses back onto the ridge above his nose.
"We should probably go inside now," his mumbled words were for her but his eyes were on the mason jar.  The water in it tremored slightly with another peal of thunder. The wind that had been playing in the trees beyond the golf course came charging over the children as if the sky was drawing breath.
"What?" she asked between the sky's increasing guttural chant.
"Nothing." His eyes never left the jar.
"I want to stay.  You can go in if you want."
He scratched a mosquito bite on his ankle with his toe.
Lightening.  Thunder.
"Just look at it!"
He didn't respond.
She reached for him, imprinting her thumb into the hollow of his rounded shoulder and pointed him toward the gathering storm beyond the trees which trembled out of reach.
Five beautiful bolts of lightning suddenly veined through the purple sky.  She sucked in her breath and turned toward him to find the same condensed look molded into his face -- not blank, but unmoved. The rain thrummed and built to a roar as drops of water charged into the ground and splattered under the over-hang unto the patio floor.  The wind danced, maneuvering the rain like a murmuration of birds, redirecting its course.
She climbed out of her chair and stepped out from under the protection of the patio.
"What do you think you're doing?" He shouted over the storm.
"This is the kind of weather people die in!" She squealed, lifting her hands palms up; water sparked off them.
More lightning jagged across the sky like pulsing blood veins, illuminating a lonely palm tree in the middle of the golf course. Peeling his eyes from the mason jar, the boy caught sight of the tree swaying in the storm with the power of letting go.

What does one do when one is too tired to sleep? Rewrite old poems

“No,” said the starling—“I can’t get out—I can’t get out,” said the starling."

Bastille

A starling confined inside my heart escaped
on the arched back
of a sudden sigh I carelessly
relinquished
It battered through my chest
through capilary walls
It turned
my inner set awry

Fresh air blowing cooly through
my trachea brushed
the bird's dotted feathers
The starling paused
twitched
and burst toward a spot of bright blueshine

I swallowed hard
and squeezed my breath
until the bird slid
slow
as
death
behind my rib
clasped back in place with a click.

СПАСИ И СОХРАНИ

My mind is full, but my hope is secure.  God is faithful.  Today He proved it yet again.
"An anchor for us is something that when you see it and encounter it, everything in your life changes, not for a day or a week, or years, but forever -- everything in your life is changed by it." -Louie Giglio

Jesus changed me. period.  He is the anchor for my tottering, storm-tossed soul.  It's a holy, sweet place to be, resting in His faithfulness.  Not easy, not clean, not rational, not comfortable, but oh, so sweet.

This morning, I wondered if I'm heading the right way, if it would be worth it, if it's just all in my head.
Go grab a Bible, read Romans 15.
So I did...

“We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves.  Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up.  For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, “The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me.”  For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.  May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.

 For I tell you that Christ became a servant to the circumcised to show God's truthfulness, in order to confirm the promises given to the patriarchs,  and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy…. May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.”

I am called to bear with the failings of the weak.

I can because Christ did.  He bore MY failings.

He is building endurance and hope in me.

Abraham's stars are now my promises too.

God is true.

Good is merciful.

I will abound in authentic, weighty, powerful, Christ-filled hope.

hello 24

Broken Bread

May I be broken bread, may I be poured out wine

May I incarnate, Your kindness Lord

Spend my life Jesus, anyway You please

Whether on great things, or what seems small

Your will done your way

Your will done your way

Your will done your way

I will not fight You

Take me past the line that my heart draws

I will not fight You

Take me beyond the laziness of my thoughts

I will not fight

Lead me further than I've gone before

I will not fight You

I'm abandoned to Your call

Do not let there be, any part of me

That’s untouchable, unreachable

Let my delight be, living out Your dreams

Washing dirty feet, and kissing yours

God let Your dreams come true, dream through us

God let Your dreams come true through us

His voice

"You have a choice, you know."
"Yes, actually, I do know.  You're terribly fond of giving choices, aren't You?  And for what?  I mean, has giving anyone a choice actually worked out for You?  Isn't choices what wrecked the world in the first place?"
"You can look at it that way if you want."
"It's the only way I know how to see it."
"But I've given you new eyes -- you can see it.  I don't ask you to do what I have not provided you the ability to do.  Yes, I let you choose, but I also suffered the consequences of your choice."
"You should hate me."
"I love you."
"Then why do this to me?  Why make it hurt so much?"
"I love you."
"Is that the only thing You can say?!"
"It's the only thing you need to hear."

When the words become too heavy *this* spills out

How do I write out the depths of my soul echoing in that scene? in the sun sparkling off crinkled flecks of water? the mixture of cool breeze and hot rays like unstirred coffee and cream? the hum and whistle of wind cut by fishing lines and rigging? the baking of bare, calloused feet? the dance of light waves rippling on ship bows and the soothing lap of waves against hulls? the creak of swaying masts? the sea-colored sky with white-capped clouds?  The haunting cry of one gull becomes a chorus of cries, over 20 years suddenly synchronized into one devastating moment. = My childhood.  I read myself in these scenes. my father. my grandfather.  Every story I read, heard, dreamed of when life was indulged in beauty and I never measured it.  Beauty.  Life.  I've been handed armfuls of beauty; my storehouse bursts with it.  I will need those reserves.  In darkness and despair I will need to pull out these remembrances of beauty like a bit of chocolate from my pocket, unravel the wrapper and slowly suck on one little piece at a time.  

FLESH: Hope hurts. You will never give me my heart's desire. I will remained caged. Everyone else will go off and conquer the world for Your kingdom, but You will keep me here forever. __________________________________________________________ TRUTH: "You can hold onto the hope that I will not change what I have promised." -Hebrews 6:17-18 "For the Lord of hosts has purposed, and who will annul it? His hand is stretched out, and who will turn it back?" -Isaiah 14:27 "Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? He who argues with God, let him answer it." -Job 40:2 "But You, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head." -Psalm 3:3 "The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; You hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance." -Psalm 16:5-6 "If you are not firm in faith, you will not be firm at all." -Isaiah 7:9 "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are My ways your ways, declares the Lord. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts." -Isaiah 55:8-9 "The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him." -Lamentations 3:25 "Who has measured the Spirit of the Lord, or what man shows Him his counsel? Whom did He consult, and who made Him understand?" -Isaiah 40:13-14 "Shall I bring to the point of birth and not cause to bring forth? says the Lord." -Isaiah 66:9 "You are God's field, God's building." - 1 Cor. 3:9 "May the Lord direct your hearts to the love of God and to the steadfastness of Christ." - 2 Thess. 3:5 "you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness." - James 1:2 "But I am not ashamed, for I know Whom I have believed, and I am convinced that He is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me." - 2 Tim. 1:12

***

 I'm not playing this game again. I don't have the energy to be angry at You, even though everything in my flesh wants to give up and spew bitterness in Your face. I have to hold on to Your promises. *This* is the place deeper than my feet have ever wandered. So in the deeps, I will trust You.  Thank You.

"But there's music in us..."

"It is no surprise
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing." - Jack Gilbert, "Hoses at Midnight Without a Moon"

The effects of sin continue to astonish me.  They shouldn't, really, but they do.  A mother who exploits her children, two brothers who blow people up, AIDS, child soldiers, 27 million people trapped in slavery, warring, burning, ailing, wailing with suffer matter...
It's easy for me to despair, to be overcome by evil, to gasp and shake my fist at God, "where is justice!?
But really, what should shock me (especially if I truly care about justice as much as I claim) is the beauty, the singing.  The world is shattered, suffering naturally spews from the shards.  Sin is gruesome and devastating.  We created this.  We deserve this.
Yet there is singing.  There is beauty, beautiful things rising from the ashes.  Beauty does not belong here.  We are unworthy of her.
Do we realize the value of beauty?  Do we realize we cannot realize it?  How undeserving we are and how that makes beauty all the more beautiful?  All the more incredible?

***

     "Did you read it?" she asked, but she did not look at me.  Her eyes were fixed to the words.
     I nodded.  "Many times."
     "Could you understand it?"
     And at that point, there was a great pause.
     A few cars drove by, each way.  Their drivers were Hitlers and Hubermanns, and Maxes, killers, Dillers, and Steiners...
     I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality.  But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know?  I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race -- that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.  I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and it's words and stories so damning and brilliant.
     None of those things, however, came out of my mouth.
     All I was able to do was turn to Liesel Meminger and tell her the only truth I truly know.  I said it to the book thief and I say it now to you.

                                         

                                  ***A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR***

                                                       I am haunted by humans.

If you haven't already guessed, that's from The Book Thief (which if you haven't read, get thee to a bookstore, or library, or friend's house, or my house, or anywhere you need to go in order to get this book and READ IT NOW).  Of course, it's fiction.  Death isn't really haunted by humans.  And yet, there's resounding truth in that passage.  Humans are nefarious, brutal creatures.  Still, we carry the image of God.  Just an image, but an image of the beautiful, holy, GOD.  And He is generous with us, infusing beauty into the chaos caused by our own selfishness and wickedness.  Of course, there's so much more to the story, the Gospel, the death of death, but I want to take a moment and simply be in awe of beauty, to dwell on the wonder of its very existence among us.  I don't want to gasp in   shock when I encounter brutality in this world -- I'd rather gasp in awe when I encounter beauty.  Because beauty is a taste of eternity.  Brutality will be wiped away and remembered no more.  Take heart!  Do not be overcome!  Behold!  All things will be made new.  We will see the Creator of beauty face-to-face and never have to turn our gaze from His stunning radiance. (Okay, so maybe a little Gospel sneaked in anyway.  Sorry, I can't help it. :) )

The taste of eternity

Darlin', one who gives me joy, You don't yet believe Me.  You don't have to ask anything of Me.  I know what you need, knew what you'd need before you were even you.  Remember My promises?   They anchor your soul.  Because I am faithful to complete what I have promised.  Taste.  See.  Hear.  Feel.  Know.  -- I am good.  eternally, fully, perfectly good.  I'm not impressed with you.  I adore you.  Because you're Mine.  And you are Mine forever.  Yes, I am stripping you of those things.  They would kill you.  But I will not let death devour you.  I want you to live, to see the true Kingdom that IS coming.  And it's coming oh so soon.  And it will be beautiful.  Oh, so beautiful.  All things will be made new.  I know you don't understand what that means because you've never seen new. But I was there in the beginning.  I made the first new, and I will renew.  You've tasted the newness of eternity; I made you new.  Your old, cracked, dead self has gone; I breathed life into you.  It is my hot breath that fills your lungs.  And I love you.  I love you.  I love you.  I am your Father.  I named you.  You bring Me joy.  And I love you.  Will you not see it?  The valley is difficult and filled with pain.  But I go before you, I am your rear guard, I am by your side.  You don't have to walk alone.  You obviously can't.  I never intended for you to, because I know you can't.  Trust Me this time?  Don't assume I'm going to fail you?  Have I ever failed you?  Remember the thrilling joy of trusting Me because I'm Me and not because of your circumstances?

What a befitting day to get my tat touched up.
[Translation: today my hope was restored]

I'm not stuck.

Sometimes I need a lily to remind me.

"I believe and know that God prepared a great path for you. Extremely hard, but wonderful! Amidst all hurt and hardships search for Him and He will deliver! Cause this is the way He refines our heart as gold. High quality gold is like a mirror, when the craftsman who melted it looked at it, he saw his reflection in it. This is how he knew that this was gold of the highest quality. The same thing with our hearts – they should reflect our Craftsman only." 

Спасибо, Лилия

In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil.

(So it's still a little red and puffy and the color hasn't faded to brown yet, but I just couldn't wait any longer to post a picture!)

"So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the {unchangeable character} of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have STRONG encouragement to *hold fast* to the hope set before us. We (have) this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters>> into the (inner place) behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek." ~Hebrews 6:17-20

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander...

You call me out upon the waters

The great unknown where feet may fail

And there I find You in the mystery

In oceans deep

My faith will stand

I will call upon Your name

And keep my eyes above the waves

When oceans rise my soul will rest in Your embrace

For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters

Your sovereign hand

Will be my guide

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me

You've never failed and You won't start now

So I will call upon Your name

And keep my eyes above the waves

When oceans rise

My soul will rest in Your embrace

For I am Yours and You are mine

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior

I will call upon Your Name

Keep my eyes above the waves

My soul will rest in Your embrace

I am Yours and You are mine

I want the Lord to rampage my life, bursting through me though it breaks me into a million tender pieces.  More of me can be engulfed by Him if I'm in shards rather than one piece.  I no longer want to cling to my carefully built and heavily guarded self image- cool, collected, clean, presentable, strong.  I want to be wrecked, alive, gushing and vulnerable and messy and broken so that God's power and love may move unhindered by my pride and fear.  I'm so tired of clinging to fear and pride, but I don't know how to let go.  I can profess abandonment, I can act out abandonment, but I am still not fully abandoned. 

"But now in Christ Jesus you who were once far off have been brought (near) by the blood of Christ."  He has brought me near to Him.  It is too beautiful.  His blood has brought me near.  I don't feel near at all tonight, haven't for a few weeks now, but that doesn't change my nearness to Him.  I can never be far from Him because my nearness entirely relies on His bringing me near.  I know no other lover who would have met me [here] in this place, but He has.  He has.

Truth:  Burn this bone and tissue for I no longer want to be entangled in this sinew that hinders my reach toward You.

Deeper Truth:  “I tell you this, brothers: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:

“Death is swallowed up in victory.”

“O death, where is your victory?

  O death, where is your sting?”

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my beloved brothers, be [steadfast], immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.” 1 Cor. 15:50-58

salty heartspeak.

I need the sea.  It's a necessity in my life I cannot express deeply enough.  My soul exhales.  It's as if I didn't realize I was holding my breath for months and then suddenly I start breathing again.  I start functioning like a living being again.  I see things again, feel, taste... and the Lord IS good.  He's always good.  I know this deeper than circumstances, but it's a hopeful kind of knowing.  On/in/near the ocean, I actually taste and see kind of know that the Lord is good.  "It's Your love that we adore; it's like a sea without a shore..." Those words wrecked me two years and a month ago.  It clicked.  God loves me vastly, endlessly, as impossibly as comprehending the fullness of the ocean.  He has anchored me.  In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil- it truly does.  What can separate me from the love of Christ?  NOTHING.  Such beauty and majesty in this defiled world gives me a glimpse of beauty as He intended it, a glimpse of Him.  The sea tunes my perspective.  The ocean, a created thing in a sin marred world, is too wonderful for me, how much more so the holy Creator of the sea?  Every crashing wave thrills me to the point of bursting, exudes a new revelation- "Holy! Holy! Holy!" like a scene straight out of Rev. 4.

Life is beautiful. and I am so thankful for this tatts.littles.storytelling.keylime.free-coconut-coffee.quenched-sea-fever.comradeship day!

In first person

About this time two years ago, I changed this blog's name.  Well, time for another name change.  Why?

 

Practically: I now write for 4 blogs, so it's time to redefine each one, rewrite the thesis, so to speak.

Personally: This blog is now off public domain.  It's just me (hence the name), my thoughts and point of view.  A place where I can spill out the thoughts that bubble over (and IDEALLY, a place where I post new poems!).

Literally: This will now be a place for Comrade and the Witty Rat to get into my crazy head.  If anyone else enjoys reading these posts, then I'm honored!  But this blog is no longer about creating a following or sticking to a particular topic.  

If you'd like to read about ways God is restoring broken lives in Ukraine, please follow Restore Ukraine.

If you'd like to read about ways God is restoring broken lives on OBT, please follow Freedom Fridays.

If you want to learn more about human trafficking and ways you can join the movement to end it, please follow Northland's Freedom Blog

*Just to clarify, these are blogs I personally write for.  If you're looking for more blogs about Jesus, restoration, Ukraine, or human trafficking, there are TONS of phenomenal blogs out there!  

If you blog, I'd love to follow you, too!  Comment with a link to your blog.

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The Giver's daughter

  

 "I gave her happy memories: a ride on a merry-go-round; a kitten to play with; a picnic.  Sometimes I chose one just because I knew it would make her laugh, and I so treasured the sound of her laughter in this room that had always been so silent.  But she was like you, Jonas.  She wanted to experience everything.  She knew that it was her responsibility.  And so she asked me for more difficult memories."

   "You didn't give her war, did you?  Not just after five weeks?"

   The Giver shook his head and sighed.  "No.  And I didn't give her physical pain.  But I gave her loneliness.  And I gave her loss.  I transferred a memory of a child taken from its parents.  That was the first one.  She was stunned... I backed off, gave her more little delights.  But everything changed, once she knew about pain.  I could see it in her eyes."

When I wonder if I'm slipping, I feel like the Giver's daughter... I've spent my whole life receiving only pleasant memories, but now, the Giver must give me the painful memories... and I don't know if I will hold up and gain wisdom or crumble and request to be Released.

On a totally different note, the Giver clearly didn't know a thing about the female gender.  We are well acquainted with physical pain, thank you very much.  But loneliness and loss?  No wonder the poor child went insane; war would have been far more gentle.