Psalm 13

amen.

My mind has been terrifyingly chaotic as of late with so many thoughts I've wanted to blog but couldn't catch and organize into logical slots.  Well, my mental state hasn't improved, but if I don't at least try to release something from my mind it will explode, implode, freeze, overheat, disintegrate... I don't know, but something awful.
So this will probably not make any sense.  I apologize in advance.
You know, I thought I had finally figured out in what direction God wanted me to move, finally.  But I gotta say, right now I'm pretty darn clueless, again.  I was going to become a writer.  Clearly God opened doors in that direction. And maybe I will become a writer, but honestly, I. hate. writing.   No really.  Poetry is difficult, but I love the challenge and the results so it's not too miserable, but anything else?  Hate it.  Creative writing?  I'll spend 6 hours writing 3 pages of nonsense presented in miserable, ungrammatical, simple sentences.  Analytical writing?  I'll spend days compiling copious research, become an expert on the topic, then stare at a blank Word document for hours, write one sentence, wipe the blood off my brow and write another sentence hours later.   Writing is certainly not my natural skill set.  I can't even spell.  I work hard, and I've learned much, but I'm not good at it. 
Ukraine.  I had this grand idea of going over there and teaching English after I graduate, but, uh, graduation is fast approaching and I still don't speak Russian.  Who in their right mind would move to a country and not know the language?  Denis called me out on that one yesterday while we were skyping.  "It's not a good example," he said.  and he's right.  How dare I try and teach people my language when I can't even speak theirs?  And then there's the orphans.  My soul aches for the kids I met this summer.  I desperately wanted to rescue them.  I prayed fervently that God would allow me to contact them again.  Then I was invited back to Ukraine in January, to one of the orphanages I went to this summer!  God had answered my prayers!  He was going to give me my heart's desire!  Yesterday I found out we are now going to a completely new orphanage, far away from the kids I love.  And.  we're not spending much of our time with the orphans because of other ministry we will do.  Not gonna lie, I felt a bit betrayed by God.  I mean, I was fine with not going back to Ukraine; I knew He loved the kids more than I and they were in His hands, but to allow me to hope and almost give me my dream only to dash it?  It seemed cruel.
Fortunately, He didn't let me stay in that place for long.  He met me tonight.  I don't have any idea how to accurately express how, but it was a moment more sweet and beautiful than any this world can offer.  I was driving home from my first Winter With the Writers intern meeting, stressing out hardcore.  This internship will be -to put it mildly- intense.  But in the middle of my stress, God spoke to me.  You've got it all wring love; let me reframe it for you.  This internship isn't about you being an amazing writer and the top of your class, this internship is an opportunity to love people, to show them how much I love them, to serve them like I serve you.  He painted a stunning, precious picture of life, true purposeful life!  My burdens melted under the beauty of Him.  Life isn't about me, hallelujah!!  Life is so much bigger than me!  The Lord, my Lord, LOVES me. me!  Even though I treat Him horribly, He loves me.  He wants me to play a part in His beautiful, meaningful plan for restoration of the whole world!  There is so much I don't know in this world, so much I will never measure up to, but I know this, more than it is possible for me to know anything else.  The beautiful creator of all that exists knows my name, and He loves me. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
We've been discussing narratives and frames in my classes this past week, and I realized something.  Humans are limited.  I'm limited (cue music: "I'm limited, just look at me.  I'm liiiiiiiiiiiiiimited"....).  No matter how much information I take in, I will never know everything, and therefore can never make a true assessment or judgement of anything, because I do not know it completely.  Not history, not science, not culture, nothing can truly be interpreted without being fully known.  We all see through a frame.  Granted, some people's frames are larger than others, but it's still a frame- limited vision.  The only way to remove a frame, is to be omniscient.  So ya know what most people do once they realize this?  They become extremely depressed and decide truth is relative, we all create our own truth based on our own limited perspectives.  Meaning is created.  It's what makes story different than event.  The events of our life happen, but as soon as we reflect on them, any time we tell our story, we're creating purpose and meaning, so life only means what we want it too, which is basically saying life doesn't really mean anything at all because meaning is not universal.  BUT, there is good news!  Yes, we are limited and can never fully understand anything, but we can know the person who does know all things!  The person who is not limited by any frames because He is the first and the last, He knows all that was, is, and is to come!  What's more than that, He's created a story!  A story that does have universal meaning and purpose, a story that He invites us into!  Isn't this glorious?!  For a girl who relies far to heavily on her own intellect, this is such freeing and wonderful news!  I don't have to figure everything out, I CAN'T even if I killed myself trying!  AND YET I can know truth!  I know Him intimately!  and He loves me!  Praise the Lord of all the earth!

Victory

I met her three times,

in Paris first,

reduced to torso and sheet-tangled legs,

her bellybutton exposed by sea breeze,

yet people call her Winged Victory.

I saw her again in push-ups and lace,

still wearing wings,

smelling like jasmine, body, and desire

from Victoria’s.

Last time I did not see her.

With clipped wings, she’s a true secret now.

“Oh Natasha, Natasha!  Natasha!” John sang in climax.

And she? another’s victory.

The Book Thief. Markus Zusak.

Part 1: DEATH AND CHOCOLATE 

"First the colors.

Then the humans. 

That's usually how I see things. 

Or at least, how I try. 

***HERE IS A SMALL FACT *** 

You are going to die. 

I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me. 

***Reaction to the *** 

AFOREMENTIONED fact 

Does this worry you? 

I urge you--don't be afraid.

I'm nothing if not fair.

--Of course, an introduction. 

A beginning. 

Where are my manners?

I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away. 

At that moment, you will be lying there (I rarely find people standing up). You will be caked in your own body. There might be a discovery; a scream will dribble down the air. The only sound I'll hear after that will be my own breathing, and the sound of the smell, of my footsteps. 

The question is, what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying? 

Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky. Dark, dark chocolate. People say it suits me. I do, however, try to enjoy every color I see--the whole spectrum. A billion or so flavors, none of them quite the same, and a sky to slowly suck on. It takes the edge off the stress. It helps me relax. 

***A SMALL THEORY *** 

People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. 

Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darknesses. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them. 

As I've been alluding to, my one saving grace is distraction. It keeps me sane. It helps me cope, considering the length of time I've been performing this job. The trouble is, who could ever replace me? Who could step in while I take a break in your stock-standard resort-style vacation destination, whether it be tropical or of the ski trip variety? The answer, of course, is nobody, which has prompted me to make a conscious, deliberate decision--to make distraction my vacation. Needless to say, I vacation in increments. In colors. 

Still, it's possible that you might be asking, why does he even need a vacation? What does he need distraction from? 

Which brings me to my next point. 

It's the leftover humans. 

The survivors. 

They're the ones I can't stand to look at, although on many occasions I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.

Which in turn brings me to the subject I am telling you about tonight, or today, or whatever the hour and color. It's the story of one of those perpetual survivors--an expert at being left behind. 

It's just a small story really, about, among other things: 

* A girl 

* Some words 

* An accordionist 

* Some fanatical Germans 

* A Jewish fist fighter 

* And quite a lot of thievery 

I saw the book thief three times." 

I can't even begin to express my love for this book.

Days have theme songs...

...and though it's almost over, here's today's, compliments of Lacrae.

Father God, I'm prayin' to you for somebody, who knows you Lord but just hasn't, hasn't been seein' you in the right view lately, Hear me out...
Father, I'm prayin' for a friend he and I are pretty close, and out of all my friends for this one I'm concerned the most. He say he readin' daily but he ain't really learnin'. He been in church but say that he ain't moved by any sermon. His faith's weak, he ain't prayed in a week, he wake up and just weeps with his face in the sink. Lord, you gotta help my man, I'm prayin' for him daily, he ain't sinned but it just seem as if he goin' crazy. He say he feelin' trapped... he's strugglin', even though he talk to me, I tell him what to do but he don't listen when he oughta' be. I'm scared for him coz there's people that look up to him, he got some younger siblings who been changed by what he's done for them but is it done for him? Lord don't let it be, if he don't wanna talk to you then Father hear from me...
  Yeah, I'm prayin' for you, I'm prayin' for you...
God, his condition is worsen since we were last conversed and I'm with him now and he ain't doin' well and this I'm certain. He say he tryna' trust you, doesn't wanna disgust you but he was in the mist of sinners and did not discuss you and just today his anxiety's got the best of him, he knows Christ but for hours refuse to rest in Him, he's not the best of men but Lord I know he really loves you and I can't understand why lately he's not thinkin' of you. People trust this dude, you could crush this dude, Father he needs more of you.  I pray you touch this dude.  What can I say to him? I'm determined to pray for him.  Father empty and break him.  I pray you'll just have your way with him, coz there's a change in him and the effects are strong.  I pray you open up his heart before the next song and when he gets home, I pray he'll open up the sixty-six book love letter you wrote and soak it up coz he ain't hearin' You and he ain't feelin' me and God I know it's killin' You because it's killin' me and matter of fact there's somethin' else he's concealin' see,
                                                    the person that I've been prayin' about is really me...

torrens voluptatis

I will see JESUS, really see Him, literally in His presence.
"At present, if we are reborn in Christ, the spirit in us lives directly on God; but the mind and, still more, the body receives life from Him at a thousand removes- through our ancestors, through our food, through the elements.  The faint, far-off results of those energies which God's creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures; and even thus filtered, they are too much for our present management.  What would it be to taste at the fountainhead that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating?  Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us.  The whole man is to drink joy from the fountain of joy... In the light of our present specialized and depraved appetites, we cannot imagine this torrens voluptatis, and I warn everyone most seriously not to try.  But it must be mentioned, to drive out thoughts even more misleading- thoughts that what is saved is a mere ghost, or that the risen body lives in numb insensibility.  The body was made for the Lord, and these dismal fancies are wide of the mark.
     Meanwhile the cross comes before the crown and tomorrow is Monday morning..." ~C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory
But it is not this day; today is the cross.  To live is Christ and to die is gain.  No, it's not today, but it IS coming, and glorious anticipation gives us strength to continue.

Sometimes I wonder about the sanity (or lack thereof) of my mind...

So instead of hashing out cognitive thought, here's a cockney poem I wrote a couple years back.
As art, it's miserable- as an expression of my mind, it serves.
[and no, I'm not British, so yes, my cockney isn't legit, shopopalo]

Cockney

Here's lookin' at you kid

'Cause tonight you're gonna Charlie Brown

I'll be lookin' fer you kid

As the icy waves crash down

The first'll mess an' muck your brearf

The second, knock you cold

The third brings resurrecshun

This jig ney'er grows old!

Lor', luv a duck!

Cold blink in Jurrassic Park

Ya sure feel like a schmuck

Chomped by Noah's Ark

The George Michael's quite legendary

So unfortunately ordinary