my blog is neither entertaining, light, or saucy. and it's not intended to be.

this water runs to a river.
the river, it runs to an ocean.
and the ocean, it blankets the earth like a carpet the fiercest shade of blue.
the water runs down, closer and closer to the center of the earth.
where the water runs deepest, so does its color.
the fiercest shade of blue.


i turn away from the river, and i turn for home.
i try to navigate my way back, without the river as my guide.
for it is gone.
i see where it used to run.
how the strength of rushing water, after many years of rushing, left its mark on the earth.
i see it dug out a path among the boulders and the trees.
it ran strong and blue and constant,
but now i see no water.






think about the best thing that could possibly ever happen to you.
the best thing.
don't be shy, don't be humble.
go all out.
the best thing.

well imagining that thing happening-- whoa! --except not being happy about it.
being, unintentionally maybe, ungrateful. and looking forward instead to the next best thing.
in other words, imagining completely missing that moment you'd waited for. missing the significance of the best moment your dreams could ever conjure.

that is my worst fear.

i'm reminded time and time again the importance of captivating the moment. being present. living intentionally. and i find peace. and it's beautiful.


peace i leave with you, MY peace i give you. i do not give to you as the world gives. do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. --john 14.27


peace is right here waiting the whole time, because it's what jesus left to me and you. my family, my friends, my greatest musings or dreams or memories-- they cannot sustain me. i am strong and resolved, only through living in christ.

alan paton + noah and the whale? glory.

i am beginning to read Cry, the Beloved Country.
and i've only gotten through the foreward, notes, and introduction so far. but i already know it's going to be one of those books i can't put down. one of those books that alters my life and changes the way i talk, the way i think, the way i see--- if only a little.


"it is a story of the beauty and the terror of human life, and it cannot be written again because it cannot be felt again."
-alan paton, writer of Cry, the Beloved Country

south africa, hurr eye cum.

untitled, and appropriately so

the smallest, lamest moments make me laugh. i don't know if that's simply one of my idiosyncrasies, or if maybe every human is like that. although there are those don't laugh at all, for fear of truly living or exposing raw character. 


doesn't laughing at a moment sound nonsensical? wouldn't it make more sense to laugh at a joke?
but moments-- they are so undefined. nonlinear. unpredictable. and perhaps this volatility is what makes them so great.
moments can be good or bad or genuinely hilarious or planned or spontaneous or illuminating or completely earth-shattering.
all this simply screams beauty.


mountains in the rearview mirror, laced with fog
a sunglasses swap
chap stick or food? roommate choses the former
one moment, hugs over cumbersome water glasses
the next, hugs that should never break off... but do
and broken elevator buttons
downtown buildings and unconventional hobbies
cats on grocery store walls
and squiggly clowns
poker and pecans
slow loris, wine, eyeballs


these moments inundate my mind, my stream of consciousness.
and in no particular order and no particular time,
they make me laugh.


















from the cowardice that dares not face new truth,
from the laziness that is contented with half-truth,
from the arrogance that thinks it knows all truth,
Lord, deliver us we pray. amen. 
--prayer from kenya

woody woodpecker and alice in wonderland are ballers.

i sprawl out on the floor and drink hot tea, listening to old throwbacks on pandora.
songs from my childhood.
songs i remember fondly.
they streamed steadily, endlessly, always. streamed from the speakers in the suburban my mom drove.
streamed from the radio in the family room.
well, "the den,"rather.
we never called it a family room.
(actually, the first time i heard the term "family room" it confused me. i wondered why the family unit would denominate a room after itself in the family's own home.)

i remember the den.
it was all wooden: wooden floors, wooden bookshelves, wooden panels of wormwood.
the wormwood panels had lots of little holes everywhere...holes about the size of a wormhole you'd find in a red shiny apple.
i convinced myself as a little girl that a woodpecker must've gotten loose in our house,
flown wildly on a rampage,
ruined our walls.

and that made me mad.
so i didn't like woodpeckers much.
not only because of the walls, but also because they would wake me up early in the morning.
a lot.
i remember opening my window and yelling at the noisy birds pecking vehemently on the nearby tree.
i remember watching them fly off when i yelled; they were bewildered.
ah, the sweet nectar of victory! euphoria.

but then............. i couldn't go back to sleep.
thus,
i would go downstairs
to the den
and watch cartoons.

..although i must confess i avoided woody woodpecker. usually.

it's funny the things i remember, if i try. i remember i felt
safe,
secure,
snug as a bug in a rug.


i was snug alright. and i liked it that way.






until one day-- i don't exactly know when --things changed.
yes, things changed.
suddenly, the snugness overwhelmed me.
it constrained me.
i couldn't breathe.

i began to outgrow my surroundings.
the process? painful.
i outgrew the wormwood.
i outgrew my bed, and the many pillows with it.
i outgrew my window, the serendipitous urge to open it and scare the birds away.
i outgrew my mother's music.
i even outgrew my mother.

i outgrew it all, and FAST. it happened just like that, like when alice drank the DRINK ME bottle.

i outgrew it.
all of it.

i outgrew my home.
so i left.
i came to a place where i knew no one.
it was hard.

at first, i failed.

failure.

in failure, i got to know our god: he at his strongest, me at my weakest. ..from a place of complete and utter dependence.
i had a thirst and a need for him. for the first time, he was real.
i was humbled, i grew strong.
i am strong.
i don't know how i missed him all that time; he was there all along.
i guess i just finally heard him; not just listened. there's a difference between hearing and listening.
i felt him there, i think.
i sought him, leveled with him and wrestled with hard thoughts and shortcomings and failures and the need to control and hide and live insatiably, restlessly.
he embraced me and lifted me up: prized, full of joy and love. forgiven.

victory.

i am the reverse alice. she grew small first, then returned to her normal size at the end of it all.
i grew big, too big for my own good.
but i've taken a sip of DRINK ME potion, and i'm back to normal size.
things are not the same as they were; this is good. life is different. different in a good way.
and now, looking back, i remember.
i remember my home, and i smile.

i remember.




philippians 33- everything i've gained is worthless compared to the value of knowing christ. simply knowing him, living him.
i'm trading my life.