It has been a busy week or so with some big events--life events for some of my friends.
My mind has been reeling with so many different thoughts and feelings. There are things that have a hard time taking shape in my mind and so I have a hard time even beginning to express them. It seemed appropriate that on this day, the longest day of the year and first official day of summer, that I try to sort through some of these things.
This past weekend I went to Wisconsin for the wedding of two good friends. The entire trip felt surreal. I now know people who are going to be living in Wisconsin. I know people living in Illinois and I know people all over the place now--even as far as China. At one point during the reception, I was standing towards the back of the tent, watching the dance floor, with a glass (mason jar) of wine in one hand and the other hand firmly planted on my hip in the traditional Schuett stance. It was like I was watching myself, and saw more than felt myself sway a little. I was overwhelmed by the significance of the moment. This would be the last time I would see some of these people for a very long time, and all I could find myself dwelling on was how I wished a certain boy was there with me. So I was having a moment with myself, reflecting on the places life takes us and the turns we don't expect, when a friend caught me--and I'm sure it looked like I was having a moment with the wine...but it was really just a moment of introspection. The spell broke and I was left giggling, despite the serious overtures of my heart moments before.
This boy I was wishing had been there, he's probably the one you were expecting, the one who writes me letter, wasn't the one I was expecting to miss. This last year has been interesting to say the least, and while a part of me still clings to hope that we, the letter writers, will find a way to be near one another, there is still enormous room for doubt. It would be a lie to say there was no one else this year that interested me. I wish I knew the reason behind the unsent letter in my notebook...the one dated June 1, 2013. I wish I knew why it was still there, why I haven't sent it. It's not like it's full of embarrassing things, honestly it's quite hum-drum. But maybe that's why. Because I feel like I'm telling half-truths.
But then I also feel like I'm telling myself half-truths. A friend asked me this week if I was finding a way to be spiritually fed--despite my ever-present loneliness. I told her yes. A half-truth. Some days I do feel incredibly blessed and like I can feel the Hand of God in my life. But most days I feel aimless. It's almost like I'm the small child who desperately wants to be tickled, but doesn't want to be too obvious about that desire. I want that connection, that passion, that drive to learn more, but I don't want to be obvious about the search...and I have a hard time asking for help because I feel like I should be strong enough to push myself. [Lord, give me the grace to realize I am in need of shepherding.]
A couple weekends ago, one of the older gentlemen I work with at the dealership approached my desk. This particular salesman is one of my favorites, he's funny and smart and incredibly nerdy. We have a lot of common interests, and he listens to me babble on about (girly) things. He even asks me questions about how my love-life is going. In fact, he's known all along about the boy who writes me letters...and he knows about the boy I work with. Anyhow, he approached my desk and instead of asking the usual question of who things were going with the young men in my life, he blatantly asked, "Anna, what is wrong with all the men in your life? Are they all idiots that not one of them would be dating you?" I was shocked. I didn't know how to respond...so I laughed and said that I doubted that was the case. I'm still in shock over that situation...and I still don't know how to respond. It's still taking form and shape.
I've also realized that it has been nearly a year since I wrote any poetry. Why is that? Poetry has always been my form of non-fiction, of autobiography. Why am I letting this portion of my life go unmapped? This is a time of discovery, of hope, of new ground. Why am I letting it slip away?
We had writing workshop this week, and it went well. We spent quite a bit of time on my piece, but we had a lot of ground to cover there. I am excited about the story, about the things that are developing and the way characters are revealing themselves to me while I am doing mundane chores (like dishes and laundry and showering and walking the dog).
When did I become a reluctant reader? I have so many books that I want to be reading, but I'm not...I look at them and wonder what they're about, but I'm not actually reading them. I need to be in the structured setting of school again--good thing grad school is just around the corner!
That's all for tonight...there are still uncertainties, and I don't feel like I've answered any questions or resolved any inner turmoil, but at least I've laid them out.
My chest hurts when I breathe tonight...it's wasting me away...wasting me away. [Anberlin, Symphony of Blase]
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Saturday, September 22, 2012
What kind of love is this?
I read a post on tumblr a few days ago that really struck me...a Jane Austen quote that I'm not sure I'd ever read (and if I had, I surely had forgotten it), "I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong." [Northanger Abbey] Something in me responded to the idea that some people do everything halfheartedly, even love, and then I was overwhelmed by the realization that I am much like this quote--my attractions are excessively, annoyingly, strong.
While I was blow drying my hair this morning I was thinking about a conversation I want to have with someone....and how I want to tell them that I don't do things by halves. I don't do something with the heart unless I've thought it over and really felt around it--this doesn't mean that I don't get hurt, it means that I get way to involved sometimes. The point of this internal conversation was that I really do like this individual. In my mind I thought, "I am not in the business of doing things by halves...and that can be hard. But I am comforted by the knowledge that I worship a God that doesn't do things by halves either."
I worship a God that doesn't do things by halves. Who would have thought that such a moment of clarity would come when I was pummeling my ears with the sound of rushing air? There I was, still damp, blow dryer in hand, and completely overjoyed at the revelation that God doesn't do anything half way.
His love is all encompassing, and all forgiving. He is so fully committed that He sent His Son to die for my pitiful, wretched soul--so broken by sin that it seems impossible for a perfect being to love.
It occurs to me now that His full commitment makes my "no halves" thing seem really pathetic. I may think things through and really allow myself to get hurt because of it, but I don't think I would actually die to prove my devotion to another person. And then one begs the question, am I willing to die for Christ, for His good news, like He died for my soul? I hope so. I hope that if that day comes, He will give me the strength to be so completely committed.
I may not be in the business of doing things by halves...but thank God, He is definitely not in the business of doing anything halfway or incompletely. The story is still being told, and because He fulfills all His promises I can rest easy tonight knowing that He will come again and reclaim what is His. The story isn't over yet.
While I was blow drying my hair this morning I was thinking about a conversation I want to have with someone....and how I want to tell them that I don't do things by halves. I don't do something with the heart unless I've thought it over and really felt around it--this doesn't mean that I don't get hurt, it means that I get way to involved sometimes. The point of this internal conversation was that I really do like this individual. In my mind I thought, "I am not in the business of doing things by halves...and that can be hard. But I am comforted by the knowledge that I worship a God that doesn't do things by halves either."
I worship a God that doesn't do things by halves. Who would have thought that such a moment of clarity would come when I was pummeling my ears with the sound of rushing air? There I was, still damp, blow dryer in hand, and completely overjoyed at the revelation that God doesn't do anything half way.
His love is all encompassing, and all forgiving. He is so fully committed that He sent His Son to die for my pitiful, wretched soul--so broken by sin that it seems impossible for a perfect being to love.
It occurs to me now that His full commitment makes my "no halves" thing seem really pathetic. I may think things through and really allow myself to get hurt because of it, but I don't think I would actually die to prove my devotion to another person. And then one begs the question, am I willing to die for Christ, for His good news, like He died for my soul? I hope so. I hope that if that day comes, He will give me the strength to be so completely committed.
I may not be in the business of doing things by halves...but thank God, He is definitely not in the business of doing anything halfway or incompletely. The story is still being told, and because He fulfills all His promises I can rest easy tonight knowing that He will come again and reclaim what is His. The story isn't over yet.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
You never stop learning the important lessons....
I've been learning a lot about myself lately. Working in an elementary school has certainly lent to this "growth spurt."
For example, I've been learning about the kind of parent I'll be. I mean, we all hope to be the stellar parents that the Hallmark movies show us, but when it comes right down to it we're human and we're bound to make mistakes. That doesn't mean I can't learn from the parents at my school--the good and the bad.
Some parents make a point of coming to eat lunch with their kids once a week--I think this is a neat idea, though maybe a bit unrealistic depending on the work situation. I do think I'll try to make it at least once a month though...just so I can see how the kids all interact together.
If a teacher tells me my child may have a learning disability, I will be the first one to sign off on the paperwork--I'd rather know the name of the beast and face it head on then let it terrorize my child out of fear that it may be difficult to tame.
Medical issues. We'll get them taken care of.
We're going to read. I'll read them bedtime stories and then I'll work on their reading with them--like my parents did for me.
If the teacher or administration says my kid has a behavior issue in school I will believe them. Kids aren't always perfect angels.
And I think I'll figure out some way to make sure the teachers knows he/she is appreciated. (We have parents that bring their teachers things to keep them motivated and inspired--calendars and sticknote pads with quotes, etc.)
Most profoundly though, I've learned that I have a love for broken things.
Some of the kids I love the most--care about and worry about the most--are the ones that have behavior issues and struggle with reading and math. Now, this comes mostly from working with them the most. I can't tell you how sick I feel though when a little girl is so lonely at home that she can hardly bear the thought of going into a crowded classroom where she has no friends--and she's clutching at my fingers, hoping that I will just listen to her. So I get hugs from the kids that need the most love...and I can't say that I mind.
It's funny, these same kids that are stealing my heart now are the kids that drove me nuts when I was in their classes with them. I always hated how the troublemakers got the most attention... but when I look back on it, they probably needed it more than I did. I didn't go home to a mom that was so preoccupied she couldn't read me a story. I didn't go home to a sister that told me she hated. I didn't go home to find out that my dad was going to jail. My home was always filled with love and support.
I didn't understand that then. I'm glad I'm still learning now.
For example, I've been learning about the kind of parent I'll be. I mean, we all hope to be the stellar parents that the Hallmark movies show us, but when it comes right down to it we're human and we're bound to make mistakes. That doesn't mean I can't learn from the parents at my school--the good and the bad.
Some parents make a point of coming to eat lunch with their kids once a week--I think this is a neat idea, though maybe a bit unrealistic depending on the work situation. I do think I'll try to make it at least once a month though...just so I can see how the kids all interact together.
If a teacher tells me my child may have a learning disability, I will be the first one to sign off on the paperwork--I'd rather know the name of the beast and face it head on then let it terrorize my child out of fear that it may be difficult to tame.
Medical issues. We'll get them taken care of.
We're going to read. I'll read them bedtime stories and then I'll work on their reading with them--like my parents did for me.
If the teacher or administration says my kid has a behavior issue in school I will believe them. Kids aren't always perfect angels.
And I think I'll figure out some way to make sure the teachers knows he/she is appreciated. (We have parents that bring their teachers things to keep them motivated and inspired--calendars and sticknote pads with quotes, etc.)
Most profoundly though, I've learned that I have a love for broken things.
Some of the kids I love the most--care about and worry about the most--are the ones that have behavior issues and struggle with reading and math. Now, this comes mostly from working with them the most. I can't tell you how sick I feel though when a little girl is so lonely at home that she can hardly bear the thought of going into a crowded classroom where she has no friends--and she's clutching at my fingers, hoping that I will just listen to her. So I get hugs from the kids that need the most love...and I can't say that I mind.
It's funny, these same kids that are stealing my heart now are the kids that drove me nuts when I was in their classes with them. I always hated how the troublemakers got the most attention... but when I look back on it, they probably needed it more than I did. I didn't go home to a mom that was so preoccupied she couldn't read me a story. I didn't go home to a sister that told me she hated. I didn't go home to find out that my dad was going to jail. My home was always filled with love and support.
I didn't understand that then. I'm glad I'm still learning now.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
This dusty barren land had given all it could yield...
It was recently pointed out to me *cough*LeAnn*cough* that I haven't blogged in a while. I knew this was true, and I had been meaning too, honestly. My new job has left me exhausted once 3:30 hits, and I've fallen into my old napping pattern... But I keep hoping that my body will adjust to the schedule and that I'll be able to get to bed a little earlier so I can stop napping in the afternoons.
Over the last few months I've noticed that I thrive on hope. I'm sure that most of you already knew this, and it was probably something I knew for a long time but hadn't yet come to realize the entirety of its scope.
This morning it really struck me how deeply this hope runs.
I've been hoping for rain--desperately.
I've been hoping that my cousin would recover from her botched surgery well.
I've been hoping that my other cousin would pull herself together and just be okay.
I've been hoping that this "maybe someday it'll work out" would just work out.
I've been hoping that our little first grader with behavior issues would get the attention she deserves at home so she can grow into the creative girl I see lurking behind the tangled hair and eyes that haven't learned to read yet.
I've been hoping that the writing bug would just take hold of me again and never let me go.
I've been hoping.
Hoping.
Hoping.
I even surround myself with literature that emphasizes the idea of hope and I wrap it around me like a warm security blanket. And I even hope that someday my life would echo those virtues that fictional characters so easily embody: strength, loyalty, nobility, honor, courage and faith.
So it's no surprise when I see small glimmers of these things in real life that I get excited and want to capture the moments.
I have all of this hope, all of this want, but I'm still content.
Even if the rain comes just as harvest season is about to begin, at least there is moisture.
Even if my cousin had 20 units of blood transfused and got E. coli in a hospital, at least she is alive.
Even if my cousin moved back to the wretched situation that keeps throwing her to the wolves, at least she is talking to me about it and being open about the hardships.
Even if "maybe someday" isn't today, at least I have letter writing to pass the time.
Even if our little first grader was in the office again because of a tantrum, at least she is reaching out and she hugged me later and didn't want me to leave her.
Even if I'm not writing as much as I want, at least I know the story is still alive in me and it's just setting its roots a little deeper.
"Oh, Dear I never saw you coming. Oh my, look what you have done. You're my favorite song, always on the tip of my tongue." [Civil Wars, Tip of my Tongue]
Over the last few months I've noticed that I thrive on hope. I'm sure that most of you already knew this, and it was probably something I knew for a long time but hadn't yet come to realize the entirety of its scope.
This morning it really struck me how deeply this hope runs.
I've been hoping for rain--desperately.
I've been hoping that my cousin would recover from her botched surgery well.
I've been hoping that my other cousin would pull herself together and just be okay.
I've been hoping that this "maybe someday it'll work out" would just work out.
I've been hoping that our little first grader with behavior issues would get the attention she deserves at home so she can grow into the creative girl I see lurking behind the tangled hair and eyes that haven't learned to read yet.
I've been hoping that the writing bug would just take hold of me again and never let me go.
I've been hoping.
Hoping.
Hoping.
I even surround myself with literature that emphasizes the idea of hope and I wrap it around me like a warm security blanket. And I even hope that someday my life would echo those virtues that fictional characters so easily embody: strength, loyalty, nobility, honor, courage and faith.
So it's no surprise when I see small glimmers of these things in real life that I get excited and want to capture the moments.
I have all of this hope, all of this want, but I'm still content.
Even if the rain comes just as harvest season is about to begin, at least there is moisture.
Even if my cousin had 20 units of blood transfused and got E. coli in a hospital, at least she is alive.
Even if my cousin moved back to the wretched situation that keeps throwing her to the wolves, at least she is talking to me about it and being open about the hardships.
Even if "maybe someday" isn't today, at least I have letter writing to pass the time.
Even if our little first grader was in the office again because of a tantrum, at least she is reaching out and she hugged me later and didn't want me to leave her.
Even if I'm not writing as much as I want, at least I know the story is still alive in me and it's just setting its roots a little deeper.
"Oh, Dear I never saw you coming. Oh my, look what you have done. You're my favorite song, always on the tip of my tongue." [Civil Wars, Tip of my Tongue]
Saturday, August 4, 2012
You're the peace to the restless
It's been a big couple weeks in the heart of this Nebraska-girl.
Last Tuesday there was a phone call with a certain young man that lasted over 50 minutes. This soothed the fraying edges of my hopelessly romantic heart. His general concern for my well-being is comforting. Just yesterday I received a letter from said young man. These pieces of life that we keep sharing...I can't help but wonder at the greater picture. And still I pray that God's Hand sew the pieces into place without my own hand trying to force the pattern.
I also baked and delivered a cake that a new relative had ordered for her birthday. Baking is good for the hands that are itching to do. My hands have been so idle with unemployment that they were thankful for the fun task. Baking is also good for the inner homemaker in me that doesn't have a lot of opportunity to shine just yet.
This Tuesday I had an interview with one of the local elementary schools at 8 am. It had been so long since I turned in an application to the district that I had mostly forgotten about it, and had certainly thought it was a dead end. The interview went very well and I was expecting an answer sometime in the next couple days. Two hours later, I got a phone call from the administration building offering me the paraeducator position. All I could think to say was, "Wow, that was fast," to which the lady on the other end confirmed. With a thankful heart, I accepted the position and am excited to begin working with kids that are struggling with reading and math and other areas. This rejection-sick heart is glad to be accepting an offering, a calling.
When I look back at my past experience I see that God was whispering all along, Just wait, I've been preparing you for something specific. You have to trust Me to show you what you're supposed to be doing. Trust Me. And that trust was incredibly hard, but worth the wait. I've been a Writing Center tutor, I've been an administrative assistant, I've been a teacher's aid, I've been a person who struggled with reading at a young age. All of these things, and so many more, have been shaping me for this moment. God is good.
Wednesday I was able to spend some time with a few of the ladies in the family. We went to get pedicures, something I've never done before. It soothed the worry-weary heart by healing the dry-heat abused feet. There's something to be said for healthy feet--the washing and care-giving is Biblical, after all.
I fell asleep to thunder and lightning Wednesday night, and I slept easy knowing the thirsty ground was getting some much needed moisture. And this morning I was woken by thunder and lightning at 6 am, an hour before my alarm would go off, and I didn't mind at all.
My heart is abundantly thankful for the answers to so many prayers, for my heart was as thirsty as the land, and God is pouring out the rain and grace that we so desperately need. Let it rain.
"For greater things have yet to come, and greater things are still to be done in this City." [Chris Tomlin, God of This City]
Last Tuesday there was a phone call with a certain young man that lasted over 50 minutes. This soothed the fraying edges of my hopelessly romantic heart. His general concern for my well-being is comforting. Just yesterday I received a letter from said young man. These pieces of life that we keep sharing...I can't help but wonder at the greater picture. And still I pray that God's Hand sew the pieces into place without my own hand trying to force the pattern.
I also baked and delivered a cake that a new relative had ordered for her birthday. Baking is good for the hands that are itching to do. My hands have been so idle with unemployment that they were thankful for the fun task. Baking is also good for the inner homemaker in me that doesn't have a lot of opportunity to shine just yet.
This Tuesday I had an interview with one of the local elementary schools at 8 am. It had been so long since I turned in an application to the district that I had mostly forgotten about it, and had certainly thought it was a dead end. The interview went very well and I was expecting an answer sometime in the next couple days. Two hours later, I got a phone call from the administration building offering me the paraeducator position. All I could think to say was, "Wow, that was fast," to which the lady on the other end confirmed. With a thankful heart, I accepted the position and am excited to begin working with kids that are struggling with reading and math and other areas. This rejection-sick heart is glad to be accepting an offering, a calling.
When I look back at my past experience I see that God was whispering all along, Just wait, I've been preparing you for something specific. You have to trust Me to show you what you're supposed to be doing. Trust Me. And that trust was incredibly hard, but worth the wait. I've been a Writing Center tutor, I've been an administrative assistant, I've been a teacher's aid, I've been a person who struggled with reading at a young age. All of these things, and so many more, have been shaping me for this moment. God is good.
Wednesday I was able to spend some time with a few of the ladies in the family. We went to get pedicures, something I've never done before. It soothed the worry-weary heart by healing the dry-heat abused feet. There's something to be said for healthy feet--the washing and care-giving is Biblical, after all.
I fell asleep to thunder and lightning Wednesday night, and I slept easy knowing the thirsty ground was getting some much needed moisture. And this morning I was woken by thunder and lightning at 6 am, an hour before my alarm would go off, and I didn't mind at all.
My heart is abundantly thankful for the answers to so many prayers, for my heart was as thirsty as the land, and God is pouring out the rain and grace that we so desperately need. Let it rain.
"For greater things have yet to come, and greater things are still to be done in this City." [Chris Tomlin, God of This City]
Saturday, June 30, 2012
I do dread other people's remarks...
The following post may seem disjointed and possibly slightly bipolar...for that I am sorry.
I didn't get the job at the car dealership. Even though I wasn't fired and was just not hired, it feels like I was fired because I wasn't hired for the job I have been doing (and doing well) all week. The worst part of the whole thing is that I'm still going to work on Saturdays and I'm going to be training the lady they hired on Monday.
It would be a lie to say that I didn't cry in Brian's office, I did. Not an ugly cry or anything, just watering eyes and a red face. I am grateful that I was able to hold in the sobs until later. Normally I can keep myself pretty well put together for this sort of thing...it's just a bad week, though.
When I come to work on Monday people are going to ask if I've heard about the job yet...and I'm going to have to tell them that I'm training the new lady. And I want to tell them so much more. I want to tell them to treat with the same kindness and courtesy that they treat me. The Service people really liked me and told me over and over again that they wanted me to be hired.
God and I... we're still working on this issue of trust. I thought I was finally understanding, but apparently not. While I was talking to Brian about the job situation he told me that everything happens for a reason, and then asked me if I was a faithful person. He told me about his life story, and that just about made me want to cry more. He's a devout Catholic, and while I don't agree with everything about their denomination I could see the light of Christ in him. Yet another reminder from God that He is in everything, and that He has something better for me.
Brian told me that he really does believe that everything happens for a reason. So do I, so do I feel the Divine Hand at work.
There have been people in my life recently trying to force this on me. It's not that I don't know it, but I don't always need to hear it. For some reason Brian's adamant confession didn't bother me as much as someone telling me to be content with where I am. Honestly, with all do respect, I know that I should be content with whatever phase of life, but this one is so incredibly hard. I'm doing everything I can to try and stay positive, but a year of rejection is hard to swallow. It's hard to get past the disappointed hope. It's hard, so don't tell me to be content, tell me you understand.
I'm reading some great literature right now that is really helping me to embrace this God-lesson of trust. Ann Voskamp, you should follow her blog, wrote a wonderful book called "One Thousand Gifts." You should find it and read it if you're struggling with anything remotely like this or any kind of disappointment. She understands how hard life can be and how hard it can be to be content.
There was so much anger built up inside last night that it kept leaking out of my eyes and my face was so tired from the salt-drenching. When it came time to actually go to bed, I couldn't do it. I couldn't close my eyes because I didn't want to face today. But here I am, sitting at the desk that I will have to abdicate come Monday. And I'm smiling the best that I can.
I didn't get the job at the car dealership. Even though I wasn't fired and was just not hired, it feels like I was fired because I wasn't hired for the job I have been doing (and doing well) all week. The worst part of the whole thing is that I'm still going to work on Saturdays and I'm going to be training the lady they hired on Monday.
It would be a lie to say that I didn't cry in Brian's office, I did. Not an ugly cry or anything, just watering eyes and a red face. I am grateful that I was able to hold in the sobs until later. Normally I can keep myself pretty well put together for this sort of thing...it's just a bad week, though.
When I come to work on Monday people are going to ask if I've heard about the job yet...and I'm going to have to tell them that I'm training the new lady. And I want to tell them so much more. I want to tell them to treat with the same kindness and courtesy that they treat me. The Service people really liked me and told me over and over again that they wanted me to be hired.
God and I... we're still working on this issue of trust. I thought I was finally understanding, but apparently not. While I was talking to Brian about the job situation he told me that everything happens for a reason, and then asked me if I was a faithful person. He told me about his life story, and that just about made me want to cry more. He's a devout Catholic, and while I don't agree with everything about their denomination I could see the light of Christ in him. Yet another reminder from God that He is in everything, and that He has something better for me.
Brian told me that he really does believe that everything happens for a reason. So do I, so do I feel the Divine Hand at work.
There have been people in my life recently trying to force this on me. It's not that I don't know it, but I don't always need to hear it. For some reason Brian's adamant confession didn't bother me as much as someone telling me to be content with where I am. Honestly, with all do respect, I know that I should be content with whatever phase of life, but this one is so incredibly hard. I'm doing everything I can to try and stay positive, but a year of rejection is hard to swallow. It's hard to get past the disappointed hope. It's hard, so don't tell me to be content, tell me you understand.
I'm reading some great literature right now that is really helping me to embrace this God-lesson of trust. Ann Voskamp, you should follow her blog, wrote a wonderful book called "One Thousand Gifts." You should find it and read it if you're struggling with anything remotely like this or any kind of disappointment. She understands how hard life can be and how hard it can be to be content.
There was so much anger built up inside last night that it kept leaking out of my eyes and my face was so tired from the salt-drenching. When it came time to actually go to bed, I couldn't do it. I couldn't close my eyes because I didn't want to face today. But here I am, sitting at the desk that I will have to abdicate come Monday. And I'm smiling the best that I can.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Hope's not giving up....
This is the story of a girl with a large heart. She filled her head with dreams of fairytales--knights in shining armor, rugged heroes, ladies of high esteem. A place where anything you dreamed could be attained if you worked hard enough.
She put off one dream (the dream of her heart) to pursue her mind's dream. Instead of being content in her place she went to further her knowledge of the fairytale. The time she spent reading and learning was well spent, but occasionally she would get a glimpse of the other dream. It didn't take much--a weekend or a break from her scholastics spent at home was all she needed to awaken the old dream.
Her arms elbow-deep in hot water, eyes looking out over the harvested fields, she wonders why she ever wanted more. A breeze pushes through the screen of the window as she dries her hands on the white tea-towel and suddenly she's somewhere else.
She's a pioneer out on the frontier, or a simple maid in a medieval town. And she is not alone. Instead of preparing for her brother's birthday, she's baking for a child's name day and a husband that's been working hard under the sun. Whomever she prepares the table for, it matters little. The table is prepared--the food a blessing. And that is enough. God is good.
Where did this hope come from? This is the story of a girl that had clung so desperately to hope that she didn't realize when she had let it slip through her fingers for her eyes were squeezed tight--scared to face the truth. She knew the words--God provides--but somewhere along the way she let them grow hollow. Trudging on, day after day, she forgot to offer thanks for the blessings. And the trials. And the rejections, though three there be.
The radio was turned up, louder than it should have been, and the windows rolled down. A song began to play that she had heard a million times--and she loved it all along. Something was different this time around, and words of one of her professors came echoing back, "Read it again, the words won't have changed. But my, you have." How she'd changed, and she didn't even realize it was happening. The song was poignant. Her finger pushed the back button again and again--letting the lyrics be a heavy hammer through the dimness she had been facing. And tears press against her eyes because it's been so long since she's felt anything.
Daylight proved to chase away the darkness and contentment settled in. Peace came over her mind and settled in her heart. Though the days she will face may be difficult, she will not be alone. This is the story of a girl alive with hope.
"Hope, sweet Hope, how much more can she take being our strength when our hearts run out of faith?... Hope is with me in my time of trouble, when it all comes crashing down she will stay by my side digging through the rubble. She's not giving up, not giving up, not giving up..." [Hope, Remedy Drive]
She put off one dream (the dream of her heart) to pursue her mind's dream. Instead of being content in her place she went to further her knowledge of the fairytale. The time she spent reading and learning was well spent, but occasionally she would get a glimpse of the other dream. It didn't take much--a weekend or a break from her scholastics spent at home was all she needed to awaken the old dream.
Her arms elbow-deep in hot water, eyes looking out over the harvested fields, she wonders why she ever wanted more. A breeze pushes through the screen of the window as she dries her hands on the white tea-towel and suddenly she's somewhere else.
She's a pioneer out on the frontier, or a simple maid in a medieval town. And she is not alone. Instead of preparing for her brother's birthday, she's baking for a child's name day and a husband that's been working hard under the sun. Whomever she prepares the table for, it matters little. The table is prepared--the food a blessing. And that is enough. God is good.
Where did this hope come from? This is the story of a girl that had clung so desperately to hope that she didn't realize when she had let it slip through her fingers for her eyes were squeezed tight--scared to face the truth. She knew the words--God provides--but somewhere along the way she let them grow hollow. Trudging on, day after day, she forgot to offer thanks for the blessings. And the trials. And the rejections, though three there be.
The radio was turned up, louder than it should have been, and the windows rolled down. A song began to play that she had heard a million times--and she loved it all along. Something was different this time around, and words of one of her professors came echoing back, "Read it again, the words won't have changed. But my, you have." How she'd changed, and she didn't even realize it was happening. The song was poignant. Her finger pushed the back button again and again--letting the lyrics be a heavy hammer through the dimness she had been facing. And tears press against her eyes because it's been so long since she's felt anything.
Daylight proved to chase away the darkness and contentment settled in. Peace came over her mind and settled in her heart. Though the days she will face may be difficult, she will not be alone. This is the story of a girl alive with hope.
"Hope, sweet Hope, how much more can she take being our strength when our hearts run out of faith?... Hope is with me in my time of trouble, when it all comes crashing down she will stay by my side digging through the rubble. She's not giving up, not giving up, not giving up..." [Hope, Remedy Drive]
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