Picture of the Year

The Katie and I (will you check out that puss)

Martin

Today I watched as young man carried out his tasks on the velvet lawn of a local
business.
In his hands he held a modern tool of convenience--a weed whip is what
they call it.
Meticulously, he trimmed around the edges of the grass, and as he
did so a strange thing occured.
No longer was the industrious young man grasping
the fuel-run machine.
It had quite simply transformed into the rustic-but-comely
form of a scythe.
The gardener was swinging its blade smoothly across the surface of the unruly ground.
The grass now had lost its unnaturally smooth finish, it grew with a look of greater wildness--yet still with an aura of civilization and dignity.
The man by now had changed considerably as well.
The hoody that had formerly ensconsed him was now replaced with a rough cotton shirt overlaid by a shabby overcoat.
He seemed to have aged approximately ten years, and yet his eyes appeared a good deal brighter, and more lively to be sure.
I have since decided that it must have been Martin.
His look was so very wholesome that you couldn't help liking him from the start. And that is just precisely how I always knew Martin would be.
So there you have it.
It certainly was him, and there is an end on it.

"Over the ground lies a mantle of white..."

Oh joy!

Last night the first bold snowflakes flew with determination into my unsuspecting face as I exited 1st Christian Reformed Church. I was so impressed by the vigor of their appearance that I was struck with a sense of the mere joyfulness of the occasion.

This morning I peeked out my still dark window to discover that a mantle of white was indeed lying over the ground! It is beautiful, the quarter is almost over, and I am one very happy girl.

The very first snow of the season. Oh let it snow! And it isn't December quite yet either. ¡Es mui bonita!

"Sleigh bells ring! Are you listening--in the lane the snow is glistening, its a beautiful sight, we're happy tonight..."

this little girl

"Toy land, toy land,
Little girl and boy land,
Once you cross its borders
You may never return again."

Today is my birthday. Today I am eighteen...and somehow, I am sad. But also glad. Now at last I am no longer play-acting. Could it be? Am I really grown up? I think I have been playing at woman-hood all my life--but I never knew it. Sweet sixteen is now so far away, so very long ago. Some voice within me speaks--whispering urgently to me, it says, "Stop, cherish, remember!" It tells me that now is the time. It is time to reflect, time to record. I must not forget--I must remember this day, this age, this feeling. For it will never return. It cannot. For all children must grow up--that is the tragedy of it...

...and the beauty.

Trusting

Today is the day. At 2:45 on the dot, I will be sitting down to an hour long mid-term exam in my Spanish classroom. In fact, I should be studying for it now. I just had to ask for some support before I go for it. At this point I'll be happy to get a C. But anything higher will be much appreciated. Wait a minute, sounds like I'm puting in an order to a catalogue company!

Just pray if you please. If you happen to think of me, just pray. One truth that has really come to bear upon me in the past weeks: no matter how long and hard I study, no matter how hard I try in the "hour of trial", I would always fail if it weren't God who was allowing my brain to work in a sufficiently logical and clear manner. If He wasn't calming my anxiety every time I sit down to an exam, I would be on the verge of depression by this point. He's teaching me to trust Him, like I've never had to trust Him before. Praise the Lord!

Today will be a momentous challenge, so please pray with me. God will hear, and work all things to His glory and my good. That's more than I could ever hope for otherwise.

Thank you my friends, and go with God!

storytelling~the lost legacy

Exerpt from a recent essay:

With books beginning to record the old tales, and now television and movies having become the primary source of entertainment, storytelling has become somewhat of a lost art. But in my imagination, I can still hear the lyric sound of the old peddler's melodic voice, as it rose and fell on the tide of heroic deeds, terrible tragedies, and a joyful "happily ever after"...

...One member of the family reads, and others act as the listening audience. Let us zoom in as it were to the brain of a child as he is sitting in rapt attention to his mother's voice. We will call him Max. There is a constant frenzy of activity as Max establishes the scene in his minds eye. Each character is formulated, and to a certain extent created masterfully as the lively sound of his mother's voice relates dialogue, descriptions, and narrative. Her voice at times is hushed to a mere whisper as great and marvelous wonders are communicated. Her eye beomes sparked with fire as she dives into a tirade of heated dialogue, and Max's heart drops in dread--for those same beloved eyes have grown dull with remorse as the hero is broken in sadness. At last, as the final triumphant verbal trumpet has been sounded, the leather cover is closed softly. Max, heaving a deep sigh of contentment, leaves his former post at his mother's feet, stands, stretches, then wraps dovout arms around her neck, and says cheerily, "G'night mummy."

Please pardon the lack of context--most of you are no doubt scratching your heads, pulling your ears, and commiting all sorts of other horrid outrages. I accept the blame for this utterly and completely. The above passages are simply two from my most recent essay for English 101, and they happen to be very dear to my heart. I am rather proud of them you see.

Psalter Hymnal #394

Spirit of God, dwell thou within my heart;
Wean it from earth, through all its pulses move;
Stoop to my weakness, mighty as thou art,
And make me love Thee as I ought to love.

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
No sudden rending of the veil of clay,
No angel visitant, no opening skies;
But take the dimness of my soul away.

Didst Thou not bid us love Thee, God and King?
All, all Thine own: soul, heart, and strength, and mind.
I see the cross--there teach my heart to cling;
O let me seek Thee and O let me find!

Teach me to feel that Thou art always nigh;
Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear;
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh;
Teach me the patience of unanswered prayer.

Teach me to love Thee as Thine angels love,
One holy passion filling all my frame--
The baptism of the heaven-descended Dove;
My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame.

~George Croly, 1854

I would give almost anything to have been the author of this transcendant poem. I cannot help but feel that it was written for me exclusively--but then there are many about which I feel the same. Lord, "take the dimness of my soul away"! "Wean it [my heart] from earth...one holy passion filling all my frame...my heart an altar, and Thy love the flame"!

Big woman on campus? (Haha)

Hola!

As of Monday, I am officially, a college miss. Thus I retain the envyable title of "freckle-faced, romantic school-girl." I can't believe that this is my fourth day of classes, and I have not as yet made any mention of this momentous happening! People will begin to wonder about me...

I am adjusting to college life very nicely I think. Although, I can't be certain of seeing anyone I know on any given day, so sometimes its a bit lonely at lunch time. My ever-so-loyal best friends were not able to accompany me in this new phase, therefore I "am a lone reed". (Meg Ryan, You've Got Mail) =)

English 101 challenges me--that's good.
Spanish 101 confuses me--that's bad. (no comprendo)
History 103 ...makes the joints in my right hand hurt very much.

God is being faithful as I knew He would be. His mercies are truly new each morning! I would never have been brave enough for college without Him. So...PTL!

Goodness!

Life is good.

Now, I know how debatable that statement is, but I truly have a firm belief in the goodness of life. Now I realize that there is "none good, no not one", and I also am aware that this world is full of sin and evil. I am made more aware of that tragic fact every day of my life as I struggle against temptation. I don't have to mention the sorts of things you hear every time you turn on the news.

My validation, my proof, my confidence that life is good stems from one unbreakable truth:

God is good. He is the essence of "good". He is the epitome of righteousness, holiness, justice, love. He is the only one who possesses these attributes perfectly.

Because He is good, he created a good world. And it is still good, even after the taint of sin. The rain still falls in torrents, the sun still dazzles with every rise and set, the moon is still romantic as it bathes us in silver light. If that is not sufficient proof, consider this:

The beauty of Christian fellowship as we gather for worship each Sunday, relationships full of love and commitment, the ability of the human mind to study, to learn, to excel, the cry of a new-born child into this world, honest labor, the glory of the seasons, the alarm clock that awakens you insistantly each morning, food, individuality, humor that sends you to the floor gasping for air, the richness of time spent in God's Word, times when we pour out our souls to Him in the closet...I could continue this list all day...

All of these things are good, and beautiful, and we revel in the rich joy of it all every day of our blessed lives. And there is one reason for it all. God gave us these things to show us His goodness. God created man to enjoy Him. And in all these things we ought to be recognising that fact. We ought to be enjoying Him. This is such a glorious thought, could it get any better? But it does.

I heard an illustration taken from Spurgeon this summer, my newest brother used it in a sermon. No doubt I am paraphrasing:

An old, pitiful, pauper of a woman, huddled in a corner with a little crust of bread, and she is saying rapturously, "I have Christ, and all this too!" That is enjoying God. And if we don't say that after surveying all the richness of our lives (see above), we're some poor excuse for Christians. We have Christ, because His love is so great, that He gave Himself up so that He could save this world full of base, cruel-hearted people (us). This is so glorious!

In view of all these things, it needs to be said, that our good lives should be reminding us hourly of the love of Christ, of His goodness, and consequently we can enjoy Him in everything. You know as in, "Hallelujah!". We have Christ, and all this too. Ayyymen!!

This is so exciting, it fuels my life, my motivation, me!

New York Chronicle VI (P.S. as it were)

I have been remiss in relating to you one of the most thrilling, and momentous happenings of my sojourn in New York, and therefore I must beg the forgiveness of the several people from whom I have recieved complaints. Yes, I know that I have surprised you. After all, this blog has been entirely taken over in the past months with the business of relating my New York experiences. How could I possibly have more to say? Brace yourselves.

I began Chronicle number IV with every intention of mentioning this little trifle--but somehow managed to become carried away on the tide of my delight in expressing so many other things. I will now do so:

Manhattan. Yes the very same city the wonders of which so many singers have sung, so many writers have written. It is all that you have heard--and much, much more. In the harbour, a great lady stands, the simble of our liberty, watching in proud silence the thriving business of The City. She seems a guard of sorts--but a defiant one, daring any to try and extinguish the flaming torch in her hand. A massive bronze bull is in the square on Wall Street. Intimidating to say the least. Little Italy is enchanting--there are resturants everywhere, and they almost always spill out onto the sidewalk. China Town is a bit of a shock, suddenly signs are written in Chinese characters, and you feel as if you just stepped into downtown Hong Kong. The Brooklyn Bridge has a special place in my heart. Built at the turn of the last century, its great, slightly pointed arches and sweeping lines are simply exquisite.

Now, let us pause for a moment as I take a deep breath.

There is one thing I wanted to do. There is one thing I wanted to do very, very much. I went to see a Broadway show. No. I went to see a Broadway Musical! Never did I dream that I would be given such a grand opportunity--but there it is, my program sitting demurely on my dresser at this very moment to bear witness that it truly did happen. A dear lady with a fabulous New York accent (one of the elders wives), purchased tickets for Sarah and I when she discovered towards the end of my stay that I enjoyed theatre. We took the train into the city and dissembarked at Penn Station. As we emerged from the semi-dim depot and up into the light of day, my first sight was tall buildings. Everywhere. Very tall buildings. I couldn't keep the smile of delight from stretching my face. We walked to Broadway, the stretch of street that harbors many historic theatres, and made our way to the entrance of the New Amsterdam Theatre. Very historic. Extreemly breathtaking. We walked through the long foyer, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the stunning portraits that lined both walls. Picture after picture of famous stage entertainers of the past greeted my reverent gaze. Wonder piled upon wonder as at last I entered the theatre itself. The sight that greeted my eyes was simply stunning. Everywhere I looked I saw frescos, carvings, paintings--the walls and ceiling were covered with them. When I got over my initial amazement, I was able to notice a large balcony, an even larger pit, and several boxes on each side. Someday I'll get a box seat. As it was, Mrs. Warnock had aquired for us third row seats on the left side. Outragiously wonderful.

The show was the hit musical, "The Lion King". Lets just say, I'm spoiled for life. I'll never be able to appreciate a high school production in quite the same way. *Ahem* It was world class. And brilliant, and one of the most enjoyable of any trivial experience I have ever had. The singing was out of this world, as was the dancing, acting, etc. The actors actually traveled to Africa to study how to move like animals. I thought initially that I might see a guy in a lion suit running around stage roaring idiotically. I couldn't have been more wrong. It was way beyond what I could ever have imagined. I wish somehow I could get inside your minds and show it to you like a slide show. There is really no way to communicate such a phenominon.

I hope that in some way you may have caught a glimmering of the glory of this experience. If you did then perhaps there is hope for me as a writer after all. Loves!

New York Chronicle: Issue V [over & out]

The sweetest thing
I have ever known:
A little pixie face
peeking out in glee
from the folds of a
giant bath-towel.

The greatest thing
I have ever known:
A face and heart upraised
in passionate devotion
to the Lord of Lords.

The loveliest thing
I have ever known:
contentment and
submission in duty
and in love.


It has been one of those times. When you stand back helplessly, simply because you know there is nothing you can do. You stand back and watch amid the fuss and flurry, and you feel as if your heart is preparing to walk out of the door, and board a plain bound for a destination beyond the bounds of your ability to
retrieve.

We have said the last goodbyes. They have gone. And somehow, I felt that I should have been there. There in that truck, squeezed once again between those two car seats, reading about a goldfish for the entertainment of the dearest children alive.

The past two months were possibly the best spent of my life, and yet looking back, I only wish that somehow I could have squeezed even more out of every minute. I'll never stop thanking God for this time. I'll never stop thanking God for life. For breathe. For intellect. For relationships. For peace. For passion. For goodness. And most of all, for the love of Christ.

And now it is all up to me. It is a frightening thought. But nonetheless true. It is up to me to take what I have learned, to take the abundance of wise words bestowed upon me, and follow on. Follow on to know God.

"Then you shall know, if you follow on to know the Lord, His going forth is prepared as the morning, and He shall come as the rain, as the latter and former rain upon the earth." ~Hosea 6:3

Follow on day by day in patience, pleasure, perseverance, passion. Till at the end I will have the glorious words proclaimed triumphantly over me, "She has not wasted it!"

Go with God my friends.

New York Chronicle: Issue IV

The Big Apple (as it were).

New York, New York. Or to be more specific: Manhattan. There is no place on earth that is quite like it. From performing artists on the street, to cab drivers who will virtually run you down if you don't watch you back, to some of the tallest buildings in the world towering above you in seemingly austere loftiness. Have you ever seen such a congestion of humanity? People everywhere, you are truly carried down the street by the mere force of the mob. Have you ever tried driving the wrong way on the freeway? Neither have I. But battling upstream in a crowd of New Yorkers is about as bad.

Despite what you hear about the coldness, "savvy", and suave attitudes of New Yorkers, I have found them to be remarkably warm and sincere people. And I mean sincere. They are what you might call vibrant. They are very much alive and thriving, and (believe it or not) caring. Now I hesitate to throw a blanket statement out into the void about these "wonder people". It is true that New Yorkers are insanely busy, and probabely most ailments here are caused by the essence of that little word, stress. And yes, New York drivers are outragiously reckless.

Having lived here has made me appreciate the country much more than I ever could have. But something irreversable has ocurred here. New York State had found its way into my heart so thoroughly, that for the rest of my life it may be nesessary to identify myself as a New Yorker. There is such contrast and stark differences in this one state of the Union. Consider Manhattan, the five boroughs, and then turn eastward and see Long Island in all its beauty. And then to shock you further, look upstate at the miles of lush farmland, and the heart of Mennenite territory.

There is a tremendous amount of cultural diversity in this place. Franklin Square OPC is a prime example of the good old melting pot. There are at least three or four Asian families, there are members from the Dominican Republic, Jamaica, India, many Italians, and quite a few African Americans. Pastor Shishko himself is Greek. Coming from Dutch Town, USA, myself has little prepared me for such a phenominon. But I can tell you truly that it is absolutely fabulous meeting and getting to know all these very different people. It is one thing to throw all these cultures together into a group--you can imagine the results. But to have Christians, children of God, saved by grace of so many different backgrounds contained in this one church "produces vibrations" (as it were). I can't get away from that wonderful word, vibrant. It seems to sum it up more eloquantly than I ever could. Never have I heard so many amen's uttered so furvently in a Reformed congregation. (If I ever heard them at all that is.) Never have I seen such an passionate responce to the gospel preached faithfuly week after week. Never have I been so challenged, so motivated to not only persevere, but to live a life above the ordinary, beyond the call of duty, past the bounds of mere comfort and security.

Needless to say, I will be dreadfully sad to leave this place. God was so good to bring me here. He was so good to give me a new brother like Ben Miller, a sister like Sarah, a niece like Katie, a nephew like Andrew. I have learned so much just by having lived as a member of their little family for a season. In Sarah's case it still baffles my mind, how a woman who helped to raise me from infant to teenager, is now so gracious as to recognise me, her baby sister, as a woman, as an equal. I only hope that I will be a friend to my nieces and nephews when they are grown. Ben has shown me how wonderful it is to be a part of a household that is under the guardianship, the guidance, and the spiritual leadership of a man of God. He has encouraged me and challenged me as no person ever has to excel, to push onward and upward, to not waste my life.

There is so much more to be said, so many wonders that have not as yet been communicated. Please be patient and bear with my slowness, and sad neglect of you my dear friends. There is more to come.

New York Chronicle: Issue III

Burnt and festering!

Have you ever seen what the sun can do to two fair, freckled, women? Particularly when those same two women are not particularly conscientious in their use of the sunscreen bottle. Ach! Will not I ever learn? Must I always remain so foolish a mortal?

Tuesday, 19 July, 2005. The fatal day of our destruction. We went to Jones Beach, on the south shore of Long Island. One of the best stretches of sand in the United States so I'm told. We spent a good portion of the day there, during the hottest hours naturally. I spent my time alternately rolling with the mighty waves, and attempting to build sand castles. Periodically, after having been beaten by a few too many breakers I retreated to the sand and the sanction of our very own umbrella. But, oh woe to me! I had not the wisdom to retire to the shade of that mercifully large essential. Instead I delighted in casting myself down onto a towel and giving the sun its due amount of attention.

Kristi, I repent in dust and ashes. Pray forgive my ere in judgment. I really should have listened to you. I utterly and completely admit that I was in the wrong.

And now is the part where I give you full leave to laugh at my expense. I only took the trouble to apply sunscreen to a few vitally important areas of my extremely Caucasian body:

-A smattering on the backs of my knees.
-A blob on the end of my precious nose.
-Just a pat on as much of my back as I could reach.

And that was all.

And now I am in anguish. Utter, hair-raising, extreme, agonizing, anguish. Or so I was yesterday and the day before. Its beginning to heal at last I do believe. My poor sister had an itching fit in her back today that sent her into spasms. Even little Katie, whom we dutifully slathered with SPF 45 did not completely escape some redness.

Now to make you (and I) feel better about the entire situation:

Perks to having a Sizzling Sunburn:
-Due to the fact that my entire face is the color of scarlet, there is no need for make-up except perhaps for a dab of mascara.
-I can already recognize the distinct signs of a deep tan starting beneath the dominating boiled lobster look.
-I now have every right to moan or groan or be a complete weeny if I wish. (Note: this is not intended to intimate that I am in any way succombing to the temptation.)
-I have virtually been living in my swimsuit for the past three days and will no doubt continue to do so. I cannot abide contact on my poor abused skin.

But...I enjoyed the day! The soveriegnty of our God was so evident there as wave after wave swept over me, and as I rose with the ebb and flow, the constant crash and then the inevitable under tow continued. And continues still. Faced with such great power, such a feeling of helplessness. Such an awareness of God's majesty. He created it all. He sustains it all. And this is our God. The one who predestined His Son to die for our transgressions. That kind of love belongs to that kind of power. There is no beating that.

And I know God has a plan even for sunburn. If only I knew what it was...

New York Chronicle: Issue II

Date: July 4, 2005
Time: 5:30 p.m.
Location: Upstate NY

Directly in front of me stands a barn--this towering structure is painted brick red, and planted round about its base, are coral-colored Day Lilys. A sweeping panarama is to my back, the amber glow of the crops, and nestled in between hills and valleys and clumps of trees, are farmhouses dating back to the turn of the last century. There is always the inevitable big red barn.

I am sitting at a picnic table, set in this very spot to sanction our own private al fresco supper. I am among friends. I am lingering over a savory meal (props to Mrs. M.). At this moment I believe that I couldn't be more glad, more content. A gallon jar is resting on the ground adjacent to our table. Perspiration is dripping down its smooth sides. It contains oh-so-glorious ice water. Earlier today I took Katie with me to the side of the barn where the tall circular silo stands erect. Together we poked our heads inside its cool, dark interior and sang up into its dome. Sang a song to our creator.

"Let all things now living a song of thanksgiving to God the creator triumphantly raise. Who fashioned and made us, protected and staid us, who guides us and leads to the end of our days."

Katie loves music. She also loves to sing. She may be heard projecting her babyish voice loud and clear during the hymns in church. It is simply enchanting. Her favorite song (incidently the only one she knows), is "All People That On Earth Do Dwell". It is number one in the red Trinity Hymnal, and is sung to the tune of the doxology. And she really sings it. She knows the tune, but doesn't quite get the words out yet.

But back to the al fresco dinner. In due course our idyllic meal came to an end, and, together we set about clearing, cleaning, and carrying everything back to the house. And as the day was coming to its restful close, so also was our brief sojourn in this beautiful place. And as I lingered to feast my eyes for the last time, the sun in all its glory, was making its final descent into the horizon. As it sunk low, I was dazzled by the hugh eminating from its core. Pink. Hot, golden pink gazed back at me for long moments, and then it was gone.

That is a taste of the beauty to behold in this state, and that was our celebration of Independance Day. Perhaps New York in some way represents the whole of this country, I cannot presume to say. But I believe that our celebration was more beautiful and more joyous than most. We were free and happy in the heart of the country. True there was no big show, no fireworks, no fuss and botheration. And that suited me fine.

And now we are half-way through July, and I have much, much, more to say. Next week is the proposed time for our trip to The City (Manhattan). But I will save that for another time. For now, life is good, because God is good. And that is all anyone need know about anything.

New York Chronicle: Issue I

The dust has begun to settle and we are all beginning to recuperate from the past week of unpacking. Ben and Sarah moved into their new house on Thursday (incidently the day we got here), and it took us a few days of hard work and mayhem to get settled in, get the kitchen in functioning order, etc. etc. It is quiet now--I am writing this from Ben's office. He is gone for the day, otherwise I probably wouldn't have a chance. Haha--actually, he quite generously offered to let me come up and blog for a while.

It is balmy weather here, and if I was brave enough to open the window shades up here at the top floor, the sun would be bursting in upon me with irresistably dazzling rays. When Mom goes home next week I will move into the spare room on this same floor and will leave my shades open constantly! Splendid. For now I am inhabiting the basement with her. This house really is shockingly roomy I must say. There is a full basement with a kitchen and bathroom, an upstairs with two rooms, two bedrooms on the main level, and a decently-sized kitchen and living room.

Life for the most times is tranquil, and very interesting. Andrew is a darling child, and has the biggest appetite in the history of the world! He took a few steps yesterday--I felt so privilaged to be able to witness such a momentous event. He didn't think it was so very wonderful--he was only interested in getting from Mama's arms across the floor and latching onto the pretzel in Daddy's hand. Anything for food. Katie is a little slip of a girl with a silliest laugh this side of Pitsburgh. I am afraid she relishes the title and calling of "big sister". It can be very amusing at times. "No Adew! Adew, No! NO ADEW!" Bath-time is another adventure which perhaps I should chronicle in some future issue.

On our third day here I had quite an extraordinary experience. I walked into Ace Hardware, only to be met by what looked like a miniature doberman pinscher. Jenna, maybe you could help me out here? It was the size of a Chiwawa (sp?), and seemed to enjoy jumping up as far as its little paws could reach on any given victom. Just two more steps into the store saw me face-to-face with the biggest dog I have ever seen in my life. I tell you truly--it was massive. Gigantic. And black all over. Surprisingly enough, I wasn't much worried--it was a New Foundland. Very gentle, and at this particular moment--very lazy. The whole picture just struck me as odd. And histerical.

Until next time~

Clarification...

Dearly beloved~

I would be much obliged if you, my dear friends would drop me a note on my email to inform me of your home addresses. It would be extreemly helpful. I'm making an effort to keep contact--and I would dearly love to send you all lovely little post-cards as well! Please see my profile if my email address is needed.

Yours truly,
~darling little me
xo

P.S. You can disregard the "darling" if you want.
P.P.S. For that matter you might consider disregarding the "little" as well.
P.P.P.S. On no account must you disregard the "~".

Stress, laughter, anticipation, tears, gladness...and everything in between.

I have seven days--no, less than that (today is almost over). As the time grows nearer, I am growing more sad, glad, apprehensive, and...oh it is so hard to articulate a woman's emotions! And that is another frustration.

I am just realizing how many people I have built my life upon and around. And how many people I have so intricately woven into my heart who must be missed this summer. Oh yes, it is only a summer. But what a summer it is to be! I will officially graduate when I return in the Fall, and then comes adulthood (my eighteenth birthday) and responsibility. Where has Beka, that little girl run off to? Will she ever return? Can she ever? This is such a turbulent and unpredictable time. Will I be happy? Will I be strong enough to face my dreaded nemesis, "real life" without flinching? Most of all, will I serve my Master faithfully, and persevere.

Many of you have been so kind as to wish me well, and bestow on me such tokens of faithful friendship, now in this short time before my departure. You all are so precious to me. I, who call myself a writer, can scarce find appropriate words to express it. What a grand send-off you wonderful people are giving me--full of warmth and love and good wishes.

I am flying into the unknown. Although I have visited New York before this and loved it, people are what make a place worth seeing. Yes, I will be with my dear sister and brother, and their sweet babies, but other than they, my whole world will be new. Unexplored. Unfamiliar. You must pardon me, I am feeling just a trifle sentimental at present. But you must promise me one small thing:

Don't forget me amid you summer delights or trials, inrigues or drudgeries. Remember that I haven't moved to Mars, I'm still sufficiently accesible here in the capitol of the world. And if you happen to think of me sometimes, present me to God in your hearts.

That was more than one little thing, but I am sure that after you have thought it over and pondered it you will find it within your hearts to forgive me. And now--if any of you would enjoy hearing from me other than on this blog while I am away, I would very much appreciate it if you would give me your home addresses, and I promise to drop postcards, letters, notes, whatever I have time for at any particular time. Some of you no doubt have already bestowed such information upon me in the past, but please do so again so I may be sure of having it all written in my little book. Email would be the most convenient of the modes of communication--if you would be so kind?

Note: See my updated profile if my email address is needed.

The pangs or perhaps joys, of a petty poet

Sitting beneath this willow
My chosen place of retreat,
My mind was open--ready to create.
But somehow when I long for a gift
It is most unwilling to be given
And soon I must be content
With rustling wind and a pink hair ribbon.

There is a time for every purpose--
This is a good and right decree,
But when I am wanting something I cannot see,
It most often remains elusive.
And as I was despairing of ever gaining a prize,
Inspiration sweet being withheld from my eyes,
I looked back up my page and found--not empty words,

But the very thing coveted--gold.

Falling...

...no, not in love.

You are struggling for a foothold
Your hands reach to grasp mere air
Your heart tells you to let go
But you fear the result of despair

Falling, falling, releasing
The demon with reckless abandon
Eyes glaze in total surrender
Drenched in sin, you grieve but cannot shun

Will no one save you from yourself?
You feel it would be useless to try
A cry comes forth from the depths of your soul:
"Oh help God, send reply!"

Falling, falling, will God forgive?
You have no other hope--
He reaches with scarred hands to catch
You are saved from this wretched slope

Discover new strength in temptation, and praise the Lord!

Note: this was written out of faith as well as personal experience. I originally wrote it in the first person, but changed it for publication.

Angel of Patience?

I believe its time for a little explanation. When I first gave out my blog address, I recieved comments from people who wanted to know if I was the "angel of patience." No. Afraid not. This sublime celestial is my mascot. And I'd like to tell you why. Please read on:

To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God's meekest angel gently comes:
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet in tenderest love our dear and
Heavenly Father sends him here.
There's quiet in that angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance!
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure
He kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience! Sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling palm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will!
Oh thou that mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day;
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, "Be resigned:
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"

-John Greenleaf Whittier

This poem speaks to me like no other that I have ever read. Its eloquence is not lacking in any respect. And I--I struggle to be patient, to temper my longings, fears, frustrations with pure, simple peace. I truly want to "be resigned" and "make (my) own our Father's will". What could be more beautiful than to live in such tranquility and patience!