March 17th

Happy St. Patrick Day!!!!

Remembering

One of the two memories I have of my cousin is standing on my tip toes in my cousins living room, I watch as my cousin showed me the doll house he had made. It was beautiful, three stories high, every room furnished. The best part was in the little bedroom the doll children had a doll house and inside that one, my cousin showed me was yet another house. Yesterday I was able to visit him and his family for the first time since that day fourteen years ago. They are so sweet and kind, their house was full of warmth and beauty. While his son showed me around I looked for the doll house from so long ago. As the clear afternoon light came through the living room, there was the dollhouse sitting contently in it's own nook.

Light

This evening the high school lead the evening serves. In the back there were unlit candles. They invited us (if we wanted to) to go in the back and pray, and just light a candle, we all know the prayers can get to God without a candle, but there is something beautiful about the glow.

Anyway... the glow reminded me of the All Saints Day. Growing up in a primarily Catholic country every All Saints Day the sky was aglow with candles on graves, placed there by their loved ones.

As the memory of the glowing skies came back, I thought how beautiful if we (the Church) shone like those candles on that cold November night.

Christmas

During Christmas break my cousin and I went to see a fairy tale Christmas, we thought the music room was breathtaking.

the weather on days like today is better when you are out in it- A.M.P.

Thank you God for grace,

thank you for laughter about litter on the freeway,

thank you for a calming spirit,

thank you for a cheering smile, 

for cookies, friends, for the rain & the family I came home to.

sun & rain

Rain falling like light from the sky,
Deep clouds that made me think of the sea.
I could hear the orchestra that plays while I'm asleep

wish...

A wish to go paper boat racing.


Prints of words they were, telling the world
Down the stream they float,
now boats on the icy water
Among the stillness we watched,
our breath white in the Autumn air.
To float them again...

tonight

Tonight we are going to watch "the Bourne Ultimatum" it should be exciting, I've already seen it, but tonight my mom will see it.

Warm in my nunnery...

It is raining fantasist rain out there.
I learned another verse to a song; I have the happy hope that heckles heathens down in the depths of my heart. (heckles? There must be a better word)
Learned how to turn my pocket handkerchief into a mouse.
Burnt my chess and ham sandwich (somethings never really change), drank sparkly cider out of "Tom and Jerry" glass.
Rearranged the mess of my room.
Thought about hope and endurance.
Read the first chapter of "Mere Christianity"

"Her Letter" by Bret Har

After much searching at last I found a long lost friend. Someday if you want me to I'll tell you why I like this poem, for now just enjoy.

I’M sitting alone by the fire,
Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even you would admire,—
It cost a cool thousand in France;
I’m be-diamonded out of all reason,
My hair is done up in a cue:
In short, sir, “the belle of the season”
Is wasting an hour upon you.

A dozen engagements I’ve broken;
I left in the midst of a set;
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,
That waits—on the stairs—for me yet.
They say he’ll be rich,—when he grows up,—
And then he adores me indeed;
And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off as you read.

“And how do I like my position?”
“And what do I think of New York?”
“And now, in my higher ambition,
With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?”
“And isn’t it nice to have riches,
And diamonds and silks, and all that?”
“And aren’t they a change to the ditches
And tunnels of Poverty Flat?”

Well, yes,—if you saw us out driving
Each day in the Park, four-in-hand,
If you saw poor dear mamma contriving
To look supernaturally grand,—
If you saw papa’s picture, as taken
By Brady, and tinted at that,
You’d never suspect he sold bacon
And flour at Poverty Flat.

And yet, just this moment, when sitting
In the glare of the grand chandelier,—
In the bustle and glitter befitting
The “finest soiree of the year,”—
In the mists of a gaze de Chambery,
And the hum of the smallest of talk,—
Somehow, Joe, I thought of the “Ferry,”
And the dance that we had on “The Fork;”

Of Harrison’s barn, with its muster
Of flags festooned over the wall;
Of the candles that shed their soft lustre
And tallow on head-dress and shawl;
Of the steps that we took to one fiddle,
Of the dress of my queer vis-a-vis;
And how I once went down the middle
With the man that shot Sandy McGee;

Of the moon that was quietly sleeping
On the hill, when the time came to go;
Of the few baby peaks that were peeping
From under their bedclothes of snow;
Of that ride—that to me was the rarest;
Of—the something you said at the gate.
Ah! Joe, then I wasn’t an heiress
To “the best-paying lead in the State.”

Well, well, it’s all past; yet it’s funny
To think, as I stood in the glare
Of fashion and beauty and money,
That I should be thinking, right there,
Of some one who breasted high water,
And swam the North Fork, and all that,
Just to dance with old Folinsbee’s daughter,
The Lily of Poverty Flat.

But goodness! what nonsense I’m writing!
(Mamma says my taste still is low),
Instead of my triumphs reciting,
I’m spooning on Joseph,—heigh-ho!
And I’m to be “finished” by travel,—
Whatever’s the meaning of that.
Oh, why did papa strike pay gravel
In drifting on Poverty Flat?

Good-night!—here’s the end of my paper;
Good-night!—if the longitude please,—
For maybe, while wasting my taper,
Your sun’s climbing over the trees.
But know, if you haven’t got riches,
And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that,
That my heart’s somewhere there in the ditches,
And you’ve struck it,—on Poverty Flat.

Library of Congress

Thanks to my other brother, I was able to find out the following, this was taken straight from their web sight

1. What is the Library of Congress?

The Library serves as the research arm of Congress and is recognized as the national library of the United States. Its collections comprise the world's most comprehensive record of human creativity and knowledge. Open to those above high school age without charge or special permission, it is the world's largest library and a great resource to scholars and researchers.

Does the Library have a copy of every book published in the United States?

No, but it does have more than 17 million books, as well as nearly 95 million maps, manuscripts, photographs, films, audio and video recordings, prints and drawings, and other special collections.

"It is wise to learn; it is God like to create." -John Saxe

WARNING: the following is merely me processing thoughts that have been building up during the last year or so, no conclusion will be reached.

My dear friend Sarah wrote the quote by John Saxe in a letter she sent me the other day, I've been thinking about it, a lot.

The other day my brother was telling me a story about one day when he was a child he was telling an adult about something he had recently learned, the adult told my brother he was one step closer to being like God (because God is all knowing), my brother said what was said had always bothered him.

Today I was reading one of Emerson's essays, it was about beauty (sadly I had to leave before finishing it, but I fully intend to finish it on Wednesday) He talked of how science had killed beauty, how if you showed him a bird to him and took it apart to show him its structure all he would see is a dead bird. He said not until you could tell him what the birds were saying would he believe you were an expert on birds. Then he went on to talk of beauty, he did not attempt to define beauty, but to show beauty by talking of what all see as beautiful.

Today in class we talked about rules of art, and how first you have to prove you can follow the rules before you are allowed to break them.

On the bus ride home I told my professor of me disgust for flannel-graphs, the feeling was mutual.

On the walk home I thought of children's love, delight for life, and when does that delight die?

I thought of how what God made is perfect (far superior to flannel-graphs) couldn't we use to world to show God.

I thought about how I shouldn't use say 'teach God' but rather 'show God'. God teaches you things, but you must know him to learn.

George MacDonald -love-

Last night I finshed the book Phantastes below is from the last few pages.

"I knew now,that it is by loving, and not being loved, that one can come nearest the soul of another, yea, that,where two love, it is in the loving of each other, and not the being the beloved by each other, that originates and perfects and assures their blessedness. I knew that love gives to him that loveth, power over any soul beloved, even if that soul knows him not, bringing him inwardly close to that spirit; a power that can not be but for good; for in proportion as selfishness intrudes, the loves ceases, and the power that springs therefrom dies. Yet all love will, one day, behold its own image in the eyes of the beloved, and be humbly glad."

George MacDonald -Phantastes-

Support Raising...

A word of explanation, my mom and dad are currently raising support for their ministry. This morning Dad was reading a book about how to write an effective support letter, some of the rules were; be familiar, be to the point, use small words. So we put our heads together and came up with the following:

Dear Homey G’s,

Me and my peeps have an awesome gig at a new crib. We don’t want to keep this on the dl, the deal is we are low on dough.

So, if you can send some cool cash our way to keep us from under the bridge.

Awesome.

Peace out brothers,

Your homeys from the WV

p.s. btw ur gr8

Lord Ullin's Daughter

Lord Ullin's DaughterA Chieftain to the Highlands bound, Cries, 'Boatman, do not tarry; And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry.'
'Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?' 'Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
'And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.
'His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?'
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight: 'I'll go, my chief - I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady.
'And by my word, the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry: So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry.'
By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still, as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men- Their trampling sounded nearer.
'Oh! Haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, 'Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.'
The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her- When oh! Too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing; Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore- His wrath was chang'd to wailing.
For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, His child he did discover; One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover.
'Come back! Come back!' he cried in grief, 'Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!- oh, my daughter!'
'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting.

Shattered

My brother has taken one of my dreams and trampled upon it. He just told me that the Library of Congress has a record of all the books published in the U.S. I thought it housed every book published. All these years I have been picturing a very tall, grand, old building full from floor to ceiling of books, like the library in Beauty and the Best. What is left to dream about? Where now will my thoughts drift off to?

Today Was An Exciting Day

Someone opened the door for me on my way into the library

I saw on old book, inside there was a poem about a highland lord and his bride it was sad but.... (man, I wanted to say beautiful then I started thinking about what does the word beautiful mean, now I don't know what adjective to use!)

In class we treated our own roll of film, my hands still feel and smell like fixer and my head still aches but it was really exciting,

While in the pitch black we talked about Wait Until Dark and Charades,

Aimee called, just to talk.

It rained sunshine today

At dinner I got use chopsticks

Daniell mad egg rolls

I danced with Tim on the sidewalk in the rain, he did the box step.

I got my homework done for the day

Next I am going to read some P&P

Katie is coming over tonight, we are going to watch a movie.

sigh~ the sunset was gorgeous

Unreal

The other day the sky laid close to the earth in a gray sheet. I was on my way to school when I saw something that made me wonder; A middle age, respectable looking women was sitting at a bus stop, she had her bag sitting next to her with what seemed to be a pile of rages on top. (part of this that made it so unreal feeling was I was inside a bus across the street, so I couldn't here her) She was very agitated about something, she was talking and crying (the way people sometimes do when they are sad but also mad so they let you know why they are upset), also she was smoking a lot. I was trying to figure out who she was talking to because there was nobody beside her, she kept touching the rages, she picked them up and held them to her chest, kissed them, set them back down. About this time she picked them up again and I realized part of the mystery: The rags were in fact a rag doll, like ones that I have, and it was the doll she was talking too. The answers to those questions presents a bigger question: Why would a grown respectable women be pouring her heart out to a rag doll while she is smoking waiting for a bus? Was the doll hers from childhood? Is the women crazy? Did it belong to someone that she loved who is now dead? Has she always ridden the bus or did that start lately, same with the cigarettes did she just start, is she smoking more now? Why is it she only has the doll to talk to? Oh yeah remember this is just a glimpse of someones real life tonight she is somewhere out there in this big dark world.

Psalms 77

This last summer God was teaching me some things. One of them being; rejoicing in him purely because he is God, not because of the peace he can give me, or joy, or any other reason except that he is God. A few days ago while I was reading I came across this passage this writer had reached all the way to the depths of despair (far further then my discouragement) when he resolves to remember God and praise him because of who he is, it struck a familiar cord.


I cried out to God for help;
I cried out to God to hear me.
When I was in distress, I sought the Lord;
at night I stretched out untiring hands
and my soul refused to be comforted

I remembered you, O my God, and I groaned;
I mused, and my spirit came faint. Selah
You kept my eyes from closing;
I was to troubled to speak.
I thought about the former days,
the years of long ago;
I remembered my songs in the night.
My heart mused and my spirit inquired:

Will the Lord reject forever?
Will he never show his favor again?
Has his unfailing love vanished forever?
Has his promise failed for all time?
Has God forgotten to be merciful?
Has his anger withheld his compassion?

Selah

Then I thought; "To this I will appeal:
the years of the right hand of the Most High"
I will remember the deeds of the Lord;
yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.
I will meditate on all your works
and consider all your mighty deeds.

Your ways, O God, are holy.
What God is so great as are God?
You are the God who performs miracles;
you display your power among the peoples.
With your mighty arm you redeem your people,
the descendants of Jacob and Joseph

The waters saw you, O God,
the waters saw you and withered;
the very depths were convulsed.
The clouds poured down water,
the skies resounded with thunder;
your arrows flashed back and forth.
Your thunder was heard in the whirlwind,
your lightning lit up the world;
the earth trembled and quaked.
Your path led through the sea,
your way thought the mighty waters,
though your footprints were not seen.

You led your people like a flock
by the hand of Moses and Aaron.