Only two weeks till I leave this place. Two weeks till all my papers will have been written and all my tests taken. Two weeks till I pack my bags, my bed, my couch, and all my stacks of books and deposit them in my warm, red room at home.
Okay.... just had to add a little bit of sentimental melodrama to my life which is now just focused on getting things done. I still have things to do, so that's what I'm doing.
An odd post for my first one in several months, but that's alright too.
I love this quiet, ethereal, sweet song. Dream Priscilla Ahn
I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me.
I played pretend between the trees, and fed my houseguests bark and leaves, and laughed in my pretty bed of green.
I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest swing.
I had a dream.
Long walks in the dark through woods grown behind the park, I asked God who I'm supposed to be.
The stars smiled down on me, God answered in silent reverie. I said a prayer and fell asleep.
I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest tree.
I had a dream.
Now I'm old and feeling gray. I don't know what's left to say about this life I'm willing to leave.
I lived it full and I lived it well, there's many tales I've lived to
tell. I'm ready now, I'm ready now, I'm ready now to fly from the
highest wing.
Psalm 73:21-28 When my heart was embittered And I was pierced within, Then I was senseless and ignorant; I was a beast before You. (too true!) Nevertheless I am continually with You; You have taken hold of my right hand. With Your counsel You will guide me, And afterward receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but You? And besides You, I desire nothing on earth. My flesh and my heart may fail, (May? More like will fail!) But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. For, behold, those who are far from You will perish; You have destroyed all those who are unfaithful to You. But as for me, the nearness of God is my good; I have made the Lord Yahweh my refuge, That I may tell of all Your works.
I’ve started many, many xanga entries, deleted many and made many “private.” I even posted one, changed my facebook settings so it wouldn’t show up there, and then deleted the entry from my xanga anyway. I’m not so confident about anything that I’ve been thinking lately, obviously. I’m learning a lot, though, been humbled a lot, and I’m just not sure how to get it out, or even to process it fully. So this is me not saying anything. But.. Here’s an old poem from freshman year re-written for last semester. And it’s not so bitter anymore. I like that about it.
An Unfinished Story In mind’s dark cavern, memory broods, Recalling, embracing, caressing past wounds. “Hide thyself,” A shadow voice persuades, “Lest love’s loss leave you a human-case.” From those who mask hate with love’s face, The child her stolen, shattered heart secludes.
Time and time roll on in waves continuous. Walled from pain, she’s hidden too from happiness. Though breathing, ceased to live and frozen to numb, Forsaken shell of a flown soul. Child, come Unveil the mystery of life's wondrous irony: When one, forgetting self, surrenders willingly, Bears the precious weight of another’s glory, Real life begins, the continuing story.
I've been posting frequently of late and I have several theories why. Regardless of those possible reasons, I don't think it's too terrible of a thing to share like this; thus, I shall continue. (And also, if you're short on time, just read the indented paragraph below. It's the best half of this post.) I'm working on a paper for Historical Books. It's an analysis of 1 Kings 19:1-8 -- an almost random passage in between the big stories of Elijah that we always hear about. And that's probably part of why I love it so much: I didn't learn about it in Sunday school like the story of Mt. Carmel's fire and Mt. Horeb's "still, small voice." No teacher or preacher has hammered into my brain "principles" from it. And also it's quieter. It's not flashy; no fire from heaven, no earthquake, no Elijah proclaiming, "Except by my word!" or "Thus says the Lord!" Elijah is fleeing for his life and has finally sunk despairing, ready to die, under a bush in the middle of the desert. Then God comes, sends a messenger with a cake (baked on hot stones) and a jar of water and tells Elijah to rise, eat, rest for the journey is too much for him. It rings true to me. I've never called down fire from heaven, but I have slept in despair under a desert bush -- metaphorically speaking, of course. I'm trying to do the "theological analysis" / "application" part now, and I'm having trouble finding things in commentaries that seem right. For instance, one of my commentaries says "The call for God to 'Take my life' always draws a response from God," but the author gave no examples, no references. I'm not sure that statement is true; in fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. I've sighed that and heard nothing. And I know Job cried "Take my life" quite a while before he heard an answer. Jonah whined it and got an immediate rebuke, but I don't remember anyone else saying that in Scripture; do you? And furthermore, you usually can't say that God always does anything. You can't put God in a box like that. (I like that cliche.) Anyways... I thought, "I bet George MacDonald has something to say about this." (Wasn't that a good thought? I thought so.) I found an online text of all of his sermons. He only mentions Elijah twice; one is a very brief reference to make a point about someone else, and the other is a long paragraph about this one text -- my text. Of course George would talk about this passage. Of course he would avoid the flashy ones. He would come to the heart of the Elijah saga, the part of the story where God shows up in Elijah's weakness. I feel affirmed now that I chose the right part. :::smile::: I don't want to deprive you of George's thoughts while I burden you with my own, so... here; if you read no other part of this post, read this:
If, in the extreme of our exhaustion, there should come to us, as to Elijah when he slept in the desert, an angel to rouse us, and show us the waiting bread and water, how would we carry ourselves? Would we, in faint unwillingness to rise and eat, answer, 'Lo I am weary unto death! The battle is gone from me! It is lost, or unworth gaining! The world is too much for me! Its forces will not heed me! They have worn me out! I have wrought no salvation even for my own, and never should work any, were I to live for ever! It is enough; let me now return whence I came; let me be gathered to my fathers and be at rest!'? I should be loth to think that, if the enemy, in recognizable shape, came roaring upon us, we would not, like the red-cross knight, stagger, heavy sword in nerveless arm, to meet him; but, in the feebleness of foiled effort, it wants yet more faith to rise and partake of the food that shall bring back more effort, more travail, more weariness. The true man trusts in a strength which is not his, and which he does not feel, does not even always desire; believes in a power that seems far from him, which is yet at the root of his fatigue itself and his need of rest-rest as far from death as is labour. To trust in the strength of God in our weakness; to say, 'I am weak: so let me be: God is strong;' to seek from him who is our life, as the natural, simple cure of all that is amiss with us, power to do, and be, and live, even when we are weary,-this is the victory that overcometh the world. To believe in God our strength in the face of all seeming denial, to believe in him out of the heart of weakness and unbelief, in spite of numbness and weariness and lethargy; to believe in the wide-awake real, through all the stupefying, enervating, distorting dream; to will to wake, when the very being seems athirst for a godless repose;-these are the broken steps up to the high fields where repose is but a form of strength, strength but a form of joy, joy but a form of love. 'I am weak,' says the true soul, 'but not so weak that I would not be strong; not so sleepy that I would not see the sun rise; not so lame but that I would walk! Thanks be to him who perfects strength in weakness, and gives to his beloved while they sleep!'
Oh, glory. This is a frustrating paper, but there have been good moments in its writing. And now I should get back to it.
