* not with ink

Over the weekend, I formed a slight addiction to this song by Bastille called "Pompeii." And the walls kept tumbling down In the city that we love Great clouds roll over the hills Bringing darkness from above But if you close your eyes, Does it almost feel like Nothing changed at all? And if you close your eyes, Does it almost feel like You've been here before? How am I gonna be an optimist about this? How am I gonna be an optimist about this? --- I was on Twitter yesterday, and clicked through an image mere minutes after the Boston blasts. I don't know what I expected, exactly, but I hadn't been thinking blood. A lot of blood. My friends were there. They left 20 minutes earlier, so they could beat the airport traffic. I am training a new girl at work. She is wrapping up her degree from a Boston college and lives two blocks away. On Sunday, she went to take pictures of the finish line, went shopping at Marathon Sports. We saw these places...

Way back when I was a youth, my sister was reading Tess of the D’Urbervilles for school. I picked it up and flipped it open and read a few random pages and it seemed so dramatic and moving and exactly all the things I loved in my romanticized view of the 19th century. This is the memory I had, and in the back of my mind I thought I would one day read it. Fast forward a decade and a half, and I still hadn’t read it, but then I got a Kobo, and all of a sudden, the Gutenberg Project means ALL THE CLASSICS OF EVER are available to me, for free. Convenient. So I downloaded twenty, and decided to start somewhere. With Thomas Hardy and the sure-to-be-fantastic Tess. Well. It is engaging and engrossing and, folks, oh-so-depressing. I am not opposed to depressing novels, but there was something about this one that just wouldn’t let me go. I pressed on, groaning and skimming and praying for things to have some little slice of hope… On Sunday night, as I was trying to force myself onw...

...think of it as gaining a married friend!" These were Nadine's words to me on Friday night, as I lamented (with smiles & laughter), how sad I felt to know she was leaving our apartment permanently in the morning. --- It was a lovely, lovely wedding. A great reflection of both Matt & Nadine's personalities, families, and hearts. It was kind of a blur (as weddings often are), but it was good . I am thrilled for them, for their honeymoon adventures and new life together. I am also a little bit sad. As much as this is a win-win situation, I can't deny that transitions are a real thing that come with emotions whether you want them or not. I am excited for my new roommate (VERY excited), but I also miss Nadine already. I don't really feel like my wedding-speech captured how much love I feel for Nadine, how strongly I am on Team MandN, or what a blessing her presence in my life & apartment has been for the last two years. Just needed ...

This week, I cried* a few times. I cried a lot on Wednesday. I cried when I saw my friend waiting to walk in to her mother's funeral. I cried when she got up to share about her mom. I cried when the minister choked up during her eulogy. I cried when I hugged my friend during the reception. I cried at the internment when I saw her nephew trying not to cry. I bawled* as my friend came over to two of us after and we mourned together. I cried again as I told my own mother about the day over the phone. This morning, at church, I cried.I cried when I saw the smile on my friend's face as she waited to be baptized. I cried when she said Jesus has been calling her for a long time and she's ready to say yes. I cried when another girl said she called herself an atheist not that long ago, but she has seen Jesus change her life. I cried when a big man choked up and couldn't speak. I cried when another big man shared that he has had dark days and has not been a good son to ...

Sometimes it is really difficult to package thoughts into a blog entry. Tonight's most pertinent thoughts require two prefaces and will potentially be quite lengthy. I am tempted to watch an episode of The Mentalist instead of sorting it all out. Preface A: I don't know how to give myself permission to feel what I feel and want what I want even if it is irrational or "less" than another's feelings/pain/suffering/etc. I find it unbearably hard to say, "This is where I'm at: __________." Without following it up with some sort of plan to move forward or "fix" those things I dislike. (Today, I feel overly possessive of friendships, jealous of girls dating men I do not want, grieved over the death of someone I haven't seen in five years.*) Preface B: I have found myself hesitating to blog about my relationship with Jesus this year. Partly because hesitant is exactly the word I would use to describe our relationship right now. And...

(these are thoughts with no conclusion ) Last month, I was scrolling through my blog looking for entries related to a specific experience/time frame. It turned out that there were no such entries, which surprised me. Then I started looking for other key moments and topics, and I stumbled upon a profound realization: I don't blog about the difficult things in my life.  When I do mention them, it's all vague generalities or cryptic anecdotes. I may refer to feeling overwhelmed or thinking a lot about serious things (see my entry on hope from earlier this summer), but rarely, if ever, do I explain the specific situations or dilemmas that bring me to these places. --- The "tricky factor" that I think has become an excuse for avoidance is the issue of respecting other peoples' privacy. My life is never just my life. Situations almost always involve more than one person, but rather than wrestling through those murky waters, I've been sitting on the beach,...

Processing my week with Nadine over a breakfast of chocolate cake, yogourt, and strawberries, I confessed that I had cried as I lay in bed this morning. "An emotional hangover," she said compassionately. Yes. That's precisely it. As I wrote and prayed this morning, I had a flashback to two weeks ago. It was late on Saturday night. Probably one in the morning. I was in my parents' kitchen with a friend. To be specific, I lay on the carpet, curled on my side, exhausted with sadness. She sat in a chair, looking equally drained. I had asked that we wrap up our night with prayer, and after I finished rambling and unloading and wondering and pleading, she prayed. "Show me where to put my sadness." She paused. "Right. The cross." church bench Originally uploaded by bethaf . So simple. So profound. So neglected. It's been difficult for me to blog about serious subjects this month. While my life has a great deal of joy, there is a section of my heart th...