save our souls.

could a garden come up from this ground at all?

in light of yesterdays events this question is both

-allatonce-

my sincerest hopes and doubts.

oh, lord save our souls.

i am grieved by what i know.

filled me.

in lieu of my absence here, i have been living my life well. it is like the slow unfolding movement of one's limbs mid-stretch. i can't get enough of it.

last night the feller showed me this song.



we sat at his picnic dining table. my sharp chin balanced on my hand, elbow atop the dark wood.
he traced the gentle curves of my collarbone, he pressed his lips against the subtle slope of my shoulders.
my eyelids were heavy with satisfaction, my body inebriated with rest and peace and goodness.
blake's voice filled the feller's apartment.
and the feller's love filled me.

details are delicacies.

i attended a play a few weeks ago and the main character, mad with bloodlust, said of his cousins 

"they are concerned with things that are not their concern." 

reclined in a dark theatre, unventilated and sticky, i felt exposed. 

click.

"don't look to the right or to the left

but keep your eyes on Me."

this gentle instruction to have a steady gaze is saving me from an intrusive urge to, well, intrude.
unwelcomed investigation. overeager concern. voracious meddling. call the actions what you may, but i know the beast by name. and it knows mine. it is certainly more than action. it takes shape when there is a lull in my schedule. i think it becomes braver at night. i always feel my curiousity spike when my head is on my pillow and my phone is near my head, its searing orange LED light a call to look look look. technology is its friend. it spoon feeds it, really. sifting through papers and scrolling through pages satiate it, keep it at bay. but it returns greedy for information. it lacks all sensibility, all wisdom, all control. it wants to know. anything. everything. details are delicacies.

oh, but this song. and miss johnson's sweet, spontaneous reminder near the end of this song point me to a God who is steadfast. a stronghold, a fortress, a refuge. my strength. the One worthy of my gaze. i do not need to know. i do not need to search. looking at Him, i am sure of this. and the beast shrinks back when i turn my gaze and look full in His wonderful face. and the beast grows dim in size and strength. yes, the beast grows dim and i am made free. and i become braver. and i become sure that it is better to trust than to know. what a dreadful thing if i were to devote my existence to this beast! this indefatigable beast whose demands steal my time and my energy - steal my gaze and give it to unfruitful things. no, i want a fruiful life. remember? intended growth. i want a trimmed life. without the sort of excess that will make me lazy and ungrateful and a sqaunderer of time and energy.

so i starve the beast of my gaze and give it to the One who is worthy.
and He will instruct me where, what, and who to share my gaze with.
of this i am sure.

confess

"no, it isn't easy living with hearts like ours: let us confess it."

-carlo caretto, the God who comes

and i trust.

and before i start to type and memorize and type more,

i am anxious about life after graduation.
not because i won't have a job, because i will.
not because i won't have a place to live, because i will.

but because of all the uncertainties that change brings -
remember eleven months ago?
my life completely shifted.
you have no idea.
did things turn out wonderfully?
yes.
but it's that same shifting that my stomach is in knots about.

i won't have school to schedule life around.
and for someone who indulges in a full planner,
it's frightening.
and for someone who likes certainty,
it's worrisome.

click ^.

and so i look to the One who i know,
the One who knows me.
and i trust.
trust trust trust.

matthew 6:34

therefore do not worry about tomorrow,

for tomorrow will worry about itself.

each day has enough trouble of its own.

niv

so don't worry about tomorrow,

for tomorrow will bring its own worries.

today's trouble is enough for today.

nlt

so no worry bout tomorrow,

cuz tomorrow get plenny fo worry bout.

every day get nuf trouble fo dat day.

hawai'i pidgin

p.s. the last one is fantastic. sometimes hard to dicipher, but fantastic. 

helps me

dustin o'halloran helps me do homework.

simple piano fingering.
swelling strings.
ethereal background noise.

yup.
it helps ease this massive headache.
it helps focus this tired, sleepy girl.

did i mention i have three more weeks until graduation?

in the middle

this morning as i write my concert report, i am listening to Bruch's Concerto No. 1 in G Minor for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 26.

the soaring emotion evoked from the violin is breathtaking.

the lines sing themselves.

the phrasing pulls and releases; all passion and vigor, known well to the heart of any man or woman who has encountered longing and contentment and felt the terrible inevitable tension in the middle.

it is all drama and richness - the two victors of the Romantic period's war against the obsessive concern with form and concise expression that swept through the prior century. intellectualism left no room for tension in the middle.

le sigh.

is it strange to say that i have a sort of infatuation with the tension in the middle? 

that i indulge the tension, for the sake of the tension?

that i relish in every ascending line, slow crescendo, and hanging fermata?

i do.

i do i do i do.

p.s. the picture above is a daguerre, entitled "dioramanea". he is a romantic painter - all drama and richness. i love it.  

like i know

oh, i have so much to write!

but for now, as the second day of spring bleeds into the third, i have this song:

nothing says spring like brooke fraser.
i almost saw her once with the feller for our annual christmas dinner with jackie+josh. but the feller and i were both twenty and too young to legally attend. instead we spent the evening at balboa park while the other two enjoyed dim lighting and jokes hailing from new zealand. that was a hard night on stone steps in a quiet stubborness under a luminous moon. it was followed by a blissful afternoon on cold grass in a crescendo of vulnerability under a dance between the sun and the shadows the next day. and a kiss on the forehead goodbye. the first one. december '10. chills. and surprise. and laughter. just lovely.

sigh


God is so good. i know this like i know my heart is beating like i know my nailpolish is chipped like i know wooden floors are smooth and carpeted floors are rough. His goodness, though not always obvious, is real and concrete.

let us

this song is a deep inhalation and a relaxed exhalation.

it gives me time to breathe.

let us become more aware of Your presence.

let us experience the glory of Your goodness.

yes.

because He is here.

and sometimes i don't notice.

yes.

because He is good.

and i forget that this moment is a product of it.

yes, i am that girl on the freeway.

my ipod is headed to its deathbed.

and can only be used when plugged in.

and my course of action is most definitely turning on the radio.

even though i cannot stand interjections from radio hosts or commercials.

(although sometimes i opt for silence.)

sidenote: i love dance music.

i may not go clubbing but i love to move around.

purpose of this post: i love this song.

whenever it comes on i smile.

and sing along.

and try and do that ridiculous run in the middle of the song.

and whether or not i can do it, i keep singing.

loudly.

and i keep dancing in my seat.

unashamedly.

yes, i am that girl on the freeway.

this song may not be musically intricate.

david guetta and usher may have accomplished no creative feat.

but it sure is catchy.

and that's enough sometimes.

so please turn your speakers up and join with me in my love for

fun, simple, listener-friendly music.

all is muddy water sometimes.

and if everything to this point has been about me, how disheartening.

what does it to mean to give up my life?

not loving it so much that i lose it. not clinging. not trying to preserve myself and what i want and what i want others to think of me. offering it up. giving it up. living sacrifice. painful. suffering. testing. costly.

whoever loses his life for my sake will lose it,

and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

matthew 10:39

new international version

if your first concern is to look after yourself, you'll never find youreslf.

but if you forget about youreslf and look to me,

you'll find both yourself and me.

matthew 10:39

the message

i am receiving my life back.

i am being trusted with my life.

but this opportunity offers up cumbersome questions and formidable tasks.

i, on most accounts, have been so paralyzed and chained by the fear of things not turning out how i planned, of not getting precisely what i want, of letting others down. fear has kept me from saying yes to freedom for so long. anxious to preserve the temporal. the comfort, the security. not trusting God to come through, to provide or satisfy me. not trusting His generous love for me and His good thoughts towards me.

i am receiving my life back.

little by little.

and motives for every interaction with you and yours and them and theirs are surfacing. all is muddy water sometimes. but i know, am assured, am completely convinced that He is faithful to finish the good work He has begun in me. and i will submit to the process He deems best to accomplish this. even though it is scary to think of the many options that i can be made more His, more myself.

now i am just talking.

rambling.

forgive me, because i could go on.

p.s. this isn't perfectly said, i know. but i am forsaking the lure of polished language because i am not all that refined, flawless, or excellent right now.

agree with me.

some days beg for ingrid michaelson.

her voice is soft, inviting.

the rounds in this song remind me of childhood.

row, row, row your boat... anyone?

and i know it goes without saying but rounds are circular. each line coincides without clashing or distracting from the others. they don't ask for your attention. they show each other off. they work together. the spiral of a round and their indefinite end agree with me.

repetition is possibly my most favored rhetorical device.

i love ethereal voices and easy singing.

i love songs in triple meter. (six/eight?)

fact: i also walk in triple meter. one, two, three. one, two, three.

i know this is not the most cheerful song,

but it is catchy and i smile when the voices move to unison at the end.

p.s. i actually don't own any of her music. i use grooveshark to supply all those needs. but i am finding myself lacking sweet music in my car. (my ipod dies if it isn't plugged in). point being, i need to purchase said sweet music. or someone can give it to me.... ::wink wink::

p.s.s. i also want to learn how to watercolor.

the gain

today i am reminded of a friend who so plainly told me that i am not missing out on anything. that i haven't lost anything in this transition. i am reminded to love the life i have. to say thank you for my life and not be filled with anxiety about a life i did have or could have had but do not have.

but whatever was to my profit I now

consider loss for the sake of Christ.

What is more, I consider everything a loss

compared to the surpassing greatness of

knowing Christ Jesus my Lord,

for whose sake I have lost all things.

I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ

and be found in him, but that which is through

faith in Christ -

the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith.

I want to know Christ

and the power of his resurrection

and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings,

becoming like him in his death,

and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.

philippians 3:7-11

today i am reminded of a joy that goes deep. a steady joy.

a quiet joy that bubbles up and over.

today i am reminded that i have to choose this joy,

even in what feels like loss.

and that joy, the gain of knowing Christ, makes me want to dance.

wrestled my own snugness

press play.

it was morning. and though i was mindful of the morning and its call to lift the covers and stretch my well-rested body, i lay in bed. underneath a watercolor comforter. above white sheets and a blanket soft as sleep. above a matress that creeks like damaged floor boards - the kind that creek louder when you are alone and the sun has set and you have watched too much csi to ignore fear of the highly improbable - and while it is not always comfortable, it is my bed. and how fortunate i am to have a bed.

it was morning. and i lay in bed because my day was relatively unscheduled, the time i rolled out of bed insignificant. i lay in bed well-situated between dreams and conciousness, snug. i lay in bed aware of a familiar sound. unsure of where to place this sound, being between sleep and awake, i wrestled my own snugness and opened my eyes. the sound kept sounding. soft splashing. on leaves. on roofs. sheets of rain. in july. i pulled back one of my curtains, forgetting to tie it back with yellow ribbon, surprised by the spontaneity of rain, by its outright disruption of clear skies. i slid my window open enough to rest my forearms on the window sill.

it was morning. and i could smell the rain. i could appreciate its albiet unexpected arrival. it was not cold. the heat of summer would not retreat so easily. it reminded me of costa rica. of the drive from one school to another. and the sheer pleasure of sticking my head out the window. the warm rain on my tan face and in my soiled hair. the wonder. the whole earth is full of Your glory.

it was morning. and in my room i experienced wonder again.

stoked.

this evening i will enjoy the civil wars.

stoked.

hallelujah, come.

everything about this song is perfect.

it fills a space.

on repeat.

i love that it is led by both a male and a female. unexpected. beautiful. ebb and flow.

i thoroughly enjoy worship songs that integrate scripture or obvious themes from scripture in them. the word of God fuels the song, drives the song. we are lifting up words written by others and sung by others, thousands of years before our parents planned us (or didn't).

steffany frizzel, your vibrato - the gentle spinning in your voice - and slight scooping here and there carries weight. there is a whine, a soft cry between your words. it is not thin. it is natural. it is almost as if it could arise from the silence without distracting anyone. like a bird. that kind of natural.

jeremy riddle, there is sweetness in all of this. a sweet reverence and desperation. thank you for writing this song. thank you for joining the team at bethel.

today, i will not run.

today, i will seek.

when You said, "seek my face,"

my heart said to You, "Your face, O LORD, I shall seek."

psalm 27:8

listening

i've been listening to this for the past five to six months.

what reassurance. what refreshment.

i love to turn off everything. to feel the quiet on the inside.

and begin to fill it with truth.

heave lashes and eyeliner

this almost-summer sunday afternoon i am filling my airspace with one of my favorite voices.

adele.

rich and thick. soulful. so full.

her voice is

like a recollection penned in the blackest of inks.

like her heavy lashes and eyeliner.

like smooth calligraphy, delicate art.

above a hush, below a cry.

i love listening to the subtle differences in language, the way vowels are formed, the way consonants are not sounded. i love the way voices travel up and down registers. the breaking point between chest and head. and the way a slight whine in a phrase can pull me into that fullness.

thank you adele for writing music. and for singing it so beautifully. thank you for never performing like britney spears did. your voice can stand on its own. its fullness pouring into empty space: sinking into carpet and dripping down walls.

oh, the truth in this.