// looking away //

As a writer, I cherish a desire to lighten this  dark world a bit, through words strung together as well as I can. Whether that’s to enlighten someone’s mind or to lighten the burden of their heart, I take the command to be a ‘light in the world’ seriously when it comes to the task that I think God has set for my life. Not as seriously as I should, maybe- but it guides my growth, and encourages me to try harder, to write more, to be… less lazy. Ahem.

However, as I watch the world spiral, I often become jaded. It’s an undeniable reality that goodness and light are hard to find in this planet we call home. We writers have an embarrassment of riches when it comes to inspiration for all that is cruel, dark and twisted. In the face of it, happy little stories seem trite. Sure, ‘Love What Matters’ and other places highlighting the simple acts of goodness that everyday people are doing are wonderful. They are doing something very, very necessary, in my opinion. But when I zoom out and think about the big picture, it’s easy to brush them aside. It’s beautiful, what people do for good. But it doesn’t seem to stop the darkness.

C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien are two of my role models, as Christians, as people and of course, as authors. Their burden is my burden… it’s a beautiful thing to know our work is all united in its common cause. However, when I begin focusing on what I see around me, the interconnectedness of the devil’s web, I begin to doubt their calling and mine. Tolkien’s high fantasy, insisting on the prevalence of good at the end of every desperate struggle, begins to seem näive. Lewis’ claim that, in the heart of image-bearing man is a thirst for truth, rings hollow in my ears. Even Solomon and Paul, telling me in scripture that God has set understanding in man, that they may be without excuse for their willful ignorance and depravity, just crushes me a little lower.

What good am I in the face of this? What good are my words and ideas, made over from words and ideas people of God have been spinning since the beginning of time?

Ah, there it is. Even in the beginning it was light against dark. It was Noah against the world, building not a story but an ark. It was the prophets, crying out. It was my very Savior, telling parables to the people gather round him while knowing they would shout for his death before they ever understood his meaning. And on and on, it’s always been so. Our time is not unique in it's struggle, not really. It’s always been a few against many. The word of God against deafened hearts. And ever it has been the few that hear and come. The tale of a life spent for God doesn’t have to be one of huge grandeur or scope, one of thousands coming and lives being turned upside down.

It could be one person who reads a book and begins to question, to search

It could be one person who can finally believe they aren’t alone, that their broken heart can mend.

It could even just be me, learning to know God so I can write Him into my stories and essays and heart. 

When Tolkien began his epic tales, I don’t think he had an idea that they would change the world. He just wanted to build the world he saw in his mind, and to tell it to his boys before bed. I don’t think it was meant to be a monumental work of literature, it was meant to be a story. A  story into which he poured the truth that framed his life. It was vastly important to him, but I doubt he expected it to be so important to the millions of people that have since read his tale of valor and baseness, vying in a death grip for the rule of Middle Earth. 

So was he naive to think it’s so simple? That the good actions of a tiny hobbit can really matter in the face of the mighty Mount Doom? Or isn’t that what the stories are that God chose to give us in his Word- stories of little people doing big things through and for Him?

So today, as yet another headline shoots us in the face, as the political clamor ceaselessly cudgels our ears, as your own heart begins to sink a little and doubt, like mine has-

Stop staring evil in the face and look up, away, to goodness. To the goodness for which our souls really do long. If you don’t have the answers, look to that truth. If you don’t have love, look to Christ on the cross. Why is it so hard to realize that our problem isn’t the evil we see, it’s the way we are looking at it? We see through a glass, and all that. We have to learn to stop trusting our own eyes so very much and to trust His, to do every little thing we can. The was my mind works is to see things in webs, so to speak- all the horrible things connecting and connecting until I get completely overwhelmed and apathetic, as though nothing can be done. But the good things do that too! They connect and grow and build on themselves. No-one is an island, and everything we do for good or ill can directly change the world.  Just as Samwise says, the good is there and it is worth fighting for.

I’m writing to myself, you know. I know all this in my head (clearly, since I’ve written it). But do I believe it? In other words, am I acting on it? Not really so much. But I want to. And I hope you do too. 

'For God has not given us a spirit of fear; 

but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.' 

2 Timothy 1:7

// the quote tag //

   Maggie @ http://homewardtraveling.blogspot.com has tagged my for the daily quote challenge, so many thanks to her!!! I won't be able to do 3 bloggers a day, but I'll tag three at the bottom of each post.

Rules:

   1. Thank the person who nominated you

   2. Nominate 3 new bloggers everyday

   3. Post a new quote everyday for three consecutive days

This is a hard tag!!!! I love so very many quotes and I feel oddly traitorous trying to pick only three, like the ones I don't pick are being left behind or deceitfully omitted. It's my INFP side coming out.

I don't know who he is but this quote basically sums me up as a writer. I cannot grasp my own abstractions unless I see them, spelled out for myself, by myself. It forces me to word things, to fully explore the thoughts that I haven't given flesh to, to focus on my topic. And then, in addition to being able to understand myself better, I can share with and hopefully bless and enrich others. 

Phew, one down- two to go. I'm sorry I've been sort of absent, my life is going back into a routine(more or less) now, so I'll be getting back at it. I have a couple of things planned for the next few weeks, so stay tuned! Hope you had a great Sunday!

and I'm tagging

Shandi @ Beyond the Ordinary 

Olivia @ Summer of 1999

Lauren @ Victory

You know come to think of it I actually have a couple other people so I might be able to at least come a little closer to the rules. Till tomorrow!

// the death of a dream //

via pinterest

dreams sail up so high,

with trails like rockets,

whistling and calling you to look, look up

only to then burst like a firework,

with a bang, showering down glitter in streams

its last glory sparkling brighter as it descends,

stinging like a spark where it touches you,

until all thats left as you stare 

from the ground to the empty sky

is the smoke and the echoes,

the feelings,

and the memory.

xx angsty little thing xx

// burden //

sometimes the weight of humanity
(including my own)
weighs down my little soul
until it practically sickens me.

If my finite self can be so
crushed with the futile tragedy
of the depraved rejectors of their only cure

how on earth or in the heavens above
must Christ have felt
He who knew no sin Himself
who wasn't only a reawakened dust-mote
but the All Encompassing, bound in a body

how must it have felt to have
 all the massive sin of everyone, everywhere
for the entire span of time
on His shoulders?

Perfect holy shoulders,
streaming blood.

How could they not break
under just one breath of sin?
How could he be willing to
walk beside man and his fallenness
let alone bend under it?

If we could comprehend-
Oh, for the grace to ever truly
appreciate and feel it-

we would be a different
people. Our burden would be
a different one, more profound
and yet lighter.

How can we point our noses and
play at church
when God let sin touch
Himself for our disgusting selves?

written January 11 2016
xxx I've been debating over posting this for a long time...  I don't want to sound judgmental, especially towards the end, because believe me, I'm talking to myself. Always talking to myself. Here it is, anyways. xxx

//what do i know?//

via pinterest

I start to write of things I've never known. But then I remember-
"write what you know."

what do I know?

I know of lonely nights, reproving your mind and trying to pray
sleep coming, like a reprieve,
like a 'take 5' from your feelings.

i know of being happy over something silly
and sad over something sillier.

i know of hating and loving yourself and
the world, wanting to fix both
and not being able to
do either.

But all I need to know, and want to know better,
is that God is bigger than anything I know. He is more than those things,
the answer to them all.

This
I know

from my 'diary', Feb. 1 2016

(how often do you think I should post? do I post too often? I mean, I personally devour other peoples posts as fast as they can write them, but for someone new to my blog there are kind of a lot of posts to go through. thoughts? thanks. )

// to be led //

What I'm learning is that to be led by God will not mean static waiting for some invisible and mysterious sign or a voice to illuminate a perfect path. Being led by someone implies movement. And, that you don't nessecarily know where you're going, but that you're trusting someone with better vision than you to take you where you need to be. That isn't even always where you think, or want, to be going. But when you're trusting someone who loves you, you know that they want and will do what's best for you.

Submitting to Christs leading and will, won't mean sitting and waiting. At last I'm realizing this! It will mean moving forward with new freedom, for he will work all out for good. You have to be obedient to scriptural commands and prayerfully trying to make good descisions. But if you make a mistake- listen.

 You can't ruin Gods plan. You might be able to mess it up, humanly speaking, but in the end, the goal is Christlikeness and Heavens glory. On earth, perfection can't happen, until you accept what to you might seem bad. But when you trust in Christ, then and only then imperfect earthly life can be perfected.

This is something I'm thinking about lately, and you'll probably hear more about it. Do you as a reader prefer strictly this sort of thing, or do you like some poetic and project variety? Because I was thinking about doing some style posts, most specifically a Valentine's Day makeup look. Let me know what you think!!

// i would believe in magic //

via pinterest

// i would believe in magic

if i didn't know there was Something Greater //

// perhaps //

via pinterest

Many people say he's plain- well, perhaps he is.

 But then, perhaps they've never seen the way his eyes flash when his face lights up with that smile of his. His smile- it's like a sudden flash of lightening across a stormy summer sky. Powerful, more than a little dangerous- but so wildly beautiful.

And they have never heard the way his voice can roll, like the sea. Gentle at times, fierce at times, but always so deep and and sure.

 Perhaps they don't see it because he doesn't show them... or perhaps he doesn't show them because they wouldn't see.

But I do. And so, I can never think him plain.

~H.D.

xxx I wrote this a while back. It is not about anyone specific, if you're wondering. just a muse I guess. xxx

// you say you want to be alone //

via pinterest

you say you want to be alone.

but i watch you
and i've seen your sad eyes watching others

and i think you don't want to be alone at all

you've just convinced yourself you should be.

after all it is easiest
not quite so frightening

but then if a lifetime alone
all alone
isn't scary
i don't know what is

you're not so very old you know
and you should believe the mirror that tells you you're pretty still

i saw you the other day
when that gentleman walked by you on the street
he looked at you and smiled
and your cheeks flamed just like roses
and you smiled back

you really are pretty

we girls all think so.
you have no idea
we all look at you when you go by
in your pretty plain dress
and secretly wish we were faded and mysterious
and sad
just for a day, to try it out

folks say we young are fools
in love, in life
but the old are fools too
in love and in life

for they often let them drift by
to show us how much better it would be to be wise

but is it more foolish to make a mistake
or to prudently shake your head
or just to pick a nosegay because

flowers are young too
and they share our knowledge
that your beauty doesn't have to die when color does

open your window
open your door
take a step outside
look across the street to the park

did you play here too?
i wonder.
the roses are blooming in the city garden
walk a little farther
take a look.

the gentleman from the other day is here too.
he walks here often.
he does love roses.

they have a scent and warmth
he misses in the office sounds
and drab colors
of his paper world.

does he want to be alone?

or did he, maybe, come walking
looking for those roses again
like you came looking for
a paper poem.

we are all fools
in love, in life
old and young

but there are times when
the greatest wisdom is
 what some call folly,
and the truly wise know is
anything but.

xxx i think i write more to excavate my own psyche more than anything else. oh well. if you like the diggings well enough to read them maybe you can forge them into some sort of shovel to help dig you out too. or just enjoy them for face value since maybe that's all they really are. who knows. xxx

// a short work of fiction //

via pinterest

The tinny clink of the tea pot lid entered my consciousness, although I had perhaps been aware of her presence before that. I put my head over the newspaper. She was making tea, her movements slow and almost irritable.I wondered if that emphatic bang of the lid had been purposefully to annoy me. Knowing Sylvie, it was most likely. I smile and set the newspaper down.

"Good morning, mon cherie." I said, stretching a little. She smiled back, a small smile but a satisfied one.

"Good morning, Alexandre." She replied, her voice scratchy from sleep and a bit weary besides. How I wish the woman would just once explain, to me at least, what goes on inside that head of hers. We've been married two years next week and I still don't know half of what she means and none of what she thinks. For the past few days, she has been this way- even more quiet and curt than normal. I know better than to let it bother me- I always have. Still, it would be nicer if she would just explain herself. I don't know if she can though, not out loud. It's why she's a writer.
I watch her, her black pajamas clinging to her thin frame. She moves, back and forth, through the almost choreographed motions of her morning ritual. The sunlight coming in was golden new, tinged with the reflected light of the buildings across the way. The brown of her hair and the brown of the tiles on the wall merge into one shade, and she looks so very natural and home-like. It swells my heart a little to see as I sit waiting.

She carries over my tea, sweetened exactly the way I like it. One thing I do know- it is these very little things that, from her, mean quite a lot. When we met, in university,  it was the first inkling I had to knowing she liked me as much I as I(to my own perplexity at the time) liked her. She would do little things, like offer to bring back my library books, or even just sitting with me a lunch. These things would mean nothing from some other girls- from her, they mean everything, for she would not go out of her way for another man than I.

She sits next to me, craning over to look at the headlines. I move the paper over.

"Not much. The world is in the same state as always."

"It is the way of things. Every day different, every day the same. Living, dying, being born and reborn." Was her remark. I agreed even if I didn't quite understand her.

 I should note here that I am an accountant, a man of numbers and symbols, things that do as you ask if you use them wisely and require nothing more than adherence to their rules. The only way I succeeded in literature and philosophy was because Sylvie had helped me. Poetry in particular is beyond me altogether. It is surprising, I suppose, that we should have fallen in love. It is, as she would say, the way of things. She is still quietly scanning the paper. 

"There is a notice of puppies for sale." I mention, as casually as I can. She glances up, a strand of bang hanging over one eye.

"Oh Alex. No puppies, not now." She hates dogs, although she has promised that one day when we find just the right one, I can have it. She herself likes cats, which in turn I have an aversion to. One of each would be perfectly fair. In time.

"They are poodles anyways. I don't want a poodle." I said. A grin splits across her face, showing her fine teeth. 

"Why not, I could see you with a poodle. You can wear my beret."

"Very funny." I applaud, standing up and bringing my cup over to the sink. When I turn, she is watching me, her eyes unusually soft, and with a strange exhausted excitement in them.

"What?" I asked as I go to get dressed. She flushes, her cheeks shining in the morning sun.

"Nothing."

* * *

I dress quickly, realizing that I have lingered too long over the empty words of my paper. I hurry towards the door. Sylvie is waiting by my coat, her arms tightly wrapped around her ribs, pulling her butter yellow bathrobe taut. Her fingers quiver a little. I stop under the coat rack, facing her.

"Sylvie, what is the matter?" I asked. She leans back a little to rest against the wall. Her wide hazel eyes pull me towards her and I kiss her. She laughs a little, her throaty little laugh that only comes from deep inside.

"You're going to be late, Alex." She reminds me.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me why you are acting so strange." I declare. She stares at me for a moment, that strange smile still on her lips. It makes her look girlish, something she usually avoided, and with success. Not this morning. Then she tosses her head, flicking her bang out of her glowing eyes.

"Oh, just... don't bring home lamb for dinner because I can't stomach the smell."

"Alright...?" I trail off, not in the least satisfied. She sighs, a breathy, exasperated, exhilarated little sigh and shrugs her shoulders happily,

"What is your favorite name for a baby? And do you hope it is a boy, or a girl?" 

I will be late to work. Quite late, actually.

* * *
 
xxx I don't even know Is the tense odd? I  probably should know exactly what tense it is but I don't. I wanted to write/post something so I picked that picture and went with it. It's not very Christmas-y, sorry:) I am planning and hoping to get one more Christmas short story done in the next few days. I just need to... start it. xxx

// all the world's a stage //

// some people don't like

the idea of being a player (and not director) in a grand performance called Life

but I've always felt the most comfortable on stage //

via google search

// how to paint the painter... //

I was thinking earlier, on the way to church. I don't remember about what, actually, but somehow it lead to these thoughts...

via pinterest

As a Christian artist (and I don't necessarily just mean visual artist, but artist in general) sometimes I struggle with knowing how exactly to show God in my work. With wondering how much I need to have all my art and music 'sacred'. And the thought struck me-

I can't really paint a picture of God. I have to try to convey his attributes somehow and that can be daunting enough. But rather He should be in the paint, in the colors, in every note and tune and word.

 And He will shine through the beauty, probably better than if I always tried to make everything somehow related to a Bible story or something like that. God reveals himself in nature, and beauty, in a totally different way than the Bible obviously, but none the less real.

So while I want to of course make art and music that is specifically 'sacred' or for the church, I think it's important to make things that aren't 'sacred' (although in reality for the Christian there should be no such line) and through them reach the lost in ways you might not be able to otherwise.

 Now I don't mean that we should be making things that are counter the Word of God. You can't be dabbling in music that is sinful or making sketchy(pun not really intended) art. No, no and again no. That is the farthest thing from what I mean. Not that we aren't all guilty of that from time to time. What I mean is excellent beautiful art. Art that still is, at it's deepest, as sacred as a sinful human can attempt.

Anyways there's my random musing of a ramble for tonight It (as usual) is not fully thought through yet, and I need to study it out some more, look at the Bible and so on. I'm so abstract with my thinking that I hardly ever get that far, which is something I need to work on.

 I'm going to post another haiku as well, because I love haiku's and they are really the only kind of poem I feel I can systematically achieve.

I'd love to hear what you think about the article. Do you agree? Disagree? Have something to add since I've probably missed something (I cannot for the life of me write well when listening to any vocal music...) I'll always love to hear anything you have to say!!!

// some words i like //

1. e·voc·a·tive

   əˈväkədiv/

   adjective

   bringing strong images, memories, or feelings to mind.

   "powerfully evocative lyrics"

   synonyms: reminiscent, suggestive, redolent

   

   via google

   
   

il·lu·mi·nate

iˈlo͞oməˌnāt

verb

past tense: illuminated; past participle: illuminated

1.

light up.

"a flash of lightning illuminated the house"

synonyms: light (up), lighten, throw light on, brighten, shine on, irradiate; More

2.

decorate (a page or initial letter in a manuscript) with gold, silver, or colored designs.

synonyms:decorate, illustrate, embellish, adorn, ornament

"the manuscripts were illuminated"

ir·i·des·cent

ˌirəˈdes(ə)nt/

adjective

showing luminous colors that seem to change when seen from different angles.

synonyms: opalescent, nacreous 

found via google

phi·los·o·phy

fəˈläsəfē/

noun

the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence, especially when considered as an academic discipline.

a particular system of philosophical thought.

plural noun: philosophies

the study of the theoretical basis of a particular branch of knowledge or experience.

"the philosophy of science"

synonyms: thinking, thought, reasoning

"the philosophy of Aristotle"

'the thinker', rodin- via google

re·demp·tion

rəˈdem(p)SH(ə)n/

noun

1.

the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.

"God's plans for the redemption of his world"

synonyms:saving, freeing from sin, absolution

"God's redemption of his people"

2.

the action of regaining or gaining possession of something in exchange for payment, or clearing a debt.

synonyms:retrieval, recovery, reclamation, repossession, return