"you think too much"

“I really get frustrated when people say things like ‘oh I’m not into philosophy or theology, I just want practical.’ Well what you think determines how you live, what you think determines how you suffer, and what you think determines how you die..." driscoll.

" “Timothy, you think too much!”
He couldn’t believe he was hearing those words from his wife, words he’d heard since childhood from his mother, his teachers... What was too much? Who was to say which chalk line one should think up to and then come to a screeching halt? What if Wordsworth had never thought too much, or Shakespeare, or Milton or Crammer or Socrates? And what about Beethoven or Edison or Madame Curie? Why was thinking such a crime? "


overwhelmed by richness

I was dead in trespasses, walking in sin, following the course of this world and the prince of the power of the air, running toward hell. I lived in the passions of my flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and was by nature a child of wrath. BUT God, being rich in mercy,because of the great love with which he loved me, even while I was dead in my trespasses, made me alive together with Christ— by grace I have been saved— and raised me up with Him and seated me with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward me in Christ Jesus. For by grace I have been saved through faith. And this is NONE of my own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that I may never boast. For I am His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that I should walk in them.
ephesians 2.1-10. paraphrased into first person.

because it slams into me so much harder. when i put myself into this passage. i feel the wieght of my sin, all paul's descriptions of me before Christ resonate. i was a willing slave, i didn't even want to be rescued. i deserved wrath. but Christ, Christ took all the wrath i earned, Christ paid my debts, Christ reconciled this sinful rebellious child to God the Holy Father. and now i know grace. mercy. kindness overwhelming. for no other reason than that the Lord chose to be merciful. loving. a love beyond my comprehension!
i know on judgment day. when i stand before the throne of my God. i will have the truest sense of my guilt. i will know to the fullest extent possible how evil my heart was, how just it would be for me to be damned. how undeserving i am to be in His presence. and at the same moment, unbelievably! i will know grace! i will grasp more fully how amazing, how unspeakably sweet is mercy, love, redemption. how incredible is Christ's sacrifice. not only will i be in His presence. i will see His face. i can't bear the thought. and yet i long for that day. i can't wait to be humbled in a way i have never been on earth, too finally have a better idea of the complete perfect worthiness of God. and fall on my face. "such things are too wonderful for me."


1 Thessalonians

all i need is Christ. and i have Him! even when i don't see or feel His presence. when all the doctrine in my head is as far from my heart as the earth is from saturn. He is with me. He who has called me is faithful. He will keep that which He has redeemed. He doesn't give up, when I wallow in my sinful doubts and fears and distrust. He cleanses me and moves me into His grace. He is patient. His timing is perfect. He sends all things to sanctify. For His glory and my GOOD.
"your dross to consume and your gold to refine." amen Lord Jesus. You are bringing dross to the surface, and all i ask is that you refine it. in spite of me.

((i just needed to hear a little truth preached))


the book thief

This book. Is incredibly well written. It's rough, but superb. The word choices, the pictures it paints in my mind...I can't put it down. But sometimes I have to take a break to absorb it all. if I could write like anybody on earth I think I'd pick this man. With some Harper Lee thrown in.
The characters have totally grabbed me, which isn't something that happens easily for me.

Liesel. Brilliant girl. Sometimes I want to throttle her, but mostly because I would be making the same wrong decision in her place.
Her foster father. Excellent but realistically flawed. Gotta respect a man who won't join the Nazi party in 1940's Germany. Especially when he's not your typical hero type.
Her foster mother. Hated her at first. But I think we've come to an understanding. I even like her now.
Max. Hmm. Not actually sure how i feel about him. as much as i want to love him, i just can't seem to stir up anything stronger than pity. If/when he dies, my sorrow will be mostly empathy for Liesel.
I first met this cocky german kid on page 48, and had a feeling we'd get along well. "Insane or not, Rudy was always destined to be Liesel's best friend. A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship."
Page 58-I became determined NOT to fall in love with Rudy Steiner. If I didn't, there was a greater possibility he would live.
Page 80-How can you not respect a kid this loyal?
Page 241. I learned 2 very important facts. 1) I am hopelessly in love with a good natured, defiant german boy. 2) He is absolutely going to die. The only question is in which of the next 252 pages. TORTURE!! so for 252 pages I am awaiting the agony of his departure. After which, I will probably throw the stupid book in disgust and rant about authors who have to write so realistically. And against my foolish propensity to always like best the characters that aren't gonna make it. It's so like me, attracted to things that are destructive... Argh.


refreshment of solitude

sunrise over the Atlantic last friday. was glorious. i was the only one on the entire shoreline as far as i could see at first. before the sun broke through the waves. just me, God, and birds. mmmm. needed it so much. the ocean was cold and clear. on it's best behavior. probably would be good if i learned to not store everything so tightly locked inside me. then maybe it wouldn't take so long to get my heart re-oriented...false. pretty sure i'll always need solitude. no matter how wandering or obedient my heart is. i need Jesus in intense concentration. every few weeks. even when life is amazing. especially when life is amazing! i fail tests of prosperity much blindlier then i do tests of difficulty.


natural as breathing

i miss doing this. so very much. i miss the freedom. i miss pushing my body to the limit of its potential. i miss the joy. i miss thinking i had no ounce of strength left, then finding i could leap higher or stick more pirouettes anyway. i miss the feeling of flight. i miss late evening classes & dancing between the sunbeams. i miss defeated days. i miss the wood floor squeaking against my bare feet as friction created new callouses. i miss the release. i miss being surrounded by music. i miss dancing outside the classroom. i miss perfect timing. i miss repeating the same movement nine million times and wondering if i'd ever get it right. i miss hating the mirror. i miss perfectly worn-in pointe shoes. i miss being deliciously exhausted. i miss the bliss of ice cold water after hours of sweat. i miss barre. i miss dreading adagio after a long day. (now i know i'm crazy!) i miss company forte. i miss watching a classmate execute something flawlessly & attempting to be that good. i miss the utter self-abandonment & self-forgetfulness of worshiping God with my everything.
there are some things i don't miss: bleeding, shin splints, pulled muscles. i don't miss crying from exhaustion & knowing my best wasn't good enough. i don't miss arch cramps, new pointe shoes, bruises. i really don't miss performing.

Eric Liddell said "I believe God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast. And when I run I feel God's pleasure." Kinda sums up how I felt when I danced.
(that is not me nor did i take this photo, i stole it from flickr.)


constant change

in the past i hated poetry. i considered it the epitome of emotions, sentimentality, and un-reasonableness. i hated that poets wanted me to feel something. never ever, had you asked, would i have said i there was a chance i'd like poetry.
guess i was wrong. i've been finding lots of stuff that i like lately. longfellow, byron, james russell lowell, abigail, emily dickenson, even the largest surprise of all...shakespeare? where has my head gone? now there is still much that is too sticky for me. but overall, i appreciate poetry.
it's crazy, how people change.
change is the one constant in life. this i know well. right now, it seems like everyone around me is in a season of major change. shiftings. while i just keep sailing on, ripples of change from their lives bumping into my ship & floating past with little effect. while i make no ripples of my own.
i actually like it.
seasons. sunsets and dawnings, tides coming in and out.

i wish i could write poetry. a poem would get what i'm thinking onto paper with more cohesiveness.


it seems this has become a travel blog. i like having a place to stick pictures and quotes from trips. i don't journal very well. blogging helps memories stay clearer in my mind, because i re-live them immediately after. mum likes to read about my trips. (probably because i tell stories like abi's fam--only i'm one person interrupting myself and going off on random threads and not quite finishing the original story. i will never be the storyteller of the family!) my latest trip was a week in key marathon spending most days on the splendid blue sea. this captures my sentiments:
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield (1878-1967)


Indy goes to Eire

N and I share an affection for Indiana Jones & Lego's. So I took his Lego Indy with me to Eire. He lost his fedora and whip, but had a marvelous time so we're still friends...
He played the balloon game with us in Chicago:
toured dublin

hung out in a lil surf town
explored the Cliffs of Moher

enjoyed Killarney National Park...
& hot cocoa in Lahinch!


Eire_5 Hiking the Burren

Our 5th day, Paddy's (aka john) cold from the day before became a horridness of sick. No driving allowed. He slept the whole day. Beks wasn't feeling well either. Sarah, Steph, Luke and I couldn't bear to spend the day inside (even if it was an irish cottage) so we went on a walking tour. After exploring countryside, chasing sheep and climbing fences for photoshoots in ruins; Lo and behold, we were practically on top of the Burren! Rock + ocean + gorgeous views...
Even the rainy days have a sunrise in Eire.
Poor Patrick. :(
I left my camera behind because the lens cap ran off with a leprechaun. These pics are from our resident Galen Rowell, Luke.
"Our" castle.

Exploring the Burren.

This little cave/hollow place was incredible. You could hear waves crashing into the rock face, the winds blew incessantly into it. It was also littered with shredded cheese and seaweed-like soggy pretzels.

The fantastic four! :)
It rained our whole walk home. Steph sang for us. Soaking, dripping, even with an umbrella my feet were the only dry part of me! (love my wellies) We thought we'd be home around 3 but it was closer to 5. Nothing is better than a fire & grilled cheese/tomato soup after hours of cold wet walking.
All in all, this was one of the most magical days for me.


honest. atmosphere.

there are some words. i love. not because of how the letters look. (ie lick) not because of how they sound. (ie killarney) but because of their meaning. (ie gospel) maybe not the dictionary meaning. but atmosphere. connotation. experience. what they mean to me. how God has defined them by grace. in my life.
hmm. sometimes He takes words, and He writes new things into them. a feeling, a thought, a picture of Him. it's not very well explained//but He has done that for me recently.

i don't even care. that the notes He's chosen for me aren't logical. (to my ears). that they are certainly not the notes everybody wants me to sing. but. they come much easier then the ones i've been trying to write for myself. it's like i've been smothering myself, and God said no more of this foolishness. He gave me oxygen. and i think. i think i like singing just for Him. i think i am over over over trying to sing what others tell me too, trying to re-arrange the notes to please God and family, or God and people i look up to, whoever. done trying to make them logical. all i want is to love Him. to please the One who is indescribably good. i'm done trying. i'm just...breathing. and singing each note as it comes/./.
oh my soul.
♫♪♫ free*


Eire_4 Slea Head Drive/Dingle (3)

We saw an entire rainbow. It was more vibrant than any Florida rainbow...

I don't get the appeal, but the guys really wanted thier picture at the end of the rainbow...we didn't find skittles or pots of gold.

Dingle Harbor.


Eire_4 County Kerry (2)

John was getting a bad cold but he was still willing to pull over for photo-ops every few minutes. Steph, Luke and I wandered down a hill (hence this shot) while Sarah and Beks talked to an American couple.

Prehistoric...umm yeah about that. They're not actually prehistoric. It was a fun side trip though.

John chasing sheep. He didn't catch one.

Irish surfing.

This cove was lovely! One of my favorite places. All of us scattered and explored on our own.