Romance

{Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music; perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.}

L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

This is beautiful-and it is exactly what I want. I don't need a sudden rush of adoration for someone. I want love to creep up on me and then reveal itself so it felt as though the most natural thing in the world had occurred. It does not need to come with "pomp and blare" and I do not need a knight. I want a friend, a chum, a kindred spirit. Someone to walk beside me-not carry me or follow behind me. I cannot hold his hand if he is not beside me.

I want our hearts to entwine, to let the ivy of our souls slowly creep together until our thoughts and desires are inextricable. I want to share thoughts with him, the ones I never think to share with people. He'll share his with me and we'll admire our dreams and thinkings by the light of the snowy moon.

Some days are brimmed with patience and anticipation, others with frustration. It boils over and leaves me lonely. But we are all lonely-there is not one person in the world who has never felt lonely at least a bit. If we weren't lonely, we wouldn't know what pure bliss is the companionship of other people.

God has a plan for me. There will be a man who understands me, someone I will have the privilege of understanding. No pomp and blare. No frivolous gowns and cloaks. No trumpets or flashing signs. Just me in my blue jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt with frizzy hair strolling through life. Lots of people will be around me, some of them will come and go, some will just go, and some will just come. One of them will walk beside me for a longer while. He will talk and listen, think and sing. He'll take my hand and run after God with  me; sometimes pulling, sometimes being pulled and other times matching my pace, but always filling my empty hand with his hand.

Let this be our prayer....

I have found myself believing that communication with my Savior must be deep and intense every time it occurs. I have also found myself realizing through the words of a friend, that this may not be healthy, wise or true.

Perhaps that is my stumbling block, that every word to God has to be the deepest, best word my mind can utter to Him. Honestly, He doesn't want that. He wants us. Real, raw, vulnerable; every stutter and un-eloquent phrase of mind without effort, without pre-planning. He wants us to be as real with Him as we are to our closest friends, as we are to ourselves.

I desire eloquence. I always have. While watching the Lord of the Rings the other day I wished to myself to sound like Galadriel, the quintessence of eloquence and grace in voice, words and appearance. But God doesn't want me to be Galadriel. He wants me to be me; quirky, a little awkward, gooberish and utterly imperfect.

So instead of focusing on how I say my prayers, I want to be concerned with what I say. Sometimes I don't need to say anything at all. Sometimes I just need to feel before Him, to let the words fall away and the raw feelings speak in a language unknown, unutterable.

"Even a 'thank You that I survived' will please Him," my friend said.

So "When you cannot pray as you would, pray as you can." Dean M. Goulburn.

Kindred Spirits

{Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.}
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

Kindred spirits arise in the most unexpected places sometimes. I remember sitting in my first dorm room, a fresh wave of homesickness running through my eyes. I despaired that kindred spirits would ever come. It is curious how I learn all the time that they come in unexpected packages.

I met a freshman this year who is a hilarious quirky girl. She doesn't always say the brightest things, but she is very intelligent, without a doubt. Honestly, I think that sometimes people don't see that. It makes me angry sometimes that they don't see how deep and truly thoughtful she is. We have had many a great, vulnerable and deep conversation. In person and over facebook.

She might not realize the full extent, but she means a great deal to me. I have told her that I appreciate her before, but she probably doesn't see the depth of my gratitude. Sometimes it is easy for me to feel left out, but she never makes me feel that way. She always asks how I am doing and cares about the response. She makes me feel appreciated, and loved. God has used her so much in my life.

Her eyes shine with the light of hidden understanding. Her smile speaks a thousand words of sincere encouragement. Her hands hold worries and sorrows but still have room to share mine and to reach out to me. Her ears are always open and ready to hear about my difficulties, but she will always reciprocate with her own-something I am glad of. We share life. We may be an odd pair, but I am so blessed to have found her. She is, of course not the only kindred spirit I have found, but she is one of the unexpected and most precious.

This may not be the most beautifully worded post, the most intriguing or insightful read, but I mean every word with all my heart. I cannot express it fully how much my kindred spirits mean to me. Don't be afraid to look for them where you least expect to find them. They'll surprise you in the best sort of way!

gloom

{Some days must be dark and dreary}
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The wind is moaning outside my window, the sound wrapping around the buildings like rope. Sometimes it sounds as though a child is lost, other times as though an engine is roughly revving up to start a race. This is not the wind I call my friend, no, my friend the wind is spirited, whips to and fro with energy and joy.

The rain is cold, its dull splashes like the falling of a million tears. It is not the rain I love-the warm rain of summer and early autumn that cleanses and renews.

The day is neither dark nor light, for the sun cannot decide whether he should sleep all day or stay awake. His sleepy face shines a dull, hard light upon the soggy ground. He is not the sun I love.

Perhaps they are the sun and rain and wind that I love. Should not the wind be allowed to have a bad day? Perhaps we must put up with the wind, with the dull sun and the cold rain. My cheerful weather friends will cheer again. The sun will glow warmly on my face in a waterfall of glorious light. The wind will play gently with my hair and tickle my face and the warm rains will nourish the ground once more. Perhaps even my friend snow will come and visit again. She left and I miss her.

I will have to feel a little down, for we all must feel a little melancholy once in a while. How would we know cheer, were it not for gloom? I will snuggle up and rejoice in my memories of snow, remembering that there must be days when there is darkness, and looking forward to the new and glorious sunsets to be had in the future.

And perhaps it is so with friends. For we cannot be all sunshine, all the time. Some of our days must be dreary. Can we expect sunbeams from our dearests all year?

wonderment

{wonder is involuntary praise.} Edward Young

As I stepped out into the newly fallen darkness, my breath raced away in thoroughbred fashion. I watched a thousand tiny diamonds flutter from the sky, glistening in the light of the golden lamps. The ground was thickly scattered and the trees encrusted with these gems of ice. My first reaction? My arms rose, almost involuntarily, as though it were the most natural and even necessary motion.

Wonder.

That gasp, the deep breath, the faint smile. Perhaps that faint, unplanned smile is the most beautiful of all.

And the most beautiful praise? That which flows naturally, unexpectedly, from our hearts. Raising eyes to the dark sky, lifting arms without thought. Twirling to expose joy that cannot be suppressed, despite straying glances and judging eyes. A chuckle of the most quiet sort, and a cloak of beauty that remains upon us and warms us for a while, even after whisking ourselves inside behind glass.

Snow. Praise Him for wonder-flinging, beautiful snow.

a sweet melody

{Music is what feelings sound like.}

Author Unknown

Classical and soundtrack music grows more powerful everyday. Whether it is the cinematic implications, or just the sounds that carry me, I am taken far from my reality. Sometimes the trip is so beautiful that I just want my heart to break, it hurts so fiercely and yet tenderly. I watch the scenes that play out and often that powerful emotion, nostalgia, grips my soul as a zephyr sweeps a ship across the waves. I fly when I listen to music. I sing without moving my lips, I dance without moving a toe. My heart dances in me. Even when I do not think I can bear to hear music for fear my heart will shatter, I must. I tightrope walk down violin strings and dance on the keys of pianos and bounce on the heads of drums. The most beautiful places are in music-I see them in the darkness of my closed eyes, and I am there. Even places that are not so beautiful visually, come, and I see them for their true beauty. Music goes beyond the visual, it goes beyond the surface and digs deep. It pulls from our most secret drawers and rooms the emotions we have locked away, and even heals us a little. It pulls tears from our eyes and smiles from our lips. You have to know how to listen to it though. Listen without reserve-it is safe to listen to music without our walls. The musician may never know, the people around you may never know what the music has uncovered. It will swirl round your heart and tug at it. Music is so personal, and yet so encompassing of people. Whoever does not love music cannot be fully human, or perhaps they are too human. Music feels like the touch of God, a raindrop of heaven. It is the most beautiful and most perfect thing we can ever know aside from God. 

Remember

"We cannot always be remembering, but neither can we always be forgetting. There are times to move forward and let the past settle like dust on the windowsill, to look past the dust and live. There are also times when remembering is the most healthy thing to do. We must remember the hurt and the joy, feeling and accepting it so that we can live: free from the poking and prodding of old memories that nag us to be released.  We must remember-do not quell the wave of memories that rises inexplicably. Let your memories out of the box entitled 'never open again' and like a thousand birds, they will burst in an echoing rush of feathers: some will peck us, screeching painfully, while some will sing to us with unequaled sweetness, but they will all be free. And with their bittersweet truth, they will bring healing."

Anonymous

Memories and remembering have been a theme in my recent life. This quote expresses everything I have been coming to realize about remembering. What more can I say?