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?