Speechless

{So I was listening to At Anchor, and I thought to myself, "I should post these lyrics." Then I remembered that the song has no lyrics. Yet it seems every time I listen to it, I hear more than can be heard in most songs which employ the use of words.}
the wisdom of my wonderful sister

This hauntingly beautiful song has captivated my heart since the first footstep. I have listened to it time and again, letting its sound waves roll over me gently. Each time, its story refocuses, some parts becoming more clear, and others blurring to the background. I cannot really define my fascination with this song, but the words of my sister have made it more clear to me. It feels as though there are words, but all I can hear are the sounds at anchor. It is perhaps the most beautiful, speechless song I have ever listened to...

Something remains

{They say if it still hurts, you still care.} Adam Young, quoting someone else I am sure, or perhaps just one of those sayings everyone knows...

Both a revelation and a remembrance. A discovery and a realization. 

All relationships, friendships and all else, were never meant to end. God created them to last forever, and we instinctively act on that intention. 

I am left speechless by these thoughts, and can only feel the emotions they provoke. 

Breathless

{you walk in a room
you look out a window
and something there leaves you breathless
you say to yourself
it's been a while since I felt this
but it feels like it might be hope}

Sara Groves
It Might Be Hope


The wind no longer howls drearily around my building. It instead hums cheerfully and dashes about, flipping my bangs playfully. It revels in the sunlight of this odd winter. My mood reflects the weather sometimes so exactly that I am astonished. Today was beautiful, and to walk out without a drop of rain or muddy puddle to trip into was like breathing a sigh of relief.

My burdens are held by mighty hands.

Recently there have been a great number of people depending on me, sharing deepest hurts and struggles. This is a burden I do not take lightly, but one I feel blessed to share with these beautifully broken people. As blessed as I have felt, a sneaking sadness crept along. Sharing such hurts takes a toll on my heart. Hope is dimmed by these sorrows. But hope comes unexpectedly. One night I rested in bed for two hours before falling asleep listening to worship music and pouring out my troubles and the troubles of my dear friends. I hadn't really given Him any time, hadn't let Him in on my burdens. Foolishly, I admit. I couldn't handle it alone. I was out of breath and out of joy.

That night I felt better, but still not fantastic. Hope was slow to return. Then the next day, after working out, of all things, I came back to my room, and peace fell on my shoulders like veil, gently brushing my shoulders and settling gracefully. I suddenly knew that I would be okay. That my friends would be okay. That God had all in hand and though my eyes were muddied by sorrowful tears, there was still beauty, still hope. I knew there was all along, but it was good to feel it again.

One of my fears is that my joy, my sense of wonder, will someday be so darkened that it will extinguish. My ability to find joy in such small and unnoticed things is one of my favorite qualities of myself. (I can say that without fear of pride because it is one of the very few qualities I appreciate.) My inner child, the youth of my heart, is fragile at times and I could not stand to think of living without such joy. It has taken a beating in the last few weeks, in the last few years, really, but I am not too worried anymore. That joy is God-given, and He has an endless supply. I want to be the character from Martin Chuzzlewhit who wanted to defy everyone and every circumstance by finding something to be "jolly" about. I hope that nothing, no matter how dismal, can stifle or thwart my joy.

Have unconquerable hope. Breathe it. See it. Feel it when you can. Pray.

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.