Little Adventures

I'm back to this college town, and God keeps giving me gifts and little adventures.

The sun is in early sunset stages and is shining onto my wall next to me, lighting up the plant and the quotes on my wall. One of which is perfect for now, "Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light." -Theodore Roethke.

Anyway, as I facebook chatted a student from last summer, he asked me to travel to his home country with him. Though that is impossible, inappropriate, impossible, and not gonna happen, it was kind of an adventure to figure out how to respond, and in my response to explain more of what I believe. He said this too, which makes me smile. "Don't be afraid. We are _(people group)__. We respect the guest."

Have a joyous week!

A Thought and a Poem

1. August 1 from my journal.

What a humbling experience flying is. Up in the atmosphere, when the powerful ocean is just another empty coloring page and the coast twists like a fragile vein carrying wisps of wind between the ocean and the dust. I am simply human, another wonder among these wonders, and loved, somehow in all my brokenness. We could be going anywhere. From here, it is all the Earth. From the ground, a big metal box carries people. Simply people. And everything is backwards. The clouds barely whisper movements and the ocean remains the same calm blue it has been since its day of birth. And the sky-- even the storms are below. As if outside of this place is perfection, though I know that's not true. But what a glorious reminder of my frailty!

2. poem, raw and unedited, just the way I like them.

Girlchild, you were made for more than blue skies

and cherry red dresses.

Don't forget 

that your heart is beautiful,

and that rain was made for delight--

real water rain, not metaphors for sad days 

or tears in the fabric of life.

Don't forget that you 

are purpose

and purpose is more than cricket songs

and photosynthesis,

and the way you metamorphosis isn't shared

by caterpillars at all.

And don't forget that you are dust

between the ocean and the sky,

but also that the rain can't wash you away

and the thunder will never tremble your feet.

And your dusty heart is loved

by the King of everything precious and good.

Don't forget, girlchild, this love and 

your heart, more than blue skies and red dresses.

Prologue

So, I made it home. I would call this an epilogue, but it's not, at all. Though I've left, I feel it is more a beginning than an end. Like maybe the rest of this notebook was a prologue to now.

Perhaps

Perhaps these crickets serenade the day, coaxing it from crevices in the horizon, awakening the long slumbering dawn.

Perhaps the owl doesn't love the night but rather each flap of great wing stirs morning's breath into wakening.

Perhaps the stars give morning something to grasp onto, the moon like the light in the hall, a soft glow to guide.

Perhaps the air cools in anticipation of dancing with the bright wind.

Perhaps the raccoon clears waste off the surface of the earth so the sun can illuminate clean soil and dew drops.

Perhaps night is not the opposite of day but rather a preparing, a coaxing and holding, reminding and encouraging.