Broken Birdsong

It's another Monday, and yet again, I have no hymn study for you. I only have a few left to do, and I'm trying to make the best of them ... and that sometimes means not tackling them when I don't feel up to them. Honestly, I don't feel up to anything today. My current health state leaves me feeling deflated some days. When you add that to several restless nights, you get what I was like today. I went to church feeling all right, then found myself spent after thirty minutes. How did I exert myself, you ask? I took notes. It's as pathetic as it sounds. I am in this constant battle to be okay with my condition. If you can even call it that. It gets tiring having a nameless enemy. I stayed home after church ended. My family visited an injured relative. I was asked to babysit for a small group. I sat in my room watching reality tv and putting off this blog post. I tell myself I could cope if my health prevented me from the big, normal things. No long runs. No heav

So many things are coming to a close. I'm trying to learn to be okay with that. When you spend so much of your time planning events, I guess you can feel a little empty when they're over. Or you can feel bored when you got so caught up in one thing, and it too comes to an end. I have this problem. I'm watching as all these things end, and instead of feeling happy that they happened, and that more is to come, I'm getting sad because it'll all end eventually. I got baptized last weekend ... and the anticipation was exhilarating, and nerve-wracking. I at the same time wanted it to be over, and to happen over and over again, please and thank you. I felt so calm and subdued when it had ended. And that in itself was a miracle. The road trip ended, too. I missed my bed too much to be overly broken up about that one. And the cold weather, my floor heater, wifi, friends, family that didn't come ... I wasn't home. And now I am. So I think about when that will end

(photo by Tara Gourley ) Contentment could be called the never-reached goal of every human being. Well, everyone that knows contentment is at least more realistic of an ideal than constant happiness, however lovely that might sound. Content is what I feel now … and I wish I felt it more often. By the time this post is posted, I'll be headed home, and neither the thought of staying for now or the thought of leaving then are bringing pain or dread. I will leave, knowing that I have made many new friends, but also that I will keep in touch and not immediately lose them. Their numbers will be a light burden in my pocket. I will leave, knowing that waiting for me are new challenges, but also new delights. New milestones, but also new little moments that the world will not soon recall. So much changes, but some things never change, and I am content. Can you believe it? Me, who used to slip into a panic attack at the very mention of change, sitting at a table in a near-empty cafe, wit

(Photo by Tara Gourley , edited by moi) I've been thinking a lot about home, probably because I still am, in fact, not there. I brought pieces of home with me, and I suppose that helped a little, but my books, blanket, pillow, and stuffed bunny do not my bedroom make. So this leads me to wonder, what does make a place home? I know the answer to this question differs for every individual, but I want to know what it means for me. Couples will say that their spouse is their home; that as long as their special someone is with them, they don't care where they are. But what if they are gone? When business trips are taken, when duty calls, or when something much worse occurs, what is left? Will that woman be left in a house that suddenly seems unfamiliar, foreign, oppressive, and lacking the light that it once had? Or say maybe her house truly feels like a home. What if the nooks and crannies are bits of her soul? Would she sink into depression if uprooted from that place? I would

I'm currently in the backseat of a vehicle as I type this. I am on an adventure. Some would call it a road trip. Is this commitment, or what? I'm not sure when I'll be able to post this – I don't exactly have wifi always available on this trip. Another thing I'm lacking is good health. The bouncing of this car, and something I keep eating (because I don't know which thing it is) are leaving me with sore everything … and then there's the strange positions I keep on falling asleep in. My sister can verify that there's been many questionable ones. Anyway … this girl is in pain. That's never been my favorite pastime, but you know, whatever floats your boat, right? I've been using my pain as an excuse, though. Sometimes, it's an accurate one, like in this instance: “I didn't sleep well last night, because I wasn't feeling well at all.” Other times, it's been less than a favorable complaint. “I didn't spend much time with You la

(Photo by Tara Gourley ) An open letter to my future husband ... whoever he may be.  Let us be poor. There are many things I can learn to do without … I don't want you to become one of them. Let's go to the library instead of the movies. You won't have to tolerate my chick flicks, I won't have to endure your action movies – we'll each grab a thick book and enjoy each other. I swear to you, I don't need a dishwasher. Let me wash them, you can dry. I cannot promise there won't be soap bubble fights, but something tells me that would be a sad thing to promise. Let's stay up late to watch the stars and the meteors. I'll borrow your jacket and hold you close. You'll have to teach me to understand sports. The upside of this is that I'll like whatever teams you like. We'll cheer for the same touchdowns and home runs. I don't mind, so long as you let me sit next to you. And when we turn off the television, turn down the radio, or lea

(Photo by Anna Hart ) How many days until the photo shoot? I counted to ten then I paused. How many blemishes clutter my brow? I counted to ten then I stopped. What number of hairs have slipped from my bun? I guessed one hundred then was done. So many insecurities fill my heart, I might as well count them by light-years. How red my skin turns when I am embarrassed. How my voice sounds when recorded. Or any bit of me captured on cam'ra. The list could go on for forever. in-se-cu-ri-ties : ( plural noun) Things we despise about ourselves, Yet wouldn't be ourselves without.  The things we cringe at in mirrors, And our friends smile at in pictures. We wonder what they see in us; Why such nice people stick around And watch us, the misfits, stumble. Which one of us is truly blind? Better yet, who can truly see? Whose vision dare we rely on? Our selves, who see us ev'ry day, And always verbally wounds us?

This week's prompt from Holley is "A small thing that makes a big difference is ... " Her name is Analiz. When I first saw her picture, she was small indeed. Barely a toddler, her eyes were pleading. Oh, how I wish I could say I have met her. I have not. But she has changed me, and all this without being even old enough to write me a letter. I receive updates from her many relatives, translated by World Vision. I write her long letters, in words I hope are simple enough for her to understand ... but the meaning behind them, I know she will probably not comprehend for several more years. I tell her of the day I received this, my latest photograph of her, how on that morning, I danced around my house, squealing, "Just look at my beautiful baby!" Isn't she gorgeous, though? Analiz has shown me the mama side of my heart. Sure, I dote on the children I watch, and on my loved ones' littles, but this baby girl, I am somehow responsible for. She count

(Photo by Anna Hart ) "'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, Just to take Him at His word, Just to rest upon His promise, Just to know, 'Thus saith the Lord.'" Today, again, writing is a struggle. It's not that the topic bothers me. I have a general idea of what I should be writing about. I've been convicted, just by the hymn's title, but it's not a conviction I am ashamed of, no. So what is stopping me? I opted out of writing this piece last week. My schedule was full on the weekend, and I had the choice either to write this out, or have a deep conversation with my siblings. I chose them. I love that I have the freedom to do that, but, there is a fine line between my freedom and my laziness ... so here I am, writing. Every one of these hymn studies, I write out with pen and paper, originally, and will usually type them up the next day. It is my way of staying true to the fact that this was meant to be just a journaling experience in the first p