i let out a giant, defeated sigh and threw my things down. that's how i felt; defeated, deflated, and exhausted. the last thing i wanted to do was walk my dog in the freezing rain.
i walked onto the porch, already fully saturated from this evening mixed precip, and sabby followed.
the stars aren't out again tonight, God. but please, please show me some of you. i need to hear from you.
sabby edged his way towards the step, but the cold, wet ground caused enough trepidation he decided to stay where it wasn't sleeting. with the freezing rain quite apropos for my internal state, i walked out into the middle of the sidewalk, and called sabby down the steps.
he paced hesitantly as his master called. he wanted to obey, but he was scared. he knew it was wet and cold and unfamiliar. it was less than ideal for him. but his master called. and his master loves him. and his master would never lead him to leave him where he doesn't belong.
the hesitancy wasn't because he didn't love his master. the hesitancy wasn't because he didn't want to obey. he was scared, it was scary. it didn't look like it was supposed to look.
but he came anyway. because he loves me.
the rain drops on my cheeks were the perfect facade for the tears to hide behind. only the subtle juxtaposition of warm and cold, fresh and salty allowed me to recognize the difference in the two.
don't you see, Rhiannon? I'm still calling you. yes, it's cold and wet, and doesn't look a whole lot like what you envisioned, but I am still calling. to you. and I will not leave you. I love you.
i'm wretched at times, i know it. with a flip of a switch, all my concerted efforts to simply trust are thrust into a ugly flail in which i just try to wind up on my feet.
just wind up at My feet.
see? He really is too good. He is always faithful, even when I am faithless and wretched and unworthy of a Savior.
i am unworthy, true. but, He came, anyway. because He loves me.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
looking up.
like most nights, i took my dog out before i got ready for bed tonight. and every night, as i walk from my door down my front steps to our yard, i find myself looking up at the shadowy branches of the tall, bare oaks in our front yard.
it's become almost my goodnight tradition with the Lord. no matter the day i've had, looking up at the twilight twinkle against the deep sapphire sky, with a mess of intertwined silhouettes in the foreground brings me to a moment of tranquility as i am lost in the simple beauty of our Creator.
but tonight, i looked up and saw that it was merely light grey meshed behind the mess of barren outlines. no stars could be seen.
do you see think that I am still beautiful? asked the Lord.
you do know that the stars are still there, don't you? they still shine, even when all you see is grey. when what you see is plain, or even dreary, beauty is still present. it may be covered in tarnish, but it is never absent. I am always there for you, just like the stars. I am faithful to complete the work I've begun. I will not ever leave you. look for me when the clouds abound and your day is drab. cry out to Me and know that I honor your honest prayers of desperation.
even in your hopelessness, you've come to the right place; you're still looking up. it may not look like what it does on any given, beautiful night, but your eyes are still looking up to lock with mine.
i think i hear the Lord say that He is pleased. He knows I'm fatigued in the flesh and in the spirit. He knows still that my eyes look towards the heavens, that my true peace is found in His beauty, and that that is revealed in the most menial of things like dying trees and dismal skies.
it's become almost my goodnight tradition with the Lord. no matter the day i've had, looking up at the twilight twinkle against the deep sapphire sky, with a mess of intertwined silhouettes in the foreground brings me to a moment of tranquility as i am lost in the simple beauty of our Creator.
but tonight, i looked up and saw that it was merely light grey meshed behind the mess of barren outlines. no stars could be seen.
do you see think that I am still beautiful? asked the Lord.
you do know that the stars are still there, don't you? they still shine, even when all you see is grey. when what you see is plain, or even dreary, beauty is still present. it may be covered in tarnish, but it is never absent. I am always there for you, just like the stars. I am faithful to complete the work I've begun. I will not ever leave you. look for me when the clouds abound and your day is drab. cry out to Me and know that I honor your honest prayers of desperation.
even in your hopelessness, you've come to the right place; you're still looking up. it may not look like what it does on any given, beautiful night, but your eyes are still looking up to lock with mine.
i think i hear the Lord say that He is pleased. He knows I'm fatigued in the flesh and in the spirit. He knows still that my eyes look towards the heavens, that my true peace is found in His beauty, and that that is revealed in the most menial of things like dying trees and dismal skies.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
voyageur.
i'm getting that feeling again.
the one that starts with an unscratchable itch on my feet, and works its way up to a burn in my heart and a pit in my throat.
i can't place it, but it's as magnetic and effortless as my draw to jesus. it's as if He is calling, and i can't even hear it, but just like the tides, i ebb towards His shore.
i peruse career listings for organizations both highly-esteemed and greatly impactful, at job opportunities as rare and coveted as that blue hope diamond from titanic. that flame under my heart in the fire pit of my stomach catches a new breeze and grows, fanning outward, making my cheeks hot.
to go, to serve, to live the life i have imagined as thoreau once challenged me; i yearn for these things, as if i know what i am missing. as if i've tasted and seen and long for what once was, although it never has been.
maybe that is why it is called wanderlust; there's an invisible draw to the unknown. perhaps a chemical attraction to a life i have only imagined, the way a woman is attracted to a man she does not know, only to have the attraction fade with the mystery when things become familiar and life is once again mundane.
there's little purpose behind the prose; just verbose snip-its of my mind as i try to sort through the ash and embers left behind under my heart.
the one that starts with an unscratchable itch on my feet, and works its way up to a burn in my heart and a pit in my throat.
i can't place it, but it's as magnetic and effortless as my draw to jesus. it's as if He is calling, and i can't even hear it, but just like the tides, i ebb towards His shore.
i peruse career listings for organizations both highly-esteemed and greatly impactful, at job opportunities as rare and coveted as that blue hope diamond from titanic. that flame under my heart in the fire pit of my stomach catches a new breeze and grows, fanning outward, making my cheeks hot.
to go, to serve, to live the life i have imagined as thoreau once challenged me; i yearn for these things, as if i know what i am missing. as if i've tasted and seen and long for what once was, although it never has been.
maybe that is why it is called wanderlust; there's an invisible draw to the unknown. perhaps a chemical attraction to a life i have only imagined, the way a woman is attracted to a man she does not know, only to have the attraction fade with the mystery when things become familiar and life is once again mundane.
there's little purpose behind the prose; just verbose snip-its of my mind as i try to sort through the ash and embers left behind under my heart.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
"how to be a hipster," or as i less-affectionally call it, "the birth of a wannabe"
i woke up this morning and decided. this would be the day.
this would be the day i become a hipster. if only for temporary. if only for a few hours, never to return to the taste of indie-bliss, no matter how tantalizing it may appear once i'm on the inner circle of trINDIEness.
it's a rainy day in nashville. and these kinds of saturdays make me want to have a week, or more, to pursue nothing but consuming and creating, reading and writing about the Lord, and speaking not a word because i'm finally around no one beside myself and jesus. don't get me wrong: i love people. i adore my friends and am eternally grateful for their presence in my life. but we all need time to unplug. away from 5 days in the throws of 16 five-year-olds. i spend monday and friday enjoying time with friends. i spend tuesday and thursday and sundays praying and worshiping corporately, and i spend wednesday and thursdays with a million people at the gym. so, as much as i can make it happen, i love to spend saturdays alone with my thoughts and words. that sort of makes me a recluse. and an artist. hipsters are usually both. so, today, i'll be a hipster.
here's my 3 step plan to becoming a hipster. take into consideration, i am not a hipster. even if you happen to see me typing away on my mac, with my bible and coffee and organic jute tote parked in the corner of this coffee shop and think to yourself, wow, that girl. she's a total hipster. i wish i was as trendy as her. take heart, it's easy to fake! i'll detail just how, and i'll even throw in a few of my own mistakes so you don't have to learn from your own.
step one: look the part. for starters, don't shower. in fact, to cover up for the fact, just dump an obscene amount of baby powder in your hair. even if i did this to look 100 yesterday, it totally had its perks in launching me into the hipster-scene. then, dress ironically. meaning, put time into looking like you didn't put time into getting ready. you could wear your american apparel deep-v (oversized for girls, undersized for guys). or you could even wear your electric-blue-sheen painted-on american apparel leggings, but i just decided to put on my dark skinnies, an oversized striped sweater shirt and my slightly masculine boots. the hair is also key: again, try hard to look like you didn't try. i braided my unbrushed hair in a pulled-back side braid, and a longer, piecy, falling-out fishtale. i even put on mascara. i haven't decided if thats against the rules or not. maybe hipster chicks just have really great lashes.
step two: find a coffee shop. this was a tricky one for me, because although i was looking to pull off hipster, i was also looking to cozy up at a local place to get some work done. its also highly tricky that i don't drink coffee. but, perhaps even before i decided to try-on hipster for size, i decided that today will be the day i become a coffee drinker. i would recommend not taking on too many new-you's in one day. i should've thought this out a little more fully.
i drove past starbucks and thought, i just can't do it. i wanted local. so i drove back to dose, a neighborhood coffee shop a few minutes from my house. i walked in and there was not a free space anywhere. people were even sitting at the tables outside. its raining, and maybe i'm not hardcore enough, but i got back in my car realizing i would have to rethink my plan. plus, there were far too many unkempt, deep-v's for my own comfort level.
maybe you should choose a more trendy, local, fair-trade coffee place. baby steps are key. do with what you are comfortable with because that's key to the next step.
step three: act like you know what you're doing. hipsters are cool because they are so confident. they know they look terrible, and yet, they do it anyway. in spite of you and your ironed, non-plaid blouse that fits. they don't need grooming etiquette, and they lift their nose to anything that might suggest otherwise.
so when you order, act like you know what you're doing. but don't stare at the menu like you don't know what you are doing. instead, wait at the bathroom door and glance at it, trying to decide what you want. this may be more to the non-coffee drinking crowd like me than to the hipster-wanna-be's, but it's equally important.
venti? how is that pronounced? which syllable is emphasized? vent-EE or ven-TI? or is it one of those silent t's? how big is that anyway? for $4.65, do i get to keep the mug? what does blonde roast mean? dark? skinny cafe mocha latte? i like the word skinny. and it doesn't say coffee in it. i'll take that. add hazelnut. maybe it will make it taste more like nutella.
that was my thought process, folks. but on the outside, you couldn't read it. calm. as. a. cucumber. i walked up to the register behind the tall, deep-v and ordered. "tall-skinny-cafe-mocha-latte, add-hazelnut, please." phew. success. she didn't even question it. i pulled it off.
what i didn't pull off was waiting for my coffee at the counter. did you know it takes, like, at least 5 minutes to get your drink? why the wait? do they grind their own beans for each order? maybe it's the love behind each cup. then i started to wonder, what did i order? what if they call it out and i don't remember? they didn't even ask my name. oh, disaster...
i found a table and began to unpack. note: bring a jacket. or a parka. or books to study. but definitely bring your iPhone. and your Mac. and earbuds are a must. can't give off the impression that you would be willing to listen to anyone, should they actually happen to talk. but if you are feeling less-hipster, and more-anti-social, bring the full-fledged brookstone noise-cancelling headphones. 3 of 5 starbucks-go'ers agree!
they called my tall-skinny-hazelnut-mocha (dang it, i should've phrased it that way!) and i sat down to instagram a pic of my monumental moment.
you know what? it didn't taste all that bad. but neither does a diet coke, and i could have three for the price of this coffee, plus free-refills. that's besides the point. i'm officially drinking coffee, one-step closer to hipstardom.
a few words to make thee wiser:
latte must be the italian equivalent of the french, lait. which, in english means milk. avoid if you can not handle dairy, and have been dairy-free completely for the better part of a month, and milk-free for the better part of your life. i feel like i could vom at any given moment, and my stomach seems to be cramping up in disdain for my choice (milk or hipster? you decide).
again, bring a jacket. i'm freezing. why is your a/c on? it's 53 outside.
starbucks is the least-hipster of coffeeshops. it experienced it's rise probably a decade ago, and indie, organic, and local-blend coffeehouses (at least in Nashville) take in a predominance of the hipster crowd, sort of like the SPCA.
all of this was written in jest. i'm not a hipsterphile, nor do i really detest their existence. that said, i don't really claim to be an expert, or an aspiring follower of the movement. i may not be a fan of consistent hair-washing, but i prefer it 9 out of 10 days to at least look well-coifed and maintained. i'm solely at the mercy of a creative-spell, and my writing lately has lost the irony and wittiness it once at least imagined that it conveyed.
so, how did you become a coffee drinker? was it love at first sip? or is it like a fine wine or seasonal-brew in which you must acquire a taste? was it the caffeine that drew you in, or the taste of stale, charred coffee beans? where do i go from here? as almost-tastey as my tres-cher hazelnut-mocha-latte was, i can't go back to a milky-base. what's the next step, launching me into full-fledge fan?
this would be the day i become a hipster. if only for temporary. if only for a few hours, never to return to the taste of indie-bliss, no matter how tantalizing it may appear once i'm on the inner circle of trINDIEness.
it's a rainy day in nashville. and these kinds of saturdays make me want to have a week, or more, to pursue nothing but consuming and creating, reading and writing about the Lord, and speaking not a word because i'm finally around no one beside myself and jesus. don't get me wrong: i love people. i adore my friends and am eternally grateful for their presence in my life. but we all need time to unplug. away from 5 days in the throws of 16 five-year-olds. i spend monday and friday enjoying time with friends. i spend tuesday and thursday and sundays praying and worshiping corporately, and i spend wednesday and thursdays with a million people at the gym. so, as much as i can make it happen, i love to spend saturdays alone with my thoughts and words. that sort of makes me a recluse. and an artist. hipsters are usually both. so, today, i'll be a hipster.
here's my 3 step plan to becoming a hipster. take into consideration, i am not a hipster. even if you happen to see me typing away on my mac, with my bible and coffee and organic jute tote parked in the corner of this coffee shop and think to yourself, wow, that girl. she's a total hipster. i wish i was as trendy as her. take heart, it's easy to fake! i'll detail just how, and i'll even throw in a few of my own mistakes so you don't have to learn from your own.
step one: look the part. for starters, don't shower. in fact, to cover up for the fact, just dump an obscene amount of baby powder in your hair. even if i did this to look 100 yesterday, it totally had its perks in launching me into the hipster-scene. then, dress ironically. meaning, put time into looking like you didn't put time into getting ready. you could wear your american apparel deep-v (oversized for girls, undersized for guys). or you could even wear your electric-blue-sheen painted-on american apparel leggings, but i just decided to put on my dark skinnies, an oversized striped sweater shirt and my slightly masculine boots. the hair is also key: again, try hard to look like you didn't try. i braided my unbrushed hair in a pulled-back side braid, and a longer, piecy, falling-out fishtale. i even put on mascara. i haven't decided if thats against the rules or not. maybe hipster chicks just have really great lashes.
step two: find a coffee shop. this was a tricky one for me, because although i was looking to pull off hipster, i was also looking to cozy up at a local place to get some work done. its also highly tricky that i don't drink coffee. but, perhaps even before i decided to try-on hipster for size, i decided that today will be the day i become a coffee drinker. i would recommend not taking on too many new-you's in one day. i should've thought this out a little more fully.
i drove past starbucks and thought, i just can't do it. i wanted local. so i drove back to dose, a neighborhood coffee shop a few minutes from my house. i walked in and there was not a free space anywhere. people were even sitting at the tables outside. its raining, and maybe i'm not hardcore enough, but i got back in my car realizing i would have to rethink my plan. plus, there were far too many unkempt, deep-v's for my own comfort level.
maybe you should choose a more trendy, local, fair-trade coffee place. baby steps are key. do with what you are comfortable with because that's key to the next step.
step three: act like you know what you're doing. hipsters are cool because they are so confident. they know they look terrible, and yet, they do it anyway. in spite of you and your ironed, non-plaid blouse that fits. they don't need grooming etiquette, and they lift their nose to anything that might suggest otherwise.
so when you order, act like you know what you're doing. but don't stare at the menu like you don't know what you are doing. instead, wait at the bathroom door and glance at it, trying to decide what you want. this may be more to the non-coffee drinking crowd like me than to the hipster-wanna-be's, but it's equally important.
venti? how is that pronounced? which syllable is emphasized? vent-EE or ven-TI? or is it one of those silent t's? how big is that anyway? for $4.65, do i get to keep the mug? what does blonde roast mean? dark? skinny cafe mocha latte? i like the word skinny. and it doesn't say coffee in it. i'll take that. add hazelnut. maybe it will make it taste more like nutella.
that was my thought process, folks. but on the outside, you couldn't read it. calm. as. a. cucumber. i walked up to the register behind the tall, deep-v and ordered. "tall-skinny-cafe-mocha-latte, add-hazelnut, please." phew. success. she didn't even question it. i pulled it off.
what i didn't pull off was waiting for my coffee at the counter. did you know it takes, like, at least 5 minutes to get your drink? why the wait? do they grind their own beans for each order? maybe it's the love behind each cup. then i started to wonder, what did i order? what if they call it out and i don't remember? they didn't even ask my name. oh, disaster...
i found a table and began to unpack. note: bring a jacket. or a parka. or books to study. but definitely bring your iPhone. and your Mac. and earbuds are a must. can't give off the impression that you would be willing to listen to anyone, should they actually happen to talk. but if you are feeling less-hipster, and more-anti-social, bring the full-fledged brookstone noise-cancelling headphones. 3 of 5 starbucks-go'ers agree!
they called my tall-skinny-hazelnut-mocha (dang it, i should've phrased it that way!) and i sat down to instagram a pic of my monumental moment.
you know what? it didn't taste all that bad. but neither does a diet coke, and i could have three for the price of this coffee, plus free-refills. that's besides the point. i'm officially drinking coffee, one-step closer to hipstardom.
a few words to make thee wiser:
latte must be the italian equivalent of the french, lait. which, in english means milk. avoid if you can not handle dairy, and have been dairy-free completely for the better part of a month, and milk-free for the better part of your life. i feel like i could vom at any given moment, and my stomach seems to be cramping up in disdain for my choice (milk or hipster? you decide).
again, bring a jacket. i'm freezing. why is your a/c on? it's 53 outside.
starbucks is the least-hipster of coffeeshops. it experienced it's rise probably a decade ago, and indie, organic, and local-blend coffeehouses (at least in Nashville) take in a predominance of the hipster crowd, sort of like the SPCA.
all of this was written in jest. i'm not a hipsterphile, nor do i really detest their existence. that said, i don't really claim to be an expert, or an aspiring follower of the movement. i may not be a fan of consistent hair-washing, but i prefer it 9 out of 10 days to at least look well-coifed and maintained. i'm solely at the mercy of a creative-spell, and my writing lately has lost the irony and wittiness it once at least imagined that it conveyed.
so, how did you become a coffee drinker? was it love at first sip? or is it like a fine wine or seasonal-brew in which you must acquire a taste? was it the caffeine that drew you in, or the taste of stale, charred coffee beans? where do i go from here? as almost-tastey as my tres-cher hazelnut-mocha-latte was, i can't go back to a milky-base. what's the next step, launching me into full-fledge fan?
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