When I lack inspiration, I can always recap!

Just a warning: I really don't have anything important to say. It's just that I realized it's been a week since I last posted. That's pretty much the only reason I'm posting right now. At 10 PM.

We got more snow! It was coming down so hard this morning that I was told not to go to work. So what did I do? I read. And watched some Netflix. One day my muse will return and I'll finish this stupid book. *headdesk*

We've been in our new house for just over a month now. Only last week did I finally work up the initiative to completely unpack my room. (Okay, not "completely". Just mostly. And I shoved the remaining boxes in my closet. So glad I had a proper closet.)

We still don't have a working dryer. We're using a clothes rack in front of a vent. Works well enough, so long as people remember to bring down their laundry on a regular basis.

Also, last week the cat got his first taste of outside since the old house. He wasn't out long before he was crying to come back in. I think he was overwhelmed. I just hope, with all of the extra space, he'll conduct his hunting away from the house and I won't be stepping on bird bones come spring.

While the neighbors on one side of us remain a relative mystery, the ones on the other side are decidedly less so. Let's just say they make life interesting. And by "interesting", I mean spinning donuts in their car in their yard while blasting country music after 10 PM; having bonfires and drinking beer and singing loudly and off-key to their country music; shooting at targets set up in the cornfield.... And their chickens like to come wandering into our yard. Hershey and Sasha hate that. At least their dogs know their boundaries.

I'm almost starting to miss our old neighbors.

Almost. And then I remember all the facts that came to light after we moved, and that feeling goes away.

Uhg. I know I'm rambling. I'm sorry. As usual, I did have something important to say a few days ago, but I can't remember what.

It's definitely a different world out here, even though we're only 10 minutes further away from most of the places we usually go. Strange how 45 MPH can now feel so slow when it used to feel like speeding.

I've been getting in my bad weather driving practice over the last couple of weeks. First driving at night in a rain/snow mixture, then driving in high wind conditions, and of course plenty of normal night driving.

Maybe if I finally started posting pictures I wouldn't feel so bad when my posts are so short. Ah, well.

One thing I do miss is how warm my old room got in the winter. Maybe part of it was because it was so much smaller than my new one, so it was definitely one pro amid many cons, but.... And now that my room is clean, I find myself in the rare position of needing furniture to fill the empty space. Even a rug or a proper bed for Sasha would help!

So, I just spent 20 minutes writing about nothing relevant. My work here is done.

I'll try not to make it a habit. (Again)

Peace, be still.

There's a word in the Bible that's been on my mind all week. It's significance was pointed out to me a while ago by my dad. The word is "Selah".

It appears most often in the Psalms, though I spotted it in Habakkuk on Sunday. (That's when I started thinking about it.) Somehow or other, Dad and I got to talking about it, and Dad said that it meant "rest". That's how I've been defining it in my head for a while. However, I looked it up on dictionary.com in preparation for this post, and this is what I found:

 

• an expression occurring requently in the Psalms, thought to be a liturgical or musical direction, probably a direction by the leader to raise the voice or perhaps an indication of a pause.
• a Hebrew word of unknown meaning occuring in the Old Testament psalms, and thought to be a musical direction.
• 1530, Hebrew word occurring frequently at the end of verse in Psalter. Supposed to be a liturgical direction, perhaps meaning "pause," or perhaps a musical direction to raise the voice (cf. Heb. base s-l-l "to raise, life").
•  a word frequently found in the Book of Psalms, and also in Hab. 3:9, 13, about seventy-four times in all in Scripture. Its meaning is doubtful. Some interpret it as meaning "silence" or "pause;" others, "end," "a louder strain," "piano," etc. The LXX. render the word by daplasma i.e., "a division"

 

Not exactly clear or definitive, though it's a decent starting point. So I went to google.

I kind of like how this article explores the various possible definitions, as well as the writer's conclusion. Another suggested meaning is "this being so, give heed to what is now to be said", which is also along the same lines as I've been thinking.

Selah. It has the idea of stopping, of pausing, to reflect; most often, to reflect on God and what He is doing. For Christians, we can be at rest when we stop and consider that God is in control and knows what He is doing.
Lately, I've been feeling weighed down by life. It's so many little things compounded, overwhelming me, so I almost feel suffocated at times. Like a ship lost at see, whose sailor is straining against the darkness and the rain for a glimmer of light from the lighthouse, all while struggling just to keep the ship from capsizing.
In the middle of life's storms, it's against instinct to stop what we're doing and just reflect, or even not think at all. How can we possibly be still, even for a moment? It feels like if we slow down long enough to catch our breath, we'll be overrun.

After Sunday school, which was when I saw "selah" in Habakkuk, the choir sang what I thought of as a "comfort medley". I can't even remember the songs they sang, but each was about finding comfort and peace in God. It was like God was putting it all in my face, drawing up a little theme for the day. I had to smile. Talk about a heart lifter.
I actually started this post days ago, but got distracted when I went in search of some verses. I ended up doing a word study on "selah". I believe there are 72 or 73 instances of the word in the Bible. All but 2 or 3 are in the Psalms; the others are in Habakkuk.

Lord, how are they increased that trouble me! many are they that rise up against me. Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God. Selah. But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head. I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill. Selah. I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the Lord sustained me. I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about. Airse, O Lord; save me, O my God: for thou hast smitten all mine enemies upon the cheek bone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly. Salvation belongeth unto the Lord: thy blessing is upon thy people. Selah.
- Psalm 3

Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah.
- Psalm 4:4

Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah.
-Psalm 32:7

Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee; verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah. Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee. Deliver me from all my transgressions: make me not to reproach of the foolish.
- Psalm 39:4-8

Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands: sing forth the honour of his name: make his praise glorious. Say unto God, How terrible art thou in thy works! through the greatness of thy power shall thine enemies submit themselves unto thee. All the earth shall worship thee, and shall sing unto thee; they shall sing to thy name. Selah.
-Psalm 66:1-4

Whether it's during a prayer of repentance or a song of praise, "selah" is added like a call to reflect on the goodness and power of God. For His people, we can rejoice in His greatness and His love.
It'll be a longer word study to do the word "rest", which was another part of this little theme.

There's a song that was stuck in my head a while ago. Well, a certain portion of a song. "Hold on my child, joy comes in the morning. Weeping only lasts for the night. Hold on my child, joy comes in the morning. The darkest hour means dawn is just in sight."
Despite the troubles that surround us, we can find refuge in God and the knowledge that He is always in control, always at our side, and will always love us.
I don't know if I wrote about it before (I almost think I did), but a while ago Pastor did a study in Philippians 4. What he said about verses 5-7 often come to mind when I start to feel like that ship tossed about on a stormy sea:

Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

The first part, about our "moderation", refers to how we deal with the ups and downs of life. We need to be steady and consistent, not tossed about by what life throws at us. A thermostat, which adjusts the temperature, and not a thermometer, which adjusts according to outside influences. We aren't overflowing with cheer and laughter one minute and drowning in our sorrows the next, as the mood takes us. We're confident and collected. Yes, we're still human, but we don't get carried away and overwhelmed by life. "The Lord is at hand" reminds us that God is always near. To "be careful for nothing" is to not get worked up and worrisome about life. You know, that sick-to-your-stomach kind of worry that can debilitate you.
To a lot of people, the concept of prayer can be confusing and even ridiculous. What's the point of praying to God and asking Him to deal with your problems, or telling Him about something bad that's going on, when He already knows? What I've come to learn about prayer is that it isn't like a Christmas list, where you write up your every whim and desire and pass it on to people with money enough to satisfy; neither is it like a visit to the shrink, where you spend an hour venting about all your problems and get nothing but affirmation and maybe some gentle instruction. Prayer is bringing your troubles and burdens to God and asking Him for strength to bear the load. Prayer is going to a shelter, a haven, from the troubles of this world, where there is quiet and rest, relief and encouragement. Sure, God, already knows what's on our heart, but He still wants to hear it from us. He is ready and waiting to lift us up and carry us for a while, to soothe our aches and refresh us with His love. It's communion. Prayer isn't a time to mutter a half-hearted "bless this food" or "help him get better" or to throw out a series of "why, God?'s". Like going to church, it's a time to recover and be refreshed. Selah. Stop and consider how good God is. Take comfort in His love, courage in His strength, hope in His wisdom. Forget the world and be still.

 

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.
- Romans 8:18

And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
- Mark 4:39

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early. (...) Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah.
- Psalm 46:1-5, 10&11

February Snow

Most of you know this already, but I got my glasses! And the main color is chocolate brown, not purple.

I picked them up on Tuesday before work. I had a little time to spare afterword and wandered the mall. For most of that time, I had a headache because my eyes (especially the left) were adjusting. But now I can see again!

The only other "big" thing is the snow. Finally, real snow. The "storm" started later than predicted. Right about the time I had to leave for babysitting last night. Mom dropped me off and I got a ride home with the parents.Talk about nerve-wracking, because while the roads weren't terrible by that point we were almost in white-out conditions with the wind. It was a light snow.

When I first took Sasha out this morning, she was ecstatic. I think winter is her favorite season. The wind had caused some snow drifting, so Sasha would be prancing along almost bare ground and then land in over a foot of snow. Of course, that only made her more excited.

Later, Mom and I shoveled part of the driveway. I must really be out of shape. The stuff isn't even heavy. And then, of all things, my right middle finger got numb with cold. Still, it's a beautiful day. Mostly blue skies and sunshine, with a little wind. It doesn't even feel very cold right now, though it's supposed to drop throughout the day.

After I'd warmed up (and ate the chili Mom made last night) I took Sasha back outside to play for a bit. I wish she would stay close to me without a leash. She's rather clumsy and kept getting tangled. Not that she really seemed to mind.

Our neighbors on one side have three dogs. Right now I'm watching them caper around in the yard. One of them found a stick.   :)  Of course, Sasha and Hershey aren't happy about that.

Man, I'm drawing a blank. I almost posted something a little more serious yesterday, but I'm having trouble framing my thoughts into words. Maybe I'll try it again later.

The title of the last post could also work for this post. Or: "New Glasses"

I got glasses when I was 15, during the week of fireworks tent. (Or around that time. I always remember fireworks tent.) Since then, I've considered them a necessary evil. I have hereditarily poor vision. (Is that a word?!) And, yes, I do like to blame most of what makes me me on my family: my sense of humor, my creativity, my preference to country living, my green thumb, my poor vision and teeth.... You name it, it's their fault. (All you biology buffs are sitting there going, "Um, duh? You think?")

But I digress.

Glasses! For a while now I've been kind of needing to get a new pair. My left eye is considerably worse (I'm telling you, it's all this time I spend in front of a computer screen blogging), to the point where the glasses don't really even help that side of my vision. Not significantly.

Mom's been planning on getting the family in for eye appointments, but we hadn't yet because there was no pressing need and then we were in the middle of moving.

Then I created a pressing need. All by myself.

By the way, my habit of misplacing things is also hereditary.

It happened last Thursday....

 

*cue "back in time" theme and imagine everything is hazy and wavery*

 

I was minding my own business, checking up on...stuff at the old house for Mom between work and errands before babysitting. Out of necessity, I removed my glasses and set them on the kitchen counter, next to my phone and keys. I finished my work and returned to my car. I'd forgot to grab my keys and had to return inside to get them from the counter. I was almost to the end of the street when I realized I didn't have my glasses. I turned around in the last driveway on the left and returned to the old house and the kitchen counter.

My glasses weren't there.

Cue 20 minutes of huffing and puffing and using the strongest language within my homeschooler vocabulary (which amounts to "stupid", a gross insult and very severe when I stoop to using it).

Let me digress briefly again.

My body's natural vent for any form of extreme emotion - be it fury or joy or frustration or sorrow - is tears. I'm ashamed of the fact, and whenever my body decides that it must resort to such a method to ease its suffering, I get more frustrated and cry more. The only emotion that doesn't result in a waterfall is a very specific sort of fed-up anger. In that case, I bite my lip and glare and huff like a mad bull. I think some people call this "fuming".

Back to the story:

So after ten minutes or so of checking every possible location in the house - and I hadn't gone far - and not finding my glasses, I called Mom. Who was out of town.

She told me to calm down. I cried that I was calm. Very gently, she asked if I'd checked my face. Blubbering and laughing at the same time, I confirmed that I had. I'm accustomed to discovering that the things I've misplaced are often in plain sight, so I checked my face and head with my hands and in my car mirror when I went out there to see if I'd actually brought my glasses with me in the first place.

Mom ran me through every possible solution. I checked in drawers and cabinets, under the stove and fridge, in the bathroom, in a couple boxes sitting in the entry waiting to go to the trash. No glasses anywhere. I ran my hand all over the counter in case my eyesight was worse than I thought and my glasses were right there in front of me. No luck.

In the end, Dad had to come bail me out. He'd been on his way already, but he came a little early and put his new training to use by doing a whole and systematic sweep of every area of the house I'd been in, and then up and down the street.

My daddy is my hero. Even though he didn't find my glasses.

So he had to drive me to and from babysitting. "Corrective lenses" are required for me to drive. I cried a little on the way, calling myself an idiot and the whole situation ridiculous. On the way home, I laughed miserably, but my tears were spent. And I felt oddly bereft. Mostly bereft of my liberty, because now I once again had to rely on someone else to take me where I needed to go.

Mom set up an eye appointment for me for Monday, and I waited.

On Saturday, Mom and I went to the house to do some last minute touching up. I was bent over a spot on the wall, paintbrush in hand, when Mom said, "Oh, look. What are these?" Instantly, I knew what she was talking about.

My glasses. On the windowsill.

How? I have no idea.

Long story short, we had to reschedule my appointment for Friday (as in, yesterday). Mom and I went in the midst of more errand running.

I did the little preliminary tests (that evil glaucomoa test...). Then Mom and I went searching for frames.

Apparently I'm not daring enough.

I wanted some color (my current frames are a dark maroon), but there wasn't much to choose from. I'd been thinking blue. The only blue available was a pair of what I call "bug-eye" frames. You know, the big round ones? Yeah, it's rude of me to say such things, but I can't stand that style. Just on me, mind you. Some people (like my mom) can pull them off, but I can't.

Mom insisted I at least try the pair. I didn't even look in the mirror.

I'm more of a squared, small frame kind of person. And no animal print or thick plastic frames. My current frames are wire, with the frames on only the top half of the lenses.The pair we settled on are wire, dark purple. The bows (as they are evidently called) are a light green between sage and olive and are kind of wide. Different than my first pair, but not drastically so. As daring as I cared to be.

After some more sitting around, I finally got to the actual eye exam.

Far better than how I remember the first one being.

There were countless "A or B" style questions while he flipped through pieces on that funny-looking instrument, and me trying to breathe as quietly and shallowly as possible while he waved his little light in my eyes and leaned in less than an inch from my face. (So unnerving, and something only a doctor could get away with.) Then, while he told me what he was "seeing" based on his tests, I couldn't see anything except purple spoltches, so I squinted and blinked and spoke as little as possible.

The doctor confirmed that my right eye was about the same but my left was worse. Then we were done.

I haven't got my frames yet. The lens technician (or whatever she was called) was out on lunch, so they didn't know if the frames I needed were available or if it'd take 7-10 business days to get them.

And, yes, I'm oddly excited. And thus concludes the tale of how I came to get new glasses.

I don't know about the rest of you but, aside from the glaucoma test, I prefer the eye doctor over regular doctors and the dentist. What about you?

"Whereas I was blind, now I see."

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, there was more than one thing I got out of church last Sunday. However, I didn't want to detract from the main point of yesterday's post, so here's the sequel, if you will.

Part Two isn't directly related to any of the messages I heard on Sunday. Not techinically. It comes from a moment during morning service where my brain got a bit distracted.

I'm counting on the fact that I'm not the only one who has done this before, and hope at least one of you out there knows what I'm talking about: that moment when you're following along in your Bible, and while the preacher moves on to his next point you keep reading, because whatever passage you were in contains something that caught your attention. Anyone else ever done that? By a show of hands?

Pastor was in John 9:1-3, where Jesus and His disciples come upon a man who's been blind from birth. The disciples want to know who sinned, the man or his parents, to make him blind. Jesus replies: "Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him."

Pastor has been taking us through Mark, and the most recent lesson was in 7:31-37, with the healing of the deaf man. The message was about physical - and, by extension, spiritual - "deformities and disabilities", and how none of those are mistakes or accidents or faults, but the will of God. No one who is blind, or lacking an arm, or unable to speak is any less of a human being than the world's definition a whole and healthy person, and neither are they any less capable of being used by God. (Check out Exodus 4:11, Isaiah 34:4-6, and Psalm 139:13-16 if you want to get an idea of where some of this study took us.)

However, when we came to John 9, I got a bit distracted. Pastor had paused in his reading to expound an a certain point, but my eyes continued down the page. I don't know if I've ever read John 9, at least not in its entirety. I'd definitely suggest reading it, because I'm only going to summarize, and that doesn't begin to do it justice.

What really intrigued me was the whole style of the narrative. The entire chapter is one story, in which a blind man is healed. When the man's neighbors and acquaintances see him walking around, they all marvel and question, some doubting it's even that man, but rather a look-alike. Of course, the Pharisees are summoned, and they have a hissy fit. Their basis for this is that Jesus healed on the Sabbath day. They question the man thoroughly, wondering how had the audacity to heal on the Sabbath day, and how such a sinner could perform such a deed. They question what sort of man Jesus seemed to the former blind man, and that man replies that he was a prophet. 

Then the pharisees all but call him a liar and demand to see his parents, thinking the whole thing is an act. They interrogate the parents, who acknowledge that the man is their son and had been born blind, but that's all they'll say out of fear. 

This is the part I like:

24 Then again called they the man that was blind, and said unto him, Give God the praise: we know that this man (Jesus) is a sinner.

25 He answered and said, Whether he be a sinner or no, I know not: one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.

26 Then said they to him again, What did he to thee? how opened he thine eyes?

27 He answered them, I have told you already, and ye did not hear: wherefore would ye hear it again? will ye also be his disciples?

Verse 27 is my favorite. I imagine the former blind man replying with a little mockery, maybe even a smirk. Either that or he's so caught up in the miracle worked in him that he doesn't understand the Pharisees' thick-headedness.

A few years ago I came across a verse somewhere in the gospels where the Pharisees are chewing Jesus out about something or other. (Big surprise.) In the midst of their lecture, Jesus kneels down and starts drawing or writing in the dirt. I don't remember much else from that story. I'm not even sure where to look for it, and I don't know a good key word to use for my Strong's Concordance. (Read: my dad's Strong's Concordance which I borrowed a couple years ago and still have in my room.) If anyone has a clue to which verse I'm making reference, I'd love to know.

It's passages like this which make me love the Bible that much more: it's the greatest story ever told, full of the truth and love and wisdom of God, with the message of grace and salvation for all mankind, and right in the middle of parables and sermons and commandments, God throws in a little narrative where the characters are shown as normal human beings. How cool is that?
If you're reading this hoping for some deep revelation, this is all I can offer: some people refuse to see the truth, even when it's staring them in the face and there's isn't any other explination, reasonable or otherwise. They're so stuck in their ideas, their tradtions, that anyone or anything which doesn't adhere to those guidelines isn't worthy of consideration. That's no way to live. Our own mental blindness might keep us from witnessing a miracle. What good is physical sight, physical soundness, if your heart is cold and hard?

(As a side note before I close: I have to wonder if perhaps John Newton took inspiration from verse 25 when he wrote "Amazing Grace"?)

I dare you....

Have you ever had one of those Sundays where it's one amazing message on top of the other, so that at the end of the day all your mind-blown self can think is "Wow!" as you try to process everything? This last Sunday was one of those days. It wasn't just one mind grenade waking me up; I was in a minefield. 

Especially Sunday evening, when our youth pastor preached. Once a month we have Youth Service on Sunday night, where the teen choir sings, one of the young men directs the congregational songs, the boys take up offering, a group of teens performs the special song, perhaps a young man preaches a mini-sermon, and then the youth pastor preaches.

It was kind of like his message came in two parts. He was in I Thessalonians 2:7-13, where Paul is encouraging the Thessalonians on how they should live. Paul sacrificed so much so he "would not be chargeable unto any of you" (verse 9). It was his desire not just to preach the message God had given to him, but to help everyone he came in contact with to live it out to the fullest.

Then the message turned a slight corner, and some things my sisters had told me about their Sunday morning service were repeated.

Key word: dare.

First Paul talked about how he was gentle to the younger and weaker Christians (vs. 7), using the analogy of a nurse. Then, in verse 11, he talks about how he and his companions "exhorted and comforted and charged every one of you, as a father doth his children". The preacher pointed out that the analogy of a father implies giving instruction to more mature children, on whom greater expectations are placed. Infants and young children are treated differently than teens and young adults. 

As usual, my youth pastor threw in a sports analogy. He pointed out how coaches raise their voices a little when they want to challenge their players to do better. Yelling at a baby to eat all their carrot mush only results in tears. Yelling at a 12-year-old boy during a basketball game tends to make him run faster and put some effort into his game. The coach (analogy: God) sees the big picture and our place in it. He can't go out on the floor and play our position for us, but He directs and encourages us. We have to take the outcome of the game into our own hands. If we don't do it, there's a good chance in won't get done, because each of us has a role. One person can't stand around and expect someone else to come along and pick up the slack.

Our youth pastor talked about the competitive spirit normal human beings have, and how that is a driving force that, in moderation, causes us to excel. Then - and here is the point he was going for - that competitive spirit makes some people do crazy things when they are present with the words "I dare you". What guy won't rise to accept any challenge when it's preceded by those three dangerous little words?

As our youth pastor said: "Some people get offended; other people get determined."

It was mostly a challenge to the young men in our youth group to accept the dare of being true men of God, but it could be received in a broader sense by everyone as a challenge to live for God.

He pointed to Romans 12:1 - "I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice". And I Timothy 6:11-14, where Paul "charges" us to "fight the good fight of faith", among other things.

In any good sermon, our own minds tend to latch onto certain aspects which resonate with us and add to them our own observations and experiences. At least, that's what I do. I could miss the main point of a message yet still get something truly important out of it because of one little passage or phrase that God stirred my heart about. While it was a key point of the message, it was also the one part that really stuck with me: the dare.

I thought about the oft-used analogy of the sports game, and the challenge to be participators and not spectators. 

A portion of a song I've heard on the radio kept running through my mind: "I dare you to move." I've only heard the song a few times, but the way I translate it is as a challenge to leave everything else behind and just live for God. To stop lying around and dare to live well.

Back when I was still searching for a title, I found this quote from Mother Teresa, and it also came to mind:

“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.

Life is beauty, admire it.

Life is a dream, realize it.

Life is a challenge, meet it.

Life is a duty, complete it.

Life is a game, play it.

Life is a promise, fulfill it.

Life is sorrow, overcome it.

Life is a song, sing it.

Life is a struggle, accept it.

Life is a tragedy, confront it.

Life is an adventure, dare it.

Life is luck, make it.

Life is too precious, do not destroy it.

Life is life, fight for it.” 

And, of course, while I was searching my Goodreads quotes for the above, I came across this one from Theodore Roosevelt:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” 

Dare, verb:

1. To have the courage to try; venture; hazard.

2. To meet defiantly; face courageously.

3. To challenge or provoke (a person) into a demonstration of courage; defy.

Challenge, n:

1. A call or summons to engage in any contest, as of skill, strength, etc.

2. Something that by its nature or character serves as a call to battle, contest, special effort, etc.

3. A call to fight, as a battle, a duel, etc.

4. Difficulty in a job or undertaking that is stimulating to one engaged in it.

   v.:

5. To make or issue a challenge.

Charge, v. tr.:

1. To command; place a burden upon or assign responsibility to

   n:

2. A duty or responsibility.

3. A command, injunction, or order.

Exhort, v:

1. To urge, advise, or caution earnestly; admonish urgently.

Beseech, v:

1. To implore urgently; entreat.

Like any good challenge, there's risk involved; otherwise, it wouldn't be a challenge. But when someone emerges victorious from a challenge, it's empowering to them (and often those around them) and it shows them what they're capable of if they just try. When someone looks us in the eye and whispers with a smirk, "I dare you", we're willing to put forth a little extra effort - 110% - to prove to them that we aren't wimps. We'll risk more, try harder and longer, go to greater lengths to achieve our goal than if someone simply said, "Could you, please?"

God, through Paul, is daring us to see what we can accomplish for Him. He's challenging us to look beyond this temporal world and live with eternity in mind. He's charge us to not waste one precious second of our existence on things that don't count to anything or anybody. He's calling us to press toward the mark, to fight the good fight, to run well in our race, to live to the fullest. Challenge accepted?

First Post of the Year (true to form, three weeks late)

Happy New Year?

Seems I do everything belatedly. Ah, well. I have a good excuse this time: we moved!

And I'm sure y'all know that already.

Dad just set the computer up last night, so this is the first chance I've had to really sit down and use a computer in probably two weeks. Yes, I know we're in the third week of January, but it's been a busy month.

Whoa. Three weeks into the new year. Yikes!

I don't have much to say right now. I just needed to blog, especially with it being Tuesday. If any of my devoted readers have noticed, I changed my title, as I said I would. I don't remember when exactly I decided on it. I remembered this post, which I didn't realize until now was the first post ever for this blog! (Also, the song mentioned in that post has still not been written. It may never get written,  unfortunately.)

Around the time I settled on my new title, a friend shared this with another friend on facebook:

Life is But a Weaving
Corrie Ten Boom (The Tapestry Poem)

My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
... Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not 'til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.

 

It's not exactly the idea I had behind "Tapestry", but it's very close, so it deserves sharing. It's also just a good poem.

My right pinkie is getting numb in this cold office, so I'll be wrapping this up. (I know. Me being brief. Weird, huh?)

The new house is great! Okay, so it has its quirks, but none we can't deal with. Probably the biggest for me (yes, bigger than tricky doors and weak heating upstairs) is the well water. At least, the hot water that smells like sulfur.

The first morning here, I woke up, and in my semi-conscious state* I thought someone was cooking eggs. Then I sat up and realized that wasn't quite right. Then I realized it was someone running hot water in the kitchen.

But we're surviving. More space (I mean, way more than we've ever had to my knowledge), the ability to look out of any window and now be looking into the neighbor's house, and being surrounded by cornfields has its perks. We're not much furthur from everything, though we're trying to develop the habit of getting all of our in-town errands done in the fewest runs possible (which means I do a lot when I go in for work). Oh, and we don't have a dryer yet, because ours is gas and it's electric here. We make do.

I feel guilty having the largest room in the house, but it comes with conditions. Namely, Mom and Dad get it when guests come over (and we will be getting more guests) and I bunk with one of the girls. We raided a friend's garage when we first moved in and she shared some of her old furniture, which resulted in a bed and bookcase for me and almost a chair, but it was too wide for the stairs.

Oh, and the stairs could be implemented in a training program for hiking the Machu Picchu trail. (In that they're steep, not that they're carved out of a mountain.) (Also, I was going to use a picture with a human in it, but felt funny posting "Claire's" picture on my blog, even though it did put things in perspective as far as the stairs went.)

I'm losing feeling in my entire right hand now, so I'm going to leave. I'll be back soon, I promise.

*I didn't want to insert this into the body of the post with parentheses:
I get the dictionary.com Word of the Day, and this one came up a few days ago: hypnopompic \hip-nuh-POM-pik\, adjective: Of or pertaining to the semiconscious state prior to complete wakefulness.
As if even I would ever use this word. I'm still stumbling a bit over the pronunciation. I was going to use this word instead of "semi-conscious", but thought better of it.
Then there's Peter Pan: "You know that place between sleeping and awake, that place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always think of you."