Hey folks,
So sorry to say this, especially since I've been dreadfully unfaithful in posting daily this past few weeks, but I am taking a small break from this blog. The trouble I have been having sleeping lately, a week long trip I am leaving for in the morning, and a few other things in life have caused me to realize that this a very good time to step back.
Many times in the past I will faithfully press on, trying to finish a project, and halfway through I realize that I've been doing it for the sake of doing it, not for the sake of any benefit it might have for myself or anyone else. In those times I have taken a break, and started up again, fresh and full of new enthusiasm for the true purpose of those projects, and any others; to glorify God.
I feel that a break is due, even though I feel partly guilty in taking it, and I will be back in a week or two, hopefully with less mournful posts than have been posted recently.
I love you all dearly and continue to keep you in my prayers.
Blessings!
~Emily
July 23, 2012
July 21, 2012
~Object 77~ A House
She built a house, unsure if it was on sand or rock; insecurity and doubt hindering each stone she stacked. Should she place this one there, or hold it back? Should she check harder, for sound footing? Should she give up and tear the whole thing down, or just continue stacking?
It was all new territory for her, and it was wonderful most of the time, but worries and concerns still pushed their way between she and the stones she was stacking. She had held off building her whole life, knowing it wasn't the right time, and now she wasn't sure if it was or not. It felt too beautiful, the stones too grand... was it right?
She would stop worrying at all, and stack a row or two of beautiful, smooth stones, and then she would stop, in shock, wondering if she ought to have done that. She was having to analyze everything she did, trying to be wise, but not fearful; trying to feel if the ground was sturdy or not, but not trusting her senses.
Apparently building a house is harder than it sounds.
Over and out,
It was all new territory for her, and it was wonderful most of the time, but worries and concerns still pushed their way between she and the stones she was stacking. She had held off building her whole life, knowing it wasn't the right time, and now she wasn't sure if it was or not. It felt too beautiful, the stones too grand... was it right?
She would stop worrying at all, and stack a row or two of beautiful, smooth stones, and then she would stop, in shock, wondering if she ought to have done that. She was having to analyze everything she did, trying to be wise, but not fearful; trying to feel if the ground was sturdy or not, but not trusting her senses.
Apparently building a house is harder than it sounds.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. Okay, I know it sounds rather petty and unimportant, but I would love it if you guys would continue to pray for me sleep. I have continued to sleep poorly, and it is really starting to take its toll on me.
I would love to be in prayer for you all, as well! Please feel free to contact me any time, I love hearing from you.
Blessings!
July 19, 2012
~Object 76~ A Dress
"Therefore do not be anxious, saying,
‘What shall we eat?’ or
‘What shall we drink?’ or
‘What shall we wear?’
For the Gentiles seek after all these things,
and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.
But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness,
and all these things will be added to you."
(Matthew 6:31-33)
She had always interpreted this passage as, "don't worry about what you eat or wear because it doesn't matter at all anyway, and it'll get taken care of."
How dreadfully wrong she was about it. Slowly she has started to understand that this passage isn't saying these things don't matter, but rather that they do.
The Old Testament is full of laws about the smallest, minute details of people's lives; the tassels on the priest's robes, the measurements of the tabernacle tent, which parts of sacrificed animals go where. God cares about things in our lives that seem dreadfully small and insignificant.
She had selfishly been hoping for another summer dress or two. Silly, yes, but she really wanted some. She had felt, though, that it was too frivolous an issue to actually pray about it, so she didn't.
Well, for some reason God cared about her silly summer dresses. She had finished a day of work and was picked up by her mom and whisked off, rather begrudgingly, to her sister's eye doctor appointment. On the way to the next stop she asked if she could be dropped off at the GoodWill, rather than sitting through a hair appointment. She didn't actually expect to find anything, but piled clothes into her arms just for the fun of it. After trying on about a dozen articles of clothing, she left the store with two pretty, comfortable summer dresses that fit her perfectly.
She would never have gone to the GoodWill were it not for the annoying errands that she was forced to tag along during. She would never have had to tag along during the errands if she hadn't been running a few minutes late at work. She would never have been running a few minutes late at work if the last few customers hadn't interrupted her jam pouring.
God had the entire thing planned out. It seems insane, but He cares about those dresses. Similarly, He cares about everything in our lives, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. Thank you so much for your prayers, I slept wonderfully last night. Here's hoping that won't be a one-time thing! Blessings!
July 18, 2012
~Object 75~ An Alarm Clock
She hadn't slept well in at least a week. Her mind was too busy at night, and it took her a couple of hours just to fall asleep. Dreams then plagued her all night long, and she tossed and turned the entire time. In the early morning she woke up every ten minutes from about five o'clock on.
Finally each morning she rolled out of bed and turned her alarm off, because she didn't need it. There were times during the day that she felt drowsy, and even dizzy, but somehow she pushed through work days and still had a little bit of energy left for the afternoon.
Each night the process was repeated: get ready for bed, set alarm, lay in bed for a couple of hours, fall asleep, dream, toss and turn, wake up, fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep, wake up, turn alarm off, get up.
Why she even set the alarm, she wasn't quite sure; she didn't need it. She did realize, though, that she couldn't make it without God. Again and again she has had to learn this lesson, and again and again she forgets it. This time around it wasn't quite as obvious, but thinking back, she realized that she could not have made it through the week without her Savior sustaining her. Multiple times she felt dizzy enough that she was a bit frightened. Multiple times she couldn't think straight. Multiple times, while trying desperately to fall asleep, she wanted to cry.
And He sustained her.
On top of that, He continued to wake her before her alarm. It's silly, but she hates waking to an alarm, and He knows this. He is allowing her to wake naturally, without the near heart attack that an alarm causes, and is giving her extra time to spend with Him each morning.
No, it's not ideal, but it's a lesson.
And so the alarm continues to be set, and turned off before making a sound.
Over and out,
Finally each morning she rolled out of bed and turned her alarm off, because she didn't need it. There were times during the day that she felt drowsy, and even dizzy, but somehow she pushed through work days and still had a little bit of energy left for the afternoon.
Each night the process was repeated: get ready for bed, set alarm, lay in bed for a couple of hours, fall asleep, dream, toss and turn, wake up, fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep, wake up, turn alarm off, get up.
Why she even set the alarm, she wasn't quite sure; she didn't need it. She did realize, though, that she couldn't make it without God. Again and again she has had to learn this lesson, and again and again she forgets it. This time around it wasn't quite as obvious, but thinking back, she realized that she could not have made it through the week without her Savior sustaining her. Multiple times she felt dizzy enough that she was a bit frightened. Multiple times she couldn't think straight. Multiple times, while trying desperately to fall asleep, she wanted to cry.
And He sustained her.
On top of that, He continued to wake her before her alarm. It's silly, but she hates waking to an alarm, and He knows this. He is allowing her to wake naturally, without the near heart attack that an alarm causes, and is giving her extra time to spend with Him each morning.
No, it's not ideal, but it's a lesson.
And so the alarm continues to be set, and turned off before making a sound.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. While this is a great lesson, I would still definitely appreciate your prayers... I could really use a good night's sleep. Blessings!
July 16, 2012
~Object 74~ A Silver Lining
They say every cloud has a silver lining. The problem she often encounters is actually seeing this mysterious silver lining. She has been in the midst of a dark, all consuming storm. The clouds surrounded her and she could see nothing of the sun. Light was blocked out and rather than chasing the storm away and searching for the bright side, she wallowed in it.
The sun is out again, and she sees each cloud from a changed perspective. She sees now that the clouds she just trekked through have glorious silver/gold edges... shining a hopeful light on her life.
Yes, the storm was hard, the clouds were thick, the idea of a silver lining seemed almost laughable at the time, but hind-site is 20/20. How almost beautiful that storm seems now. She has been drastically changed by it, and is closer to her King for it. While she was in it, all she could see was the darkness, but now she is nearly blinded by the glorious silver lining.
How dreadfully lacking in perspective she is so very often.
Over and out,
The sun is out again, and she sees each cloud from a changed perspective. She sees now that the clouds she just trekked through have glorious silver/gold edges... shining a hopeful light on her life.
Yes, the storm was hard, the clouds were thick, the idea of a silver lining seemed almost laughable at the time, but hind-site is 20/20. How almost beautiful that storm seems now. She has been drastically changed by it, and is closer to her King for it. While she was in it, all she could see was the darkness, but now she is nearly blinded by the glorious silver lining.
How dreadfully lacking in perspective she is so very often.
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Over and out,
~Emily
July 15, 2012
~Object 73~ A Lighthouse
She wished she were in the lighthouse. To be able to see all around, even in the storms, and to spread light in such a noticeable way; how glorious that would be! She was sitting in a small boat, being tossed around on waves that she never could have expected, and she saw a streak of light across the sky, on and off, on and off.
She saw the lighthouse, but wished that she were there already. She wanted to get out of the boat and climb the stairs of the beacon tower. She longed to leave her storm and better help other people through theirs.
What she had failed to acknowledge, though, is that there is a lighthouse. She had been so focused on wishing she were in its safety, out of and away from the tossing of this storm that she had almost forgotten that there is someone not only in the lighthouse, but there is someone who is the lighthouse. And He knows what is best, even when she lacks the perspective to see it. He stands firm in the calm and in the storm, and He is never shaken by the storms that shake her.
Over and out,
She saw the lighthouse, but wished that she were there already. She wanted to get out of the boat and climb the stairs of the beacon tower. She longed to leave her storm and better help other people through theirs.
What she had failed to acknowledge, though, is that there is a lighthouse. She had been so focused on wishing she were in its safety, out of and away from the tossing of this storm that she had almost forgotten that there is someone not only in the lighthouse, but there is someone who is the lighthouse. And He knows what is best, even when she lacks the perspective to see it. He stands firm in the calm and in the storm, and He is never shaken by the storms that shake her.
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Over and out,
~Emily
July 14, 2012
~Object 72~ The Sun
They set out walking along the road, talking, laughing, hoping to reach the top of the hill before the sun was lost behind the mountains, but not trying too hard. Having accomplished their goal, they stood at the top, looking at, but trying not to look at, the sun.
The trees took on a sheen; an ethereal, resplendent, almost unearthly light. Feeling the golden beacon penetrating her soul, she was warmed from the inside out. Standing in the presence of such glory was breathtaking.
She felt a gripping, almost smothering sense of the presence of God. Surrounded by the inconceivable beauty that is the sun, she could not help but think that even this splendor was nothing in comparison to the beauty and majesty of the Son of God.
In just a moment, the sun was gone. That quickly the spell was broken, and she understood. She understood that we have these moments of splendor only for a moment because life itself only lasts for a moment. The beauty of the hills illuminated by the setting sun will someday be gone forever.
And we won't miss it.
Over and out,
The trees took on a sheen; an ethereal, resplendent, almost unearthly light. Feeling the golden beacon penetrating her soul, she was warmed from the inside out. Standing in the presence of such glory was breathtaking.
She felt a gripping, almost smothering sense of the presence of God. Surrounded by the inconceivable beauty that is the sun, she could not help but think that even this splendor was nothing in comparison to the beauty and majesty of the Son of God.
In just a moment, the sun was gone. That quickly the spell was broken, and she understood. She understood that we have these moments of splendor only for a moment because life itself only lasts for a moment. The beauty of the hills illuminated by the setting sun will someday be gone forever.
And we won't miss it.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. So sorry about missing a couple of days there. I've been busy, but this is supposed to be an object every day... not just when I feel like it. Love you all!
July 10, 2012
~Object 71~ A Wedding Ring
The circle has no beginning and no end, so why is it that a wedding ring is a circle? Naturally it stays on the finger best that way, and of course there will not be (or ought not be aside from death) an end, but every marriage has a beginning. As someone who sees an analogy hiding in every object, she had to dig deeper; she had to think it through.
Maybe marriage doesn't have a beginning. Maybe, since before time existed, God had he and she in mind for each other. Yes, the marriage itself has a beginning, but the idea never did. The idea was there before the people ever took their first breaths... a beautiful, masterfully written love story.
How stunning. How breathtaking an idea. We cannot even wrap our minds around it...and yet we try to because it is so glorious.
And so, too, is our love story with God through Christ. Yes, the fall did happen, there was a beginning to separation with God. Yes, Jesus paid the price, there was a beginning to reunion with God... but the ideas were always there. There has never been an instant when God was not thinking about the marriage that will be ours. The story is not even complete yet; the marriage has not yet begun, but the idea was there before the line of time was ever penned.
It is eternal, with no beginning or end. The ring is symbolic, the analogy does hold up, the picture is beautiful.
Maybe marriage doesn't have a beginning. Maybe, since before time existed, God had he and she in mind for each other. Yes, the marriage itself has a beginning, but the idea never did. The idea was there before the people ever took their first breaths... a beautiful, masterfully written love story.
How stunning. How breathtaking an idea. We cannot even wrap our minds around it...and yet we try to because it is so glorious.
And so, too, is our love story with God through Christ. Yes, the fall did happen, there was a beginning to separation with God. Yes, Jesus paid the price, there was a beginning to reunion with God... but the ideas were always there. There has never been an instant when God was not thinking about the marriage that will be ours. The story is not even complete yet; the marriage has not yet begun, but the idea was there before the line of time was ever penned.
It is eternal, with no beginning or end. The ring is symbolic, the analogy does hold up, the picture is beautiful.
P.S. I finally did it, Tianna! I hope this was satisfactory. Thank you for letting me use photos of your beautiful ring! <3
July 9, 2012
~Object 70~ A Flower
She realized today that she is a petal; we all are. We each need one another to be as beautiful as we are meant to be. A petal by itself is lovely, velvety and colorful, totally unique, but petals cannot live by themselves. Petals need to be attached to each other, along with leaves and a stem in order to survive.
She was trying to figure out what the different pieces of the flower are, and a friend helped her figure that out. The petals are people. We need each other in order to thrive. She has been relying on people lately like she never has before; she just needs them. The stem is prayer, and that connects us to the water, which is God. The stem is far more important than the other petals. We've all seen flowers that only have two or three petals, but they are still able to do fine. She's never seen a flower doing just fine that has no stem. We need our stem in order to survive at all, and it causes us to blossom and bloom and flourish.
She often neglects one or both of those parts. She will feel guilty for relying on people, or, "too busy," to pray as she ought. Both parts are so very important, though.
How beautiful flowers are when properly taken care of! How silly it would be to go along cutting the stems off, because they are not the prettiest part. It would be ridiculous; yet we do it all the time. She is constantly neglecting prayer as though she believes it doesn't matter. Without the stem, though, the flower never blooms at all.
Over and out,
She was trying to figure out what the different pieces of the flower are, and a friend helped her figure that out. The petals are people. We need each other in order to thrive. She has been relying on people lately like she never has before; she just needs them. The stem is prayer, and that connects us to the water, which is God. The stem is far more important than the other petals. We've all seen flowers that only have two or three petals, but they are still able to do fine. She's never seen a flower doing just fine that has no stem. We need our stem in order to survive at all, and it causes us to blossom and bloom and flourish.
She often neglects one or both of those parts. She will feel guilty for relying on people, or, "too busy," to pray as she ought. Both parts are so very important, though.
How beautiful flowers are when properly taken care of! How silly it would be to go along cutting the stems off, because they are not the prettiest part. It would be ridiculous; yet we do it all the time. She is constantly neglecting prayer as though she believes it doesn't matter. Without the stem, though, the flower never blooms at all.
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Over and out,
~Emily
July 8, 2012
~Object 69~ A Piece of Candy
She has always had a sweet tooth. She thoroughly enjoys gorging herself on chocolate, ice cream, candy. The problem is, though, that she always wants more; she's never satisfied. She has one piece of candy, and she wants another and another, but is never filled.
This world is so like candy. We like it, we enjoy its taste and we want more and more and more. But we have a void in our life that the entire world is incapable of filling. We can eat as much as we can possibly stuff into our systems, and we will never be satisfied.
Funny that it usually takes her getting nearly sick on candy before she realizes that it's never going to satisfy. She has called herself a fast learner most of her life, but sometimes she wonders...
Over and out,
This world is so like candy. We like it, we enjoy its taste and we want more and more and more. But we have a void in our life that the entire world is incapable of filling. We can eat as much as we can possibly stuff into our systems, and we will never be satisfied.
Funny that it usually takes her getting nearly sick on candy before she realizes that it's never going to satisfy. She has called herself a fast learner most of her life, but sometimes she wonders...
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Over and out,
~Emily
July 6, 2012
~Object 68~ A Tapestry
She has been dreadfully nearsighted lately. She looks and all she sees are a few ugly strands of thread. They seem pointless and silly. She looks and sees the small corner of something filled with strange colors that are not to her liking. She sees something blurry and unknown. She doesn't like the picture at all.
What she is failing to see is the tapestry that these pieces make up. She sees only a square inch of the glorious masterpiece that is in the making. She sees what is happening right now, and fails to remember that there is more to come.
God weaves our lives together, our actions together, our choices together, our mistakes together, our could-have-beens and what-ifs together. He weaves all of this into a tapestry that is His grand story.
The pieces don't seem too beautiful by themselves. We see a thread here, a bead there, a tassel or a button, a half-finished flower or tree. None of this is spectacular, some of it is ugly.
Beginning to end, though, it is beautiful.
Over and out,
What she is failing to see is the tapestry that these pieces make up. She sees only a square inch of the glorious masterpiece that is in the making. She sees what is happening right now, and fails to remember that there is more to come.
God weaves our lives together, our actions together, our choices together, our mistakes together, our could-have-beens and what-ifs together. He weaves all of this into a tapestry that is His grand story.
The pieces don't seem too beautiful by themselves. We see a thread here, a bead there, a tassel or a button, a half-finished flower or tree. None of this is spectacular, some of it is ugly.
Beginning to end, though, it is beautiful.
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Over and out,
~Emily
~Object 67~ Gold
She thought further, though, and realized that she saw the things that floated to the surface. She saw the obvious; the mistakes, the character flaws, the break-downs and the sin. She saw the dross.
Like gold in the midst of the heating process, she needed some refining, and God was hard at work. He was heating and heating and heating, and the ugly things were floating to the top.
The thing about dross, though, is that it's not just meant to sit on the top of the gold, it is meant to be taken off. This was where things got a bit more difficult. It's one thing to recognize character flaws and ugliness, but it's an entirely different thing to do something about it.
She knows that one day God will be done refining her, and He'll take her home, but for now she is in the fire, she is being perfected, and it is hard.
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Over and out,
~Emily
July 4, 2012
~Object 66~ A Firework
They sat around a table playing cards, and listening to fireworks go off in the distance. She had always loved them, but hadn't gone to watch them for a few years. There was always something better to do, or they were too far.
She had seen, and been a part of, a different kind of firework recently.
She bottles things up. Like stuffing firecrackers with gunpowder, she stores worries, anxieties, frustrations and sadness away, shoving it all deeper and deeper, fitting more and more.
Something small usually lights the fuse. Someone does something, "wrong," or says a small, biting word, and it isn't long until she blows.
For some reason, though, joy doesn't work that way at all. She doesn't bottle that up; there is rarely a need to. She shares her joys, her triumphs, her fun times with the world, and there is no explosion later on.
It's so strange that the physical firework and the emotional one are so very different. How beautiful an explosion can be in the right place...and how ugly in the wrong.
Over and out,
She had seen, and been a part of, a different kind of firework recently.
She bottles things up. Like stuffing firecrackers with gunpowder, she stores worries, anxieties, frustrations and sadness away, shoving it all deeper and deeper, fitting more and more.
Something small usually lights the fuse. Someone does something, "wrong," or says a small, biting word, and it isn't long until she blows.
For some reason, though, joy doesn't work that way at all. She doesn't bottle that up; there is rarely a need to. She shares her joys, her triumphs, her fun times with the world, and there is no explosion later on.
It's so strange that the physical firework and the emotional one are so very different. How beautiful an explosion can be in the right place...and how ugly in the wrong.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. Happy Independence Day, folks! I hope you all had a lovely day celebrating the beautiful gift of freedom. God bless you all!
July 3, 2012
~Object 65~ Jam
The heat was turned on under the pot of frozen berries. Slowly the ice melted, and the fruit began to soften and release juice. She started mashing the berries, and they turned into a rich, deep sauce, which was left to itself, getting hotter.
Eventually, and after adding a few essential ingredients, the mixture was ready for the now heated jars. She later stood back and admired the gem-like jars full of jam.
She realized then that she was just like that fruit. She needed to be melted, heated, smashed, added to, stirred and poured in order to be what God needed her to be.
One day maybe she will look back and marvel at the smashing, melting, heating process, but she is still in the midst of it, and it's hard.
But she knows that the master, "Jammer," has the end product in mind. He knows the beauty that will come of this.
And that alone is enough to give her some peace.
Over and out,
Eventually, and after adding a few essential ingredients, the mixture was ready for the now heated jars. She later stood back and admired the gem-like jars full of jam.
She realized then that she was just like that fruit. She needed to be melted, heated, smashed, added to, stirred and poured in order to be what God needed her to be.
One day maybe she will look back and marvel at the smashing, melting, heating process, but she is still in the midst of it, and it's hard.
But she knows that the master, "Jammer," has the end product in mind. He knows the beauty that will come of this.
And that alone is enough to give her some peace.
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Over and out,
~Emily
July 2, 2012
~Object 64~ A Steppingstone
The steppingstones she had been walking on were very easy. She could see each step and knew that it was secure. Walking on the easy path in a beautiful meadow, she was content. Glancing at wildflowers and clouds as she walked, the even, easy path did not necessitate looking where she was going. All was effortless.
A fog settled over her path, and she soon heard water rushing past her. She questioned each footstep, tested each stone, looked for easier routes. The sun hid behind thick clouds. She couldn't see, and she was paralyzed with fear. What if she stepped wrong? What if the fog made the stones slick, and she fell? She imagined the stones crossing a mighty river, and she began to tremble.
Cautiously she reached one foot out, groping for a stone. Scared of falling, she stood still, shivering and scared. Staying there far too long, she finally decided that she needed to do something, so she reached her foot out and placed it down again. A stone! She did this again and again, finally almost running across the steps. Exhilarated, she gave up on worry and trusted that the path before her would be secure; trusted that God would place stones before her.
The fog lifted and she looked around in wonder. The sound of water that she had heard proved to be a calm, trickling stream. She looked down and the steps were large and sure, and she knew that her King, the master path-layer, had been in perfect control the whole time. If only it was easier to remember this while in the fog.
~Emily
A fog settled over her path, and she soon heard water rushing past her. She questioned each footstep, tested each stone, looked for easier routes. The sun hid behind thick clouds. She couldn't see, and she was paralyzed with fear. What if she stepped wrong? What if the fog made the stones slick, and she fell? She imagined the stones crossing a mighty river, and she began to tremble.
Cautiously she reached one foot out, groping for a stone. Scared of falling, she stood still, shivering and scared. Staying there far too long, she finally decided that she needed to do something, so she reached her foot out and placed it down again. A stone! She did this again and again, finally almost running across the steps. Exhilarated, she gave up on worry and trusted that the path before her would be secure; trusted that God would place stones before her.
The fog lifted and she looked around in wonder. The sound of water that she had heard proved to be a calm, trickling stream. She looked down and the steps were large and sure, and she knew that her King, the master path-layer, had been in perfect control the whole time. If only it was easier to remember this while in the fog.
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Over and out,
~Emily
July 1, 2012
~Object 63~ A Castle
She had built a castle in her head. The structure was solid, the idea was complete, there were no problems, it was calm, and something that she thought she had control over.
She imagined the medieval castles being built a thousand years ago. Each brick, each stone was placed just so. The people trusted in that structure. It was secure, it was solid, it was their protection from the unknown. The castles crumbled, though. Wars came, battles were fought, and many of those castles are no longer here, or are no longer solid structures.
Her castle was crumbling. She watched as each brick fell, one by one. Uncertain of whether she ought to feel joyful or fearful, anxiety filled her. What was she supposed to build now? She had begun building this structure years ago; she had relied on it, dreamed about it, clung to it like a blanket.
And it was collapsing before her eyes.
She realized that she was trying to pick the pieces up again; trying to rebuild what had been lost, but it didn't feel right. Her structure then started to look wrong, and she almost wanted to pull more bricks down. She was now uncertain as to which bricks ought to stay, and which really should come down. She started doubting and second guessing herself.
And so she gave up. She gave up rebuilding, and she gave up tearing down. She gave up doubting and second guessing and fearing. She gave up caring about her castle, and she gave up hating it. She gave up wanting a new one and she gave up clinging to the old one. She gave up trusting in the strength of an idealistic, castle-like dream, and she turned it over to the King.
Over and out,
She imagined the medieval castles being built a thousand years ago. Each brick, each stone was placed just so. The people trusted in that structure. It was secure, it was solid, it was their protection from the unknown. The castles crumbled, though. Wars came, battles were fought, and many of those castles are no longer here, or are no longer solid structures.
Her castle was crumbling. She watched as each brick fell, one by one. Uncertain of whether she ought to feel joyful or fearful, anxiety filled her. What was she supposed to build now? She had begun building this structure years ago; she had relied on it, dreamed about it, clung to it like a blanket.
And it was collapsing before her eyes.
She realized that she was trying to pick the pieces up again; trying to rebuild what had been lost, but it didn't feel right. Her structure then started to look wrong, and she almost wanted to pull more bricks down. She was now uncertain as to which bricks ought to stay, and which really should come down. She started doubting and second guessing herself.
"The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent."
(Exodus 14:14)
And so she gave up. She gave up rebuilding, and she gave up tearing down. She gave up doubting and second guessing and fearing. She gave up caring about her castle, and she gave up hating it. She gave up wanting a new one and she gave up clinging to the old one. She gave up trusting in the strength of an idealistic, castle-like dream, and she turned it over to the King.
"The Lord is my strength and my shield; in Him my heart trusts, and I am helped;
my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to Him."
(Psalm 28:7)
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Over and out,
~Emily
June 30, 2012
~Object 62~ Fingernails
She was biting them again. It had been awhile; they had finally grown out a little. They were now shorter than they had been in a long time, and she continued to nibble at them.
Nervousness? Stress? Anxiety? Fear? A need to be moving in some way at all times? All of these things? She wasn't sure. She bit them to the point of pain, and then kept on going.
And she didn't know what to write... so she sat and bit her nails, uncertain of so much.
Over and out,
~Emily
Nervousness? Stress? Anxiety? Fear? A need to be moving in some way at all times? All of these things? She wasn't sure. She bit them to the point of pain, and then kept on going.
And she didn't know what to write... so she sat and bit her nails, uncertain of so much.
Over and out,
~Emily
~Object 61~ A Mountain
She was lost in thought as they drove along the freeway. Scenery slipped by, unnoticed. Normally she searched the hills and fields, spotting beauty everywhere, but today she didn't care. Beauty seemed unimportant.
She looked up and straight ahead was a mountain, and she was unable to tear her eyes from it.
Only the bottom half was visible, the top completely engulfed in thick, grey clouds.
Nobody looks at the bottom of a mountain. Most people's eyes are pulled instantly to the peak; that is where we want to be. We want to stand on top, enjoying the view while resting with lots of water and trail mix. We don't want to just look at, or even stand on, the side of a mountain. We want, at the very least, to see our destination. We want to see the peak.
She wanted to cry as she stared at it. How like her life that mountain was. She wanted to know where she was going; she wanted to see it and to just be there. She didn't want to be staring at, or even climbing, the bottom of the mountain. She wanted to reach the top.
Pulling out a piece of paper, she began to write. Raising her eyes for a moment, she saw the mountain again.
The clouds were nearly gone. The peak was almost visible.
Over and out,
She looked up and straight ahead was a mountain, and she was unable to tear her eyes from it.
Only the bottom half was visible, the top completely engulfed in thick, grey clouds.
Nobody looks at the bottom of a mountain. Most people's eyes are pulled instantly to the peak; that is where we want to be. We want to stand on top, enjoying the view while resting with lots of water and trail mix. We don't want to just look at, or even stand on, the side of a mountain. We want, at the very least, to see our destination. We want to see the peak.
She wanted to cry as she stared at it. How like her life that mountain was. She wanted to know where she was going; she wanted to see it and to just be there. She didn't want to be staring at, or even climbing, the bottom of the mountain. She wanted to reach the top.
Pulling out a piece of paper, she began to write. Raising her eyes for a moment, she saw the mountain again.
The clouds were nearly gone. The peak was almost visible.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. So sorry it took me so long to start posting again! Nationals was incredible. God was glorified through victories and trials, and I'm so grateful that I was able to go. Thank you all for your prayers.
P.S. So sorry it took me so long to start posting again! Nationals was incredible. God was glorified through victories and trials, and I'm so grateful that I was able to go. Thank you all for your prayers.
June 15, 2012
~Object 60~ A Roof
She woke up early again today. Trying to make as little noise as possible, so as not to wake her sisters, she took her Bible, a blanket and a sweatshirt and made her way downstairs. She was going to the rooftop, her favorite spot.
She didn't make it to the roof this morning. Distractions kept her from it until after lunch.
The normally cool surface burned her toes and she ran across it to the far corner. Over the patio, kitchen, living room, and finally right above her own bedroom, where a patch of shade kept the shingles cool.
She lay back and covered her eyes with her arm, shading them from the sun.
Peace.
This was where she went when she needed to be alone; when she wanted to write to God; talk to him; sing to Him. This was where she went when she had a song in her heart, and needed to play around with words before they made their way to paper. This was where she went when she had to think things through; when she wanted to listen to birds and feel the wind.
This was her spot.
Over and out,
She didn't make it to the roof this morning. Distractions kept her from it until after lunch.
The normally cool surface burned her toes and she ran across it to the far corner. Over the patio, kitchen, living room, and finally right above her own bedroom, where a patch of shade kept the shingles cool.
She lay back and covered her eyes with her arm, shading them from the sun.
Peace.
This was where she went when she needed to be alone; when she wanted to write to God; talk to him; sing to Him. This was where she went when she had a song in her heart, and needed to play around with words before they made their way to paper. This was where she went when she had to think things through; when she wanted to listen to birds and feel the wind.
This was her spot.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. I'm leaving in two days for my speech league's National Championship, so I'm not quite sure if I'll be able to post every day. I'll do my best, but no promises. It would be lovely if you would keep everyone's travels and the tournament itself in your prayers. Blessings!
June 14, 2012
~Object 59~ A Piano
Magical notes flowed from the black and white keys. She swayed along, listening; feeling.
Music has a way of touching people in ways that words are unable to, and the pure voice of the piano is sweetest.
She felt a song rising in her; a song yet unwritten; a song in her Maker's hands. Feelings were stirred that she couldn't decipher; notes swirling around in her head; mixed up lyrics, wishing to be put to song. Praise overflowed from her, yet she made no sound.
She just rocked back and forth to the music of the piano.
Over and out,
Music has a way of touching people in ways that words are unable to, and the pure voice of the piano is sweetest.
She felt a song rising in her; a song yet unwritten; a song in her Maker's hands. Feelings were stirred that she couldn't decipher; notes swirling around in her head; mixed up lyrics, wishing to be put to song. Praise overflowed from her, yet she made no sound.
She just rocked back and forth to the music of the piano.
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Over and out,
~Emily
June 12, 2012
~Object 58~ A Seed
She dug the hoe into the freshly tilled earth and pulled, walking backward as she did so. After the furrow was finished she crouched down and ran her finger along the length of it, creating a small indent. Emptying a packet of seeds into her hands she sprinkled them, and covered them back up.
And then she waited.
She's still waiting. She has seen a few beginnings of plants that might be her herbs, but they could just as easily be weeds, at this point.
The hard thing with seeds is that you don't just have to wait while they get bigger, you have to wait until you see anything at all. It's been a few weeks since she planted her herb garden; two kinds of basil, cilantro, sage and oregano, and she still has seen nothing.
A grand thing about seeds, though, is that even once you've started seeing growth, there is almost definitely more that you can't see yet. Even once there are sprouts popping up all over the place, there is more to come.
There is already visible growth in many hearts, even through tragedy. Seedlings have sprouted, true, agape love is in bloom. Lives are being changed. This is the visible.
The invisible, though, is infinitely more. It's hard to imagine that, with all of the miracles already happening, there is more, that is not yet seen.
Josh never saw these seedlings. He planted the seeds and waited. We are now seeing the fruit of his labor, and there is more yet to come; so much more that we would not believe if told.
Over and out,
And then she waited.
She's still waiting. She has seen a few beginnings of plants that might be her herbs, but they could just as easily be weeds, at this point.
The hard thing with seeds is that you don't just have to wait while they get bigger, you have to wait until you see anything at all. It's been a few weeks since she planted her herb garden; two kinds of basil, cilantro, sage and oregano, and she still has seen nothing.
A grand thing about seeds, though, is that even once you've started seeing growth, there is almost definitely more that you can't see yet. Even once there are sprouts popping up all over the place, there is more to come.
There is already visible growth in many hearts, even through tragedy. Seedlings have sprouted, true, agape love is in bloom. Lives are being changed. This is the visible.
The invisible, though, is infinitely more. It's hard to imagine that, with all of the miracles already happening, there is more, that is not yet seen.
"Look among the nations, and see;
wonder and be astounded.
For I am doing a work in your days
that you would not believe if told."
(Habakkuk 1:5)
Josh never saw these seedlings. He planted the seeds and waited. We are now seeing the fruit of his labor, and there is more yet to come; so much more that we would not believe if told.
"Wonder and be astounded."
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Over and out,
~Emily
June 11, 2012
~Object 57~ A Finger
A dull ache bothered her all day. She used her left hand vacuuming floors and washing dishes, dusting shelves and wiping counters. Annoyed at her lack of coordination she switched hands, only to realize that this made the pain worse. For a few days her finger had felt fine, and she had hardly even noticed it, but today it caused all kinds of trouble.
How very like sin. We go without noticing it, without even thinking about it, until pieces of our life start to fall apart. Relationships struggle, joy dissipates; tiredness, frustration and anger start to dominate. A dull ache begins. We get frustrated with how things are going, but often we try to fix things in the wrong way, making the pain worse.
She had never noticed how much she used this finger. Now that it was hurt, anything she tried to do with it brought the ache back, worse than ever.
We never notice how much sin effects our lives, and the lives around us, until we try to do something and then the pain stabs us, fiercer than we could have imagined.
Over and out,
How very like sin. We go without noticing it, without even thinking about it, until pieces of our life start to fall apart. Relationships struggle, joy dissipates; tiredness, frustration and anger start to dominate. A dull ache begins. We get frustrated with how things are going, but often we try to fix things in the wrong way, making the pain worse.
She had never noticed how much she used this finger. Now that it was hurt, anything she tried to do with it brought the ache back, worse than ever.
We never notice how much sin effects our lives, and the lives around us, until we try to do something and then the pain stabs us, fiercer than we could have imagined.
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Over and out,
~Emily
June 10, 2012
~Object 56~ A Rock
She watches as the waves crash against the rock. Cocking her head to the side, squinting her eyes, she ponders the beauty of it. Even these waves; waves so dangerous, so tremendously powerful, cannot budge the jagged rock.
It stands firm; unbothered, unmoved.
A smile plays at her lips as she thinks of her own life. She feels like waves are crashing against her, threatening to knock her down any second. She feels like she is swirling in a whirlpool of emotions, change and worry. She feels so small, so weak, so insignificant.
But her Rock is firm.
The waves in her life do not shake Him.
Rather than standing on her own, she stands on the Rock of Ages. Rather than becoming overwhelmed by her own inadequacy and depravity, she feels as though she can conquer the world. On the Rock, she is unstoppable.
It stands firm; unbothered, unmoved.
A smile plays at her lips as she thinks of her own life. She feels like waves are crashing against her, threatening to knock her down any second. She feels like she is swirling in a whirlpool of emotions, change and worry. She feels so small, so weak, so insignificant.
But her Rock is firm.
The waves in her life do not shake Him.
Rather than standing on her own, she stands on the Rock of Ages. Rather than becoming overwhelmed by her own inadequacy and depravity, she feels as though she can conquer the world. On the Rock, she is unstoppable.
"On Christ this solid Rock I stand,
all other ground is sinking sand,
all other ground is sinking sand."
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Over and out,
~Emily
June 9, 2012
~Object 55~ A Backpack
Backpacks used specifically for hiking usually end up being used the same way. They are filled with first aid and safety supplies, snacks and a good knife or two. The snacks come and go, being eaten on each hike and replaced for the next, the knife finds its way to pockets in between trips, but the rest stays, waiting for its turn. Items get added to this select group of unused things, but very seldom are they taken out.
Then, only every once in awhile, the bag's owner will decide they need to clean out the backpack. Out comes everything; the good, the bad and the ugly. After all trail mix remains have been gotten rid of, the safety supplies are carefully, or not so carefully, packed back into the pack.
She carried a backpack in her mind; packing things away, hoping they would stay. Experiences, frustrations, annoyances, conversations, dying dreams; these are the things she stores. They stay there for awhile, undisturbed and forgotten.
But then the fateful day comes, when all gets dumped from her mind's backpack. An explosion of emotions ensues. All the stress, anxiety, nervousness, fear; all the frustrations, temptations, failures from the past few months come pouring out. It doesn't happen often. She wished it didn't at all.
Backpacks are wonderful for carrying things, but the trouble is, we often forget to empty them quickly, and rather store old items for too long.
Some people are wonderful at emptying their feelings quickly; clearing them off of the table and getting them out of the picture. Talk it through, write it out, whatever the method, some people do this well. She hoards her feelings away. She shares the obvious things, but the more complicated struggles end up shoved into the back of her mind... forgotten until later. Rather than unpacking one item at a time, the whole load gets dumped at once. Things that had been long forgotten find their way to the surface and cause trouble all over again.
But when used correctly, backpacks can be beautiful. Store the items until the right time and then release it; lift it out gently and then let it go. One thing at a time. This takes tremendous discipline... but it would be worth it, if attained.
Over and out,
Then, only every once in awhile, the bag's owner will decide they need to clean out the backpack. Out comes everything; the good, the bad and the ugly. After all trail mix remains have been gotten rid of, the safety supplies are carefully, or not so carefully, packed back into the pack.
She carried a backpack in her mind; packing things away, hoping they would stay. Experiences, frustrations, annoyances, conversations, dying dreams; these are the things she stores. They stay there for awhile, undisturbed and forgotten.
But then the fateful day comes, when all gets dumped from her mind's backpack. An explosion of emotions ensues. All the stress, anxiety, nervousness, fear; all the frustrations, temptations, failures from the past few months come pouring out. It doesn't happen often. She wished it didn't at all.
Backpacks are wonderful for carrying things, but the trouble is, we often forget to empty them quickly, and rather store old items for too long.
Some people are wonderful at emptying their feelings quickly; clearing them off of the table and getting them out of the picture. Talk it through, write it out, whatever the method, some people do this well. She hoards her feelings away. She shares the obvious things, but the more complicated struggles end up shoved into the back of her mind... forgotten until later. Rather than unpacking one item at a time, the whole load gets dumped at once. Things that had been long forgotten find their way to the surface and cause trouble all over again.
But when used correctly, backpacks can be beautiful. Store the items until the right time and then release it; lift it out gently and then let it go. One thing at a time. This takes tremendous discipline... but it would be worth it, if attained.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. Originally I had not planned on filling this blog with analogies... But that seems to be what it has become. I hope that's not a bad thing. I hope you're all doing well! Blessings!
June 8, 2012
~Object 54~ A Door
In her dream she found herself in a dimly lit corridor, the walls lined with closed doors. She knew she was meant to go through one of them, but she did not know which. Many seemed to be locked, but she could not be sure. She stood for what felt like hours, petrified of trying a door and finding it bolted. Her subconscious self told her she had nothing to lose, but she could not bring herself to move.
Which door? She was scared to knock; scared to be turned away; scared to have to start over again.
In her dream, she walked toward the first, but her sight blurred and distorted it, until the door looked as though it meant to eat her. Horrified, she jumped back to the middle, where she had started. Shaking, she looked about her at each of the doors. Finally, she persuaded herself to try one. Seeing the most beautiful door, gilded and majestic, she made her way to it and tried the knocker. Silence. She knocked again, this time harder and longer, but to no avail. Frantically, she tried the handle. It did not budge.
Back to the middle she went, scared more than ever to try a new door. Why are you scared? She asked herself, they are just doors, what harm can knocking do? But other voices were speaking to her, as well; dark, accusatory voices in her head.
"You are a failure."
"You'll never open the right door."
"If you do get one open, you'll get lost."
"You won't make it far at all."
"You're letting everybody down."
"What, are you going to quit?"
"Are you afraid of the doors?"
"No!" She screamed, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. Sinking to the floor, tears streamed down her face. "I can't do it... I am a failure; it's true."
"My child."
She jumped. This voice was different. This voice did not accuse; it comforted.
"Who's there?"
"Have you forgotten Me so?"
"Master? Is that you? Are you here?"
"Yes, dear one, it is I. I have been here all along, have you not noticed?"
"Master, I'm scared. I don't know which door is right. I'm scared of failing. I'm-"
"Have you tried knocking?"
"Well, I tried one door..."
"And no more?"
"No."
"What can you lose in knocking?"
"Well, what if they don't open?"
"Then you are right back where you began; you will have lost nothing."
"Master, will you help me?"
"Always, my precious child."
In her dream she tried door after door. He walked with her, every step, and His soothing words and gentle smile pushed her on. Door after door was locked, but one, the simplest looking door, opened easily.
"What am I to do, Master?"
"Walk through, and keep walking."
In her dream she walked through the door, and found herself in a mystical forest. She had never seen things like those she saw then. The beauty took her breath away. For a moment she forgot His command, but after she had looked around it came back to her. "And keep walking."
In her dream she found her way to a narrow path, dark and winding. She walked for what felt like a mile or two and then found a door. She knocked and it opened, and she found herself in a dimly lit corridor, the walls lined with closed doors.
Over and out,
~Emily
Which door? She was scared to knock; scared to be turned away; scared to have to start over again.
In her dream, she walked toward the first, but her sight blurred and distorted it, until the door looked as though it meant to eat her. Horrified, she jumped back to the middle, where she had started. Shaking, she looked about her at each of the doors. Finally, she persuaded herself to try one. Seeing the most beautiful door, gilded and majestic, she made her way to it and tried the knocker. Silence. She knocked again, this time harder and longer, but to no avail. Frantically, she tried the handle. It did not budge.
Back to the middle she went, scared more than ever to try a new door. Why are you scared? She asked herself, they are just doors, what harm can knocking do? But other voices were speaking to her, as well; dark, accusatory voices in her head.
"You are a failure."
"You'll never open the right door."
"If you do get one open, you'll get lost."
"You won't make it far at all."
"You're letting everybody down."
"What, are you going to quit?"
"Are you afraid of the doors?"
"No!" She screamed, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. Sinking to the floor, tears streamed down her face. "I can't do it... I am a failure; it's true."
"My child."
She jumped. This voice was different. This voice did not accuse; it comforted.
"Who's there?"
"Have you forgotten Me so?"
"Master? Is that you? Are you here?"
"Yes, dear one, it is I. I have been here all along, have you not noticed?"
"Master, I'm scared. I don't know which door is right. I'm scared of failing. I'm-"
"Have you tried knocking?"
"Well, I tried one door..."
"And no more?"
"No."
"What can you lose in knocking?"
"Well, what if they don't open?"
"Then you are right back where you began; you will have lost nothing."
"Master, will you help me?"
"Always, my precious child."
In her dream she tried door after door. He walked with her, every step, and His soothing words and gentle smile pushed her on. Door after door was locked, but one, the simplest looking door, opened easily.
"What am I to do, Master?"
"Walk through, and keep walking."
In her dream she walked through the door, and found herself in a mystical forest. She had never seen things like those she saw then. The beauty took her breath away. For a moment she forgot His command, but after she had looked around it came back to her. "And keep walking."
In her dream she found her way to a narrow path, dark and winding. She walked for what felt like a mile or two and then found a door. She knocked and it opened, and she found herself in a dimly lit corridor, the walls lined with closed doors.
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~Emily
June 7, 2012
~Object 53~ A Window Screen
She woke up early that morning. Feeling wide awake she glanced at the clock and was shocked when she saw the little hand on the five. Oh well. She sat there for a moment and was stunned. It had been a warm night and she had left the window open, right by her head. She now heard thousands and thousands of birds. Each song was so unique and stood apart from the rest. She heard one song stop, and another would take up the tune. She sat there for nearly an hour, listening. She was so very glad she had left the window open, and that the sound had woken her up. She looked and saw only the sun beginning to make its way over the mountains; there were no birds in sight.
Where were they all?
She got into bed late that night. It was hot, and she was sweaty, tired and grumpy. She turned her back to the rest of the room, facing the window. Trying to wind her mind down, she glanced out at the trees. Instead she saw bat after bat after bat flying around, eating mosquitoes, calling to one another, landing, and repeating the process. She lay there in awe. One swooped right by her, only the screen and an inch or two separating her, only the screen causing her not to jump. She smiled, watching them for some time, wondering why she had never noticed them before.
It was the only thing separating her from it all.
We live so close to so much wonder; it's right at our fingertips. Why is it that we keep our windows shut, and miss all of this? Not just physical windows, but mental ones. Why is it that we walk by such unexplainable beauty each day and don't even stop to notice?
She does the same thing. She gets frustrated at how mundane life can seem at times, but when she stops to enjoy God's beautiful creation, when she opens her window and looks through the screen, she realizes that she doesn't live in a mundane world: she leads a mundane life in a beautiful world.
She's the one to blame. She's the one closing her windows because it's cold, or hot, or she doesn't have time to take in the beauty around her, or any other excuse she can think of.
When she opens her windows, though, and allows only the screen to separate herself from everything, she ends up in awe of the beauty surrounding her.
Over and out,
Where were they all?
She got into bed late that night. It was hot, and she was sweaty, tired and grumpy. She turned her back to the rest of the room, facing the window. Trying to wind her mind down, she glanced out at the trees. Instead she saw bat after bat after bat flying around, eating mosquitoes, calling to one another, landing, and repeating the process. She lay there in awe. One swooped right by her, only the screen and an inch or two separating her, only the screen causing her not to jump. She smiled, watching them for some time, wondering why she had never noticed them before.
It was the only thing separating her from it all.
We live so close to so much wonder; it's right at our fingertips. Why is it that we keep our windows shut, and miss all of this? Not just physical windows, but mental ones. Why is it that we walk by such unexplainable beauty each day and don't even stop to notice?
She does the same thing. She gets frustrated at how mundane life can seem at times, but when she stops to enjoy God's beautiful creation, when she opens her window and looks through the screen, she realizes that she doesn't live in a mundane world: she leads a mundane life in a beautiful world.
She's the one to blame. She's the one closing her windows because it's cold, or hot, or she doesn't have time to take in the beauty around her, or any other excuse she can think of.
When she opens her windows, though, and allows only the screen to separate herself from everything, she ends up in awe of the beauty surrounding her.
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~Emily
P.S. I'm pretty sure I broke my right pinkie today...Typing is quite the adventure right now... =P
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