~Object 16~ A Mirror

Mirrors tend to take either too much of her attention, or she shies away from them.  She spends far too much time in front of the silly pieces of glass each morning, only to be disappointed and grumble about the results.  Sitting in front of a mirror is one of the easiest places to be critical.  She sees every flaw, every imperfection and her self-consciousness grows by the second.  She looks into the mirror and all she can see is a girl who is not as pretty as so-and-so, or who's hair will not cooperate like that other girl's.

Sitting in front of the mirror is one of the easiest places to be critical of God.  She looks at her reflection and somehow thinks she could have done better, were she the artist.  Whether she would verbalize these thoughts or not, whether she would even admit to thinking them to herself, this is what criticizing one's appearance is.

Her perspective must change.  Rather than becoming vain and praising herself for the reflection she sees, rather than condemning it and spewing out her disgust, she must remember that God created her exactly how she is, for a purpose.  She has no reason to become vain, for she did not design her features, and she has no reason to dislike her appearance, for the King of the Universe, her Savior, designed every hair on her head, every freckle across her nose.

Mirrors ought not be attention thieves.  Mirrors ought not be critical judges or cruel reminders.  Rather, they ought to point us to the King, the Painter of the masterpieces that each of us are.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 15~ A Coin

She tosses a small coin in her hand, watching as the light catches its edge.  The face of a noble man is on one side, a torch on the other.  This is nothing peculiar.

She wonders, though, how many hands have held this single coin.  How many items have been purchased with it?  How many banks have held it?  How many children have bought candy with it?

She is sure it has found its way into many a lady's purse, many a gentleman's pocket.  Certainly a piggy bank or two has housed it and undoubtedly a handful of mothers have shrieked and frantically pulled it from their babies mouths.

She sighs as she realizes that the coin she holds has seen more of her country than she has, and its journey has only just begun.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  I'm going to be out of town for a little over a week.  I'll try to keep posting every day, but if I can't, I apologize in advance.  I did pledge, though, to write about something every day, and I will continue to do that, whether I'm able to post or not.  Blessings!

~Object 14~ An Eraser

She scribbled a sentence or two in her journal and then noticed that she has misspelled a word, and used inappropriate punctuation once or twice.  Taking her eraser she quickly rubbed the offending spots and rewrote them.  Noticing just what she had just done, she sat back in wonder.

The small piece of pink rubber fits into her hand perfectly.  Only an inch or two in length, it is easy to overlook this small tool, but it's worth cannot be valued highly enough.  To have the ability to write or draw something and then take it back, redo it, hit the, 'rewind,' button; this is truly a gift.

She wished all of life was like this.  She remembered back to the many biting words she has uttered; the dozens of times when she ought to have done something, but she failed to act.  How different our lives would be if we each held an eraser with which we could take hurtful things back.

Our lives are somewhat like big pads of paper that we have covered in scribbles and misspelled sentences.  We don't have the eraser, though.  We are stuck with the choices we have made, each one leaving a black mark on the paper.  Jesus has the eraser though; He is the eraser.  He is the only one who can wipe away every one of those marks, making our paper pure and white.

She saw just a small sketch of this masterpiece as she held her eraser, turned back time, and started fresh.

Source

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 13~ Nail-Polish

Each girl has the opportunity to show her unique style and mood in many ways.  She is given perhaps the most freedom, though, in her choice of nail-polish.  Clothing, hair, piercings, shoes, they all have many rules that young women ought listen to.  Nails, however, are different.  No one is ever shocked to see zebra print or polka dots on finger nails, and women are given even more of a loose rain with their toes.

During the winter toe nails are generally rather boring, but spring comes around and girls frantically start painting away, begging summer to start.  Flip-flops are purchased (although the rambler avoids these vehemently... however, that is another story for another day) and polish collections grow by leaps and bounds.  Suddenly the idea of trapping feet inside tennis shoes seems nearly criminal, and girls use every chance they get to show off their brightly colored toes.

Green, purple, orange, yellow, pink, nothing is off limits.  Stripes, plaid, animals, favorite team colors, glitter, sequins and jewels are all utilized.  Never mind the dreadful smell.  Never mind the hassle it is for right handed girls to paint their right hand's nails, certain things just make summer seem closer, and nail-polish is one of those things.

Happy spring!

Source

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 12~ A Masquerade Mask

The gowns were lovely, the suits quite dashing, the music just right.  None of these elements, though, compared to the masks.  Each unique and so very mysterious, masks hid each face around the large room.  Young ladies peeked shyly from behind their disguise, self conscious about their face piece after seeing the others.

Each girl remembered back to the decorating party not long before.  Simple white masks had been torn apart, painted and reconstructed until no one could guess their humble beginnings.  On the big day, though, there was no trace of drabness remaining, and only glitter, feathers, sequins, bright colored paint and lace trimmings were present.

Many of the attendees removed their masks after only a dance or two, noticing that not only was their vision slightly impaired when wearing them, but also that their faces were red and hot from the confinement.  Hours of hard work, all for two dances.  Such a shame.

Now the masks sit on shelves or in drawers, collecting dust and holding memories, such sweet memories.

Mask and Photo by Jennifer Cassaro

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 11~ A Pen

A thought comes to her mind, and her family watches as she scampers around the house, trying to find a pen.  Finally, she finds what she set out for and words flow from her hand with ease.  Pens seem to fit her hand perfectly, and she feels at home holding one.  Its slender shape and sharp point used to bore her, but now a chill runs down her spine when she sees one.


A pen.

Thoughts that do not make sense while they are trapped in her mind untangle themselves when the pen hits the page.  Prayers, hopes, dreams, hurts, fears and realities all makes their way to a page somewhere and in order to do this a pen must be present.  Pencils might do in a pinch, but they seem dreadfully vague, and a pen is so clear, so resolute.

Writers are each uniquely particular about their writing instrument.  Some spend scads on the perfect pen, while others prefer a plain, ordinary, everyday instrument.  Some risk the possibility of being caught with an idea and no way to record it by leaving the house without their precious utensil, while others would never be so daring.

A pen might seem like a simple, little tool, but it is the way a writer catalogs thoughts and feelings.  A pen is almost part of the writer, and they feel vulnerable without it.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 10~ A Mailbox

A little house sits on a pole near the street.  The house's purpose is to protect precious words from the elements.  A word protector.  This job is easily watered down and taken for granted, but words are powerful things and deserve protection.  It bears its small red flag with pride, notifying the mail carrier of its valuable contents.  Numbers are written across its door and letters that make up a family name are also to be found.

Mailboxes are hopeful things.  Much of the time they bring disappointment in the abundance of bills and advertisements, but every once in a while they bring treasures from far off places: letters from loved ones, post cards from across the world, and best of all: little packages.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 9~ A Clock

Ever present, ever ticking, there hangs the clock.  Monotonous in its beat, one might think it would be a soothing sound, but it is not.  We look at clocks and see our lives slipping through our fingers.  Seconds, minutes and hours pass so very quickly, never to be retrieved, and a clock is a constant reminder of this.

But how ought we look at clocks?  Should a reminder of our quickly departing lives really be such a bad thing?  How different our lives might look if we instead view clocks with wonder and excitement.  Every departing moment brings us that much closer to meeting our King.  Every passing hour on the clock is one precious hour closer to glory.

Now, rather than looking at clocks in bitterness, let us enjoy the reminder that clocks are to us, and let us use each of our precious, irretrievable moments to glorify God, so that none is wasted.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  Sorry I wrote so late today, I worked all day and had a meeting this evening... 

~Object 8~ A Wood-stove

She woke up to the buzzing of her alarm and glanced out the window.  Yesterday, which had been so glorious, was a memory and now snow was falling from the heavens.  She wished to snuggle deeper into her blankets, but she knew that work must be done, so she threw the covers back and tiptoed down the stairs.

She found her mother trying to start a fire in the wood-stove.  Yesterday had not required a fire, so a blaze took more coaxing this morning.  Two attempts.  Three attempts.  Still the box was black, and cold.  Finally, much later than it ought to have, the wood caught and warmth slowly started to pour into the room.

Even though her house contains one, a wood-stove brings feelings of nostalgia to the rambler.  She remembers her family's first wood-stove, when they lived in a cabin in the forest.  She thought back to her many failed attempts when she was learning to start a fire.  Memories of wood-cutting trips, and stacking parties fill her mind and she sighs.

Then there was the other house.  Much different from the cabin, but it, too, holds memories of hot cocoa or tea around a wood-stove.

And now this home contains a lovely stove as well.  The smell of wood heat fills the rooms and one can hear the metal complaining as someone opens the door to add a piece or two on sweet smelling wood.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 7~ A Blanket

Yesterday was cold.  She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and curled up as tightly as she could, hoping the blanket's warmth would penetrate the ice in her bones.  The soft texture eventually warmed her, and she relaxed a bit, but not enough to let go of the cloth.  

Today, though, is quite warm.  She made herself lunch, snatched up the blanket and ate on the lawn outside; her own little picnic.  The blanket guarded her from the moist earth, and provided a soft place to lay her head as she dozed in the sun.

She remembered back when she was little and a blanket was more than a piece of fabric.  It used to be a magic carpet, a tent or a hobo's pack.  It used to be a Princess's cape or a fairy godmother's wings.  Blankets used to hold so many possibilities, so many adventures.  Now blankets hold memories, and she remembered those days as she picked up her blanket, came inside and started to write.

Source

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  A big thanks to the readers who gave me object ideas yesterday, you are all so creative!

~Object 6~ A Candle

The flicker of a candle lit her notebook, as she wrote a song.  The power had been out for a few hours and candles sat atop shelves in each room.  The smell of aromatic wax filled the house and the quiet chatting around a table of cards could be heard below.

But for the rambler the candles only brought inspiration, and so she hid in her room, paper and pen in hand as she jotted down a lullaby.  She lit another candle and set it upon her desk, drinking in the old-world vibe.

There is something about the feel of candles that one cannot help but love.  Something deep down in each of us loves feeling old-fashioned, and when all of the lights are out and only candles illuminate our homes that something deep down comes alive and speaks to us.

And so she finished her song, blew out the candle and fell asleep to the voice deep within, the voice now awake.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  It's getting more difficult to think of objects already.  Do you have an idea?  Contact me!

~Object 5~ A Telephone

Behold the wonder: a girl sits on her bed in her room, talking with a friend who is sitting on her bed in her room  thirty minutes north.  The humble device is so easy to take for granted, for we remember no time without it, but just stop and consider the miracle that the telephone is.  To have the ability to hear the voice of a person on the other side of the world as clearly as if they were sitting right next to you.

The girl had been feeling lonely, but without having to leave her house she discussed everything that had been on her heart for the past few weeks, all because of this beautiful machine.

It takes one's voice, sends it up to something, and down into another's ear.  A thousand years ago people might have laughed at the idea.  It's no wonder some people were scared of telephones when they were first used in houses.

Rather than just picking it up next time, try to really contemplate what you are doing, what a blessing that simple little object in your hand is...and enjoy it.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  Any ideas for "objects?"  I'd love to hear them!  Please contact me!

~Object 4~ A Cookie Jar

A glass puppy sits on the shelf above a kitchen sink.  Rather large in size, it certainly piques the interest of the unaware, but for the, "insider," it conjures up numerous imaginings. 

 The cookie jar is generations old, red and blue plaid, with black eyes.  Cookies left it vacant long ago, and its soul purpose now is simply to be.  The rambler imagines that her grandfather used to sneak cookies from this jar, as it belonged to his mother.  She can almost see his feigned innocence as he tried to hide a handful of cookies behind his back.  But now it sits quietly, smiling at anyone who happens to wash their hands.

It is not costly in a physical way, but rather it is made valuable by the recollections which it holds.  So now it rests on its perch, holding memories rather than the precious cargo it once harbored.

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 3~ A Window

Many windows line the walls of this big house.  Small and large, looking upon trees, flowers, a field.  This particular window is ample in size, with ruffled curtains framing it, and streaks of condensation remain from the night before.  It looks on a large green lawn just below and to the right, and to the left a park-like garden.  Out of the corner one can barely see the large lilacs, and off in the other direction you might catch a glimpse of a small deck, though cedar branches hide the bulk of it from view.  Mountains off in the distance are freshly powdered in snow and you can only just perceive a road through the trees.  A strong wind blows the tall trees back and forth and the clouds are starting to part, revealing the pale blue sky.

This is the writing window.  During the winter it held little inspiration, but now that spring is coming the rambler sits at this window often, writing and pondering.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 2~ A Dictionary

A Dictionary with frayed edges sits on a shelf.  Its dark green color is faded in some areas, stained in others.  The binding is near its end and the back cover recently freed itself altogether.  Gold letters along the edge of this book's pages guide its reader to the spot of their choosing.  The faint words, "Webster's Approved Dictionary," are to be found on its outside, but inside is where the treasure is to be unearthed.

Pages and pages filled with words.  No plot or conversation to follow, simply one word after another after another.  Ink stains and crayon marks are to be discovered from time to time, blocking a word here or there.  Favorite words are underlined, and corners of pages are folded to mark some handler's spot.  Occasionally a loose leaf is to be found, but none of this detracts from the beauty and wisdom to be found in this humble volume.

Over and Out,

~Emily

~Object 1~ A Teacup

A simple teacup, sitting on a desk in front of a window.  The rain had stopped for a moment and the sunlight shone through a break in the clouds, illuminating the rim of the cup.  The delicate, curving handle beckoned the caressing of a finger or two and the simple pattern of blue flowers seemed to beg to be filled with warm nectar. It's size, though it would seem dwarfed if held by a man, was the perfect fit for a lady's hand and so there it rested, with a lipstick stain along the edge.

Though an inanimate object, the teacup seemed to comfort its handler.  Thin fingers ran back and forth along the base and stress seemed to evaporate almost instantly.

Over and out,

~Emily