Brief Break

Hello lovelies,

I'm taking a brief break from this blog, while I prepare for and compete in another Speech Tournament.  I should be able to post again on May 7th, as I believe I should be home again the night of the 6th.  It would be wonderful if you would keep this tournament and everyone involved in it in your prayers.

Blessings to you all!

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 37~ A Tear

Tears can tell so very many different stories...

She was angry.  Tears streamed down her face despite the fierce battle she fought against them.  She was angry with herself for giving in to anger.  Now she really was in the wrong; she had responded wrongly and had made things far worse than they had to be.  She had messed up and she was angry that she had let herself.  Oh, she was so angry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His fingers shake as he runs them through his hair.  Inconsolable sorrow, sobs rack his large frame.  He reaches for her hand but she pulls it away and he doesn't try again.  No person should have to feel this pain, no person should go through this.  He had always been the strong one, the one people would go to when they needed comfort, and now there he was, the one needing comforting.  It was a foreign feeling for him and he hated it.  He hated that he felt so helpless; he hated that everything was out of his control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She could not explain the kind of joy she felt in that moment.  Waiting for something she had always dreamed of, and knowing that it was about to happen.  She choked back tears as they started to walk and held onto his arm all the tighter.  She caught his eye and her squeezed her hand as he led her down the isle on his arm.

Source

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily 

~Object 36~ A Camera

"Okay, I'll take one more... Well, one more burst, anyway."

*click* *click* *click* *click* *click*

"Perfect."

All day long the shutter captured pose after pose, location after location, smile after smile.  Turning this way and that the photographer climbed on a ladder, knelt on the ground, walked on the roof, trudged through a horse pasture and ran around in the middle of the street, all to capture that one shot or that great lighting.

Always, though, was the constant sound of the shutter.

*click* *click* *click* *click* *click*

Photo after photo showed up on the little screen,
"Oh, I like this one," he'd say, or,
"Haha!  This is the one where I forgot to adjust it after we came out of the coffee shop." or,
"Hang on, I'm just gonna go grab the other lens."

Somehow he was able to capture, with his little machine, exactly what she had been hoping for in photos.  Sure, they're just photos, and she knows that in the grand scheme of things, there are much more important things in life, but she never ceases to marvel at the capturing of a moment.  A moment in time frozen forever, for us to look back on.  That is what photography is all about.  It's an art, most definitely, using a camera is one thing, using it well is another.  But the main theme, the goal, she thinks at least, ought not be making it look snazzy, but to capture the feel of that moment, that breath of air, that flower's scent, that rippling laugh.

*click* *click* *click* *click* *click*

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 35~ A Math book

A Math book can be so very frustrating.  It wouldn't be so bad if math weren't used every day of our lives, but it is.  So she sits in front of the book, constantly irked that she must solve confusing problem after confusing problem, but knowing that it will come in handy someday.

She is nearly done with school.  Finally to stop solving problems in a book and move on to exclusively solving problems in life, that will be wonderful.

Source

Over and out,

Emily

~Object 34~ A Curry Comb

He was filthy.  He had just been moved from a mud filled, almost swamp like paddock area to a beautiful green field and needed a bath desperately, but that had to wait for tomorrow.  She couldn't resist scratching him, but she and her mother, sisters and trainer had a hard time finding a patch on him that wasn't completely caked with mud, so out came the curry combs.  Each girl took one, rubber, metal, plastic, and the five of them started working away.

Dust was flying and mud was falling off of him in large chunks as his coat became more and more visible.  Slowly his true beauty started to shine through all of the dust and they each smiled as they shook the dirt from their curry combs and wiped their hands on their jeans.

Even though he still needed a bath very badly, even though he was still covered in dust, even though his tail was matted and tangled, those curry combs had done a fine job, and he was starting to look quite handsome, indeed.

                      

Source

                      

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 33~ A Computer Keyboard

Cold black keys rise and fall.  Fingers typing frantically, as if time is running out.  Letters morph into words and grow still more.  Hopes, fears, dreams, rantings, silliness, frustrations, loves and swirling thoughts each make their way to her screen, through her fingers.

Although she prefers a pen, there are times when ideas are coming too quickly, and the fastest way to record them is through the keyboard.  Inspiration can be so dreadfully fleeting, and she hates to lose an idea.

It used to seem like a cruel tool.  She stared at the blank white page of a new document and she could never think of anything with which to fill its emptiness.  Now, though, this mechanism is growing in her affections, as she uses it more and more and it becomes more natural to type, rather than write.  She now looks at the keys as friends, rather than as little letter bearing taunters.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 32~ A Piece of Lumber

The possibilities are limitless for this simple piece of wood...

It could be a table, where a new wife blushes as her husband enthusiastically exclaims that 

the meal was perfect.  

It could be an office chair, where he was sitting when she told him the wonderful news.

It could be a crib, where a baby is sung to sleep by a tired mother.  

It could be a seesaw, where a five year old mischief maker laughs as she rises and falls again and again.  

It could be a barn, where a girl watches horses and dreams as she strokes their velvet noses.  

It could be an arena, where the girl wins her first trophy.  

It could be a porch, where a girl works on the last of her school-ever.

It could be a stage, where the girl wears a cap and gown and gives a speech.

It could be a desk, where she writes her dreams.

It could be a bed, where she curls up with a good book and coffee.

It could be a couch, where she sits talking with him.

It could be a bench, where they walk to now and then.

It could be a bridge, where he bends to one knee.

It could be a picnic table, where they make their plans.

It could be an arbor, where they stand as they say, 'I do."

It could be a table, where a new wife blushes as her husband enthusiastically exclaims that 

the meal was perfect.  

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 31~ Muffins

She woke up early today.  She had planned to set an alarm, but had forgotten last night.  God had it nicely under control, though, and she woke up when she had hoped to.  Making her way down the stairs, she headed for the kitchen.  In a slow, morning fashion she hunted through a cookbook until she found a satisfactory recipe and then unearthed each of the ingredients.

*crack*

The egg made its way into a large bowl, followed by lemon zest and juice, sugar and coconut.  Flour, baking soda and powder were mixed in another vessel and slowly muffin batter began to take shape.

She filled each of the muffin tins just over halfway and placed them in the oven.  After setting a timer she set to work on the stove top, creating a beautiful glaze for her muffins.  That was soon completed and she had time for a shower.  When she came back there they were, golden, fluffy and wonderfully aromatic.

Poking their surface with a fork she spooned the glaze over the top, allowing it time to saturate every inch of the muffins before taking her first bite.

These muffins were just another reminder that spring is here.  Citricy and filled with coconut, the flavors danced on her tongue, waking her up and giving her a readiness for the day.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 30~ Glasses

She places the glasses on her face and looks around.  It always takes her a little while to adjust to how clear everything is...well, almost everything.  While the words on a page seem to nearly pop out at her and distant signs become clear at last, there are some things, at certain distances, that almost seem to be foggier than ever.

She wonders if perhaps she ought to have said that the bottom right set of letters was clearer than the bottom left; maybe her prescription would have been better then, but she won't know until she gets her next pair.  One little thing isn't quite right with the lenses, and so much of what she looks at is distorted because of it.  She can see perfectly fine and her glasses still take away her migraines, but they're just not quite right.

Such is the case with life.  We should be looking at life through, "God's Purpose," lenses, but so often we let other things get in the way.  Even little, hardly noticeable things will end up distorting something, even if the rest of the picture is clear, there will be something that just isn't quite right.

When God, and His purpose, is in the forefront of our minds, when we are looking at life from the perspective that the Holy Spirit gives us, then everything becomes so crystal clear, but when we are getting in the way and we let other things take priority something will get a little foggy here, and a little hard to see there.

The beauty of glasses, and the frustration of them, actually, is that if the prescription is just right everything is amazing.  You go from seeing the world to seeing the world.  The problem is that because eyes are so very particular, if one little thing is wrong, the whole image is damaged.

Cosi e la vita.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  Dreadfully sorry that I didn't post yesterday!  I realized at about 11:30 last night, when I was in the shower, actually, that I hadn't written anything.  I quickly wrote a couple of paragraphs about an object just before the clock struck midnight, but I didn't have a chance to edit it and post.  So sorry about that.  Also, I thought you might like to hear that my stomach felt totally normal today (actually, that's probably just me being vain and thinking that someone out in cyberspace might care...but you probably really don't...)!  I had a lovely time catching up with a dear friend and I didn't spend the whole day curled up in a ball watching Sherlock, so that was quite the improvement over the past couple of days.  Thank you all so much for your prayers!  Blessings!

~Object 29~ A Stomach

A stomach is one of those things you don't notice unless something is wrong, or you are mistreating it.  If you are noticeably hungry, you should have eaten sooner.  If you are noticably full, you ought to have eaten less, or more slowly.  If you notice your stomach for any other reason, well, you're either sick or should have chosen something else for dinner.

Today she feels sick, but she knows she's not.  Her stomach, or whatever is actually causing this problem, is giving her sharp pain, mainly when she stands up, but also when she moves suddenly.  She's wondering if perhaps she might have a food allergy or intollerance, but whatever it is, she's sick of it.

It doesn't happen too dreadfully often, but now that she thinks about it, maybe it does.  It's not usually this bad, but it does happen about once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less.

She hates that she spent most of the day in bed and she wasn't even truly ill, but what could she do, really?  You know, she really must figure out what the problem is and take care of it, because there is so much work to be done and she doens't need an extra excuse not to do it.

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S. Prayer would be much appreciated; I'm in a good deal of pain right now.  I would love to not be allergic to anything, but if cutting something out of my diet would make this stop, I'm willing.  Sorry for the poor quality of this post; I was so tempted not to write today, but I felt sort of guilty... Blessings to you all!

~Object 28~ Hair

Why is hair such a big deal to girls?  Why must it always be just so?  Why was she almost at the point of tears when she cut her hair and it came out too short?

There she sits, in her room alone, with a lump in her throat the size of Texas, all because she cut her hair too short.  She hadn't planned it that way...but after the first cut was made there was no going back.  She remembered how just yesterday she had learned how to do a fishtail braid, and how much she loved it.  She remembered how she had finally been enjoying long hair.

It now sits just below her shoulders and is too short for many of her new favorite looks...but really, what's in a mane?  Children are dying all over the world, millions of people are living in slavery right this minute, and she's feeling sorry because her hair is too short?  Really?

She felt her face grow hot as she considered her own vanity and silliness.  She got a lovely call from a dear friend and after a good while she determined that her disappointment in her new, "do," was due to her vanity.  When she really stopped and thought about it she realized that she had been growing vain about her hair.  Maybe this was God telling her to stop praising herself for her, "fine locks."

How many times she sat nearly in hysterics because of her unruly, uncooperative hair, and today she sits saddened that most of it is gone.  Oh, such silly creatures we are!

And you know what?  God has a lovely sense of humor.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  Sorry, guys, I should have written a more descriptive post about the object of hair, but I really just needed to vent and guilt trip myself about my vanity and this seemed like a fine place to do that...haha.  Love you all!  

~Object 27~ A Pair of Boots

Covered in mud, filled with straw and reeking with the glorious scent of horse; these boots were well loved.  They were uncomfortable at first, but by the time they had finished serving their purpose they fit almost like a second skin.

She remembers walking into the tack store and trying them on; her first pair of riding boots.  She paid for them with her own money, more than she had ever spent on a pair of shoes before, and she distinctly remembers walking out of the store with the bright yellow box, grinning from ear to ear.

How long ago that was!  Those boots served her well, and shared many an adventure with her.  She remembers how badly they would pinch her ankles if she was riding English without half-chaps, and she remembers how long it always took to lace them up; her trainer had to wait often for her to finish.

Finally, they decided that they were done, and so she parted with them and found a new pair, but those first boots will always be the best.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 26~ A Fence

Stakes, separated by the space of about fifteen feet, run alongside the entire length of the garden.  Put there to keep animals out, this fence's purpose is the opposite of the field's fence, which was put there to keep animals in.  They each accomplish their contradictory assignments quite well, and everyone is happy.  

A small, brown bird flits from one fence post to the next, cocking its head as it lands, listening for something.  Satisfied, it flies off on some unknown mission.

A creeping plant makes its way up the wire, decorating the otherwise ordinary barricade.  Someday, in the warm months to come, people will admire its blossoms, but for now its small, slender vine will do.

The rambler, though, is not thinking of a physical fence, but rather the fences that we each have around different parts of our lives, our hearts.  She considers the fences she knows are guarding her hopes, her dreams.  It is seldom that she opens the gate around this part of her life, and allows someone to view where she hopes to be in ten years.  These fences are probably to be kept up for now, and are to be valued.

Other fences, though, are abundant in the life of the rambler.  When she becomes irritated with another, a fence goes up, and her lips get pressed into a tight line.  The few words that escape are uttered in a barbed wire tone that cuts far worse than the silence, and the fence only grows taller.

Something she is slowly learning about fences is that they are much harder to take down than they are to build.    How hard it is to smile again after the librarian expression has been adopted; how hard to say something softly when she has allowed a biting word to escape.

As with pulling up a t-post, pulling down emotional barriers is a painful, sometimes slow-going process that she tries to avoid...but it is also necessary.  It is difficult to work around unwanted fences, and the same goes for those around her heart.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 25~ A Lamp

She walked along the dark hallway, knowing that nothing was there, but fearing the nonexistent monsters all the same.  She quickened her pace but, finally, her silly, childish fear took over and a chill ran up and down her spine.  She lunged for the door handle and threw it open in a frenzy.  Running across her room she leapt onto her bed and lunged for the lamp, quickly turning it on.  She now sat in the light, shivering and laughing at herself.

The odd fear that had been so strong only seconds before had now entirely evaporated, and she sat there panting, mocking herself for her silliness.  What was it she had been afraid of?  She couldn't remember, now that the light was on everything was different.

A delicious glow filled her room and she smiled as she curled up in her blankets.  She glanced at the lamp on her bedside table and imagined that she would probably have been hiding under a heap of covers were it not for the simple lamp.  How funny we are sometimes.

She took no comforting, no, "it's nothing; you'll be fine!" just a lamp, nothing more.  With the turn of a small nob all of her unfounded fear dissipated and all was well...simply because of the light under a pretty shade.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  Thanks so much to everyone who has suggested objects.  You are all much more creative than I am and I am so grateful to you!  

~Object 24~ Stairs

He made his way up the stairs slowly.  One, two, three...thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.  He counted all the way.  He was tired and wished he had taken the elevator, but he didn't have time to wait for it.  A long day at work had drained him of his desire to bound up the stairs, two or three at a time, and it was now all that he could do not to curse the many steps.  But as he slowly made his way to the top, his thoughts cleared.  By the time he reached the top he was quite glad that the elevator hadn't been an option.  There was something about climbing stairs that made him think, every time.

He smiled as he stepped off of the last step, now ready to conquer the world, to face any challenges that may come his way.

---------------

She took them two at a time.  She knew them so well.  There were fourteen of them; she knew this.  The hall light had been turned off hours ago and it was pitch black, but she didn't need the light to know where she ought to place her foot next.  There would be a pile of things that someone should have put away on the left hand side, so she walked on the right.  She avoided the top two steps because they creaked too loudly, and her siblings were asleep.  As soon as she reached the top she remembered that she had left something downstairs...and so down she went, again.  This always seemed to happen, but she didn't mind.  She had some work to do before she would let herself sleep, so she sat on the top step with her computer and a mug full of forgotten tea, slowly becoming lukewarm.

She could have sat on the couch downstairs, and nobody would have minded, but she liked sitting on the stairs, they made her think better.  Her brain seemed to come alive when she was sitting there, and words flew from her fingers faster, as she typed.

Finally she was finished and she tiptoed to the kitchen to return the mug.  Dumping the tea down the drain, she rinsed the cup out and mounted the stairs, two at a time.  She smiled as she skipped the last two and made her way to bed.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 23~ A Popsicle

Yes, it is still spring; she knows full well what season it is.  She knew that it was winter a few months ago, but that didn't stop her, either.  There are just some times in life when you need a good popsicle, and those times do not yield to the seasons.

Its oblong conformation, its frozen sheen simply begs to be eaten.  The bright colors and cheerful packaging are so enticing, how exactly does one resist?

She is rather a connoisseur, as with many other things, but it is seldom that she will actually turn down this frozen delicacy.

She made her way to the freezer and unearthed a lovely treat.  This was soon gone and she quietly made her way back for a second...and now she laughs that she actually wasn't satisfied with that and she also partook of a third little frozen bit of joy.  Sadly this is not a rare treat for her, but rather she goes into withdrawals when the freezer is bare.

She is somewhat particular in her method of feasting upon popsicles.  She takes a deep breath and breaths on it.  See, they are generally too hard and give her brain-freeze if she bites into them too quickly, so this is rather an important part of the process.  The rest isn't too unique, but that first step is quite necessary.

Yes, this is one of her favorite treats, and yes, she is nearly as addicted to these as she is to chocolate, and yes, she is going to go eat one now...

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  So sorry that I was unable to post yesterday.  I was gone all day and then I spent the night at a friend's house.  I did write about an object, and I'll be sure to post it sometime soon. Blessings!

~Object 22~ An Empty Tomb

Mary walked there long ago, shivering in the cold darkness.  She could hardly believe that He was gone.  They had all thought that He would overthrow the Romans and rule as King...but then He died.  He hadn't even stood up for Himself or tried to stop them, not even once.  And the words He had spoken!  "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."  Tears fell as she remembered His words.  "Forgive them?"  She was struggling right now with this very thing.  She knew that He had forgiven them, she knew that He would want her to do the same, but how could she?  All she could think of was the sorrow in His eyes as He hung there, humiliated and dying in the presence of those He loved.

She reached the garden and cried out.  After all they had done, would they deny Him the right to rest in peace?  After killing their teacher would they not even allow them to visit Him?  The boulder was moved, and the tomb open.  Angry she ran to the entrance and saw that He was, indeed, gone.  Why?  Why would someone do this?

Then it hit her, the others didn't know.  She ran to them and told Simon-Peter and John what she had seen. "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid Him."  She saw in their eyes that they were as angry as she was as they went together to the tomb, the empty tomb.  John reached it first and stood in the doorway, confusion and disgust written on his face.  Peter and Mary then came and she watched as Peter ran inside.  John followed him in and they stood there together, grown men crying at the sight of the wraps which had clothed Jesus.  They left her alone then, as they walked back, distraught.

She stood outside, weeping alone.  About to leave she took one last glimpse into the dark place and started back in surprise.  There were men, two of them, shining and glorious, sitting where Jesus had lain.
"Woman, why are you weeping?"  They asked her gently.
"They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him."
She turned to go, but was met by a third man who asked the same question of her.
Thinking He was a gardener she frantically answered Him, "Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away!"
Just one word left His lips and she knew it was He, "Mary."
"Rabboni!"

Mary walked there long ago, shivering in the cold darkness.  She was met with an empty grave and anger filled her being.  She left filled with joy, now understanding the beauty of the empty tomb.

He is risen!

Source

A blessed Resurrection Sunday to you all!

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S. All scripture quotations taken from the English Standard Version Bible, Luke 23:34 and John chapter 20

~Object 21~ A Chocolate Bar

*Crack*

She knew the sound too well.  The sweet, intoxicating crack of a piece being broken from a chocolate bar.  Her mouth watered at the thought.  Perhaps her love for chocolate was a bit out of hand, but honestly, who can blame her?

The beauty of chocolate is that it not only tastes like a bite of heaven but it has actually has been proven to lessen pain, stress and feelings of depression.  This, "food of the gods," actually releases neurotransmitters into your brain which tell you to be happy!  Chocolate is one of the few foods that has such power on the human brain, perhaps that is part of why chocolate is also one of the most loved foods of all time.


*Crack*


She broke a piece from a halfway eaten bar and savored it, allowing it to take its time melting in her mouth, slowly feeling a smile play at her lips as she finished her bite.   

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  Green and Black's is a personal favorite of mine, sinfully good, and Fair Trade, as well!

~Object 20~ A Wheelbarrow

It seemed that she was always tired these days.  She awoke each day, made her way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and then worked on school.  Not an hour after she woke up every day she wished she could sleep again.  Every day this happened, and today was no different.  She typed up some changes to a speech, read a theology book and ate far too much chocolate, but she always seemed bogged down by this never-ending sleepiness.

Then she was ordered outside.  Her mother demanded that some work be done and some fresh air drank in.  So she made her way to the field and, grumbling, picked up a hay fork, and started filling the wheelbarrow with straw.  With each fork full she gained strength and energy, and each time the wheelbarrow was filled again she felt an exuberance that made her break out in song.  Spring was here and there was much work to be done, but there was so much joy to be had, as well.

Five loads, maybe six, maybe seven, she isn't quite sure.  She filled it again and again and again and with each load her stress melted away; with each load her own load felt lighter.  She hadn't thought that filling a wheelbarrow with moldy straw would help anything in the least, but in the end she had to admit that her mother had been right: she did need to be outside.

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 19~ A Shower

She hates taking showers in the morning.  There's just something about waking up and actually making yourself stand under a spray of water that doesn't appeal to her.  She wouldn't say that she's not a morning person, she can actually be quite human in the wee hours, but she is not a fan of early showers.

But later on in the day...oh, how glorious!  Showers are grand at stress relief and muscle relaxation.  She is somewhat infamous for taking her time in the shower later on in the day.  Twenty minutes fly by and she is almost always stunned at how much time has gone by when she exits the shower.

But right before bed is the best.  Allowing the hot water to melt away all of the troubles and frustrations of the day right before she goes to sleep is the most wonderful, calming thing.  As each droplet falls onto her head she feels herself let go of any stress that might have been clinging to her.

There are lessons to be learned from showers.  Sometimes we just have to wait for the right time, God's time, to do something, and then it's fantastic.

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  Any more great object ideas?  Contact me!

~Object 18~ High Heels

She forgot her shoes.  Every pair of dress shoes were sitting safely in her closet twelve hours away.  And so, she must go through the dreadful process all over again: shoe shopping.  She ended up finding a pair of beautiful, shiny black heels that didn't kill her feet too badly...or so she thought when she bought them.

Two days later her high opinion of these shoes had changed slightly, but she still did love them.  Her father asked her how they were doing for her,

"Oh, they hurt SO bad, it's kind of ridiculous..."
"So, next time you'll remember your other shoes?"
"Oh, no, I love these ones, they're beautiful!"

He didn't seem to understand her statement.

She wasn't quite sure why some things work that way, but heels are just like this.  Sometimes pain is worth it.  Honestly, when she wears beautiful shoes she feels more like a lady, she acts more like a lady.  She stands taller, sits straighter and smiles more.  Even as she's squinting in pain with each step she feels like a princess.

Every girl needs to feel like a princess now and then, and if heels do this, then why not where them?

Source

Source

Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 17~ A Trophy

She remembered back three years when she received a first place trophy for a speech of hers.  She valued that trophy and actually thought it meant something.  She remembers packing it carefully in her suitcase so that it wouldn't get hurt.  She placed the shining prize on her dresser at home for all to see and she herself glanced at it quite often, feeling accomplished.

Now she stands with three new trophies from three different speech achievements; none of them firsts, but she did do quite well.  These are the trophies she had almost forgotten at her grandparent's house when she drove home the day after she received them.  These are the trophies that were crammed into whatever spot they fit in the trunk.  She's not even sure where these trophies are located currently.

She laughs as she thinks back to that silly trophy from years ago that she had treasured so very much.  She had given so much value to a piece of shiny plastic and did anyone remember that now?  No.  Is it important to her now?  No.

See, in just three short years that trophy had lost any worth it had had when she received it.  And in less than two days her three new ones lost their value.

Her true victory with these new speeches was the fact that people's lives were impacted by them, and she rejoiced and thanked God for that fact.

J.R.R. Tolkien once so wisely said, "Not all that glitters is gold," and she feels that this quote applies perfectly to her silly little trophies.  The beautiful shapes shine in the light and truly are quite lovely, but just because they sparkle and look important does not mean they have any value whatsoever.

Someday when she is married and has a whole passel of kids will anyone care that she did well in speech events in high-school?  Will even she care?

She values the trophies only because they remind her of the lessons she has learned this past few years and how dramatically God has transformed her heart and life.

"Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, 

where moth and rust destroy 

and where thieves break in and steal, 

but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, 

where neither moth nor rust destroys 

and where thieves do not break in and steal." 

(Matthew 6:19-20)

Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  Sorry I haven't posted for a little while.  My trip was phenomenal and God taught me so much!  I have been writing about objects (except for three days during which I was quite sick) and perhaps I'll share what I wrote sometime...