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
June 30, 2012
~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
June 6, 2012
~Object 52~ Headphones
She closed her eyes. The song had just begun pumping into her ears, each note striking a chord in her soul. Nobody else knew why she sat so still, why she sighed and hummed occasionally. They probably figured that she liked the song she was playing, but they couldn't hear it at all; they didn't know. She was in her own little world; surrounded by people, but having her own, personal experience.
How like life that is. We get caught up in our thoughts and nobody knows quite why we are acting the way that we are, but it usually makes perfect sense to us.
Or, we don't know why we are responding the way we are to any given situation, as she often isn't quite sure why certain songs make her feel the way they do.
In a sense, we are in our own little world. We have our own, unique outlook on each situation, on each person, on each word said, each conversation had. We think of things differently than anyone else does, and the trouble is when we keep this all to ourselves.
Headphones are great, she loves them, but nobody wants to spend time with someone who is always wearing them. That's why stereos were made; so we can share our music with the world.
Sometimes it's fine to sit in the corner with our music blaring, for no one else to hear. But sometimes we each need to unplug the headphones and share the music.
Sometimes it's fine to keep our thoughts to ourselves, for no one else to know. But sometimes we each need to step outside of our comfort zones and share the love.
Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. How's that for a majorly hippie closing line? ;) Seriously, though, share the love, folks.
How like life that is. We get caught up in our thoughts and nobody knows quite why we are acting the way that we are, but it usually makes perfect sense to us.
Or, we don't know why we are responding the way we are to any given situation, as she often isn't quite sure why certain songs make her feel the way they do.
In a sense, we are in our own little world. We have our own, unique outlook on each situation, on each person, on each word said, each conversation had. We think of things differently than anyone else does, and the trouble is when we keep this all to ourselves.
Headphones are great, she loves them, but nobody wants to spend time with someone who is always wearing them. That's why stereos were made; so we can share our music with the world.
Sometimes it's fine to sit in the corner with our music blaring, for no one else to hear. But sometimes we each need to unplug the headphones and share the music.
Sometimes it's fine to keep our thoughts to ourselves, for no one else to know. But sometimes we each need to step outside of our comfort zones and share the love.
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~Emily
P.S. How's that for a majorly hippie closing line? ;) Seriously, though, share the love, folks.
June 5, 2012
~Object 51~ Rain
She watched as the droplets fell from the clouds. A calm drizzle, and then raging downpour...it couldn't make up its mind. The thunder gave her chills of excitement, the hail was taken as an adventure, the rivers down the street were met with squeals of excitement... but that was yesterday. Yesterday was more extreme, today was not. Today was drizzly, and entirely un-adventurous.
Usually she is more fond of rain. She loves the sound of it falling. She loves the feeling of it hitting her skin. She loves the smell of the wet earth after it's stops. She loves the birds slowly taking up their song again. She loves walking across the wet grass or around a town with no umbrella. She usually loves it.
But today is a bit different.
Today rain reminds her of tears. Tears so raw, so fresh, so near that it hurts to watch the sky cry. It's too soon after so many tears fell from her own eyes; from the eyes of those she loves.
The whole world seems to be mourning today. One month.
Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. Josh's sister wrote the lyrics to this song, and a close friend wrote the music, sang and recorded it. I encourage you to check it out here, and pray about purchasing it; the proceeds go to the ALERT Academy scholarship fund set up in Josh's name.
Usually she is more fond of rain. She loves the sound of it falling. She loves the feeling of it hitting her skin. She loves the smell of the wet earth after it's stops. She loves the birds slowly taking up their song again. She loves walking across the wet grass or around a town with no umbrella. She usually loves it.
But today is a bit different.
Today rain reminds her of tears. Tears so raw, so fresh, so near that it hurts to watch the sky cry. It's too soon after so many tears fell from her own eyes; from the eyes of those she loves.
The whole world seems to be mourning today. One month.
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~Emily
P.S. Josh's sister wrote the lyrics to this song, and a close friend wrote the music, sang and recorded it. I encourage you to check it out here, and pray about purchasing it; the proceeds go to the ALERT Academy scholarship fund set up in Josh's name.
June 4, 2012
~Object 50~ A Bar Stool
There is something about bar stools.
She had no idea what it really was, but brains generally work better while sitting on them, at least hers does. She was sitting on one as she wrote these words, and they flowed from her fingers quickly, where they never seemed to in certain other places.
She had spent a lovely time with some friends. They sat on couches for part of the time, but the majority was spent on bar stools around a kitchen island, and thoughts about deep topics were shared in abundance.
Maybe it's not the actual fact of sitting on a bar stool, but rather the casual feeling, comfort and...something? She was not sure what it was, but there was just something. Good posture is rarely present, feet are tucked up on the cross supports, heads lean in closer to the conversation.
Bar stools are just lovely.
But perhaps there are those who dislike them. Surely, there are some people who are not comfortable on bar stools at all. One of her happy, thinking spots might be a place where another person is entirely uncomfortable.
She has always been amazed and intrigued at the diversity of the world around us, and the people in it. How is it that she can love one thing and another person, even a person she is close to, can dislike it strongly?
It's so beautiful, though. Another one of life's puzzles. Trying to understand where people are coming from with their likes and dislikes, their beliefs, their struggles and victories. People are so beautiful; they really are.
Funny how simple things like bar stools can bring deep thoughts like these to mind...
Over and out,
She had no idea what it really was, but brains generally work better while sitting on them, at least hers does. She was sitting on one as she wrote these words, and they flowed from her fingers quickly, where they never seemed to in certain other places.
She had spent a lovely time with some friends. They sat on couches for part of the time, but the majority was spent on bar stools around a kitchen island, and thoughts about deep topics were shared in abundance.
Maybe it's not the actual fact of sitting on a bar stool, but rather the casual feeling, comfort and...something? She was not sure what it was, but there was just something. Good posture is rarely present, feet are tucked up on the cross supports, heads lean in closer to the conversation.
Bar stools are just lovely.
But perhaps there are those who dislike them. Surely, there are some people who are not comfortable on bar stools at all. One of her happy, thinking spots might be a place where another person is entirely uncomfortable.
She has always been amazed and intrigued at the diversity of the world around us, and the people in it. How is it that she can love one thing and another person, even a person she is close to, can dislike it strongly?
It's so beautiful, though. Another one of life's puzzles. Trying to understand where people are coming from with their likes and dislikes, their beliefs, their struggles and victories. People are so beautiful; they really are.
Funny how simple things like bar stools can bring deep thoughts like these to mind...
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. 50 objects? How can that be? Wow... This has been wonderful so far! I know that God is teaching me a good deal about writing, as well as seeing the beauty in every little object that he's blessed us with. I would love to hear any object ideas you may have. Please email me at: emequinelass[at]gmail[dot]com.
Blessings!
June 3, 2012
~Object 49~ Lipstick
She felt silly wearing lipstick, too grown up or something. She felt like she was wearing a mask, or trying to hide something. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy dressing up, but nearly every time she wore lipstick she wished she hadn't.
It gets dried and causes chapped lips and feels thick. She doesn't feel herself with it on. She feels unnatural.
However, it does maker her feel more gown up, and brings back memories of playing dress up as a child. She didn't wear lipstick then, but it brings her the same feeling that the scratchy dresses from the dress-up box gave her.
Uncomfortable, but enjoyable at the same time.
How like life. She feels so uncomfortable where she is right now. She feels like she's not old enough to be wearing (or going through, rather) the situations she's going through. She feels like a child playing dress-up. Going through the motions of responsibility and hard things, but feeling entirely inadequate.
Lipstick isn't comfortable, she feels like she's playing a part while wearing it.
Life isn't comfortable, she feels like she's playing a part that she'll never fit.
Uncomfortable, but enjoyable at the same time.
P.S. Sorry I wasn't able to post in time today. I was gone at a fantastic party until about 11:57, and I tried to write that quickly, but I wasn't able to.
It gets dried and causes chapped lips and feels thick. She doesn't feel herself with it on. She feels unnatural.
However, it does maker her feel more gown up, and brings back memories of playing dress up as a child. She didn't wear lipstick then, but it brings her the same feeling that the scratchy dresses from the dress-up box gave her.
Uncomfortable, but enjoyable at the same time.
How like life. She feels so uncomfortable where she is right now. She feels like she's not old enough to be wearing (or going through, rather) the situations she's going through. She feels like a child playing dress-up. Going through the motions of responsibility and hard things, but feeling entirely inadequate.
Lipstick isn't comfortable, she feels like she's playing a part while wearing it.
Life isn't comfortable, she feels like she's playing a part that she'll never fit.
Uncomfortable, but enjoyable at the same time.
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Over and out,
~Emily
P.S. Sorry I wasn't able to post in time today. I was gone at a fantastic party until about 11:57, and I tried to write that quickly, but I wasn't able to.
June 1, 2012
~Object 48~ A Computer
She's using one now. And so are you.
There, you have something in common with her.
How strange that in just thirty years we have advanced from the first, massive, slow, bulky PC (not to mention the monster machines before the PC) to the thin laptop sitting on her lap. She's watching a movie, in the other tab. You couldn't do that on a computer thirty years ago. She has a slideshow of friends on her desktop. You couldn't do that thirty years ago, either. She's typing a blog post. There was no such thing thirty years ago.
Computers used to be a formal tool. Nobody had one in their home, so it was never a casual thing. With convenience, formality was lost, and it is now a very laid back instrument. This I both a good and bad thing; a blessing and a curse.
She communicates with friends across town or in other states via email and video chat with the webcam built right into her little machine. She posts blog posts that are read across the globe. She has a Facebook, Pinterest, Tumblr and Twitter, and thinks nothing of it. The computer has become part of most people's day to day lives, but do we ever stop to recognize the craziness that we are partaking in?
We are all connected to one another through an insane box-like thing.
What an odd thought.
Over and out,
There, you have something in common with her.
How strange that in just thirty years we have advanced from the first, massive, slow, bulky PC (not to mention the monster machines before the PC) to the thin laptop sitting on her lap. She's watching a movie, in the other tab. You couldn't do that on a computer thirty years ago. She has a slideshow of friends on her desktop. You couldn't do that thirty years ago, either. She's typing a blog post. There was no such thing thirty years ago.
Computers used to be a formal tool. Nobody had one in their home, so it was never a casual thing. With convenience, formality was lost, and it is now a very laid back instrument. This I both a good and bad thing; a blessing and a curse.
She communicates with friends across town or in other states via email and video chat with the webcam built right into her little machine. She posts blog posts that are read across the globe. She has a Facebook, Pinterest, Tumblr and Twitter, and thinks nothing of it. The computer has become part of most people's day to day lives, but do we ever stop to recognize the craziness that we are partaking in?
We are all connected to one another through an insane box-like thing.
What an odd thought.
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Over and out,
~Emily
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