Fools In Love (Or: A Post In Which Lydia Gives Her Opinion On A Subject She Knows Absolutely Nothing About: Love)

People, in general, are idiots.

My mother, if she read that last sentence, would undoubtedly give me one of her well weathered “looks”. It's well weathered because I have a tendency to blurt out unfinished thoughts bluntly and without sufficient logic to back them up, and most of the time, I deserve the looks, and am smart to heed it by shutting my big mouth, but this time it's different, this time I've thought long and hard about it, asked opinions of several different people and spent an entire life time researching it.

I, as most of you know, am an incurable romantic. I believe there is a perfect someone out there for everyone, that true love exists, and yes, that 'happily ever after' is achievable. From this description it would be safe to assume that, paired with my occupation, as a librarian, and my love of enjoying stories I would be a devoted fan of literature and the silver screen's greatest love stories and couples,

Nope.

Can't stand them.

(I should note here that I complied this list from a sampling of several different opinions on the internet, and I don't hate all the stories on the lists. Jane Austen does, and always will have a special place in my heart, but stories like hers, although on the list, are a definite minority.)

Basically because the characters in theses stories (or at least the main guy and girl) are ridiculously idiotic. Why? Because, this being a love story, they're in love, and if stories are to be believed (they say life imitated art after all) love is neigh on insanity.

"When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive and most transient of passions, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal and exhausting condition until death do them part." ~George Bernard Shaw

I rarely agree with George Bernard Shaw (after all, Pygmalion, which was on some of the lists, has a rather unsatisfactory ending, although I love Freddie, I can't help but get the feeling that Eliza doesn't really love him) but here he seems to capture my thought exactly.

Now before all the other incurable romantics have me drawn and quartered let me provide evidence for my case:

Romeo and Juliet:

The mention of this Shakespearean masterpiece always seems to entice sighs from the present female company, I have no idea why. Sure, it's Shakespeare. Sure, the title characters are a cute couple, they love through family disapproval, they remain true and dedicated to each other, they are poetically, fully and deeply in love. Despite the fact that they're closer to FOURTEEN then twenty, it's adorable... that is until they both go and die because they think the other is dead. I understand that when in love at 14 one is never thinking straight but isn't it slightly ridiculous that it never crossed either of their minds to verify the information or even check for a pulse! Never mind that if the other one truly loved them that they would want them to stay alive! Some might find the “I can't live without you” sentiment to be true, but I find it a trifle uncaring, and selfish. I know I don't know what it's like to lose someone you love more than life itself, but from my own point of view if I died tomorrow the very last thing I would want my love ones to do would be to follow me. I love them, and I want them to live.

Various Couples of the Arthurian Legend:

Arthur and Guinevere and Lancelot. Ugh. I hate love triangles. The story of Camelot is one of the oldest we have, proof that the “love means I can take leave of my senses and do stupid things” excuse is nothing new. Guinevere has an affair with her husband's best friend which results in the down fall of Camelot. And her reason? Her husband was too perfect. Seriously Lady? You're excuse for bringing about the destruction of the greatest kingdom of all Myth and Lore is the annoying perfection of your royal husband, who, by the way, forgave you for ruining his life and kingdom before going of to die in the war YOU started. Oh I can totally see where you're coming from there. And Tristan and Isolde? She's married, to the man who raised him. And he dies. I really don't see how that's romantic.

Wurthuring Heights:

Both Catherine and Heathcliff marry other people who neither of them love as revenge on each other, and the then they die and become ghosts.

Gone With The Wind:

The film has rather gorgeous costumes... other than that... ugh.

Anna Karenina:

She commits suicide by throwing herself in front of a train. Pleasant.

Casablanca:

Two years later... “Oh look we've all managed to meet up in a charmingly named town and spend the rest of the movie giving each other meaningful looks and not talking about anything important.”

*close up of Ingrid Bergman crying cause she can't decide which man she loves more*

Which man will she end up with?

Her husband, or Humphrey Bogart?

And most importantly: Why Do I even care?

Believe me... I could go on and on and on about how stupid these people act in the name of love, and I just don't understand it, I guess because I'm a romantic, but a practical one. And while I understand that happily ever after isn't very practical I still don't understand why it has to go the complete other direction into death and tragedy , and why the tragic love stories are the one's society remembers and upholds as “true love”.

. How do we even know if their love was going to last longer than a week? Also, when they die, there's no point in their senseless death. Yes, their families reconcile when they die but I have a feeling eloping and bringing home an adorable grandchild a year later might have done the same. Grandparents tend to melt into piles of butter around cute babies. If they'd actually thoughts things through, it could have worked out better. Instead they make a bunch of stupid decisions, is stupidity romantic?In the heat of conversation a couple of weeks ago I declared to a friend that when one half or both halves of a couple dies I did not considered their story to be romantic anymore. At his obvious confusion at my words I've now taken time to rethink what I meant by them. You see, if a person dies to save another, it's the greatest sacrifice they can give, and that's very admirable. But I think death, as well as life, should have some type of meaning. I don't consider the death Romeo and Juliet to be romantic, somewhat because there was no life before the death, they'd known each other all of

So why is love acceptable excuse for being an idiot? Just cause one's senses are dulled with raging emotions it doesn’t mean taking leave of common sense should be considered the norm. Love is one of the reasons that make life worth living and a precious gift from God, it should be cherished -not misused.

Once, a young mother I know told me that when she and her now husband were engaged they'd stay up into the wee hours of the morning talking on the phone every night, and because of her job at that point in time she'd only get four or so hours of sleep a night before having to be up in the later wee hours of the morning, and she survived on that for a while with no bad effects. When asked for an explanation of this phenomenon she laughed and said with an eye roll “I was young and in love!” Now I'm know she didn't mean that she and her husband are no longer in love, but that it's different now, she's a mother of several young children I'm sure she covets every hour of sleep she can muster. Now that, I consider to be romantic. Yeah it was completely goofy of them to deprive themselves of sleep, their fiancee would still be there at a decent hour. Personally, I love my sleep, we're best buds, and I can not imagine giving it up willing like that, no matter how handsome and witty he is, so, for me that would be a simple, yet adorable form of crazy in love.

One of my dearest married friends reiterated the other day how uncomplicated she and her husband's per-marital relationship was compared to most people, and pointed out that nobody remembers the sweet simple couples, just the messy complicated and often horrible relationships. That lead me to ask:

Why?

Why do we as a society revel in the swirling dating lives, marriages (plural) and messy divorcees of celebrities? Is it so we learn not to repeat their mistakes, or because we find it, of all things, entertainment? This is these people's heartbreak, why should we revel in it? Why should we find Scarlett O'Hara's stealing of her sister's fiancee for his money to be “epic”? Why is Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart's kiss in Casablanca considered to be the most romantic ever when Ingrid Bergman's character is married to another man? Why isn't Albert and Victoria's loving happy fairy tale marriage as famous as Charles and Diana's dramatically tragic one? People tease me for being a romantic, but I don't really see what there is to tease about. As defined by our culture romance is... sad. Is it good that we uphold this sadness as the greatest we can have in life?

I'm still a proud romantic, and I do love a good sappy boy-meets-girl. The ones I tear up over, they aren't perfect, people make mistakes, people die, life happens. That's what I expect someday when I fall in love. I'll make mistakes, yeah, I'll say things I don't mean, and completely mess up. But if it's God's will and I'm going to do my best to steer clear from being a complete idiot. I think my guy and I, we'll be good, and it'll be my kind of romantic, basically: the non-needlessly tragic kind.

'Men and women can't do housework together without quarreling. Different methods, my dear. Men can't help in a job, you know. They can be induced to do it: not to help while you're doing it. At least, it makes them grumpy.'

'The cardinal difficulty,' said MacPhee, 'in collaboration between the sexes is that women speak a language without nouns. If two men are doing a bit of work, one will say to the other, "Put this bowl inside the bigger bowl which you'll find on the top shelf of the green cupboard." The female for this is, "Put that in the other one there." And then if you ask them, "In where?" they say, "in there, of course."'

--C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength

"Anything real has flaws."

"He remembered hearing once that it was hard for people to ever know what they really looked like. Reflections in mirrors weren't accurate, because when you stare at yourself in a mirror you subconsciously composed your face in a way that wasn't your natural expression. He wondered if it was that way with strangers too, maybe you only looked like your true self with people you loved. And maybe that was a face you yourself hardly ever get to see."

~Elise Broach

"I'm sure when I'm older, I'll understand." "I'm older and I don't think I *want* to understand... "

"That does put a damper on our relationship..."

Sixth Sense

Are there colors we can't see?
Are there sounds we'll never hear?
Are there things, do you fancy
That stand behind a barrier?
Are there worlds we'll never know
'Cause there's a sixth sense we don't own?

How can I know
If green is to you
What green is to me?
Who can say
That we all perceive
In the exactly same way?

Do our senses free us
Or are we caged?
Do they enlighten
Or is it staged?
How can I tell
If we know it all
Or if what I know
Is what you know?

What would those colors look like?
And the unheard sounds
Might break all bounds
My mind can't fathom
Can't comprehend
Do we know if there's more
Than what our senses send?

E.G.K. | 2009

thereisbeautiful.blogger.com

My friend wrote this, isn't she amazing?

I Believe In Someday

I believe someday I might simply die of happiness...
today was not that day,
nor will tomorrow be...
but I have hope.
I believe in someday.

"Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole..."

Those of you who read my siblings blogs will know that our family watches It's a Wonderful Life every Christmas Eve, this year was no exception.

Those of you who know me well also know that I am a Jimmy Stewart fan, he's my all time favorite actor, probably because I was routinely exposed to his movies at an early age. Never the less, Stewart isn't the only reason it's one of my favorites, neither is the fact that it's tradition. I love it because every time I watch this scene I tear up. "Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole..." Every time I watch it I want to hug my parents and thank them for bringing me into the world. The story is amazing and so true.

This year I laughed and cried at the same places as before, but this year, 2009, has been different than others. Somehow, the movie I've seen a millions times, and pretty much have memorized, seems different, like I'm looking at it in a different light.

All of us have been born with a handicap, we have only one pair of eyes, and no matter what technology does (camera, video) we will never see life through any other eyes but our own. George Bailey's reeling mind was intent on seeing only self-pity and depression, he had he wanted to build things, make his mark on the world and travel. Instead he was stuck in a small town struggling through the business of "nickels and dimes" he hadn't got what he wanted and he couldn't see all the good he had done. George Bailey saw himself as a failure he felt under appreciated, overwhelmed, and hopeless.

When we watch George stare at the rushing river desperately we want to pull him back and yell at him to stop, to tell him he has friends and purpose, people love him and need him. We wonder why he doesn't see this, and it ends up taking a Heavenly intervention to show George how other people viewed his life, how God viewed George Bailey. For a few moments his handicap was taken off, and it makes for an amazing experience and a wonderful movie.

There are two types of people in this world: A) people who LOVE It's A Wonderful Life and voted it the the #1 Inspirational Movie of all times B) those who think it's a sappy depressing movie and unrealistic, they hate it.
(For the record there is a third group C) Those who couldn't care less. For simplicity's sake we're leaving them out of the equation.)

I think most of the people in group B only remember the part of the movie I was just talking about, they remember George as the hopeless man, the man who we all at some point in our lives have all felt like. We wonder if we've ever done anything right, if our lives will ever improved, if God is really out there, if it was all really worth it, we wonder if maybe... it would have been better it we had never been born.

Now I know I'll never make the wish George did, but this year I surprised myself when I realized I was watching through eyes green with envy. I was envious of George's experience. I want to know how God sees me, I want to know if other people really care that much about me. I certainly am not and thousands of dollars deep in debt and about to be arrested for a crime I did not commit after being set up by the villain of peace and happiness in my town, but lately it's felt like my own little world and my own little life has been falling apart.

I guess I've not been feeling of much worth, I'm just one of Tom's many daughters, I'm just a girl walking a baby by the side of the road, I'm just the girl who shelved that book in your hands so you could find it easily, and when you bring it back, I'll just shelve it again. I am not the type of person who will discover a cure for cancer, or save millions of lives. I don't expect that, but I confess, I'd like to be needed, I'd like to think that if I didn't walk the baby nobody would, but I know someone will. I'd like to think that if I didn't put the book away nobody would be able to find it, but I know someone else will take care of it, it's not hard. And while George Bailey ran the family business because no one else could, I have a lot of family, if I don't do it, someone else will.

Those in group A) remember that at the end of It's a Wonderful Life George Bailey's friends and family come out in an amazing show of love and support, trying to give back to him some of their livelihood, just as he had spent his life helping them. It's a tear-jerker, miraculous and a lovely display of love.

This is where I'm jealous at this fictitious character played by m favorite actor. This is the end of my story so far, I don't have a "Auld Lang Syne" ending... not yet. I'm still stuck on the bridge wondering if my life is worth anything, wondering if I really make an impact on other people's lives. Like I said, I'm not stupid enough to wish I'd never been born, but it still leaves me wondering, how big of a hole would I make?

How big?

"...Dreams are dangerous things - they look solid in your mind, but you just try to reach for them. It's like gathering clouds." ~Hattie Big Sky

I used to be a good blogger, correction, I used to be an amazing blogger.

At least compared to the blogger I am now, which is a lowly, idiotic, lazy, I'll-do-it-next-week-probably blogger.

I am sincerely sorry.

But really I'm not all to blame. The big culprit?

This dude:

I admit, it does steal my time some, but more than that, it uses up my creativity. I prefer my statuses to be a bit on the witty side, or at the very least somewhat amusing, and hopefully never boring. It my fb status is ever as dull as "I'm going to bed now." You have my permission to fine me for dullness. It seems these past few months when ever I would have a creative urge, I would sit down to write a post, (and since it had been so long since I'd updated it would have to be a good long one) I'd eventually run out of time, and rather than publishing a half-finished or fragmented post I'd post the gist of my idea on fb.

For instance, the name of this post is my current fb status, I thought about writing a review about the book I just finished Hattie Big Sky, but I didn't have time, so instead I published one of the my favorite quotes from it. (BTW, I highly recommend the book, it's a Newberry Award winner!)

Since Facebook is daily stealing from my blog I thought it was time for my blog to steal back (considering it's all in the family anyway). Here are some of my status in no order at all since... as far back as I decide to copy/paste before I get tired.

Enjoy!

Lydia Margaret hates getting her hopes up only to have them dashed... :-(

I'm the type of girl who will walk 4 blocks in the pouring rain to avoid parallel parking.

Luke has renamed the Big Pond, it is now the Athletic Ocean.

IMHO middle aged women should NOT have Hannah Montana ring tones.

Sometimes I forget that when I'm talking... people listen to me occasionally.

Our house is currently layered gray over yellow with orange dots with the occasion patches of white. Seriously.

Apparently Grace University thinks I should try out for a music scholarship. ME! The girl who plays piano by ear, and can't carry a tune in a bucket with a handle. *dies laughing*

Sometimes all I want is be ultimately special to someone....

My "oh-so-strong-oh-so-superior" little brother just asked me to open a jar for him. *savors this wonderful moment*

Soup: It's what's for lunch.

A warmed-up car, cute tights and stylish boots, a little coffee in my cream.... I'm ready to start my day! :-)

I pride myself on being a person who can laugh at her own mistakes (and believe me they many and often) but I'm afraid someday soon I'll do something incredibly stupid, something that won't ever be funny, something I can't laugh off. It scares me....

"Do you ever feel like the whole world is a tux and you're a pair of brown shoes?"

I had the whole gas station and the cafe next door laughing at my attempt to back my car to where I could pump gas.... *sigh*

"TEA." = The Jane Austen equivalent of "How about them Cubs?"


"I'm like a facebook flair, little, round, and occasionally goofy."


Seriously, I have the most selfless, strong, caring, loving, understanding, sweet Mother ever. She's the BEST!

On Avoiding Writing

"Usually, writers will do anything to avoid writing. For instance, the previous sentence was written at one o’clock this afternoon. It is now a quarter to four. I have spent the past two hours and forty-five minutes sorting my neckties by width, looking up the word “paisly” in three dictionaries, attempting to find the town of that name on The New York Times Atlas of the World map of Scotland, sorting my reference books by width, trying to get the bookcase to stop wobbling by stuffing a matchbook cover under its corner, dialing the telephone number on the matchbook cover to see if I should take computer courses at night, looking at the computer ads in the newspaper and deciding to buy a computer because writing seems to be so difficult on my old Remington, reading an interesting article on sorghum farming in Uruguay that was in the newspaper next to the computer ads, cutting that and other interesting articles out of the newspaper, sorting—by width—all the interesting articles I’ve cut out of newspapers recently, fastening them neatly together with paper clips and making a very attractive paper clip necklace and bracelet set, which I will present to my girlfriend as soon as she comes home from the three-hour low-impact aerobic workout that I made her go to so I could have some time alone to write.”
— P. J. O’Rourke
The Wit and Wisdom of P. J. O’Rourke

Right? Of course right!

"People only think I'm wrong because my path of logic is illogical to every logical person."

Women Of Fath

Like
Deborah,

I will serve the Lord in power and speak His Word without fear.


Like
Esther,

I will intercede for God's people before His throne.


Like
Abigail,

I will humble myself to wash the feet of the servants of the Lord.


Like
Sarah,

I will respect my husband and his ministry to the Lord.


Like
Hannah,

I will dedicate my children to the Lord.


Like
Priscilla,

I will explain the way of God more perfectly to those who are seeking.


Like the
Shunamite widow,

I will trust God in the day of adversity.


Like
Lydia,

I will be a worshiper of God and open my home to his ministers.


Like
Tabitha,

I will always do good and help the poor.


Like
Joanna,

I will use my wealth to support the ministry of Jesus.


Like
Mary, the mother of Jesus,

I will hear the word of God to me and answer, "Be it unto me as you have said."


Like
Mary, the sister of Martha,

I will know the voice of Jesus and hear His words.


Like
Mary, the mother of Mark,

I will make my home a haven for the followers of Jesus.


Like
Mary, the Magdalene,

I will keep at the feet of Jesus and love Him unto death.


~ Anonymous

I saw this on The IDD Blog and thought it was lovely and though provoking. I hope you agree!

Why do We Write? *Evil Laugh*

"Some people assume that authors write books because we have vivid imaginations and want to share our vision. Other people think we write because we are bursting with and therefore must scribble those stories down in moments of propondenty. Both groups are completely wrong. Authors write books for one and only one reason. Because we like to torture people. Now actual torture in frowned upon in civilized society, fortunately the authorial community has discovered in story telling an even more powerful and fulfilling means of causing agony. We write stories, and by doing so we engage in a perfectly legal way of doing all sorts of terrible things to our readers. Take for instance, the word I used above, "propondenty", there is no such word. I made it up. Why? Because it amused me to think of thousands of readers looking up a nonsense word in their dictionaries. Authors also create wonderful loving characters, then proceed to do terrible things to them. This makes the readers feel hurt and worried for the characters. The simple truth is: authors like making people squirm. If this weren't the case, all novels would be full of cute bunnies having birthday parties. So now you know why I would write a book. Ask yourself this: would any kindhearted individual become an author? Of course not. So there.

~Alcatraz Vs. the Evil Librarians
By Brandon Sanderson

NOTE: I am posting this quote purely because it makes me laugh, I do not in any way agree with the statement above and I can't actually recommend this book out right. It mentions magic and can be quite silly. I enjoyed it as a light read, but I can guarantee that not everyone will.

Eleventh-hour faith What comes when all hedge funds run dry | Amy Henry

WORLD Magazine July 18th 2009

Desperation has a way of forging a greased path from my mouth to God's ear. It is a cable connection, lightning quick: God, help us. We have no job. The house will not sell. The mortgage payments keep coming. The money is running out. Hurry. Please.

His response, however, comes via dial-up, with finger-tapping, stomach-churning slowness. We are the Hebrews, perched on the banks of the Red Sea, camped between Migdol and the water, horses' hooves thundering, doom imminent. We cry out, "Why did you bring us out of Egypt?" That land of abundance where at least the children's bellies were full. Where we, despite occasional beatings, had homes and occupations and some semblance of comfort. Why?

Who needs faith when the checking account tops five digits, the children are healthy, and the job is "recession-proof?" When everyone is covered 80/20 by a head-to-toe health insurance policy? When business is good and clients abound, when the furnace is working and the pantry is stocked? When transmissions work and no one is in the hospital and the 401K is fully vested and all the disks in our backs are unherniated and no one is complaining of mysterious stomach pain? Faith is a frosting. A fringe benefit. An overly abused nicety that we talk about while sitting on padded pews in warm church buildings.

So, we wonder if we have been brought here just to die in the wilderness. A windy, hot prairie of suffering, with absolutely no hope on the wheat-filled horizon. What comfort now are those mutual funds, those stocks, that perfect credit rating? They offer no comfort now, no hedge against disaster. They are a quilt, wrapped around us on an icy day that, as it turns out, is mildewed and chock-full of moth holes.

The extra bedrooms, the fat layer of space between our neighbor's property and ours, the tax bracket of our particular street bring nothing now but mockery of the faith we put in status and excess and a garage full of a year's worth of toilet paper. Life really can't be that bad if the chest freezer is chock-full of briskets and shredded cheese and containers of last year's raspberry freezer jam, can it?

Whilst chomping on the fatted calf, however, the illusion persists, that somehow it all will save us. That the flat screen TV and the Restoration Hardware couches and the hardwood floors will, really, truly be enough. God is our Plan B, the cream, the juicy red maraschino cherry on top of an already delightful sundae. Not the coarse brown bread, the vegetable stew of necessity. He is the expected, the taken for granted. The water flowing effortlessly through our pipes. The electricity humming silently behind walls.

In the eleventh hour, the walls of the sea parted, the path of safety appeared for the Israelites. Perched on the edge of financial ruin, will He do the same for us? He who could have kept Pharaoh's heart soft. He who could have kept us employed. He who could have opened the seawaters a week before.

The way out, the provision, comes cloaked. No­pillar of fire meets us at the front door. Manna does not rain from heaven, nor water from rocks. But odd jobs appear. Meat goes on clearance. Costco sends a $400 rebate. We winter without a single doctor's visit. Donuts mysteriously appear on the front step. All things we are thankful for, but a question remains: If these physical provisions did not appear, would God still be our Jehovah Jirah, our Provider? How can I sit at my children's bedsides at twilight, hearing their sweet lisped prayers of absolute rock-solid confidence that God will take care of them without resorting to cynicism?

They, in their childlike faith, know the answer, and it is embarrassingly simple: He Himself is the provision. He will not leave us nor forsake us. Perhaps being removed from numbing abundance will be the very thing necessary for the adults in the family to seek the Giver rather than His gifts. For us to feast on Him, and for that feast, even in our time of deepest hunger, to fill us.

What this looks like I do not know exactly. But I suspect I will spend the rest of my life finding out.

So, we wonder if we have been brought here just to die in the wilderness. A windy, hot prairie of suffering, with absolutely no hope on the wheat-filled horizon. What comfort now are those mutual funds, those stocks, that perfect credit rating? They offer no comfort now, no hedge against disaster. They are a quilt, wrapped around us on an icy day that, as it turns out, is mildewed and chock-full of moth holes.

The extra bedrooms, the fat layer of space between our neighbor's property and ours, the tax bracket of our particular street bring nothing now but mockery of the faith we put in status and excess and a garage full of a year's worth of toilet paper. Life really can't be that bad if the chest freezer is chock-full of briskets and shredded cheese and containers of last year's raspberry freezer jam, can it?

Whilst chomping on the fatted calf, however, the illusion persists, that somehow it all will save us. That the flat screen TV and the Restoration Hardware couches and the hardwood floors will, really, truly be enough. God is our Plan B, the cream, the juicy red maraschino cherry on top of an already delightful sundae. Not the coarse brown bread, the vegetable stew of necessity. He is the expected, the taken for granted. The water flowing effortlessly through our pipes. The electricity humming silently behind walls.

In the eleventh hour, the walls of the sea parted, the path of safety appeared for the Israelites. Perched on the edge of financial ruin, will He do the same for us? He who could have kept Pharaoh's heart soft. He who could have kept us employed. He who could have opened the seawaters a week before.

The way out, the provision, comes cloaked. No­pillar of fire meets us at the front door. Manna does not rain from heaven, nor water from rocks. But odd jobs appear. Meat goes on clearance. Costco sends a $400 rebate. We winter without a single doctor's visit. Donuts mysteriously appear on the front step. All things we are thankful for, but a question remains: If these physical provisions did not appear, would God still be our Jehovah Jirah, our Provider? How can I sit at my children's bedsides at twilight, hearing their sweet lisped prayers of absolute rock-solid confidence that God will take care of them without resorting to cynicism?

They, in their childlike faith, know the answer, and it is embarrassingly simple: He Himself is the provision. He will not leave us nor forsake us. Perhaps being removed from numbing abundance will be the very thing necessary for the adults in the family to seek the Giver rather than His gifts. For us to feast on Him, and for that feast, even in our time of deepest hunger, to fill us.

What this looks like I do not know exactly. But I suspect I will spend the rest of my life finding out.

If-By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

Sheriff: Your rear end's on fire, Theodore.
Theodore: Oh. Thank you.
[Jumps and frantically slaps fire out; glares at Amos]
Theodore: Why didn't you tell me my rear end was on fire?
Amos: Well, you said not to do anything to attract attention.

I Love Wikiquote!

Wikiquote

Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday. ~Dale Carnegie

There have to be clouds for there to be silver linings. ~Emily Potter

I don't believe in miracles — I rely on them. ~Karl Rahner


Life is not easy for us, but what of that! We must have perseverance and confidence in ourselves. We must believe that we are gifted for something, and that this thing at whatever cost must be obtained. ~Marie Curie

This Says It All.

:-)

How's this for Deep?

Last Wednesday was a deep day.

The loss of my hair brush spun me into a deep, poetic, thoughtful mood. My mind was engaged with complicated subjects like life, happiness, God's relationship with man and... Change. Hence a 1900 word post.

If you hadn't noticed I haven't made a peep on the blogesphere since then. Because a) I was busy having a very delightful weekend with Aunt Alice, Abutton, Merry and E. and b) because I wasn't sure how to follow up my last post.

I'm only that deep once in a blue moon. The weirdest things affect my deepness, the weather, circumstances, a scripture verse or a flippant comment someone makes, they all send me into my infamous "deep mood". I wish there was a way to harness deepness (I do my best writing during deepness) but I can't control it and today the deepness is gone. *POOF*

So what do I do? What do I post that will make my readers think? Something me-ish but still something everyone will empathize with and understand.

I pondered it all day and finally came up with something I think everyone will agree with.

Ready?

"I wish there was chocolate that was calorie free, sugar free, carb free, fat free and guilt free that was yummy to eat, good for you and still good ol' sweet gooey chocolate."

"Life is either a daring adventure...or nothing."

I hate change. Okay, too strong of a word for you? Greatly dislike, do not prefer, detest, would rather not have to deal with, it is not my favorite thing in the world. In plain English?

Don't like it.

I just don't like it. I always knew I didn't like it, but yesterday I realized how utterly deep my hatre- excuse me, great dislike for it is. You see a very terrible thing happened.

I lost my hairbrush.

Yeah I know that isn't so unusual. Especially for me, I lose things very often. But you have to understand, I liked my hairbrush, I use it a lot, it was exactly the kind I like, I'd had it for a while, it fit my head and my hand, it was perfect.

Then I lost it. You're going to laugh at me because of this, but it's true, I seriously went through some mental distress when I couldn't find my hair brush. It's not like there wasn't a hairbrush around, I simply borrowed Susie's for a couple of days, but it wasn't MY hairbrush.

After finally deciding the hairbrush was officially LOST, I bought a new one.

Which didn't solve anything. The new one was... well it just didn't feel right, it was too big, it felt weird on my head and it... was just not my hairbrush.

Now you all officially think I'm the most trivial person in the world. I just spent. 1...2...3...227 words talking about my anguish over losing my hairbrush.

Pitiful, I know. I do have a point, I promise.

The point is, I was upset because something steady in the life- namely my hairbrush - changed. This made me realize how much I don't like change.

We were watching You've Got M@il last night, Kathleen Kelly said something I thought was interesting: "People are always telling you that change is a good thing, but all they're really saying is, that something you didn't want to happen at all, has happened."

In some ways I really agreed. Find me someone who truly LOVES change and I'll faint. What human wants what they like to change?

The again (I say that a lot, has anyone noticed that?) what would life be like without change? Change is life, change from a baby to a adult, and then to, you know, an old person. Change from a carefree teenager to a "young adult" with responsibilities and a job and weird feelings and and expectations thrust upon you. I fit into this last category. It seems like yesterday I was a child,(and I'm sure a great many people reading this blog believe I am still a child) now I have a job, and like it or not, and I'm graduating this spring, and I have to think about higher education.

I have to grow up.

I'm immature, I'll admit it, I still clutch my baby blanket to me when I'm upset, I dearly love to sleep in on Saturday mornings, and yes, I will purposely avoid work because I'd rather read my book. But deep down inside, I don't want to grow up. I don't want to have to worry about bills and the economy and gas prices, I don't want to go to bed at the same time every night, because I'll always have a full day tomorrow, I don't want to read only textbooks because I don't have time to read anything fun. I'm not ready to give up on childhood ignorance. I don't want to have to think about all the unborn babies that die everyday legally, I don't want to think about the fact that with the way the economy is going I could not have a job next year. I want to still pretend that Mommy and Daddy will always work things out.

But I can't do that anymore because, honestly (sorry mom and dad) they can't fix everything anymore. I have to think about these things. I have to grow up, I have to mature, I have to... well, I have to change. If I planted my feet in right now, locked my bedroom door for 5 years, and refused to grow-up I suppose I might accomplish it, then maybe I'd be happy.

Then again (there I said it again) I'm sure I would be miserable, I would be a idiot 23 year old who couldn't face life, and therefore I would have missed out on every wonderful thing life does have to offer. Now I'd have to be a real idiot to do that, because growing up is something we all have to do but would like to put off. We know eventually it's going to be good for us but we don't want to do it. It reminds me of when I was learning to read. Boy did I put up a fuss! Everyone told me I would like, nay, love reading! I agreed with them and I knew, someday I would have to learn. Still I put up a big fuss while mom tried to teach me. Why? Because It was HARD.

Hard.
That was my only reason.
I simply did not want to out any effort into it.
How more selfish and self-centered can a person get?

Yes, I was a yellow belied coward. Now, if there's anything I hate being called, it's a coward. So, yes, I learned to read, and yes, I'm going to become an adult one of these days, mainly because I don't have choice, but also because I know that I know that I also disagree wit this quote, "People are always telling you that change is a good thing, but all they're really saying is, that something you didn't want to happen at all, has happened." Because weather we realize it or not, we want change, it's hard but we want it because we would be miserable without it, so in that essence, change can be, and is a good thing, Why?

Because there's a God, who, strangely enough, cares about me.

Yeah, little ol' me.

And he's declared that: "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose."(Rom 8:28)

Somehow all these things I greatly dislike will turn out okay because even though Mom and Dad can't fix everything anymore God still can. We won't always see how they worked out for good or understand, sometimes we do, I.E. learning to read was one of the best things that's ever happened to me, I understand that now. So if we understand it or not that promise is always there, it's a promise from God, and he doesn't break his promises. It's a nice thought.

Another thought I find comforting is that life is an adventure. Adventure means "an exciting or extraordinary event or series of events". Adventures consist of, for the most part, hard times, and fun. I like fun things, I don't like hard times. But hard times give us the fun, so if I do have to start worrying about the stock markets and gas prices I vow that I won't let those worry lines crease my face. I will make my way bravely through the hard times. If I do have to go to collage then I'm going to learn about something I like, something FUN! Because I think life is too short to live unfulfilled and God didn't create us to live life that way.

So even if I have to grow up I refuse, absolutely REFUSE to get somber and worried and old seeming. My life is going to be an adventure. I'm going to join Helen Keller in the belief that "Life is a daring adventure, or nothing."

The best part is? In my book adventures always have happy endings, because I have a God who cares about me.

You want to know what? I found my hairbrush (under a pile of clothes, where else?) Also, if you actually read this whole thing kudos for you! Thanks for listening.