I am blessed.

I have had my share of suffering--and life isn't done with me yet. I have learned that there is secret grief, hidden pain in every heart. We truly live in a weary, weary world, and I cry...all the time. Tonight I am tired. Just when I thought there was nothing more that could possibly happen, more has happened. I am not sorry for the pain. Pain is an excellent teacher. And yet, as I shuffle to the corner for the hundredth time this week to take a few more deep, deep breathes, I do wish for a fast forward button. Or maybe just a pause button. Just for a few minutes. The world can wait a few minutes. One, two, three...



I have learned that God's gentleness matches my need ounce for ounce. I have learned that His love is my only hope. I have learned that His arms are my only hiding place. I have learned that I am blessed. So I'm lining up my blessings and the things I love. Thank you Jesus!













And other things that I don't have good enough pictures to express:

-All my brothers and sisters: Joel & Rachel, Ben & Sarah, Ben & Casie, Nathan & Megan, Tom & Anna, and Mark & Lindsay
-All my nieces and nephews: Mary, Kylee, Katie, Justus, Andrew, Timothy, Kenton, Douglas, Kamryn, Seth, and Brieyn
-All my sweet aunts, uncles and cousins
-New York
-Franklin Square OPC
-The Christmas lights in my bedroom
-I could go on forever...

Of blogs, beauty and life in general

Well that's one of the more fearsome titles I've written. Fret not children, it does not follow that the following contents must be equally as fearsome. But you never can tell...

Why blogs? Why cameras and memoirs and scrap-booking (and for that matter reality tv)? I struggle to justify myself in self-expression. My own personal brand of snobbery recoils at the thought of doing anything simply because my culture lauds it. In fact, my snobbery usually finds me eschewing anything that even smells remotely in accordance with the masses. I admit, I am ashamed of my culture. And I am ashamed of myself for thinking myself so far above it. But its not just pop-culture that prompts my thoughts.

What magical thing happens between the experience of life and the expression of it? What is it in a snap-shot, a blog post, or a poem that takes life and explains it away, and makes it accessible where it was previously mysterious and out of reach? I find that I grasp at fleeting, barely comprehended moments/thoughts with both hands and wrestle them down into sanity through the written word on a regular basis. Is this merely a natural creative impulse, or an arrogance of my humanity, seeking to tamper with what is already beautiful and thus making is so much less than it already is? And am I just mumbling nonsense like a shy child to a house guest on the couch before dinner...

I leave it to you to judge this blog post as being too fearsome, ridiculous or nonsensical. Furthermore, I will keep my own judgments to myself for once.

Sincerely yours,
Rebekah

P.S. I'm trying rather pathetically to draw attention away from the glaring five month gap in posts and ease my conscience over said gap. Am I succeeding? I thought not. Well...tea, toast and Tolkien to you. Amen.