Reassurance

Woke up to a beautiful reminder and a powerful promise:

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.” (Ps 32:8)

The daily Bible verse today for many people, I’m sure, but it dropped into the edges of my tired eyes and slipped silently down my throat, sweet as honey, still flowing into the deepest parts of my spirit and soul.

Entering a new season, a new semester, I feel reassured. Reassured that He is with me always, to the very end of the age, that He will make straight my paths when I acknowledge Him in all my ways and lean not on my own understanding, that He knows me and is familiar with all my ways…

and on this quiet Sunday morning, reassured that when I awake, I am still with Him. (Ps 139:18)

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Scattered

some thoughts I listed from January 12th:

  1. There’s something endearing about the way my sister reaches her fist into the box of plain cornflakes before she leaves for school in the morning.
  2. in forests, in gold streams
  3. Why hasn’t he replied?
  4. flowers strung along a wall. cracks in the pavement.
  5. I want to create.
  6. What do I look like to other people?
  7. First impressions (to write about later)
  8. I’ve been thinking in pictures more than in words lately
    is that how we all think?
    i think so.
  9. I really miss them.
  10. the clouds look like purple elephants.
  11. how much of my sister’s life am I missing?
  12. My hands smell like clementine.
  13. citiesclouds

Quote #5

“I always did something I was a little not ready to do. I think that is how you grow.”

–Marissa Mayer

minimalist
from etsy

Learning how to let go of fear and live in freedom. Unapologetically beloved. The words sound pretty and promising, but they have been smeared and stained and soaked and built and burned with prayers, heartaches upon aches upon aches, self-doubt, small faith, sleeplessness, and the beginnings of surrender.

thank You.

Up down

The two sat on the wooden stairwell and watched the orange glow of the portable furnace, stretching their legs. In the stillness, she could feel her dad’s breaths rise and fall against her shoulders—up, down, up down, the rhythms of solitude. Her heart ached and swelled into her throat, but she did not know why. Do people age silently? She felt that her thoughts were like a black hole, spiraling into invisible possibilities and unknowns, and it was only the up-down-up-down of her father’s chest that kept her connected to the world outside her own.

They spoke without speaking, exchanging feelings and disentangling misunderstandings—two hearts that beat: up, down, up down.