shouts of joy

Isn't it true how we study a bud of a rose, so eagerly awaiting it's unfolding, singing our praises with oohing and awing, so willingly tending to it's every leaf, ever anticipating it's blooming because we believe in what we cannot see; it will become a full and lovely thing. When it blooms in all its glory we take pride. How then does such a beautiful thing fade; slowly, slowly, slowly we look past it all, forgetting the anticipated efforts, the desire for such loveliness and the pride in what we've nurtured. Until one day we notice something amiss, and again we yearn, with much less than a second thought, for that fullness and beauty; a fullness and beauty that was never really ours.

I want to understand the power in silence then my gushing river of words might instead refresh like a gentle stream I want to understand your faith then my faith that I claim is strong enough to move mountains might instead be felt through our embrace I want to understand sacrifice then my obsession with the figure in the mirror might instead reflect deep truth in the words, "I care" I want to understand trust then the past that I've worn like old prescriptions might instead be replaced so I can focus ahead I want to understand that understanding has it's own limit then my understanding that is incomplete might instead wait with fervor for a Completeness I want to understand that until that Completeness then I must commit to do three things: trust steadily, hope unswervingly, and love extravagantly

Hyundai puts it well. Mischief loves company. And so do I. As I sit down this morning to start working on lesson plans in a new town, a new house, a new community, for a new school, with a new age group. I don't know what I'm doing. If I could, I'd purchase a mentor or professor to remind me what I've learned in college the past 6 years. Am I competent? Will I succeed? Will this loneliness go away? Will this place ever feel like home? Will I find someone who will join my mischief? These questions scroll around my brain all day. Not sure if it's coincidence or an answer to prayer, but the chapter I read this morning in 2 Corinthians said: "Satan has done a good job of pushing you down. He will push you to your knees. And then you'll beg God to remove the pain and grief, but this is what He says: 'My grace is enough; it's all you need My strength fills you when you are weak.' What a gift. Now you are stro

when did the sun fade? and these clouds that have settled, from where do they stretch? when once the life was green and vibrant trees tall and strong now they droop and weep closing in on this frozen ground filtering through a scale of gray if I could box this up and send it off i would send it to the north pole where I believe it belongs the only thing I can box are a few personal items my thoughts are not those they aren't my own but if I could box them I would categorize and organize alphabetize and synchronize I would box them and send them to the north pole far away I would send them so the riddles wouldn't rattle at night and rock my body to wake stealing such sweet dreams without asking stealing what's mine and replacing with fear oh, how I wish I could box them I would label and address them and send them to the north pole oh, how I'd like to transport this grief and vexation pack it and ship it bury what is rotten and pluc