Alright, so here it is. I love blogs. About a month ago, I stumbled across this great little blog and one of the best parts is that there is a new post on it everyday! The author’s name is Emily and this blog is called “An Object.” Every single day, she writes about an inanimate object and I must say, I adore it! I love her heart, her writing style and the opportunity to drink in the beauty of how she views the little things in life. I am an avid follower and wanted to share this little gem on my blogs. So here it is! Check her out at www.anobjectblog.blogspot.com Go on, do it! You won’t be disappointed! (:
An Object.
The Student.
How awesome would it have
been to have learned from and studied under the Apostle Paul?
I have the Holy Spirit. What a marvelous Instructor! He guides me with His
truth, intercedes for me deeper than I can imagine and more than I can fathom!
I have the world’s greatest Instructor, a gift to me by Christ Himself, but how
many classes have I skipped? How many lessons have I left unlearned. How I
would drop anything to listen to the apostle Paul speak for hours, yet I
neglect mere minutes with the Holy Spirit due to my supposedly busy schedule. How
foolish am I?!
Holy Spirit, I want to learn from you. Forgive me
for neglected lessons and plugged ears. Forgive me for times I have come to you
unteachable, with an unwilling heart. Help me to listen, not only to hear; to
learn and not only be taught. I want Your Truth. Teach me your ways, open my
ears to hear Your voice. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
“And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another
Advocate, who will never leave you. He is the Holy Spirit, who leads into all
truth. The world cannot receive him, because it isn't looking for him and
doesn't recognize him. But you know him, because he lives with you now and
later will be in you. But when the Father sends the Advocate as my
representative--that is, the Holy Spirit--he will teach you everything and will
remind you of everything I have told you.” John 14:16-17, 26
“But you must remain faithful to the things you have been
taught. You know they are true, for you know you can trust those who taught
you. All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for
reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God
may be competent, equipped for every good work.” 2 Timothy 3:14,16-17
"Quotations"
Quotation marks are funny things. We see them an immediately it's as if all our senses are forced to hone in on what is to follow. We are not fooled. If there be quotation marks, what they contain is important. Personally, I love quotes. For a while now, I have been compiling a list of my favorites and decided to share a few of them on here. If you want to see them, check out the above tab. I hope you enjoy them and allow them to inspire you as much as they have done for me. Enjoy! (:
Milk and Missed Appointments.
We are beings that see with such jaded eyes. Many times, it’s almost as if there be a thin glaze, a cloudy transparency, a blockade that keeps us from seeing as we should. We view the world in its splendor and man in his tremendous worth and disregard so much. Oh the sharing of a heart, the touching of one’s soul! We see flesh covered bones more often than masqueraded souls. Precious gems of the heart are tucked behind our natural gaze and escape our petty thoughts. We seek a view of surface gliding than the adventure of diving to the depths of one’s being.
She was walking though the local grocery store with her father, a girl on a mission. A mission to buy a gallon of milk. As she briskly strode through the aisles, the chill of the refrigerator section sent chills through her body. Finally reaching the back, milk in hand, they made their way toward the check stand. While her father chatted with the cashier, her eyes wandered, pursuing that candies and magazines typical to every store, designed to entice customers for that last second buy. Their purchase made, they dawdled towards the exit. That’s when it happened. A boy sitting only 15 feet away. Their eyes met, if only for a second, but it was still plenty of time to make an impact. She knew him. Knew his name. Knew that they had gone to school together. Knew that he came to church that one time. And with the way he looked at her, she knew he knew her too. They were not close, he and her. In fact, they were not even friends. But they knew one another, and that’s when it hit her. As she walked past him without a second glance, something dropped in her stomach. A realization.
Today she had seen three others like him. People that she knew from a variety of places, to whom she did not say a word. Not one of them, as far as she knew, a Christian. How often every day she lives her life in such a manner. It disgusted her. How can see live in a world among the perishing while never trying to save them. Though she certainly did open her mouth and speak to random “run-ins” quite often, there were also times she stood distant. So often she bore the uncomfort of seeing a past acquaintance, a face matched with a name, as she strode through life. How difficult would it be to muster a smile, a simple greeting perhaps? Would it kill her to merely ask about their day, their life and perhaps even go as far as inviting them to church? Yet again and again, she played ignorant, covering her eyes and quieting her conscience to excuse her from interaction. How silly. How uncaring. How many God-made appointments has she missed, not because she was not present, but due to her own unwillingness and selfish desire to stay comfortable? No more can she stand back. No more will she justify a missed appointment due to the making of another. Every appointment is important, every soul of priceless worth.
Thirsty.
"When my heart is overwhelmed, and I cannot hear your voice, I'll hold on to what is true, though I cannot see...staying desperate for you God, staying humbled at your feet, I will lift these hands in faith, I will believe."
Lord, this is often how I feel. I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I can't hear you, like I can't see - but this is where I must hold to what is true - your Word is true God, it will surely come to pass. Lord, I want to stay desperate for you. I want my eyes locked on you, my heart holding fast to your truth, your word. This is where I choose to set my heart Lord.
I don't like feeling desperate, yet I want to be desperate for you. I don't like the discomfort that thirst brings, but I want to be thirsty for you. Lord, never let me get so callused, so numb that I no longer long nor feeling longing for you. Here is where I find a difference between comfort and peace. Comfort is easy-going, relaxed and comfortable. I do not wish for comfort. Peace however is being able to feel steady and secure, or at least to know that I am even when the storm is at its worst. Peace happens even in the midst of chaos. Comfort will flee in the presence of pain, yet it is peace that braves the wind and waves.
Though thirst and desperation are uncomfortable, the God of peace I seek with a thirsty spirit and a desperate heart. Lord, I hold tightly to your word. I know your promises are good and that you are faithful. I am desperate for you. This is the honest cry of my heart. I want You God, even if it means discomfort. I choose your Word, your promises, holding on even when comfort calls to let go. My trust is in you. Thank you Lord for all your promises.
Your face alone will I seek.
"O God, I have tasted Thy goodness, and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need for further grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still. Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee, so that I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, 'Rise up my love, my fair one, and come away.' Then give me a grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long."
- A. W. Tozer
New Chapter.
“I’m losing you.”
“No, you are not. I’ll
still be here.”
“I know, but that’s what
it feels like.”
As the train pulls from
the station, my hair is tossed and swirls by the gust of wind the metal beast
produces. I watch longingly as the train rounds the corner and linger as the
sound of its chugging grows softer and softer until no longer perceptible. I
delay but a few more moments as if I may still see it return for me, but alas,
it never does. I remember the first day I
embarked upon my journey to this place.
I remember the hugs and cheers of family and friends as I boarded. I
remember with crystal clarity as I drew up the shoulder strap of my bag cinched
tight to my shoulder. I remember as I quietly took my seat amidst the bustle of
the train car pulling myself close the window. I recall the cool touch of the pane
as my forehead pressed against it, my breath clouding the glass. As the train
let off her thunderous cry, my body jolted as we slowly began our advance. I watched
as our speed picked up, as everything familiar passed away to fade into
oblivion. My surroundings quickly changed, yet I was afraid to direct my
attention to within the car, for that meant admitting that we truly weren’t
going back. The warm voice to our conductor rang through the car. I felt safe.
I knew this was where I was supposed to be.
Over the next three years
aboard, this train became my home, the other passengers my family. Together, we
made our way through breath-taking mountain ranges, braving also the deepest
valleys. We awoke and danced together when the sun would smile her face towards
us, we would cry with one another as we rode on through the darkest blacks of
night. We made stops like this one along the way and we would wave as our loved
ones reached their destinations. Some we lost this way. Yet these were the
happy endings. There were also seasons of travel where we would awake in the
middle of the night, alarms sounding through our cabins. It wasn’t long before
the news came of another passenger who had jumped from the train into the
blackness of the night. We would gather. We would weep as bitter pain crept
through our souls, punching us at the deepest parts. Yet every time, the
conductor voice would be heard, deep and warm as it always was. “We will
advance, your journey is not yet complete.” Made stronger, drawn closer by the
pain, we would move forward still.
I had no idea that my stop
would come so soon. What once was a fear to board is now a fear of
departure. What will this destination
look like? Who will be there waiting for me? What will the air taste like, how
will it feel? How will I find my way around? With whom will I spend my time?
I sit with a dear friend,
by the window where I sat on my first day aboard. She looks at me with wide
eyes. Her face is filled with emotion, both of joy and excitement, yet still
tainted by fear and loss.
“I’m really excited for
you, you know.”
I smile. As am I.
“I never thought it would
come this soon.”
“Me neither. But just
think of the whole new world you can explore out there.”
I have. Over and over
again. Bottled in my chest, the fear has turned to anticipation, uncertainty
into excitement. I can’t wait to explore what is ahead of my after I disembark.
“I know. It’s thrilling the
terrifying at the same time. It’s just crazy to think I’m not coming back
here.”
“Yeah…but you’re ready. I
know it. I am so proud of you. Who you’ve become. Who you are.”
Her eyes are kind, yet
sadness is laced within them, deeper than most people would ever notice. But I
do.
“Thank you. We’re still
doing this together you know. It’s an adventure for both of us.”
Silence lingers between us
for just a moment.
“I’m losing you.”
“No, you are not. I’ll
still be here.”
“I know, but that’s what
it feels like.”
“Like I said, it’s an
adventure for both of us. I just will be growing out there as you continue on
the journey laid before you here.”
She smiles. Neither of us
can predict what will happen next. Many would be lost in confusion, yet here
there is peace. We embrace only for a moment before the train cries its shrill,
sharp call. My stop has come.
She helps me to gather my
belongings and we walk to the door. Friends begin pouring from their cars to
wish me well, though I know we will still see each other every day. Three steps
off the car and I have reached the ground. Sweet air fills my lungs. New
passengers climb aboard, gleaming with expectation, chattering amongst
themselves with faces aglow. I smile at them, reminiscing my own experiences. The
door hinges cry as they close, the train breathes deeply with a loud hushhhhh.
The large metal snake heaves herself into motion and I watch her disappear.
Ready to face my newest adventure, I turn to face the new world I am now set
within. A familiar voice rings through my mind. The conductor. He is with me
even here, nearer than ever. Wait, could it be? All this time, the conductor,
my Father? He whispers gentle words, He guides me on as I navigate this new
world. Gaze forward, bag packed, I take the first step towards my future, my
Father by my side as He has always been.
Voice in the Rain.
Is it so strange that the
rain makes me smile? Steaming Irish tea gently cascades down my throat pouring
into what seems like my soul itself as it warms my relaxed body. As the rain
strikes out its lovely melody against my window, something brightens in my
soul. Through the glass and running droplets of water, the world fades into a
warped haze. Curled in a sweatshirt upon my bed, something stirs within me. A
realization of beauty. A gratitude to get to take part in this dance called
life. A comfort in knowing who I am and who my God is. Is this what it means to
be alive? An inanimate object cannot see beauty, cannot feel pain; it cannot
love and it cannot dream. It cannot taste of passion nor be stirred at the
depths of its being. It is not alive.
Yet living is not merely limited to adventure, though adventure is certainly a
part of it. Sometimes I find that the times I feel the most alive are those
when I am sitting still, breathing deeply and resting peacefully in my Father’s
arms. It’s in those moments when I tilt back my head, allow my eyes to close
and listen to the rain on my window, the voice of God speaking to my heart. Oh
the beauty, oh the peace. The world in its busy pursuits, its endless chatter
and its continual grating at my emotions drains me day after day. Yet its
moments of rest, of realization and of surrender such as this that I can rest
in the Presence of God and be renewed. The street is glossed with the sheen of
fresh rain as my soul glitters with the touch of my God. This is what it feels
like to truly live. Does it still seem strange to smile at the rain?
Glue and Glass Cases.
I am a ballerina in a glass case. Sitting upon the shelf in pirouetted perfection, I stare at the world around me. People gaze at the beauty of my figure, they idolize my form. They see the airbrushed complexion and the glossy shine of my hair. They don’t see the brokeness that once was and perhaps lingers still. Time and time again, I have fallen from this shelf I call home. Some occasions, I was pushed, while yet others I willingly and thoughtlessly jumped. The outcome is always the same. In a pile of shattered pieces and fragmented dreams, I have laid on the cool floor of life. These pieces have been set right again and the wounds have healed. The cracks left I have hidden, put back with glue of cheerful countenances and carefully selected words. Yet would it be all so bad if they saw the cracks, viewed openly the scars that explain my construction? Is it perhaps the most broken people who are the most beautiful? Perhaps then could I leave this shelf, break this glass case around me. Perhaps then I could be real, be free. I could dance. That’s the purpose for ballerinas, isn’t it? To dance, to glide beautifully, to stumble gracefully and to let the show go on? I am starved to release the emotion within me, both joy and pain. Bottled in my chest is glorious, it’s passionate and it wants to be known. Will I remove this case, step into territory I have entered with a rare few, and let my heart dance freely as it desires? More than anything do I want to be raw, to be real. Something will shatter today. Say goodbye to the glass case. This ballerina is dancing off her shelf.
