overwhelmed.

    by tiredness
        by printing maps
            by lists of everything that must be packed
                by the things i have yet to buy
           
        by the need to get lots of sleep
tonight
           
            by the thought
of driving in new places, alone

            by gratefulness that the actual safari isn’t for another three weeks
        and, by that glad feeling every time my Grace walks into the room
    and says “swing?”
(so we did.)

to all who have left me comments and messages,
you are not forgotten or unloved,
you’re just not the loudest squeak right now.  *smiles*
but i have been encouraged by your thoughts.

go with God.  and pray for us.

Just in case there are questions that I will not be
here to answer, my sister is paddling in the prelim for the Texas Water
Safari (texaswatersafari.org) tomorrow, and I am their team captain.  We leave at 4:30 in the
morning, and will spend the weekend racing (them) and training (me).

Boy_Drummer had an excellent post today.  Read it and see something of what women want.

I wish more people could hear and understand (and take to heart) what
he’s
saying.  I’ve been thinking in the last few weeks of how many
examples I see of boys in the Church not being taught by their parents
to honor girls,
or how to go about it.  Often this lack of training comes out in
an eagerness to start “relationships” (i.e. tell a girl he likes her)
without any way to
promise commitment.  It’s a selfishness, a willingness to pursue
what
“I” want regardless of the consequences, that pervades an entire
generation.  If you’re fifteen, there’s no way you can promise
forever–your crush probably won’t even last the five+ years it will
take until you can commit–so
quit playing with her heart!  I don’t care if she likes it, she doesn’t know anything yet!!  I’m nearly fifteen years
older than that, and I
still don’t understand my reactions to men.  As a Christian, it’s
your God-given duty to protect her…from you, even from herself. 
She’s your Sister.  Honor her!  Treat her with all
purity.  Even if it means keeping your
feelings tied and gagged in a closet for a few years.

Unfortunately, by the time many of
these
boys reach manhood they’ve taken a swing to the other extreme and leave
the pursuing to the girl, or at least to a safe bet (and how would he
know anyway, until he tries?).  That’s what I’m seeing from people
my age.  A refusal to risk a dream, or pride, for the
pursuit of something good.  I’m tellin’ you guys, a girl wants a
man who would rather risk his own heart than hers.  It’s called
sacrificial love.  It’s what Christ calls every one of us
to. 
And if you don’t do it before she’s yours, how will
the woman of your dreams know that you are even capable of loving her that
way? 

I want a man who knows he’s walking close to God,
who has sought the Lord regarding his desires, and is willing to pursue
me even if the going gets tough.  Yes, even if I’m the one making it tough!  I want him to
know I’m
the one, to know that I’m worth everything he could risk, and to be
willing to fight for me.  If he’s not sure before he entangles my
heart, time to tie and gag
that attraction.  Fortunately, for my heart, my daddy is a true
guardian, and he’ll either be an insurmountable barrier or a
great help to any suitors.

I want a man who knows how to die to himself, and love me as Christ loves the church.

Sacrificial love, guys…practice it, for us and for Christ.  And here’s a secret:  It’s almost irresistible in a man.

I’m speechless…

    “It left us speechless, quite speechless,
     I tell you!–and we have not stopped talking
of it since.”

more accurately, i’m voiceless.
driving fast with the windows down last night was probably not the best idea–that humidity is a killer.
Oh, but it was marvelous!  hannah made a good choice when she picked my song.

it’s coming back little by little.
not a pretty sound, but i can make myself heard, for the most part.
i ran into a friend at the grocery store a bit ago, and the minute he asked me how i was,
i could suddenly do more than whisper.  “I’m fine!  I can talk!”
not being able to talk is hard for me, especially with so many people in this house.
but it’s a good exercise in patience and self-control.  and listening.
somehow, not being able to speak makes me settle down.
i don’t spend my life restless or jittery, but somehow,
being quiet makes me still, and then i see that i do seem to have a lot of energy,
even when i’m just sitting down or driving.
i wonder if I appear to other people to be energized all the time, or if it’s just that my mind is constantly going.
for some reason, having my mouth still slows my brain down, too.
i can finally think.

i love driving with the windows down this spring.
the breezes are still cool, but the days are just warm enough to coax a scent from the wildflowers.
stretches of road that before went by unnoticed are suddenly my favorite spots.
i can smell the clover, evening primroses, sometimes jasmine or wisteria.
why don’t i remember this from other years?

off to see the wizard…and start some laundry.
this family has a bazillion washclothes, but somehow we manage to run out every week.
it’s all these teenagers and preteens washing their faces, the little dears.
sometimes i think i’d like to turn some of my work over to the people who cause it.
but then i think, isn’t that what serving means? 
i’m not cleaning the bathroom because i’m the messiest person so i deserve the trouble.
i’m cleaning it because that’s what God would have me do.

have you ever thought how nice it is to be asked by certain people how you’re doing?
someday i want to be one of those people.


        This is the true joy of life:  the being used up for a purpose


        recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being a force of nature



        instead of a feverish, selfish little clot of ailments and grievances,



        complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.



           
           
           
           
           
           
     
      
                 
            
               
~George Bernard Shaw



why the guilt?

Okay, Jenny N.  said I should post it, so I shall.

I saw some article  at…I forget where–somewhere that barely
counts as an information source–all about why we Americans have such
guilt over
our affairs. The French, who are surprisingly not as unfaithful as we
are led to believe, have their little affairs, preferring to keep
things
quiet, discreet, and when they are done everyone moves on, and no one
feels the need to kiss and tell. No ugly scenes, no ruined
marriages over a little “fling”, and best of all, no guilt.  (Ha!) In comparison American couples
usually end up in counseling or divorced, or both.  The woman’s
whole point was to
figure out why there’s such a stigma against extramarital affairs in
America. She never really figured it out. But I did, before I even
finished the first page: We feel guilty because it wasn’t that long
ago that our entire nation understood that we are guilty. France is
hundreds of years out of its “religious influences”, and they never had
the background we have to begin with. And suddenly I was laughing.  We
may be a new-millennium, unrestrained-by-traditional-views kind of people, but
we’re having a really hard time escaping the legacy of our nation’s
beginnings. And the guilt just won’t go away.

Score one for the
founding fathers.

oh, scandalous thought…


Go on up to the mountain of mercy


To the crimson perpetual tide



Kneel down on the shore



Be thirsty no more



Go under and be purified






Follow Christ to the holy mountain



Sinner sorry and wrecked by the fall



Cleanse your heart and your soul



In the fountain that flowed



For you and for me and for all






At the wonderful, tragic, mysterious tree



On that beautiful scandalous night you and me



Were atoned by His blood and forever washed white



On that beautiful, scandalous night










On the hillside, you were delivered



At the foot of the cross justified



And Your spirit restored



By the river that poured



From our blessed Savior’s side





At the wonderful, tragic, mysterious tree


On that beautiful, scandalous night you and me



Were atoned by His blood and forever washed white
On that beautiful, scandalous night






Go on up to the mountain of mercy


To the crimson perpetual tide


Kneel down on the shore


Be thirsty no more


Go under and be purified




At the wonderful, tragic, mysterious tree


On that beautiful, scandalous night you and me


Were atoned by His blood and forever washed white


On that beautiful,
scandalous night.


~smalltown poets



I’m all better!

Could have been allergies related to a spur-of-the-moment jaunt to Lake Jackson on Monday.


Weird…I’m not really allergic to anything but large quantities of dust.  Oh, well.


All that matters is I’m not sick, and I feel great.


And our weather turned cool.  This is
good spring weather.

And I bought a jean jacket this morning that I’ve been lovin’ all day because of the chilly breezes.

And I also bought a yellow dress, with ruffles on the skirt.  I must be insane….but I almost couldn’t help myself!


simply for the sake of having another post up–i’m tired of looking at the last one.
my brain can dredge up nothing more significant at the moment.
i think i’m getting a cold again.
you’d think i’d have learned by now:  i cannot survive without plenty of sleep.
spent most of today trying to sleep off what seems to be a sore throat in the making.
aren’t those the worst?
maybe when i’m done watching this video on how to do my little sister’s
latest program,  i’ll go read for a while.
another nap sounds good, too.