Well, I s'pose it's that time of year again.

The time where I run out of things to do and start telling people things they didn't want to know.

For example, today, I will proceed to tell you all about how impatient I am.

I want to grow up.
Move out of my parents house.
Get married.
Have kids.
Watch said kids grow up.
Move out of their parents house.
Get married.
Have kids.
Process repeats until I die.

(Insert here reminder to self that victims cannot worship and only a guilty culprit can but I still feel like ranting and raving)

I'm impatient for all of these things but I'm so far away from every one. I'm not anxious for any boy, but desperately desirous for all the things that society says come from one. no, not even all. I want to be: loved, held, reminded of God's truth, whispered to, smiled at, not alone? (though I'm not alone.)

(Insert here reminder to self that the Lord has already fulfilled every one of these wants but I still want them right here right now from a person I can touch see hold love kiss dream sleep night day tea for two afternoon right here right now)

I confess that I am afraid Jesus will come back to claim His Kingdom before I get any of this.

I am really really afraid of that.
("Only fear the Lord," says 1 Samuel)

But I am still anxious of it.
("Be anxious for nothing," says Phillipians)

Well, I'm troubled.
("Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid," says John)

Well is there nothing that I can be?
No. Trusting, yes. Patient, yes.

("But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control," says Galatians)

Ah! My flesh just wants to be jealous and impatient and afraid and anxious and troubled and pout until I get what I want.

("Now those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.," says Galatians.)


*headdesk*

"Music has charms to soothe the savage breast..."

"...to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak."
William Congreve, The Mourning Bride

I went a little new music crazy today. And most of it wasn't even new. I'm very excited about it. And I won't tell you how many albums I downloaded because even guilt-free me is a bit guilty about it. But most of it was quite old or relatively so and I won't dwell on it. But I did I find a new love in Joan As Police Woman.

And why is it that the saying became, "charms to soothe the savage beast," when it was written, "breast?" That really doesn't make any sense. Maybe we just alter what we don't understand so as not to have to admit we do not understand whatever it is that we don't understand.

Maybe people are just afraid of being wrong. Being misconceived, misunderstood (oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood), mistaken for something they aren't (or maybe something they are but won't acknowledge), or less than equal to everyone else. Newsflash: we won't ever all be equal. We're only equal in our inadequacy. Sin, flesh, selfishness, etc. I'll never: have hair as shiny as, teeth as white as, skin as clear as, play as well as, joke, speak, laugh, or smile as lovely as, or exist as "wonderfully" as: anyone of you. And I'm sure you could all come up with your own list.

But you know what? It's okay. Because I only perceive myself to be inadequate. I was created exactly as was intended and to want any less or more is saying that He didn't really quite know what He was doing when He gave me 20/100?150?+? vision or blonde hair or the inability to develop upper arm strength.


Through Him, I am perfected.

i always had a blogger's heart

//well all I want is to just be free
to live my life like I want to be
well all I want is to just have fun
to live my life like it's just begun//
Pushin' Too Hard -- The Seeds

I just saw an ad that asked if perhaps my entire childhood was a hallucination.

Of course, it wasn't, but sometimes I feel like I live my life from dream to dream.



And I think I'm between dreams right now.

Let me, Irene

Let me, Irene
Irene, I ran to you
You never ran to me
Since then I don't know where you've been

Irene
Irene, I ran from you
You never ran from me
Since then you don't know where I've been

You didn't say goodbye,
But neither did I

Irene
Let me, Irene
Rent the room you left
Brown the walls became
They had been blue
I had been blue
For you they were brown

I ran, Irene
Let me, Irene
Let me,
Let me run

i have something to say.

Hey you,
you're just a child,
yet somehow you still
drive me wild.
I can't explain it,
it makes no sense.
I don't think you
understood what it meant.
Time goes by,
you're still a kid.
I grew wiser but I
still can't get rid (of you).
Wish I could say
you'd grown up,
or that I had, too--
--we are sorry to interrupt
this message with
Breaking News.
The child played the wiser girl;
she still is being used.