Being Home for Thanksgiving is completely fabulous. I adore my family so much it hurts. I love fighting with everyone else in the house to get a few intelligent words in to my mom. I love the dorky things my siblings do. I love getting to share what's been going down in Gville. It's just so refreshing.
Today is Olivia's 9th birthday. She's my "twin" in the family. We look the most alike, and act the most alike. It's adorable, and I adore her.
Last night I got to spend some time with one of my best friends, Laura. Laura got engaged on Sunday afternoon, which I cannot contain my excitement about. It was so great to get to spend some time with her and Ben last night. We had our first sleepover last night, which is rather odd since we've been such great friends for so long. It was grand.
I got to spend some time with another best girl, Bi on Monday night. She slept over my place. My life is hilarious. I hate when people leave, so I do pretty much anything to prevent it. I sleep on the floor if I have to. I love being home, and I love my family and my amazing friends.
I've been tutoring a lot this week, which is very cool and I am very thankful for the opportunity to do that since I've been tutoring on Skype all semester. It's really nice to be in person this week. Fab!
There are a lot of thoughts going on in my head, and I would love to type them all out so I can read them myself and maybe get a better idea of what they even mean... but I have to go get some errands run for me mater. That's Latin:)
Anyway, more to come, cross my heart.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Peanut butter
And so, I've set the mood. The lights are turned off. All except Monroe, my adorable purple little lamp on my desk. I've turned my tiny red fan on; the one I can't sleep without. My face is washed. I'm ready for bed.
But lately, I've been in serious need to dispense my thoughts somewhere. I am still in a verbal drought. I speak when I need to. I just don't feel like talking too much. So, so much in going on in this crazy-haired head of mine. And I've been journaling like a fool. It feels wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. So refreshing. Completely relieving. And so I've decided I must blog.
Tonight I confessed to my mom I feel I have no wisdom. I feel as though I cannot trust my own sense. Yeah, I've kinda gotten pretty down. Her response was somewhat strange, and actually really right on. She told me I'm just seeing the fragility of my own heart.
I keep remembering the line in How Great the Father's Love for Us. "I will not boast in anything, no gifts no power, no wisdom." I keep thinking to myself, "Well, no issues there, cause I'm feeling a little bit of a void in those areas anyway."
So now, I kinda look at myself, and see the situation. I'm fragile, and frail. And when my weaknesses are clear, I feel no room for strength.
I don't like wondering if this is one of the times in my life I'll look back and say, "Yup. THAT was a hard time." I don't like realizing that it is in fact, a difficult time. I like to think that everything is peachy. Most of the time, I find more than one reason to answer "Everything has been awesome!" to the question, "How've you been?"
But then I look again... I am so frail.
Today I read 1 Timothy 4:2, that says "Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage- with great patience and careful instruction."
Hmmm... I guess right now might be an out of season time.
Out of season is an unlucky time. When you bite into an apple that's out of season (I know this so well...) , it's just not the kind of moment you wish you could relive. When I get apples that are out of season, I have to eat them with peanut butter. It's the only way I can get it down. Otherwise, they're sour, and grainy, and just not good.
I feel like the spoon full of life I take everyday has been like an apple out of season. To get it down, I've needed Jesus so much. Anything to help me down the bitter taste of an unlucky time. So yes, I just compared Jesus to peanut butter. But I'm not asking you to judge me. I'm not really asking much of anything. I'm just typing.
So, this is the scene: apple in hand, peanut butter close by. In the end, I'll have been nourished, and full.
And I compare this again to my life. Another spoon full of life, and Jesus close by. In the end, He will not send me away empty, but walk on with me, filled to overflowing.
But lately, I've been in serious need to dispense my thoughts somewhere. I am still in a verbal drought. I speak when I need to. I just don't feel like talking too much. So, so much in going on in this crazy-haired head of mine. And I've been journaling like a fool. It feels wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. So refreshing. Completely relieving. And so I've decided I must blog.
Tonight I confessed to my mom I feel I have no wisdom. I feel as though I cannot trust my own sense. Yeah, I've kinda gotten pretty down. Her response was somewhat strange, and actually really right on. She told me I'm just seeing the fragility of my own heart.
I keep remembering the line in How Great the Father's Love for Us. "I will not boast in anything, no gifts no power, no wisdom." I keep thinking to myself, "Well, no issues there, cause I'm feeling a little bit of a void in those areas anyway."
So now, I kinda look at myself, and see the situation. I'm fragile, and frail. And when my weaknesses are clear, I feel no room for strength.
I don't like wondering if this is one of the times in my life I'll look back and say, "Yup. THAT was a hard time." I don't like realizing that it is in fact, a difficult time. I like to think that everything is peachy. Most of the time, I find more than one reason to answer "Everything has been awesome!" to the question, "How've you been?"
But then I look again... I am so frail.
Today I read 1 Timothy 4:2, that says "Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage- with great patience and careful instruction."
Hmmm... I guess right now might be an out of season time.
Out of season is an unlucky time. When you bite into an apple that's out of season (I know this so well...) , it's just not the kind of moment you wish you could relive. When I get apples that are out of season, I have to eat them with peanut butter. It's the only way I can get it down. Otherwise, they're sour, and grainy, and just not good.
I feel like the spoon full of life I take everyday has been like an apple out of season. To get it down, I've needed Jesus so much. Anything to help me down the bitter taste of an unlucky time. So yes, I just compared Jesus to peanut butter. But I'm not asking you to judge me. I'm not really asking much of anything. I'm just typing.
So, this is the scene: apple in hand, peanut butter close by. In the end, I'll have been nourished, and full.
And I compare this again to my life. Another spoon full of life, and Jesus close by. In the end, He will not send me away empty, but walk on with me, filled to overflowing.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I'm funny
For all of you who think I'm too serious and deep for my own good, please know that I am in real life, indeed a nut. So true, to the point that this clip is- in my bullet-proof opinion- completely fabulous.
LOVE Dave Barnes.
LOVE Dave Barnes.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
My Dad's story
I don't think I've blogged very much about this, but this is my dad's story from June 15th 2009. The 700 Club did a story on him, and here it is:)
The sounds and silences of depths
I should be heading to the DC (dining commons) right now. It's only open for another 45 minutes. But I feel like writing. I need to stop ushering the urges to the back of my mind. I'm just going to write, and trust that being faithful to my love of writing will give back to me some sort of rest in my head before I live the rest of my day.
Last night was Julia Markotay's Senior Recital. She was my accompanist last year, and the choir accompanist. I've never known a more talented pianist. She is a musician in every form of the way. I know my fingers could never work the way hers do. She is utterly devastatingly beautiful head to toe, and her music speaks for her the sounds of her own unspeakable depths. I've always called "depth" that which is inside of you. The things you can't say. The things that can only exist.
I've always wondered if there were a world behind the eyes, a place that shows the emotion that moves you. Maybe it's a place that looks like a beautiful meadow. Maybe it's a river. Don't mock me for this people, it's been in my head for years. I've always imagined what my "depth" would look like. I've written so many poems and lyrics about it. My depth. What does it look like?
And then, from a musician's standpoint, what does it sound like?
I've always pondered this. When I'm about to write a song, I always try to tune myself into what I'm really feeling. Music makes you feel something. But there are times that "something" makes you feel music. And so the times that "somethings" cause me to feel something, I try to wait patiently to when I'll know exactly the music it makes me feel. The music that I can sense.
It's the music I believe would be playing in the air above the specific scene in my depth at that moment. When I'm heartbroken, the gems that line the floor of the rivers flowing there lose a little bit of the blue green color that matches my eyes. Everything is reflective of what I am. My hair is crazy, and so are the branches of the trees, and the spiraling of the leaves that fall.
And so, returning to last night, I felt like Julia played from the innermost parts of her depth. She felt each note, each chord, each rest. Even the silences were unmistakably musical. And perfectly beautiful.
When I have my own house, it will be full of sweet and lovely smelling candles, and full of music.
I am a CCM major mind you. But, I have become a victim of falling in love with something I never thought possible. Classical music moves me so powerfully now, I can't help but immerse myself in it. I LOVE singing in German, French and Italian especially of course. I love the random notes that after studying them, are anything but random. They're entirely purposeful, and incredible with such scores of meaning. I love being able to tell you the story I'm singing with my eyes and the emotion in my (less than perfect) classical voice. Singing classical music makes me feel like I'm breathing. Sometimes flying. It's times like these that I get sad that I'll be done rather soon. I want to keep mastering the ways to use my voice. I want to keep learning how to play the piano. I want to be the best composer I could possibly be. I want it all. I don't want it to end.
Julia's recital put me in my place for my own Senior Recital coming in February. I've been planning and practicing what feels like nonstop this semester. In fact I have a practice today for the four songs I'll be doing with a strings section. Tomorrow I'll be practicing with one of the Quartets for a hymn in the first half of the recital. Wednesday I'll be practicing one of the duets. Ahhhh, what am I going to do when it's over? All this time... your entire four years as a music major are dedicated to this one recital. And just like that, in a matter of minutes upon minutes, it's over.
So part of me feels relieved to have just written all of this. I'm going to end it now. I'm hungry.
Last night was Julia Markotay's Senior Recital. She was my accompanist last year, and the choir accompanist. I've never known a more talented pianist. She is a musician in every form of the way. I know my fingers could never work the way hers do. She is utterly devastatingly beautiful head to toe, and her music speaks for her the sounds of her own unspeakable depths. I've always called "depth" that which is inside of you. The things you can't say. The things that can only exist.
I've always wondered if there were a world behind the eyes, a place that shows the emotion that moves you. Maybe it's a place that looks like a beautiful meadow. Maybe it's a river. Don't mock me for this people, it's been in my head for years. I've always imagined what my "depth" would look like. I've written so many poems and lyrics about it. My depth. What does it look like?
And then, from a musician's standpoint, what does it sound like?
I've always pondered this. When I'm about to write a song, I always try to tune myself into what I'm really feeling. Music makes you feel something. But there are times that "something" makes you feel music. And so the times that "somethings" cause me to feel something, I try to wait patiently to when I'll know exactly the music it makes me feel. The music that I can sense.
It's the music I believe would be playing in the air above the specific scene in my depth at that moment. When I'm heartbroken, the gems that line the floor of the rivers flowing there lose a little bit of the blue green color that matches my eyes. Everything is reflective of what I am. My hair is crazy, and so are the branches of the trees, and the spiraling of the leaves that fall.
And so, returning to last night, I felt like Julia played from the innermost parts of her depth. She felt each note, each chord, each rest. Even the silences were unmistakably musical. And perfectly beautiful.
When I have my own house, it will be full of sweet and lovely smelling candles, and full of music.
I am a CCM major mind you. But, I have become a victim of falling in love with something I never thought possible. Classical music moves me so powerfully now, I can't help but immerse myself in it. I LOVE singing in German, French and Italian especially of course. I love the random notes that after studying them, are anything but random. They're entirely purposeful, and incredible with such scores of meaning. I love being able to tell you the story I'm singing with my eyes and the emotion in my (less than perfect) classical voice. Singing classical music makes me feel like I'm breathing. Sometimes flying. It's times like these that I get sad that I'll be done rather soon. I want to keep mastering the ways to use my voice. I want to keep learning how to play the piano. I want to be the best composer I could possibly be. I want it all. I don't want it to end.
Julia's recital put me in my place for my own Senior Recital coming in February. I've been planning and practicing what feels like nonstop this semester. In fact I have a practice today for the four songs I'll be doing with a strings section. Tomorrow I'll be practicing with one of the Quartets for a hymn in the first half of the recital. Wednesday I'll be practicing one of the duets. Ahhhh, what am I going to do when it's over? All this time... your entire four years as a music major are dedicated to this one recital. And just like that, in a matter of minutes upon minutes, it's over.
So part of me feels relieved to have just written all of this. I'm going to end it now. I'm hungry.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Ropes
I have not written enough lately. It affects me when I don't write. I feel like a bottle shaken up. I'm gonna burst and get all sticky if I don't just force myself to write. I don't know what I'm gonna write about, but I'm at least writing.
These last few weeks have been a little on the difficult side. I feel like God's been nailing me time after time with another curve ball after I just got socked a second ago. Like we're in a mega game of dodgeball, and my shoes melted to the pavement. I can't tell whether i should just try to cover my face so I don't get too deformed, or if I should try to move.
I'm in the middle of it all. Things I've been thinking about and dealing with. I can't tell you any revelations because they haven't exactly come yet.
I don't really see the light in the dark at the moment. But that's ok. Because it's just a story. In fact, if my life were a book, I'd probably be hooked.
On a side note, I wouldn't mind my life being a book, because if it were, I'd probably have a little more of a clue what's going on down here. When you read a book, you know the people you're rooting for. You're on the main character's side more often than not, and you gain an outside perspective even though that character may be confused.
Even though that character keeps getting nailed in the gut with a dodgeball, you know she'll make it out ok. Even though she just feels the loss of wind from her lungs at the impact of what she's enduring, you already see how she's changing and growing.
I'm not sure who I'd be if I were in a supporting role in someone else's story. If people would be rooting for me, or I'd be the one that the readers would say, "Ugh, I can't stand that girl." But hey, on a lighter note, I'd be the one to make the story exciting.
I love to read. My thoughts sound like narrations sometimes. I write in journals all the time, and write like I'm writing a novel. It releases me. I'm free when I do that. Like I'm writing a song, but I don't need to be vague. I can just say it.
I haven't written a song since I write my last one Why Don't You. I think Zach and I are gonna play it on Tuesday at our show in the Blackroom. Psyched for that, man. Like I said, I'm in the middle of whatever this season is in the life is Shai. I haven't figured out the inspiring closing lines of the chapter. I don't really have much to say. Once I do, you'll hear it in a song, I promise.
I haven't even really felt like talking much. That is really weird for me. Don't get me wrong. I am not depressed. I'm still around people all the time, and thrive off of other people being around me. I just don't really feel like talking about myself or things I'm thinking about. I feel like those thoughts don't make sense yet.
The fact is, I'm still standing. In the imaginary world of this wild game of dodgeball, I'm feeling every blow, but I'm not going down. I don't intend to.
It's one of those times, those stressful times I look around at all the people here at Greenville that mean so much to me, and I get so sad about leaving them all for good in only 6 months. Can you believe that? I'll be done college in only 6 months. Sons of freaking guns. The fact that this semester is coming closer to it's end is making me a little nostalgic.
I love change. I love getting on with it. No use dragging your feet in life. I get impatient. I get genuinely excited for new things in life. But I'm also too deep for my own well being at times. I'm extremely sentimental and reflective. I don't like ropes of time to just slip through open hands. I like to feel the ropes of time passing through my fingers at the same speed they would have passed had my hands been open. Sometimes I hold so tightly the friction burns my hands. And even though the burns can bleed, I feel satisfied because I felt it all. I lived it all. And it hurt. But it was worth it.
So I guess I can say the ropes are burning my hands at the moment. The pain is firing through me. I'm hardly numb. I feel it 100%. I don't want to live and not feel the ropes of time pass through hands that don't hold on to anything. I just want to live my life. I don't want my life to live me, I want to be the one who lives.
These last few weeks have been a little on the difficult side. I feel like God's been nailing me time after time with another curve ball after I just got socked a second ago. Like we're in a mega game of dodgeball, and my shoes melted to the pavement. I can't tell whether i should just try to cover my face so I don't get too deformed, or if I should try to move.
I'm in the middle of it all. Things I've been thinking about and dealing with. I can't tell you any revelations because they haven't exactly come yet.
I don't really see the light in the dark at the moment. But that's ok. Because it's just a story. In fact, if my life were a book, I'd probably be hooked.
On a side note, I wouldn't mind my life being a book, because if it were, I'd probably have a little more of a clue what's going on down here. When you read a book, you know the people you're rooting for. You're on the main character's side more often than not, and you gain an outside perspective even though that character may be confused.
Even though that character keeps getting nailed in the gut with a dodgeball, you know she'll make it out ok. Even though she just feels the loss of wind from her lungs at the impact of what she's enduring, you already see how she's changing and growing.
I'm not sure who I'd be if I were in a supporting role in someone else's story. If people would be rooting for me, or I'd be the one that the readers would say, "Ugh, I can't stand that girl." But hey, on a lighter note, I'd be the one to make the story exciting.
I love to read. My thoughts sound like narrations sometimes. I write in journals all the time, and write like I'm writing a novel. It releases me. I'm free when I do that. Like I'm writing a song, but I don't need to be vague. I can just say it.
I haven't written a song since I write my last one Why Don't You. I think Zach and I are gonna play it on Tuesday at our show in the Blackroom. Psyched for that, man. Like I said, I'm in the middle of whatever this season is in the life is Shai. I haven't figured out the inspiring closing lines of the chapter. I don't really have much to say. Once I do, you'll hear it in a song, I promise.
I haven't even really felt like talking much. That is really weird for me. Don't get me wrong. I am not depressed. I'm still around people all the time, and thrive off of other people being around me. I just don't really feel like talking about myself or things I'm thinking about. I feel like those thoughts don't make sense yet.
The fact is, I'm still standing. In the imaginary world of this wild game of dodgeball, I'm feeling every blow, but I'm not going down. I don't intend to.
It's one of those times, those stressful times I look around at all the people here at Greenville that mean so much to me, and I get so sad about leaving them all for good in only 6 months. Can you believe that? I'll be done college in only 6 months. Sons of freaking guns. The fact that this semester is coming closer to it's end is making me a little nostalgic.
I love change. I love getting on with it. No use dragging your feet in life. I get impatient. I get genuinely excited for new things in life. But I'm also too deep for my own well being at times. I'm extremely sentimental and reflective. I don't like ropes of time to just slip through open hands. I like to feel the ropes of time passing through my fingers at the same speed they would have passed had my hands been open. Sometimes I hold so tightly the friction burns my hands. And even though the burns can bleed, I feel satisfied because I felt it all. I lived it all. And it hurt. But it was worth it.
So I guess I can say the ropes are burning my hands at the moment. The pain is firing through me. I'm hardly numb. I feel it 100%. I don't want to live and not feel the ropes of time pass through hands that don't hold on to anything. I just want to live my life. I don't want my life to live me, I want to be the one who lives.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Cold feet
You know what I've discovered? I hate the common. I hate the old. I hate when fresh turns stale.
There are morning I wake up and my hands feel dry. Sometimes my feet do too. I really don't like it. It's disheartening. My socks don't always protect my toes from the bite of the night. Stale. Cold feet. Having no relation to anxiety whatsoever. Limp. I hate it.
I hate when I use the washing machines here at Greenville, and my black shirts might as well be gray. I like it bright. I like it bold. Those darn machines chew my colors pale.
Some of the most disappointing moments come after I spend a lot of time on my appearance. I spend the day feeling like my face and hair is still quite as perfect as it was hours before when I put the straightener away and closed the tube in my mascara... all to find the primping deflated throughout the day and I look rather... normal.
Common. Nothing special. Ordinary. Pale. Lame.
I hate when my faith becomes common. Common itself is sickeningly unexciting. It's easy to say. It rolls of the tongue because you hardly even need a tongue to say it, and it lets your lips be lazy. As a vocal major, I've learned well the easy sounds to make. An "m" is as close to a resting point as you can get.
I'm in the part of my semester that everything blends together, and I just can't wait to catch up to Thanksgiving, and finally get a break. I'm tired. I took an hour and a half nap today. I'm still tired. I have so much to do, but I don't really want to do it. There are so many things going on, and even though they're exciting things sometimes, I don't really care. The days have become common. I go to the same classes. I wake up at the same time everyday. I wear the same shoes, and tie a scarf around my tan-less neck and walk out the door with my bag full of books. I sing for hours, and come home and suck on a cough drop to try to soothe the hard working vocal cords. I drink a ton of water. Shower. Aghh everything is just so common!
The thing that pricks me like open eyes at 6 am, is that God calls us to be uncommon. Because He is out of this world. He is NOT common. Common is unexciting, and ordinary. But the entire concept of being a Christian is the most indescribable thing. And I don't even know what to do with the weight of the common in life. I don't want a common life. I don't like common moments. I don't like the "same old." It's boring. It's unfulfilling really. It's a sorry excuse. It's blind eyes in a world of vibrance. It's sick.
I don't want to be common. That's all.
There are morning I wake up and my hands feel dry. Sometimes my feet do too. I really don't like it. It's disheartening. My socks don't always protect my toes from the bite of the night. Stale. Cold feet. Having no relation to anxiety whatsoever. Limp. I hate it.
I hate when I use the washing machines here at Greenville, and my black shirts might as well be gray. I like it bright. I like it bold. Those darn machines chew my colors pale.
Some of the most disappointing moments come after I spend a lot of time on my appearance. I spend the day feeling like my face and hair is still quite as perfect as it was hours before when I put the straightener away and closed the tube in my mascara... all to find the primping deflated throughout the day and I look rather... normal.
Common. Nothing special. Ordinary. Pale. Lame.
I hate when my faith becomes common. Common itself is sickeningly unexciting. It's easy to say. It rolls of the tongue because you hardly even need a tongue to say it, and it lets your lips be lazy. As a vocal major, I've learned well the easy sounds to make. An "m" is as close to a resting point as you can get.
I'm in the part of my semester that everything blends together, and I just can't wait to catch up to Thanksgiving, and finally get a break. I'm tired. I took an hour and a half nap today. I'm still tired. I have so much to do, but I don't really want to do it. There are so many things going on, and even though they're exciting things sometimes, I don't really care. The days have become common. I go to the same classes. I wake up at the same time everyday. I wear the same shoes, and tie a scarf around my tan-less neck and walk out the door with my bag full of books. I sing for hours, and come home and suck on a cough drop to try to soothe the hard working vocal cords. I drink a ton of water. Shower. Aghh everything is just so common!
The thing that pricks me like open eyes at 6 am, is that God calls us to be uncommon. Because He is out of this world. He is NOT common. Common is unexciting, and ordinary. But the entire concept of being a Christian is the most indescribable thing. And I don't even know what to do with the weight of the common in life. I don't want a common life. I don't like common moments. I don't like the "same old." It's boring. It's unfulfilling really. It's a sorry excuse. It's blind eyes in a world of vibrance. It's sick.
I don't want to be common. That's all.
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm
There is nothing like hearing hundreds of people worship together. This is a video from Vespers last week when my band led worship. We ended the first set with In Christ Alone. Not gonna lie, it was inspired by Adam Young from Owl City. I posted his version of this song last week. With the fourth verse, the people just sang, and it absolutely moves me. Hearing the voices lifted up, harmonies and all. It's just beautiful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)