On the fluidity of personality and feeling

I’d like to be perpetually joyful, but it just doesn’t happen sometimes.

Some lessons take longer to be learned.  There are days upon days when some things don’t make sense even when God seems to be blaring it (not that He would be so inclined to blare, but maybe declare) straight into my ear.

I wish I could be more constant.  Constancy is godly, something lofty and difficult and altogether desirable.  My God, after all, is timeless and unchanging.

My life according to a lolcat

 

From http://icanhascheezburger.com

 

So this, in a picture, is what my life looks like right now.

I have so many dreams.  Which is also why I have decided to pick the most important one first, chase and tackle and corral it, and THEN AND ONLY THEN run off in pursuit of the others.

Okay, that sounded waaay too serious and downright scary.  I originally just wanted to show you all the cute lolcat.

Tomorrow is Sopas Day

So I spent the better part of this evening pawing through leftover rotisserie chicken, mashing it up with my fingers for the filmy wisps that are put in sopas.  I’m pretty excited to make it, especially since Art has requested me to bring him a serving when we meet up at Church.  Thank God there is at least one person on this planet who is excited to eat my cooking!

We lost yet another helper, but I’m conflicted as to whether it was a bad thing.  What’s sad is that we weren’t too sorry to see her go.  On the other hand–the maid’s character notwithstanding–it is a joy to do housework in times of horrid mental congestion.  I think I had too much on my mind because I left myself too little to do.  Now that we’re back to being self-sufficient, I can say goodbye to aimless evenings and weekends spent in front of the television, where the only pause I take is that moment where I say, “Where did the time go?  I can’t believe I have to go to work again in a few hours.”  To work with my hands while sorting things out with half a mind (which unbelievably seems to make everything easier to digest)–priceless.

Today, I did a few  washes of laundry and prepared and cleaned up after two meals (not an impressive task, since we were cleaning out the leftovers from the fridge).  I realized that this was a golden opportunity to sharpen my cooking skills, but after the dinner I prepared sat on the table for 3 hours without anyone wanting to eat I remembered why the thought never occurred to me before.  It is a real mood-spoiler for someone who wants to cook to serve her creations to people who have to be forced to eat.  I pray that the enthusiasm of my diners will be somewhat improved after marriage.  I desperately want to learn how to cook, but the desire isn’t enough to overcome the demoralization from having to beg people to come to the table.

Today, I also thought about plans and what direction my life should take.  I wasn’t able to make any grand blueprints for a legacy to span generations, but I did realize something important about myself: That I don’t have the foggiest idea what I want out of life.  At some point in high school–battered by the disapproval and argumentation set forth by well-meaning people as to their preferred direction for my life–I stopped fighting for what I wanted, locked away everything I wanted never to be indulged again, and proceeded with what other people wanted for me with the obedience of a robot. 

In short I have found that I am incapable of determining what I want for myself.  Heavy stuff.  Not to mention weird.  I have to get over it, though.  I’m sick of trying to figure things out.

Do I?

Do I want to write a masterpiece 30 minutes before I have to leave the house for an appointment?

Do I want to write a masterpiece fresh from viewing a film that rocked my world?  To distill the emotions brewing inside my chest, anticipation activating all nerves to my very fingertips?

Do I want to write a masterpiece even if I’m the only one who thinks that’s what it is?

Do I want to write a masterpiece to cry out to a fallen world that hastens to its absolute corruption?

Do I want to write a masterpiece for myself (until the concept of my own person as an audience becomes as natural as breathing air)?

Do I want?  To write?  A masterpiece?

Yes, yes, and yes.

(Thank you, Ilia.  :) )

I, too, go up to Jerusalem

And taking the twelve, he said to them, “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written about the Son of Man by the prophets will be accomplished. For he will be delivered over to the Gentiles and will be mocked and shamefully treated and spit upon. And after flogging him, they will kill him, and on the third day he will rise.” But they understood none of these things. This saying was hidden from them, and they did not grasp what was said. (Luke 18:31-34, ESV)

In a quiet and cold of this morning, the Lord spoke to me through a Bible verse.  The words of my Lord Jesus on his prophesied suffering and death began to make their sense in my life.  It was as if the verse read,

And taking Aggie, he said to her, “See, we are going up to your own Jerusalem, and everything that the Father has planned out for you before the world began must come to pass. For you will find your purpose in your new line of work, but must suffer many hardships and trials in the course of learning the trade. After many physical, emotional, and mental floggings, you will die a little each day but later the Father will be brought to glory for your having passed these tests of faith.“

The thread will continue as follows:

But in her weariness and loss of self-confidence, she understood none of these things.  This saying was hidden from her, and she did not grasp what was said.

Being your own gift to the world

Just now I finished a Biography Channel feature on Celine Dion, and I am at a loss for words.  All at once, I feel touched, astounded, awestruck, weirded-out, skeptical, inspired, grateful… the net effect being a pretty wonderful state of mind and heart.

She seems so honest, loving, and hardworking that at times she really pushes the envelope, and I begin to wonder if she’s real.  Then the documentary shows her at different times in her life, in different video clips consistently exhibiting and saying all the same things that make her who she is, and apparently this beautiful person is the genuine article.

My favorite bits: