Sunday, August 25, 2013

Les choses dont j’apprendrai à ma fille future de noter la beauté


- le chant des oiseaux – surtout à l’aube
- les nuages qui nous protègent de la chaleur ardente du soleil à un midi d’été
- les arcs-en-ciel
- les couleurs des nuages pendant le coucher du soleil
- le timbre du piano
- le parfum des pages des livres, et des vieux livres
- le rire des enfants
- les yeux pleins de merveille
- les sons de la langue française
- la tranquillité de la nuit
- le son de la pluie sur le toit
- le goût sucré des baies
- le petrichor
- la solidité des arbres
- les couleurs d’automne
- la force des orages
- le son des chœurs des grillons
- les étoiles qui ce suspendent dans une nuit sans nuages
- la senteur du chèvrefeuille
- les lucioles
- la délicatesse des fleurs
- la compassion de Dieu

Friday, August 2, 2013

Five Minute Friday: Story

This post is for Lisa-Jo Baker's Five Minute Friday link-up, where she posts a one-word prompt, and then eager writers ready to throw caution to the wind write for five minutes without overediting or overthinking. It's simple and awesome. This is actually the first time I'm doing it, as I just heard about it about a half-hour ago. For more info, go here. Today's prompt is STORY.



I want my story to be meaningful. I read a book by Donald Miller where he talks about how he realized that the story he was living wasn’t meaningful, so he changed it. He started living more important stories. I want to do that, but I don’t know where to start.

Right now I’m a CSR by day and a who-knows-what by night. As in, I really don’t know. A dreamer, I guess? I want to do something that helps people and that gives me a sense of fulfillment.

I want to write about things that matter. I mean, I have this blog with my creative writing, but I read a lot of blogs where people are digging deep down and really getting their hands dirty, working through messy and beautiful things like grace and forgiveness and reconciliation, like building each other up, and acknowledging and tearing down the hurtful walls we’ve built. A lot of this conversation takes place in the context of the Church, but I’m not necessarily only talking about writing about things that pertain to Church and Christianity.

It takes guts to write about those things, the things that matter. I see people like Suzannah Paul and Registered Runaway opening up their hearts and also opening themselves up to criticism with the powerful pieces they write. It is only recently that I thought about how if I really did start to write about things that matter, I would open myself up to such criticism, too.

But I want to do it. I want to live a better story. God has given me a gift with language and writing, and I want to use it to glorify him. I want to write for him. I want to write to lift up the marginalized. I want to write to point out beauty wherever I see it. I think doing this is part of the story he is writing for me.

Am I ready to take him up on it and pick up his pen?

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Summer Night High

The blinking lights of planes in the night
harmonize with the stars. 

As crickets sigh,
the light streams of fireflies weave a tellurian paradise
and I understand at once
how foolish is wanderlust--
for what can Paris or Tokyo offer that can compare 
to this North American lullaby?

The sweet, fruity scent of summer-blooming trees
fills the atmosphere and invades my nostrils,
contributing to the high
of this summer night
and I can't imagine why
anyone
would want to be
anywhere but here.

Friday, July 26, 2013

A Different Kind of Quarter-Life Crisis

- 911, what is your emergency?
- Hi, I'm 27; when can I retire?
- *click*

- 911, what i-
- How about now?
- *click*
- [sobs]

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Insomnia


Some colors passing by,
Some dewdrops in my eyes,
Some planets overhead,
It’s time to go to bed.

A wrinkled sheet unfurled,
A topsy-turvy world,
A match lit in the dark,
A fire from a spark.

This world keeps spinning ‘round;
The stars don’t make a sound.
These endless nights wear on
Until we meet at dawn.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

The Words That I Lose to the Night

Trying to remember the words you breathed into my heart,
Trying to remember the melody I wrote in my dreamlike state.
I remember the sensations, but not the syllables.
I remember that it was good.
I remember that you were glorified.
I remember that I was too tired to get out of bed and write it down.
I remember wondering if I would remember it the next day;
I remember hoping I would.
But I can't remember the words.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Hope Unconditional

My hope isn't tied to the seasons; my hope isn't tied to the rain. My hope isn't tied to money, or stars, or good fortune, or a lack of pain.

My hope doesn't fade with the sunset, 'cause in the dark you call my name.

My hope is in a person. My hope is found.






Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Rain Come Down

Storms are brewing,
Winds are blowing,
Signs are showing:
It's coming on.

Fences are breaking.
Tension's mounting;
Fears, surrounding
It's coming now.

Rain on me and sweep me away in the hurricane:
I want to be caught up in you.
I'm no longer looking for safety;
I'm just looking for you, and you are good.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Ce que j'ai appris du renard

"Mais, si tu m'apprivoises, nous aurons besoin l'un de l'autre. Tu seras pour moi unique au monde. Je serai pour toi unique au monde...Ma vie sera comme ensoleillée. Je connaîtrai un bruit de pas qui sera différent de tous les autres. Les autres pas me font rentrer sous terre. Le tien m'appellera hors du terrier, comme une musique." - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince


Alors peut-être il faut que nous nous donnions, que nous offrions le cœur aux autres, ou au moins à un seul autre qui a la confiance. Comment apprécier être aimé si l’on n’est pas disposé à être vulnérable?

Monday, February 11, 2013

Sometimes


Sometimes I feel a little bit lonely. I want someone to share adventures with, you know?



Saturday, February 9, 2013

Eine kleine Nachtmusik

What becomes of us after the sweet incantations of our youth are gone? Do we turn to dust? Or do we grow on?

I spent the night in the woods alone. You'd think it would have been scary, but I saw things more clearly than I ever had before. Everything slowed down--there was not another human soul around to tell it to hurry.

I fell asleep to the whispers of the night: the quiet dream-breathing of the deer, and the fragrance of jasmine. I reposed on a bed of leaves and looked up at the moon and the stars.

And I knew--I knew--that God had written us into this story.