Sunday, September 30, 2012


...was the perfect day for working on my acorn collection.

I'm pretty sure the spirit of Ralph Waldo Emerson was walking alongside me as I hunted and gathered in the grass. Or perhaps those were the acorns talking.

Monday, September 24, 2012

how is this a monday?

image via

Cool air, The Avett Brothers, a glass of (highly sentimental) wine, & a home cooked meal.
Does it get any better than this?

No. Really, I don't think there's much else beyond this. I am utterly satisfied.

Speaking of the Avetts, here are the lyrics to one of the songs I've been playing and replaying as of late:

I wanna have friends that I can trust
That love me for the man I've become, not the man that I was.
And I wanna have friends that'll let me be
all alone when being alone is all that I need.
I wanna fit in to the perfect space,
to feel natural and safe in a volatile place.
And I wanna grow old without the pain,
give my body back to the earth and not complain.
Will you understand, when I am to hold up a man?
And will you forget, when we have paid our debt,
who did we borrow from? Who did we borrow from?
Okay, part two, now clear the house.
The party's over take the shouting and the people, get out.
I have some business and a promise that I have to hold to.
I do not care what you assume or what the people tell you.
Will you understand, when I am too old of a man?
And will you forget, when we have paid our debt,
who did we borrow from? Who did we borrow from?
I wanna have pride like my mother has.
And not like the kind in the Bible that turns you bad.
And I wanna have friends that I can trust.
That love me for the man I'll become and not the man that I was.

Might as well be a poem, no? That first stanza grabs me by the heart, especially the first six lines. Resonates in my bones, right through to the marrow.

Oh, I love it. Happy Monday.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

where we worship

This morning I went to church for the first time since Christmas (and Christmas had been the first time in, oh, probably a year). Strange for someone that grew up attending religiously (ba-dum-bum!) and even taught Sunday school for many years.

Or perhaps not. The more I stumble my way back to Christ, the more I realize how normal it is to disavow the religious teachings of one's childhood, only to pick them up in a deeper way later on down the road. In some ways it seems so obvious, and yet it wasn't -- not to me. Plenty of people cast off their childhood beliefs permanently; others never believe in much to begin with. As for me, I never really stopped believing in a higher power; I just stopped going to church.

Is refusing to admit one's allegiance to Jesus the same thing as denying him? When praise is kept private, a sort of silent thanksgiving, is it as meaningful?

I don't have any answers, not really, just the knowledge that the desire to return to church has been growing inside me for months now. To be surrounded by people straining for light, beauty, and truth amidst the muck of the world. To know more about God and to know God. Still, admitting I'm a Christian (and not just a Christian, but a Catholic at that) kind of gives me a sick feeling in my stomach: I hate the stereotypes associated with what it means to subscribe to the three-in-one.

It's easier knowing I'm not alone. Two weeks ago I picked up an awesome book that I've been poring over on my commute to and from work. And last night I listened to a wonderful podcast that brought Bonhoeffer to the forefront of my mind and has me lingering on these words, from interviewee Christian Wiman:

"I am convinced that the same God that might call me to sing of God at one time might call me at another to sing of godlessness. Sometimes when I think of all this energy that's going on, all of these different people trying to find some way of naming and sharing their belief, I think it may be the case that God calls some people to unbelief in order that faith can take new forms."

I've also been reading the work of a former professor (I never took his classes, but he was associated with the Honors Program Office, where I worked for a while), which I find extremely helpful in exploring questions of art, too.

Not sure what's prompting me to share so very much on a topic I've hardly covered before, but it's such a crucial part of my universe and experience of the world right now, and this space is where I record life in my little corner, right? So. Peace be with you, I suppose. x


All paintings featured here are from Michelle Muldrow's Catherdrals of Desire series. I was reminded of them by the opening lyrics of today's recessional hymn: "Some folk would rather have houses and land/ Some folk choose silver and gold/ These things they treasure and forget about their souls . . . "

Titles, from top to bottom, are: "Jubilee" | "Altar in Orange" | "Delirium" | "Reconfiguration" | "Cathedral II" | and "Every Gain Divine"

Saturday, September 22, 2012


Today has been perfect September weather -- crisp air and blue skies, made even better by the scent of burning leaves drifting over from the neighbors and a pumpkin spice candle I've been burning nonstop since waking up. 

I liked the way the afternoon sun was setting on the back of this guy, one of two "bronzed beetle" knobs I got on clearance at Anthro a few weeks ago (while on my lunch break -- oh the joys of an hour-long lunch break in the city!). They live on the doors of our TV cabinet now, and I love them.

It's the little things, right? For me it always has been. Today it's been staying cozied up under my covers in the chilly morning hours, with no impetus to leave before I was ready; lavender-scented laundry detergent and baskets full of clean, fresh clothes; organizing bits and pieces around our home while listening to the radio; and looking forward to church, yoga, and a mini-excursion tomorrow.

Abu Dhabi has nothing on this place. I am becoming myself again. x

Thursday, September 13, 2012


My heart goes out to the families and friends of those that lost their lives in Libya this week.

But it also belongs in large part to the little ones in this photo. Beautiful, incredible, purposeful souls. They are the best prayers I have for peace.

Love. Love love love love love love love.

It is as simple and as complicated as that.

Really, people. Just . . . love.