Doggedly

Doggedly
(for my fluffy friend Donner)


You stare,
with every ounce of your determination,
at the object, heart of your fixation.

It sits,
The center of your very life and joy,
your whole world wrapped up in that little toy.

You think,
In your naivety that if you sit there, and will it,
that somehow God will move and fulfill it.

The world,
it laughs at you, dog, it thinks you senseless,
for the lack of logic, for being so ridiculous.

Don't you know?
Can't you see that it's pointless to dream?
What a simpleton you always seem.

But hope,
hang on with your last ounce of tenacity,
then God will grant in His felicity.

I know,
why you pant in your anticipation,
frozen in your assigned station.

For I
know why you sit, watch, and wait,
for God to reach, and roll your fate.

Thora
7/26/13

Life is Homework

My whole life I've heard it, "Life is a test."

Well no, I don't really think it is. I don't think it is because right now I'm a full time student. I take tests, and because it is summer term I often take more than one test in a day. What fills my life is not tests though, it is homework, hours and hours and hours of homework.

I was sitting there the other day, math book open to a page filled with problems. Yes, problems. They call them problems. They are things we have to solve, or maybe just simplify, which while it takes less work is kind of annoying because there is no resolution. They start at the beginning of the page with easy problems, and then as the hours wear on and the pencil wears down things get a little more complicated.

As I tackled problem after problem that day I realized that I was indeed learning through this process, because I looked at a new problem and didn't have the panic attack I'd had on the last one. I knew what to do now, because I'd worked through that last one. I had learned from my experience. I applied the process I had learned, and with my understanding of the principles of mathematics I zipped right through that quadratic equation.

I find that my life is much the same. I come up against the same problems over and over. I'm impatient, passionate about all the wrong things, somewhat snarly, too emotional at times and at other times far too apathetic.

If life was a test, I'd flat out fail. That's why I'm so glad it is homework instead. Yes it's annoying and takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. Yes I get tired of facing the same issue with a little twist, time and time again. But I cannot even begin to express how grateful I am that I got a second chance on something I blew it on yesterday, because I can do this, I can learn. I can learn and grow and mature and someday, someday I'm going to be like my math teacher and think it's all great fun.

So my friends, do your homework For God is wise and wants nothing more than to see you graduate with honors.

Rain

Rain

What is it in rain that hushes the soul?
When the skies they do cry, as out of control,
Perhaps through their tears I am washed clean
Is this what this quiet within me means?

Do the rivers and streams on my windowsill
Reflect hopes and dreams carried in me still?
Does the plip-plop of rain drops upon the ground
Echo the skipping of my heart’s sound?

Be it thus? Am I air? Are thus we all light?
Born are we for atmospheric flight?
And then when heavy fall we to the ground?
In this is the cycle of all life found?

Oh fall heavy rain, fall morning mist,
Essence of heaven that all of us miss.
Fall all around me, wash my mind clean,
That home to my heaven go I in my dreams.

Thora
5/7/13

Bring her flowers

The other day my friends came to pick me up, this is a regular thing as my arm heals to the point where I can brave the highway. As usual John got out of the car to open my door for me. He does this, not because I am the one-armed-wonder-woman, but because opening doors for women is part of who he is.

Before he let me pass him he requested, in that gentle voice of his, that I close my eyes and hold out my hand. I willingly obliged not knowing what to expect and surprised at bit at myself for trusting him. I don't really trust men in general. I'm working on it, but let's be honest, I don't.

Into my hand was placed something long and somewhat smooth, and there was a fluttering feeling in the instant before I opened my eyes. For half of that instant I thought it was a lizard, which, if you know anything about me, would have been quite welcome. However, it wasn't a lizard. It was a flower, a beautiful, open, yellow rose. It was fragrant, in the way only garden grown flowers can be. I quickly heeded his suggestion that I put it in water before we left, and it's this bright happy spot on the counter in my kitchen.

Now, lest some of you *cough, my dearly protective brothers, cough* get ideas, John is just a friend. He's the guy lucky enough to take Jessica out several times a week. He's one of my secret-keepers. He's a wonderful, dear, soul. I love that he brought me a yellow rose, instead of the ones he brings Jessi all the time, because the yellow rose is the rose of friendship. I doubt he knows that... or maybe he does, but all the same I am touched that he did it.

It's funny, really, because over the years I'd rather come to hate flowers, and yellow is my least favorite color, and yet this yellow rose brings me great joy.

"Why did you hate flowers?" You may ask of me, and I will answer you now. I can, because I started contemplating on this a few weeks ago. I hated flowers because they were the symbol of a man seeing something beautiful, and thinking of me.

I remember one time I was out with friends, once again accompanied not by a man who I was involved with, but by the man dating my best friend. We were riding in his newly completed go-cart, and he took a turn that ended with the wheel snapped off the cart, and under the cage, while we sat in the clearing dust. We had to walk back.

As we walked he reached out and snapped a wild flower off its mother plant and presented it to me. It was a spontaneous gift, and I found it a very sweet gesture. He probably thought nothing of it, but it has stayed with me.

I've gotten flowers at other times, cut flowers on dates or for special occasions. First into a vase they would go, and then upside-down on the wall to dry. I also often get flowers from my children, and they have always been beautiful.

I got flowers from my then-husband, on occasion, but ONLY under some external pressure from friends, family, or society. One time he even went out the day after Valentines, bought a bunch of roses, scattered the petals in a bath, up the hall, and all over the bed.

Then I found out that the woman he had insisted we host for Valentines dinner the night before, was his lover.

So, over time I had grown to hate flowers, because the thing that had once to me been the symbol of gentility, was now the thing men throw at you to get in your good graces, whether they deserve to be in your good graces or not. I didn't want to be bitter like that, but I was. I was bitter because every vase of flowers I saw, every ad for a holiday where one might expect flowers cut me like a knife. I didn't expect them, I didn't want them, because it was all a lie. Men did not love me enough to see something beautiful and think of me.

I cry as I write this, and I laugh at myself too. I'm not crying because I'm mad or sad that my life was this way. I'm crying because I'm loving that I was WRONG. Men, good men, kind men, do love me. They do think of me when they see something beautiful. Right now it's not men I'm dating, because I'm not dating. (Notice the period.) I have been very blessed however to have met a number of men over the last few months, no... that's wrong, I've met many men over the years who have cared about me enough to think of me. Granted, they couldn't bring me flowers, that was the office of one who... well didn't even want the office, but they still cared.

Slowly, one guy-friend at a time I am learning to love flowers and gifts again (and you would not believe some of the thoughtful gifts I've been given lately.) I'm learning to close my eyes and put my hand out and trust again. I'm learning that while I seek to do good in the world, simply because I despair to think of doing harm, there are those who echo that sentiment. I'm learning that there truly are good men in the world who can care about, think about, and give to a woman, even if they require nothing but her smile in return.

So gentlemen, bring her flowers, and if it be not flowers, bring her something that somehow says, "You are in my thoughts." Call her at lunch. Do the dishes with her. Hold her hand. Write her a poem. Make something for her. Spend time with her. Listen to her, and ask her questions about her life. Watch a chick-flick. Open the door for her. Pay attention to  her hobbies and get her something hobby-related, she will be touched that you paid attention.

In little ways, every day, tell her you love her, and under your husbandry she will bloom all the brighter.

On Turning 34

It's become a bit of a tradition now to pause on my birthday and try to look both ways down the path of life. I don't know how long I'll be able to make this, my arm cramps up pretty quick typing as my bicep recovers from surgery, but we shall see.

I could never have predicted how much my life would change this year. I look back and on my birthday last year, I was steps away from a massive leap of faith. I didn't know then how soon I would be allowed to take it, but take it I did with whole heart.

I landed here, in St. George, having met previously a handful of locals. They reached out and gave me a roof, a job, and instant friends. I have never met people more generous, guile-less, and anxious to serve.

Not that life here didn't have it's problems. I had trials of health, legal trials, financial trials, and for some reason they all crowded in at once. I was better armed than my adversary though. No matter how hard the devil tried to get me down my angels lifted me up.

It's funny because it was really, really hard at moments, but I would get through those moments and look back thinking, "Well, that wasn't so bad." It wasn't long before I realised that my feet weren't even touching the ground anymore. I was being carried.

To be honest, that's a disconcerting state, to know that, no matter how long you have been a hard-working-do-it-yourself-er, that God is INSISTING on carrying you. I decided long ago to stop fighting God, so I watched as He took the last vestiges of control of my life out of my hands. Then He showed me what He offered instead.

My dear friend told me the other day that this time is the happiest she has ever known, and I couldn't agree more. I don't know if heaven itself could hold more joy than I feel these days. Each day I am staggered by the blessings of God, each day I shake my head in wonder.

My friends tell me I deserve it, as if any person could earn bliss like this, as if any person's heart was made to accommodate this much love and joy. No, I don't deserve it. I have so many flaws. I am so impatient, so quick to indignation, so selfish, so carnal, and land can I be lazy. So I must credit my joy to God's generosity alone.

I still have problems, like the cramp that is getting worse in my arm with every word, and the money issues that I will likely have forever, but those problems aren't in my hands anymore. I will do all I can, rest assured, but there is only so much I can do. God will do the rest. I know because he already has, again and again.

33 was honestly the best year of my life, but I think 34 is going to be better. I'll start school, get on the road to that psychology degree I've been putting off all these years. I'll work. I'll teach my kids through love. Maybe, just maybe, I'll find love too, in a man with a heart like mine, with a devotion to God like mine, for that is all I require. This is my path, the one I float down, the one that cannot hurt me only heal me, teach me, and make me better.

So today, on my birthday I make a wish. I wish everyone could have this kind of relationship with God, so we could all be this happy, for I love you all and wish you all true joy.

God Bless,

Thora

The Labels We Wear

(This has taken me days to type because I'm recovering from surgery and get a cramp in my newly repaired bicep after a few paragraphs. I needed to get it out though, so here it is.)

My 12 year old daughter came to me a few weeks ago. She said she wanted to get gauges.

Yup, gauges, as in stretch your ear lobe to massive proportions to fit around a piercing big enough to dunk a basketball through. Those gauges.

I managed not to panic.

I then pulled out "The Talk." No, not the one about sex, because we've had that and will continue to have it as she ages. No, I pulled out the other "Talk" that I've been formulating in my mind for years. It's the talk I wish someone had given me when I was her age, you know, when I lived in Reno and thought the "fancy women" on street corners and the even LESS clad women on casino billboards were the kind of women all men wanted.

Apparently not everyone has this talk in their arsenal though, so today I am going to give it to you.

Imagine you and I are in a car driving around. We see a building. On the front of the building there is a sign that says "Elementary School." What do you suppose happens inside that building? What do you suppose people go there for? What would you expect when you walked through that door?
I won't answer for you. Let's continue our drive.

Look, there is a building with a sign that says "Bank." What do you suppose happens inside that building? What do you suppose people go there for? What would you expect when you walked through that door? What is that building?

Now, here's one with no sign that we can read. It has big boxes of fruit out front. It has dried peppers hanging on a string from the red tile roof. It has a sombrero hanging on the wall next to the aqua-marine painted door. What is that building? What do you suppose people go there for? What would you expect when you walked through that door? What kind of people do you think go there the most?

There's another building, it has a steeple and great big front doors.

What about that one? The tiny one right by the football field. What happens in there?

How do you know?

Well, dear, people are like buildings. What people see on the outside, written or presented without words tells them something about that person.

It's obvious when it's a word, like "Budweiser," "Aeroposatle," or "YMCA" that the person wearing that label wants you to identify them with a particular brand, group, lifestyle, orientation, or organization. Most labeling is more subtle though, and unless you know something about that group/brand/lifestyle you may miss the labels.

Now picture this, you see a woman. She is in Wranglers, boots, a ruffled blouse, long ringlets going down her back. Her boots are scuffed and dusty, her hands are chapped. What kind of music do you suppose she listens to? What kind of house do you think she would like to live in?

Using basic human logic, we would say, country and she'd love a nice rambling ranch or better yet a log cabin with a fireplace and a view. Why? Because we read her labels, the labels she chose to wear.

Picture a man all in black, pale skin, pierced everywhere, eyeliner, black lipstick, chunky shoes. (I pause for some of you to silence your inner kitty.) He carries a big thick book and looks at no one, at least when they are looking he doesn't.

I'm not asking you to judge him, I'm just asking you to read him. What does his appearance tell you? Do you think he's at home on the range? Do you see him Latin dancing with one girl after another Friday night? What is he telling you with his self-applied labels?

Personally I love pretty much everyone. Who I select to be my nearest and dearest has little to do with their labels. I still read them, I still understand what they are consciously or unconsciously trying to say about themselves, but I look past them and look at the soul.

Most people don't have time for that, or won't take time for that unless the initial labels match their own. We all SHOULD. That's what God WANTS us to do, but let's face it, most people don't. Judging is wrong, and we should never avoid people based on their looks, but don't make the error of thinking that others don't make snap decisions based on how YOU present YOURSELF.

You need to identify, understand, and make a choice about how you are advertising yourself. What does your haircut, your favorite shirt, your car, your jewelry, say about you?

I told my daughter that if she really wanted gauges that given time and thought if she still really wanted them, then I wouldn't stand in her way. She needed to understand the culture with which people would lump her first. It is a culture that doesn't like rules. It is a culture that includes a lot of really "cool" or "sick" (as they call it now) stuff. It is also a culture through which drugs runs rampant. I told her that if that is where her friends are, that's okay, because I know very well how accepting people in that culture can be of people who are different, or at least who feel different. I don't blame her a bit for liking them.

My concern was the drugs. We had the drug talk long ago. So when I pointed out that drugs would be all around her if that was the culture she identified herself with, her eyes got big.

I still went out the next day and got her fake gauges, just like I've made her Vampire jewelry, buy her goth style dresses, and got her a fedora. I know she's just trying on all these things, I know she's just trying to pick her labels. I'm pretty cool with whatever ones she picks too, because I know who she is, even if she's still figuring that out. I'll see past whatever labels she wears because I love her. I just hope her labels give others that chance, because she is one of the most beautiful souls in the world and everyone should get the chance to know and love her.

A picture is worth a thousand words...

but when has a thousand words ever been enough for ME to say anything?
I'm wasn't sure if I should put this on thethoughtsofthora or thethingsofthora as it could have been both. I settled on here.

I'm not a great photographer, in fact I'm more of a camera dabbler (see my post The Dabbler). I like to go through the pictures I have taken, mess with them in Picassa, and then throw words on them. Mostly the words are mine, but sometimes I will pick a quote. So, if it doesn't say who said it, I wrote it, and that's why this is on "Thoughts."

Anyway, enjoy.

Wrote this today, and yup, that's me in the picture too.

The Sea

The Sea

My heart is as the very sea,
Ripped with storm and tempest tossed,
Subject to the winds am I
As down they wail and calm is lost.

Shriek and moan they call
And I fear, I tremble, I quail.
All around me they howl
And within my breast my heart doth fail,

Until a voice speaks
Still and small, but a voice that fills,
To calmness now it beckons me
I hear His voice, and peace, I am still.

Thora
4/11/13

I Would

I would that I could take your pain
and see you smiling once again
I would that I could dry your tears,
banish your demons erase your fears

I would that I could bleed for you
instead of watch what you’re going through
I wish that I could pave the way
remove the bumps from every day

I would that I could shelter you
and take all darkness from your view,
but God loves you better than me
the way to make you best He sees

So down thorny paths He lets you go
and life’s pains he lets you know
Then provides a way to take all pain,
and then full joy we all shall gain.

The Dabbler

Dabbler

I’m a dabbler; I’ll admit it, readily. There isn’t a single one of my talents that I am exceptional at (by any standard besides in the rose colored glasses of those that love me.)

In the past 20 years or so I have dabbled with:

OOAK Dolls
Miniature Armor and Weaponry design
Costumes
Sculptures
Paintings
Pencils
Crayons
Pastels
Carpentry
Cake decorating
Baking
Italian Cuisine, from scratch
Asian Cuisine
Book/ short story Writing
Belly dance
Ballroom Dance
Latin Dance
Architecture
Jewelry making
Knitting
Crocheting
Paper Mache
Carving
Cutting hair
Stage make-up
Acting
Singing
Tile laying
Plumbing
Pergo laying
Dry-walling
Photography
Teaching
Poetry
Interior Design
Set Design
Learning Languages
Song Writing
Blogging
Listening
Public Speaking

There are probably more, but you get the drift.

Now some people would look at that list and think it’s pretty impressive, but remember, I’m not proficient at all of those things, in fact some of them I was really bad at. Some of them I will never go back to, some of them I did today, and some of them I will pick back up in the future. The fact is, though, I will never be among the truly great at ANY of those things.

I’m okay with that, because I’m a dabbler. Dabblers know that it isn’t about being great, or doing better than anyone else. It’s about experiencing something, putting your heart in it for a while, enjoying it, and then letting those obsessed with it carry on with the insane competitiveness while you go on your merry way.

Of course there is nothing wrong with being great at something, lots of people are, and when I am exposed to true greatness at a talent I stand in awe of the time and devotion that greatness requires, as well as the raw God-given talent that inspired said devotion. I applaud the truly great for having what I do not, the desire to achieve a lofty and difficult goal.

But me, I’ll keep dabbling. Maybe my arm will heal up well enough that I can finally take up archery. If not there is always welding (I’ve wanted to try that for over a decade), or pottery, or stained glass window making, or maybe I’ll even learn an instrument (I’d prefer the Guzheng , for reasons only a select few will understand, but the guitar would be fun… left handed, hmmm… maybe not). I’ll keep dabbling, because dabbling brings me joy, and really… what else is there?

Forgiveness

Often when we have in our lives people who hurt us time and again it becomes difficult for us to forgive them. We struggle and achieve some peace over their past offences, but with every new offence it feels like they are TRYING to re-open the old wounds we worked so hard to heal.
I was praying this morning about such a situation in my life, talking to the Lord about how hard it was for me to deal with the fresh stuff, the current stuff, the veiled threats, the manipulation, the insults and legal strong-arming.
I know, because the specific promises the Lord has made to me are sure, that not only will the Lord fight my battles for me and deliver me when I am beset, but that this process will work towards the good of myself and those I love. It was just that momentary venom I was worried about, that red-head flash of anger and indignation. How was I ever to overcome that?
Then the Spirit spoke to me in my prayer, “Forgiveness removes the power of evil over the righteous soul, do not give evil power over even those tiny moments in your life. Forgive instantly that evil will have NO power over you.”
Then the Spirit told me to get up and post this.
So I don’t know which of you needed this as well as I today, but here it is, and my love and God’s love come with it. Peace be unto you.

The Working Parent's Sabbath Prayer

Dear Father,
I know that You invited me to Your house today, and it is the fondest desire of my heart to go. Yet, You and I both know that there is food to be put on the table, and a roof to be put over the heads of my children, and so today to work I will go. On the day of rest I will wear myself out, when all I desire is to sit in thy chair, renew my soul, and partake of the emblems of thy sacrifice.
Still, I know that of anyone You understand. You know what it is like to be separated from your children for their good. You know the price we pay to have the privilege of loving them, for You pay it for us.
So if I cannot come to Your house today, please make my heart Your home. Let my Sabbath worship be a heart filled with love, eyes filled with light, a tongue that speaks love and kindness, and hands that work willingly for good.
Stay with me, for I long to stay with You.
Love,
Your Child, in the Name of Thy Son, Jesus Christ,
Amen.

Apparent Beauty

Apparent Beauty

Smooth, hot, gorgeous,
flip of the hair,
a face to share.

Beauty, written all over,
catching the eye,
making them sigh.

A sight for the breathless,
like a California evening,
or a Shanghai morning.

The throws of ardor,
a taste, a flavor,
a feast of color.

But peel it, reveal aught,
what do you find?
What you had in mind?

Seeing now underneath,
in the heart,
the truest part,

Not what you thought,
not what life taught,
you find no sign of evil’s rot.

In silk did God ensheathe,
a sword of brilliance,
that strikes in silence,

To pierce all hearts with truest love.

1/22/2013

The Yoke

In Matthew 11 the Savior makes an invitation to us:

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

 

I've heard this set of verses explained I don't know how many times, and all of those teachers said about the same thing: If you cast your burdens on the wagon the Lord is pulling and join Him at the yoke then you will have an easier load, as He is much stronger.

 

As I read those words a similar yet different interpretation comes to me, and I thought I should share it.

 

You see, perhaps I'm an aberration, but I've never found the yoke of living the gospel to be the heavy thing in my life. People talk about the struggle to remain worthy, to keep keeping the commandments through temptations, and my heart aches for them (not because I am any better than them, because I have my own short comings and sins) because for me it is different.

 

You see, when I have a load that is heavy, it's usually because it's a load that I've taken on myself. It's something that I have chosen to carry in spite of warnings or the direction of heaven. When I read those words, "Come unto me... and I will give you rest," I read them literally. Rest.

 

It doesn't say in those lines, "I will help you pull your load." Does it? Look again, it doesn't. It says we need to take HIS yoke, for HIS burden is light.

 

Think about it, what are the things that you absolutely must carry in life?

Family
Friends
Work
Finances
Health

 

Are they your work? Or are they really God's work through you? Is your family not God's family? Does He not care for them more than you? Are your friends not God's own children also? Your work, is it how you earn a living, or is it something God has given you, a vehicle with which to do good for His children? Your money, is it yours? Your health, is that yours or is it the Lord's work that you help him in through obedience? Canst thou make one hair of thy head black or white?

 

You see, it is not your yoke, it is not your burden, it is the Lord's.

 

The keys to applying this is in those verses too:

Come unto Him
Learn of Him
Become like Him, meek and lowly in heart

 

Our Lord talks over and over about losing your life, for His sake. Perhaps He was speaking literally to his Apostles, who would eventually die for the name of Christ. Perhaps He was speaking to you and me. What life are you holding onto? What things are you not giving up? What hurt or anger are you poisoning yourself with?

 

Why do you refuse to forsake the yoke of bondage?

 

His yoke is easy, His burden is light. If you will forsake all else to take it up with Him you will find how EASY it really is, you will find how RESTFUL it really is. Come, learn, become like Him, take upon you this yoke, you won't regret it.

Why Words?

Why Words?

I wonder what it is
about the setting of the sun
that brings the pen to paper,
a new poem begun.

Why waits the flow of thoughts
 for three slumbering heads
and the calling of my bed?

Why now, when I’m resigned
to another day lost and gone
and I turn to take my rest
do I feel that yearning in my breast?

Like warriors reach for swords
I reach for keys or pen,
but then again,
no, I reach for words.

Words:
the intangible substance
with which inexpertly
I frame existence

Words:
the shadows of starlight
wrapped lazily around a single thought
as if with their gossamer tendrils
they could frame it, shape it, define its edges
and place it in the hands of another.

Nay, and ne; naam, and nein,
as if any guttural spewing
of the lips and tongue could express
even the memory
of the things I have felt,
the visions I have seen.

No, words will never do,
best cut them up and make Paper Mache
to patch and pat around the Milky Way,

Post-it-notes,
they are little labels
that I stick-stick-stick
to folks and fables.

I cover the whole world
in pulp and pen,
and why do I do this
time and time again?

Because language,
words and rhyme,
is the closest man can get
to the expressions of the divine.

The Desert

I can't tell you how many times I have read The Book of Mormon, I lost count at 16, and that was years ago. I could probably read it a hundred-thousand times more and still get something different out of it every time.

Right now I'm in the back, in Mormon, and yet my heart is still in First Nephi. I keep circling back to those few chapters in my mind, because that story has so much more meaning for me now.
You see, for those who haven't read it, in First Nephi we read the account of Nephi, a young man whose father just happens to be called of God as a Prophet. His father, Lehi, is a contemporary of Jeremiah and warns the people of Jerusalem to repent or Babylon is going to sack them.
Of course no one listens, in fact there are those who wish to kill Lehi. The Lord does not allow this and tells Lehi to flee, taking only what he and his family will need to survive. The Lord promises them a choice land for their inheritance, and leads them across the desert, across the sea, and to the Americas.

It's a lovely tale, one that has a lot of meaning for someone who was just lead thousands of miles from the place she called home. I have gained a lot from reading it and drawing parallels from my life to Nephi's life. I feel a special bond with him, especially as on at least one line of my family tree we are related.

What has really stuck out to me lately, something that I really didn't think about before, is that Nephi obeyed, and the blessings were not all immediate. Neither was his life a bed of roses after he uprooted it and moved across the world for The Lord. No, indeed, things were pretty hard for him at times and seasons right up to his dying day.

I think back to when he was in the desert with his family. Here he was, doing what The Lord ordered, and yet he and his family suffered hunger, thirst, fatigue, blistering sun, and bitterly cold desert nights. There was equipment failure, short tempers, outright abuse. Yet he just kept trusting in The Lord.

As I  travel in my own desert, feeling the heat, on the one hand I marvel at his patience and fortitude. On the other, I understand him all the more. I look at my trials, and hard and confusing as they are, they are so much better than what I escaped. I don't understand why I am being lead so far from my former life, but I trust the hand that is leading me. I keep encountering more and more problems on my journey, but... honestly at this point I don't know what else to do EXCEPT turn to The Lord.

He always provides. It hasn't been what I imagined (but let's face it I have an over-active imagination.) It hasn't been easy. However, it hasn't been terribly hard either. Really, it's like I hit my knees and God opens the way. I walk it and I'm fine.

It's humbling. Sometimes because I have to ask for and accept help when I've always been a do-it-myself-er. Other times it's humbling because I have to admit to people that I'm here because God brought me here, and all of this is out of my hands. The way it is most humbling though is that I am learning one agonizing moment at a time to be humble before The Lord. He knows so much better than I, He knows the path, He knew the end from the beginning, and me? I'm just the un-educated child He's trying to help. I know nothing, except that the failures are mine and the successes are His, and that I need Him if I am going to survive this desert.

I am so thankful for this desert. I'm thankful for the promise of inheritance on the other side of it, but today I'm just thankful that I'm going through all this, because I can feel Him with me, and this is the love I cannot, will not, live without.

Pivotal

Pivotal

Alone,
but not alone,
guided by an unseen hand.
Sure only in that stable grip
as I travel far across the land.

Led
to a new place,
wear a new face,
to stop and stand and watch and wait,
as I struggle to
rely,
release,
realize.

Slower
than the dawn,
the night soon to be gone,
I search each face, I search each set
of eyes.

Thread
by thread
I cut the rope
that binds me
to all I have held so tightly,
all I have held so firmly,
letting go of all security.

Until,
at last,
I feel nothing
but the torture of this
hope.

 

(Apparently it's a good night for poetry, my bro sent me one earlier.)

A Lesson from Water

I saw a picture earlier today of a pair of adrenaline junkies paddling amidst this brown, roiling water. Naturally as the sports-un-enthusiast I am, I looked at the picture, not with eyes that envied the sportsmen, but with eyes that saw only the disposition of the water.
I thought about what it took to make "white" water, how a million disturbances under the surface caused it to twist and churn and splash about completely opposite to its usual easiest-course approach. That's why the water was so brown, it was churning up all the filth it otherwise would have flowed right over, and because of the disturbances in its course it had lost its usual ability to reflect that which was above it.
Sometimes I find that I am like that water. A few rocks in my way and I'm churning in the muck, unable to properly reflect, tossed about, and nearly out of control. Rocks are inevitable, I'm afraid, in the course of life, and we all have our own rough water times.
The beautiful thing is, the river doesn't let the rocks dam it, it doesn't let them dry it up, it just keeps on running. It keeps on running the course carved for it, until it is through the rapids and once again able to reflect and flow and nourish all around it.
If you are in the rapids, just hang on. The peaceful times will return, and soon you will look up and thank God for getting you through it. You will look up and your countenenace will refect that higher one, and you will be at peace, clean, pure, and ever moving towards your destination.

My LDS Romance Novel

Just noting for posterity and my beloved predecessors that today I finished the first draft of the book I started Thanksgiving of last year. It wasn't the fastest first draft ever, but at over 60,000 words I'm quite content with my accomplishment.