While we are imperfect lovers, the steadfast ideal of love itself remains forever true...

what better time to blog than when i should have my nose in a book. not that i don't love reading. i do. but i would rather write nonsense. however there are too many things i should like to say. normally i write about an event. an excursion. an epochal... my brain contains bouncy balls of thoughts going every which way. it's all a blur. to catch one long enough to examine it fully before it flies off again is near impossible. the day is a din of distractions. work. music. people. never a silent solitude. most days i don't mind the bustling of abu. yet some days i long for a soundproof sanctuary. even now my fingers pause mid-type as i try to focus my thoughts. the cold cramps my bones. i could speak of sparks. school. spiritual things... the clock's hands do not hold enough time. my mind is mercurial in movement. the stream of wondering flows too fast to put it all into words. i convince myself i am learning and bettering myself here in university. english excites me. but there is so much i want to know and add to the bottomless pit of my memory. the world beckons. in some sense i am impatient to embark on an excursion to experience it all. to grow up and get on with it. i want to travel. get married. do missions. do something i am passionate about. i have a picture of how i want to live my life. it isn't specifically planned or anything. i just want my life to count and i am afraid it won't somehow. but as of right now i'll simply live each day. treasuring the luminous moments. and trust God with the rest. because soon they will have come and gone. as a girl i dreamed of prince charming and castles in the sky. i grew older and fretted over the future all the more. eventually i concluded that worrying was futile. yet now... all those decisions i dreaded making are looming in the distance. threatening as a thundercloud. so i pray. though i don't pray enough. it is exciting and frightening all at the same time. my life is a book. the book just better not be boring.

the drive home...


misty corridor
long and twisting

stretching endless

before our eyes

towering trees

on either side

close in behind
through horizontal rain
chasing headlights onward

jaws clenched

knuckles white

body stiff

each rut in the road

every gusty gale

plays in slow motion

stretching time

feeling every bump and swerve

through the rigid seats

straps buckled

offering a fabricated comfort
to the apprehensive mind

fleeting flashes of

imaginary wrecks

wickidly taunting nerves

driver aware of

acute responsibility

mindful of the precious cargo

in her care

eyes are focused

straight ahead

dim lights

on slick asphalt

partial illumination

merely a frustration

adding to the tension

passengers surrendering control
closed eyes accomplish nothing

to alleviate the fear

only adding

to the desperation

useless advice

given and ignored
wind whistling through the window

waves of secondary spray

causing momentary blindness

faithfully perservering

praying the road remains

beneath the wheels

realization of precarious movement

fragility of life

one disastrous moment

could rewrite the story

or an enduring battle

could tell the tale

of an arduous journey

from there to here

for in the end

a solitary light

beckons travellers

weary of plight

a grateful sigh is heard

revealing relief

to have made it

through the storm