chipped tea cups and forget-me-nots...

2008-04-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

i have a tecret to sell
i am rying to tecall
but you thatter my shoughts
and dender me rumb

the words are a lottle list
the letters playing side and heek
fack and borth in my brain
i become chizzy from the dace

the formse attempts phramation
but my scrind is mambled
with unassembled buzzle pits
the persure for perfection

my jumbling is mumbled
missy and mexed up
yet what i’m taying is srue
my sear sear dir ______,

i yove lou

2008-04-27T16:58:00.000-07:00

ridiculous quotes captured:

“there are too many fences in this world.”
-b

“acorns. think about it.”
-ree

“i love it when mankind tries to build a sidewalk and the trees say, ‘no!’”
-t

2008-04-27T16:52:00.000-07:00

dirty old town…

this is the story of the four-hundred dollar weekend in dublin. it began weeks in advance when a hasty invitation and acceptance occured between tim and i, before we even knew each other, really; the epitome of spur of the moment. well, perhaps it was more pre-meditated on his part, but i was going off a whim essentially. so the flights were booked and i was stuck; but i was excited about it. i tried to convince him we should just sleep on the streets but he wasn’t going for it. so a hostel was booked; whatever, i shrugged. i was looking forward to an adventure.

plane; arrival; hostel.

friday: we hopped a wild, irish tour with an even wilder tour guide, saw bits of dublin and surrounding countryside—beauty—sheep and mountains, and then off to glendalough after a ridiculously expensive but satisfying lunch. we had about an extra half hour to work it off when the bus broke down near one of the guinness lakes. we also saw the houses of bono, daniel day lewis, and enya, (who “only makes an album every ten years because every time she starts singing she falls asleep.”) glendalough was lush, green, fresh, burnt orange, forest and foliage reflected in lucid lakes stippled with ducks, continuously fed by mountainous waterfalls over mossy rocks and vined trees, encircling the monks’ tower of defense and the little church of stone, crumbling, yet standing, strong still. it begins to rain, softly, misting, gently caressing and refreshing faces, glossing smiles, glowing and content, in kind contemplation, wondering at the world. it ends with a sleepy, lullabied journey back into the city. that night we watch juno: golden brilliance of the highest quality, and polish our evening off with a bit of piping.

saturday: the morning consisted of fickle showers and an extended breakfast, followed by six thousand and three footsteps o’er the city sidewalks, soaking wet, splashing through puddles in saint steven’s green, not much else to see. (pretty ponies prancing in the puddles…) we eventually wandered into a wee coffee shop, after tim horton’s failed us, where i downed a love-topped late and devoured the warmest, richest chocolate muffin. two games of pass the pigs was played. i won the first by one; tim won the second by a landslide comeback. then off we traipsed to the lighthouse, where we were warmly welcomed by marion, jane, jimmy, richard, mave… clothes downstairs; food upstairs; grateful homeless; sandwiches evaporate; rambunctious praise; dirty dishes; greasy floor; eyes smiling; hot tea; bagged leftovers; fond farewells; pie; orange feet; crocheted roses.

sunday: awoke on the tiny mattress to a hushed and anticipatory church. we laughed in a lulling fashion, getting ready for the day. people arrived; a lady named anne made us tea. souls trickled in: singles, pairs, families, all friendly and welcoming… betty; george; mark; ruba; pat and loretta mullen: the pastor and his wife who had freely given us the keys, the upstairs, access to anything, immediately claimed us for lunch. the church service was beautiful, a warm eclectic mish-mash of ethnicities and backgrounds, laid-back, genuine; heartfelt music, powerful preaching; pat spoke of jesus riding into the city on palm sunday and the implications of people’s expectations. one of the singers was an older man, blind eyes with bushy eyebrows, the words from every song memorised, ringing out in richness up to the rafters; glory be to God. we had a most delectable lunch: chicken, potatoes, veggies, followed by pumpkin cheesecake and coffee, mmm, black and bold. pat and loretta are two solid, solid christ-followers, normal human beings with a servant’s heart. there was an exciting connection sparked when pat began to speak of a conference he had attended concerning café culture, a movement where cafes and churches unite to create atmospheric evenings of coffee and cakes, painting and poetry, comedy and music, etc., an open place where people of any amount of faith can feel comfortable and unafraid, where barriers break down, relationships develop and grow, a conversation is initiated; a place where musicians can debut, experiment, connect with the audience who can relate to the same sort of struggles, perhaps finding ultimate salvation through a loving saviour; a place where art and music collide, a poetical culmination of the beauty God has given us to share through gifts and talents and love… the fellowship and conversation flowed as smooth as the coffee. afterwards, richard met us at the lighthouse and we walked down to the stadium, listening to him tell his story. there we joined in ‘arise dublin,’ a large rally of sorts, where we saw a lot of the same people we had met the day before. there were good things said, and it was encouraging in many ways, but not quite as meaningful as meeting real people in a dimly lit building that’s falling apart, yet continues to fill people’s stomachs and souls. we thanked richard and said our goodbyes; he pointed us in the right direction, and tim got us the rest of the way; tim always knew the way.

monday! gosh, every day held something incredibly different but incredibly wonderful. neither was better than either, but my goodness monday was beautiful, just glorious! the sun indulged us with some warm rays as we walked and walked and walked, in a surreal daze almost, along the craggy rocks which dance beneath the icy ocean that supplies the locals with a life of longevity, along the sunny streets where we were told to back away from the gate of bono, along the breathtaking cliffs of killiney beach where we stopped to have a lovely picnic of nutella sandwiches, and down to the shore itself, where we laughed with the waves and attempted to skip stones… sunset; rusted bike; damien rice; pipes; white tic-tacs; train.

tuesday we flew back just in time to do our presentation on as you like it.

the end.

(oh, and did i forget to mention that it was saint patrick’s day weekend?)

2008-04-27T16:45:00.000-07:00

thoughts bent
crooked and wild
refusing to be hammered
straightened out
weaving and turning
spun ribbons of steel
knotted and tangled
wound tight
round the wheel
of circular thinking
an endless merry-go-round
with horses gone mad
a nonsensical circus
in despair I let go
releasing the reins
a mighty hand reaches down
down
into the chaotic hemisphere of my brain
gently pries apart the rusted metal
lovingly thrusts it into a furnace of flames
melting sparks
growing heat
rips through each particle
embers burn and pulsate
as these twisted tracks
are baptised in fire
and smoulder in a holy pain
the great hammer descends
with mighty mercy
each strike sends a shiver through the steel
a groaning
as it is shaped and reshaped
a perpetual process
back and forth
from the flames
to the fountain
pounded
pounded
again
and again
a divine thunderous rhythm
beating
building
echoing
until the Maker
has wrought the metal
pure and parallel
that my train of thought
may steer straight through

2008-04-27T16:43:00.000-07:00

continued streams from lisboa:

…one of the few spots i have found solace in this bustling city of lisboa is on the rocks that encircle the bay, yet also seats the odd couple lost in their lip-locked love. i ignore them. a boy skips stones. a tattered book is being mulled over by a homeless man who downs a bottle of spirits with his other hand. the sun flits and floats, travelling from one mass of clouds to the next, playing hide-and-go-seek with the sea-gulls, taunting me as i struggle to retain a constant and comfortable temperature, laughing as i alternate taking off my sweater with putting it back on again. on. off. on. off. i have no idea what time it is, but it is warm… it is unnerving when the boy in mid-make-out opens an eye and locks it with mine. i laugh when a surging wave sends them soaking on their way. thank you, ocean.

…when surrounded by incomprehensible portuguese, except for the odd ‘obrigada,’ i end up mostly talking to myself, conversations confined within the soundproof skeleton of my head. sometimes it is soothing to be silent, though, to melt unnoticeably into the general throng of comers and goers, free to explore at will, up or left without consultation, getting lost and unlost on a whim…

…the poet’s hostel is perfect, tucked away in the heart of the city, offering a temporary home for nomads drifting through. the fellow travellers i’ve met whose journeys have synched up with my own are all incredibly and beautifully unique people, easy-going adventurers: a couple canadians, leanda who cooked me a delicious supper, people from italy, germany, austria, australia. and a couple of the french who drink their coffee out of a bowl… the breakfasts are delightful, however, after being warmly awakened by the sunshine and singing filtering in from the streets, being able to enjoy my tea and toast for as long as i like, unhindered by classes and train schedules, surrounded by paintings and mosaics; i am content…

…the days sort of organized themselves nicely for me, into continuously unfolding adventures involving a castle, manwell the italian photographer, a haircut, free hugs, the ancient city sintra, the coast of caiscais with the americans kim, becky and devon, going to see an Italian storyteller and going out to dinner with people of every nationality and becoming caught in the friendly cross-fire of cultures, seeing jesus christ superstar performed in portuguese and becoming the honourary granddaughter of a kind old man named mario who bought me coffee and linked my arm as he walked me home, riding in the number twenty-eight tram, reading in the sun till i was burnt bright red, nearly as red as the massive cloud of communists that swarmed the square…

though i truly loved my time in lisbon, charlbury became the proverbial carrot before my weary face, so cruelly close and yet so far as i made my way back through london and onwards; it beckoned me ‘home,’ and i have never been so glad to get off that train and plod up the hill to finally collapse into my bed.

2008-04-24T15:35:00.000-07:00

excerpts from a journaling nomad passing the time in the airport:

…………………………..friday february twenty-third, two thousand and eight

he lifts high the black bag of coffee beans and i inhale greedily, hoping the sweet incense will placate my caffeine addiction for the moment, willing my eyes afire to stay open, as i sit in a completely unfamiliar airport, surrounded by completely unfamiliar people. one restricting shoe dangles precariously off my toes and i hope it doesn’t smell; the redness pulsates. the foot on the left has gotten ahead of the rest of me and fallen fast asleep. i attempt to read, but the pages are so potent, so packed, that my energy quickly wans, my eyes droop, and half the paragraph is missed; tis a predicament, for my soul is clammering for such poetic inspiration, but my brain isn’t awake enough to absorb it fully; the potential for powerful profundity is lost in my foggy state. my left foot awakens abruptly, painfully, all prickling pins and needles. the man ahead of me cracks his neck and i shiver in horror. a table of staff snacks cruelly tempts me as i stare dully at the crumby remains of my roast chicken sandwich, whole wheat. my camera’s battery is dead already and i haven’t even gotten on the plane. i am neither worried nor nervous to go to lisbon on my own. merely anxious. anxious to arrive… anticipating the unknown, the unexpected…

…knee deep? in over my head? truly, though, i think the majority of the time i am caught up consumed with rather shallow thoughts, as it were, a fascination with the slick rainbow oil that swirls surreptitiously on the surface of a puddle, as opposed to the dazzling microcosm of life, the miniature cities that may lurk beneath. i think far too often i skim over these subterranean secrets when i become distracted instead with the delicate kinetic painting sparkling on the surface… or i don’t know, maybe it’s the opposite… regardless, i get distracted easily…

…sometimes i will sit and sigh or sing scenarios in my sleep to the soundtrack of sigur ros…

…i pause mid-sip as i recall les mis. les mis! my masimmo late has been reduced to nothing but a foaming caramel puddle in the concave depths of a ceramic mug large enough for two handles, masking entirely my face so fatigued… the daughter of coffee, which is now drained; so too am i, but last night’s show was brilliant. regarded from the uppermost balcony, it seemed almost too perfect, too flawless, with its pre-arranged forms, pre-planned movement, notes of anticipated highs and lows, perpetually practiced dramatics. but they drew me in with the chilling power and beauty of their voices: trembling, groaning, soaring, whispering, to paint one of the most stunning stories of human struggle and courage. the stage floor held a large rotating disk almost continuously in motion; time spun on with actors weaving, turning; props sliding, rising; the orchestra resonated from the great bowels beneath. the pivotal scene of the candlesticks unfolded gleaming with God’s mercy and grace: the humble granting of a man’s freedom, a simple act that would affect countless links in the chain; eponine’s pain of unrequited love shown so bravely unselfishly, nearly unnoticed by the loves-truck Marius, the noble jean val jean, his strong, fatherly dedication, a man redeemed to rescue others, a story of love and loss and sacrifice; and the boy! sly and street-saavy, his life short-lived to a sad end, never knowing anything more than the filthy alleyways. perhaps he dies there fittingly then, a tragic testament to the horrific loss of innocent life. my heart wept. too cruel, i said. ahh and when eponine dies content that she is in marius’ arms, after she had delivered his note to cosette for him, i became overwhelmed with an incredulous pathos, allowing every sinew of sorrow to seep straight through my soul, sharing in the sweet and senseless passions, to partake in her pain, my ribs constricting the pulsating of my most emotive organ. breath in, in, sigh shuddering out. a part of me resents cosette for her beautiful ignorance; her ignorant beauty. it never seems as though she fully grasps the sacrifices that have been made for her. nevertheless, i was entirely swept up by it all; sad when the applause broke the spell.

nonsensical stream of consciousness:

…with my words i shall assail your imagination with a probing to paint, to create the most unfathomable, impossibly attainable beauty of art, perpetually perfecting, imperfecting, barely beyond your grasp, never neither constant nor content with the current status of slant and style, yet your mind’s eye will find its satisfaction in the simple act of careful construction, of reckless ruin. never will it remain the same in the next moment as in the former; under constant mutation, progression, erasing, fresh, full: raw canvas. with the same words your own individual vision, your creative magic will stand incomparable to the lady next to you on the bus, the man on his bicycle, the child flung into the air. each has the freedom to become encompassed in their own inimitable enchantment:

begin with the biggest blur of blue you can believe. hurl it into the heavens with all your strength, say a prayer, and watch it soar, stop suspended for a second, then sink, dissipating, evaporating, escaping any spectrum of colour. circular shots of satin purple follow, filling the sky, vibrato, pulsating strobe light, inward out and back again, from violet to rose, sky to tree, skipping leaves. a gaggle of green bees swarms buzzing by, each trailing a ribbon of red, yellow and orange, lighting the forget-me-nots on fire. a curtain of pale yellow washes down dripping, dawdling deliberately, a coat to conceal the chaos; fails in opacity. a second roaring layer thunders in like the tide, the glowing fireball melts, gliding over the ocean’s bottom, revealing red, rectangular rocks and teal sand glistening. two lovers are scuba-diving for sunken treasure. their figures spin and dance through flocks of fish clothed in scales of rose petals, their fins lit with thorns, their figures contorted by the water’s inconsistency. coral shivers in a cold, grape gelatine. bubbles pirouette in flawless ballet. a boat casts a shadow cross the deep. the lovers are drowning; their air-supply depleting; their faces turn a sickly shade of orange. the grateful shark bites and salty sea seeps blood, red, thick, darkening to black. gold Russian coins drop down from the surface. invert; reverse; flip it upside down. gold Russian coins are sprouting into flowers in a billowing field of indigo blue moss. a little girl and boy prance barefoot cross the subtle softness, snapping the stems and chipping the flowers into their large, wooden treasure chest.

…when i happen to be sitting on a stationary train and another hurtles ferociously past the vast windows, i frantically cover my face with a fan of fingers, for the metaphysical phenomenon, the illusion of movement, when in fact we’re frozen still, makes me dizzy, dazed, disoriented, sick.

airport sensory overload:

the sputtering hum of generators; the obnoxiously loud laughter of middle-aged women; low, deep-throated mumbles; buttons beeping; the rattle of carts; the pestering squeak of rolling suitcases; the flickering ticking of a light; a distant child wailing; quick, calculated clips of heels clopping cross the floor; security alarm activated; continuous unknown bleeping bombarding my sleep-deprived brain; i attempt to distinguish one language from another and fail at my own game.

artificial air tinged with astringent, coffee, and fast food.

bright yellows offset by royal blues against a backdrop of beige. the screen reads 14:11. one lone rectangular, green sign indicates the direction of the emergency exit. handsome irish boys stroll by. float by.

cold, uncomfortable chairs. head resting heavily upon my palm.

remains of mango linger. i search and find some leftover coffee as well. i should brush my teeth.

conclusion: boredom.

2008-04-24T14:58:00.000-07:00

………………………………………………………..march 10 2008

a slightly paraphrased conversation on the tele with me mither:

hullo?

hey mom, it’s beth. i won’t be long; i just had a question.

we’re on our way home, what’s your question?

did dad add me to msn?

(aside) Daniel, did you add bethany to msn? (aloud) …yes, apparently.

(laughter) ok, that’s all i wanted to know.

ok, are you alright?

(laughter) oh i’m wonderful!

wonderful? why? are you in love?

(much laughter) no..

good marks?

(more laughter) umm, no...

why then?

um, church?

why? did you speak in tongues?

(loud laughter) no! ok mom, i’ll let you go, love you.

love you too.

2008-02-11T15:25:00.000-08:00

ever feel the strong inner desire to write madly and endlessly on and on concerning all the conflicting thoughts and emotions within, a physical need to purge one’s heart of all cumbersome clouds and vulnerable joys alike, yet lacking all energy to do so? that is me in this moment. and has been for the past few days. i lack any drive to record and relate all recent events.

that’s not to say that there haven’t been things worth writing about. quite the contrary. and maybe that’s just it; maybe there’s too much. too many new thoughts. new ideas. new experiences to try and pin them down in paragraph format.

i possess a fragmentary mind that pauses and ponders on the most vague and obscure of things. my thoughts are swathed in cellos and deep blues. some of my most cherished moments are collaborating and constructing metaphors with a friend who sees in much the same way.

i often daydream things in colours inverted and shapes disproportioned. my mind is a madhouse.

today is a day i can smile at. we awoke early to grocery shop for our co-op lunch and ended up at the church with time to spare and spend on the steps serenading those who strolled by in the sunshine. then volpone and noodles. then ant and cleo and a sunset and fat chips. sustenance of the soul!

i need to work on my lists of favourites…

oh dear. what else. shakespeare. we made the commute to stratford and dutifully went round to all the historic houses and museums, perhaps taking more delight in the malteser fudge we bought in the candy shop. or the circle of stones we stopped to see on the way back, taking flying photos through the fields.

that was saturday. sunday jilllian took bethany and alisha and i to some rubbled ruins in the country somewhere and a little town that started with a ‘b’ where we poked around some shops and galleries and a church, afterwhich we headed home for some true english tea and crumpets. and then i read macbeth with one eye. and watched rugby with the other…

our heating was broken for the past couple of days so we survived the cold on a couple heaters and a fire. i feel rather triumphant for braving it through such great adversity.

we mingled with the ghosts of the inkling poets tolkien and lewis at the infamous eagle and child. and then out again to the theatre to travel through three different time periods of the intertwining plot of ‘a trip to scarborough.’

life is funny sometimes. like on friday when i was fed up with my too long fingernails so i finally clipped them out of exasperation only to ironically enough end up playing guitar in chapel that evening. it was nice to strum again. oh! the message that evening was achingly beautiful, perhaps the highlight of my week. an older bearded man with a little bounce in his step spoke in so eloquent a fashion he held me spellbound in my seat. twas pure poetry merely glowing with the truth contained therein. he was painting the picture of God as the artist working with us the clay with all our traits and flaws, elaborating on the relationship between the creator and ourselves, how we’re each formed uniquely by his gentle hands that move with the clay, guiding, not forcing. he said it far better than i but the message left its golden imprint.

also, i am going to lisbon in two weeks and i have a ticket for les mis in london. joy joy joy!

2008-02-03T14:25:00.000-08:00

a new air.

nights in charlbury are like turning over rocks to see what’s really going on underneath.

for the most part, though, from an outsider’s perspective, they’re quite hauntingly hushed. it seems as soon as the sun sets, everything is serenely silent. masses of people coming in from the city scurry off the trains at dusk and disappear into their homes where strains of muffled music and mirth can sometimes be heard. everything shuts down and peace settles; even the pubs close relatively early.

the city is another story, as you can imagine.

one of the first nights i was here i became somewhat lost and a gentleman walking a dog directed me to ‘ye olde three horseshoes’ pub, where he told me to ask for a certain barry who could supposedly set me on the right route. so in i went, announcing i was a poor lost canadian looking for my home, and sure enough, the good sir barry pointed out the way and told me not to mind the haunted graveyard. i think they may have been slightly amused as i thanked them with a gracious heart and headed home with a greater confidence in my step, trying not to think too deeply about the cemetery comment…

around midnight sometime last week i locked up the church and began to head home when i paused and saw that the streets were shrouded in a heavy mist; the entire town was frozen in a fog; i held my breath.

while there are street lamps every few hundred feet in Canada, here there may be the odd light every couple of roads or so. they suggested we bring a ‘torch’ to light our way but i much prefer to let my eyes adjust and not disturb the darkness, for there is a different kind of depth to the dimness of night. in the chilled air, things can take on an altered shape or sheen, appearing or disappearing, as the lack of light allows. i walk boldly now, my feet familiar with the stones and sidewalk below. more often than not my eyes are more concentrated on the sky where the stars seem to be simultaneously singing and swaying -- or maybe that's just me.

the raindrops are reverberating off the rooftop of the church and echoing into the sanctuary sending 'sheer brilliance' soaring to the ceiling...

one night in particular i simply had to stop mid-step and pay homage to the beauty that begged to be acknowledged above me. to humbly quiesce. in the very middle of the graveyard i paused to lay flat upon one of the raised tombstones as i stared unblinkingly into the sky and imagined marvellous meandering meteorites mingling with their mirrored mimes in the murky seawaters below. no great philosophical thoughts graced my mind as i fancied the planets dancing in the ballroom of the universe. instead i wanted mostly to empty the mess, clear the clutter, blank-out my brain to allow the immensity and majesty of this dazzling scene to completely consume and cocoon my entire self, to be in pure communion with the creator.

when i walk home late at night my lungs tend to inhale more deeply than usual for i find the air of charlbury is laced with the lovely scent of tea leaves.

last night we peered beneath the stone, however, as we ventured over to ‘the shed,’ to take in ‘the green weasel,’ an evening of eco-tinged music, poetry and performance. to see that creative, talented side of the town was fantastic, especially considering we were barely able to squeeze in to join the low-lit and lively atmosphere. we were astounded by some of the young voices, and were marvelled by their beautiful small-town pride. this initiative to embrace and showcase their gifted locals displays a wonderful appreciation for the arts and i found myself wishing i had grown up with similar opportunity. and though there was laughter and love all round, i was somewhat glad i wasn’t american…

the differences between canada and england are sometimes quite amusing, especially when you’re noticing the bizarre contrast of roadkill; in the maritimes you find poor raccoons, skunks, and porcupines along the highway, and here you see foxes and badgers. bizarre.

wednesday of last we ventured off again to view yet another of shakespeare’s histories, henry v. studying this play has meant more to me simply because of my father’s influence. i remember watching the kenneth branagh film with him when i was younger and being excited about it because he was excited about it; the scenes of the saint crispin speech and the tragic death of the boys stood out most vividly in my memory. unfortunately i went in expecting the same sort of performance and found myself frustrated with what seemed to me to be misplaced humour and lackadaisical monologues; i was quite disappointed with henry. i am just being honest. but it was still spectacular in many ways, with the flying frenchmen, elaborate costumes, and dramatic battle scenes that sent me out of my seat a number of times. so while it didn’t entirely match up with what i had envisioned in my mind, the show went on most beautifully.

friday meant more auditions, choir, formal hall, karaoke, missed trains, and nando’s.

there is an owl in the train station.

we rose early saturday morning to head over to warwick castle. (pronounced warrick.) there was plenty to fill the hours we had there. going up and down spiral staircases in tall tall stone towers. and then through dark passageways where waxen figures looked so real i was perpetually bracing myself for any one of them to suddenly jump out at me. and then through rooms lavish and rich. we dressed up. we went bravely through the ghost tower. we wandered about the grounds looking for peacocks. it was quite the workout. following the castle we drove to coventry cathedral, a newish building to replace the old church which had been bombed during the war, the remains of which are still there as a reminder of mercy and forgiveness. the new cathedral, though, was overwhelming in its magnificence. you couldn’t dismiss the aesthetic beauty and creativity that went into its design. the colours of the towering stained glass windows glowed in a deep and bold radiance. each little chapel off to the side contained work from different artists. mosaics. tapestries. sculpture. i struggle sometimes, though, with what seems like an awful lot of money put into only solid, material things, when it could be put into people and programs. but on the other hand i saw a church that seemed to value God-given artistic ability, hopefully using it to give all glory back to Him, instead of attracting mere tourists and profit. this is my prayer.

we also finally made it out to the charity shops in oxford. mark joined us girls in hunting for fashionable bargains as we filled the tiny shops with our loud canadian laughter.

today jillian made a most delicious feast of cottage pie and vegetables followed by british pancakes, the thin kind, sprinkled with sugar and a wee bit of lemon juice, folded up and topped off with some ice cream. so tasty. my goodness.

watching rugby makes me want to tackle someone.

2008-02-02T15:33:00.000-08:00

revised:

between the time of two heartbeats...

a fraction of her finger feels
the cool, clean circumference
of the bottomless lake.
unfolding she dares her feet
to take a step blindly
into the brim of the basin.
her pale flesh
is slowly, easily overtaken
by the fluid, rhythmic flow
of charcoal.

the majestic movement of the water
orchestrates an opus on her
scarred and pointy knees.
against her protruding ribs.
over her delicate shoulders.
and into her cluttered mind.
a murmured spell is magically cast...

down.
darker.
down.

the thickness presses in.
suffocatingly resonating within.
a hazy muteness tempts
an eternal disappearance...

down.
darker.
down.

all dilemmas drowned out.
her resistance weakened by
this dark, ethereal world.
of surreal serenity.
of solitary security...

down.
darker.
down.

completely adrift.
suspended in a distracted daze.
a stupoured trance.
a raptured reverie...

down.

yet a faint sound swiftly sails through
to reverberate on the drum of her ear.
recalling a dim echoing of a yesterday songbird.
sending her thoughts
to the infinitely endless sky...

down.

pockets of air
race past her face.
as precious life
from her lungs
so fleetly escapes...

drown.

as if awoken
from an enchanting death.
from a spell of sleep...

she rises.
higher.
she rises.

breathless.
wide, desperate eyes
transfixed upon the stars
seen beyond the glossy coverlet.
her fists fight the film
to feel the air...

she rises.
higher.
she rises.

fingertips unfurl
and frantically fix fast
to the moon...

higher.

a poignant, melodic force
an orchestrated symphony of sound
builds to a grand finale...

higher.

she shoots through the surface
in the last still seconds
escaping death's domain...

higher.

a glorious note of life
inflates her lungs.
her mind.
her heart...

she rises.

(and a songbird sweetly sings.)

2008-01-28T11:07:00.000-08:00

skipped seas and skipped tenses

my flight left the eighteenth of january. we arrived at the halifax airport three hours early. (isn’t it wonderful having a mother, aunt, and grandmother all trying to organise your trip?) we therefore played the infamous ‘pass the pigs’ to pass the time. there were also milkshakes involved that i somehow couldn’t stomach. must have been subconscious nervousness. a bracing for the unknown, leaving hardly any room for thickly oversweet milk products.

and off i flew. with mark and alicia and megan and bethany. the other bethany. well actually, if i can rewind for a moment, as i was first trying to find my seat i discovered there was already a gentleman sitting in c twenty three, my seat by the window; he asked if i minded, which i really didn’t, so there he sat, for about four and a half minutes when one of the air Canada staff told him he had to get off the plane because he didn’t have proof of his ticket or something, which was horribly awful and the poor man was distraught, but in the end i got both seats to myself. and though these two chairs made a nice little bed, i arrived relatively sleepless.

and sleepy i was to remain for that entire day. we made it through customs though, barely. alicia was almost sent home, but by God’s grace the kind man graciously bid her enter as we convinced him she was with us. so there we are at last in the airport. we had our hesitant first meeting with the redeemer group, as six and six came together. a fumbling of smiles and awkward short exchanges, attempting to surmise the character of a person based on this first sighting, hoping to make a connection, instantly formulating future situations and scenarios in one’s mind, guessing at group dynamics, placing people in categories and boxes only to be altered and redefined slightly or altogether as time goes on.

heather and tim and laura and rebecca and jodie and sharon: those are their names.

from packed plane to a bus that was three times too large for the twelve of us, we travelled on, making the commute from london to charbury, our new home. in silent and sleepy awe we took in our yet unfamiliar landscapes as it rolled like a wheel of film past our windows, the pictures imprinting themselves, soon to be accepted as something we would each become a part of. truly we are here, after months of nervous anticipation and planning, or less.

into the little baptist church we tumbled in, ate lunch at our assigned seats, our ears being battered with information until out we went on a miniature tour of this charmingly quaint town where every vine and patch of moss seems perfectly placed. the cobblestone and slated roofs all slant in a beautifully crooked manner. streets are small and the houses smaller, beside which the lovely residents park the smallest of cars. it all looks like it belongs in a worn and well-loved storybook.

we return to discover our new hosts waiting with tea and biscuits, sweets. i immediately recognize jillian from her photo, though i still get the formal introduction as i meet her for the first time in person, a lady i soon discover to be sweet yet sassy, with her kind gestures and conversation interspersed with witty quips and eyes rolled at the neverending meowing of flora, the cat.

i found it hard to concentrate completely during that first conversation, though. the little sanctuary of the church was absolutely full and i couldn’t help the smile the would slowly stretch from ear to ear as waves of euphoria washed through me, into my bones and out shining through my eyes. the lilting accents of the townspeople wove and wound their way round me, swirling in surreal patterns above my head as i sat stunned and overjoyed yet in partial dismay at the difficulty i would have to endure in keeping my tongue canadian. it slips every now and again.

it really was only a minute drive from the church to church close. probably less. it’s ridiculously near the train station as well. the three stories of her home are eclectically adorned with mementoes of distant travels and her own sewn creations. a dusty rose predominates my bedroom, which is uncharacteristic of me but is offset by its coziness and the window that overlooks her green green garden below. each morning i sweep the pink curtains open to awaken my eyes as a refreshing reminder that yes, i’m still in england. and each time i open the window wide i wonder if a bird might curiously, mistakenly, fly in.

a bit of a rhythm has begun to settle as i faithfully descend the steps each morning to see a bowl, cup, orange juice, milk pitcher, cereal and cutlery on the table. we drink our coffee together or i take it away in my ‘beaker,’ or ‘tinker,’ i forget what she called it.

everyone in europe has been everywhere.

i think i went to bed the first night at ten o’clock but woke up somewhere in the middle, at which time i read for an hour and fell back into my dreaming. these interrupted sleep patterns went on for a couple nights and my eyes would droop during the day. but eventually my internal clock came into sync with england time.

this slight sleepiness did not deter the excitement, however, as we went to church sunday morning, had a lunch and then a walk through the muddy, misty yet breathtaking countryside and a delicious supper at the house of mad, the fantastic coordinator. monday was our first day in oxford. we made our way in by train, accidentally boarding the ‘quiet carriage’ and hopelessly trying to stifle giggles the entire way in. first discovery i made in the city is that the buses do not slow down for idiot tourists, as i barely escaped with my breath, a bit shortened though, by the fact that i almost died before i got to the bodleian. but we made it there intact and were sworn in, literally. so we continued to dive and dash our way through the unknown streets abuzz with people and bikes and cars to find the church where we will have some of our classes. and other times our learning is located in charlbury or right within regent’s, which is where we are around three times a week.

when we’re at regent’s park we eat lunch with the students, all gathering at one to stand by our chairs until someone says a hasty prayer and we sit down to be served. food is decent. people are friendly, though it would be difficult to get to know anyone really well as we hardly see them. we did, however, join up for the choir on friday nights which means we are able to attend formal hall right afterwords. this past friday was particularly special for it was held in honour of the great robbie burns. we ate haggis. clapped and cheered for the bagpiper. toasted the lads and the lassies. and did some old-fashioned dancing. twas a blur of laughter.

this past saturday was our first free day. what a beautiful thing. my original plan was to wander about the town to take photos and get a better idea of the streets, perhaps catch up on some letter writing, but i was sort of swept away by another wave of adventure. i had just made it to the church and was about to climb the colossal tree located in the graveyard when tim walks by and joins me. from there we explored together and we wound up meeting some others who were going to blenheim palace which was only a couple towns over. and off we went on a double decker bus which felt more like a roller coaster than a grounded vehicle. when we arrived we managed to find the secret door in the side of the wall so we didn’t have to pay to get in and we proceeded to stroll around the massive expanse of grounds. the palace itself was closed but it was still impressive to look at. we took the long way back into town, thanks to mark, probably walking at least four hours that day. worth it, though. the ride home was stunning. one of those moments you know will become a fond memory as we sailed through a sky of pink and yellow. heartstoppingly surreal.

that night we had another delicious supper and dramatic shakespeare reading. sometimes i get carried away and forget to pay attention to what’s actually going on.

our professors are brilliant, though. amanda, softspoken and stylish, is an expert on greek drama, and we all have a tremendous time as we act out various plays complete with cross-dressing and dismemberment. matt, an intellectual scatterbrain, intimidates us with his vast shakespearian knowledge as we wonder whether or not his legs are real. he looks similar to the brother on little miss sunshine.

the light switches in the loo hang on a cord and some of us are lucky enough to have heated towel racks.

already we have been to stratford to see richard II and it’s sort of bittersweet to think that we will probably never see shakespeare performed half so well anywhere else. the talent and artistic creativity combined was fantastic. the use of space and props original. the costumes ornate. the amount of impassioned spit flying could have filled several small lakes.

driving on the left side of the road makes me dizzy.

our first chapel was left up to us but unfolded quite beautifully. we ended up opening up and meshing moreso than we would have had it been organized i think. there was discovery of backgrounds. expressions of faith. encouraging words that surprised and warmed my heart of hearts. prayers uplifted. ties were tugged a little closer. most certainly essential to recognize God’s all-powerful hands orchestrating this most glorious symphony set in such a striking and stirring land with the most intriguing of characters at this most particular time when the rings on our trees are still so few.

having two male musicians along has been marvellous. it creates an energetic and easygoing atmosphere with melodies mingling and spontaneous singing providing the soundtrack for our european excursion.

you know you’re spoiled when you’re brought a cup of coffee in bed.

all this to say, i truly am enchanted with this beautiful country with its endless fields of sheep and bottomless cups of tea.

i may never want to leave.

2007-06-11T23:16:00.000-07:00

Throughout this entire somewhat stressful situation of applying to oxford, dr. mantz's words had a soothing effect on my spirits. This is a man of high intellect, great wisdom, and deep thoughts (and sense of humour!) I have had the priviledge of being his student, adventuring on field trips, dining at his home with his lovely english wife and attending his landscape meditation small group. i have an incredibly high regard for this man. his e-mail was of great encouragement to me. (among others' words as well) it was everything i needed to hear. this is just the last little bit of his note:

"Remember to read, read, read until you become well-read. Just follow your interests and chase after what you would like to know. You are the bee in front of field of beautilful flowers (or ideas). Go and get them. Sweet is the taste of intellectual honey--especially Oxford flavour, as I have no doubt you will discover for yourself. Be encouraged. Best wishes for a full and happy summer of growing closer to God, who, in His grace, empowers you. DMANTZ"

2007-06-01T23:23:00.001-07:00

when the moon shrugs its shoulders while i am drowning in an overwhelming crisis of questions as everyone else blissfully sleeps on, unaware of my crushing struggles, i conjecture there are but two options remaining:
a. pray
b. write
why not both at once.
my thoughts form many phrases which i hesitate to type.
many things build up to one thing which seems to cause the rest to tumble into a confusion of mess.
it seems as though my entire application to oxford rests on one certain history paper.
which i bombed.
why is it that they have no interest in my english papers?
english being the particular subject i am majoring in.
for so long oxford has shimmered in a haze on the horizon.
i have galloped fast and far. focusing on this faint hallucination.
which now appears to be quickly disappearing.
as the sunset disinegrates i stop. and stare. and search.
and the gloom and panic of a sandstorm batters me with a questioning wind from all directions.
gathering force to whirl me off my feet and into the unknown.
i'm not really praying.
if i were praying i would not be worrying. and wondering about tomorrow.
why exactly do i want to go to oxford?
would i truly be prepared as a student?
should i continue to pursue english?
could i ever teach?
or write?
why i am at abu?
is there a better school?
why am i in calgary attempting to make a bundle of bucks in order to pay for a program i am not going to get into?
why am i even going to school in the fall?
why not travel and work?
why not go into art?
why not escape?
would i be taking the easy way out?
these ponderings perpetually plague me. popping up persistently.
[the darkness is oppressing
it surrounds me from all sides
so thick my eyes see nothing
but the blackness that subsides]
and all this is written while i have work in the morning and poetry due the same day.
i want someone to simply make all the decisions for me.
yet i am becoming more and more aware of the fact that no one is ever going to.
they can drown in their drops of opinions.
yet it is i who must ultimately take the plunge.
hmm. maybe i am to become a plumber.
my own comic attempts saddens me.
if any of you nonexistent readers would like to inform me of my future that would be greatly appreciated.
thanks.

2007-05-29T18:13:00.000-07:00

a fraction of her finger feels
the clean circumference
of the lake.
unfolding she dares her feet
to take a step
into the brim of the basin.
her pale flesh
is slowly overtaken
by the fluid form
of charcoal.

the majestic movement of the water
makes music on her
pointy knees.
against her ribs.
over her shoulders.
and into her mind.
A spell is cast…

Down.
Darker.
Down.

The thickness presses in
And resonates within.
A hazy muteness tempts
A disappearance…

Down .
Darker.
Down.

All dilemmas drowned out.
She cannot resist
This dark ethereal world.
Of surreal serenity.
Of solitary security…

Down .
Darker.
Down.

Completely lost.
Suspended in a trance…

Down.

Yet a faint sound sails through
To the drum of her ear
as a dim recollection of a songbird
sends her thoughts
to the sky…

Down.

Pockets of air race
Past her face.
As life from her lungs
Escapes…

Drown.

As if awoken
From an enchanting death.
From a spell of sleep:

She rises.
Higher .
She rises.

Breathless.
Eyes transfixed upon the stars
Seen beyond the glossy coverlet.
Fingertips unfurling
To feel the air…

She rises.
Higher.
She rises.

Her fists fight the film
And desperately fix fast
to the moon…

Higher.

A desperate melodic force
An orchestrated symphony of sound
Builds to a grand finale…

Higher.

She shoots through the surface
In the last still seconds
Escaping Death’s domain…

Higher.

A glorious note of life
Fills her lungs.
Her mind.
Her heart…

She rises.

(And a songbird sings.)

2007-03-16T14:59:00.000-07:00

soo...for anyone who cares...i have switched over to vox. we'll see how it goes. check it out...bethanythebrave.vox.com

2007-02-08T18:48:00.000-08:00

merely moments ago i had it in my head that i was going to spew forth all my frustrations of the day. how i was feeling oddly blah and at odds with life. i don't entirely know what came over me. perhaps a combination of things building up in my brain. an overload of thoughts. i had one of those moments where out of overwhelming frustration i wanted to just bang my head on the wall repeatedly. for lack of a better idea. i just felt like i hadn't accomplished anything today. i felt guilty because i didn't go to the concert of prayer. my own small devotion seemed insignificant in comparison. i feel like i am not involved in anything. i have come to the conclusion that i am very selfish with my time. i just like having the freedom to be able to do whatever i feel like at whatever time. not having any prior engagements or obligations. but in that same breath i will say i wish i were. i wish i were involved with more things here at the school. to be more of a sociable person rather than the hermit i have become. however it makes it diffcult when i am equally introverted and extroverted. they like to battle back and forth sometimes. it's always up in the air who will win next. because i like very much to chill with people. but i also like very much to chill in my own little bubble. i have also realized that sometimes i tend not to think about things on purpose. that way if i avoid the subject i will avoid the conviction. and in avoiding the conviction i will avoid having to change. yet i always know it's there in the back of my mind. sometimes it's just relieving to confess these things. to get it all out. however then i know i will have to face the melody. sigh. my brain has been abuzz with busyness. with bothersome and beautiful thoughts. i am attempting to take it slow but life moves so fast and is full of decisions one has to make. decisions you will have to wake up to every morning. so many things have to be taken into account. but at the same time you can't overthink it. nothing will ever be perfect. love is a gift. take it and run. fast and far. just don't lose sight of your ultimate destination. i guess at the same time one must be prepared for such a journey as well... with deep breaths and determination to make it to the end. it is amusing to me as well when i think of how mopey i was feeling and then one thing after another somehow filled me with a happy contentedness. l-face was playing some sweet tunes. we jumped on the bed. we had coffee and candy. my dad called. my brother left me some love. bandana boy came in and talked about the devo he was doing tonight. that was sweet. i am about to escape on an excursion to sobey's. and i am also trying to recall some of my dear father's advice to my life. it was just one of those things you know is true. yet is so difficult to remember and daily live out. he was saying how it is impossible to be truly content with ourselves. in our self-worth and value. unless we find it in God alone. it is to our own folly if we base our state of mind and all our emotions on mere human relationships. unless you like emotional roller coaster rides. because as fallible beings we are incredibly imperfect. unreliable. moody. people will always let you down. but God is unchanging. it is only in Him that we can find forever acceptance and unconditional love. so if i can just remember that...

...ok the words above were from awhile ago...but i will post it anyway and just add this: today i had one of those sweetly special moments. i had been reading in this book about the little gifts given by God that are hidden in the everyday. how this girl had been strolling the beach and came upon hundreds of colourful starfish and saw it as something God had revealed just to her in that moment. and i myself was walking back to residence when i heard the soft, musical chicka-dee-dee-dee... and i have always had a soft spot for chickadees and i just smiled and thanked God for that cheerful moment. just the fact that i saw Him behind it made it dear to my heart. really we are forever surrounded by little gifts of God in nature. and in people. He's offering them to us with outstretched arms. we just have to be the ones who make the choice to open our eyes and accept them as from Him. and then on top of that little ray of sunshine in my day. i was catching up on my devos and i started reading about how we lack imagination to be able to see God in the nature surrounding us and then i read about how songbirds will sing in the dark. or wherever they are... it's been a nice morning. a lot of firm resolve on my part to just see joy in the everyday. i feel free. i'm not going to become tangled and torn unnecessarily. God's got the whole world in His hands. and anything could happen. i'll take it all as it comes.

2007-01-28T19:33:00.000-08:00

a cup of earl grey

strong simmering heat

steamy scent

dark temptation

deep breaths and

longing eyes

fill my insides

with yearning

for a taste

too hasty to wait

hands move

fine chine meeting

thirsty lips

the tea tilts

as i take a sip

the last drip drops down

tastebuds on fire

scorching exhilaration

racing through my veins

a bittersweet experience

a momentary thrill

ending in nothing but

frayed nerves and

a burnt tongue

...

2007-01-25T18:20:00.000-08:00

Pieces from...

The Fiery Crags
by
F. W. Boreham.

"So love blazes the trail for love, smooths the path of love, brushes away the obstacles that might entangle the feet of love. That is why, when men find themselves confronting the most stupendous issues that they are ever required to resolve, so many subtle voices, human and divine, direct with steadfast insistence to the cross."

2007-01-24T14:51:00.000-08:00

Spoon Food...

As wikipedia puts it:
"A spoon is a common eating utensil, or item of cutlery, somewhat like a small spade, with a bowl-shaped end on a handle, that occurs in a number of sizes and forms. Its main purposes are for conveying food to the mouth and for stirring, though it has a number of other uses."

So besides shoveling food into our faces, they also serve a variety of other wonderful purposes:

- Spoons can make fantastically pretty pieces of jewellery.
- Spoons can substitute as an instrument for the musically impaired.
- Spoons can also become an essential part to exciting, fast-paced card games.

[...they can also double as a spork, which may seem sacriligious to those fanatical spoon devotees...]

While generally spoons are easily accessible for purchase of the common people at affordable prices, there are always those lucky few whose mouths are somehow magically filled with a nice set of silver cutlery right from birth.

.... ...................... . . . . ............ .. . . . ........ .. ........ .. ..... ........................... .. .. . . ................... ..................

An accidentally amazing phenomenon which occurs sporadically to amuse those fortunate enough to possess the ability to speak properly, that has nothing to do with spoons but for the fact that it contains the word spoon within its name, is oh so mysteriously called a....

Spoonerism.
These delightful 'tips of the slung' are words or phrases in which letters or syllables get swapped!

EXAMPLES:
- it's roaring with pain [it's pouring with rain]
- wave the sails [save the whales!]
- soap in your hole [hope in your soul]
- trail snacks [snail tracks]
- this is the pun fart [this is the fun part]

One can even tell an entire story in this spooneristic style:

Beeping Sleauty (an excerpt)

by Colonel Stoopnagle

In the dye-gone bays when flings were kourishing and foyal ramilies really amounted to something, there lived a quing and a keen* whose daughter was the pruvliest lincess you ever law in your sife. She was as lovely as Spritney Brears and Rulia Joberts wolled into run. Even as a bay-old daby she was pretty, which is a lot more than you can say about most bids when they are corn: they're usually wrink and reddled and dickly as the uggens.

....i am still at a loss as to why it is called a spoonerism.

.. . ............. . . ............. . . . . ................... . . . . ........... . . ............................ . .. ........... . .. . .......... .. .............. . . . .. . . ................... . . . . . .. .. .....

This brings me to ...Spooning.
As Ryan would not accept the challenge of blogging about this controversial subject, I have taken the task upon myself.

To some this idea of cuddling with another person similarly to spoons in a drawer seems entirely innocent.
To others...dangerously sexual.
So it seems as though there is surprisingly not much to say on the subject...
Typically, though, it occurs between close friends or perhaps to avoid hypothermia in a cold situation.
However, I simply send this warning: be careful of what goes on in the kitchen drawer boys and girls.

and that's about all i have to say about that...i'm going to go have a bowl of soup...

..................... .. . . . . . . . . . ............. . . ....... . . . ........... . ........... . .. ...... . .. .............. .

2007-01-21T20:01:00.000-08:00

perhaps in light of one of my many faults or mistakes, my mother once told me...

"bethany, you've mastered the art of imperfection."

i'd have to concur.

...

2007-01-21T18:25:00.000-08:00

fairy tales and silent solitudes...

i confess it is one of my favourite things to simply read aloud a brilliant book or some pleasant poetry. to myself mostly. not merely to hear myself speak. but i enjoy the sounds of the words. bestowing colourful voices unto the characters. mimicking different accents. narrating the tale with great emotional emphasis. setting the tone. lyrically describing the scenery. getting lost in the story. tis all so wonderfully amusing. and while i very much look forward to one day reading mystery and adventure books to my very own children... i also admit that i have a small fantasy of sorts of my husband and i reading to each other... together. taking turns. curled up by the cozy fireplace. perhaps sharing a cup of tea. reading a story. reading the bible. it warms my heart just to imagine it.

also...this morning in church we watched the nooma video 'noise.' and we talked a lot about silence. or the lack thereof. i personally love listening to music throughout the entire day but there are always times where i just want that quiet. to clear my head. focus. and there's no better place to pause and reflect than by losing yourself in the beauty that surrounds you outside. even in the winter where everything is serenely sprinkled with snow. or paddling across a lake. or beneath the stars. i am daily dazzled by God's creation. these are the most silent places. silent in a way that it eludes the white noise of life. it provides an escape. a time to listen. although we may be afraid of what we may hear. but daily in our lives. in our homes. even while we unplug all the unnecessary of electronic devices. there is always the hum of the fridge. the sound of a car driving by. a dog barking. and as much as we have to attempt to ignore these distracting disturbances... i was just thinking on how neat it would be to build a room in your home that was specifically designed to be soundproof. a room for silence. to get away. to pray. in the quiet reverence. and maybe boldly listen for that still small voice.

2007-01-19T09:35:00.000-08:00

frosted flakes falling from an effervescent sky,

flitting and floating on the frozen atmosphere.

this crisp, sugary cereal swirls up so high and

down to caress my cheeks, freezing my tears.

2007-01-10T19:57:00.000-08:00

BOB: "I am surrounded by too many Christians. I live in a bubble. What should I do?"

GILL: "I know a quick but terrible solution! Quit converting your friends!!"

2007-01-10T18:31:00.000-08:00

amidst the chaos and confusion one can feel content at the oddest times.
i feel comfortable and at ease with myself as a person.
i am confident in that i know who i am in Christ.
my life is not my own.
my life is His.
He is living through me.
i need not be afraid.
He is my reason to be brave.
i can't do anything on my own.
but with Him...anything.
it doesn't matter what it is.
where or how or with who.
i have a part to play in this grand symphony.
it may be small or insignificant.
it may be challenging or dangerous.
but it's all to His glory.
i'll do whatever it takes.
i don't need to have it all together.
i don't need to have outstanding gifts or talents.
He'll use whatever i have to offer.
i will be willing to learn.
to work for it.
to fight for it.
with imperfect excellence.
i was specifically made unique for a reason.
how can i not be glad for the way God has made me.
to envy another person would be like an insult to the Creator.
i am what i am and i don't need to try to impress anyone.
i am at peace with life and what it may bring.
to do more than just claim to have complete faith and trust in God.
but to truly believe it and live it out.
it's so relieving in a joyous way.
i want to sing and laugh and dance and cry all at the same time.
to know what and Who you're living for.
i don't feel so lost and overwhelmed.
because i know that as one person i will not be able to change the whole world.
but i can bring light to some parts of this spinning globe.
to some people.
but i also know i must have patience.
in the preparation and education.
knowing it's all going to build me as a person.
even while it may seem pointless at the time.
but i will not become complacent or apathetic while i wait.
i am surrounded with opportunities to do good.
to draw closer to God.
it's crazy to think how things in our lives shape who we become.
how we think.
passion '07:
three words...
convicted.
inspired.
determined.
something changed for me then.
i saw things in a way i had never before.
my eyes were opened to something much larger than myself.
i am a part of something bigger.
much bigger.
i could choose whether or not i want in on it.
but how could i refuse.
it all seems so unreal sometimes.
too good or ridiculous to be true.
but that's the mystery in it.
who would want to serve a predictable God that we completely understood.
He is so much greater than that.
beyond us.
how could we not worship Him with our lives.
life on earth is merely the prelude to eternity.
what we do now affects us forever.
really we should be dead in sin.
but Christ took our place!
never have those words meant more to me.
i am in utter awe.
there's no way i could be ashamed.
i am such unworthy filth.
yet He loves.
gives.
forgives.
i know there will be dark valleys.
but i always have that core assurance.
nothing else has ever tempted to lure me away.
but things have creeped in on first place.
to my own folly.
for He is my first love.
forever and
ever and
ever and
ever...

- please keep me accountable, people -

2006-12-24T15:29:00.000-08:00

[this is just an insert here to inform you that my original post disappeared, which i am sure you can all relate to my frustration and thus this second version is just not as good...oh well...]

The nativity story...

a charming retelling of the birth of the christ child...

this film was filled with stars but with how many stars would i rate it? i don't know. perhaps my expectations were too high, maybe they were just different. however i went in hoping to be impacted in some way but i left somewhat disappointed. this timeless tale was beautifully woven, staying historically true to the time. the setting. the people. the characters look the part and pull you into the story as you journey along with them. experiencing the struggles. sharing the moments of joy. yet part of what bothered me was mary's lack of emotion throughout the entire film. when the angel first appeared to her in the field she didn't so much as flinch. and later after little baby jesus is born and the shepards come she looks as though these sort of events happen all the time. it was these key climactic moments that left me wanting something more. i was eagerly anticipating the glorious host of angels that were to appear before the shepards in the field singing about good news of great joy but low and behold! they are greeted with one lone angel on a hill...not too dazzling. and when these lowly shepards join the wise and kingly magi to worship the king of kings i thought it might be a little bit more of a dramatic affair. the bible says they were filled with wonder and awe and bowed down and praised jesus. the shepards went about spreading the news of the advent. the coming of the lord and saviour! yet here the picture truly looked like your typical nativity set up. they shepards and magi bowing down like porcelein dolls in two staggered lines with the holy baby radiantly shining in the center. but perhaps it achieved the desired effect. perhaps i shouldn't have gone in with any expectations. i really did enjoy the movie though. it is a story that should be told again and again and i am glad that people are able to see it in a new light this christmas season. i had just hoped for a little more oomph. something that would take your breath away in wonder. after all it is the birth of jesus christ! even while he was humbly born in a stable, all of heaven was rejoicing! in the film the grand event is just so mellow. i know it doesn't take away from the true story at all. and perhaps this rendition captures the silent awe and reverence of the whole affair. but i also think of it as a time for joyful celebration! it had sort of a disappointing anti-climatic ending i thought. but that's just me. [and my tired state of mind] maybe everybody else loved it. i hope i haven't ripped it apart like a cold cynic. i had just hoped for something more. honestly for me the best part of the movie was the wise men, who were quite the comical characters. [and herod's beard.] it is just a movie after all. i just had to get my opinion out of my head. nevertheless, any star rating of this movie would only be eclipsed by the one true star anyway. and that's all that matters in the end.

2006-12-08T22:47:00.000-08:00

polka dots and turkish delight equals twitterpation...

...lull you have my love.

2006-12-03T11:45:00.000-08:00

adams archibald townsend saved my life. never before had i been able to say that i had had a near-death experience. until yesterday. as we were trudging along the sidewalk beside the busy moncton road dodging puddles and mud, without realizing it i leaped to sidestep a rather large pool of water, completely focused on the ground, when i felt a tug from behind. i looked up to see a car coming right for me and at that instant i was pulled to safety. what a horrific moment. i could have died. i could have been dead right now. it was so frightening. so frighteningly close. i was slightly shaken up. but thankfully i am still alive. hooray.

2006-12-01T05:50:00.000-08:00

i want to write

i want to paint

i want to create

i want to hold

i want to love

i want to cherish

i want to run

i want to give

i want to help

'wont to want'........ ........ . ............. ............. ... .. ..... .. . i want to sing

i want to laugh

i want to feel

i want to think

i want to learn

i want to hear

i want to grow

i want to know

i want to play

i want to explore

i want to capture

i want to inspire

i want to believe

i want to hope

i want to live.

2006-11-21T13:39:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-21T12:22:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-11-13T11:27:00.000-08:00

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

2006-10-27T05:44:00.000-07:00

twas a glorious getaway with the girls when we escaped school wednesday night to travel up to pugwash in the rain. [the rain seems to be a recurring theme. fall foliage was wet too.] that was fun in and of itself. i just love driving to the sound of music, surrounded by friends as the world whirs past through the window. but we got to julie's cottage eventually. unpacked. modeled life jackets. played with swords. then piled into the car once more on a quest for candy! we stocked up on marshmellows. white chocolate. macaroons. popcorn. mike n ikes. etc. we visited the graveyard. and a high school... we also went to the wharf. blasted daved crowder. and danced. in the cold. the wind. the rain. we danced. it was sheer joyous abandon. a glorious moment. the rest of the evening unfolded in typical female style. a lot of talk. about boys. and deeper things. good discussion all round. oh and we built a fire. laura got the candle lit a la cigarette lighter in the car. i got the fire blazing. pretty much. i'm sure other interesting things happened but i can't recall them at the moment. in the morning however we rushed back [or as fast as we could rush behind that boat] for chapel and made it back just in time. i was glad. chapel was grand. that night we hung up coloured christmas lights all around our room. it is ambient lighting to the max. it puts me in such a happy state of mind and heart. i went to sleep between my flannel sheets with papers at my feet. woke up to a beautiful day and a beautiful breakfast. wrote my final midterm. and now the weekend awaits. joy!

"shirt mom"

2006-10-22T20:31:00.000-07:00

these words are entirely dedicated to my dear grandmother (and grandfather) whom i love so much. it was during a church service that they were asking if we knew anybody who served, and i thought of my grammie and nearly started to cry. tears are welling as i think about it. i know she would wave it off saying it's nothing but i know how hard she works. actually i don't completely know. i've only seen some of it and that alone is enough to blow me away. i think it hit me that night just what a big heart that woman has! i hold her in such a special place in my heart. i talk and laugh with her on msn. i could hang out with my grandparents like they were my best friends, going to get ice cream, playing games and eating canned pears and pop tarts even though grampie shouldn't. i love it when he sings and cracks jokes. it makes me giggle. but i admire them both so much. i don't even know half the things they've done! but my grammie makes such good food and bakes such delightful treats for us to eat. i love holidays at their house. i love their house. but she'll whip up entire meals for her brothers and sisters. she'll help take care of them. she helps to lead a small group. she's taught sunday school and such for so long. i admire her christian spirit as well. she writes letters to missionaries and helps organize lots of things. so many people have been touched and impacted through her and her husband. she is such a creative lady! i'd like to think that's partially where i get it from. she scrapbooks and knits and sews and paints and writes and decorates and so on and so forth. and my grandfather is such an amazing singer and dabbles in guitar and woodworking as well. he is also incredibly talented. and they both go bowling every week! grampie has so many trophies. and grammie has her own laptop! not too many kids can say that their grandmother has a laptop and knows how to use it. my mom can't. and i love seeing her and grampie together. it warms my heart. 62 and still in love is pretty much how i would describe it. they hold hands and have their own camping trailer that they take all over the maritimes to go camping in. they go hiking and exploring. i'm sure they're both a wealth of hidden talents and treasures and stories. i could sit and listen to them talk of childhood memories forever. i love hearing about their history. it means so much to me. they have such humble hearts and will welcome you into their home and just love you and everyone. i always loved going to their house and playing nintendo and reading noddy books together. i still do. and walking to victoria park and barbeques on the back deck when all the family is together. i am just so grateful for all the love i have received. i am so blessed and so thankful to God for giving me such an amazing family when so many people never experience what true family is. and i hope to never take it for granted. i could continue on blabbering about the rest of my kin but i shall stop here. it just had to be said. i just want them to know how much i love and admire and respect them and i hope i too will learn from them. i wouldn't mind if i grew up to reflect a little bit of my grandmother. i wouldn't mind at all.

IItimothy 1:5

2006-10-20T23:47:00.000-07:00

twas a night of tea cups and knitting needles. there was a shared feeling of sheer contentment. of quiet happiness in the company of friends. while many of the others escaped residence we few who remained, namely gill and i, took complete advantage of the eerie, desolate and deserted dormatory. my room tidied and put back to order after the first week of midterms we listened to our mellow melodies and simply relaxed. it was wonderful. we talked. we knit. we ate candy and cookies whilst sipping green tea. we also learned the incredibly important skills of the game of backgammon. blot! i enjoy that game very much. the compact suitcase with the roll-a-dice-cups make me happy. even if i lost. and to only add to the feeling of coziness was the drip of rain dropping outside our window blending and swirling with the streams of music. and the thunder and lightening sent shivers of excitement down me spine. the thrill of a storm. while safe inside.

gillian: "you cannot pervert a brain."

i also feel it necessary to comment on my most recent field trip for canadian literature to the tantramar marshes. it was like i was revisiting my homeland. yet seeing it with a greater depth and appreciation. it, too, was another rainy day but we were undaunted in our excitement of reading sir charles roberts' poetry while seeing the very landscape which he was describing. we barely felt the cold. we read his poems in the barn, on the dykes and in the church. his life and lines were inspiring. through his sombre, grim portrayal of the canadian landscape his words still emanate a love towards this tough sort of beauty. and not only were we being given this guided, narrated tour of the marshes with dr. mantz but we had the honour of being his guests for supper that very evening. we had a most intersting casserole which i managed to eat while his sweet english wife served us tea and tarts and told us stories of when she was a little girl living in scotland. it was a glorious day.

-here on the hill-
here on the hill
at last the soul sees clear
desire being still
the high unseen appears
the thin grass bends
one way, and hushed attends
unknown the gracious ends
where the sheep's pasturing feet
have cleft the sods
the mystic light lies sweet
the very clods
in purpling hues elate
thrill to their fate
the high rock-hollows wait
expecting gods
~sir charles g. d. roberts

[sparklers in illinoise. raindrops in michigan]

"pawn!"

2006-10-13T17:38:00.000-07:00

perhaps i am merely prolonging the procrastination of papers...but i believe it is time to blog. it has been a while and much has taken place. grade twelve ended. a bit of bittersweetness ensued yet the fun of summer quickly took its place. we worked, we played, we went to scott's bay...ok so that rhymed, we also took frequent trips to visit mr. darcy. and then i moved to miramichi, well, oak point to be precise. it sounds much better. i miss the valley but i love my cape cod house. reasons i love it are as follows:
-it is down the road from the ocean in whose waters we swim and upon whose beaches we build our bonfires which toasts our marshmellows as well as our buns
-along the back is attached a rather large deck where i like to laze in the sun and read a book or lay under the stars and drink a cup of tea...
-it is surrounded by a multitude of trees and bushes and other such forest foliage...which means between two towering pines i can swing in my hammock in happiness
-i get to share it with my family
two downsides equal a. the water smells and b. eels
it's also closer to abu, which is where i am, right now, in residence, in my pod, in my room with laura, at my desk....
(however i am going to interrupt this thought stream with another injection of summer. my family also voyaged down to the states to attend the annual kingdom bound. it was even better the second time around. four days of roller coasters, waterslides, and concerts all the time. with such musical groups as leeland, sanctus real, the silent, the afters, kids in the way, spoken, kutless, audio a, newsboys, etcetera all adds up to sweet sweet stupendousness.)
...back to university. we're already into the second month and it's been a blur of work and memorable moments with people i've already come to love so much. crazy times consisting of concerts, illinois, soccer games, movie making magic, res worship and such, shopping excursions, fall foliage fun, puddle jumping, adventures to magnetic hill and beyond, dance parties, frosh week, midnight movies, chicken noodle soup and board games, kandy kafe, field trips, laying in the sun whilst listening to the sweet sound of guitar melodies...and so on and so forth. needless to say i'm enjoying myself. minus the work. food's fabulous though.
i like it here....pretty much defffinitely.

2006-06-26T11:49:00.000-07:00

what an enchanted evening. it truly exceeded all my expectations. first of all, i fit into my 1940's damask silk-velvet evening gown astonishingly enough and second... adams was wearing a kilt. how wonderful. there is so much i could say, it's all stored away in my mind, all the memories, such good memories... we got all dolled up and had pictures taken inside, where the rain couldn't wash us away, then off to cliodna's for her garden party, such good food and tasty little cheesecakes, mmm. we finally made our way to the school where we walked the red carpet into the masquerade. it was a phantom of the opera/music of the night theme and the decorations were beautiful, there was a baby grand and a chandelier... the music was joyous and the people made it even better, i will miss my class so much, more than i thought. i danced with some of my favourite boys, daniel, ben... twirled with adams for the last and owen gave me a big hug before he left which pretty much made my night. all the girls were so beautiful. many memorable moments. mr. sheppard dancing and letting the balloons go, oh my. afterwards we went to northup's hippie house and hung out all night, just the five of us, some guitar, some sauna, some strawberry shortcake. in the morning i played in the rain, it was warm and wonderful and i pranced about, getting wet and muddy from climbing trees and splashing in puddles, i sat on their roof too and got me bum all soaked. twas fun. thinking back on it all makes me smile.

"this is a fish market, it's where i sell my fish!"

2006-06-10T20:36:00.000-07:00

well my dream for excitement was fullfilled. rather than having a relaxing evening at home i instead embarked on a grand expedition into the great unknown along with my dear friends laura and tippy. we attempted to get lost while driving in the valley countryside and we stumbled across an abandoned orchard in the middle of nowhere. at first we were merely amused by the old apple boxes, climbing them and such, but one thing led to another. from afar we saw a forlorn camper van, sinking further and further into the grass, rotting away. of course we explored. it was incredibly filthy and filled with garbage, i found a cup and tip found a loonie in the oven. from there we ventured forth across the field towards another building yet we were blocked by a rushing river that had overflowed across the road. we were not about to turn back. instead we used our imaginative ingenuity to somehow come up with the idea of making a bridge out of rhubarb. it worked...vaguely. we were only a little wet. but still able to continue on our adventure. nothing could deter us. we pressed on and discovered many more treasures of abondoned cars, couches, buildings, each proved more fascinating than the one before. along the way were many photos, frightening moments and impromptu concerts. driving home we managed to drive in a complete circle before finding the way. we stopped at timmy's and were pleasantly surprised to run into john and jordan who we invited to accompany us on the remainder of our saturday night silliness. a night full of lispness. i quite enjoyed myself. i think it was God's way of cheering me up.

walking on and on

life goes on and on

soon we'll be gone be gone

walking on and on

2006-06-10T14:51:00.000-07:00

I am so ridiculously restless. i feel like a bird trapped in a cage and i just want to break free and fly away. it's the end of the year and it can't some soon enough. i'm ready for something new. i've never lived in one place for too long, it's not like i'm graduating with friends i have known my entire life, friends i share many memories with, with the exception of laura. i feel so bored with life, i'm at a loss. i'm just hoping for some excitement. but perhaps now i shall simply go drink some tea, read a book while listening to the music floating above the sound of rain and contemplate life. or maybe i'll just go jump in some puddles. i like this blog thing.

if i had a band i would call it 'fuzzy logic'