all a girl needs

to get through the day

is little cup of peace

i like to call

chocolate pudding.

I can never think of a time when i have prayed for sorrow. Invited true brokenness into my life. Usually, it comes as an unwelcomed guest. However, during my devotional time last week, I was thinking about the life of Joseph. I read this:

God never uses anybody to a large degree, until after He breaks that one all to pieces. Joseph had more sorrow than all the other sons of Jacob, and it led him out into a ministry of bread for all nations. For this reason, the Holy Spirit said of him, “Joseph is a fruitful bough…by a well, whose branches run over the wall” (Gen. 49:22). It takes sorrow to widen the soul.

My prayer that night was one I would never have expected to pray. I’ve prayed to be broken before, but never to the point of sorrow. Praying for sorrow?

When most people think of sorrow, they think of grief. Dispair. Negativity. Sadness. But the sorrow we should pray for is sorrow without despair.

If we had never fallen, or were in a glorified state, then the strong torrents of Divine joy would be the normal force to open up all our souls’ capacities; but in a fallen world, sorrow, with despair taken out of it, is the chosen power to reveal ourselves to ourselves. Hence it is sorrow that makes us think deeply, long, and soberly.

Ecclesiastes 7:3 says:

Sorrow is better than laughter,
for sadness has a refining influence on us.

But what about joy? I think the more refined we are through sorrow, the greater the joy we are able to experience.

What do you think?

I have learnt to love you late, Beauty at once so ancient and so new!
Saint Augustine

so here i am, taking care of some freelance in my office, space heater 6″ away from my leg…sipping on some “rooibos sunshine” loose leaf tea. my coworker dalton and i have become addicted to rooibos, and there just happens to be a loose leaf tea shop a few miles from the church which has probably a hundred kinds of loose leaf tea. so we have our little tea station in our communications workroom. i’ll admit, we’ve become tea snobs.

earlier today, as i was getting ready - applying eyeliner or something - one of those thoughts [that you know aren't your own] pops in my head and says, “Why even bother? You know you can’t compete.”

I knew exactly what this statement meant and where it came from. I seem to have my brain locked into this “22 years old is the perfect age” mindset. It probably was one of the best years of my life. And now as I creep ever-so-more up on 30, I realize that superfically, aging is something I’m not looking forward to.

You would never hear me say it aloud, but I am horribly competitive. A few years back, after a fierce game of Uno with the band Chris was in, we all went to eat. We talked about the game and I said something about how “I’m glad I’m not one of those competitive crazy people.” The singer, Steve, normally laid back and not too expressive, smacks his hand down on the table and says, “SWEET JESUS ANNE, YES YOU ARE!”

After Steve’s statement, the fact I had broken many a Super Nintendo controller in my youth, as well as chalking up several technical fouls during my high school basketball career, I realize - yes, I am extremely competitve.

This competitive nature also comes in the form of my appearance. The voice that snuck in unexpectedly today was pushing that competitive button - making me feel there’s no way I can physically compete with the beautiful, early-20 year olds that seem to overflow out of the Rockwall city limits.

Fortunately, a Voice much louder and more important reminded me, “Why do you need to compete, anyway?”

Eh. Good point.

Now if only I can convince myself to believe it…

to have breakfast with the jacksons.

although after seeing the below photo…

i don’t think you’d want to.

last night, i made texas toast in our toaster oven…at 425 degrees. a piece of toast fell under the tray during my attempt to get it out after they were done.

[i am not the most coordinated person in the world]

so we unplugged the oven and were able to successfully remove it via knives and forks and other kitchenly weapons.

however, this morning [pre-coffee] chris plugs the toaster oven back in and off it goes to make his pop tarts. a few minutes later, after noticing our apartment was slowly filling up with smoke, he goes to retrieve said pop tarts and well, the photo tells the rest of the story. pop tarts are not best baked at 425 degrees.

[any takers?]

i felt incredibly

warm

in so many ways last night

knowing i don’t deserve the

heater running

my huge slippers

favorite pajamas

the more than adequate comforter wrapping around me

the more than wonderful person to my right

or the quietness that whispered me

and lulled me

into

sleep.