the disgracefully neglectful blog owner returns

So I was driving the other day. It was rainy and chilly and cozy.I was listening to Bright Eyes, and thinking that whoever put car rides and music together has preserved much sanity, Lord bless him. When I listen to music in the car, it's like the speed and sound combine to clean all the junk out of my brain. The big messy world becomes less frightening. This reminded me of Micaela's post on music in the car, and how much I love reading my friends' blogs. When the posts are thoughtful and well-written, it is very encouraging, especially when they describe God's grace working in their lives.

Now, sometimes life becomes too hectic to blog, sometimes you get month-long writers block, sometimes things and thoughts simply belong on paper, and not on the internet. I guess my point is that blogging is not a worthless endeavor as some folks like to think. It is simply the power of the pen in a different form. The words and truths and feelings and thoughts are the same as those expressed thousands of years ago. To quote Gandalf: "And that is an encouraging thought."

The last Titanic survivor died today. She was an infant when the ship went down, and she lived to be 98. I'm sure she doesn't remember it, but it brings up a point. What happens to history when all the witnesses are gone? What will happen when everyone who witnessed 9/11 is dead? History is important, for if we ignore it, it repeats itself, and not in a good way. It made me want to be certain my children, or whoever, knows what happened before they existed, and know its immense impact.

Skin

I think something God taught me this year is the utter foolishness of judging people by appearance. I haven't got it down by any means, but I think I've been observing the havoc that mistake can wreak. A few incidents underlined it.
My grandpa is just about the cutest old man I have ever seen. He has glasses, pure white hair, and a perfectly curly, groomed mustache. He looks harmless. Yet when he was in Italy with my grandma, and someone tried to pick his pocket, he grabbed the guy by the thumb and threw him over his shoulder to the ground. Harmless....no.
For Mall Madness with Bethlehem, I went goth. As I was walking around the mall, looking terrifying and getting my fair share of stares, it struck me again how much of a person's self goes on completely and utterly unknown and unseen, regardless of their appearance.
And, as you may know, I adore people-watching. I have learned one major thing from it. People. Are. All. Alike. Yes, they are unique too. But every single one cares about something. They are searching for something to love. To worship. The places we look are endless, yet we are all looking. There is only One who can satisfy desire.
So in view of eternity, your appearance is not life or death. When you look at people, see what God sees. A tall order, I know. But a worthwhile one. Remember that he formed every face, every eye, every sense of style, every build. He placed the freckles and colored the hair. He painted our skin a thousand different shades. Every single human is a masterpiece, a walking, living,breathing work of art. Eight billion of them. Not one is wasted, or without beauty, whether inner or outer. I wish there were a word in English to communicate the fact that as you come to know someone, even if they are plain at first sight, if their soul and mind and heart are beautiful, it colors your vision when you look at them. As C.S. Lewis said, "There are no ordinary people."

STALKER! or, The Universalness of Water

As I walked past the school drinking fountains this morning, I was suddenly possessed with a desire to rig a camera to take a picture of them every time someone pushed the button for a drink. What would you see?
I have stalker tendencies. I will (sort of) inconspicuously follow an interesting person for no other reason than to observe them. Cities make me happy because they provide an endless wealth of people to observe. I DO NOT DO THIS MALICIOUSLY. I have a nosy, inquisitive desire to see at least a tiny sliver of other people's lives, of their thoughts. Now you tell me, is this a bad thing or a good thing? COMMENT. I don't usually demand comments, but this time I want to know. I have an opinion, but it isn't coming out of the bag till I get some feedback.

And you thought history was boring(Reading in the bathroom)

As I was reading the American Patriot's Almanac in the bathroom this morning,I came across the advertisements used to recruit riders for the Pony Express,(the beginnings of express mail...)It reads like this "Wanted: Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over 18. Must be expert riders willing to face death daily. Orphans preferred." Chew on that a minute. There are stories hiding in that sentence.

P.S. it just struck me that history is just that. Stories. His Story. History.

TIME TO COMPLAIN

i am sitting in the library, being a good kid, and all of a sudden i get a major bloody nose. I was not picking it, I swear. This is the third time this has happened to me. Ok, i'm done. :)

that one day somewhere in march when you know winter is dead....

I walked out of school after play practice a week ago, and the moment air entered my lungs I knew. You know how the air just smells different...smells like earth, like life? That knifish bite you dread in January is gone, and something releases or resurrects or both inside of you.
That one breath carried with it riding with the windows down and the music up and not having to get up for school and lying in the sunshine outside and sandals and light....light that lingers. Light that does not disappear sharply at dinnertime, but slowly, deliciously fades.

P.S. I realize that this is slightly funny seeing that the windchill yesterday was -24. Oh well. IT HAPPENED. and I skipped all the way to the car because of it.