The Electronic Moleskine

I've up and moved!

2009-09-24T06:19:00.000-07:00

Oh hi there!

This is just an update to let you know I've packed up my things (mind, writing ability, pics...) and moved them here: http://brimichelle.wordpress.com/

Hope you come visit me!

Thrift Store Emotions.

2009-02-27T08:01:00.000-08:00

If I’m being completely honest:

(marked by free, forthright, and SINCERE expression).

You’d see a lot.

And I’d hope for you to be the blind man who, with all his knowing and seeing, never grasped understanding. It was good to know and to be in the know and contentment was quite easily attainable from there. Your melancholy desire to actually grasp at understanding would protect me, because you would not actually know me. Although, you would know very well of me.

Then I’d let you “see”.

You would see all those sentences that float around in my head. The ones I want to say but politeness (maybe a form of deception?) grabs me and the sentences fall from my head, bypassing my mouth and entering into the gates of my heart. Sentences that are now filed away for that day when maybe I’ll just say what I want to say because I want to say it. Because I want you to hear it.

You would see all those terrific and homely struggles that keep my mind going. The suggestions and remedies I am coaxing up, testing them with the Truth then trying to hand feed it to this parade of a brain.

Of course all these equations befriend one another to form this procession of faulty self-righteousness. So I actually start to think that I am protecting you from me: a mess. A territory not only dangerous to map out but one that may not lead to the proper and agreeable outcome.

But that’s if I’m being honest.

You would see that this mostly joyous young lady that, “lifts her skirt up to her knees and walks through the rose garden with her bare feet, laughing” at times is gripped by such inwardness, such penetrating and colorful silence (sometimes you really are alone in the room). You would see my burden which is also my hope and let’s not be cordial here-the weight of hope is sometimes more severe than the most threatening sorrow.

I have a heart. Eternity is planted in it. A root hidden deep. The root now discovered, embraced and is transforming the way I do life (which sometimes I suck at. Some people aren’t good at sewing or maybe soccer but many times I am just not good at life).

Past my rebellious flesh, my tired and overworked mind - can you see it? Look closely. Past it all is eternity. Eternity. Planted within my very being. Sewn in as it were the binding of the book, holding it all together.

Honesty, that nagging companion, would push me to say that I am homesick in a way that cannot be confronted and the root is maintaining this longing, facilitating the way I am embracing this life. Will it (the root) not simply be lulled into a comma - just a comma! Most temporary.

But no, it sticks the way my tongue does to the roof of my mouth when that dentist man puts that suction thing into my mouth (I hate that feeling).

Homesick? Could I use a more under-whelming word? As if I were some college student that misses her mother and father after the first semester (and how I know the ache of being away from home for the first time), but this is not that. This is a more precise kind of sick, yet still dealing with home. My soul, my being is being purged, my mind bedridden, my reasoning infected with that abominable craving.

A protective heart lashes out, knowing this is not my home, not my way. Knowing that I didn’t want to do that at all, in fact I wanted to do this - but instead I did that and now I am dealing with it. “It” being the “that” I did not want to do.

The curtains open as I wrestle with my disobedient (but yearning to be obedient) self. The root churns within me and the absence (temporary) of my unseen home leaves me fragile.

There are those rare moments when I am scavenging for the shovel to eradicate eternity out. Out! To destroy all traces and make this longing dull, maybe even pitiable. To numb the ever-present fascination and desire for His gaze - steady on me, reassuring me of His love and slaughtering all the lies. A deleterious massacre of all the ways in which I think I am so unpleasant, so unkind, and most times so awful at figuring out the proper way to even lift the cross (and I hear we are to be carrying it as well).

In the same breath (because my mind is quite untidy, with debris laying around from wars I’ve already waged concerning who I am and what I’m here for and what He’s going to let me be) I’d protect and guard with fervency this root (as if I had the power to burn it anyway). Eternity makes this life real...makes me real (I’m not a wooden girl after all). I have purpose, I have a destination. I have the Embrace to keep me moving.

It reminds me I’m still known and you can’t take that away. My lies can’t take that away.

Honestly (a kind of grace?), I don’t want you to be blind. I want you to see me and say you hear me, that you know me and you have chased after understanding. That with those two, your seeing me and knowing (understanding) me, you see beauty. You would see that I am not protecting the world from ugliness but that I am hiding the light under the bowl, and how impolite of me! You would see (and please, help me see) that there is immense beauty I have to offer and therefore up the hill I should march, the light will shine bright.

But, that’s if I’m being (honest).

“I told you I would never leave you. I told you I loved you from the start” -Pedro the Lion

“I feel like Carolina, I split myself in two. My friends said, ‘Stick to your guns!’ But instead I just got stuck. And I’m walking backwards looking forward to getting done but that ain’t enough, no you want me to run.” -M Ward

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end” - Ecc 3:11 (NIV)

Acoustic Love

2009-01-11T15:16:00.000-08:00

Oh. Oh wow. I guess it has been awhile.

But wait, let me explain: This past holiday season has possibly been the busiest I have encountered...here's a glimpse:

I feel like I am just now on the route to recovery and in celebration of resting from all that has taken place, I’m not going to talk about it:) But I am going to write.

Introduction: I am at Agia Sophia drinking a chai. This table consists of a dictionary, Bible, Remembrance of Things Past (Marcel Proust), journal, and my pen (which is a new purchase, Sharpie has come out with their first ever pen, and I loooove writing with it).

Action: I’m listening to Basia Bulat...and I’ll steal iTunes’ description, “She has an easygoing, friendly style that borrows heavily from the chick-rock craze of the 1990s.” I’m listening to her song, Little Waltz. And it keeps playing. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. It makes me want to go try on dresses in some hidden boutique store while sipping on mimosa’s then go ballroom dancing all night. And I like the idea of this, so as I said, I keep listening to it...on repeat!

The real deal: Ok. Though I have been absent from the blogging world - I’m using this post as a time of reflection on 2008. Here is the synopsis:

There was a lot of change in my life in 2008, I mean A LOT. But I won’t go into it too much.

I returned to America in March of 2008 and I was a mess, and not even the pretty, romanticized kind of mess. My heart was completely gutted, my thoughts incomprehensible, my heart shattered stained glass. Not only was I months away from turning 24 but I was career-less, actually more like jobless.

I could go on with all that plagued me, and I have in my contemplations with the Lord. But this is what I want to tell you, this is what is worthy: What God showed me in 2008 was His faithfulness. If I had to capture one characteristic of my walk and interaction with the Lord in 2008, it would be His faithfulness. Which, as Jesus and I were talking about it on Jan 1st, 2009, this shocked me because 2008 was an incredibly intense year for me. But there is a reason for this:

December 2007 quickly became Jan 01, 2008 while I was in the back of a Tsung Tao in Thailand. Then after some of the most lonely times, some of the most horrific events, and doing life with some of the most precious children I returned to Australia only to say goodbye to the people I had lived a complete exposed life with. For 6 months we poured into each other, poured ourselves out, gave love, accepted love, prayed, cried, yelled, forgave, asked for forgiveness, sobbed, handled situations well, handled situations awfully...and now I was saying goodbye.

The end of February I traveled Australia, the majority of it alone. The whole time anxious for what awaited me back home and not wanting to face the losses I knew I was coming back to.

Then by March I’m back in America.

For months I went to bed with a loud ache that refused comfort. I longed for that time in Chantaburi when I went to bed utterly exhausted from doing ministry with the leper community. Tapped out from planning and speaking and not understanding Thai. My spiritual vigor taking a hit from all the evil and doubt and hopelessness that sauntered through the community like a heavy fog. I went to bed drained but the picture I saw as I closed my eyes was His presence drawing near, ready to replenish me with just His embrace. That is worth everything.

His faithfulness has carried me through. Brought me deep contentment when I should have been numb. Rich joy when I should have steeped in depression.

In the summer I was hired at Compassion International on-call. Let’s talk about going from working with women in prostitution and Burmese refugees to filing papers. That is quite a leap and my passion would have taken a hit if I were not working for such an amazing organization that works to release children from poverty in Jesus’ name. (And anyone who has talked to me for even 15 minutes in the past 6 months knows how blessed I am that the Lord opened this door)!

On my birthday I was hired on in the marketing department with the web team as the Internet Communications Support Specialist. If you were there that day when my supervisor walked in and said, “So, would you like to work for Compassion?” you would have known that I was overwhelmed the rest of the day by the immense gift of the Lord! I am pretty sure I even squealed a few times (that’s just embarrassing).

I have met amazing people...truly. I am interacting daily with people who are warriors for the Kingdom of God. I am working with people who pick up their cross daily and say, “I'm Yours, Lord.”
He is faithful!

So, I realize it is now 2009, and here is how I am entering into it:
In December my boss told me about a twist on New Year resolutions. Then he wrote a blog post about it. Go ahead, read it...and if you are anything like me, you’ll love it. I am immensely challenged to pick ONE word for 2009.

There are a lot of reasons for me to step into 2009 with fear...and He and I have talked about it in-depth. Not so sure how I am even feeling about this year. But we talked about that too...and so, here is my word for 2009: LOVE.

And here is why:
“We should desire to love Him as perfectly as we can, in this life as well as in eternity” (25). The Practice of the Presence of God by brother Lawrence

“I therefore, a prisoner of the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Eph 4:1-3, ESV).

I know very little about love, even less about loving people well. But, I want to know more and I want to learn how to love better, deeper, richer.

Notice the name of my post? Well I came up with it because the definition of acoustic is, “Not electronically produced or modified.” And that’s how I want to love. Me, my love, my being, my encouragement, my sincerity, my rawness...nothing added but the Love of Christ.

Did you pick a word? I’d love to know, I’d love to be praying for you!

I'd rather say goodnight.

2008-11-26T21:38:00.000-08:00

I was over-thinking, which probably happens too often and this week it was completely distracting.

Between work, maintaining friendships and making new friends, family, exercise, work, relationship with the Lord, work, personal hygiene (haha, had to put this in here cause it does take time), dealing with this heart, and work (I mentioned that, right?) I am headed for a silent corner in a dark room and foreseeing a very long sigh followed by a quivering chin... my teeth gently biting my lip while i run through all the reasons why crying might not be the best option - even though no one can see, even though this past month has left its mark well on my heart.

All my reasons will lose this battle. Nothing convinces me into sobbing like slow tears. I enjoy tears so much, but the timid, shy tears... those ones are charming, a grand friend of mine. They sit and wait on the rim of my eyelids as if being courteous, careful not to fall too quickly so as not to ensue more damage. And then, at just the right moment they spill over, dampening my eyelids, sauntering down my cheek bone, face, jaw and they hang on waiting to make a grand exit. Then the fall. Those tears are sacred and in so many ways recall to my mind the kindness of the Lord.

It is disconcerting to me that with so much going on in my life I can feel as lonely as I do at times. But I do, and this position of my heart is dedicated to the listening ears of Abba.

So there it is. Maybe loneliness isn’t the depressing monster I dress it up to be.

And there is joy, there is radiant joy. My life is full and my Lover is near. I love "top" lists. And here it is my top list for this month. The roses emerging among the thorns:

1. the cd Explosions in the Sky, recommended to me by such a gentle friend. Specifically the song, "Your Hand in Mine"

2. All things pumpkin. I am addicted! Pumpkin spice latte's. Pumpkin pie. Pumpkin scented candles. Th new pumpkin hershey kisses. YUM!

3. My completion of The Brothers Karamzov

4. WINE. It is offic, I have started to lose my taste for white wine and moved into the sophisticated craving for red wine. Especially cab's.

5. Dinners with Lisa which are a gift from the Lord and prepare me for the week ahead

6. My NEW Mokua Express and French Press (i fear the barista's at Bucks are soon to forget my name)...

7. My TEAM at Compassion. Love the webbies and I love that I still drive into work every morning thinking, "I can't believe I work here."

8. Agia Sophia coffee shop with the Lord and chai tea

9. Truth Project bible study with some of the most amazing women I have ever met

10. The Ingrid Michaelson concert. Not to mention the moment when sweet Katy Michelle blew her nose because of a cold and we got starred down like we were out of control

11. Maryn, Stacia, Jamie and Karla. Some of the most precious friends I have. The ache in my heart for their company is a grand testimony to how the Lord has enriched our friendship and blessed me with their words, presence, prayers...

Ok, if I continued to go on, and I could, I will probably not sleep at all. BUT, I have to sleep because tomorrow I have to cook Thanksgiving dinner.

Alas, there is sorrow and I will not ignore it or dress it up and call it something else. Yet, there is immense joy and I believe I am able to steep in its richness because I can acknowledge the sadness in my heart.

Since being back in America I see I am continuously at a loss of words but I also believe, like I had not believed before, that He understands... that even with my lack of explanations I have captured Him.

Oh please Lord, may it be. How beautiful You are to me.

oh Lover, i'm lost

2008-10-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

I remember this moment.

No... I am trying to hold onto this moment. Trying not to forget the burden of obedience, to remember what I felt like as He grabbed my shoulders and held me up, “You can do this Brianne, you can make it through this. You love me, you don’t believe it, but I see it.”

I was at that point in the race where I was climbing the hill, trying to remember why I began running and the only thing louder than my small attempts at encouragement was my heavy, pain-filled breath. The only thing more unlikely than the victory was how unprepared for defeat I was.

But I did, I ran that race. I finished, I saw the end of the tunnel. I clung onto the Lord like I knew my life would be dust without His say, without Him. I called on His name as if I were Jacob wrestling in the woods, David hiding in the cave, Mary shattering the alabaster jar.

And now...I can’t remember her name.

It was 5:00pm, we were split into groups of 2 with one translator. We walked into the red light district together and slowly branched off. 2 would go to that bar, another 2 to this bar and this bar and that bar. Finally Danni and I split off into a bar with a depiction of Satan as a sign to lure in the customers.

I climb onto the bar stool and ask for a diet coke. That was my “in”, I had 5 minutes to talk to the girl serving me. To plant some seed, to love her, to ask her if she wanted the night off. I had 5 minutes to tell my anger and rage to lye down while I delicately surveyed the situation and requested the Holy Spirit to allow me words of life. 5 minutes. But I hear, that can be an eternity to the Lord. So I sat. I listened.

She turned to get my drink and as she turned she unveiled a very young girl sitting on a box, crying. I could not mistake her dismay or her position, she was hiding. I was shocked, she was young. There is something in me that broke like I never knew could. I had come face to face with a human life about to be bought. A human life about to be used and delighted in as if she were some kind of commodity, some piece of material to be taken and returned. She was no longer seen as “her” but as “it”.

I ask her how old she is.

15.

She tells me (through my translator) that this is her first night. She has no choice, her family must eat and her father and mother agreed.

I act quickly, the sun is going down and we are only given 20 minutes for our protection. I tell the translator this is the girl I would like to take out to dinner with my group. She communicates to one of the ladies. I do not take my eyes off her, I need to see her reaction. Her tears vanish, her face lights up. It was as if someone had come to her and said, “I can save you, I can save your life.” As she grabs her purse and I take out my 300 baht ($8), the bartender (who is the wife of the pimp) approaches me and with rage in her eyes tells me I can take any other lady but not her.

Physical weakness takes over my body, “No Lord, please let me save her, if just for one night. Please let me give her this night back.”

I tell my translator to convey that I will double the price and I pull out 600 baht.
“No, not her!” the bartender asserts.
This cannot be right, why not her? I pull out all my money. It is wadded and filling the palms of my hands.

“Ask her Tik, ask her how much, I will only gladly pay it.” Tik (my translator) asks the bartender with much passion, I know she is thinking as I am. We have joined the fight together. I can see my team coming out of the bars, ready to convene together. I listen intently as if I could understand Thai. Tik turns to me, “We cannot have her, she is a virgin...she will make good money tonight.”

And that was that.
I did something we were never created to do. I bargained for a human life.

I would have kept up the fight until my translator tugged on my arm, “It is time to go, it is getting dark.” I felt more defeated than I ever have in my whole life. This is the essence of human life not valued, the epitome of her value, given by the high and mighty Lord, taken and used to buy her family dinner for a week.

So what is the point? I could have cried all night and if I were not so exhausted from the day I probably would have. I fell asleep imagining myself in the arms of the Lord, the only comfort to such outrage and deep undisguised sorrow.

Though her name is far from me, this is what I can remember: He paid for me too. Only the price cost Him everything, the price cost Him humiliation and shame. The price requested Him to come off His throne... to bow down to weakness. To bow under the burden of all sin and wickedness. The price cost his enemy believing for a time that he had won and humanity was his.

Could you imagine loving like that? Could you imagine pouring yourself out for even one human being? Could you imagine loss of sleep, prayers filled with grief, a fellowship marked with disbelief, a lonely desert, breaking your body, spilling your blood...could you imagine carrying the cross for everyone? EVERYONE.

I did not know this girl, but i can see her face. Her tears will not leave my mind - the hope stolen still catches me off guard and takes my breath away. Any desire I had to release her, any promptness of mind to go and free her only came from the grand Pursuer.

They say He came to heal the sick. And give life abundant. I believe it. I have seen it. Even in what I looked on to be defeat. I know that 5 minutes with her was all I was given and I believe it was all He needed.

~Selah~

Was it worth it? Was it worth me working myself up and taking on her burden? Did I do more damage? I think about it often but I always come to the same conclusion, I always reconcile this grief with this:
For me, I would have risked more by not trying.

I’m so grateful He risked His life on me.

“But the LORD was pleased 
To crush Him, putting Him to grief; 
If He would render Himself as a guilt offering, 
He will see His offspring, 
He will prolong His days, 
And the good pleasure of the LORD will prosper in His hand.  
As a result of the anguish of His soul, 
He will see it and be satisfied; 
By His knowledge the Righteous One, 
My Servant, will justify the many, 
As He will bear their iniquities." -Isaiah 53:10

“As for me, it’s good to be near to You.” -Enter the worship circle

Some Kind of Luminous Blue.

2008-09-22T21:47:00.000-07:00

If I sit here and sip on my matte tea long enough i think some idea will find me out.

Something of what I am feeling will reveal itself to me.

It feels like deluded defeat mixed with over-compensation. It sounds like me trying to see me like You do, but backwards. It appears to be inadequacy and longing and my frantic grasping hands trying to get all of “this” under control.

Today I saw a disheveled elderly man that floated about on the cracked sidewalk. At first he looked dismayed, even misplaced - like he had forgotten where he was going. But then I looked again and it was beauty I saw, like wisdom infused with forgetting the weight of this world. He looked like he knew more than I have ever come close to experiencing and he was damn proud of it too.

Perhaps it was not dismay I saw, just freedom grabbed up and worries laid bare into the care of another. I wonder what he saw in me?

Tomorrow seems like it could be most solemn, a rejected kind of dull day. I can see the sun marching behind the mountains and my body is pulling me into accepting its marching orders as well, into bed.

There is a grand joy that is beckoning me out of this already accepted defeat. The joy is succeeding and my mind is conforming to remember I am still in this day, not to look ahead, especially not in disgust. Alas, the desires which are blood red and bring me to my knees turning them blush pink from rough carpet, well they will be there tomorrow. And the burdens which puff my hazel eyes and illuminate my freckles, they will be there too. So will perspective, so will the proper and right yoke.

I remember, as I listen to the sun crash into the mountain, that something in my spirit is irrevocably broken, consumed and awaiting the burial in its appropriate tomb. But I won’t, no - i don’t know how to put it down. I want to live in Thailand, I want to be around the Aussie’s, I want to be near my family always, at my desk with Compassion, in the arms of my lover, in the arms of my Lover...I want to be here and there.

My heart is a picaso shaped mess. With yesterday’s experiences and tomorrow’s expectancies...all of them trying to converge and meet to produce a work of brilliance. A light that is drawing you near, a mystery that goes before me and leads me only into Your presence. A place I could not withstand because my unworthiness would suffocate me, my ugliness would bow me down.

Pursue love. Pursue love.
Pursue love and righteousness and godliness and purity. And just be...be someone who pursues love and loves Him and loves well.

Into the labyrinth

2008-09-10T19:01:00.000-07:00

Even to the point of fatigue have I undertaken the task of appealing to all my senses in order to eradicate some string of words, some kind of poetic thought.

I have lazy, misconstrued paragraphs lying about on scrapes of paper, throughout my journal, in my heart. Nothing is coherent and nothing will transition into some kind of lovely art.

I grow attached to the beginnings of everything I have given birth to and hate them all the same because they will not be paired with endings.

Oh MIND! You never deliver as I suppose you are capable of doing. So of course I have set aside tonight to get to the bottom of this – to dig up as much as I can before I am left with all things fossilized, left to chip and flake away with each new day.

Anyway, isn’t this always my problem – I am the most unfocused writer I know. Yet here, here are some of the riots playing out in my heart…

AND if you read this and think, “Why that makes no sense at all, has she gone mad?” I will only, in all amiableness, agree with you…

WAIT! (mmm, stalling) This past weekend at the Tour de Fat I was able to see a glimpse into Ian Cooke as he performed live, sporting his dusty brown overalls – it was brilliant. Oh why have I not known of him before?! So if you would like, I am listening to his song “Music” while writing this. Play on…

Saturday, September 7th
1 Corinthians 13 beckons me through and through. Each time I read it a weight of responsibility draws heavy and heavier within. And my eyes will not move on when I rollover these words, “It (love) does not insist on its own way…Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (1 Cor 13:5, 7).
Oh Lord, what burden is ours?

When I was younger I would read this and think of the most adorable and wonderful man who would exhibit such attributes and of course, I would demonstrate them too – mmm, to fall in love. Of course with growing older my romanticism over these verses decrease. I swear I die each time I read the "great love" chapter. I think it is beautiful in a most disquieting and horrifying way.

And then there is 1 Cor 14:1, just the first two words are enough to leave me paralyzed: Pursue love. And there you have it, can you feel it? has the incredible call and command not shaken you to your core?

Tuesday, September 9

In the Polaroid’s I see hazel eyes, blonde strands, freckles too many to count…My eyes linger and I recognize me, outside me, inside me too. I hear me say, “Come on, if you walk away then I’ll walk away too.” But I’m too tired and I can’t tell if I am asking for the separation of my physical self from my emotional self or separation of my flesh from the One I cling so desperately and unbecomingly to.

I see pieces of me die everyday. Parts that are withering because I am becoming more like Him. Parts that die because I do not know how to grow and expand those areas of creativity and ideas and dreams. So death is everyday. Everyday is the first and it is also the last.

My despair creeps in as if it were a welcomed guest, approaching calmly and pleasantly – where is the storm of attack? But as I hear the footsteps saunter and almost dance nearer, I know what to say, “Lay it up in the Kingdom child, walk it out in love and keep what is precious in the Kingdom.” (I say this to myself of course).

How appalling to know that possibly today I did not spill my cup out on the weary, the poor..the neighbor.

(End of contemplations I am allowing you into)

So there are two round-abouts that will not soon decipher their exit point. But, as it turns out, I love analyzing and I would not desire their swift retreat.

The only other item that lays burden upon burden (and not a straining burden, but more of an urgency – a desire to attain such love) would be:

“…bear with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Eph 4:2-3).

Do you see it? What my heart feasts on for every meal? as if illness will come from any other delicacy.

It’s love, advancing in, walking on in, cultivating and accepting love. And not the lovesick, romantic love- do not be fooled! Oh no, this is the everyday with everyone "love" that I, in my messiness, am trying to portray to others in the midst of their messiness. What a mess…truly.

“Well let the poets cry themselves to sleep. And all their tearful words will turn back to steam… I never thought this life was possible, you’re the yellow bird that I’ve been waiting for” –Bright Eyes

“Music can make meaningless things seem so significant and I don’t use other ways to say the things I mean because, I know it may not matter that I think you’re magnificent but I hope this music makes it seem as if it does. After the words are sung you are the same” –Ian Cooke

“I want to tell you how much I love you.” –Cat Power

A New Way to be Blind

2008-08-13T21:12:00.000-07:00

It is time for an update.

I would like to blame my delay in writing on the fact that I am so busy - and it’s true, I am incredibly busy, but I have also allowed my words to drop at my feet and seem only to react to the tears I never see coming.

Everyone asks me about my transition phase and honestly I seem to not even understand the concept.

I daily look at my suitcase, which is still off to the side of my room, and wonder how rational it would be to pack my bags and go back to Mae Sot. I don’t care about the mosquitos, I don’t care about getting malaria, I don’t care about encountering my selfishness, again, daily.

The Lord gave me the best gift He could give me while I tarry this earth weary and scarred. He gave me perspective, He gave me His perspective. I sincerely miss Mae Sot yet, while I was there I experienced a sorrow that could have had me on my back dwelling in some kind of “all is dust in the wind” complex for months.

I felt uncomfortable in my skin. Emotional disconnect was a constant desire, to shut down and see how far auto-pilot could get me. There were times, and I admit this shyly, I didn’t want to be there but I knew I didn’t want to be back in America either. The discomfort of a foreign land caused me to ache so wretchedly and at the same time the prospect of going back to comfort terrified me. Deliverance from either scenario was but a wish, a small prayer in the midst of too many truths. I knew for the first time, I knew with certain clarity, that home was no longer a house I described as, “Right next to the frisby golf course.”

My home is inside, my home is my Savior. It is the one place I can’t see and the only place my heart beckons me to. I am a nomad, a sojourner, a foreigner to this earth. A place I have known and a place I cannot wait to escape.

When I was a little girl I knew that home was where my parents were, when I started to grow up I began to dream of my home. Would I live in New York? Or Venice? Maybe I would go Hollywood style? But when the dreamer wakes up and realizes the dream does not satisfy, what hope is there? And that is what I felt in Mae Sot when I woke up and I ached for a warm bed and at the same time the hug of a precious orphan. On this earth a sacrifice will be made. Five months ago my desire for the hug from such a precious little girl was fulfilled, now the desire for the warm bed is realized.

I am not home. And when Jesus opened my eyes I am sure He knew that the swell in my heart would, in a way, leave me paralyzed to my original ideas of this life.

So, how has the transition been? On Saturday morning I pulled over because I could only think of the Karen people, the Agape village. Tuesday morning I woke up filled with more joy than I knew I could handle, the majesty of the Lord had taken me over.
It is one thing to bear the burden of a sorrow, quite another to bear the burden of the Lord’s kindness.

This transition will never end. I am not in the process of transitioning from a poverty stricken land to a land of freedom. I am heaven bound, at the feet of my Savior bound, and that transition will last the rest of my earthly life.

Now I see dimly, but one day...

John 14:23 “Jesus answered him, ‘If anyone loves me, he will keep My word, and My Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.’”

Exodus 23:9 “You shall not oppress a sojourner. You know the heart of a sojourner, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt.”

Ecclesiastes 12:8 & 13-14 “Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher; all is vanity...The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.”

Nothing can break quite like He can...

2008-06-23T14:08:00.000-07:00

It'd be hard to say exactly everything that has presence enough to alert me, to appeal to my cluttered mind; fervently requiring all of my attention in some moment of some day amidst all the "somethings" I'm already attentive to. It is safe to assume that anything energetically beckoning me into an act of emotional labor will catch the focus of my eye.

There is always the Orchestrator pursuing me into Beauty and Truth and most days there are always the questions that are brought to my mind, the ideas that jolt me into a counterfeit reality and leave me thinking I am not worth much at all.

There are a lot of times I have been sad in my life but very few times I have staked claim to the overstated and under-healed entity that this “thing” is. I don’t think I’m even quite there yet - but if you stand close enough, if you look at me long enough you’ll be able to hear the breaking. It is not like the earth shattering, whole body collapsing, tear escaping, “breaking” most people are used to. This is not hollywood bound, not even suitable for some dramatic French indie... and that is why it was so deafeningly alarming, so subtly catastrophic.

Nothing can wake a distracted, emotionally charged, young lady quite like this thing can.
Checking-out of this life and finding a welcoming hiding place, a room dark enough to make even the hider unaware of the tears streamlining down their almost dried and cracked face, is no option I am aware of. And I am coming to think hiding is nor even something I want to embrace. My desire for authenticity does not just beckon me to be vulnerable but it also leads me into the shattered places of my heart - resurrecting those quick fix heartaches I wanted nothing to do with.

This type of sadness is the most evident suspect once it has unveiled itself to the target. I bet I would have seen it in Hannah’s eyes when she realized she was barren. I bet you could have felt it in the presence of Joseph as his brothers stripped him of his coat. And what of Elijah, when the Lord warned him that He would suffer the greatest loss and yet he was to move on and continue to be a prophet to the people of Israel.

This sorrow does not force me into a melancholy withdraw from life mostly because of the rose petals that will be picked up from where the ash used to lay. There will be the “when Adam first met Eve” feeling. When “Jesus left the desert victorious and focused” feeling. When “Sarah felt the first kick” feeling.

These are the unfathomable plans I can’t seem to imagine - the prospering, not lacking, realities that I will one day experience.

Until then I am in no other state than to inform myself that this breaking is the slow process of the pot realizing it is only the pot. I can feel the breaking, myself inching toward the ledge with each piece of knowledge, with each unconceivable sunset, with each tender word. I’m on a path that leads to the ground and I’ll shatter.
Albeit, I can’t seem to think of a better work of art to present to the Maker than a completely broken and humiliated self. I imagine the first words I’ll want to say will be, “I'm broken for you.” but He’ll probably beat me to the punch, He’ll probably speak up and say, “My delight is in you, beauty. Beauty.”

I’ll look back and think of this sorrow that wakes with a vengeance. That wakes commanding, “Let’s start writing this script. You’re believing lies He’s not speaking. You’re accepting fears that are conquered. There are plans for you to be sowing and reaping."

I can see the chisel in the hands of my Savior and right now I feel like I am in pieces but one day will see that I am just in Peace.

“Dear brokenness...You stand quite close to me... your breath is heavy within...you’re starring down my heart. You seize my life in an attempt to allow Him to seize all of me. Welcome to my muddled, calloused, inconsistently steady, permanently passionate heart. I’d like to ask you to make haste, but I think it is best you take your time.”

“She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly.” 1 Samuel 1:10

“For He Himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in His flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments expressed in ordinances, that He might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility.”
Ephesians 2:14

“I Paul, write this greeting with my own hand. Remember my chains. Grace be with you.”
Col 4:18

It's a mental paralysis

2008-05-26T15:37:00.000-07:00

It’s when the doubts forget how to leave you.
When the lies are no longer a distant voice
but a tyrant out for your freedom…repressing your choice.
They’re ransacking the soul.
Destroying you, contorting the truth, making room for control.

The repetitive fight for beauty and value moving into the defensive.
No longer a testimony rhythmically and passionately aggressive.
You’re now just the monotonous and lulling sonnet that has lost its writer.
Faded not vibrant, reckless not tracking, wavering as this army’s grip seizes you, you who were once a fighter.

Still your mind is trying not to rely on these tears
All the while your voice has collapsed and rotted over, no longer keeping at bay those damning fears.

Weary
This valley too lonely
This heart has forgotten its beat

His voice sounds like a roar.
Your bones crushing under His will. Accepting the burden you wait for the ending, a time to restore.

You try to keep it but it escapes your care: you draw your last breath…
Submit and let Him know you accept your death.

The metaphorical ground cracks and breaks.
The dressed up sheep watch their accusations become as ash and soak into some unknown deep.

Into the Holy room you saunter
Your feet weak but knowing no stumble or hidden falter

You must have seemed like a misbehaved beast.
His acceptance molds you – a softened clay, you become the least.

This blessing is not what you’d think
But His voice keeps the tempo
….your heart has regained its beat.

*And just to think, that was only the death of today.

And there it is. I found my poem.
I always had my inspiration (His pursuit and grand love) - but it takes time to put something like that into some kind of coherent and honoring thought.

If you want - you can sing with me too

2008-04-22T14:21:00.000-07:00

Short paragraph: I could do that.
Short story: with some time and inspiration...I’m all over it
Poem (short or long) and I’m out of my element. It is interesting that my ultimate literary love and my initial allurer to writing now has me hesitating to pick up a pen.

Encouragement: Charles Bukowski wrote his short stories beginning at age 24 - he didn’t begin writing poetry until 35. Dim as it may be; this small fact offers hope!

I recently read his poem “The Snow of Italy”. It is frightening in an attractive and almost disquieting way:

“...there is moss on the walls and the stain of thought and failure and waiting...”

Just one good sentence, if I can produce just one good sentence then it is all downhill from there. I read that from a famous writer once (can’t remember his name), this was his remedy for writer’s block.

Anyway, here is my day (it is not a poem - it is more like a rambling, possibly disguised as a poem)

“I’m Afraid There’s A Hole in My Brain” plays in accelerating manor thru my lilac cell.
(Lilac is not my color of choice...but it is more so than the other option, black).
For some reason I think my life resembles the lyrics of the song...and each time I hear it, I am more convinced.

I rollover and hit ignore
but now I can’t ignore the welcoming of Tuesday.
My alert mind is more effective than any alarm clock.
The day proceeds with Cheerios, soy milk, and long put off errands.
It is warm outside.
It is not snowing.
...and those 2 facts produce a decision to get a ICED latte.
God is close, like He always is.
Today I make myself aware of His presence - and it is more difficult than usual.
Ordinary days usually are.
(Not like when I am praying with 12 other girls on a musky concrete floor before bed that we be protected from Malaria and the Burmese who reside 15 minutes from our hostil. We don’t pray for protection from the large spider anymore because we killed it the night before. And it was large, if it was up to me I would consider it a mammal - and that is that.)
Anyway, you don’t have to remind yourself He is close in times like those - His presence is the only thing that doesn’t seem surreal. It is the ONLY comfort.

I listen to Carla Bruni because I’m not into English right now.
I read Charles Bukowski (please rub off on me).
I drink Red Bull for the first time - there’s no good explanation for that.
I try to pop my zit (yuck)
I pray (serenity)
I call my friend (and laugh)
I drink Fiji Natural Water (i don’t care what stream this came from I’m never paying that much for water again!)
Today I only ALMOST cried
Today I realized how easy it is for me to avoid what I respect so much (honesty)
Today - I’m kind of over it

Ok, so I am an expert at rambling - why hasn’t that come onto the scene yet? If Sandra Lee can open up a can of soup and call it a cooking show then I am sure I can publish all these random, circular, thought processes and make a few bucks-ha!

Anyway, there is a poem knocking itself around in my mind. I keep trying to perfect it (i.e. I have all the words but I don’t know where to place them - and that is the difference between a dictionary and an Emily Dickinson)!

This isn't just any kind of ink ~!~

2008-04-14T22:38:00.000-07:00

Here.
Here is my pen.
I want you in my life - I want you to write yourself into my life.
I want you to know me, like “quote my heart” know me.
I want it to be an epic story - in a captivating quiet kind of way.
In a, “Wow, I didn’t know the accordion and the guitar sounded so well together” kind of way.
I want to read the story out loud so my mind can process the words and my heart can make sense of the well composed sentences. I want to be left resonating with nostalgia meets charm; Somewhere Over the Rainbow meets Stay Little Valentine; Damien Rice meets Comtine D’un Autre Ete: L’apres Midi (Yann Tiersen)

Please write it with Him. He is the best author I know. Becasue He knows me better than anyone else.

He writes the best stories.

Like when He wrote me into life and i was left in the hospital for months threatened by death - but I’m not dead. He started my life out with quite the bang!
Or when He wrote Maryn into my life with a spontaneous trip to Texas and then reconnected us months later and now I have such a dear friend who has sharpened me and encouraged me in ways I had no idea I needed. But He knew - so He wrote her in!
Or the time He wrote my wonderful Jamie in (at the perfect time) on yet another unplanned trip to Florida. She looked at me on the long drive and said, “Brianne, boys don’t think like you do.” And I knew she was going to be like a rock for me-ha!
I love that time when I got in the car with my dad to make the long trip to WV. I silently allowed tears to stream down my face from yet another unwelcome broken heart. Without words my dad held my hand and let me cry. That story is never far from me - I am so glad He wrote that one in!
I could go on forever - there was that time my mom and sister and I blasted The Righteous Brothers and had a dance party late into the night (and it was a school night-ha)!
There was that time in Peru when Agusto asked me to adopt him. The time in Thailand when Furn would put her head on my shoulder and tell me her mom was dying from cancer...

So here is my pen - you can write yourself in. Then...I’ll let you read me like a book.

Hush little Baby, don't you cry...

2008-03-19T06:24:00.000-07:00

It’s 12:24am and I’m not asleep.
But I haven’t slept for days.
It takes me approx 30 minutes (depending on how tired I am) to go from eyes open, head on pillow, full consciousness to REM sleep. In that 30 minutes I will turn probably 3 times to finally end up on my left side. I will put on way to many blankets but end up with my feet uncovered. I will think. And tonight, I will probably cry.

It’s not the unnecessary turning or the routine blanket process I am weary of, it’s the thinking. I want to skip that process. I’m too tired to cater to my analytical mind and too awake to fall quickly asleep unaware of its presence.

I’ll think about the children’s hostile in Mae Sot. I’ll think about waking up at 5:30am to join the kids and sing “I love the mountains.” I love that song but not as much as I love how it sounded coming out of their mouths. They sang it in unison. The sweet harmony and the peaceful words that lifted from their lips, in between emerging yawns, found their way outside of the tin roofed building and into the brown field. Their synchronization and small voices woke up the birds; they woke up the nearby pigs, and the stray dogs. They woke up the widowed grandma sleeping nearby and, simultaneously, they woke up my heart. Their song was beautiful but not like pretty polished rehearsed beautiful. It was hopeful abandoned passionate praise beautiful. I sang it too. I closed my eyes and pulled my blanket close. I forgot about the bugs, the concrete floor, and the brisk air for those moments.

I love the mountains
I love the waterfalls
I love the blue skies
I love the flowers
Thank you God for making them
I love you God
I love you God
I love you God

He is not so far from us.
For the Bible and my parents and my youth pastors and my friends tell me so.
But with all my “knowing” that He is close I wanted to understand too. (Job 42)

He is close, so close. I know because He showed me that time in Pattaya when I was speaking with the woman at the bar and she told me she hopes the love of her life will come rescue her from this lifestyle. He showed me when the woman in prison grabbed my hand after I prayed for her and she sat there and cried and nodded her head. When the little girl in Mae Sot came up to me and adorned my head with the flower crown she made. She hugged me and said, “You are wonderful. Very very beautiful.”

I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

So if I go to sleep right now I’ll think. I’ll wish I could feel Him again, even though He spoke to me and told me I won’t always feel His presence. I won’t always see clearly – not on this earth.

Although, I’m not so focused. And as long as I’m being so honest (thanks sleep depravation) I might as well say that in that 30 minutes I’d think about me too. How unlovely. I’d think about how I have to get a job as soon as I get back to the Springs. I’d think about how I’m supposed to figure out what career I need to pursue and how I thought going to Australia and Thailand would give me more clarity – but it only opened more doors. It’s not options I’m after here – I need more paths, less options. But then I’d think about not being worried about that because He has always been faithful loving – and those 2 characteristics together are brilliant, unfailing. Then I’d think about boys…mmm, more like the boy. I’ll think about the 5 lbs I gained in Australia. And then I’d just pray before I entered some kind of mid life crisis. I’d doze off in prayer to Him.
Tonight, His character is my lullaby.

So that is why I can’t sleep. It’s my mind. It’s high maintenance.

“Behind all your tears, there’s a smile.
Everything
Everything
Everything
You mean everything to me.”
-Ben Harper-

I want to own a Top Hat...to greet people with the slight tapping on the stiff brim.

2008-03-09T15:29:00.001-07:00

Attention all readers, could I be so rude?
How could I miss out on this for so long? Here is my mood/process/emotion for this day:

This is important. If you know me, you can tell my mind’s processing ability in that particular day by what I am listening to…

Listening to Ingrid Michaelson: Breakable

Wanting to see: a comedy (not to be confused with a romantic comedy)

I am laughing at myself because it is cold here in NC but all my suitcase holds is the tank tops, sandals, and skirts I have worn for the past 6 months while being in hotta (extra “t” and “a” added because it was not just hot…it was hotta) Aussie land and Thailand. So yes, I am rocking my sandals and tank top while these dedicated bucks drinkers I am surrounded by are wearing the stylish scarf’s and leather boots that were approved by some fashionista for this season. (I think that sentence I just composed was a freakishly long run-on. Hmmm-horrifying)! Anyway, I look clearly uniformed by what the weather was going to be like today.

Currently I am sitting in Starbucks drinking a grande coffee light frappe. Inspired by my dear friend Kathleen who I connected with in Australia.

I have missed writing…wasn’t able to process much while I was gone. My thoughts are unleashed and I have a feeling this blog is going to be inundated with what my heart has held in for so long…

Play on, play on…

ba da dum

2008-03-09T14:51:00.000-07:00

I must be in America now.
Cars are on the other side of the road. The Starbucks barista greets me, “How are you?” I’m taken back, didn’t she mean to say, “How youse going luv?” even a simple Thai greeting, “Swatee Kha” would have shocked me less.

Late night laughter with my sister curled up in the same oversized, and to my enjoyment, overstuffed baby blue comforter on her couch. I must be in America.

You know that feeling. The one that never goes away and you want to cry but you press on clinging onto God, knowing He knows…the incredibly deep aching for the comfort of the laughter of your sister, the good talks with your brother, the hug of your mother, the protection of your dad that is ushered in by his presence? I know that feeling so well…

This place my heart resided in for 6 months, but not in sin did I covet these things… only in the remembrance of the great blessing of the Lord. My heart lives here no more…I’m in America.

Could anyone who has seen the poverty and inconsolable pain of the majority of the world stand on American soil and think over and over again, “Why was I born in a hospital in a thriving country? Why not a slum next to the trash dump?”

But I am not going to stand on some soap box (I feel like the only soap box I have is how much I hate soap boxes) and proclaim how great or how awful America is. What I know is that I have seen poverty, I have seen wealth and I have seen people who understand where the quality and treasure of life is found. People who live in poverty, people who live without worldly want. I have found that both situations are difficult to live in…and I don’t want to hear from those people who favor one or the other.

Thank you Abba, that you have made me an alien to this world. Thank You that You have gone to prepare a place for the beloved followers.

Francis Thompson said that if it weren’t for the absence of love from his mum and the discomfort of home created by his missing father he probably never would have left. I think that it is because of the love of my mother and the ever-present encouragement of my dad, the comfort of home they created, that provoked me to leave. Some may say it is harder to leave a family behind when there is much love but for me, it made it easier to leave…knowing that I have the support of a family…the presence of a home to think of.

So, I am back. Prayers are much appreciated…I do not know what He has willed me to come back to. So far I have come back to loss and to change. While I have been irreversibly refined over the past 6 months, I see and have understanding that so too my dear friends and family have changed and grown. Hallelujah, He works on behalf of those who love Him (2 Chronicles 16:9)

hu·man·i·ty

2008-02-28T15:00:00.000-08:00

Thoreau
said,
“The poet’s noblest work was his life; and his poetry would grow out of his life. But the poetry would never be as important as his life.”

And Mother Teresa
said,
“In my culture and tradition, the highest praise that can be given someone is, ‘Yu, u nobuntu” an acknowledgement that he or she has this wonderful quality: ubuntu. It is a reference to their actions to their fellow human beings, it has to do with how they see themselves within their intimate relationships, their familial relationships, and with their broader community. Ubuntu addresses a central tenet of African philosophy: the essence of what it is to be human.”

“God created man in His own image, the image of God He created them; male and female He created them” (Genesis 1:27).

humanity.

I came face to face with it in Thailand.

It has been too difficult for me to disclose what I have encountered and I am not content with my inability; therefore, I have securely locked myself in the flat I am residing in. I’m not coming out until I write to you something of what I saw…it has already been two hours….

….

….

…

She had no idea how long I had been praying for her. Her first encounter of me was when I walked up on her porch. For me, my first encounter of her was in late October when I was told I would be going to Thailand. My prayers of intercession for the people I would meet included her. She was seeing me for the first time but I had been praying for her for 3 months now.

My eyes examined all of her:
Rotted teeth with dried blood caked on the faithful remaining
Left leg missing up to her knee. The tip of it smeared in something white…I wondered how long since it had been treated.
Her eyes bloodshoot
Face with splotches…discoloration? Absence of showser? Medicine?
Fingers crippled and unable to be used. She would point with her whole hand.
And then she smiled…and all I saw was beauty.

I am not so brave. I hesitated to sit down next to her. The effects of leprosy had left her body irreversibly mutilated. I remembered how Jesus would touch people. I reached out my hand and rested it on her shoulder. I spoke my broken Thai and she spoke her broken English. In a moment like this the most valuable voice was that of my translator. I sat quietly as this old lady explained to the translator that her husband left her a few years ago. She has been afflicted with leprosy and she cannot sleep in the night because what’s left of her leg bothers her.
Now it’s my turn. I am to respond to this lady. She has been through more heartache and pain than I even knew of and my voice becomes the one she waits on. I crucify my fear and my belief in my insecurity. The thing is…she and I are the same. Made by the same Father, pursued by the same Lover, living in a world we are foreigners to. He told me, “Brianne. Brianne. I know her. I have seen every day of her life. I was there when her husband left, when she lost her leg. I was there last night. I have all authority to speak to her. Right now I have chosen you to exercise that authority.” I spoke up and asked if I could pray for her leg…at that moment the thing I wanted most was for her to sleep well. I wanted to know if she knew Jesus too… yet at this chosen time what I craved for her to know was that I, that Jesus, cared about her restlessness. She nodded. I bowed my head and was prompted within to touch her knee as I prayed. I had no time to contemplate the white gunk on her or if touching her knee would cause her pain. As I spoke out His name I moved my hand to her knee and I prayed.

I looked up and she grabbed my hand with her palms. She said in Thai, “I love you.” And in that moment, on that bamboo chair in Chantaburi there was no other human being I wanted to hear that from. No other who could have said those words to me and meant it like she did. I said it too and I meant it…only because He let me see her with His eyes. Only because He knows her…He let me know her too.

I was able to see her again a few days later. I grabbed my translator, “Please ask her if she slept last night.” I waited, probably too impatiently, for the translation to go through. The translator looked at me, “Yes. She says she sleeps now. She only wakes early in the morning because the rooster crows.”

He is sovereign. I am a 23 year old lady from Colorado Springs who knows little about severe illness and the sorrow of a runaway husband but He brought me to her, to pray for her and then He healed her discomfort. There is no way I would ever EVER want to follow anyone else. I’ll let Him lead me to the Valley of Achor

Because I know Him.
…..Because I trust His love.

Selah.

Plans for Hope

2007-12-29T22:58:00.000-08:00

Countdown.

Less than 24 hours.

I will be in Thailand.

If there ever was a time that I was magnificently inspired to write and write elaborately, I assume it would be now...
assumptions always fall short in light of the reality and my words dim in comparison to what state my heart resides in.

Tomorrow I will be in Thailand and everything I ever spoke about or prayed about will become a physical experience...I will no longer have mere words, I will have stories.

Abba, you have heard my prayers.

Into the Desert

2007-12-25T18:52:00.000-08:00

Ruth 1:16
“Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from following you; for where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.”

There is a woman my heart aches for. I have not seen her or met her. I have only recently heard of her. She hides well, under the weight of statistics in a place I have never been to.

She has a name but I do not know it. Her true beauty is hidden but I desire to see it come forth as the Lord created it to be. Right now she is known as one of the 20,000-2,000,000 women that work on the streets of Pattaya,Thailand selling her body. She works as a prostitute to feed her children, to support herself, to fulfill the request of her family.
Throughout the world, Thailand is the center of the sex trade. Pattaya, a high traffic docking area for boats and ships, has become a large tourist attraction. Prostitution brings in a considerable amount of revenue. So while it is illegal, the government turns a blind eye-that’s what money does. At one point this woman may have realized that she does have worth, that she has more value than the $10 (US) but at some point you need to make a living-and that’s what money does.
The Tamar Center located in Pattaya, Thailand responded to the desperation that littered the streets of this city. They go out into the bars and speak with the women, building relationships with them and telling them of the love of Jesus Christ. They not only tell them there is a better life, they offer it. Once a woman chooses to leave the lifestyle of prostitution they can be trained by the Tamar center. They learn how to bake or how to decorate cards. They can then work and earn a living through their new talent. The Tamar Center also offers free English classes as well as bible studies and bible classes. These women are not only rescued but they are cared for and trained.

On Monday, December 31st a team of 12 girls will leave from Reef to Outback to go and support the Tamar Center, to offer our time and love. Each of us has prayed over this decision and has felt the call of the Lord to go to Thailand and love these women. We have spent weeks praying and preparing for this journey the Lord desires to take us on.

Our desire is simple, to see these women come to the saving knowledge of Christ and experience the fullness of life He offers. The ramifications of this is great, rescuing generations of women from a lifestyle that robs them so personally of their value and beauty.

We have 2 goals to see this happen: an empty bar and to bring forth Naomi and Ruth relationships.

Project “Your God is now my God”:

As our outreach team came together to pray we had the impression of an older woman (working as a prostitute) coming to saving knowledge of Christ and completely abandoning herself to His call. She became a strong advocate against prostitution and served the Lord and the Tamar Center to rescue young women from this lifestyle. As she ministered to the women she used to work alongside they too came to saving knowledge of Christ and left everything agreeing with the older woman, “Your God is now my God.” We pray for Naomi and Ruth relationships to be established.
We desire to see Thai women standing up for their worth and value while serving the Lord.

Project “Empty Bar”:

It is Friday night in Pattaya. The lights are bright and the tourists are loud. People filter in and out of bars. It is early, 7:00PM, and the night ahead is long. There is one bar in particular, this bar is silent. It is empty. All the prostitutes have been bought.
$10 (US) and we can buy a prostitute for a night.
For one night we can each rescue a woman from what lies ahead and show her love and kindness - for just $10.
You can be a pivotal part in helping us save a woman for a night.
Our desire is not to buy just 2 or 3 women but to buy out the WHOLE bar. We could use your help.
Imagine being the reason for a busy bar in the middle of Pattaya empty and shut down by 7:00PM. Imagine the impact.
This truly is partnership in ministry at its best. You contribute $10 and our team will be the hands and feet of Jesus to these women.

To find out more please visit this link and watch the video.
http://www.ywamthai.org/pattaya/tamar_video.html

Visit the below link to donate $10 by Wednesday, December 26 to Brianne to rescue a prostitute for a night.
http://www.reeftooutback.com/mypage.aspx?profile=2352

It's probably random and I'm probably tired...

2007-12-15T20:32:00.000-08:00

It's the best feeling. Like when you are looking at one of those 3D picture books and after straining your eyes you finally see the picture. It leaps out at you and you wonder why it took so long for you to notice something, well something so noticeable?!

For me, it is when that perfect phrase or sentence enters my mind and my mood or current state becomes depicted with words. I reach for the little journal that I carry with me (and if not that I reach for a napkin or scrap piece of paper) and write down the small little sentence that brought revelation.

I have many of these little descriptors sprinkled throughout my poetry journal. I have forgotten them over the weeks but they are refreshed within my memory as of recently:

Writing #1 - recorded 20 October 2007
Making full use of her knees, as she cannot see why else she would have them, she braces mind and lowers her body down. Bowing so low that she almost sinks beneath the grassy foundation. And I suspect if the ground would give, she would allow nature to cover her. Though her body, now small and condensed, lay almost parallel to the earth her mind creeps upward wishing it would levitate above this desire she has - to be nothing.
A mere shadow.
An etching in an elaborate oil painting.
A single vein in the leaf of a flower.
A block of ice in the igloo.
Nothing else but the reflection of Abba.

Writing #2 - recorded on the same date while at Juliettes Cafe

Beauty not reproduced or packaged.
You.

The way waves sound when the sand intercedes their rhythmic ripples.
You who created the sun which leaves its evidence on my freckled face and cherry pink skin.
Fall leaves painted burnt shades and hold true to the season as they FALL.
The smell of fresh (which Glade tries to reproduce).
Whisper to me in this salt swept breeze.

Vanilla sand clinging to my toes, rubbing my skin smooth.
A cleansing of the callouses.

Writing #3 - recorded 3 Decebmer 2007

He is heavy upon me.
As aching roots dive deep into the dense ground seeking the food that sustains.
He too pursues past the good cheer I reside in.

And lastly I would like to expose what I wrote the day I returned from camping. All of me ached for the solitutde of the forest once again. The apparent need to rely on Him seemed stolen from me. In many ways society became my cage and I tottered about looking for the key:

Recorded on 3 December 2007

He steadily labors over me, cultivating a once hardened clay which ebbs and flakes.
My warm bed makes me forget You.
My ability to consume coffee at anytime makes me forget You.
Showers, cleanliness, food, make-up, mirrors...
And I forget You.

(My self-condemnation was heavy upon me in this day. True to His name He comforted me and spoke that I may not bear the burden of any self hate)

1 Corinthians 13:12
“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now i know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.”

I received, by His grace, a glimpse into how close He truly is to me. And many more glimpses will He grant me...but while on this earth only glimpses they shall be...

Thank You Abba.

And the house of Israel called it manna...Exodus 16:31

2007-12-08T23:36:00.000-08:00

There is no other way. I have labored over it two days now, wondering how to start off such a letter of explanation, praise, and tears. How is it to take 14 days of residence amongst a rain forest and transfer it with pen, not only so you could know but so I might not forget. Is that not the desire of the Lord? Does He not cease in requesting that His people will not forget His works, His miracles when He delivered them from Egypt? Was it not the sin that entered because of their forgetfulness...their hearts almost welcoming the callouses which breeds, not even a doubt in His works but, a complete inability to recall His faithfulness.

His stories woven in me and my tongue so eager to speak and sing.

Teach me some melodious sonnet and your daughter will write it out...

(and so the feeble rememberer begins the story the Lord gave her):

Driving into the new camp site (new, this site has never been used by Reef to Outback for the camping experience) was most glorious in and of itself. The trees of the rain forest with their length and bright green color stood in canopy fashion littering the pathway into the campsite and I could hear them and I suspect the Psalmist heard such beauty too and wrote in the Spirit Psalm 148.

We quickly unloaded and pitched our tents. Sweat poured down me as I labored. With no warning He came upon me, “Brianne, the way I met Elijah in the wind, I will meet you as that in this place.” He was not quiet about it but strong and reassuring in His words. I knew He had spoken...

The desire for my father to help me quickly became my strong emotion. My dad has been there for many of the times I had needed help and if he were not physically there he was there via telephone, but not this time and every part of my heart and mind felt this weight. Now the desire for my mom, this was of tumultuous awareness within me as well. It came upon me as an avalanche flowing down the side of an unknowing mountain...

We then gathered under a large tent and were given instructions. Watch out for snakes, make sure to stop and back away slowly. Watch out for wildlife, do not go off alone but always in groups of 3 so if someone gets hurt one person can stay and the other go for help. My flesh took hold of me...terror and yearning to leave and seek comfort grabbed my mind (for this is where the battlefield is). No plumbing but a semi port a potty in place and bucket showers or the option to bath in the lake a 10 minute walk away. After instructions I walked to my tent, grabbed my journal and submitted my heart to Him, “Please Abba, help me. My prayer, that I will come to love this place.” What a dangerous prayer I prayed....yet I did not know the weight of what I said.

The first week of lectures, the first week alone, is filled with stories, adventures, and the daily routine of surrendering. Many of you will come to know more intimate details. I see myself 40 years from now sitting down with coffee and starting off with saying, “I remember one time in an Australian rain forest...” but so as to keep this blog shorter (and mostly because of my time constraint) I will skip over these details and move into the 2nd week...

I awake hot and bearing upon my body the feeling of some kind of suffocation (as caused by tents basking in the sun as it rises). “New!” and Lamentations 3:22-25 greet my mind. I change my clothes, grab my Bible, journal, and nalgene (the 3 things which never left my side all 14 days) and set myself in the middle of the makeshift living area. The Lord and I greet each other as old friends and I wait for the Holy Spirit to expose Father’s heart. It is interesting how one learns to lean on the Light in different situations. I remember speaking with Him my 2nd day camping and journaling that I did not even know how to call upon His name in this place. When I have a comfortable bed, with my coffee, my clean skin in the clean air conditioned room I sit with Him and in many ways flippantly say thanks for this day. In a rain forest forged with bugs that attack ruthlessly, i sit down on the dirty ground with my dirty hair and rough skin (which accompanies me to every place) and I move past myself, fight past everything that comes up against me and for the strength of my heart genuinely give thanks.
For those of you who listen to Damien rice and know the power of his words, the melody he composes that can shake my heart and usher a memory into my mind with just one strum...with this intensity I looked unto the Lord....”I can’t take my eyes off of You” becomes my heart’s symphony. It was not a matter of if I wanted to take my eyes off of Him or if I wanted to take my eyes off of Him....I couldn’t. I COULD NOT take my eyes off of HIm. I would have perished (spiritually and emotionally) in a foreign land. My heart bows down as a sign of reverence even as I recall my desperate need for my Savior.
In this time the Lord spoke, “Brianne, I am ushering you into my Tabernacle this week. You are being welcomed as heirs of my Kingdom and as heirs you should walk.” Amazed I questioned the Lord, “Your tabernacle Lord, did I hear you right?” Faithfully He responded, “Yes my tabernacle.” And it was so. That night we all gather under the tent and walk down a path leading into the depths and density of the rain forest. All of a sudden our path greets us with little tea candles and in the middle stands a large fig tree which has grown intricately and elaborate as time has allowed it to. We worship and pray. The next morning we awake to greet the speaker, Mark Parker, who proceeded to teach each day concerning the tabernacle of the Lord. The last day (and forgive me as I rush past details but this analytical mind will not give me rest as to how to present this to you, so I push forward with simple words excluding minor details as if partaking of cherries and spitting out the seeds) we gather around a cross and commit our ways to the Lord coming with peace and sin offerings. We sing, we pray, we worship and all of creation joins us. About half way through we enter back under to the tent to partake of communion and prepare for those people who desired to be baptized in the river. Without warning (and we later found out, without warning from the weathermen as well) winds come rushing in. Amazed I look up to see the intermingled leaves of the rain forest trees part and welcome a clearing forced by the wind. Rain pounds down and I jump out of the tent welcoming the cool rain. I dance. I twirl. I jump up and down. I then retreat into the kitchen to make sure I moved my bag under the canopy, as I turn around my whole school comes rushing into the kitchen. We squeeze to the back and the leaders request we find a buddy as we will have to run into a clearing up the road. Astonished I ask what it happening. The majestic trees (which still had such beauty and majesty) were now displayed in horizontal fashion, they were falling all about. We grab our partner and run outside. Our first obstacle approaches us. A large tree had fallen and blocked our path. Without hesitation two men assemble themselves on either side and help us across. Noticing the rain is reaching past my ankle I remove my sandals knowing I will not be able to run in them. We begin with all tenacity and passion, singing:

Our God is a mighty God
He reigns from heaven above
In mercy, power, and love
Our God is a mighty God

Within minutes the storm breaks and we reassemble. Everyone still singing, still offering up prayers. Not one person harmed, not even my bare-feet which experienced the dirt of the earth as I pounded down with each leap out of the water. Trees surrounded us on each side, fallen from the wind yet not one car was hit and only one tent damaged. Soaked and filled with awe we decide to press forward in ministry. We go back into the tent and praise the Lord. We pray for each other, encourage each other, love each other. Night falls and the stars burst forth as if acknowledging all day what a grand entrance they would have. Rain comes again, we never change out of our wet clothes, we never complain for we have seen the Lord. We then go to the river for baptisms. The baptisms end and we sing, “I am my Lord’s”. We return and take communion with grape juice, biscuits, and honey a feast for such starving children. This was our manna, what was left in the kitchen after the storm. All at once as if we had the same mind (and we did) the speaker plays U2’s song “Beautiful Day”. A dance party breaks forth and the Lord was praised in that tent. My leader comes and greets me afterwards and told me the Lord did in fact meet me in the wind. My forgetful mind is refreshed and I am taken into awe. In the midst of this storm never once did I fear or become downcast. I knew the Lord’s hand was upon us and not in anger but as to rend the Heavens and make Himself known. As we prayed we all agreed (as we were like-minded) the Lord was shaking in this place what could and could not be shaken, for it had just been hours before that we humbled ourselves and exposed sin and brought our small gifts, “Peace Lord, peace we seek.” The night ended, exactly 12 hours of ministry had taken place (from 9am to 9pm).

My mind still collapses when I think upon the two weeks in the rain forest. He is my rock. I feel utterly distraught as I have not even scratched the surface of what had taken place, what honor and glory He deserves that I have not been able to even comprehend.

Now as for my prayer, to leave loving that place, the fondness within my heart is so tender and real when I recall the wilderness the Lord beckoned me to. As far as I am concerned, I have walked on holy ground.

Revelation 2:17
“He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, to him I will give some of the hidden manna...”

Just Assume it’s Poisonous

2007-11-16T04:36:00.000-08:00

This is much awaited, I am sure. Amidst being situated in a house with 11 other girls, going to lectures, fulfilling work duties, and seeking the Lord in an environment I am most foreign to...some of my good intentions fall to the wayside. This blog being such an intention that I would like to see realized.

I find myself often wondering if I could truly abandon myself to such a lifestyle. The past two weeks we were involved in a prayer seminar. Anxiously I have anticipated these two weeks unaware of the cost. I have never been so tired, so emotionally spent, so soaked in prayer, worship, and praise. Every morning, afternoon, and evening we were being taught and exhorted in the area of prayer and worship. When I wanted to pray, I was asked to pray. When it was too early to pray, I was asked to pray; when my body wanted to lay down and “check-out” I was asked to pray. When I thought I was done praying I was challenged to pray more. When I wanted to eat I was urged to pray. Is this what Paul said when he exclaimed, “Pray without ceasing!” and “Pray for ALL men.” I prayed when my prayer was, “Lord I cannot pray anymore.” And even this, this was not even the beginning of the challenge. This section of the blog is dedicated to praising the Lord. Holy, Holy, Holy is He...and thus began the battle...

Waking up every morning at 5:30 so as to be able to take a shower before 11 other girls filter into the bathroom is a challenge. Waking up early to have time with the Lord, also a challenge (in the back of my mind always lurks many excuses as to why I do not need to have a quiet time in the morning seeing as every activity throughout the day will be directly linked to the Lord, but my heart knows better). With more impatience than an alarm clock, my heart beckons me out of bed. Praying when I am tired is one thing because I can pray, “Lord, I am tired.” Now praising, praising the Lord is a completely separate ordeal. It is the great separation of self and Spirit. Praising is so other than my being, so other than everything my flesh binds me to. During these days, these hours, I sought Psalm after Psalm for guidance. I diligently read them and prayed the words that were fearfully composed onto paper, “Praise the Lord, my heart praises the Lord”, “Sing praises to the Lord”, “The Lord is good, my soul will Praise Him”. During worship when I wanted to mentally retreat into daydreams and thoughts about the future, even lunch, I was exhorted, “Thank the Lord for His character” and after what seemed many long mornings spent speaking out His character our evenings were laced with the same exhortation, “Thank the Lord for His character. Speak out who He is.” And when I thought, surely I have spoken all that I can, all that I know about His character we were called back at night to gather and thank the Lord again, praise His name, for He is Holy. If I can praise the Lord when I am tired I truly believe it will prepare for the time when I will have to praise the Lord in the midst of such remarkable heart ache and loss.
Wednesday... this is the love of the Lord. After dinner as we are entering into another time of teaching and praising some music played in the background and a few girls and I started to dance. Worship became a huge dance party with everyone smiling and throwing a most wonderful dance party for the Lord. He is so much fun and He gives rest to the weary, even in the form of a dance party!

After two weeks, Friday night arrives with much anticipation. I remember kneeling in a most reverent position softly asking the Lord for relief and He, who is most gentle, encouraged me that this is not a 2 week seminar but this is now my life. Everything in me agreed with His words - this tiredness was most rewarding and I want to always be praying like this, always be praising. So on Saturday morning when I woke up at noon, which I NEVER do, looking forward to embracing the weekend with idleness... I braced my mind and chose to continue pray and praise in a manner worthy of the Lord.

So it is. With words that do my experience little justice I send this to you all hoping it is an encouragement. And for those of you who want to take a nap after reading this may it be so because I want to sleep after recalling the experience!

All Pedestrians: Please Beware of Vehicles

2007-10-27T20:49:00.000-07:00

To introduce this blog to the thoughts that stir in my mind and play on my heart I have decided I would take excerpts from journal entries of the past weeks. Here is my glimpse....

Now this...this is surreal. This journal, which is my companion at Starbucks and Barnes and Noble in beautiful Colorado Springs currently sits atop a caramel marble tabletop owned by D’Bella Coffee Shop planted directly across the Townsville beach, known to the community as The Strand.

The coffee here is rich with flavor that most writers describe coffee as having and foam that reminds me of a mix between a marshmallow and a cloud.

The stars are different, the feel of my skin is different, even the way I hear music is different. My Lord is the same, we travel together and He whispers He loves me the same...in the gentle, creative ways my heart seeks for.

His kindnesses make their grand appearances daily: I just had a sip of my Australian coffee and after removing the smooth glass from my weeping lips the marshmallow cloud foam now has the mark of a heart within its glass home. He loves deep, continuously creating.

I'm used to hearing Damien Rice paired with the chattering voices of Starbucks and now his voice is accompanied by wild birds and the Australian wind which comes with much anticipation carrying the salt from the ocean and landing in my hair, on my lips. It is the same song, same melodies, same artist, yet my ears hear it differently.
The importance and glory of His character, which is never changing, now have a new brilliance in my mind.

Lectures have proved to stretch me greatly, continuously I am seeking His voice and to my astonishment He is ALWAYS answering, ALWAYS speaking...

This psalm I cannot let go from my mind. It plays over and over again. My heart and mind as two lovers dancing together asking the DJ to play their song one more time. I recite the psalm and dance too:

Psalm 104
Bless the LORD, O my soul!
O LORD my God, You are very great;
You are clothed with splendor and majesty,
Covering Yourself with light as with a cloak,
Stretching out heaven like a tent curtain.
He lays the beams of His upper chambers in the waters;
He makes the clouds His chariot;
He walks upon the wings of the wind;
He makes the winds His messengers,
Flaming fire His ministers.
He established the earth upon its foundations,
So that it will not totter forever and ever.
You covered it with the deep as with a garment;
The waters were standing above the mountains.
At Your rebuke they fled,
At the sound of Your thunder they hurried away.
The mountains rose; the valleys sank down
To the place which You established for them.
You set a boundary that they may not pass over,
So that they will not return to cover the earth.
He sends forth springs in the valleys;
They flow between the mountains;
They give drink to every beast of the field;
The wild donkeys quench their thirst.
Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell;
They lift up their voices among the branches.
He waters the mountains from His upper chambers;
The earth is satisfied with the fruit of His works.
He causes the grass to grow for the cattle,
And vegetation for the labor of man,
So that he may bring forth food from the earth,
And wine which makes man's heart glad,
So that he may make his face glisten with oil,
And food which sustains man's heart.
The trees of the LORD drink their fill,
The cedars of Lebanon which He planted,
Where the birds build their nests,
And the stork, whose home is the fir trees.
The high mountains are for the wild goats;
The cliffs are a refuge for the shephanim.
He made the moon for the seasons;
The sun knows the place of its setting.
You appoint darkness and it becomes night,
In which all the beasts of the forest prowl about.
The young lions roar after their prey
And seek their food from God.
When the sun rises they withdraw
And lie down in their dens.
Man goes forth to his work
And to his labor until evening.
O LORD, how many are Your works!
In wisdom You have made them all;
The earth is full of Your possessions.
There is the sea, great and broad,
In which are swarms without number,
Animals both small and great.
There the ships move along,
And Leviathan, which You have formed to sport in it.
They all wait for You
To )give them their food in [g]due season.
You give to them, they gather it up;
You open Your hand, they are satisfied with good.
You hide Your face, they are dismayed;
You take away their spirit, they expire
And return to their dust.
You send forth Your Spirit, they are created;
And You renew the face of the ground.
Let the glory of the LORD endure forever;
Let the LORD be glad in His works;
He looks at the earth, and it trembles;
He touches the mountains, and they smoke.
I will sing to the LORD as long as I live;
I will sing praise to my God while I have my being.
Let my meditation be pleasing to Him;
As for me, I shall be glad in the LORD.
Let sinners be consumed from the earth
And let the wicked be no more
Bless the LORD, O my soul
Praise the LORD!

My life has been one of great change for me. I live in a basement with 12 other girls. This basement was quickly furnished just weeks before we arrived. We have one shower, one refrigerator (which becomes increasingly full), and one washer. After washing our clothes we hang them on the line to dry. All dishes are hand washed.

I was in shock upon first arriving yet it has now become my home and it is the people in this shanty basement that makes me proud of what the Lord has given! I have often wondered what it would be like to live as this for the rest of my life – without the finer things. Surprisingly, I know that I could live like this for the true gifts (fellowship, quietness, serving, receiving, hearing, praying, worshiping) become illuminated as all other “gifts” (money, a nice wardrobe, a car, air conditioning) lose their potency. Nothing compares to hearing the voice of the Lord (not that one needs to be in a basement to do so), nothing compares to living with a group of women who share the same heart for the hurting and the social injustices of the world, nothing compares to kneeling down with someone you have only known for 4 weeks and petitioning the Lord for healing, for blessing, for His presence. My heart falls in love daily with the simplicity of life, the clarity of mind.

May we move forward to encourage one another, to draw near to Him, to usher in the Kingdom of Heaven,
Amen

Heaps, Love, and Rubbish - the ways of Australia

2007-10-07T03:47:00.000-07:00

Over-stimulated.

This would be my word to describe the past week. Exactly a week ago today I landed in Townsville and have hit the ground running ever since. Writing, which is a deep passion of mine, has been on hold as I have not found the time nor the words to explain everything I am experiencing.

So far, I thoroughly enjoy the girls and leaders I have gotten to know a bit. Everyone here is so encouraging and pursuing holiness with a fierceness that I desire to have. The Lord draws ever near with each day; this week has been a week of reminders – reminder of His love, of His grace, of His call on my life. It is good to be reminded, so good to be loved by Him.

I am dealing with questions and struggles while being here that I did not think I would face. Hurts from my past have already come up and the reoccurring question, “Am I willing to obey in all aspects of my life to follow His call?” is daily on my mind. Missions are not for the weak, I hear that a lot. I would say being on the mission field is a constant reminder of who I truly am without Christ’s blood: how weak, how unable, how messy, and selfish. It is like carrying a mirror around with me everywhere I go that has my flesh displayed to everyone, a most humbling experience. And this is why I draw near to God, for I would be utterly crushed under the weight of all that I am without Him, brokenness and abandonment to self feels unfeasible and so my clingy hand is courageously before Him at all times, “More Lord, More Abba. I need more of You.” I am in tears as I break my week down into moment by moment.

7 days. 7 days of tears. 7 days of weakening. 7 days of bewilderment. 7 days of doubt. 7 days of drawing near. It has only been 7 days….

Thank you for your prayers as I have more confidence in your prayers than I will ever be able to express….

Leather bound books that contain much more than their binding will ever admit...

2007-09-05T10:02:00.000-07:00

4 months I think….I’m to uninterested to go and actually count but apparently amused enough to mention that it has been approx 4 months since posting in this blog.

I have taken a much fought against hiatus from writing…like some kind of liquidation sale on my thoughts and heart – everything has got to go!! Journaling, poetry, blogging,..I wish I could say that I chose to give-up writing and just incubate (or as a dear friend would say, ruminate) on the art of writing, but this was not my choice. It felt as if it had just left me, at one point I was a writer and now I am not…

I think I suspect what the Lord might be up to; it has only take 4 months (approx). I read now, everything. Not just Christian books or non-fiction books…EVERYTHING. I think it is amazing some of the writers I have read (Thoreau, Milton, Oliver), it amazes me that the Lord would be so gracious to grant such amazing talent to people who were/are proclaimed atheists.

Anyway, I came upon this book about a month ago called Reading Like a Writer and another concerning the books and poems that every writer should read. I have realized that my inability to write has probably been because of my lack of knowledge, I have hit a wall and explored and in a sense “mastered” what little I already knew about writing. And the little that I have learned truly is modest, not to be confused with insignificant. Mostly, what it looks like to just pick up a pen and turn my emotions/never-ending thoughts/contemplations into words. And then once I realized how to do that I tried to train myself in how to organize and make sense of the words I wrote. And that is as far as I have come and now I have stopped. There is so so much more to writing and even more so concerning the art of reading and now I have become like a little book worm desiring to know EVERYTHING. I mean, it is incredible to me that Fydor Dotstoevsky sat down in the 1800s and wrote a book called Crime and Punishment and people in the 21st century have great interest in what this man had to say. Why? What did he say? How did he say? Why did he choose the characters he did to communicate his point? With what ethical and spiritual vantage point were the lenses he peered through?

I can say that I have been aware of these aspects of writing, but not skilled. I am a detective without a microscope: I know what should be sought after but I do not have the tools necessary to continue the search…

On another note, I am currently reading Henry David Thoreau’s writings, namely Waldon and Civil Disobedience. I cannot wait to get more into the latter work because this essay, which he wrote while sitting in jail, is one that influenced Ghandi and Martin Luther King Jr greatly…and our world has experienced the fruit of it.

I have a lot to say about Thoreau, not all of it good. He seemed like quite a pessimist who did not like people and was happy to die alone pushing away every single one of his friends.

Anyway, the reason I bring up Thoreau is because he said something that I have long chewed on concerning the definition of a poet, “(A poet) is a poet first in what he did and next in what he wrote” (15). –The Portable Thoreau

AND:

“The poet’s noblest work, Thoreau added as a corollary, was his life; and his poetry would grow out of his life. But the poetry would never be as important as his life” (21).

Cheers!

Hemmingway, Picasso, and Chatwin

2007-02-10T17:33:00.000-08:00

Wow...the first entry in my new blog. Surely it is expected to be quite epic. You know grab the reader so they keep on reading. I doubt any of my blogs will be so ethereal. I guess it depends on the reader, but I so selfishly am most concerned about what the writer thinks (me), that's why I started this blog. Not for you...but me.

Today I bought a Moleskine journal. It is my first amongst my many journals. The front of this unopened journal reads the teasing words, "The legendary notebook of Hemmingway, Picasso, and Chatwin." Does this speak of hope for poor writers or did Moleskine feel it of importance that I be informed?! I secretly want it to be a promise. Maybe one day it will read Hemmingway, Picasso, Chatwin, AND Mullins...but actually not Mullins. I would be much more content if they use my husband’s last name. Although I will probably have no say in it because I will be dead but I will have arrived-ha!

No more about Moleskine...the journal taunts me as it sets in front of me. I can no longer blog, I must write. My thoughts and heart belong to those pages and to my Lord. This blog can have some of them:)