Plans for Hope

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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:)