Entries by angela

~{ I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me }~

ring from Dad 1024x576 ~{ I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me }~

I did not go home for Christmas this year, because I wanted solitude and reflection, instead.  But I missed my family very much ~ more than I thought I would.  I received one gift in the mail.  It was from my Dad.  This ring was tucked away inside a burlap pencil pouch.  I cried the instant I saw it.  And then I read the message inscribed on it, and cried some more.  Could my Dad have any idea what this means to me?  Was he inspired?  I don’t know how he meant it, but I know how I received it.

In addition to the sentiment of the ring, the message that is inscribed is perfect and fitting:

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Phil 4:13″

I’m sure that it was made as some kind of chastity ring, and that is great, too, but the sentiment goes much deeper for me.  And I think it did for him, too.

Though I have been a pain in the ass for my dad, he has always been constant in my life.  And I love him for it.  And I love him for this ring.  I wear it proudly and thoughtfully.  Throughout the day I am constantly reminded of the message inscribed on it, and inscribed in my heart.  And I believe.  I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Thank you, Dad.  I love you.

ring from Dad II 1024x577 ~{ I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me }~

ring from Dad III 634x1024 ~{ I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me }~

And yes, this is the first time I’ve written in over a year in this space.  I’d like it to become a habit again.  I enjoy it, and haven’t made time for it.  That needs to change.
~Angela

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{ Illusions We Can Bear To Live With }
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If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

I’m loving “If You Forget Me” by Pablo Neruda right now.

Listen my audio recording of this poem while you read, here.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

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{ Ascension }

photo 4 copy { Ascension }

{Purple | For Jenny}

there never was ascension
without climbing the mountain
what is your priority?
comfort? or exaltation?

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{ Illusions We Can Bear To Live With }

1377205 10202034624044149 565937006 n { Illusions We Can Bear To Live With }{When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.”} ~Anais Nin

I think people think they want the truth.  But when it doesn’t sit well in their stomach, or it leaves a bitter taste in their mouth, they can’t possibly reconcile the contradiction or justify it when it doesn’t process through their filters.

I’ve always maintained that believing something new, antithetical to our current position, is quite possibly the hardest thing one can achieve.  We love our positions.  We love finding justifications for the beliefs we already have.  We don’t want the hassle of a new belief.

We’d also rather hire a gardner to tell us how it is than to get our own hands dirty.  Gardeners come in the form of many things… Spiritual leaders, news broadcasters, political figures… these replace the hard knocks of experience, grunt work, discernment, praying, reading, and divine communication.

It is also with people… our perceptions or judgments of them.  We either hold them on a pedestal they can’t even reach, or we dismember their every moral fiber; both for the sake of convenience in chalking up the whole of them based on a perceived portion of them.

We don’t want to actually get inside someone’s head.  It’s simply too much work.

 

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{ Out of Your Bone Weary Soul }

I do not understand { Out of Your Bone Weary Soul }

 

Have you ever woken up to find that your life has changed overnight?
And you wonder, how did this happen?  How did I get here?
Your choices were meant to take you somewhere else, but somehow it didn’t work out that way?
You realize you’re all alone, when you meant to have increase.
You realize you’ve opened the door wide open to many foolish paths, when you meant to follow God’s path.  And you are blind-sighted.
You realize your heartache can only get you in trouble – when you look at the paths before you and don’t see the future you thought was yours.
You sit in despair.
Like everything you thought you knew has been ripped out from under you.
Like your very heart is about to explode inside your chest from beating and searching so hard, but it has nowhere to go.
You have nowhere to go – and yet you can go anywhere, because you are tied down to nothing.
And that is the very saddest part of it all.
You belong to nothing – to no one.  Anymore.
You have no one to call home anymore.  No hands to hold your heart.
You have no place to hang your hat, your clothes, your trinkets, your collection of 37-years of life.
A gypsy, suddenly.
Your wandering heart can finally wander, but you don’t want it to.
You don’t want to face the paths that it may take on this blank canvas.
The first strokes to set the precedence, the mood, to set the next chapters of your life.
An unpaved road, an unexpected fork.
You could lay down strokes of angry black, portraying a fearful, rogue wanderer.
You could lay down strokes of fierce red, portraying a mask of distracting bold adventure.
You could lay down strokes of happy yellow, portraying a faux optimism.
You could lay down strokes of honest blue, serenely portraying your melancholy heart, surrendering sorrowfully to the reality before you, painting each stroke without pretense, but with all the passion and authenticity you can billow out of your bone weary soul.
Yes, I will paint blue.  It is the hardest.  It is the softest.

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