Deborah and the Beanstalk

I have one in the middle of my apartment. Perhaps one day I'll climb up.

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On another note, I have rediscovered an admirably large stash of photographs from the past year or two that I have never done anything with. What does this mean? This blog will be updated regularly (for once!) until I'm all caught up. I'm pleased to say that all of my scores of of followers (ahem, that's just you, Cadie...) should be satiated within a week's time.

Finale

To end my succession of posts, I'll leave you with this. A challenge as much for me as it is for you.

Wake up, sleeper.

Do something brave. Even if others might not know that it takes courage.

Look!

I'm still here!

This must be a record.

So. In post #4 from these past two days I'm going to show you pictures of food.

Yep.

Food.

One of the dearest people in the world is getting married this coming weekend, and I get to be her maid of honor. So naturally I threw her a party. And naturally I made some delicious chocolatey things. And naturally I took really poor quality pictures of the whole affair (actually, I only took pictures of the tiniest sliver of the affair).



Room Without Dear Person Who Is Getting Married:

Room With Dear Person Who Is Getting Married (so much nicer, right?):

Due to the lack of Real People to talk to [see previous post], I will now resort to putting pictures of homemade chocolatey deliciousness on the internet.



Peppermint Patties:

Peanut Butter Buckeyes:

Chocolate Raspberry Trifle:

Cream Puffs:

So there you have it.

In your hour of need, you accidentally stumbled upon my blog looking for wisdom, inspiration perhaps. Hope, even.

And instead I give you pictures of chocolate.

[It was good, though.]


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In all seriousness, however, my dear Amanda is a joy and her Kevin is a joy, too. I'm grateful for them both, and I'm grateful that God joined them.

Too many words have been spilled into cards and letters and ears for me to duplicate here, but suffice it to say that this is a marriage God is smiling on.

[Shhh... Don't tell Amanda I posted a picture of her wedding card. She hasn't seen it yet.]

An Ode to the Alaskans

I'm back already.

You see, I'm going through withdrawal.

People withdrawal.

After living on my own for three years, I've become accustomed to solitude. But solitude doesn't always sit well with me, especially after a summer replete with good company. My brother Andy, his wife, and their four kids came back to Nanticoke for a nice long visit this summer for the first time since we said goodbye to them two years ago. The miles between New York and Alaska are too many to be traversed easily. Many of my July evenings were spent in the Little Yellow House Where I Grew Up, whose every nook and cranny this summer was filled brimful with the paraphernalia of a traveling family, and an eclectic one at that: suitcases, miniature poodles, conure parrots. You name it, it was living in some corner of the house... Evenings were largely spent simply enjoying Being. Being content, being with one another, being known. And far too often, being sat upon and teased mercilessly by all six feet and two inches of my sixteen-year old nephew.

And now the discomfort of transition is upon me. You see, I don't have any real live people living in my apartment to just Be with me until we feel like it's time to sleep.

I miss the suitcases and the poodles and the conure parrots.

I miss my jolly, loud, brother whose greatest joy is still picking on me, I think.

I miss the sister-in-law who somehow managed to keep the chaos in check (most of the time).

I miss the niece who has more attitude in her right earlobe than I had in the whole of me during the entirety of my teenage years.

I miss the niece who I understand because we are alike, poor dear.

I miss the nephew who is the youngest, and alas, doesn't stray far from the stereotype. [But I think he'll get over it.]

And I even miss the nephew who sits on me. You see, this particular nephew is awfully nice (even when he's sitting on you).

So as I sit here in my empty apartment (I sound pathetic...), I think of you all.

And I love you fiercely.

Reply

My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from Him.

Psalm 62:5

Expectation

Some days the waiting grows long.

I grow heavy with Thoughts that are too heavy to hold. Loosed, they slip out surreptitiously, tentatively, unused to having a tongue giving them shape and letting them tiptoe into a world that may not be kind. The open air is paralyzing, but perhaps they'll learn to make a home there, to breathe deep, to grow unafraid. Fear is the man in the trenchcoat around the corner holding a burlap sack. But perhaps the sack is only to carry trinkets, not the Thoughts that grow bold enough to step between my parted lips.

How does one soul learn to know another? What is this mystery that the Father set within our very flesh, the patterns of mind and spirit, love and language that cause us to name another Friend? When does a cord connect one heart to another, and who draws it from here to there? How is it that souls have different depths, and the ones that must be plumbed for see so little company? 

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And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.

And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.

And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone. 

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A child who has been granted the voice to cry, "Abba, Father" is never truly alone. 

Waiting is what causes green to sprout up from cracks in the earth. 

Waiting is what causes the heart to beat, the bones to grow, the flesh to form, the lungs to gasp for air as first cries wrench the air. 

Waiting is, I choose to believe, a gift. 

A gift that that God, after giving, pronounced good.

St. Patrick's Breastplate

Happy St. Patrick's day, all.


The Lorica of St. Patrick 


Here's to the real St. Patrick.