I've moved on...on more ways than one.

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Nestalgic and into vinyl seeks partner in crime...

This has been a day of mad blogs! I think Portland inspired me to write again, which I will cherish and appreciate.

We finally got the record player hooked up...after 2 months of talking about it. I forgot how much I love vinyl. It reminds me of my dad...the good parts of my dad. I'm listening to Hall and Oats right now. The record is crackly a little, just like it did when I was a kid, sitting on my daddy's lap, watching him close his eyes and bob his head to the beat. His beard, practically black, which he donned for as long as I can remember, was always the perfect edition to his green eyes and long eyelashes. I can see now why my mother fell so madly in love with him. Sometimes I forget they're no together anymore...but that's for another day.

I inherited quite a collection from him if I don't say so myself. Original edition Beatles albums, the entire works of the Moody Blues, Paul Simon, Neil Young (own it people, he's brilliant), Simon and Garfunkel, The Allman Brothers, Pink Floyd, The Doors, The Stones, Zepplin, Elton John, Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, America, The Who, Frank Zappa, John Lennon, Paul McCartney (the orgininators of side projects and solo careers), Bruce Springstein. My dad had a thing for aging guitar players. Seriously though, they're so classic they'll never go out of style.

Sitting here on my bedroom floor, surrounded by the last 20 years of his record collection, I'm missing him more than ever.

Earth, this is your brain calling

Coming back to earth is awful when you were previously floating. My head won't stop spinning and I'm not sure WHAT to do with myself.

Lord you are at work. I do not see it, but you are here...right now. I WILL be satisfied in your presence, in your likeness, and in your will. I WILL pray with authority, love with compassion, and speak with grace and truth.

"O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you,
in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

I have seen you in the sanctuary
and beheld your power and your glory.
Because YOUR LOVE IS BETTER THAN LIFE,
my lips WILL glorify you.
I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands.
My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods;
with singing lips my mouth will praise you."
-Psalm 63:2-5

You have romanced me.

You have romanced me Portland, more than any other city I've ever visited. Your mountain scapes and beautiful bridges have captured my heart and made it very hard to leave you. I want to hold hands and sip a latte whilst walking through your tree lighted streets, donning my yellow scarf and bike friendly tennis shoes. You are the essence of romance. Each turn of a corner conjures a new sensory experience. Green. Blue. Pumpkin spice. Crisp air. Cool nights. Gentle rain. You are like entering the room with your boyfriend, him leading by the gentlest of touch to the small of the back-safe and dangerous-the dicotomy of letting go, yet feeling safe.

You, Portland, are almost too good to be true. Your romance is welcomed, but not fully believed. I question how good you seem to be. I'm holding my breathe for what will, inevitably, come up. The things I'm unaware of. Those things that take the shine out of the romance.

Regardless...you are my new muse. I want to know you fully; to walk through your streets, drink your coffee, and be with your people.

Oh Jack

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”

This is how my heart feels right now. Jack always knows best. Why is it that every time I'm at a loss for words, Jack knows? He says it so clearly, so simply, yet with such grace. He's a genius really. I wish I could have met him. I'm sure he was a lovely man.

Hard conversations this past month have lead to a relieve of my soul. I'm pruning, and as painful as it is, it's necessary for my sanity. God is bringing confrontation into my life...forcing me to have conversations I never thought I'd have. He is giving me the strength to say what's really on my heart.

The one conversation I still can't have...is the one my heart desires most. Pursue me, it says. At the top of it's incapable little existence it's crying out...PURSUE. Only time will tell...

Coffee, music, and all things lovely

If you had told me a year ago that my life would look like it does right now, I would have laughed at you, then probably pointed...and laughed some more...and then told you you were a crazy lunatic. Seriously.

This summer will be an adventure in persistence, trust, and growing. I'm scarred. I'm excited. I'm anticipating. I'm hopeful. I'm skeptical. I'm joyous. I'm grateful. I'm becoming.

Becoming is somehow some much easier to say once you have nothing left to say. God has stripped it away. I am becoming. Sounds better every time. I'm becoming. Still true. I welcome it.

of my weary soul

I have awoken every morning with this song in my head. Lord, this is my heart's prayer.

Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul

Dear refuge of my weary soul,
On Thee, when sorrows rise
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies
To Thee I tell each rising grief,
For Thou alone canst heal
Thy Word can bring a sweet relief,
For every pain I feel

But oh! When gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call Thee mine
The springs of comfort seem to fail,
And all my hopes decline
Yet gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust
And still my soul would cleave to Thee
Though prostrate in the dust

Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face,
And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sovereign grace,
Be deaf when I complain?
No still the ear of sovereign grace,
Attends the mourner's prayer
Oh may I ever find access,
To breathe my sorrows there

Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet,
Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet...

©1998, Kevin Twit Music.
Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Cheap and beautiful

I went to the Phoenix Public Library today. The place is a work of art. Not to mention all the books it contains. The elevator shafts are like individual light boxes. I thought about taking out the camera to snap a picture, but thought it a bit tacky, but the more I think about it, the more I wish I had. Could'a, should'a, would'a. Story of my life.

Floor one, reference materials. Floor two, law books, government publications, and car manuals (kind of pithy in my mind). Floor three, staff only. One of the walls on this floor is bright green, like grass got lost and found a home on the wall. Floor four, teen central. There is a miniature "old world" library. One with no electronic filing system. Just card files stacked on top of each other. It reminded me of elementary school. It even smelled like my old elementary school. Kind of musty mixed with sweaty children. Floor five is my favorite. As you come up the stairs and around the corner, you see something very unexpected, the entire north end of the city, impeded only by rows and rows of illuminated reading desks. They have an odd glow about them, almost a mustard color. It' magnificent, especially at night. It's a great place to take a date. Cheap and beautiful. The library, not your date.

This floor is also my favorite because there are rows and rows of art books on the west side. I could, and did, sit there for a few hours just gazing in wonder. Just as I thought I'd found a book I could concentrate on, another passed through my fingers as I drug them across the shelves. The Big Book of Art. Bauhaus Movement. Contemporary Artists. Art Through the Ages. No end in site.