So, a few days ago I posted about hanging upside down at the ankles and it continues to illustrate this little time period quite well. When you’re hanging upside down (or at least when I am), everything loose is going to fall out – no matter how much you will against it. I had all sorts of things stuffed in my pockets (not much, but a little money and a few confident answers about what I was “going to do next”) and I don’t think I’ll get right-side-up again until everything is laying on the ground. It’s a strange perspective – watching the things I hold dear dislodge from their safe hiding place and pass in front of my eyes, landing with a little thump just out of reach. Like on Saturday, when I found out my cousin can drive the tractor/trailer for my uncle (my current “job” as fieldhand) while he combines soybeans. Yes, it’s pretty cool… until I realized that my only job security is that he has to be in 2nd grade on weekdays. That’s a tasty piece of humble pie.
I wrote a lot about the idea of a la orden (the idea that whatever you have – material or otherwise – is meant to be given away through an intentional effort to be available) when I was in Honduras. I guess you could say this little upside down trick is reminding me that what I’ve got to give is Christ, always and only… even if my pockets are completely empty.
Here’s a song from Christa Wells that is simple and sweet and … speaks to the beauty of emptiness. Here’s the last little bit:
I haven’t been asked yet to walk the hard roads
Still there’s a sense of deep loss in my soul
In the middle of a party, I’ll just want to go
Home.
But ooh,
My bow is on the strings,
I’m beginning to learn where to find the words
To the song that emptiness sings
Ooh, bow is on the strings:
Glory to God! Glory to God!
This is how emptiness sings, oh,
This is how emptiness sings
Hmmm, hmmm
When I was little, I was thrown around like a toy amongst the brothers and men in my family. I don’t mean that in a bad way (because my mom would say I “asked for it” almost every time and I probably did). But let’s just say it wasn’t strange to walk into our living room to see me hanging upside down with my brothers’ hands at my ankles. Now, I could incite trouble like any good tomboy could, but I wasn’t one to give up once I got in the middle of it. So, even in that helpless upside-down-at-the-ankles state, I would be jerking and swinging and doing any kind of acrobatics to get free. And it was always when the boys got tired of the game that it was over – not when I accomplished something with all my thrashing. They would let me go (probably by the surprise release method) and then I’d catch my breath long enough to go at them again, sure that this time I could somehow swing an underdog victory.
(Sigh). Right now feels a lot like upside-down-at-the-ankles. I realize I haven’t written since those last days in Honduras and I can’t quite decide if it’s shock or pain or laziness or a dreadful combination of all three. I had all sorts of ideas about what life would look like back here in the States. I still have that tomboy-ish mischief in me that looks at trials and says, “Ha! You can’t get me!” and then scampers off knowing full well that trial is a-comin’ at full speed to pick me up by my ankles and shake all my independence out (oh, and every little bit of loose change). And that, folks, is exactly what happened.
I stepped off the plane in Omaha after one of the most emotional departures of my life in Tegucigalpa to blaze a trail that only made sense in my mind. It looked like this:
I was applying for jobs in those places, but I was also picking up the pieces of my stateside self – trying to figure out what it would mean to live in this skin – and I ended up back on the good ole family homestead thrashing and resisting the attack I provoked on my pride and independence. I am not one bit regretful of my galavanting, though. I’m kind of a face-to-face girl and I needed the time walking on beaches and sitting on couches and chasing kids around houses to remind myself that God has called me to let love fly just as crazy here.
But, when the dust settled from the adventures and I started getting used to painfully pleasant rejection letters and emails, I started to feel the weight of “missing” the ministries and people and crowded streets and fried corn tortillas. It was sure heavy.
God is so gracious to give me community in this time. I was ready to pack my bags and move almost the minute I got back, but He hasn’t let me. No, I think I needed to get some thrashing out, upside down, before I could move on and He was gracious enough to let me do that in the midst of canning salsa and playing nertz and hiking timbers and harvesting soybeans. I am so very thankful.
Last night, when I was babysitting some imaginative munchkins, I scooped up Dari and flipped her upside down and said, “I’m going to shake all your sillies out!” I shook and shook while she giggled until I said, “Well, I think I got ’em all!” to which she promptly responded by scooping all her sillies from the air and then touching my knees, saying, “Now all the sillies are in your knees!”
Oh, what beautiful perspective innocence brings! My knees have never had such a party!! It reminds me of Ecclesiastes 5 and verse 20 more specifically. Solomon is going on and on about what is/isn’t important and what we can/cannot hold onto in this life. Then he arrives at this verse that has nestled its way into my favorites,
For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart.
I want so much to forget my days, for the joy in my heart! How wonderful a thing – to be SO AMAZINGLY FULL of joy that there is no room for anything else.
So, I guess I’m back at this blog thing again. There is too much inspiration in this season to find excuses not to express it! The changing leaves, the baking spices, the conversations, and the endless times I find myself in the upside-down-by-the-ankles state … they all want written about and I think I’ll finally give in.
“…just stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to”
So, if you grew up in the 90s you know this song by TLC. It was the kind we would belt out on the bus ride to a volleyball game and sing in the middle of the night at slumber parties. And, apparently, it’s the kind of song that pops into my head when I start thinking about the next couple weeks. Honestly, it has nothing to do with leaving or Honduras or ministry… I think that (maybe) sentiment pushes us to grasp at anything nostalgic and apparently that was the first thing I touched.
The point is, I wasn’t prepared for Edo (Eduardo) to amble into my office this morning and announce that today is his last day. I think I gave him 1000 hugs and said, “I’m not ready for this” a hundred times. The strange thing is, the tears pop out at the most random times – like driving alone in my car – and sometimes I can’t find them in the most appropriate moments, like this morning when my heart was twisting at the idea that I won’t be able to see this fine young man grow and change the world.
My offers of facebook friendship and mutual blog-stalking seemed a bit shallow, but it was all I could offer between the awkward amount of hugs. I’m sure there is a book somewhere about “How to leave without losing yourself” but I’d honestly rather just go into this blind. I’d rather play this one spontaneous, with a skip in my step and respect for the sorrow in my heart.
Once I reign in my distracted mind, the C.S. Lewis song by Brooke Fraser is much more appropriate. Maybe it will encourage you this morning.
I just walked off the treadmill a few minutes ago because I thought my waterworks wouldn’t pass for sweat any longer. I was sweating a storm when the song, “Love, Love, Love” by Tristan Prettyman hit my iPod. I happen to have the version where she explains the song is about growing up surfing and barbecuing with her family every day of summer. She has since left that routine to travel as a musician, but this song is a reminder that these people and memories will always be love to her. I started to think of all the ways this place and these people have become “love” to me.
I thought of the slurred broadcast voice speeding through a list of vegetables available on the back of the truck driving through my neighborhood at 7 am.
I thought of the cow that almost hit us on the way up the mountain last night.
I thought of the little note a student left for me today, asking me to pray for her test (and our joyful celebration afterwards when she was happy with the results!).
I thought of all the times I’ve been part of a crowded kitchen and the delicious results.
I thought of countless conversations that played out better than the most riveting film – conversations where I couldn’t wait to see what the student would say next or how they would surprise me with insight/joy/wisdom.
I thought of students popping into my office in every spare moment, whether I was busy or available, just to say hello.
I thought of nudging Louis’s battered nose out into traffic, confident that we would pull through whatever peril we were entering.
I thought of my house without electricity at the moment and all the opportunities I’ve had to be still in candlelight.
I thought of the delight at watching people enjoy something I’ve baked up in my kitchen.
I thought of student meetings, crowded in my little office, where we shared our testimonies and fears and joys.
I thought of the blessings of friendship – the deep, deep kind I never expected to find when I came here “on mission,” but the kind that will be part of my story forever.
I thought about the lessons I’ve learned at the foot of my Savior, when I’m willing and when I’m not, and His infinite patience with me as I try to figure out how to best support His kingdom work in this place.
I thought of all the crazy ways God has paraded His glory in front of my face in these past three years and I thought it was dangerous to try to beat the treadmill at its game.
It’s strange that heavy emotions really sap your strength. I can do an hour on the treadmill normally and still be ready for a crazy night of randomness afterwards. But, these days I am dragging myself out of bed every morning and having a rough time even pounding out 30 minutes at night and I can only point to these silly emotions as the culprit. I guess it’s even more proof that God interwove every part of us. You can’t separate your energy from your emotion anymore than you can separate darkness from night.
And I’ll say that’s why I am tired. I have a running list of “Things I want to do before June 23…” and it’s growing but my time is shrinking. Today, without warning, as the last students were rushing out of the hallways to get to the bus, I let the tears roll. People were asking when it would start hitting me… well, it’s now I guess.
Here’s Tristan’s song:
Here’s another song that has been such an encouragement to me lately. Honestly, this is my prayer right now – for me and for my students and for our desperate generation. This cry comes right out of Deuteronomy 6 and it is timeless. I want this to be my story. I want to remember my Lord and Savior in this way. I want His love and mercy and kingdom to be tied around my wrists and written on my doorposts and displayed in my life like I want nothing else. And I want this desperate love to be what holds my students together. I want them to remember who the Lord is and how He is reigning over all things.
What catches my breath in my throat is how beautiful the phrase sounds. I remember singing it in high school for Honor Choir or All State auditions, I’m not sure which. I am sure I was drawn in by the mystery of its beauty and its tragedy … but not understanding why.
Today, the mystery wound itself around my heart’s cry for my students. As I sat at the mechanic shop (praise the Lord my severely overheated car only needed a simple little tube that cost 2 dozen eggs and some change!) reading Think by John Piper, I thought about how we are called to be both like children (Matthew 18:3), but not children at all (1 Corinthians 14:20).
I can think of many times I’ve been accused of being excessively childish and an almost equally amount of times I’ve been accused of being too serious. And, um, the accusations are often true. The pros and cons of this see-saw are something only the Lord can measure out. But, I’m not going to give up that easy.
I love that the God of all the universe suggests we become like children… completely dependent for every need and completely abandoned to all kinds of joy; completely honest about doubts and completely transparent about fear. We need Him just as desperately for joy as we do for our bread and I think He delights equally to give them.
I love that when Zaccheus heard Jesus was coming to town, he lost all sense of shame or fear and scurried right on up that Sycamore tree. And oh how I love Jesus when he gives Zaccheus (see this sermon by George Whitefield) the invitation to come down … and to please host him (Jesus) at his house for a celebration! Zaccheus abandoned all pride and position just to glimpse the Man with the power to give him a place in eternity.
Can you believe it? God didn’t move Zaccheus to walk stoically up an aisle at an altar call and calmly confess by repeating a mechanical prayer. God moved in Zaccheus and the little guy couldn’t reach for the branches fast enough. He desperately wanted to see Jesus and nothing else mattered. Only a child would act like that. And I love that Jesus loved it.
On the other/same hand (I refuse to think these things are actually separate), Paul cautions the church in Corinth to not be children “in your thinking.” We are to be infants in regard to evil, but mature in our thinking. It is much easier to do the opposite – mature about evil and infants in our thinking. We are not called to be infants about everything… just evil. The act of thinking will bring us into maturity, just like a child who learns to walk or start mumbling phrases. Those lessons require thinking. Sometimes we get so concerned about being “relevant” that we start to be mature about the evil in the world. I can’t say I know what it means to be innocent of evil (Romans 16:19) and wise about what is good, but I think it has a lot to do with Philippians 4:8, “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”
As we actively think on these things, in the pursuit of Scripture and its application in our lives, the evil things of our dark world becomes less appealing, while the wisdom about living in the darkness makes our light shine like a million suns.
It’s getting late and I should wrap this up.
Basically, when my heart cries out Kyrie Eleison today, I am saying, “Lord, have mercy on me when I am mature about evil and innocent about good. And, Lord have mercy on my students as they choose what to think on, be wise about, and be innocent of. Oh, Lord please have mercy!”
What better place to learn about this desperate plea than through music… through the beautiful voice of a child. Here’s a young English boy singing Kyrie recorded live in Dublin with a full choir and orchestra. Also this article from the Gospel Coalition, “Ordinary Evil and the Factory that Made Corpses” has provoked some thoughts on what it is to be innocent of evil, or completely mixed up in it.
When I was somewhere in the range of seven years old, I remember performing in a Psalty musical at my church. Don’t laugh … it was really cool back then. Well, I felt cool to be in it, anyway. Probably because I was so small (and a bit of a troublemaker) I was cast as the girl who got lost in the woods when we went in search for firewood. I’m not sure, but I think the rest of the cast sang this little number when we were lost and they were discouraged. Once you get past the bizarre, over-sized singing songbook, I’m sure you can appreciate how sweet this is!
Then me and my other lost buddy sang this song:
Oh! The memories! I don’t think it’s a coincidence that 16 years later I ended up lost in a cloud forest on top of a mountain in Honduras singing that same song!
La Tigra cloud forest... the sunshine is swell, but being lost at night is a different story!
That right there is proof positive that we store all those childhood lessons somewhere deep in our hearts where we will one day need to retrieve them.
Right now is a 1 Peter 5:7 kind of time and (no matter how silly that man looks dressed like a book) I’m humming this tune as I live believing God is big enough to handle every last one of my cares. Not only that, but He takes my burdens and turns them into blessings. I’m praying something very simple over my students tonight… that they would have this kind of song etched deep in their hearts, so when they go away and get lost they will be able to reach down and find the only place to put their cares.
It was a simple question that came up last week at Bible study somewhere after, “Why do we suffer?” and before, “Will we recognize each other in heaven?”
It’s an old question that tries to probe the origins of love for others. We went around in circles but agreed our love for our mothers is a response. I would add that my love for my mother has grown as I’ve realized how it comes without condition… often before I call home to spill my guts she’ll have already anticipated my outburst.
Skip to tonight. I was at worship at the Micah Project where I heard a different Mothers Day story. Four of the littlest boys recorded a song to show their love for their mothers, though they do not know where their mothers are. The song broke my heart because it talks about trying to remember her face and her voice, but reassuring her that (wherever she is) she is loved.
I am overwhelmed. Not just that I have a mom who loves me without condition, but that I can picture her face when she is joyful, scared, sad, or with a fit of giggles. I know what she will look like when I get off the plane on June 24 and I know how her hug will feel. In many ways, my mom is home to me. So, when I see these boys throwing love out into the heavy night sky, I feel even more blessed to know exactly how my mom will answer the phone the next time I call.
And in all of this, I am learning gratitude. If I am loving my mom well, I am loving the Lord who shared her with me. If I am loving the Lord well, then I am responding first and always in gratitude to His kindness… and this means being a “mom” to those who throw love out to the night sky without knowing if it will return. With these boys and students and anyone God sovereignly places in my path, I want to be available to show the unconditional love of my Father (which will forever be on beautiful display in my mom).
Most people know the tension between living salvation on this earth and living eternal salvation in heaven as the “already, not yet.” To reflect on this tension after Easter seems fitting, because all of history points to Christ’s victory over the grave yet all of creation is still groaning for the completion of salvation (Romans 8). Today I am calling it post-Easter, pre-Eternity.
I spent yesterday almost entirely in laughter. The day felt bathed with it. I am convinced there is something beautiful to be found in abandoning yourself to a good fit of ridiculous laughter. Yesterday, with friendships too new to feel so “old,” I scrunched up my face and held my sides in a crazy fit of full body laughter. This, too, seems fitting to follow my Easter celebration. In fact, I imagine (call me a fool) that some people let out awkward laughter when they saw Jesus after news of the empty tomb got around. Everyone stood gawking and pointing (I imagine) and then there were those few whose laughter could be heard spilling all over the silence. Sometimes awe, wonder, joy, mischief, and glee can be communicated no other way.
So, there’s this tension. Salvation is here, but salvation is coming.
We are wrapped up in the glory of what Christ gained in his victory over the grave. We are bathing in it like I imagine joyful laughter bathed Christ’s post-resurrection steps. Tim Keller says, “The happy ending of the Resurrection is so enormous that it swallows up even the sorrow of the Cross.” Even our sorrows drown in the ocean of joy called Christ’s resurrection.
Yet, we all know we’re living on this side of eternity. We recognize black-clad funerals and cold, gray gravestones as the painful pattern of our mortality. We are certain no one has found or ever will find the secret to living forever. We are (in our most honest moments) more certain of the fact that living forever in this present world would be filled only with anguish and affliction.
Today, I am claiming a common denominator. For those of you who know me, I am in no place to use a mathematical reference and even further from qualified to stretch it into something helpful for my ideas. Yet, here I go. A “denominator” is the bottom number of a fraction (like 2 in 1/2). A “common denominator” is when the bottom numbers of fractions are the same (like 3 in 1/3 and 2/3). In other words, I think post-Easter, pre-Eternity is kind of like 1/2 and 1/2 – two parts of a whole redemption story. The common denominator? I wonder if it is glory. I believe Christ’s death and resurrection is all about bringing glory to God. I also believe our anticipation for Eternity is about bringing glory to God. This whole beautiful mess of a redemption story, from start to eternal finish is about glory going in the right direction – toward a most Awesome, Merciful, Compassionate, Just King.
In our (especially recent) post-Easter state, we are giving God the glory for the magnificent and finished work of Christ. In our pre-Eternity state, we are giving God the glory for a secure future in His presence. Whew! Here are two songs that come to mind when I think post-Easter, pre-Eternity. Sing along with them and let God’s glory fill the skies! Join the angels in this forever song! Please don’t miss the rich references to the Old Testament and how God is glorified in the ways His sovereign plan was revealed and His name praised long before it came to pass.
Skeleton Bones by John Mark McMillan
Peel back our ribs again
and stand inside of our chest.
We just wanna’ love you
We just wanna’ love you
Peel back the veil of time
And let us see You with our naked eyes
We just wanna’ love you
We just wanna’ love you
We want your blood to flow inside our body
We want your wind inside our lungs
We just wanna’ love you
We just wanna’ love you
Skeleton bones stand at the sound of eternity
On the lips of the found
And gravestones roll
To the rhythm of the sound of you
Skeleton bones stand at the sound of eternity
On the lips of the found
So separate those doors
And let the son of resurrection in.
Oh let us adore the
Son of Glory drenched in love
Open up your gates before him
Crown Him, stand Him up
Holy is the Lamb by Coffey Anderson
Lyrics:
I saw the Lord, seated on the throne
And the train of His robe filled the temple
And angels sing all around me
And the song that they sang was so simple
All they cried was:
Holy, holy is the Lamb
Holy, holy is the Lamb
Holy, holy is the Lamb
Holy, holy is the Lamb of God
I get to see this beautiful girl every day!this was our good morning chocolate chip pancake day!
I miss it, too. I kept thinking of opening lines over the past few weeks, but they never found their way to the keyboard. I apologize for the absence of electronic words, but my excuse is that I’ve been living. I’m trudging through a great mix of emotions as I fill my days with sometimes the most random things. Yesterday was the Junior/Senior banquet… which made the end of this year even more final.
Well, my mom has suggested in more than one way that I will regret it if I don’t blog during these last months, so I am going to throw out some bullet points to get started. This is a mezcla of things I’ve been up to lately:
I am just eating up every message from the Gospel Coalition Conference that’s happening right now in Chicago. They are not only posting the plenary sessions online for free, they also made the live hymn sing available! Go check it out, download it all and then send me a message so we can talk about it! The only (BIG) downside to not being there is the discussion that I’m sure is happening over coffee and around book tables.
This quote by John Stott, as I think about the cross,
“Every time we look at the cross Christ seems to say to us, ‘I am here because of you. It is your sin I am bearing, your curse I am suffering, your debt I am paying, your death I am dying.’ Nothing in history or in the universe cuts us down to size like the cross. All of us have inflated views of ourselves, especially in self-righteousness, until we have visited a place called Calvary. It is there, at the foot of the cross, that we shrink to our true size.”
John R. W. Stott
I love this new blog I found llevo el invierno where a super creative, crafty lady from Monterrey, Mexico posts some great stuff! Also enjoying this and this.
I have found out that working out and strength training doesn’t necessarily mean slimmer… I feel like I’m training to be a football player or something!!
This year is winding down and I’m all mixed up with how to feel about it. The seniors have 23 days of school left and I’m getting as weepy as they are! I have other students in and out of my office and I try hard to keep my emotions at bay because if I don’t there’s no controlling them, they’ll just go crazy!
The Nichols siblings are about to embark on a half-marathon journey for the fall. I’m super pumped to do this with my sister and brothers (praying for James’s injuries to be completely gone in time to train). This is something I’m so excited about, amidst all the other confusion and changes.
Mission trip momentum… this is the time where I need to be praying the hardest for my students. They are getting attacked on every side by people and things that say they should be “over” the mission trip by now, but in their hearts they know it’s a lifestyle they’ve been called to. I love them so incredibly much and want to pray them into the Lord’s presence!
Next year. Oh heavens! The Lord has this, too, in His hands.
Semana Santa is next week and I have a lot of hangout time planned with students, as well as some goals to spend some reflective time with books and words and writing and (yes) even my blog. I want to hit up the stations of the cross with these Songs for Lent, which you can pick up for free.
I have been doing this really cool fast/pray/give thing with Living Water as a practice for Lent and I’ve got nothing but good reflection about it. Hard at times, but good.
Tonight I made a bucket list of sorts for the seniors/students/mission trip/me and it is completely unfinished but even as I was writing it I felt excitement and sadness go back and forth like ping pong in my soul.
My entire Saturday was saturated with a painful joy. I’m resigned to calling my emotion painful joy because, as much as I’ve reached and grabbed at the English language, I can’t find anything better. I guess it has a lot to do with processing a very emotional week of mission, but I think it’s also this new life philosophy I’m trying out.
I’m really attempting to put everything in my life in the “a la orden” perspective. And, as I do so, I’m noticing the painful joy pressing in on my heart more than I can express. As I share stories with people and listen to memories from students on the mission trip, I am overwhelmed. It’s like standing under Niagara Falls and trying to be thankful for every drop of water cascading from such a great height. It’s TOO MUCH to take in. I was trying to build up monuments (like the Israelites) with words so we can look back and see the Lord’s blessing, but I felt almost frantic to find enough stones and build fast enough.
Have you ever sat with someone who is sharing his/her heart and not known how to express the love blooming like springtime in your soul? I sit there and wish there was a way to dance, sing, laugh, and hug with the colorful power of a hundred springtimes. If I sound crazy, I am doing well with this explanation because it doesn’t make any sense to me either.
The more I make my gifts “available” to the Lord, the more I feel completely blown away by His brilliant use of them. I really consider any gift or ability I have not at all my own, but the Lord’s, so it shouldn’t surprise me that He knows best how to use these gifts for His glory. But, I think the surprise is wrapped up somehow in my joy as well. The mystery of seeing the Gospel alive and working in front of my eyes to transform people I love is marvelous.
THIS is what it means to taste and see that the Lord is good!
Where is the pain? you might ask. Well, yesterday my soul hurt. It ached like the worst charlie horse, but there was no massaging it away. This pain was in every way attached to my joy and I’m still figuring out why.
taste and see I think (maybe) the more we taste and see that the Lord is good, we might also start to understand the limits of that taste. Let me try to explain. While we are still living on this earth in the “already, not yet” of Kingdom Come, we are limited to merely taste and see the Lord is good. To be honest, I think “taste” is all we can handle, but that reveals one very important, painful truth: this broken world can’t handle the whole feast. We are not yet in eternity where our days will be filled with the FULLNESS of the Lord’s goodness, not just a taste. When we taste something, if it’s a good something, we generally want more.
This could not be more true of the Lord. When we are overwhelmed with delight in His presence, we want more of Him… even ache for more of Him. Within this deep desire there is a struggle for the “eternity set in our hearts” where this ache will be relieved.
subject and mode The subject of my true delight is the Lord always, but the mode seems to be this “a la orden” (make every gift and talent available through service). And, in serving, the pain comes with the joy as well. With every child comforted or hungry man fed, millions more wait. There is pain (possibly the “groaning in expectation” in Romans?) in serving others in this world when the need is so great. So, at the same time I am experiencing the joy of obedience and following God’s heart, I am experiencing pain through the realization that others may not feel the same joy.
selfish love
I love these students. It almost scares me how much I love them. To see them ENJOYING the presence of the Lord has been one of God’s greatest gifts to me in my time here. Because I’ve been so blessed to see God work in them, I realize that my part in their journey may soon end. It is, of course, the LORD who is moving and working and drawing them near the Throne of Grace. And I am realizing it is one of the biggest steps of faith to believe God will take care of them whether or not I am by their side. I am having to let go of the reasons my love for them encourages me … and hold on to the reasons my love for God will help me love them in the best way that encourages them.
So, there’s some Sunday reflection for you. I hope you are all enjoying a beautiful Sabbath day!
MUSINGS IN THE MIDST 