Without realizing it, I recently wrote a bit more than I should have. I suppose we all have moments when we are terribly excited about something New in Life and getting "carried away" seems exceptionally easy.

Thankfully, someone mentioned it to me this evening and so I did a bit of house cleaning with my archives. Hopefully, it’s all taken care of and all is well.

After all, it’s either "feel terribly awkward, and take a hiatus" or "say hello to new readers, and keep writing."

So, hello.

I whispered a goodbye last night. And as I slipped through the glass doors at GSP, I felt the drops begin to hit my face. Those passing by couldn’t see the tears through the rain.

Although saying goodbye was exceedingly hard, my tears weren’t of loneliness. As I sidestepped the large puddles, I was overwhelmed at the realization of where I’ve been and where I am now. What the past year has held, and the grace and mercy I’ve been given.

My mom said it best the other night. "When you place God in the middle, He can make it amazing." I think that’s where I find myself tonight. Amazed.

And as God so often does, He threw another whirlwind into my life today. Something unexpected. And all I can do is offer it back to Him and watch Him work.

While in the shower, promptly decide that the showerhead is one of those types that have different water sprays. And because you are extremely tired from stuffing yourself with turkey on yesterday, and because you laughed your head off for two hours last night because family is wonderful and quite hilarious at times, you suddenly lose common sense.

And begin to twist on the showerhead with wild abandon, in hopes of finding either a more gentle rinse or a concentrated power spray.

Become furious and quite frustrated that it isn’t working, and begin to twist even more furiously.

Suddenly feel the drenching waterpower as you stand there, holding the showerhead in one hand and attempting to cover your face from the FLOW OF THE COLORADO RIVER with your other hand.

And then, because you have nothing else exciting to do this morning, attempt to put the showerhead back on the nozzle while the water is still pouring out furiously.

Yes, now I’m awake.

In the season of our plenty,
In the season of our need;
We will find His grace sufficient,
We will find His love complete.

Safe within His hand that guides us,
Hidden in His healing wings;
Day by day His love provides us
Every good and perfect thing.

- Claire Cloninger

I.am.so.tired.

Today was Moving Day. Complete with drama and excitement. Especially when I ran to Lowe’s for some last minute items. [Sidenote: Oh, how I love Lowe’s.]

Anyway, I was standing in line, minding my own business- when I felt something tap my head. I thought hmm, must be someone I know. But when I turned around it was an odd man standing there with a Very Long Piece of Molding. He tapped my head with it once more and then said, “giddyup!”

I wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh, imitate a horse, or be offended. So I just smiled. Terribly odd, yes?

In between slicing bananas (to eat with peanut butter), and listening to my dad shoot a large possum on my deck, I talked with an old friend tonight. Well, talked a bit. But I mostly listened.

This person has seen a side of Christianity that would make your skin crawl. He’s been down roads that would make you blush. Been hurt in such a way that the “family of God” has become a laughing matter to him instead of a comfort. Perhaps some of you would be too uncomfortable to hear his rants. To listen to his stories.

But there is something wild and gravely familiar in his voice. Our stories are unbelievably close. We compare notes and I groan at the realization that someone else will be facing the Reaping Days. And tonight, he seemed restless. Moved. Hungry. Aching for the God he knows is real. And yet frustrated with so much.

I wish with all of my heart that I could tell him to fling everything away and that if he throws himself upon the Arms that all of his pains, fears, and troubles will disappear. But he knows better. And so do I. All I know to do is to whisper that God is real. That God is Love. The real kind. Unlike the type that promises a Great Night and Glory Upon Glory. That finding rest will require dying to self. That it all takes time.

A. W. Tozer once said, “Thirsty hearts are those whose longings have been wakened by the touch of God within them.”

Sometimes finding yourself with a thirsty heart is the best place to be.

I attended a play with some friends this evening. Cyrano de Bergerac. It was at BJU, and being amidst the hoard of students felt odd. I haven’t been on campus in quite sometime and seeing old friends was bittersweet. So much has changed. And I’m mostly glad to be on the other side of those years. But the play was exceptional. Seeing Dr. Bob III play the lead character was hilarious and watching Roxanne (who was played by an old acquaintance) flirt with him was just terribly odd.

And then we met at Steak & Ale for some delicious food. There is something about being with 13 people, conversations flying about, laughter shaking the room, and hearing Elliot explain the theory behind Switchfoot’s Dare You to Move. “Well, I suppose you need to be dared to move before you actually move.”

This coming from a kid who kept spilling pasta all over his shirt. And then deciding it was too good to waste. So he would lick his sleeves. (I might have done the same had it been fried okra and mashed potatoes)

It began rather simply.

He called and asked if he could play for me tonight. The time slipped by quickly, and the tears poured as I listened to songs that held truths so dear.

And when the time had ended, I knew I couldn’t sleep without finding myself at the piano as well. So I slipped through the grass and found myself at my parent’s house. They were crawling into bed, but eager to hear music as they fell asleep.

Playing the old hymns brought tears. Brought memories. Late nights on the deck, singing in the dark. Evenings spent at the church, gathered around the piano. Strumming the guitar around the Christmas tree. Playing the flute while in the large swing, not caring that everyone in the Valley could hear. I shared those moments with friends who dared to allow music to become more than entertainment.

Of course, most people will say that they love music. But there is a real difference between slapping your hand on the steering wheel in time to the latest Top 40, and finding yourself so moved by a score that it’s all you can do to hold yourself together. Moved because you suddenly are beyond yourself, and how it sounds, and what those around think, and all you hunger for is that soft, immeasurable moment in which you feel the presence of the Lord.

So, something simply begun has brought me into a quiet moment tonight, full of remembrance. And I’ve found myself whispering once more for a new beginning to be unveiled, and for a restoration of the wasted years.

As you can see, I worked on Aelki a bit. There are still a few bits that I need to correct but I should have it finished soon. What do you think of the new design?

Also, I decided to bring over some entries from Musings. The Fume of Sighs, Baker’s Dozen, Trust, Rediscovery, Eating Outside, Smiles, Another Baker's Dozen, and In the Storms.

Oh, and the little picture on the right? When I was young, we had cows in the Valley.

Wes said, "you are the most progressive old-fashioned lady I know."

And I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a statement of concern.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.

- William Shakespeare

Perhaps it’s the nerd in me, or my slight fascination with the West Wing, but I like to read the White House Press Briefings.

And I particularly liked today’s.

Question: Scott, there's a new round of rumors that Arafat has died. What does the White House know?

Scott: I don't have any other information for you. We continue to monitor the situation. That's what I can tell you at this point.

Question: Don't you know whether he has died, or not?

Scott: Helen, again, we continue to monitor the situation. I don't have anything further for you —

Question: You don't know anything more?

Scott: I don't have anything further for you on it at this time.

Question: There have been a number of published reports — Forbes and others — claiming that Arafat and his wife have taken between $3 billion to $6 billion from the Palestinian people. A lot of that money was contributed by Americans or by the United States, or by organizations from the United States. Is the U.S. trying to help the Palestinian people regain their money?

Scott: Connie, I don't think now is the appropriate time to comment on issues of that nature.

Question: After he dies, will you comment on it?

Scott: I just don't think now is the appropriate time to get into commenting on those matters.

Question: Will you take it for later?

Scott: Next question.

Question: On that issue, you kind of skirted the issue this morning of what…

Scott: I never skirt…

Scott: Russ, welcome back. It's been a while. How was the Nader campaign?

Question: It was wild.

Heh, to be the White House Press Secretary, you must have pluck.

I need to know if I can trust you.

Going behind the door is always risky. What if the other person runs? What if they can't handle all the baggage, the burden, and the pain?

Neither go back in fear and misgiving to the past,
nor in anxiety and forecasting to the future;
but lie quiet under His hand, having no will but His.

- H.E. Manning

My raspberry sorbet candle is burning, The Giving is playing softly on my laptop, and I’m drinking milk and eating cookies.

It’s been one of those days (the type that takes your breath away). And for some reason, the above-mentioned things seem comforting to me at the present.

Daniel flew in to take me to dinner tonight. Italian. Ambience. A quaint candle. And he also found time to serenade me a bit on the piano. It was simply beautiful.

An amazing way to end an incredible week.

The large oak trees keep dusting my deck with piles of leaves, the wind keeps blowing hard at night, and my Doc Martens are becoming The Shoes to Wear in the evening. How can Autumn not be someone’s favorite time of the year?

Tonight is going to be a long night. I’m bouncing between the election coverage and The WB (I have my priorities, you know), and I also have a bundle of things I’d like to write about for Aelki.

However, the bundle of things is large and intimidating. I still have a lot of pictures from Florida, stories about walking through the graveyard where my great-grandmother is buried, finding the house where my mother grew up, and the incredibly long drive back. And of course, there is the Incredible Job details to talk about…but where do I begin?

It’s going wonderfully and I’m learning some absolutely incredible things, but I feel sort of odd writing about it all on here. Apparently some former co-workers have a problem with my leaving and a few of them read Aelki. I don’t want to write anything that will cause things to be more awkward.

Oh, and I have a new hairdo. It’s blonde and flippy.