The older I get, the more time I spend growing up, the more I realize how much I just don't know. I'm told I'm very smart. Someone somewhere gave me that label and sometimes it goes to my head. But the more experiences I have in the Real World, the more I wish that label would go the heck away. I don't want people to think I'm the Smart One. Firstly, I hate stereotypes and every sub-label associated with them. Secondly, I know nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Is my stupidity my own fault? Yes and no. I am very young and sheltered and give people a lot more room than I should. That's just me. I'm like that, and I'm only now starting to be okay with who I am.
I could play the Blame Game. I could say that although I have an innately high level of respect for my elders, adults are full of contradictions. They tell you to grow up and act mature, but they don't tell you how. They hide all the secrets and uncertainty of Adulthood. Nobody tells you about the different kind of hard you experience when you start making your way on your own. Nobody tells you how often you have to compromise, and the heartbreak that comes along with difficult choices. Nobody tells you how much of a mess everything will be, how sometimes you feel like you are juggling flaming tennis balls while riding a unicycle, and just when things can't seem to be any more stressful, you can't run to your mommy with every issue. You have to just deal. You have actual responsibilities, accompanied by serious consequences and lots of grueling paperwork. Your parents aren't always going to be there to kiss it better, and you don't realize how much you loved their smothering until they can't smother you anymore and you have to miss it.
Maybe the grown-ups told me. I probably didn't listen. Pubescence hits and you stop listening to adults until the adults no one listens to are your colleagues, your bosses, your aging relatives.
You could say I'm complaining, but I am not. I am confessing. Confessing that I was wrong, that adulthood is not happily-ever-after and crimson sunsets and family dinners every night. It may look like that, but under the surface it's a mess of oxymorons, a gray place where people fall in and out of love and the monsters you thought lived in the dark of your childhood bedroom relocate to your head. It's plain hard. It's rough and mean, and the more you know the more you wish you didn't.
"In much wisdom there is much grief, and increasing knowledge results in increasing pain." -Ecclesiastes 1:18. I like how even the Bible has something to say about the grief that comes with knowing. God knows. He's the only one who really understands everything. And if it pains me to know what little I know, then I cannot even fathom the heartbreak our Creator must experience. I want to be like God, to follow His example, but I do not want to be Him. Thankfully He sent His son to die for our sins, that I may not feel the unbearable weight of knowing, basking in the glory of Him and His extravagant love and grace instead.
These are my thoughts. I am still growing, forever changing and learning. I have to be strong, able to learn the ugly alongside the beautiful. And if I am weak, if I crumble under the weight of evil in the world, then am I not like everyone else? Am I not just a confused young woman, both grateful and furious because nobody told me?
I don't know. I really don't know. And I have to radically trust my heavenly Father to carry out His plans and continue to deliver me, even when what was black and white smudges gray.
--Laura :)
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Love and madness.
Growing up is a scary thing. One minute I'm a mess, the next I'm able to look back with a bittersweet smile and see how far I've come. I've been in the looking-back phase lately, and it has come to my attention that I have quite fallen out of love with the idea of being in love.
When I was younger, I felt like I always had to like some boy- whether he was my friend's older brother or a character from a book or movie. It was a cycle that ended very messily a couple of years ago, when I woke up to the fact that 1) my behavior was destructive to me mentally and emotionally, and 2) it was seriously getting in the way of my relationship with God. So I stopped. Not right away- I ripped the metaphorical Band-Aid off all at once and boy, did it hurt like Hell. It took me a long time to heal, to find something else to focus on, to fill the void in my mind that had once been captivated with thoughts about boys and love and relationships. Thank God He brought me out of that dark place, that I might be more in love with Him than the idea of some boy or another that I barely knew outside of my head. "But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace\to me was not without effect." -1st Corinthians 15:10 is a verse that I seriously love, and feel practically applies to how gracious God has been to me, and how little I deserve His grace, throughout this messy process.
I used to be in love with being in love. Actually, let me rephrase that- I was in love with my idea of love. A flimsy idea involving an emotional Prince Charming riding in on a white horse to rescue me from every insecurity and meet my needs with perfect words and kisses on my forehead. I seriously expected every boy I had a crush on to be like that, and because of that I did a lot of damage to myself, as well as to whatever poor boy I liked who didn't kiss my hand or tell me I was lovely. My expectations were so high, and I was so naive, and because of that I ruined too many chances and cried too many tears.
Looking back I am sometimes ashamed and full of regrets, but I am learning to forgive myself. I really didn't know any better, I was a selfish young teenage girl with her head in the clouds and her heart pledged to a boy who never existed. Now I know that real love isn't waiting for some perfect person to come around and make you happy. True romance isn't needing someone more than you need air, it isn't lovestruck poetry or a wedding band on your finger. Real love is practical; it's putting someone before yourself and working hard because God gave you this one person to love, maybe for forever, and He doesn't play around when He puts people in your life. Love is helping, sacrificing until it hurts because your soul and the soul of your significant other just seem to get each other. There is a certain degree of waiting involved, but not the passively-staring-out-your-window, looking-for-your-prince-to-take-you-off-to-Narnia type of waiting. I think it's a calm sort of waiting, the kind of patience which requires a lot of self-respect and self-control, as well as the motivation to live your life to the fullest, knowing that every day might bring you one step closer to meeting your person halfway but not focusing all of your energy on that hope. It may sound cliche, but true love is a verb.
At least, these are all my thoughts on love, and I have never really been in love with a guy. These words of mine have come from some years of hard learning- learning from my mistakes as well as the mistakes of others, from taking advice on relationships as well as occasionally giving it. This is my view of love at the moment, and that might change, next week or next year or maybe never. God only knows how right or how wrong I am.
Am I still a hopeless romantic? Yes and no, because my definition of Romantic is different now. I am no longer in love with being in love, because now I am starting to see love as a serious commitment, and I am not exactly ready for that at all. Maybe it's part of becoming an adult, or maybe my hormones are finally calming down, but when I think about love now it is not in daydreams about my first kiss or my wedding day. It's in touch with reality, in practical thoughts and prayers on how I can guard my heart for now and work towards being a tolerable spouse someday. Maybe everything will change when I find my Person, maybe then it will be easier to think about marriage and everything before and after. But, for now? I'm young and unattached and single as a Pringle. And thank God for that.
--Laura :)
When I was younger, I felt like I always had to like some boy- whether he was my friend's older brother or a character from a book or movie. It was a cycle that ended very messily a couple of years ago, when I woke up to the fact that 1) my behavior was destructive to me mentally and emotionally, and 2) it was seriously getting in the way of my relationship with God. So I stopped. Not right away- I ripped the metaphorical Band-Aid off all at once and boy, did it hurt like Hell. It took me a long time to heal, to find something else to focus on, to fill the void in my mind that had once been captivated with thoughts about boys and love and relationships. Thank God He brought me out of that dark place, that I might be more in love with Him than the idea of some boy or another that I barely knew outside of my head. "But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace\to me was not without effect." -1st Corinthians 15:10 is a verse that I seriously love, and feel practically applies to how gracious God has been to me, and how little I deserve His grace, throughout this messy process.
 |
| another translation of this verse that offers somewhat of a different perspective and I kind of love it :) |
Looking back I am sometimes ashamed and full of regrets, but I am learning to forgive myself. I really didn't know any better, I was a selfish young teenage girl with her head in the clouds and her heart pledged to a boy who never existed. Now I know that real love isn't waiting for some perfect person to come around and make you happy. True romance isn't needing someone more than you need air, it isn't lovestruck poetry or a wedding band on your finger. Real love is practical; it's putting someone before yourself and working hard because God gave you this one person to love, maybe for forever, and He doesn't play around when He puts people in your life. Love is helping, sacrificing until it hurts because your soul and the soul of your significant other just seem to get each other. There is a certain degree of waiting involved, but not the passively-staring-out-your-window, looking-for-your-prince-to-take-you-off-to-Narnia type of waiting. I think it's a calm sort of waiting, the kind of patience which requires a lot of self-respect and self-control, as well as the motivation to live your life to the fullest, knowing that every day might bring you one step closer to meeting your person halfway but not focusing all of your energy on that hope. It may sound cliche, but true love is a verb.
At least, these are all my thoughts on love, and I have never really been in love with a guy. These words of mine have come from some years of hard learning- learning from my mistakes as well as the mistakes of others, from taking advice on relationships as well as occasionally giving it. This is my view of love at the moment, and that might change, next week or next year or maybe never. God only knows how right or how wrong I am.
Am I still a hopeless romantic? Yes and no, because my definition of Romantic is different now. I am no longer in love with being in love, because now I am starting to see love as a serious commitment, and I am not exactly ready for that at all. Maybe it's part of becoming an adult, or maybe my hormones are finally calming down, but when I think about love now it is not in daydreams about my first kiss or my wedding day. It's in touch with reality, in practical thoughts and prayers on how I can guard my heart for now and work towards being a tolerable spouse someday. Maybe everything will change when I find my Person, maybe then it will be easier to think about marriage and everything before and after. But, for now? I'm young and unattached and single as a Pringle. And thank God for that.
--Laura :)
Thursday, April 3, 2014
some imperfect thoughts on empathy
I'm listening to some very poignant piano music I only just stumbled upon somewhere deep within the reaches if the Internet, and it has inspired me to abandon my responsibilities to schoolwork and friends by writing on this blog.
Truth be told, Paul Cardall (the fantastic pianist I mentioned in the above paragraph) was not the sole reason behind what my conscientious self calls a rebellion. My heart has been heavy lately, and for once it is not because of my own insecurities. I've been chalking all of my recent growth up to entering adulthood- empathy is something you learn as you get older, right? I think I have always been an empathetic person, and it is only now as I become a *shudders uncertainly* woman that I realize what it really meant all along.
I'm used to the weight of my own issues being heavy. But when bad things happen to other people, in my selfishness I bear their burden, usually without being asked. This is just how God made me, and I am starting to understand that it's okay to be this way, and I should not be ashamed when someone else's demons bring me to tears.
I am also starting to understand that everyone processes their grief differently. I for one am a talker. I have to talk about things in order to process them; I usually cry while I talk about whatever it is too. My dad, on the other hand, is not like that at all. It's almost painful to watch him make a conscious effort not to talk about his feelings when he's upset. Today, for example, he had to drive me halfway across the state to take care of some college-y business in his hometown. Since it's my grandmother's birthday I suggested that we visit her grave while we were in the area. And so we entered the cemetery under the deepening blue of the April sky, and we hunted for my grandparent's dual headstone, finally finding it nestled as always between the little prickly bushes my dad planted himself after my grandfather died. We stood before their graves, no flowers or gifts to leave as a token of our visit. Dad kind of started to cry, and I started crying because I'm a sympathetic crier, and when one of your parents cries it's really hard not to start crying too, because you know something is really wrong or sad when even your biggest sources of comfort cannot keep it together. But Dad said nothing and started walking around, finding graves of old family friends and neighbors. All I wanted was for my daddy to explain his grief or hug me or something, but like I said, Dad is not a talker. And in that small moment in the cemetery I realized: sometimes you just need to let sad people be. Not everyone expresses their emotions, and sometimes the best you can do is just be a shoulder, a silent presence while they cry it out.
But you can be there for someone too, if they let you. Even if you are incapable of offering a physical shoulder for them to cry on, you can still send them a note or a text that simply says "listen, I don't totally understand what you're going through, but I still love you and I'm praying for you and if you need anything, I'm here." Sometimes, that is just enough.
For me, sharing the grievances of others is a humbling experience. It makes me realize time and time again how sheltered I am, and how grateful I am to God and my parents for sheltering me, preserving my innocence for as long as possible so that I may be ever more sensitive to the issues of others when I learn of them. It has also come to my attention that I do not, in fact, know everything- I know next to nothing, tragically. And most of the nothing that I think I know has to do with my prejudices against other people. I judge people too readily, which is probably why I am so often brought to my knees when I learn of the struggles of those around me. Empathy makes me realize how little of a person I am, yet reassures me of the greatness of the God whom I hope to emulate with my whole life.
So, the moral of this post? Firstly, piano music makes me want to change the world, pursue my passions, and fall in love. And also, it's okay to get emotional for other people, to be happy for them when they are happy and sad for them when they are sad. Some people need to know when you feel for them, and others would rather not. But don't be afraid to shed a tear or say a prayer when someone else's problems become too much for your heart to bear.
--Laura :)
Truth be told, Paul Cardall (the fantastic pianist I mentioned in the above paragraph) was not the sole reason behind what my conscientious self calls a rebellion. My heart has been heavy lately, and for once it is not because of my own insecurities. I've been chalking all of my recent growth up to entering adulthood- empathy is something you learn as you get older, right? I think I have always been an empathetic person, and it is only now as I become a *shudders uncertainly* woman that I realize what it really meant all along.
I'm used to the weight of my own issues being heavy. But when bad things happen to other people, in my selfishness I bear their burden, usually without being asked. This is just how God made me, and I am starting to understand that it's okay to be this way, and I should not be ashamed when someone else's demons bring me to tears.
I am also starting to understand that everyone processes their grief differently. I for one am a talker. I have to talk about things in order to process them; I usually cry while I talk about whatever it is too. My dad, on the other hand, is not like that at all. It's almost painful to watch him make a conscious effort not to talk about his feelings when he's upset. Today, for example, he had to drive me halfway across the state to take care of some college-y business in his hometown. Since it's my grandmother's birthday I suggested that we visit her grave while we were in the area. And so we entered the cemetery under the deepening blue of the April sky, and we hunted for my grandparent's dual headstone, finally finding it nestled as always between the little prickly bushes my dad planted himself after my grandfather died. We stood before their graves, no flowers or gifts to leave as a token of our visit. Dad kind of started to cry, and I started crying because I'm a sympathetic crier, and when one of your parents cries it's really hard not to start crying too, because you know something is really wrong or sad when even your biggest sources of comfort cannot keep it together. But Dad said nothing and started walking around, finding graves of old family friends and neighbors. All I wanted was for my daddy to explain his grief or hug me or something, but like I said, Dad is not a talker. And in that small moment in the cemetery I realized: sometimes you just need to let sad people be. Not everyone expresses their emotions, and sometimes the best you can do is just be a shoulder, a silent presence while they cry it out.
But you can be there for someone too, if they let you. Even if you are incapable of offering a physical shoulder for them to cry on, you can still send them a note or a text that simply says "listen, I don't totally understand what you're going through, but I still love you and I'm praying for you and if you need anything, I'm here." Sometimes, that is just enough.
For me, sharing the grievances of others is a humbling experience. It makes me realize time and time again how sheltered I am, and how grateful I am to God and my parents for sheltering me, preserving my innocence for as long as possible so that I may be ever more sensitive to the issues of others when I learn of them. It has also come to my attention that I do not, in fact, know everything- I know next to nothing, tragically. And most of the nothing that I think I know has to do with my prejudices against other people. I judge people too readily, which is probably why I am so often brought to my knees when I learn of the struggles of those around me. Empathy makes me realize how little of a person I am, yet reassures me of the greatness of the God whom I hope to emulate with my whole life.
So, the moral of this post? Firstly, piano music makes me want to change the world, pursue my passions, and fall in love. And also, it's okay to get emotional for other people, to be happy for them when they are happy and sad for them when they are sad. Some people need to know when you feel for them, and others would rather not. But don't be afraid to shed a tear or say a prayer when someone else's problems become too much for your heart to bear.
--Laura :)
Monday, March 24, 2014
thank God He has a sense of humor.
The Bible says in Ecclesiastes 3 that there is a time to laugh. And who am I, as a young Christian with an honestly inconsistent fire for her faith, to ignore that profound truth?
I love to laugh. There are so many funny things in life, and happy things, and things that are so perfect that I cannot help but giggle with joy. There are funny cat videos on Tumblr. And conversations I have with my little sister as we lie half-asleep on our bunks in the midnight darkness- if anyone overheard us they would instantly think us insane (and be mostly correct). And endings to my favorite movies, when the good guys win, or the boy kisses the girl as the music swells, or everyone dances and parties at the wedding, and I hug a pillow on my couch, my eyes shining like the utterly ridiculous romantic I truly am underneath my mask of cynicism and lame science puns. And laughter bounds out of me- sometimes high and girlish, other times without a sound as I breathlessly bend over, reveling in honest mirth.
I firmly believe people tend to take themselves too seriously. I can say this with conviction, because as a tragically typical teenage girl I know what it is to make my so-called issues a stubborn part of my identity. Not to say that there aren't people whose lives are actually riddled with problems, but regardless of how sad things may be, we get beautiful sunrises and sunsets every single day- isn't that amazing? And parents have adorable toddlers who say the darndest things, and don't we all laugh at their innocence? And lovers get proposed to and married all the time- do we not laugh with them in their joy?
There is so much humor and happiness to be found in everyday life. Like when I hear a new song and listen to it on repeat until it becomes my own. Or when I hear my little brother singing along to his iPod, alone in his room. Or when my mom's family gets together (enough said; they are more entertaining than cable).
When I watched Les Miserables for the first time, the message I got out of it was: life sucks, but there's always tomorrow. And that's true. Whatever you may be going through could be enough to make you crawl into the fetal position and sob loud. But, darling, there is always hope for tomorrow- better yet, there's a little hope in the here and now. Hope for the present is everywhere- in the sarcastic banter between old friends, and hugs that lift you off your feet, and family drama you can reminisce over for years to come. So don't be afraid to laugh. It makes everything easier to bear and usually sets people at ease. Develop a uniquely hysterical sense of humor and don't be reserved with it. It's okay to be inappropriate and immature every now and again- you'd be surprised how many people's days can be made with a bit of middle school bathroom humor. There. I said it. And you should say it too.
--Laura :)
I love to laugh. There are so many funny things in life, and happy things, and things that are so perfect that I cannot help but giggle with joy. There are funny cat videos on Tumblr. And conversations I have with my little sister as we lie half-asleep on our bunks in the midnight darkness- if anyone overheard us they would instantly think us insane (and be mostly correct). And endings to my favorite movies, when the good guys win, or the boy kisses the girl as the music swells, or everyone dances and parties at the wedding, and I hug a pillow on my couch, my eyes shining like the utterly ridiculous romantic I truly am underneath my mask of cynicism and lame science puns. And laughter bounds out of me- sometimes high and girlish, other times without a sound as I breathlessly bend over, reveling in honest mirth.
I firmly believe people tend to take themselves too seriously. I can say this with conviction, because as a tragically typical teenage girl I know what it is to make my so-called issues a stubborn part of my identity. Not to say that there aren't people whose lives are actually riddled with problems, but regardless of how sad things may be, we get beautiful sunrises and sunsets every single day- isn't that amazing? And parents have adorable toddlers who say the darndest things, and don't we all laugh at their innocence? And lovers get proposed to and married all the time- do we not laugh with them in their joy?
There is so much humor and happiness to be found in everyday life. Like when I hear a new song and listen to it on repeat until it becomes my own. Or when I hear my little brother singing along to his iPod, alone in his room. Or when my mom's family gets together (enough said; they are more entertaining than cable).
When I watched Les Miserables for the first time, the message I got out of it was: life sucks, but there's always tomorrow. And that's true. Whatever you may be going through could be enough to make you crawl into the fetal position and sob loud. But, darling, there is always hope for tomorrow- better yet, there's a little hope in the here and now. Hope for the present is everywhere- in the sarcastic banter between old friends, and hugs that lift you off your feet, and family drama you can reminisce over for years to come. So don't be afraid to laugh. It makes everything easier to bear and usually sets people at ease. Develop a uniquely hysterical sense of humor and don't be reserved with it. It's okay to be inappropriate and immature every now and again- you'd be surprised how many people's days can be made with a bit of middle school bathroom humor. There. I said it. And you should say it too.
--Laura :)
Friday, March 7, 2014
I'm a bad writer.
Hey.
I'm a bad writer. I'm inconsistent and shabby at best. I keep my thoughts bottled up inside until they boil over into some confusing mess. Writing has always been very cathartic to me, soothing to my soul like cool water on a fresh burn. So, why do I put off posting on my blog, and writing down my prayers before bed, and jotting down the things I find inspirational in my everyday life?
Essentially, I am a tragically typical teenage girl (young woman? I've reached that awkwardly vague part of my life when my age ends in -teen but I'm legally an adult). My priorities are spending time with people who make me feel good about myself and thinking too much about things that will never happen. I like to think I'm much deeper than most my age, that because I like to read books sometimes and have a bit of natural beauty, I must be complicated and wise beyond my years. I think my thoughts are startlingly brilliant, like I am the only one who sees the world the way I do. Then I go on the Internet and discover that I am just like every other Christian white girl in the world- awkward, emotional, and in love with being in love.
So I put off my writing. I say, "after I take this exam," or "after I get home from this or that trip." Telling myself I'll get around to it feels almost as good as actually getting around to it. And then, I actually do it, and I ask myself why I let myself avoid it for so long.
I've realized we tend to survive by hoping for the things we want and avoiding the things we need to do. Thinking about future events, the excitement and even the worry, keep people going. I'm looking forward to graduating. After that I'll look forward to going away to school in the fall. And after that I'll look forward to figuring out what God wants me to do with my life. It's a frenzied, but sadly pointless, cycle. And while we are hoping we are avoiding doing the right things in life- the hard things. Things like saying what needs to be said, even when we cannot anticipate the reactions of the people who hear our words. Or being really, selflessly humble, or trying something new. And while there is nothing wrong with hoping for the future for the right reasons, avoiding what we as people are called to do can have a dangerously lasting effect, on our own lives as well as the lives of those around us.
So, don't put off doing what may seem hard, or boring, or controversial. Don't wait until the last possible moment to accomplish what God may be calling you to do. I'm not saying you shouldn't ever do what you love, only that what you're afraid of doing might be what you love. Don't be like me. Don't be a bad writer who thinks what she loves is a chore, only to finally get around to it and end up being pleasantly surprised by the burst of joy she feels when her words transcend every inexplicable thought jumbled up in her mind.
--Laura :)
Monday, January 6, 2014
New Year's Lists
Happy New Year!
Does the fact that it's actually 2014 seem surreal to anyone else, or is it just me? I keep thinking, "Wow, this means 2004 was ten years ago, and a hundred years ago the world was on the brink of the Great War (the latter according to Downton Abbey, my most trusted source of historical facts next to my brother Ben, and Wikipedia)."
As 2013 brings itself to its hectic, too-fast close, and we open to the fresh, blank page of the New Year, I have been thinking over the past 365 or so days, and how I have changed. It makes me feel victorious yet sad. Just last night I looked through my college folder (I am also a very accomplished nerd with an overstuffed folder of everything related to higher education) and realized how old I am, how who I am right now is pretty close to who I will be for the rest of my life. I'll probably never get any taller, and unless I become a pack-a-day smoker my voice will most likely stay the same until I REALLY grow old. Who I am at seventeen could be little different than at seventy-seven.
So I made some lists. Lists I created to hopefully help me grow, or look at myself in a more positive light, or get out of my comfort zone. And here they are, for the whole world to see, on the blog which I created, ironically, for the very same reasons as my New Year's Lists:
Things I accomplished in 2014:
-traveled a bit (pretty much Boston, Pennsylvania, and Cape Cod. Yeah, my life is that boring)
-met some pretty awesome new friends, strengthened relationships with old ones, and stopped chasing ones that were just not good for me
-got taller (I'm officially five foot three! Just one inch below the average American woman baby;)
-drove a car
-stood where the river meets the sea
-went cliff-diving (which was not as impressive as you think but just as exhilarating)
-went on a missions trip <3
-went on a roller coaster for the FIRST TIME EVER!!
Things I hope to accomplish in 2014:
-my first semester of college (hopefully without gaining the Freshmen Fifteen)
-travel a bit more, hopefully off the East Coast for the first time
-make new friends (but keep the old, one is silver, one is gold;)
-sing and dance and laugh a lot more
-grow (this has to do with my spirituality, as well as my underaverage height)
-cut and donate my hair (for those of you who are tired of me and my very long locks, its for a good cause I swear! As for the cut, I hope to go for something like Anne Hathaway's in the movie Valentine's Day [knowing full well that cutting my hair like her will not make me look like her])
-run more, perhaps in a 5k (I figure by writing about running for all the world to see that I'll actually motivate myself to do so)
And I was going to make a list of Reasons why 2014 is going to be the best year yet, but then I found this John Green video which pretty much sums up what I have to say on that subject:
Today is January 6th. We are almost a week into a new year, one that hasn't been experienced yet- isn't that phenomenal? I have been thinking that perhaps a new year is a good beginning, a time to put things right, a time to forgive. Of course, there will be things I won't be able to change from last year, but there are plenty of things I can hit the Reset button on at midnight on the last night of the year. So why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I put myself out there, and banish bad habits, and strengthen my relationship with God? I am so excited to see what the future holds, which goes to show how far I've come in twelve months.
Can a year make a difference? I think so. Anything can happen if you make it happen.
--Laura :)
Monday, December 23, 2013
I am starting this post off as if we are old friends in a coffee shop.
Today is Christmas Eve-Eve. Have you ever noticed how grey and wet everything turns towards the end of the year? Of course you have. Sometimes I think the real reason everyone overdoses on holiday decorations in December is to cover up the bare tree branches and dirty snow drifts.
Do you want to know something odd about me? I love the last couple months of the year. Not because of the holidays, really. I love November, when all the leaves are on the ground and incandescently beautiful sunsets can be seen through the bare forests. I read Wuthering Heights my sophomore year of high school, and it instilled in me a love of fog and rain and snowflakes under shining streetlamps at night. When December rolls around I come to understand how even Creation declares the glory of God- I see it in the dark gray of early twilight, and the periwinkle blue of snowy skies.
I spend a lot of time on Tumblr, looking at pictures of windswept landscapes and gray city streets. My URL is even november-gray-feelings. Scrolling down my Dashboard and seeing pictures like these
Do you want to know something odd about me? I love the last couple months of the year. Not because of the holidays, really. I love November, when all the leaves are on the ground and incandescently beautiful sunsets can be seen through the bare forests. I read Wuthering Heights my sophomore year of high school, and it instilled in me a love of fog and rain and snowflakes under shining streetlamps at night. When December rolls around I come to understand how even Creation declares the glory of God- I see it in the dark gray of early twilight, and the periwinkle blue of snowy skies.
I spend a lot of time on Tumblr, looking at pictures of windswept landscapes and gray city streets. My URL is even november-gray-feelings. Scrolling down my Dashboard and seeing pictures like these
makes me want to live a life that looks like this. I want to live in an old city or college campus, where the buildings are reminiscent of old, stone castles, with large drafty rooms and rafter-crossed ceilings. I want to walk the streets in a pea coat and handmade hat, splashing through puddles and window-shopping with the people I love the most. I want to curl up with a blanket on the sil of a picture window, reading my favorite books as I watch the world go by. I am extremely detail-oriented, and I crave a lovable life full of raindrops on windowpanes, and ice-covered tree branches, and steam rising from a fresh cup of coffee.
Today it is raining. Hard. And my house is warm and glowing, alive with Christmas lights and music. The reason this post is so short is because I am about to leave to see some good friends before the holiday. Today, it is Christmas Eve-Eve, and I have that funny, happy feeling warming my insides, telling me that everything is lovely and okay, that this life I dream of may exist in the here and now.
--Laura :)
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