March 19, 2013

Spring Interruption

Spring break (or, as my drama prof calls it, "Spring Interruption") is upon us, and my gypsy feet
(As seen above clad in my favourite burlap Toms. Which are awesome. Just sayin')
Have taken me to Zionsville, Indiana with Wyatt ("The Tall One"), Hillary ("Radish"), and- by proxy- Ruthie ("Rutabaga").
"What does one do over Spring Break?" You might ask...
Well, the answer is obvious.
You sleep.
A lot.
And when you wake up, you check your phone and Facebook, turn over, and sleep some more.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Of course, you can't sleep all day (or at least I haven't figured out a way to do so without heavy medication stimulants), so in those short, horrific bouts of cognitive awareness that come during in-between-nap-times, you go on adventures about Downtown Zionsville.
This town has so much quaint-ish charm.
I love the colour-combinations of this building. As if red and yellow weren't already the happiest of hues, when you throw in brick, wrought-iron fences, and green-shuttered white windows, the effect is pure, visual joy.
I really wish I knew how to take good photos. Instead I take these elementary little snaps that give me headaches of frustration. Someday I shall own a nifty SLR camera and photoshop. And at some point after that, I shall posses the know-how to actually operate both. And then...and then my elementary snaps shall be slightly-better photographs. I also expect that, by the time I can afford a nice SLR camera (Canon Rebel, anyone?), I shall also have a large mansion, life-size of replicas of the Tardis and a Dalek, and a team of private genetic zoologists and scientists working on creating a real unicorn. Until then, I choose to dream.
Of course we ended up at a yarn shop.
Ruthie ("Rutabaga"), and Hillary ("Radish") lurking in the background.
And when we're not adventuring, we're making pizza...
...Having tea parties...
...practicing my lines for "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown"...
...And having thrifty adventures.
We are three-peas-in-a-pod, the bee's-knees.
Or, in this case, our knees.
And then I found this most amazing, niftiest-of-nifty mugs that has a tea bag pocket on the side.
I feel like this is a sign that my life is somehow complete (even if I didn't get that unicorn, mansion, camera, or spare-home in Europe), and I can now die in peace.
Tomorrow we're to pop off to the Indianapolis Museum of Art, and I will partake of Chipotle for the first time. I'm not entirely certain which I'm more excited about. Probably the IMA. Probably.
In the mean time, I'm off to go teach The Rutabaga how to knit socks, and then (you guessed it), more sleep.

March 11, 2013

Pins and Needles

{Via Pinterest}
Perhaps Winter here would be infinitely easier to handle if I weren't feeling so utterly overwhelmed,
So unbelievably tired,
I feel like a hypocrite, or a traitor.
I love the snow;
I love the chill in the air that is more razor bite than sharp nip, the enchantment that is falling snowflakes, the joy of coming in from outdoors with numb fingers and toes, and how the kiss of the cold air turns my nose and ears a jolly colour of pink.
And yet...
And yet I can't wait for Spring.
I can't wait to see life, and to feel growth in the air, underneath my feet.
Spring break is almost here- just a few days away- and yet the season itself seems a million miles away. 
She was almost here last week, it seemed like she would crest the hill and come any moment...
But when I woke up to heavy snowfall and biting winds, it all seemed like something I dreamed during the few hours of sleep I managed to catch.
And so I try to find comfort, meaning, reprieve in the things that I love and miss most;
Things like baking with a friend,
Pots of tea,
Knitting gifts for others,
Mozart, Vivaldi, Debussy, and a good book.
But there's only so much time I can devote to these side-projects,
These diversions of delight,
Before I must plunge back into the world of assignments to be finished, speeches to be given, papers to write, exams to take.
I have to remind myself, often, how much of a blessing it is that I am even here, attending a University, and drawing closer to God.
It still doesn't temper the anxiety with which I wait for the warmth of a new season.
Come soon, Spring:
I'm waiting.
{Via Pinterest}

March 8, 2013

Friday's Things

It's that time of the week again:
Everyone's favourite day!
You can feel the excitement like a current running across the campus,
See it in the smiles of the students as they head to their final classes for the week.
"We've reached the weekend once again, and made it out alive!"
They seem to say.
And the gestures,
How everyone's hands are connected in some strange way to their hearts and souls,
Are wider, broader, more relaxed.
The silhouettes cut out against the sun-lit windows of the dining hall hold an easier pose.
Thank heaven it's Friday.
I'm constantly embarrassed by my unfailing ability to say "I'll work on that project in a few minutes, I'm just going to read a few pages of this book first," followed by my glancing at the clock soon after to find that an hour has passed.
I'm not embarrassed enough to change, though.
*turns page*
#nowplaying: Life's A Happy Song from The Muppets
"Life's a happy song
When there's someone by your side to sing along."
This verse has been running through my head, and becoming a bit of a theme.
I find it so easy to worry about the things that may or may not be in the future, and it encroaches on the joy of the present as well as keeps me from trusting the Lord.
I hope you all have the loveliest of Fridays!

March 6, 2013


A not-so-silent night,
Broken by the steady crash of waves on an ever-restless sea, growing more fervent by the minute,
and the light clank of chains and manacles that grip the wrists, necks, and ankles of a ship full of living bodies crammed belowdecks.
The captain, asleep in his cabin, snores fiercely away, yet his many crew  members can- and will- keep an eye on the ship and the slaves, poking and prodding The Chained viciously as they continue to row the heavy craft into the night.
The ship itself is a huge double-masted, pot-bellied beast, lined about with cannons created for the sole purpose of destroying other vessels and herding their inhabitants across the waves.
The dense fog and high breaking waves that crash through the oar ports onto the slaves does nothing to quench their thirst or stamp out the overpowering stench of blood and sweat. On the contrary, it seems to only worsen it as those shackled to the oars cry out in agony, steam rising from their fevered backs, the skin being rubbed painfully away under their shackles, on their blistered hands, by the frigid salty water that courses over them. The crew members, hardly more than slaves themselves, stride down the rows, cruel smiles pasted across their ragged features creating a demonic picture of destruction as they flog, heedlessly, the bodies around them. The slaves continue in their endless rhythm of push-forward, pull-back...push forward, pull back...push forward, pull back...
They have been chained to these oars for as long as they can remember, and they have no hope of ever doing otherwise. 
They never imagine a life of freedom and comfort, for they have no notion of what either is.
They are chained, broken, to these splintered oars,
In this terrible ship,
On a perpetually stormy sea,
For a hopeless eternity.
I was on that ship.
I was chained,
And hopeless.
I purchased that position willingly with my sins.
I ran away from an infinitely loving Father to do so.
I deserved to be there. 
But I have been set free. 
My soul has been emancipated by the innocent,
Perfect Son of God who smuggled me out under cover of night.
He knew that to set me free, He had to sit in my place instead.
He chained Himself to my oar, and rowed in my place.
But those chains have been broken, and now He waits,
To set the other slaves on that ship free too.
He wants to set you free,
You who sat beside, behind, before me, chained to your own oar.
He wants to disengage you from the manacles and the misery of everything that ship is,
He wants you to call out His name through that small window through which you've always seen the world.
Take a moment and imagine what true freedom might feel and look like.
It looks like nail-pierced hands,
It feels like a burdened body, chained and forlorn, given peace at last.
Aren't you ready to be emancipated?
I am linking up with Emily Wierenga for Imperfect Prose.