today i am thankful for a lot of things.
i am thankful that i have a job.
i am thankful that God is so kind.
i am thankful for the april morning sun and autumn's cool breeze.
i am thankful that God answers prayers.
i am thankful for afternoon naps.
i am thankful that God takes us in and out of seasons of life to teach us and grow us and change us.
i am thankful for people who care.
i am thankful for a thermos and harrod's tea.
i am thankful that the thought of having something and losing it scares me less now than it used to.
i am thankful that godliness with contentment is great gain.
i am thankful that when my heart is unsettled, jesus is steadfast.
i am thankful for forgiveness.
i am thankful that when my heart is rejoicing, jesus is my reason.
i am thankful for little things and big things alike.
i am thankful that all these things are for His glory.
God is good.
God is good (all the time).
wendy, once home
that moment where recognition
of regret and remorse mingle with submission
to mistakes made and lessons learned,
heart-wrestling the line between the forgiven and the forgotten
that i cannot tread perfectly.
peter wouldn't grow up.
and i am a belt notch.
(there is a song called 'peter' by elana tonra. i love it because it reminds me of a sort of brokenness. a brokenness that is overbearing, but fleeting. because Jesus is coming back. and i am going Home.)
of regret and remorse mingle with submission
to mistakes made and lessons learned,
heart-wrestling the line between the forgiven and the forgotten
that i cannot tread perfectly.
peter wouldn't grow up.
and i am a belt notch.
(there is a song called 'peter' by elana tonra. i love it because it reminds me of a sort of brokenness. a brokenness that is overbearing, but fleeting. because Jesus is coming back. and i am going Home.)
lessons
it's easy to pick out the splinters in other people's eyes.
yet, be blind to the planks in my own;
a mess of wood
so overwhelming
i can only fall to my knees.
yet, be blind to the planks in my own;
a mess of wood
so overwhelming
i can only fall to my knees.
a fleeting thought
i bake macarons with a girl called annabelle.
she mostly hates my music taste.
but we both love jesus.
so even though we're different, we're friends.
when our macarons fail we eat the semi-cooked and collapsed macaron shells straight off the baking paper.
it's a good way to spend a wednesday afternoon.
she mostly hates my music taste.
but we both love jesus.
so even though we're different, we're friends.
when our macarons fail we eat the semi-cooked and collapsed macaron shells straight off the baking paper.
it's a good way to spend a wednesday afternoon.
sometimes
quiet nights in are often best spent reading whilst listening to william fitzsimmons in your pyjamas.
i think you can tell a lot about a person from their words.
obviously.
but especially their spelling, punctuation and grammar.
and whether or not they know what caesura and enjambment mean.
i think you can tell a lot about a person from their words.
obviously.
but especially their spelling, punctuation and grammar.
and whether or not they know what caesura and enjambment mean.
small wonders
one of my favourite things is coming home to the sound of kenny rogers singing in the kitchen.
he is no lyrical or musical genius in my books.
but there's sentimentality to him and i'm a sucker for anything that tugs the heart strings.
and, when i hear him playing, if i'm careful, i can position myself just right on the front porch so as not to be seen through the blinds of the kitchen windows but with a good enough view myself of my parents, dancing together, softly swaying.
when i was younger, mum and dad would have dinner parties and mum always refused to go to sleep unless the kitchen was spotless and all the dishes and glasses were cleaned and packed up (or when we moved house, at least all in the dishwasher). mum always refused any help though, so dad would just sit and play music and talk to her while she cleaned away, stubbornly yet efficiently, alone. dad would play whatever his flavours of the month were at the time. my father has diverse taste in music so you never really knew what it was going to be.
there would always come a point in this clean-up ritual though, where mum would be in the middle of washing a glass or drying a knife, having just been asked whether she liked the song that was playing, and say something like 'what about that song by kenny g? the one about the years? i like that one.'
my parents are the definition of opposites. in an illustrated dictionary, a portrait of the two of them standing side-by-side could be there as the visual aid for the entry on 'antonymy'. but no matter what dad was playing, or how far through it they were, he would automatically press eject on the cd player and put in kenny rogers' 'simply the best' and skip to track twelve. it never took more than one verse before they were waltzing around mid-kitchen-clean-up.
my parents will have been married for twenty four years this year and they throw less dinner parties than they used to. but sometimes when mum is just puttering around the kitchen, she will make a comment about kenny g and dad will start playing old kenny rogers' track twelve and they will waltz, arm-in-arm, like they did late at night, when i was two, five, nine, twelve, sixteen years old.
and so i linger on the porch until the song comes to its fade-out end and turn my key in the lock and greet them with a smile, which they must think is some daughterly gesture of affection.
but as i walk up the half flight of stairs to my room, i know i'm only smiling because i know my dad won't have corrected my mum again tonight.
in all their twenty four years, not once has he told her she is wrong about it being kenny g.
he is no lyrical or musical genius in my books.
but there's sentimentality to him and i'm a sucker for anything that tugs the heart strings.
and, when i hear him playing, if i'm careful, i can position myself just right on the front porch so as not to be seen through the blinds of the kitchen windows but with a good enough view myself of my parents, dancing together, softly swaying.
when i was younger, mum and dad would have dinner parties and mum always refused to go to sleep unless the kitchen was spotless and all the dishes and glasses were cleaned and packed up (or when we moved house, at least all in the dishwasher). mum always refused any help though, so dad would just sit and play music and talk to her while she cleaned away, stubbornly yet efficiently, alone. dad would play whatever his flavours of the month were at the time. my father has diverse taste in music so you never really knew what it was going to be.
there would always come a point in this clean-up ritual though, where mum would be in the middle of washing a glass or drying a knife, having just been asked whether she liked the song that was playing, and say something like 'what about that song by kenny g? the one about the years? i like that one.'
my parents are the definition of opposites. in an illustrated dictionary, a portrait of the two of them standing side-by-side could be there as the visual aid for the entry on 'antonymy'. but no matter what dad was playing, or how far through it they were, he would automatically press eject on the cd player and put in kenny rogers' 'simply the best' and skip to track twelve. it never took more than one verse before they were waltzing around mid-kitchen-clean-up.
my parents will have been married for twenty four years this year and they throw less dinner parties than they used to. but sometimes when mum is just puttering around the kitchen, she will make a comment about kenny g and dad will start playing old kenny rogers' track twelve and they will waltz, arm-in-arm, like they did late at night, when i was two, five, nine, twelve, sixteen years old.
and so i linger on the porch until the song comes to its fade-out end and turn my key in the lock and greet them with a smile, which they must think is some daughterly gesture of affection.
but as i walk up the half flight of stairs to my room, i know i'm only smiling because i know my dad won't have corrected my mum again tonight.
in all their twenty four years, not once has he told her she is wrong about it being kenny g.
at the end of a long day
when i survey
the wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died,
my richest gain, i count but loss,
(and pour contempt on all my pride.)
forbid it Lord, that i should boast
save in the death of Christ my God.
all the vain things that charm me most,
i sacrifice them to His blood.
see from
His head
His hands
His feet,
sorrow and love flow mingled down.
did e'er such love and sorrow meet?
or thorns compose so rich a crown?
were the whole realm of nature, that were an offering far too small.
love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul,
my life,
my all.
the wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died,
my richest gain, i count but loss,
(and pour contempt on all my pride.)
forbid it Lord, that i should boast
save in the death of Christ my God.
all the vain things that charm me most,
i sacrifice them to His blood.
see from
His head
His hands
His feet,
sorrow and love flow mingled down.
did e'er such love and sorrow meet?
or thorns compose so rich a crown?
were the whole realm of nature, that were an offering far too small.
love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul,
my life,
my all.
'til i only dwell in Thee
Heartless: The Story of the Tin Man from Brandon McCormick on Vimeo.
this was released about ten months ago.
it should make you cry.
there's not much that is more heartbreaking than someone getting so lost in doing something for someone they love that they forget who they love and how to love them best.
but it's easy, and we all do.
it's that classic example of a spouse saying 'i'm too busy doing washing for you and cooking for you and cleaning for you and working for you'. while all the while it would be enough for the other if they were to simply to sit with them and say 'how was your day?'.
and i do it to jesus constantly. and i'm so sorry for it. because at the end of my days i don't want to be a tin man, old and rusty, forgetting who i've given my heart to.
i want to delight in you, jesus, and, at the end of it all, to rejoice in your sweet and precious promises, and sing 'my heart is yours, Love, yours alone, Love,' each and everyday, for forever.
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