It’s not my picture, but I did see a “Caution-Wet Floor” sign on one of our rain-drenched sidewalks this morning. Funny Friday.

After a recent trip to the grocery store, I have determined that I am at a very unusual stage of life.

As we walked back from the grocery store we were momentarily detained at the playground by an inviting set of swings. I set my bag of oatmeal and soup cans on the rocks nearby. While swinging, I accidentally kicked the bag open, sending the boxes and cans rolling and bouncing across the ground. I was just sort of tickled by the scenario… Who faces such a problem? I’m old enough to purchase my own groceries, but swings are not yet past me. I hope they never will be.

Here’s another momentous occasion: My first carton of eggs. Organic nonetheless.

…and these are just some happy pictures of September-nothing to do with growing up.

written with music

Aspen, I know your secrets
and I saw you on that day
when they asked me
if this could be my home
where the wild grasses sway

I think… that you love the wind
when it’s raging through your leaves
and I know that
you adore the tempest
more than all the other trees

Rain drops… may as well not fall
if they drip a soothing rain
but a sprinkle
Lest they’re pounding hard
and they’re pouring down the panes

You love… the imbrifero
At its overpow’ring best
It incites you
and you invite the storm
as it thunders in your chest

Aspen, when the clouds have passed
I could never even tell
but your branches
as they quiver softly
say you love the calm as well

“Waterborne diseases are caused by stupid things like pathogenic microorganisms which are directly transmitted when contaminated fresh water is consumed.” -Wikipedia

I jest not. That was the first line of the article on waterborne diseases this afternoon. On an unrelated note, did you know that Polish is the fourth largest Wikipedia edition?

Excerpt from a journal entry I recently wrote for class

In this week’s selection of reading, the author describes the human need to escape from the chaos and mindless noise of everyday life and simply be silent. Without this, he says, he become “fretful, uncertain beings immersed in a cacophony of noise that destroys sanity and equilibrium.” The picture he painted of the human propensity towards incessant “busy-ness” was sad and striking. I, for one, have found that I cannot function as efficiently if I do not set aside some time during my day to simply pause and enjoy the quiet. As often as I can, I like to spend this time outside. I walk, jog, or sometimes just sit in a serene, woodsy spot and soak in the music of birds and trees. I don’t understand why many people find this to be such a challenge. The radio goes on the moment they hop in the car, and televisions provide a steady hum of white noise as they carry out daily activities around the house. The iPod has practically become a bodily appendage and the term “awkward silence” is applied to any 20 second interval of break in conversation. What has caused our society’s unusual discomfort with a mere moment of quiescence? Everybody knows how to pray–to utter a few words of thankfulness and praise or pour forth a long list of supplications. But do we ever calm our restless souls and vagrant minds enough to hear Him speak?

…and I wonder why I don’t always understand what God is asking of me. Take some time to listen to Him today.
P.S. The picture below is roughly what today looked like. Roughly.

I am a morning person.

I’m not sure if this is because I was raised by parents who enjoy getting up before the crack of dawn to jump into an ice-cold swimming pool, or if it is actually a distinct characteristic of my own, but I love mornings. Most mornings, regardless of how long I was up the night before, my body clock will rouse me between 7:00 and 8:30 am. For someone with an agricultural family, this may sound like sleeping in, but to most people my age, the idea of waking up any time before 10:00 am sounds horrifying and cruel. If my evening schedule would permit, however, I would be up at 5:00 to watch the sun rise.

Mornings are consistently beautiful in every season. In the springtime they bring peaceful morning showers, washing the last bits of dirty snow down the street in happy, bubbling runnels. In the summer and fall their dewy sheets glisten off of intricately, fragile cobwebs and flaming, autumn colors. The winter mornings gleam gloriously off sparkling snow banks, and shimmering ice crystals, pouring their blinding brilliance through my frosted windows.

When I was a child, I loved to lay in bed for a few extra minutes, pondering the delight of a new day and drinking in my surroundings: the sounds of my parents quietly talking in the kitchen and the hum of water boiling for oatmeal, the rich, warm scent of coffee drifting down the hallway, the occasional creak of the bed, reminding me to watch that I didn’t land on my little sister below when I leapt off the top bunk of our bed. It was a nice place to wake up: sunlight dancing through crisp lace curtains onto the pale green and violet walls I’d helped my mother sponge paint when I was about five (well… I kept her company at least), the painting of a mother and daughter sitting on a wooden, garden swing in the fresh morning mist (that is so us ), the piles of ferocious stuffed animals strewn about the room and bed that I preferred to dolls (a tiger, wolf, leopard, and buffalo were the favorites… also a pig named Miss Maple, go figure). I did have at least one beloved doll. I found her faceless, hairless and shabbily dressed at a garage sale for $1. The poor dear was quickly crowned with lovely black tresses made from sock, a lopsided ruby smile, sparkling blue eyes and an extensive wardrobe–snipped, sewn and stitched together by yours truly. She was named Charlotte. I have a vague feeling the idea might have been stolen from a Laura Ingalls book.

Anyway, I have somehow slipped from the topic of mornings to childhood memories. Perhaps they are tangentially related by qualities of freshness and innocence. As Anne of Green Gables says, “Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” I believe that feeling is especially strong early in the morning: today is a new day with no mistakes in it. God promises us fresh, new mercy with every morning. What a miracle and beautiful promise that is! A new sunrise pours into my room right now, glowing orange from the bright, Hawaiian cloth covering our window and feeding my happy umbrella plants. So I feel His grace pouring generously into my undeserving heart once more.

I would love to hear a childhood memory or two of your own, if you should chance to drop by.

Otherwise have a wonderfully, peaceful morning and blessed rest of the day!
LCQ

A gallery of photos from the past month or so… The last three were taken this morning before church. It was a lovely Sunday.

I don’t have anything really profound to share tonight–just an amazing experience. My entire family ended up sitting around the bonfire in Adirondack chairs gazing up at the sky this evening. The sky has been rather cloudy lately, but tonight the stars were so fabulously clear. It reminded me of this song “Stars“, by David Crowder. We counted at least 27 “shooting stars”. It was beautiful, peaceful… stellar. Spend some time star-gazing when you get the chance.

Good night, all!

P.S. Looks like I just hit post #100. It only took me two years.

I’d Love to, but…
One summer evening, when my brother was about four, a neighbor friend of his came over to play in the yard. The two seemed to be having a good time, but it was soon time for bed and the boy’s dad came to pick him up. “It looks like you two certainly had fun this evening,” my mother observed, “Do you think you’d want to come over again tomorrow and play, Nathan?” He thought for a moment and then shook his head mournfully, “No, I’m planning on running a fever.”

Fish, Mommy?
That same summer my sister was almost two. We were planning on getting some pet fish so my mother and I were in the basement setting up the filtering system and rocks in our tank. My sister watched curiously and asked what we were doing. My mother explained that we were setting up a home for our new fish. My sister’s eyes lit up with revelation and turning, she toddled upstairs to the kitchen. Soon she returned holding our dinner leftovers, wrapped in tin foil–two fillets of orange roughy, “Fish, mommy?”

Part of my curiosity is to see how this poll widget works and the other part is actually wanting to know what would be your ideal summer day.

P.S. Sorry about the overlapping colors. If you highlight all the words with your mouse, you can read them all.