beaded red lights

beaded red lights, originally uploaded by wrenrow.

{it's kinda hard to explain how I got this picture, but enjoy anyway!}

Via Flickr:

The White Hot Fire

Wow. It's been a long time.
I used to really enjoy blogging frequently. I relished the chance to spill words out on the screen and once satisfied with the result, click that "Publish" button. Not sure what happened, besides, well, "Life"...

Also, I'm not sure who would read this anymore, but I've kept thinking of my little spot on the blogging world lately, this 'Wren Row', and I guess it's for a reason.
So, here I am! ^_^  I just have one poem that I wrote in the interim between the my last post and now. it describes one of the hardest days I ever had, and what I learned from it. 

----------------------------------------------

Rusty bits of wire, barbed
torn and decayed plastics
clear, smudged glass
broken to bits by sadness, smashed by white anger. 

I took my pain out to the woods that day
I took my heart, set it in a bottle, safe
then I raised my hands, filled with glass
and hurled them against rocks
til there were only shards. 

It didn't change anything
(the world didn't rock at all)
My crying, my  screaming 

was only heard by me,
the woods, God, and the stream. 

But at the end, after everything was gone
broken to pieces at my feet
and I felt empty, very empty
finally (and strangely)
there was room for me to breathe. 

Rusty bits of wire, barbed
torn and decayed plastics
clear, smudged glass
broken to bits by sadness,
to make a way for  new peace.

----------------------------------------------------

Glass is fascinating and alluring to me. I could spend hours-- no, days-- in the Cornell Glass museum and never tire of observing glass. It has so many forms, colors, shapes, and even textures. It's strong, but it's weak. It can be breathtakingly beautiful, or tiresomely plain. 
Glass is somehow a ordinary thing--sand--turned into a beautiful, useful, fragile, and oftentimes gorgeous substance.

It's melted and blown into shape. And for those brief moments, it's malleable, soft (though none can touch it) and blazing hot.

When it dries, it's cold, and clear, and no longer flexible. It can break into a million tiny pieces with one drop of the hand. Or it can shatter and yet stay intact with one car impact.

Glass is strange and to me, a real mystery... I can't understand it fully.
I guess that's why I love it.

Glass always reminds me of several Scriptures:

"Everyone's going through a refining fire sooner or later, but you'll be well-preserved, protected from the eternal flames. Be preservatives yourselves. Preserve the peace." 
(Mark 9, v. 49-50)


And this one, it's my favorite:

    Bless our God, O peoples! 
      Give him a thunderous welcome! 
   Didn't he set us on the road to life? 
      Didn't he keep us out of the ditch? 
   He trained us first, 
      passed us like silver through refining fires, 
   Brought us into hardscrabble country, 
      pushed us to our very limit, 
   Road-tested us inside and out, 
      took us to hell and back; 
   Finally he brought us 
      to this well-watered place.


(Psalm 66, v. 8-12)

You Are the Strong One

A moving poem, turned into a short film....it's about childhood dreams and where we find inner strength. Take a listen.
~H.

Book Lovers

"But I do go in for books. I love to own books. Though I read few books twice, I have filled every shelf in my house with books, have had more shelves made and filled those too. My books surround me like a cocoon. When I run my finger along the backs of my books they feel like the ribcage of an old familiar lover. Visit my shelves and you will learn much about me."

 — Joe Bennett, Beside Lovers

"Sunset"

Sunset, originally uploaded by ►CubaGallery.

"Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering."
- Saint Augustine

When You See This, Know That I Love You

(c) HEH

Make this home happy, so that you may be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are not. One thing remember, my girls. Mother is always ready to be your confidant, Father to be your friend, and both of us hope and trust that our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride and comfort of our lives.
— Lousia May Alcott, Little Women

Something that has always been a comfort to me in my life is the very fact expressed so well in this quote from a beloved book. My parents have been, and always have promised to be supports, loving hearts and ears, and guides to myself and all of my siblings for as long as they live. This selfless, life long promise floors me, every time they repeat it. I recall to mind all the times my Dad has looked me in the eyes and said, "I love you, and I want only the very best for you," or when my Mom has listened to me, then hugged me, and said, "I love you, Hannah." These may seem like rote, formulaic words to outsiders, but it's what I know is behind each word that counts.
My parents' actions also speak volumes for their incredible devotion to their family. Mom often only says with her face and eyes what her heart is really saying. She uses her hands to speak when words are useless. Her way of loving us by doing things for us;
every time she places an unexpected gift, or neat, fresh pile of folded laundry on our beds...
every time she fills up the car, and doesn't complain, even though we were supposed to fill it..
every time she read to us as kids, or combed our hair, or brushed our teeth...
every time she makes that quick lunch (because we forgot to) as we race out the door to school..
every time she listens and nods and lets us talk a mile a minute even though she has things to do..
...it's love.
It is one of her many expressions of love! They are too easy to forget the meaning of, and far too often missed, but oh-so-very important, and real.

Dad, he too often says he loves us, it's true. And I love that my parents always tell us they love us. But Daddy, he also has different ways of showing his love his family...
 Whenever Dad wakes up at an ungodly hour, while running on too little sleep from staying up working late the night before, and goes to work: it's for us. It's love. 
Whenever Dad fixes any of the crazy myriad of things that have gone wrong, uncomplaining, it's love.
Whenever ...
he drives us somewhere,
invites us to "be his buddy" while doing errands,
gently reminds us of something (when it's long overdue),
laughs at our silly jokes, or funny antics,
writes out a long, note-filled birthday called just for us,
it's Dad's way of saying, "I love you."

And isn't it good to look back sometimes and take a hard study of exactly what all the loving has been in our lives? I think it is, and I know I haven't done it often enough.

I challenge you to be looking for the ways that those who love you show their love.
Sometimes it's so easy to get used to, and to miss.

-----//-----

So, Mom and Dad, here I am, thanking you for loving me.
Even when I never saw it, didn't notice it or ignored it.
You two are more than 'heroic'. You're exactly what I hope to be like someday: selfless, caring, and faithful til the end of time! I love you, and I am extremely, truthfully grateful for you two, loving me, and loving all of us!
~Hannah

The First Stirrings of Spring....

[all photos my own (c) 2012]