Swirling Swell

I have been at the beach; the glorious, pounding, grey and green, swirling swell. Heaven. I have a confession, though, I cannot deny. I am chilled by and scared of the beach. The tossing and crashing of that chaotic beauty is slightly more than I can bear. And yet, when I swim out, fresh and scared, I settle. I find the peace that I was desperately searching for on the foamy shore in the cool, blue, rolling hills. The waves are behind me, the sky is ahead. Heaven. I love coming back, digging my bare, pale toes into the sand, down, down,down, and then letting the incoming tide wisp more sand around my ankles and up, up, up. The water goes to my waist. Laughing, my head goes back as the next wave splashes into the clouds above me. Euphoria bubbles out in an expressive expanse and flail of the arms; in the shake of my head as I blink the salt out of my eyes; in the uncontrollable giggle that escapes- loud and full- into the air. Heaven. Heaven, heaven. Beauty and freedom surround me and soon, become me. Beauty. Freedom.

Journal Entry One-Hundred-and-Four

I have drifted. Again. It is as if my heart has collapsed for a moment. A long moment, sure as heaven I'm not feeling clearly. I can think marvellously, but my heart- oh, me. This is strange. It is not a bad state from the looks of things. . .I mean, I'm utterly fine.

But that's just it. I'm fine. I don't want to be fine, I want to be an extreme. I don't want to 'fit' into this apathetic suburbia-scape. I want to be head-over-heels in awestruck love for God, or deeply angered; enough to know the release of forgiveness when- if- I accept or receive it. I want to be wracked with sadness, just to grasp the peace that would wash over me like a cool wind off the ocean. I don't want 'fine'. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. . .and I suppose, in a funny way, I want sin so that I can understand glory. I have an insatiable appetite for 'everything'. I want to swallow it whole. I want to be rich in soul-filling growth and goodness.

Perhaps that is it.

Perhaps I am poor in spirit.

Yes, I suppose that is me.

Oh, look. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 5:3) What hope. Certainly, though, we can be poor in spirit and not do anything worthy about it? Perhaps the kind of 'poor in spirit' that Jesus promises to reward is the kind that starts with the emptiness, but continues with the search-- the search for God.

I don't want fine. I want God.

Friend.

The idea of a 'friend'- a good friend- makes me think of storm clouds; boiling, churning, moving from the horizon towards me. It reminds me of huge fields of wheat, bending, swaying in the wind in one golden dance, deep, cool water on a Summer day, yellow flowers. It makes me remember the things I love.

A friend. Honest and open with you. They communicate with you, whether it be with words, actions, or by letter, email, or text. They let you know how they are, and ask how you are. They speak honestly of you to others, but do not slander. They use a measured amount of discretion in every relationship.

A friend does not leave you alone when life happens. And life will always happen; friends ride the peaks and troughs together.

The most beautiful parts of us cannot always disguise the blackest, but having a trustworthy someone there to confront us about it is often what we need, though not ever what we want. All of us should be prepared for that, to accept it with humility and grace, two qualities that do not get enough use in my own life.

Friendships can survive, even when both people are flawed (we all are), but both people need to see that the flaws exist, or else no healthy relationship exists at all. A friend is loyal, but not exclusively. They stick with you, but not at the grave expense of others. It is possible, always, to have more than one friend; even more than one good or best friend (though that term itself is exclusive), but these friendships should not be able to maim or dismantle others, nor hinder any from beginning.

The very best friendships are ultimately those that are directed and guided by God, and which answer to his teaching and authority. These are always the best, because He himself created friendships. . .he is the author and sustainer of each.

P.s. I have many good friends, which makes me a very blessed girl. 

Oh, How I Love Them v: Fleur

Fleur is the youngest member of our family, a cheeky and beautiful nine year old. She loves friends, loves dogs, and loves her freedom, while hating to clean her room, make her bed, or get dressed in the morning. This causes some friction between the hours of seven and nine o' clock am, and is rather funny to watch. . .if you are standing at a safe distance from the unravelling catastrophe. In the midst of it all, though, Fleur is a gentle girl with a spark of spunk in her. She is a gift-giver, often wrapping up an old possession or drawing a picture to give to a friend at co-op. She has gorgeous blue eyes and a smile to die for, and this reflection of a little quiet soul is part of what makes her an absolute treasure.

Oh. Oh, how very much I love her.

Oh, How I Love Them iv: Jonah

Jonah is my younger brother of eleven, rambunctious, random-noise-making, but kind and pleasant. His great passion is Lego, a skill which surpasses all those of his mates and which he is pleased to prove. Always calling for a game of this or that, a jump on the trampoline, or a play date with a friend, he is active and fun-loving, while remaining a rather down-to-earth character, task focused and rule-oriented. This side of his character can annoy the rest of us, but at other times it helps keep us on track. It is an attribute that guides much of what he does from playing to working. His lightning-fast fingers are put to good use in front of a computer screen. Few AI can stand in his way. I admire mostly his perseverance. This quality sees him accomplish tasks of huge dimensions. It is also one that inspires me to accomplish my own.

Oh, how I love him.

Oh, How I Love Them iii: Annie

Then there's Annie. She's nineteen months younger than me, but we share a bedroom, refuse to share clothes, share living space, share our lives, really. We're mistaken for twins, our voices are extremely similar. Sometimes I think we're almost the same person, or two aspects of one. At fifteen, she does not lack in talent what she does in age. Guitar riffs stream out of our room every day, her photography skills on less-than-competitive cameras are incredible, she writes songs, creates cards, draws to rival the best, is eloquent, lovely, ah. Near-perfect as a beautifully accomplished woman. But what characterises Annie most perfectly is this: That she loves wholeheartedly and faithfully what and whom she loves.

Oh, how I love her.

 P.S. The above photos were taken by the incredible Lara Arkinstall, whose blog is wholely winsome, and can be found here.

Oh, How I Love Them ii: Mum

My mother adminsters our education, feeding the thirst for knowledge that is partially provoked by Dad, and doing so with enthusiasm, whatever form that takes, and with an earnest desire to have us learn. She's awesome. There is no woman more in touch with the poignant wants and needs of the next generation, nor any more honest and real with people her own age. Her laugh is loud, contagious, beautiful, and charismatic. Her singing is the same. I've always been of the belief that those who think likewise are correct, and those who disagree are not entitled to an opinion. She never had a university education, but does it matter? Does it show? No. She's educated herself spectacularly, reading, pondering, conversing. . .observing my mum makes you wonder if you need a university education at all.

Oh, how I love her.