i just haven't known what to say. more spcifically, i haven't wanted to try and fail to express reality adequately.
but i haven't given up trying completely.
not yet.
11.07.2010
9.30.2010
dear boston,
thanks for fourteen great years. it's been fun, i learned a lot, and i promise i'll come back to visit. you know, i didn't really see myself ever saying this, but...you've been a good home. now it's time to move. i'll miss you when i'm gone.
love,
georgia
love,
georgia
9.26.2010
humblepresents.
Lately, I have been asking God to show me little glimpses of Himself - things about who He is, and how He loves us. And, faithfully, He has done just that. And other things too. But I just want to share this.
Yesterday was Fonda's birthday, and I didn't see her too much - just in the morning when we had breakfast with her mom & stepdad & Bobo the puppy. So I didn't have the chance to give her what I made her, which is a very small gift. It is made of almost entirely paper, and It wasn't wrapped, and actually, I haven't even finished it yet. It's almost nothing - it will not last forever, and it certainly has no material value. I admitted to her that I was a little bit insecure about it. And she insisted that I show it to her, right then. I showed it to her. And she loved it - or at least she told me she did - but I think she really did. Then I was arranging the mugs (our cabinet holds them quite tightly...and...also I like to arrange things) and in the cabinet, in its home, was the little teacup that she gave me because I told her about how, at home, we have these teacups that are actually the size of small bowls. And that I eat everything out of them. The next day, she came home with a little bowl-sized teacup...perfect for eating out of and being at home with. That was a small gift, too. A humblepresent that I completely loved just because she saw it and thought to give it to me, to remind me of home. You know, maybe that's how God feels when we offer up what little we have...a little fleck of praise, a tiny scrap of gratitude...I think...I hope, that in those He is loved back. Of course this is hard to imagine, since He offers perfect love and anything short of perfect is...well, imperfect. This is where grace comes crashing down and reminds me that, thank GOODNESS, I do not have to earn my love from God. Because if I did I could never even hope to possess it. So, even though He freely gives and asks nothing in return, He graciously accepts our humblepresents. And maybe he laughs a little bit too as we present them.
Yesterday was Fonda's birthday, and I didn't see her too much - just in the morning when we had breakfast with her mom & stepdad & Bobo the puppy. So I didn't have the chance to give her what I made her, which is a very small gift. It is made of almost entirely paper, and It wasn't wrapped, and actually, I haven't even finished it yet. It's almost nothing - it will not last forever, and it certainly has no material value. I admitted to her that I was a little bit insecure about it. And she insisted that I show it to her, right then. I showed it to her. And she loved it - or at least she told me she did - but I think she really did. Then I was arranging the mugs (our cabinet holds them quite tightly...and...also I like to arrange things) and in the cabinet, in its home, was the little teacup that she gave me because I told her about how, at home, we have these teacups that are actually the size of small bowls. And that I eat everything out of them. The next day, she came home with a little bowl-sized teacup...perfect for eating out of and being at home with. That was a small gift, too. A humblepresent that I completely loved just because she saw it and thought to give it to me, to remind me of home. You know, maybe that's how God feels when we offer up what little we have...a little fleck of praise, a tiny scrap of gratitude...I think...I hope, that in those He is loved back. Of course this is hard to imagine, since He offers perfect love and anything short of perfect is...well, imperfect. This is where grace comes crashing down and reminds me that, thank GOODNESS, I do not have to earn my love from God. Because if I did I could never even hope to possess it. So, even though He freely gives and asks nothing in return, He graciously accepts our humblepresents. And maybe he laughs a little bit too as we present them.
9.23.2010
it appears to me the graph has come and stolen all the laughs.
You know what? I like math. I like that it is formulated, clean-slated, and consistent. When packing, there are no odd corners of things that end up not fitting in the truck with math (well, sometimes there are...but they have names for that). It reminds me of ice cube trays; there is a specific purpose and when used properly, they always work. Unless the freezer is broken. Or unless it is cracked. Or, unless it is out of context. If an ice cube tray were to be found one day by a woods person, who had never known civilization on the level of freezers and ice cubes, the piece of matter would be approachable, surely, but completely unknowable in the context of the woods. The ice cube tray, while in its habitat of civilization and freezers, functions perfectly, fluidly, and flawlessly. But in the woods, in the hands of a woods person, it is a mystery. It is unclassifiable. Its use and praiseworthy efficiency is lost for appreciation because it is miserably out of context and its miserable possessor has no knowledge of that context.
I am the woods person, sometimes. I am out of context of this ice cube tray. I can approach it, hold it, think about it, think of ways to use it...but to make sense of it, in these woods, is guesswork. People who know about ice cube trays either don't really live in the woods, or got told a secret that I didn't.
Math would leave the odd-cornered object on the curb. I would rather gather my sweater and suck up the cold and shove, senselessly if need be, to fit whatever angle didn't fit into the truck. For sentimentality's sake.
This is probably how I have come to be known as a non-linear, abstract, right-brain, gray thinker.
If I were Sia, I would be the alphabet; you can be the calculator. No thanks, buddy.
I like math. I can appreciate it. But in many ways math makes me want to cry and throw up...it heaps unexpectedly vivid memories of high school math class on my dining room table. Ever since college, I've thought that if I ever were to try to write a book and I needed an arbitrary model for an unusual character, I could always use the tendencies of many of the teachers I had in high school.
There was Miss Wigfall, in seventh grade..."Everyone together! 'To-diVIDE-by-a-NUMber-is-to-MULtiply-by-the..." What was that again? Reciprocal? And in ninth grade, I had Mr. Cao, for whom "You're gonna fail my test, Mallory" was a euphemism for hello. And Miss Fingerman...which I will not even joke about, because there is nothing funny about that memory. You may think I am being dramatic...and I can't blame you for that. In fact, the impact math has made on my life leads me to suspect that perhaps math itself is somewhat of a drama queen. And I can't say I really like it getting away with that, especially since it's supposedly so level-headed, and I'm one of the kids she likes to pick on. But, I'm going to let it go, because having math in my life has done a few good things. Being here, in the mid-afternoon on a weekday, staring into a math book in the room just off the kitchen reminds me of growing up, and home. It reminds me of a different side of what it feels like to be fourteen - wondering if maybe I'm a people person, and not a numbers person, because for some reason I just didn't get math when I didn't get my teacher. (I had a load of theories about why math was so difficult for me...many were less-edifying than this one). Remembering math comes simultaneously with remembering figuring it out...I was searching, rummaging ravenously during the years I spent in math class.
People always say, "back when I was growing up", as if growing up is ever done. I haven't had much time to think of that action as a thing of the past. But lately, I have begun to. I was growing up during those math-class years. I was going through lists of possibilities about who I would become, crossing off and trying and re-trying strategies about being. There is something so sweet about remembering that time now - not because it was a warm fuzzy time in my life...it wasn't really, because I wasn't...but what makes it worth the memory is that I am not that person anymore. I am wholly different...reborn. And I don't mean I've got myself all figured out or anything, or, in fact, that I've done anything. The figuring...the work...the peace that comes from ceasing the rummage for meaning, purpose, identity...all comes from the giver of life.
To me, math may be a decontextualized, plastic, unsentimental mean-girl drama queen that just doesn't know when to cut a poor woods person a break. But that's okay. Because math also, and more importantly, reminds me to re-live, and to then rejoice...and to PRAISE THE LORD because He gave me HIS identity for my own, rescuing me from my own stupid plans; taking away every trial and error I made in my account.
That's a good enough reason to study for this test, and to pass it. And after that even stay on good terms with math. Because even math can point my gaze to the greatest gift I've ever received.
I am the woods person, sometimes. I am out of context of this ice cube tray. I can approach it, hold it, think about it, think of ways to use it...but to make sense of it, in these woods, is guesswork. People who know about ice cube trays either don't really live in the woods, or got told a secret that I didn't.
Math would leave the odd-cornered object on the curb. I would rather gather my sweater and suck up the cold and shove, senselessly if need be, to fit whatever angle didn't fit into the truck. For sentimentality's sake.
This is probably how I have come to be known as a non-linear, abstract, right-brain, gray thinker.
If I were Sia, I would be the alphabet; you can be the calculator. No thanks, buddy.
I like math. I can appreciate it. But in many ways math makes me want to cry and throw up...it heaps unexpectedly vivid memories of high school math class on my dining room table. Ever since college, I've thought that if I ever were to try to write a book and I needed an arbitrary model for an unusual character, I could always use the tendencies of many of the teachers I had in high school.
There was Miss Wigfall, in seventh grade..."Everyone together! 'To-diVIDE-by-a-NUMber-is-to-MULtiply-by-the..." What was that again? Reciprocal? And in ninth grade, I had Mr. Cao, for whom "You're gonna fail my test, Mallory" was a euphemism for hello. And Miss Fingerman...which I will not even joke about, because there is nothing funny about that memory. You may think I am being dramatic...and I can't blame you for that. In fact, the impact math has made on my life leads me to suspect that perhaps math itself is somewhat of a drama queen. And I can't say I really like it getting away with that, especially since it's supposedly so level-headed, and I'm one of the kids she likes to pick on. But, I'm going to let it go, because having math in my life has done a few good things. Being here, in the mid-afternoon on a weekday, staring into a math book in the room just off the kitchen reminds me of growing up, and home. It reminds me of a different side of what it feels like to be fourteen - wondering if maybe I'm a people person, and not a numbers person, because for some reason I just didn't get math when I didn't get my teacher. (I had a load of theories about why math was so difficult for me...many were less-edifying than this one). Remembering math comes simultaneously with remembering figuring it out...I was searching, rummaging ravenously during the years I spent in math class.
People always say, "back when I was growing up", as if growing up is ever done. I haven't had much time to think of that action as a thing of the past. But lately, I have begun to. I was growing up during those math-class years. I was going through lists of possibilities about who I would become, crossing off and trying and re-trying strategies about being. There is something so sweet about remembering that time now - not because it was a warm fuzzy time in my life...it wasn't really, because I wasn't...but what makes it worth the memory is that I am not that person anymore. I am wholly different...reborn. And I don't mean I've got myself all figured out or anything, or, in fact, that I've done anything. The figuring...the work...the peace that comes from ceasing the rummage for meaning, purpose, identity...all comes from the giver of life.
To me, math may be a decontextualized, plastic, unsentimental mean-girl drama queen that just doesn't know when to cut a poor woods person a break. But that's okay. Because math also, and more importantly, reminds me to re-live, and to then rejoice...and to PRAISE THE LORD because He gave me HIS identity for my own, rescuing me from my own stupid plans; taking away every trial and error I made in my account.
That's a good enough reason to study for this test, and to pass it. And after that even stay on good terms with math. Because even math can point my gaze to the greatest gift I've ever received.
9.22.2010
first day of fall!
There's only one degree of difference in the temperature here and at home..eighty six and eighty seven. Doesn't feel like fall. But, it is. I am so excited to experience fall in Dahlonega! It's supposed to be pretty great. SO pumped.
I've been reading today from Exodus 37...i read it this morning, as well as Matthew Henry's Commentary on the chapter. (We have two copies of the enormous book version in our little library. Turns out the whole thing is online..) I like reading the commentary with certain passages sometimes when I'm at a loss for how to contextualize them or connect with them. If you've ever read Exodus 37, you know it's one of those that give measurements and details about the structure of something the Israelites built - which, with all due respect to the Word, isn't that engaging of a read. But the commentary draws out the significance of what seem like irrelevant details.
Henry reminds us that the book was written for the Israelites, and that it was imperative for them to have these things written down so that they wouldn't forget. And also because this knowledge was from God, making it an immense treasure. He says, "the great things of God's law and gospel we need to have inculcated (which means to instill by persistent instruction) upon us again and again. Isn't that the truth! What a great word. I'm going to implement that into my vocab list this week...which i actually haven't made up yet. I haven't told you this yet, but that's one of the things I'm doing with all the time in the world: expanding my vocabulary.
Back to the point...there is more I could say just about this passage, about the glory locked into it. But I am by no means qualified to preach on what the Bible says and what it means..instead I'll just say how deeply joyful I am because I have the great opportunity of reading it. And by reading it, I am learning its author. Which is the greatest joy and delight there is.
It is thundering outside. Just a little change in the wind..and the season.
I've been reading today from Exodus 37...i read it this morning, as well as Matthew Henry's Commentary on the chapter. (We have two copies of the enormous book version in our little library. Turns out the whole thing is online..) I like reading the commentary with certain passages sometimes when I'm at a loss for how to contextualize them or connect with them. If you've ever read Exodus 37, you know it's one of those that give measurements and details about the structure of something the Israelites built - which, with all due respect to the Word, isn't that engaging of a read. But the commentary draws out the significance of what seem like irrelevant details.
Henry reminds us that the book was written for the Israelites, and that it was imperative for them to have these things written down so that they wouldn't forget. And also because this knowledge was from God, making it an immense treasure. He says, "the great things of God's law and gospel we need to have inculcated (which means to instill by persistent instruction) upon us again and again. Isn't that the truth! What a great word. I'm going to implement that into my vocab list this week...which i actually haven't made up yet. I haven't told you this yet, but that's one of the things I'm doing with all the time in the world: expanding my vocabulary.
Back to the point...there is more I could say just about this passage, about the glory locked into it. But I am by no means qualified to preach on what the Bible says and what it means..instead I'll just say how deeply joyful I am because I have the great opportunity of reading it. And by reading it, I am learning its author. Which is the greatest joy and delight there is.
It is thundering outside. Just a little change in the wind..and the season.
9.21.2010
it is 11:31
it is 11:31...and up until an hour and thirty-one minutes ago, design*sponge was taking applications for a sneak-peek research intern position. i can't believe it. i would have actually been qualified, too - it's a long-distance position, and they want someone who can look out for peek-ops. most of you know this..but design*sponge is one of my top three favorite thing about the internet. and the sneak peek column is my favorite thing about design*sponge. and i am part-time unemployed, so..sad.
---
i just asked hannah and jordan what they thought i should do. because i couldn't quite just let it go. they thought it was worth a shot...so i just applied! i know, my hopes aren't set on it...at all. but i can't even imagine what would happen if they let me have it.
i had intentions of saying other things, originally. but i don't remeber how i was planning on expressing them. today wasn't easy. tomorrow, i think, will be better.
---
i just asked hannah and jordan what they thought i should do. because i couldn't quite just let it go. they thought it was worth a shot...so i just applied! i know, my hopes aren't set on it...at all. but i can't even imagine what would happen if they let me have it.
i had intentions of saying other things, originally. but i don't remeber how i was planning on expressing them. today wasn't easy. tomorrow, i think, will be better.
9.20.2010
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