Cry Me A River

I don't usually make it a habit to discuss politics because they usually upset me. I also don't like complaining much. But both are in this post. Sorry lovers, I'll be better next time.

I saw a group on facebook today, which read as follows: "Dear God, This year you took my favourite actor, Patrick Swayzie. You took my favourite actress, Farah Fawcett. You took my favourite singer, Michael Jackson. I just wanted to let you know, my favourite President is Barack Obama. Amen."
When I first saw this, I confess I found it amusing. But on second thought, I just find it sad. So you don't like the president; I get it, but there's nothing that can be done until next election. He's the current guy in charge. Fighting him isn't really gonna do a whole lot. And wishing him death just strikes me as morally wrong. I'm not naive, I know there's sides to politics and that you're not going to agree with each and every policy. I don't agree with all of Obama's policies either. Here's the thing though: if we don't all work together, nothing is going to happen. Progression is a group effort. I don't want to be with people who aren't willing to work or compromise and instead, spend their time conjuring ways in which to kill the President. If we can't come together, it's going to cause more problems than fix.


So build that bridge and get over it lovers.

The City's Summer

Today has been an absolutely beautiful day. The sun is shining. There's a beautiful breeze that flies through the trees. Birds are singing. It's just simply beautiful. I love these kinds of days because they remind me that the earth really is beautiful, that it's a precious gift. Yes, I'm studying for finals and yes, they are stressful. But at least there's beauty all around me. I like to think it's God's way of reminding me that He knows what's going on, that He loves me and that He's helping me through whatever I've got going on this week.

Life is good : )

Here Comes the Sun

Tonight, my heart feels completely full and happy. I got a phone call from my mom tonight (who is doing much better) and the first thing out of her mouth was, "Everything is fine, but I might cry". The last time I heard this was when my grandpa was sick and that didn't end well so, I immediately started crying and panicking that something was wrong. But life is good, my friends, life is good.

My oldest brother hasn't really talked to my family for the past 5 years, but he called my mom tonight! and I'm just so happy and grateful and happy; I feel like crying but I feel like laughing with joy because my family is slowly but surely coming back together.

There's no way I can doubt the gospel; it is the true gospel of the Jesus Christ! He lives! He loves all of His children and is so incredibly mindful of each one of them! How beautiful is the Gospel of the Lord!

And now, to sleep and pray to pass finals :)

It's Just Another Manic Monday

My mom is in the ER. again. and it's getting harder and harder not to freak out about it. I don't like talking about this much because it makes me sad, but the general story is this: my mom has discs in her back that have deteriorated and cause severe pain in her back and neck. For the last month, she has had a constant headache the goes from the base of her neck to just behind her eye. She's had tests done, CT Scans, an MRI, and more medicine than I knew was legal to prescribe (who knew Valium came in pill-form?).
I had a feeling something was wrong when I called today and she didn't answer. I called later to mourn with my deeply devoted Butler-fan mother (good game gents) and my dad called back a few minutes later, which just isn't a good sign. She's now been admitted in to the ER and tonight's performance consists of test after test until they figure out what's causing this pain and what's wrong.
It's a sad and strange feeling when someone you love so deeply is suffering so much so far away from you and there's very little you can do about it. My mom is an incredibly strong woman and I know she will overcome this, I'm not worried about that too much. But I don't like knowing she's suffering, I don't like that I'm not there with her, and I don't like that my super hero is fading. I admire my mom beyond words- she means the world to me and has been the best example to me of more than motherhood. She is my best friend, she is my most forgiving friend and she is the example of who I want to be most like in this life because she has a Christ-like glow about her and because she is everything beautiful.

I know that everything is in the Lord's incredibly mindful and capable hands. I know that this too shall pass. It just takes time and there's plenty of that to go around.

Enchantment Passing Through

For my Humanities 350 class, we're doing a theoretical approach to Hans Christian Andersen's tale, 'The Nightingale' and I've been studying this poem by John Keats for the project. I think it's quite beautiful so I thought I would share. enjoy :)

Ode to a Nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness,

That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country-green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South!

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stainèd mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;

And mid-May's eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that ofttimes hath

Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?

As a side note, I found these today (4/2) and found them also quite beautiful. This is what is found on Keats' tomb, located in Rome:

This Grave
contains all that was Mortal,
of a
Young English Poet,
Who,
on his Death Bed, in the Bitterness of his Heart,
at the Malicious Power of his Enemies,
Desired
these Words to be engraven on his Tomb Stone:
Here lies One
Whose Name was writ in Water.

I do believe I'm a Romantic.