love.

I don't know how long it's going to take me before I actually come to terms with how awesome God is. I feel like I just forget all the time and then I have moments where my mind is blown because I'm just like "damn God, you really have it together." And I know quite a few people who really don't believe in God and I can understand the thinking behind their skepticism, but I feel like for me, even if I wanted to denounce his existence I couldn't. at all, ever. Even on those days when God's like "ok Abby, just do things this way" and I'm like "no way God, you obviously don't understand my plan and the way I need to do things." and hes like "no really just do it like this." and im like "no really, go away." and hes like "no really, i wont". and im like "whatever." and then 5 days later I wonder why I'm so overwhelmed or anxious or worried and then I'm like"ok God, well maybe you were right. and hes like "every time, baby, every time." That conversation has never actually taken place between me and God but I wish it would.
Through the 20+ years I've been living, I've come to realize how personal everyone's faith is and it's because everyone has such different relationships with God. Whether it's defined by daily Bible readings or a special prayer routine-everyone has something different. When I was nine it consisted of me praying every night that my eyesight would miraculously be healed just like Jesus healed the eyes of the blind. Except I wasn't blind I just had glasses- but I wanted to open my eyes one morning and have perfect vision. Also, I prayed for braces, which is weird, and thankfully that never panned out. But now, it will always be those times, like today, that I break down, spill everything that's been bothering me or weighing me down or stressing me out, and tell God all the things he already knows but is just waiting for me to say. and it always ends up the same way- with me completely overwhelming myself with emotion because until I started talking about it out loud, I didn't realize everything that was pent up inside of me. And then when I feel myself spiraling closer to rambling than prayer, I ask for peace. Just any type of comfort that will calm me down, because I've worked myself into an emotional frenzy. And then it comes. A warm calm flowing through every vein, touching every organ, every inch of skin, every hair follicle on my body, pulsing peace into my heart. And that feeling, better than any worldy substance could ever offer, is how I know that my God does exist. He's always there, quiet with his words (or rather I'm too loud with mine and have selective hearing),just waiting for me to crawl to him on my knees, always ready to soothe, ready to comfort, ready to love love love.

this is not who we are.

"Because men with hard faces do violent things, because fanaticism seizes and shrinks minds, is no reason for the rest of us to abandon our song."

mmmmm. That's a quote from this beautiful short story I read entitled This Is Not Who We Are by Naomi Shihab Nye. It's an Arab-American woman's memoir, expressing her grief over the image her culture has impressed on people's minds. Though I am not Middle Eastern, I can see how the people of those countries would feel sorrow for their cultures during these times. Too often we judge an entire country or group of people by their government or the fanatics. We forget about the simple men and women who do not mean any harm, who only want to live their lives in peace. The author states, "I am simply an Arab American in deep need of cultural uplift to balance the ugliness that has cast a deep shadow over our day" . I've provided a link to the full version of the story below.

http://books.google.com/books?id=wKmKh7slk6wC&pg=PA401&lpg=PA401&dq=this+is+not+who+we+are

In other news, I am now officially a creative writing minor. woohoo!

Check it.

Blog #2:

http://cookingwithcats.wordpress.com/

yes yes yes.

I suppose I love this life, in spite of my clenched fist.

I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree,
and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers,
and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath
the first time his fingers touched the keys
the same way a soldier holds his breath
the first time his finger clicks the trigger.
We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.

But my lungs remember
the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly
and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister's heartbeat.
And I knew life would tremble.


This is an excerpt from Andrea Gibson's poem Birthday, For Jen. I can't express how much I love her writing. Just so good.

almost.

"If I could go back
That's the first thing I would do I swear that I would
Do my best to follow through
Come up with a master plan
A homerun hit, a winning stand
A guarantee and not a promise
That I'll never let your love slip from my hands"

-If It's the Beaches, The Avett Brothers

I just love this song so much.
Only 2 more days of classes.....

adorable.

My boyfriend's better than yours because he made this shirt all by his lonesome.

boring.

I went into a gas station the other day and came out with teryaki beef jerky and a grape Kool-aid squeeze it.

Middle America at it's finest.

Also, I bought five books at Half-Price Books this past weekend.
Fall Break in 3 days!