“Cities are smells: Acre is the smell of iodine and spices. Haifa is the smell of pine and wrinkled sheets. Moscow is the smell of vodka on ice. Cairo is the smell of mango and ginger. Beirut is the smell of the sun, sea, smoke, and lemons. Paris is the smell of fresh bread, cheese, and derivations of enchantment. Damascus is the smell of jasmine and dried fruit. Tunis is the smell of night musk and salt. Rabat is the smell of henna, incense and honey. A city that cannot be known by its smell is unreliable. Exiles have a shared smell: the smell of longing for something else; a smell that remembers another smell. A painting, nostalgic that guides you, like a worn tourist map, to the smell of the original place. A smell is a memory and a setting sun. Sunset, here, is beauty rebuking the stranger. But to love the sunset is not, as they say, one of the attributes of exile.”—Mahmoud Darwish, In the Presence of Absence (via yesyes)
“I kept saying, I can’t take one more thing….then one more thing would happen, and another after that. Finally, I surrendered. If God thought I was such a bad ass, then fine. I trusted him. And that’s when everything started falling in to place.”—K. (via with-grace-and-guts)
C.S. Lewis in Mere Christianity makes a brilliant observation about gospel -humility at the very end of his chapter on pride. If we were to meet a truly humble person , Lewis says, we would never come away from meeting them thinking they were humble. They would not be always telling us they were a nobody (because a person who keeps saying they are a nobody is actually a self-obsessed person). The thing we would remember from meeting a truly gospel-humble person is how much they seemed to be totally interested in us. Because the essence of gospel-humility is not thinking more of myself or thinking less
Gospel-humility is not needing to think about myself. Not needing to connect things with myself. It is an end to thoughts such as, ‘I’m in this room with these people, does that make me look good? Do I want to be here?’ True gospel-humility means I stop connecting every experience, every conversation, with myself. In fact, I stop thinking about myself. The freedom of self-forgetfulness. The blessed rest that only self-forgetfulness brings.
“If people want to let you go, just let them do it. They may not understand who you are. So don’t play around with fire; don’t give them their cake and let them eat it too. Here is your rule of thumb: they either commit to you or get none of you.”—The Heartbreak Hotel: How Long Will You Stay? (via buttondownsandbackpacks)
I’m needing to remember this right now as I let far too many people live in my head rent-free.
Reading today’s devotional, having my coffee, finishing a book, basking in the glory of a new day from the Creator.
His blessings have been so abundant these past two days and it’s been more apparent than ever that these great joys are from Him.
Lately, I’ve been intentional about praying. To…
I’m thinking that this is how I will need to spend my Wednesday morning off - with a walk, a prayer, and some time talking to the Lord. I’ve been spending too much time lately listening to all the bad voices out there and not enough time listening to Him and his love.
i just recently had an abortion over the weekend and it was great that i had access to it, without it my boyfriend and i would of had to drop out of college and ruin our lives but apparently abortion is sooo wrong when its not even a baby, its a parasite made of cells that have no feelings that is leaving my body, people like you make me sick
When I first read this post, I thought I would just delete it like the rest. I know your intentions were to cause me suffering, and if causing me suffering means you win, then I guess you have. To be honest, lying in this hospital bed, it is young women like you that I think about the most.
I was once like you. I was once told that aborting my children was the answer to my life. I was once told that my boyfriend too would have to drop out of the University he attended, and I wouldn’t be able to attend the following year after I graduated from High School. The funny thing was, because of my son, my ex-boyfriend and I qualified for several grants and scholarships. In fact, I’m one of the few people I know that was able to go to school without taking out student loans. Which is probably why I’m a home owner at 26.
I was once like you. “Its a clump of cells,” they told me. “Its a parasite,” they said. When scientifically speaking, that’s inaccurate. It is a fetus, or an unborn human being. I know a human becomes easier to kill once you label it something else. This is called dehumanization. You don’t need to dehumanize the unborn human being, you can just call it what it is; you aborted an underdeveloped human being.
As I look into my sons eyes, I don’t see a parasite, or a clump of cells. I see a brown haired, fair skin, goofy 8 year old human being. I see a human being with the exact same body as the one they called a parasite when it was in my womb. His body grows a little more every year, and every year he gets stronger. “Mom, let me help you with that.” he says, as I struggle to carry bags into the house. “Mom, wait, I’ll get it for you,” he says, as he jumps in front of me to reach for the door to open it. His body is more developed, that’s for sure, but it it the same as it was when it was tiny and growing inside me.
I was once like you. “It will ruin your life,” they said. “You’re a child yourself”, they said. That’s the strangest. As I lie in this hospital bed, at risk of death, I have no fear. I am 26 years old, and have absolutely nothing more that I could ask for to make me happier. If keeping my son ruined my life, then why do I have everything I want? Why am I so content with my short life, if it was ruined the day he was born? The love and happiness I have experienced in my short life, is enough to feel fulfilled, complete. My life is beautiful, and my children were the ones that made it that way.
When I cry, my children burry their heads on my chest, wipe my tears with their tiny fingers. When I smile, they run to me, wrap their arms around me, lean back and giggle. What have they destroyed in my life besides all that was bitter, hateful and selfish? Besides all those awful parts of me they peeled away with their tenderness, and gentleness.
I’m sorry that when you terminated your pregnancy, you felt nothing, and I’m afraid that is where we are different. I couldn’t bring myself to dehumanize the tiny human being inside my body, even though it was under developed, dependent and inconvenient. I felt. And I’m the one who feels for you now. I can feel the loss for your unborn human being.
I know you assume I think I’m “better then you”. But it’s exactly the opposite. As I lay here in this bed, ready to give my life for the child inside of me right now, it isn’t just because its my child. It’s because it is a human being. I am willing to die for an underdeveloped, dependent and inconvenient human being, because that human is my equal. You are my equal, your child is my equal, and I don’t have it in me to view my life as more valuable then anyone else’s. I can’t use any reason to take an innocent human being, dehumanize it, and place it under me. And I don’t want to.
I’m sorry that people like me make you sick, but I think if you really new me, you wouldn’t feel that way. Maybe if you knew me, you could see that my life is beautiful and wonderful just like yours, and just like every human being. I believe that your life is precious, and you were made for more love then you comprehend, and I’m so sorry you can’t see the value of life.
Life is precious. It is a divine right, it is so precious that I would be willing to die if that is the cost for another to live.
Months from now, I hope that you read this and I’m living with my new beautiful child, in my modest house, with the rest of my family, but if I’m not, I want you to remember that it made me happy to risk my life for another human being, and I would gladly do it even for someone who was sickened by me; I would even do it for you.
I’m proud of you. I’m proud that you made it through the night. I’m proud that you made it to a new week. I’m proud of how strong you are. I proud of every good decision you make. I’m proud of every good thing you do.
“As a child I had stood in the cold at the bus stop and played in the snow until my wrists turned red, but nothing could have prepared me for the brutality and the beauty of deep, unadulterated cold. The type that forces you to bundle and layer so that when you finally make it outside you can barely move; it’s a cold that insists you draw warmth towards your self – mittens and hot chocolate and soup and the closeness of a warm body and laughter and dancing. The cold still hurts. A bitter wind across the forehead feels like a sharp knife. Maybe that’s a cliché, but it’s true. No matter how many layers, the cold will always find the skin in this type of weather…
…The cold finds the skin but doesn’t find the heart. What I didn’t know then was that the cold constricts the blood vessels, which is important when one needs to staunch a hemorrhage, when one needs to stop the blood from flowing. So I’ll take my frosty windows and white world just as long as it pulls, pushes so the heart finds warmth and beats stronger, a fire, a flame, a Caribbean sea, a cup of coffee, you and you and you and me.”—M.L.Heide How We Survive the Cold
“Opening your heart and being courageous and telling people that you care about them or like them or that you think they’re special only makes you a better, bigger, kinder, softer, more loving person and it only attracts more love into your life.”—