About Me

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Portland, OR, United States
As an aspiring theologian I live in a city, state, country and time that offers minimal allowance to stern conviction. However arousing this "fenced" position seems at times, I cannot stay silent or relent on that which sternly convicts the very core of who I am. If nothing else, this is the slow and steady, (rather infrequent) thought-life of one who has tried her turn at silence, failing miserably on all accounts. In my limited experience thus far, I have come to realize four very important facts of life which demand attention: First, that I am here by God’s appointment, second, in His keeping, third, under his training, and fourth, for His timing (Andrew Murray). The end of the story is still a mystery to me but I’ve relinquished my pen to its true author, leaving the future in a terribly exciting state.

Wednesday

Sweet Afton



I am feeling exceptionally honored today -- honored that the king of heaven would entrust such a helpless, fragile, and beautiful thing to my care. You fold into my arms like your indentation has always been there; like a puzzle piece suddenly found between the couch cushions, changing the entire canvass into something meaningful and distinct. Your face is quite decidedly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Marriage has always demanded a sort of heroic love -- one that requires a great amount (and frequency) of choice. In this way, no love will ever truly compare to what I have with and for your daddy. But this love…you…you ignite an entirely different sort of flame within me, the fuel for which I will never cease to carry in abundance. It is as if I was given no choice but to love you. My very bones ache when you cry. My feet scurry faster -- faster than they've ever moved to your side to dry every tear and wrap you in an embrace of affirmation … a hundred times a day I will do this with my conscience awake, yet scarcely noticing I've done so. The pronominal reflex now within me is utterly unavoidable. I need to be with you, and you with me. To have it any other way would be a reconstruction of my very purpose, design. I wonder if this is a "limitation" God placed on Himself when He chose to create. I wonder if He decided to long for us with the same (yet infinitely more perfected) passion, unquenchable and inexhaustibly deep. I look at you, baby boy, looking back at me, and I see Him like I've never seen Him before. Lost in a sea of love I wonder, how could He have ever given His son over to torment and death? There is so much more to this life, this world than I can see. How certain I am of it now. There is so much more to this story -- His story. Oh that I could be a hand raised for love! Oh that I would raise you, a boy, into a man, fixed on His love … That I would stand ready to do for Him what He, the King of Glory, has done for me. 

Author of Love, make me one such hero in the faith. And give my son a double portion -- that he would never wonder at his purpose or worth as Your own. Allow him to see that there is so much more…so much more than this.