Perplexingly Simple

It's...complex. It is difficult to explain what complexity means. Emotionally, it is when you know what to say, but you can't put it into words. Mentally, it is the inability to completely wrap your mind around something because it isn't quite what it seems, or possibly it is everything and all that it seems. Spiritually, it is when life and circumstances are not quite as easy as just knowing. Mortally, complexity is insimplicity that breeds an inability to feel immensely anodyne in what once was or what now is. Complexity—it is life.

Beautifully, and in seemingly sheer defiance of life's complexity, love is so simple. No, I am not referring to the bubbly, warm feelings of emotional love. Neither am I denoting the warm thoughts of mental love, nor even our unfaithful, undedicated 'love' toward a greater, spiritual being. These fore-mentioned 'loves' are more complex than prevalent, which they are exceedingly. These 'loves' are not what I write of, because love, real love that is, is not a mortal emotion.


The love I speak of is immortal, all-powerful and unfailing; a love only an immortal, all-powerful and unfailing being can give. The love I speak of is the love that can create, in all complexity, simple peace. The love that makes life so worth the effort is the love that our Creator, our God, our Father gives freely to all. I think I shall start capitalizing this form of love, as it is divine. How wonderful life is, knowing that the most complex being ever, would give His children a Love so simple.

As The Moon

Moon. Such a dynamic word, it is, though not nearly as dynamic as the moon itself. When mentioned, this word brings to mind the notion of peace, the feeling of serenity, and an overwhelming sense of joy that only accompanies the ability to grasp seemingly immortal beauty in its purest form.

Also symbolically mysterious, the moon's past is riddled with wonder and speculation upon its meaning and purpose.

Inspiring, the moon has influenced the human race to exceed their gravitational boundaries and push for greater purposes, almost as artfully as it influences the waves.

The moon, though merely a reflection of something greater, has found its meaning, its purpose; it's essential self, in simply being the reflector of a greater light. The moon, dark and cratered on its own, finds it's light by reflecting the Sun's. The moon shines, not of its own accord, but by reflecting light omitted from elsewhere. No, the moon is not original, but the need to be isn't there. The moon's light is cleanly beautiful, and generations upon generations have marveled wondrously at the beauty of this light.

I pray that I would be, in this way, as the moon. Instead of striving to be original or cool or something of that like, I pray that my life would wholly reflect my Creator's light. I pray that when people see me, they do not see a hip, cool, funny, _____ (<fill in the blank) individual; rather, I long that people would look at my life and see the Creator.

From now on, my life will reflect beauty in its purest form; the form of perfect love.

From now until I die, my life will be a light that lost souls speculate of, that sad hearts look to in wonder, giving me the opportunity to further glorify my Savior and my Creator.

My life will influence the ones around me to push for something greater, to pull away from the 'gravitational pull of bondage, sin and life without Christ.

From this day forward, I will be as the moon, reflecting a greater light. Unlike the moon, I will be reflecting the greatest light.

The Train of Thought Serves Toast?!

The oddest thing happened to me this morning. After my morning ritual of taking a shower...


...what's wrong? Don't you take one every morning?! THEN ITS A RITUAL!! Shakes head, scowling with mouth half open 


*ahem* Aaaanyway...


...Hair wet and clothes new, and garnered with the minty freshness only a toothbrush can brandish, I opened the bathroom door, and immediately felt quite strange as the warm steam poured out from the bathroom, seemingly pursuing me. I stood in silence for a moment, trying to place why this morning air felt so very strange. I poked my head into a bedroom, warily, not quite sure of why I was being wary. The room was empty. I walked cautiously into the living room, and 'it' hit me:


It was quite cold in the living room.


Frowning, I walked into the kitchen wishing that I had donned a sweater. As I punctured the invisible separating line between the living room and the kitchen which existed somewhere within the doorway, I was hit by yet another realization--It was quiet.


Too quiet.


I had a nagging thought, trying to enlighten me, yet I couldn't place it. Suddenly, the exhausted realization that had been trying valiantly to board my morning train of thought since my leaving the bathroom, climbed aboard, made its way to the train's caboose, and whispered enlightenment into the conductor's ear.


Peanut Gallery Detour: Isn't it just annoying to have a thought, word, or witty line on the tip of your tongue, the outskirts of your mind, the essential perimeter of your being, yet finding a profound inability to summon it close enough for practical useage? This sort of occurrence is one that overtakes me far too often, and I believe I know why. I believe  the frequency of these phenomena is directly affected by the frozen-dairy related brainfreeze. 'Nuff said for now.


The train picked up speed, fueled by a sudden realization. I realized, as I stood into the kitchen, that I was quite alone. Slightly confused as my loud and busy family had occupied the house's grounds, even as I had jumped into the shower. At this point I felt kinda...well kinda...


...it was then that I caught smell of something absolutely delightfully pleasant. I looked down, as I found myself standing over the table. There, on a small plate, was a warm and buttery piece of toast, which was complimented nicely with the brim-filled glass of orange juice that was sitting beside it.


Mmm...


Delighted, I grabbed my newfound company, and strolled out the door, absolutely forgetting the sense of lonliness that had accompanied what I had realized just thirty seconds before.

Responsibility...

This is a story. More specifically, this is a story with a principle. Moreover, this is a story (with principle) about four individuals, aged respectively, named Everyone, Someone, Anyone, and No One. Now these four individuals were a valiant bunch, strong and brave and smart. So it was only fitting that one day, the four were given a special task to complete; one of upmost importance. Upon convening with one another to sort that task out among one of them, Everyone was asked to complete this task. Now, dear Everyone was sure that Someone would do it, so he lazily ignored the job, as he was eldest. While Anyone could have worked this task, finally, No One completed it. This notion angered the fiery middle-brother Someone, because it was, after all, Everyone's task. It was quite obvious, however, to Everyone that Anyone could have done this job just as well as he. Alas, keen No One understood that neither Everyone, nor Anyone, would not do it. The final result? Everyone blamed Someone when No One did what Anyone could have done.


The End

It rains in my Father's world.

The noise of the Kordsiemon household quietly fades away as the screeching cracks of lightening and epic booms of thunder pierce the air. The afternoon sky has, over the last few hours, gradually become dark—a harbinger of impending rain and an excuse to burn softly lit candles. After a dramatic opening, the rain is pounding the windows and roof and...mmm, very possibly my dog…

Peanut Gallery Detour: My dog is a Schnauzer. She is pretty much spoiled and has adopted the paradigm that she is the last remaining defense, the essential dividing line between her family (us) and the great evil that surrounds us (the neighbors apparently). Our valiant defender with the shrill bark, e.i. Havi, is afraid of nothing. *ahem* Almost nothing. Her deepest fear involves the other lady of the household (mother), and bathtime. Any variation of these elements are equally frightening to her. On this particular day, whilst the rain gives the hard soil a bath, our poor guardian looks in the window angrily, as she as well  is having to participate in an unscheduled bath-period. Anyway...

Even on a splendid day like today, where I'm found sleeping in for once and otherwise enjoying a splendid and rare day off, in the back of my mind, my troubles exist quite loudly. Even this lovely afternoon, when one could see me proudly reading over my work in bliss, what could not be seen was how my heart broke at the mere mentioning of a dear friend in a casual conversation. Yet, as I pick up the pieces and prepare to immerse myself in the imaginary world in which my only troubles are simply finding the perfect words to convey brilliancy, my troubles still distress me as I start to plug in my headphones and prepare to dive off the cliff of imagination. And then...

...the rain falls, and I remember. While listening to the thunder roar, the rain fall, and my dog yelp, I remember comfortingly that yesterday, right now, tomorrow, and forever, my God is here. As my troubles scream all around me, He puts His hand on my shoulder. As I’m in tears on the floor, he’s sitting beside me, offering His shoulder as a place to bury my head. Even now, as I write down this inspired blogpost, with the rain beginning to calm down, He smiles down on me. He is my constant. He never fails me; He never leaves me. Father, I am so sorry that I become so wrapped up in my little world, and forget that I’m in my Father’s world. Yes, it rains here--not always the good kind of rain, but in my Father's world, He makes oceans from the rain. 

If you haven’t put two and two together, this sort of weather has a very calming effect on me. As I press on writing, I take the earphones out of my ears, choosing instead to listen to God's background music. Silently, with my trusty coffee mug sitting beside me, and God’s love with me, I take a breath and a moment to thank God for all that He has created for and given to me. Days like this remind me that with all my troubles and fears, all my worries and problems, all my sadness and never-ending pain, He is here. Be still and know I'm here, He says gently. In an inconstant world where the grounds shake, the earth quakes and emotions lose themselves, He is constant. 

"All my life, you have never left my side. You are my constant." --Francesca Battistelli

This is My Father's World--Song
                  vvv
http://youtu.be/byIpfEVxhs4