The other day I was talking to one of my friends about everything going wrong in her life, and I realized that I really am blessed. She is suffering from unrequited love, a bad housing situation, and had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. My little troubles of liking the wrong guy and struggling with my classes really seemed small compared to that. Recently I have been whining too much, and I'm rather ashamed to admit that. I have so many things going right, but I've been ignoring that.
For instance, the other day I found a recording made for me by Grandpa Bone. It's only seven minutes long, but in it he reminds me of his love and reminds me of his testimony. It was made only a few months before his death and is one of the greatest treasures in my life. Literally, it's a miracle that this recording survived, and I've made sure to have it in multiple locations so it stays with me.
I've also been very lucky in my work on my paper. The other day I was absolutely stuck on it, my draft was awful, and I was deeply frustrated. I took a day off, saw a movie with my roommate, and when I came back to my paper I knew where to go. Inspiration is a powerful thing, and because of Heavenly Father's kindness I have finally finished my paper. Now I have two days to edit it, and then I can submit it to the undergraduate contest that is attached to the conference. I'm very excited and confident--I know my work is good and that I am a talented presenter. I have faith that everything will go perfectly.
And lately my testimony has truly been edified. Whether it is my grandmother knowing exactly when to call and make sure I was all right or my mother giving me advice on things she did not know were going on in my life--God has been inspiring the people in my life to make sure I do not fall. The amount of love I have been shown in the past week has truly helped me, and I know I am not alone.
I know God lives and that He loves me.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Poetry
It is rare that I really find poems that I like, but I thought I might share the ones I do enjoy with you. I've tried to keep it to the shorter poems, if only because posting all of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight would be a little ridiculous. But, these three poems bring me a little bit of happiness. Hopefully they brighten your day at least a little.
Outwitted
by Edwin Markham
He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.
---
The Highwayman
by Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
---
I find no more peace
by Sir Thomas Wyatt
I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I season.
That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not--yet can I scape no wise--
Nor letteth me live nor die at my device,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain.
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health.
I love another, and thus I hate myself.
I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain;
Likewise displeaseth me both life and death,
And my delight is causer of this strife.
Outwitted
by Edwin Markham
He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.
---
The Highwayman
by Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
---
I find no more peace
by Sir Thomas Wyatt
I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I season.
That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not--yet can I scape no wise--
Nor letteth me live nor die at my device,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain.
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health.
I love another, and thus I hate myself.
I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain;
Likewise displeaseth me both life and death,
And my delight is causer of this strife.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Self-Issued Insanity
Well, I have survived to the middle of the week, and that is something of an accomplishment. Between being dumped for a date and a root canal, I'm pretty impressed with the fact I have made it this far.
But that is not the point.
Recently I have had a lot of occasion to think--about life, loneliness, and race.
My week started with watching My Name is Khan, an Indian film about a man with autism who has to deal with prejudice against Muslims. For those who can read subtitles and handle intense material, I would certainly suggest watching it. I have never felt quite so uplifted by something that handles the difficult topic of racism. Ironically, this came after being forced to read Amiri Baraka's "The Dutchmen", which also handles the same theme. "Dutchmen" made me feel like I was worthless because I have white skin, and I was beginning to think that there was nothing about racism that would resonate with me. Thank heavens I was wrong. While "Dutchmen" bashed and ranted, Khan showed me a different perspective and allowed me to feel empathy for those I did not understand before. I just wished that everyone came at the topic with that sort of sensitivity and ability to address it peaceably.
Of course, the next day the guy I was supposed to go on a date with pulled me aside. "I'm dating this girl" were the words of doom that began the entire downward spiral. Turns out the day I asked him out he went on to ask another girl out, and things are becoming more serious. In a week. I'm just becoming frustrated with dating in general, if only because it seems like everyone else is getting asked out, engaged, married... It's horribly lonely, especially since I'm going to be turning 22 this fall. I know it's not that old--I tell myself so all the time--but I'm afraid I'm going to end up alone. Guys seem to always go for the girl who is under 5'5" and 130 lbs, which I definitely am not. I just want to scream to the entire male populace that I'm really wonderful and that they should give me a chance...but I don't think there's a megaphone quite that big.
Not even an hour after that charming discussion I found myself in a dentist's office getting a root canal. It was just one of those days. Thankfully the root canal was not that bad, and my dentist seems like a pretty good guy.
Life, though, is a really funny thing. I woke up this morning telling myself that things were only going to go up. "It can't get worse than a root canal and a date-ditch in one day, Kirstin. It'll be great." In some ways I was right--it did not get worse. I've realized that my opinion and perspective has a lot to do with how a day turns out, and the fact that I'm specifically looking for the day to go better has made it work. Scary phone calls and boring classes are nothing in the face of stubborn optimism.
This week is going to go better. I know it is. And if it doesn't? Well, that which doesn't kill you makes you strong, and that which does makes you dead.
But that is not the point.
Recently I have had a lot of occasion to think--about life, loneliness, and race.
My week started with watching My Name is Khan, an Indian film about a man with autism who has to deal with prejudice against Muslims. For those who can read subtitles and handle intense material, I would certainly suggest watching it. I have never felt quite so uplifted by something that handles the difficult topic of racism. Ironically, this came after being forced to read Amiri Baraka's "The Dutchmen", which also handles the same theme. "Dutchmen" made me feel like I was worthless because I have white skin, and I was beginning to think that there was nothing about racism that would resonate with me. Thank heavens I was wrong. While "Dutchmen" bashed and ranted, Khan showed me a different perspective and allowed me to feel empathy for those I did not understand before. I just wished that everyone came at the topic with that sort of sensitivity and ability to address it peaceably.
Of course, the next day the guy I was supposed to go on a date with pulled me aside. "I'm dating this girl" were the words of doom that began the entire downward spiral. Turns out the day I asked him out he went on to ask another girl out, and things are becoming more serious. In a week. I'm just becoming frustrated with dating in general, if only because it seems like everyone else is getting asked out, engaged, married... It's horribly lonely, especially since I'm going to be turning 22 this fall. I know it's not that old--I tell myself so all the time--but I'm afraid I'm going to end up alone. Guys seem to always go for the girl who is under 5'5" and 130 lbs, which I definitely am not. I just want to scream to the entire male populace that I'm really wonderful and that they should give me a chance...but I don't think there's a megaphone quite that big.
Not even an hour after that charming discussion I found myself in a dentist's office getting a root canal. It was just one of those days. Thankfully the root canal was not that bad, and my dentist seems like a pretty good guy.
Life, though, is a really funny thing. I woke up this morning telling myself that things were only going to go up. "It can't get worse than a root canal and a date-ditch in one day, Kirstin. It'll be great." In some ways I was right--it did not get worse. I've realized that my opinion and perspective has a lot to do with how a day turns out, and the fact that I'm specifically looking for the day to go better has made it work. Scary phone calls and boring classes are nothing in the face of stubborn optimism.
This week is going to go better. I know it is. And if it doesn't? Well, that which doesn't kill you makes you strong, and that which does makes you dead.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Color: Me
Color: Me
I’m white
--skin the color of a fine piece of parchment.
The world tells me, orders me, to hate that
To hate myself.
All of the crimes of the past:
A skin color?
Nobody ever committed a gross injustice--
Unless they were white.
White. Caucasian. Trash?
I don’t believe it,
That I’m worthless because of my flesh.
Hate me for my mind,
Disregard me for the words that come out of my mouth,
Loathe me for the things I do--
But never judge me by my skin.
I am not a portrait of the past.
I am the present, the future, the inside--
Me.
I’m white
--skin the color of a fine piece of parchment.
The world tells me, orders me, to hate that
To hate myself.
All of the crimes of the past:
A skin color?
Nobody ever committed a gross injustice--
Unless they were white.
White. Caucasian. Trash?
I don’t believe it,
That I’m worthless because of my flesh.
Hate me for my mind,
Disregard me for the words that come out of my mouth,
Loathe me for the things I do--
But never judge me by my skin.
I am not a portrait of the past.
I am the present, the future, the inside--
Me.
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