to hear smiles in voices


Text

Aug 27, 2014
@ 3:26 am
Permalink

I feel this is a very Tumblry post-undergrad thing to do

"Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.”

—William Martin

This was the introduction of a blog post that showed up on my Facebook newsfeed recently. The post concisely discusses the need to treasure the small joys despite and/or with the pressures placed on millennials to chase big dreams. Although I don’t agree entirely with the quote nor the blog post, they did leave weighty impressions on me.

This time last year - no, since tweenage years - I was straight terrified of the thought of growing up to live the whole of my life in that perfect white picket fenced house with that perfect job with that perfect family and maybe even with that perfect dog, if I’m feeling extra loving or if finances permit or if the dear littles and the dearest dear in my life convince me hard enough. Straight terrified. Why? My family moved more than ten times up until my high school years, so remaining put was concept foreign to me. As the child of a pastoring couple who provides care in major life crises, I’m attuned to the brokenness masked by suburbia. And I grew up listening to my dad speak of missionaries devoting large hearts and businessmen devoting large sums. Of these missionaries being businessmen, these businessmen being missionaries, these businessmen and missionaries working together, or of some other mystical permutation that left me always lingering in thought. In dreams. So I said yes to letting grow the fear of the “perfect” future. And I consequently said yes to letting grow the pride - You have something to prove. You cannot lead a normal life.

One small yet sharp offense I recently felt was when a friend laughed and said, “you? really?” when in a relevant conversation I said shyly that I’m sort of a dreamer. Shyly because I felt like I was giving away in a moment of trust something I rarely freely say. Shyly because really, what even is a dreamer? Can you self-classify as a dreamer? You can, really. But anyway. One of the most curious things I’ve discovered during and right after college is that there are those who have “dreamer” and “dreams” mixed with “Kingdom” in their regular thought life, journals, and life vocabulary and those who do not. For whatever circumstantial or preferential reason. So after the conversation, I went so far as to wonder if this friend was of the latter, because surely the meaning of “dreamer” in referring to me must’ve been elusive. This was unfair, of course, given I had never talked about anything that would make me a dreamer with this relatively new friend. Mulling over why I felt hurt, I realized just how deeply intertwined this idea of dreaming is with my identity.

I don’t have anything to prove. Jesus proved it all. I don’t have to fear the “normal” life. He led the craziest one. And my identity is not in being a dreamer. It is in Him. The white picket fenced house life, though still frightening to some degree, doesn’t seem that bad anymore, if there is Love to be received and shared faithfully day by day. The temptation is to classify these thoughts as me “succumbing to adulthood” or “surrendering dreams” or “getting jaded.” My prayer is that as life goes and becomes probably increasingly difficult, my response to the security He’s gifted me plays out in loving obedience, whether it be to live a “normal” or a “dreaming” life. But hey, I’m dreaming for as long as I can.

Back to the quote. My small joys to relish right now are plentiful, but are sometimes hard to see when I am feeling entitled, selfish, or even content. The hilarious Lullatone song titles, the natural light through my windows, the aestheticism of my gifted sandals, the literally perfect craft that is my new planner. The way The Breakfast Club made me feel, way I long for sweater-over-collared-shirt weather, the way my favorite student’s hair plasters to the sides of her smiling face thanks to a haircut. The way I can tell which family member is coming up the stairs based on the sound produced by the footsteps. If I get all deep and really, really enjoy these, I feel very human.

This is tl;dr. I think I could have said something like “stop and smell the roses” and it would have been fine. So I stop.


Text

Feb 7, 2014
@ 10:38 am
Permalink

I moved blogs.

I will miss tumblr. I will miss romanticizing things, being reflective, reblogging beautiful or whimsical things, and sharing in brief (or not in brief) the things in my heart.

Being on tumblr opened up space for distraction. There are so many aesthetic things on my dashboard. Though often I found myself seriously marveling at God’s aesthetic eye displayed through His creation, more often I found myself scrolling and browsing for too long. So I removed myself from posting. I went on a defollowing rampage to clear my dash of these beautiful posts; I can find these without following certain bloggers. I also found myself posting too many thoughts - sometimes too intimate, sometimes kind of pointless - and I didn’t want to feel a gratification of publishing every passing thought or activity that came into being. I don’t want to be mastered by that kind of gratification. So I privated and deleted the majority of my old posts. I want my words to mean more. I want to be more intentional.

tumblr is great: I’ll definitely be using it to be inspired now and then. tumblr is great: I am always so encouraged by my friends’ posts, especially recently by some of the brothers in my fellowship. But for me. I decided to move to another medium I can control a bit better. I have effectively become one of those tumblr users I thought act unfairly: those who never post their thoughts but silently read the thoughts of others, heheh. Whoops. I promise it’s not creepy. So here, New.


Photo

Jan 9, 2014
@ 11:36 pm
Permalink


Photo

Jan 9, 2014
@ 11:34 pm
Permalink

(Source: lacooletchic, via verygudnice)


Photoset

Jan 9, 2014
@ 11:29 pm
Permalink

Warhead portraits

(Source: jamesnord, via allumium)


Photo

Jan 9, 2014
@ 11:11 pm
Permalink

(Source: architktr, via allumium)


Text

Jan 8, 2014
@ 8:16 pm
Permalink

what is love?

when the whole family is sick, have an arsenal of three Korean broths on the stove. 

that is love. that is privilege. thanks parents.


Text

Jan 8, 2014
@ 8:14 pm
Permalink

the cutest wish for 2014

Be adventurous,
Feed your passions,
And wiggle without fear of judgement. 

- Friend on Facebook 


Photo

Jan 8, 2014
@ 6:34 pm
Permalink

(Source: calligifphy, via allumium)


Photo

Jan 8, 2014
@ 6:21 pm
Permalink

(Source: unejeunedemoiselle, via feeling-unique)


Video

Jan 6, 2014
@ 10:26 pm
Permalink

I sing, “Hosanna!” when I want it all.
Then I crucify the Son of God.
Cause He isn’t who I always thought.
Not what I want, but what I needed.
I sing, “How great and mighty is the King!”
Just as long as He considers me
High above every other thing.
Even His glory.

Broken like a record.
Spinning round and round
Like a hurricane.
I pour out water then I disappear.
Reappearing when I fear enough,
Or need a touch from You.
I sing, “Hosanna!” once again
Then I say, “Crucify Him!”

It’s packaged differently than Pharisees.
Wrapped in sing-a-longs and Christianese.
Empty hallelujahs to the King.
When my heart is loving idols.
A man of sorrows acquainted with grief,
He had no form; He had no majesty.
How could He have the audacity
To ask me to give Him my tomorrow?

Broken like a record.
Spinning round and round
Like a hurricane.
I pour out water then I disappear.
Reappearing when I fear enough,
Or need a touch from You.
I sing, “Hosanna!” once again
Then I say, “Crucify Him!”

(Source: Spotify)


Photo

Jan 6, 2014
@ 10:03 pm
Permalink

I have a thing for pretty hand made letters

I have a thing for pretty hand made letters

(Source: landonsheely, via kvtes)


Photo

Jan 6, 2014
@ 10:00 pm
Permalink

(Source: princessconsuela, via allumium)


Text

Dec 14, 2013
@ 12:55 pm
Permalink

One of those mornings

1030am feeling like 830, 730. Body not waking save the promise of a cozy morning…

Elevator taking and friends visiting

Morning faces thawing and good morning exchanging and pajamas swishing and house slippers shuffling

Banana munching and milk sipping and turn taking re-microwaving semi warm brownies for breakfast

Hushed voices whispering for fear of waking roommate sleeping and disturbing another studying

Heart warming and inherent motherlike senses tingling at the sight of diligence of him studying

Together window watching from the 22nd floor mixed with excitement and dread for forecasted snow falling

Laughing hard in weird groggy voices, laughing hard at nothing other than lame humor humoring and friends I-pity-you face palming

Journaling and Bible reading to catchup for the thoughts of past week swirling

Tumblring to romanticize this morning ensuing and listening to roommate gift wrapping with paper rustling and scissor gliding

What’s next.

12plus gathering and studying and studying and studying and caroling and then karaokeing.


Text

Dec 11, 2013
@ 1:35 am
Permalink

Today was just one of those crack up days

And I don’t want to forget.

1. Two friends played sitar for their end of semester performance - this stifled crack up session was more infused with awe and respect in seeing friends seriously making South Asian music

2. Guy friend nonchalantly revealed his man uggs - legit uggs - and I got cramps laughing like a madwoman while walking a few blocks

3. The movie FROZEN. I wasn’t too impressed overall, but I was crackin UP at some of the scenes during

One day at a time year 2014 comes closer. I can’t believe the obscure graduation year that’s been a cloudy checkpoint in my future is becoming a reality!