White Winter Hymnal

I have loved being home. As I always do, but I'm anxious to reunite with my beautiful friends.

But I will miss slow mornings and an endless supply of Christmas blend coffee. I will miss the faces of my "them." My people. The ones that are the easiest and most difficult to love. I will miss my room where each shelf covered in Madeline.


But I also miss waking up to a life with my best friends beside me and our futures in front of us. I miss Spanish speaking children that yell at 9:30am and dusty blinds. I miss my photo collages and favorite mug.

Thankful God has provided two homes that are nothing alike.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

December the twenty-fourth

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace"

-Isaiah 9:6

Thankful for my Prince of Peace who proposed I follow him to receive hope, forgiveness, love, redemption, a new set of eyes, and a redeemed heart. This Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace has brought me into a life I could never have dreamed up for myself. And that's saying something. I'm a writer.

Strayed above the highway aisle (Jagged vacance, thick with ice) And I could see for miles, miles, miles

Here’s the thing.

I want to go ice-skating in Central Park. I want the breath knocked clear out my lungs just from one look at Machu Picchu.  I want to climb on Stonehenge, even if it’s not allowed.  I want to drink black coffee in a French café.  I want my Goosebumps tingling as I stand in the middle of a field in Ireland.  I want to raft down the rapids in the Grand Canyon.  I want too many pictures. I want to walk the path to Mordoor in New Zealand.  I want to taste real Chinese food.  I want to throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain.  I want to stare out the window of a train like Anna Karenina.  I want to go cliff jumping.  I want to taste the salty air of Santorini.  I want to write about it all.  I want to learn how to waltz.  I want to check the time on Big Ben.  I want to speak French in Quebec.  I want to experience Rio.  I want to yell like mad at a world cup match.  I want to meet interesting people on airplanes.  I want to walk through fields if tulips in the Netherlands.  I want to walk through the gates of Versailles and imagine Marie Antoinette.  I don’t want to be a tourist. I want to eat pasta in Italy and love myself for it.  I want to explore Scotland’s castles. I want to dig up family history in Turkey.  I want to walk amongst the pyramids in Egypt.  I want to stand in awe of the Northern Lights.  I want to walk through Jerusalem.  I don’t want to play by the rules. I want to put a love letter in the Casa de Giulietta in Verona.  I want to take a corny picture next to the Leaning Tower of Pisa.  I want to discover what’s in Belgium.  I want to go on adventures!

All I want to do is move. All I want to do is move and grow and change into all the people I'm supposed to be and maybe a few that I'm not. All I want to do is explore. Explore the richest coffee and where the air is the saltiest.  To add "adventurist" to my list of character traits. To dig deeper into The Great I AM and find out my passions while doing it.

Specks of gold in the river running from the deep moonlight

“Stop seeing yourself as a list of problems. I caught myself thinking - this is when I was 34 - ‘I’ll write a book when my life begins’. I caught myself thinking this and I thought ‘What do I mean when my life begins?’ Then I realised what I meant was when I was finally properly thin and very smooth and my hair was naturally brilliant and I had a walk-in wardrobe like the one Carrie Bradshaw has in Sex and the City and my house was tidy and I’d finally gotten round to having a regular manicure and pedicure regime…I don’t know, just kind of perfect. Pretty, I guess, and kind of perfect, and everything was serene and calm. And then I started…this is the argument I’m having in my head, and the cleverer me is going ‘What the fuck are you on about? That’s never going to happen. If it was going to happen it would have happened by now. You’re 34. Your life has already begun. It began in 1975 when you were born. If you’re doing to do something, get on with it now. Stop waiting.’ I think women have this feeling of waiting - when I’ve just lost that bit of weight, then things will happen, then things will be possible. Stop seeing yourself as a list of problems, stop going ‘Everything will be fine when I’ve sorted these things out’, start enjoying your life now.”

—	Caitlin Moran

Your eyes they tie me down so hard; I'll never learn to put up a guard

So keep my love, my candle bright
Learn me hard, oh learn me right

This ain't no sham
I am what I am

Though I may speak some tongue of old
Or even spit out some holy word
I have no strength from which to speak
When you sit me down, and see I'm weak

We will run and scream
You will dance with me
They'll fulfill our dreams and we'll be free

And we will be who we are
And they'll heal our scars
Sadness will be far away

So as we walked through fields of green
Was the fairest sun I'd ever seen
And I was broke, I was on my knees
And you said yes as I said please

This ain't no sham
I am what I am
I leave no time
For a cynic's mind

We will run and scream
You will dance with me
Fulfill our dreams and we'll be free

We will be who we are
And they'll heal our scars
Sadness will be far away

Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste
As it keeps my heart and soul in its place
And I will love with urgency but not with haste

There are the days I get excited

The occasional bubbles of fantasy spill over onto my blog on occasion. There are indeed those days where you can't help but google images of your imaginary life. A life that never holds the weight of relationships missed, rainy days accompanied by bad drivers, spilled coffee all over your new pea coat, homesickness at the most inconvenient times, or stomach flu's. No, this life you google looks like the artsy cover of a travel memoir. Written neatly into several thousand words, a few hundred pages. This life is picturesque. An escape route. A happy place.

I can't stay there, though.
There is more to my dream of France than the opening three minutes of Midnight in Paris. I know this, yet do I believe it? I think I'd rather keep it there sometimes, at a distance with French music in the background. Yet I can't. I itch for more. I don't itch for the moments of adversity, but I'm done dwelling in my fears and anticipating worries that may-or-may-not be rational. I did that with my sister backpacking through Europe, and I refuse to revert back. However, that's no reason not to get a little giddy.
This life will include the following:

Writing in French cafes

Patisseries (with lots of chausson aux pommes)

French Wine
















Walks down the Champs Elysees

Impromptu trips to the Eiffel Tower

Feeling artsy in the Louvre

Evening walks along the Seine

“The glorious thing about France is that it takes no time at all to become a snob about these things. Falling deeply in love with a pastry is easy.”

—	Elizabeth Bard, Lunch in Paris

Midnight in Paris Opening

Well I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky

When I am alone 
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone 
When I've lost all care for the things I own 
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you 
You who are my home 

-Alexi Murdoch "Orange Sky"

It's Friday.

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.

-John 14:18

And that's a promise.

A Madison Place Thanksgiving

This past week provided opportunities to devour too much turkey, drowsily watch football, and belly-laugh with friends over crispy casserole.
Grateful for these photos and the people that make them memorable.

In an Edinburgh Starbucks

6/15/2012
Edinburgh-Friday

The fact that we are in a Starbucks right now in Scotland's capitol makes me laugh. Of course we're here.....I can't stop smiling today when yesterday I couldn't stop crying. I am learning about Maggie, my own heart, how to travel, what my body can handle, what it can't, about Scottish history, about how to see my selfishness and pride surrounding me, but not cling to it. But mostly, I'm learning that when you pray for something, God will answer. When you ask and ask and ask others to ask and ask again to fall more in love with God and spark conversations with Maggie, He will answer, and it's worth it.

It's my expectations and desire to control what's happening to us and how to get from here to here and what to eat, where to shop, where to walk, what to buy, what to pack, how much to eat, what to wear, how much money is worth it, where to sleep, which bunk, what time is best, what picture is best, what angle is prettiest. How many factors can I try and gather in my my feeble arms while still yelling up to God, "yeah I trust you! Just give me a second, I've got this!"

Let's get one things straight.
I don't have anything except Christ, and I need to stop trying.

I've never heard the Lord's whisper quite as loud as I did today asking me, "don't you trust me? To get you from here to there, to feed you, to protect you, to provide for you, to stop you from fainting? Trust me, I won't leave you in Europe alone. I did not bring you there to only leave you at the airport."

The thing is, to hear Him, I had to get out every loud, prideful thought, every heavy, selfish tear, each controlling breath before I was willing to listen. Why do I always choose the most difficult way of doing things? Ha, I know that's not really an accurate statement. I mean yes, a lot of the time I feel like I always pick the hard way, but who doesn't? God is answering me, in my prayer to love Him more, He's showing me how much more room there would be for Him and His purposes if I loved my selfishness less.

I like to pray John 3:30: "He must become greater, I must become less." I just didn't realize my sinful nature would start fighting as it started to make room for Christ. My Esther study I'm doing is incredible, and the timing God had for me and the few lessons I had to catch up on today was ridiculously perfect. It was on anger and indulging in our mean spirits (something I've been smacked with on this trip) as well as psychological warfare (which hasn't stopped raging). I assume worst-case scenarios often and my mind has been plagued with all kinds of terrible ideas and notions that if I don't keep it all together, something will go horribly wrong. This is not of God. He is trustworthy, and if things do go wrong (and I'm not suggesting they won't all of a sudden), well, then it needs to be faith that calms my spirit and keeps me going. Satan CANNOT ruin this trip, do you hear me?! He can't win, he will ALWAYS lose because God has already won! My spirit, my soul, are HIS alone!

I'm not saying it's not going to get harder or no more trials, but it's time I actually listen to Paul when he says we must "set our minds on things above, not on things that are on this earth" (Colossians 3:2). To set my mind on complete, sometimes blind, trust and hope in my Lord that He will provide, and once my mind is set there, I PRAY it may stay! We need a lot of things, but the only thing necessary to survive here, to sustain, provide, and delight in is the Lord. It may very well get worse, more bumpy in the coming three weeks left in Europe, but as I talked to my mom last night on the phone, as both Magz and I were having breakdowns, she reminded me that this is "the trip of a lifetime." And it really is.

I don't know how to get to the Edinburgh bus station to drive us to the airport. I don't know how much money we have, if it's enough. I don't know how we're getting from the Dublin airport to our hostel late at night. I don;t know how many carry-ons we can have or if it's too heavy of a backpack to even take on the plane. I don't know what to eat for dinner or if I'll feel dizzy again. I don't know if it will stop raining here (probably not). I don't know if we have to pay to use the toilets in the airport. I don't know if I should keep drinking caffeinated drinks. I don't know what my body can handle. I don't know how we're getting to Lyon. I don't know how to love Maggie better. I don't know anything.
This is what I do know:

Love, Madeline

Old musical thoughts

I wrote this many many moons ago, probably several years, but I thought since I'm not comfortable putting up actual fiction writing with characters and names in all their amateur-ness, this angsty blurb will have to do for now.

Music is consuming. Its gaping melodies open their jaws into a mouthful of empty sorrows and stolen glances we wish we’d never had. It’s poetry. Occasionally, like a new pair of jeans, it can take some getting used to. Some songs are like a bad taste in your mouth. We spit them out, while it sits there dripping with remorse and discontentment. Other songs are comfort food; like your mom’s lumpy mashed potatoes or your grandma’s homemade bread. Their sweet taste resonates for hours after the final note is played. Then there are the crying songs. Everyone has them, there’s no use denying it. They are the songs we reach out in desperation for on a day where our lives make no sense to us; clinging to the hope that someone else, preferably with a guitar, can make sense of our mess. They are the songs laced with words we could never say. They are lost. In the midst of troubling goodbyes and unspoken “I love you’s” they are lost, but the chorus remains. Giving us hope. They are the songs we play over and over until we can somehow find closure. That in those three minutes we can find the peace we crave that the artist seems to find. These kinds of songs have no winners, no victories; only a melancholy aftertaste and bitter moments alone.

Orange Sky-Alexi Murdoch

Holocene-Bon Iver

Do You Realize?-The Flaming Lips

Timshel-Mumford & Sons

All I ever needed was a landline

Oh college, how you have shaped thee.

Let's just ponder today: an extra two hours of accidental sleep. A lonely calculator missed desperately by my anxiety once I arrived at school. A beautiful, under-appreciated fall day. A few good men that always have my back, and usually my humor. Two very surly tests and too many numbers without hope. A hot cup of dark roast in a too-merry cup for the second week of November. Words of wisdom from a man who also panics at the thought of lost luggage. A few stolen library moments. Dinner with the face of change and a voice that still produces my gut-laugh. A desk. Enjoying laughter with friends without hearing their voices. A forgotten thermos. A laugh back with those few good men and a fascination with a rejected chip. A favor to a redbox. A door I haven't seen in 14 hours. A note and coffee money from my Mia. Preparations for the morning like hardy soup and four scoops of coffee because three is never quite enough. Clean hair from a too-late shower. Quiet melodies of Greg Laswell and Ingrid Michaelson. The hope for the next few days to come.

But mostly, a God that waits for my return and delights in my very heart. He longs for the moments I look up, and I am so very grateful for this moment that I am 20 and I am free. For this moment that I am clean and I am healed. For this moment that I am exhausted, yet joyful. For this moment that I have the very hands of God on the fringes of my life that I'd deemed unsalvageable. Each piece is precious to Him. Grateful for that 1:34 in the morning truth.

A few Saturday afternoon muses

Sweet Disposition (live)-The Temper Trap
Tree By the River (live)-Iron & Wine
Poison & Wine (live)-The Civil Wars
The Cave (live-at The Current!)-Mumford & Sons
Home (NOT live)-Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes

A question posed by the Lord:

"I want to take you with Me, but you have to say yes."

A thing for coffee shops

I have a thing for coffee shops, I really do. They function as my damsel-in-distress setting where a gallant young gentleman holding a tall pike place roast takes the chair across from mine and sweeps me off my stubborn feet.

Silly, maybe. But even if I’m not consciously playing this scenario in my head, it returns without fail. My reoccurring dream in the hours of the living. It’s almost as far fetched as my “When Harry Met Sally” complex. Both of which refuse to leave my caffeinated mind. This vivid fantasy does even more damage to my impossible hopes (yes, hopes) when the procrastination fairy comes and waves her magic wand over what little productivity I possess and I continue to sip, and to ponder. Symptoms include: a stomach with too much coffee and too little food, a blank word doc, an untouched novel (just to appear even more like a cliché), and eyes focused upward and to the right like I’m deep in thought over a philosophical theory, when in reality I’m narrating my ideal facial reaction to such an encounter with my intuitive knight in shining caffeine.

If there is even the slightest hint of melancholy or an overcast afternoon, my knight begins to gain facial features, maybe an eclectic music taste, a hint of scruff. Rain is a writer’s muse. Ask anyone who feels their words hold any amount of significance-they adore rain. Melancholy, nostalgia, longing, reminiscence, yearning, romance, ache, sorrow. These are words that arouse us. We who sit in coffee shops and wait for someone to find us among the sugary mochas, the abstract wall art, the wobbly wooden tables. We who continue to sip our coffee long after it looses its warmth. We who pack up our belongings slowly, just in case our knight decides to make an appearance. We who hear the thud of our paper cup once full of vain expectations into the trash as the day trembles on.
We who wait, wait no longer.

"But as for me, I will look to the Lord;

I will wait for the God of my salvation;

my God will hear me."

Micah 7:7

Tears Makes Me Tired

Grace isn't some of the time.

It's all of the time.

And maybe God has reassured you of this. Maybe your heart has heard whispers of worth this week, and if that be the case, I praise God!
He is honest, He never ceases to reassure us,
but lately my stubborn heart has turned away and attempted to hide amongst the chaos of lies.

Have you ever tried to hide from God?

“Am I a God who is near,” declares the Lord,“And not a God far off?

“Can a man hide himself in hiding places so I do not see him?” declares the Lord.

“Do I not fill the heavens and the earth?” declares the Lord.

Jeremiah 23:23-24