Does anyone find it mildly amusing that Cinco de Mayo is a celebration of the Mexican militia’s victory over the French?
Apparently the French were peeved that Mexico had stopped repaying a loan they owed France and took it upon themselves to invade Mexico. (You know, they say Abraham Lincoln took Mexico’s side, but he didn’t exactly do anything about it — he was kind of preoccupied fighting a war of his own).
i needed chocolate chip cookies today.
we didn’t have any chips, but i did have a stack of 100% dark chocolate bars in the cupboard. (don’t judge. when it comes to sweets, i am allergic to pretty much everything except the raw-vegan fruit-nut bars, so i get 100% cacao dark chocolate bars for gifts. for every holiday. from everyone.) i reached to the bottom of the stack, counting backwards from easter…valentine’s day, birthday, christmas. yes, christmas. that would be the oldest one.
i held the chocolate bar hard, pressing my fingers down through the foil, letting my finger tips feel the outline of the words ghirardelli on every square, letting my fingers trace the outline of the ridges between each rectangle of bitterness.
then i reached for the rolling pin.
yes, that’s me. photo taken in oaxaca, mexico, circa 1985.
it’s late. the only light in this room is the cool, unblinking light of the sleek iMac screen. my fingers tap a subtly methodical dance across the plastic keys. i notice that each each sentence is separated by the dull staccato of the double space.
from the adjoining room, i hear the sound of water trickling over paint brushes, then the soft padding of stocking feet over hardwoord floor. i listen to the couch squeak as my love sits back down in front of his paints, clean brushes in hand.
my cough rattles my chest cage, and then this room. the cough deepens as the night grows on, the cough that reminds me i’ve missed two of the five very first days at a new job this week. the cough that reminds me i am not invincible, and i cannot control every circumstance. i cannot always be perfect. i cannot ever be perfect. but that’s another story for another time.
his voice cuts through the silence, comforting and warm. his voice sounds just like the way it feels to be curled up next to him on the couch, my head on his chest, tracing the pattern of his graphic tee with my painted fingernail. today, it was white clouds on dark cotton, and the outline of a vw bus.
today it was white clouds on dark cotton. i like that. i think in life, i tend to focus too much on the dark, and not quite enough on the white, bright clouds.
tonight, though, i’m daydreaming of the shapes in those clouds. wondering where the wind will blow us next. we’re still walking underneath this sky, together, pushing forward on this long road.
and Your Love lies our salvation.
listen: orange sky | alexi murdoch
in the whirlwind of the last few weeks, this blog has been neglected. (wait, who i am kidding? it’s always a whirlwind.)
my last job was slowly sucking the life out me, day by day. (did you get that? my last job?). so anyway, at my last job, i felt stuck, like i had no out, no options, and yes, sometimes it even felt like i had no hope.
and then, out of the proverbial blue: a new opportunity. a new beginning. a new job. as my friend shanley texted me when i told her the good news, “this is everyday redemption.”
this is. everyday redemption. and He is forever faithful.
ohh, i absolutely love Toast UK. i seriously treat the pages from these catalogues like art — i have hung them up on the walls, covered tiny boxes, wrapped gifts, created notebook covers, collages, and mailing labels. the spring edition, which just came out, couldn’t make me happier! lovely!
See more photos…
“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength.” -Corrie ten Boom
i needed to hear that word, last night, as i was labeling boxes and stacking them in the living room. we’re only maybe three or four boxes into this process, but the tears did come. the tears and the worry and the sense of displacement. and then in that moment in my mind, i heard the perfectly husky voice of rich mullins, singing with reckless abandon into an old cassette recorder, singing,
“You did not have a home / birds have nests, foxes have dens / but the hope of the whole world rests / on the shoulders of a homeless man.”
and I was reminded that the Son of Man had no place to rest. and then i saw a message from my daddy, and he said, “i am so happy to hear you have a place to rest your head.”
and i have courage and hope to press on.
“for you have not as yet come to the resting place and the inheritance which the Lord your God is giving you. When you cross the Jordan and live in the land which the Lord your God is giving you to inherit, and He gives you rest from all your enemies around you so that you live in security, then it shall come about that the place in which the Lord your God will choose for His name to dwell, there you shall bring all that I command you.” -deuteronomy 12:9-11
“the Lord takes by it’s corners this ol’ world and shakes us forward and shakes us free to run wild with the hope.” -rich mullins
i am running wild with hope. and the sky is about to rain.
i dream again of a new-soul star
made of the same dust
as these two-ones, and
the pearly newness of
a freshly-made life,
with eyes of green, as yet unseen.
already, beside the calm-blue waters
one waits, hand-made and still,
having not yet crashed through the cosmic firmament
but ready, when the time is right,
to fly on eagle’s wings,
through the stars and heavenlight
into these waiting arms.
The Oaxacaborn Blog 