As much as I wanted to see this big dream happen immediately, I discovered that it takes a lot of hard work, persistence, faith and hope to make dreams happen, especially the ones that God places in our hearts. Working it out is probably much more like the way of Christ, anyway. Jesus chose the difficult path of humility, persistence, faithfulness, faith, trust, patience, hard work and even pain to reveal Himself to us, teach us, sanctify us, heal us and offer us eternal life.

--http://www.radiantmagazine.com/2009/06/journey-toward-justice/

I like to watch the sky.
I love how feather-shaped clouds sweep across the blue, temporarily touching up and highlighting the sky, and how some do indeed have gold (not just silver) colored lining, especially those immediately surrounding the sun. I like watching as these disappear, perhaps being magic carpets being skirted away to somewhere else, somewhere where it is still day. I like being greeted by single blotches of pink on an otherwise dull white-yellow horizon. I like the grey. Not the grey that usually consists of a 'cloudy' day, but the dark, charcoal gray, that only pops up at sundown. Sometimes, the sky isn't terribly exciting. I read in Kathleen Norris' Dakota about the emptiness she and the residents of the Dakotas often experience, underneath a terrible, vacant sky, and fields that stretch on as the ocean. "Everything that seems empty is full of the angels of God" St. Hilary. And, even if there isn't much cloud activity in the sky, there are the varying intensities of light, and heat. Before the sun begins its final descent, it catches windows, and magnifies silos and makes the landscape seem that much nearer and farther at the same time. I think the sun has a bit of a sense of humor. Or perhaps the photons of light themselves. They appear to be winking at me. I don't know what this means. It's sort of like the cryptic smile the Mona Lisa wears.

I should have gone to bed an hour ago. Maybe two, even.
I feel desperately alone; that seems to be the consistent theme this summer. the first couple of weeks were alright, but now, I'm not doing so well. And I'm too tired, too discouraged to even try. The loneliness doesn't just come from not being in the immediate environment of Houghton, although that is part of it. I don't know, in the deep recesses of my heart, that I am loved. And writing that now seems ridiculous to me, laughable even. (The me being loved part). Such is the bitterness that has taken root in my heart. Does anyone really care about me? How can I know, for sure, that they do? I mean, after all, I'm stupid, and ugly, and always say the wrong things (Jo March). Am I trying too hard, or demanding too much of God? Or am I demanding of people, or one person, what only God can give?

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I learn by going where I have to go.
--Theodore Roethke

I resonate deeply with these words, but not with joy. I'm not precisely sure what he's trying to say here; it implies a sense of drudgery, sluggishness, despair.

His eye is on the sparrow...

and I know he watches me.

I went for a walk this evening. And picked up whatever flowers I could find along the way to press in my journal. As soon as I picked one the light pink petals fell off and into my palm. I picked a dandelion, and before I had a chance to blow on it, the wind took most of its seed away. The sky, on the way home, turned pink and gray. An odd, but startlingly beautiful combination. As I came up the house, up the stairs from the backyard, I was shocked (and a bit horrified, at first) to find a bird (my mom thinks a sparrow) resting on the hand railing.

I love these little gifts.

Dear God,
Why do I feel dry in your Spirit?
Why do I feel that the fire has died within me, yet so many claim they see the light of You, of God, burning brightly? Why do I have to feel moments of doubt, distrust, disbelief, stages of anger and stages of loneliness when it comes to You, Father? ... Why can't I be completely consumed by You? Why can't I be used be You? Why do I feel self-righteous at times? Why do I feel afraid?
(Rachel Scott)

as the Letter to the Hebrews (2:18; 4:15; 5:2) describes, ‘Because Jesus himself has suffered and been emptied, he is able to help those who are tempted... for we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathise with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sinning. He can deal gently with the ignorant and wayward since he himself is beset with weakness.'What does weakness mean here? Not the experience of sin, but almost its opposite. Weakness is the experience of a peculiar liability to suffering, a profound sense of inability both to do and to protect: an inability, even after a great effort, to perform as we should want, or achieve what we had determined, or succeed with the completeness that we might have hoped. It means openness to suffering. It means that we are unable to secure our own future, or to protect ourselves from any adversity, or to live with easy clarity and assurance, or to ward off shame, pain, or even interior anguish.

www.sacredspace.ie

God definitely knew I needed these words. : )