Content pending . . .

So I've been delaying showing any pictures of the new place because I just stink at making rooms look cool in my pictures - I feel that the panorama's cover my lack of skill in this area. I still need to take pictures of the loft which is empty as of right now, but will soon house my bed, a small desk and all those books you see. The view of the second floor from up there is very nice. I am planning on using the space by the window on the second floor as a reading nook of sorts. Maybe a big pillow type thing. Couches upstairs for a hang out sort of space, my big desk downstairs with only a reading lamp and chair at it - the study. And a table which will sit four downstairs as well. It's all a long way off, it is a start.

My apartment smells of oranges. A large bowl of oranges rests on the counter. They are aromatic and delicious. Have you looked a the beauty around you today? Have you peeled an orange, seen the little jets misting up from the rind as you removed them. Have you looked at the thousands of strands of pulp which all carry a minuscule amount of juice within them? Have you thought about the thousands of groves which have hundreds of trees from which a worlds supply of oranges grow? It's February and I have a bowl of oranges in my apartment.

I am weary - I am worn. I long for far away shores. I am content. I am happy. I smile and sing, and remember and forget. I sigh. I walk. I listen. I read. I talk. I listen some more.

Why when reading stories do I refuse to look ahead? I will not read ahead - I want to experience the story as the author would have me, to let them lead me where they would. Show me what they would have me see. By looking ahead I destroy the whole sense of moment - no longer can I really feel wonder, fear, sadness, love, or excitement. Because I know how it ends. And that's why I read - to feel. To feel wonder, to feel fear, to stress, to be swept away by the story. When I know the end - there are no surprises, I am not made to travel and grow with the character, his burdens are not mine when I look ahead.

SO what drives me to know the end of my own story? Why do I want to look ahead?

Be still and live. Feel these moments. Grow. Love. Hurt. Wrestle. Fight. Strive. Yearn. Remember.

“Be of good courage and cast these dreadful thoughts out of your mind. Whenever the devil pesters you with these thoughts, at once seek out the company of men, drink more, joke and jest, or engage in some other form of merriment. . . . When the devil throws our sins up to us and declares that we deserve death and hell, we ought to speak thus: ‘I admit that I deserve death and hell. What of it? Does this mean that I shall be sentenced to eternal damnation? By no means. For I know One who suffered and made satisfaction in my behalf. His name is Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Where he is, there I shall be also.’”
Martin Luther, in Theodore G. Tappert, editor, Luther: Letters of Spiritual Counsel (Philadelphia, 1955), pages 86-87.

A friend posted this earlier this week. Taking Karl and Luther's advice I went and hung out with people. Four hyperactive kids and their two tired babysitters. I love kids. Who else would cure boredom by spraying you in the face with febreze, bite you, pull your hair, kick you in the stomach, let you help put away the dishes, quote a movie you've never seen so fast that you can't understand them, have you teach them wrestling moves, shoot you with nerf guns and let you feed the dog.

I love my life and I would not read ahead for fear of missing the treasures to be found in unexpected laughter, the sense of wonder oranges and sunsets bring.

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