. . . Jo March scribbled away. I do likewise, though in my room, staring at a laptop screen. (A garret for writing sounds much nicer. . .) While I am currently embroiled in a Project of Daunting Proportions, I adore writing little scribbles and drabbles and what-nots. Thus I was delighted to read Astrya's brilliant list of prompts (do go check it out!), and out came this little scribble. I hope you enjoy!
An Unnamed Scribble The moment she sets foot in the snow and feels the taste of snowflakes on her tongue, she knows she's home. Why this strange new place is deserving of that ever-elusive title, she does not know, nor does she care to wonder why. It is enough to feast her eyes on the enchanting picture surrounding her, to hear the crunch of white powder beneath her feet, to soak in the bracing chill of the air, and to listen to the stillness. A thrill of wonder and adventure thrums, subdued, in the air, piercing her soul. Never has she felt so strong, so brave, so insignificant. Behind her, a sorrow-wracked, broken world lies framed in the door of a wardrobe; before her, the light of a lamppost shimmers through gently falling snow. Thank you, Astrya! Do you ever find titles to be troublesome things? What are your opinions on garrets?
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Something I've been pondering this Advent is the intensity of God's love.
It's truly too much for this little brain to comprehend. How vast can His love be, that it never wavers in devotion? I'll be the first to admit I grieve Him constantly with my rebellion. We break His heart day after day, and He keeps loving us with an unchanging love. "Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49:15, 16, NLT) God was speaking to Israel in those verses. The same mighty Warrior who through the prophet Nahum thundered to nations, "Behold, I am against thee!" loved Israel with the tender love of a mother. Surely if His anger is so terrifying, His love is equally impassioned. The capacity of an almighty God, unrestrained by time or space, to love is breathtaking. That's the Love that was seen by shepherds in a manger, the Love that healed the sick and fed the masses, the Love that gave Himself up for humanity, the Love that conquered the grave, the Love that's coming back one day on a white horse, resplendent in due majesty. "The greatest of these" triumphs because it's stronger, more fierce, than anything we know. But, of course, C. S. Lewis said it best. In one stunning line, he presents us with a Love that is good, but not safe: "It was fiery, sharp, bright and ruthless, ready to kill, ready to die, outspeeding light: it was Charity . . ." (That Hideous Strength, Chapter 15, "The Descent of the Gods") |
AuthorOld-fashioned, bookworm, tea-drinker, saved by grace Archives
May 2024
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