Timshel.

What's this? A new post from Emily two days (nights) in a row?


I hear Mumford & Sons has put out a new album. Aside from the first single from said album, which I hear frequently on the radio, I haven't heard it. But I have listened to their last album, Sigh No More, more times than I care to attempt to calculate. (Good thing it's not titled, Listen No More.) So I'm definitely a fan of what they do, even though I have yet to board the Babel bandwagon.

It's funny, though, how many times you can listen to a song and not understand what it means.

It's also funny how two occurrences that look different on the surface can coincide like they were meant to be.

I was just thinking more about life again, and realizing afresh the close correlation between the increase in my faith, and the increase in things like joy and contentment, and even provision. As the former has grown, so too have each of the latter, and then some. Faith has become the proverbial gift that keeps on giving.

Almost immediately after, my thoughts turned to Mumford & Sons' song "Timshel." I began to sing it. "Cold is the water..."

Through the first verse chorus cycle. Then through the second. And then I came to this, and my eyes widened as it sank deep...

"And I will tell the night
And whisper, "Lose your sight"
But I can't move the mountains for you"

I've heard, and can testify, that walking blindly in faith is the better way to live. I've also heard that a minuscule bit of faith is enough to move a mountain. It doesn't take much, but the mountain won't move unless you believe it will.

It's such a joy when what I see and hear, especially when what I'm seeing and hearing is beautiful art, affirms what I know to be true, especially recent revelations of truth.

Nonsense is best.

The gap between my last post and this one is a few weeks longer than I intended. I'm only okay with that because there's a good reason for it.

To get to that, allow me to jump over to and back down someone else's path. Early this year my mom and I paid a visit to our dear friend Amanda who has cut our hair for the past few years. If I wasn't so attached to the crazy dark brown stuff growing on top of my head, I would have made an appointment with her every week just so I could see her. She's that wonderful of a person. Almost immediately after my mom and I made it to the aforementioned appointment, Amanda began catching us up on the happenings of her life, and what she told us was radical. She and her husband had divorced, she moved to a town an hour away, and she had decided to quit her job and start cleaning houses. The one thing she said that has stuck with me most these many months since is, "I've been shocking people all over the place."

I knew she and her husband had their share of struggle, but it always seemed to me that they would fight through it, whatever happened. I think other people had the same impression. She was also extremely connected to her family and her community. Half the people that walked into the salon had either known her her whole life, or had been known by her their whole life. I doubt anyone expected she would ever move away. And if that wasn't dramatic enough, she was dead set on changing vocation. I know she didn't make a killing cutting, coloring, and styling hair, but going from that to cleaning houses almost seemed like a downgrade.

But all that is why what she did was so great, and why I was excited for her. She needed dramatic change and wasn't letting what anyone thought about it stop her from doing what was best for her. The only opinion she cared about was God's, and she was willing to follow him even when it didn't make sense.

My life doesn't make sense. To anyone. Not even me. But I'm living it. And I'm more content and full of joy than I've ever been.

Which brings me back to writing. I've been so busy living that I haven't gotten back around to my blog as quickly as I thought I would after getting this computer. But, Lord willing, I'll wake up to another day tomorrow, then another one after that, and another, and my story won't be over for a long time to come, giving me lots of second chances.

I leave you with a song I only recently began to comprehend. I hope you can experience this at least once in your lifetime.

Knocking down cobwebs.

Does anybody even read this thing anymore?

Well, obviously, there hasn't been much available to read lately, so I'm not expecting that anyone has been reading the past few months. But this post. Right here. Is anyone even paying attention enough to see it?

Look at this, before I've even begun, I'm already digressing. The point I'm wanting to make known in this post is that I am once again the proud owner of a computer. I have many hopes for my reacquaintance with technology, one of them being a return to blogging. Thus the wondering about the continued existence of an audience.

And that's all I have to say right now. I won't be captivating many minds with this bit of brilliance, but here's to the future.

24-year-old single female seeks the voice of experience.

I need some perspective.

Most of the people I know and know of seem to think a stable home is vitally important for a family. When I use the word stable in this context, I mean it in a physical sense. We could discuss emotional stability, mental stability, spiritual stability, etc., but my thoughts are currently turned to a more tangible sphere.

Back to the point, a lot of people seem to place high value on physical stability, particularly when talking about families, and my present question is "Why?." I don't disagree with them, but I also can't say that I agree completely.

Maybe my childhood is to blame for my wondering. It certainly is for my wandering. The longest I've lived anywhere is approximately 3.5 years, and that seemed like an eternity to me. My average is markedly shorter. Not only that, I've traveled most of my life almost like it was my job. It's not been quite that extreme, and some seasons are more full than others, but for someone who doesn't get paid to bop around the landscape, I've done it remarkably a lot.

As the person I am now typing this, I don't regret my life at all. I do wonder from time to time what staying in one place would be like, but never do I regret or feel mistreated. When I was younger, the nigh constant flux was a lot for me to handle; so much that it caused a lot of tears. Perhaps that's why people bestow such importance on staying in one place: to save their children from distress. I understand that. Well, I understand that as best as I can from my non-parent perspective. And if I may be so bold as to also speak this from that perspective, as much sympathy as I have for that position, I suspect too many parents are overprotective.

"No!" I hear you say. "That can't be! Don't insult my quality as a parent!" you admonish. "It sounds like your parents weren't protective enough." Maybe. I won't say there's no room for you to be right. But, although I can't claim to know all of their thoughts, I'm willing to bet I know my parents better than you do, and I wouldn't call them neglectful at all. I know the moving our family has done for the past quarter-century was not at the core of what they believed was important for us, especially not in my mom's heart. My dad didn't specifically want it anymore than she did, but he handled it better. Both of them wanted their own home where they could be together, build their life, raise their kids, and give each of us a platform from which to launch out to develop our own lives. That sounds nice, doesn't it? But life...God...dictated differently, and they were willing...forced...to go along and try to make the best of it. I think they've done an admirable job. Had they organized their and our lives as they wanted, we wouldn't have left the region where I was born. Even though it was difficult for me initially, speaking now as a 24-year-old product of physical instability, I'm grateful they didn't insist on having...weren't allowed to have...their way.

Is this an odd perspective to have? Or more accurately, is this appropriate? Acceptable? I guess the more pressing question (to my mind) is are we...am I...just an anomaly? I think I've fared rather well with a transient life, and I presume others would do the same given the opportunity, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe most people would curl into a ball, either physical or metaphorical, and become bitter and mad at the world. I don't know.

What makes me wonder about this are speculations on my future, which now seems so near and simultaneously so far, and time spent with people at stations of life I have yet to reach. When I hear them speak I wonder if they know something I don't. In fact, I assume they know something I don't. I want to believe there are things I don't understand and can't until I reach the same side of the bridge. I can't help but think, though, and want to give my experience as much credit as I possibly can.

When I combine the full credit of that experience with the voices of my inward leanings, I get a message that says, "Looks like settling down's not for you." Maybe partially settling down would be okay, but planting my feet as two deep-reaching roots would be a stretch. My wondering then becomes, what does that do for my chances of having a family, or more specifically a healthy family?

Thus we are back to where I began. I seek to understand why so I can make better decisions. Or at least informed decisions. I can see myself living in the same place, maybe actually more the same general area, for a long period of years, but not spending all day, every day there for large chunks of time, and certainly not owning the space in which I live. I know. I'm weird. Who doesn't want their own house? Particularly what woman doesn't want her own house? Me, apparently. What I want to know is can I be this brand of weird and not destroy my family? And can I drag my kids out all over creation as I'm out doing whatever it is I'm doing while not at home without devastating them? Or will I have to leave them frequently for short periods of time and will that frequent absence be more harm than it's worth? Will meeting a man be the beginning of my staying in one place? Will my inevitable choice be transience or family?

And then there's the question that could trump them all: as my life progresses, will I change so much that all these wonderings won't matter anymore, won't even be relevant anymore?

The many things I say when I don't know what to say.

A brief note that I tell myself is for others out there in cyber world, but is in reality probably just for myself as there aren't nearly as many people out there in cyber world who care about this as I tend to think:

More frequently than I would have liked had I a choice, there have been many occasions in recent years where I have been unplugged for a prolonged period of time. Unplugged from the Internet, that is.

Even though I wouldn't have chosen it, however, as it's happening, it hasn't been so bad. In case you didn't know that life can still continue without the Internet, I am here to testify that it can. I do miss things, but as the Beatles say, life does indeed go on. I move on. And it really is okay.

The biggest trouble I have with unplugging is plugging back in. It's like I have to start over every time I go through this cycle. My email gets piled to the sky. All the blogs I follow collect stacks of unread posts - posts I want to read, but which take up a big chunk of time as most everyone I subscribe to seems to be as verbose as I am. And then I want to jump back in and blog again, but I don't know where to start. When I know I'm unplugged, I lose the blogging frame of mind, and the regaining of it does not happen in the snap of a finger.

Those are just a few examples. I could give more, but I won't, lest my many words lose their value. My point has been made, and I am currently facing that point and trying to get plugged back in now that my grandma is well enough to not need a live-in caretaker.

So my stack of email is dwindling. I'm starting to check up on some of my Facebook friends again. But I feel half-hearted in all of it. I want to do it. But it's so much trouble. And if the pattern continues, it won't be long before I'm unplugged again and all of my efforts will seem just about pointless.

Why is that relevant enough for me to be talking about in this context? I want to get back to posting substance on this site more regularly, but then again I don't. Or, more accurately, I haven't convinced myself yet that it's worth the trouble in light of everything else that I'm trying to catch up on. I think I'll get there, but it's going to take a while. But then when I consider that it'll take a while, then I also consider that by the time the while passes, I may be knocked back down to the starting point again, facing another while before I get on my feet.

That, my friends, is what is on my mind. I intended about two paragraphs when I started. I guess that's what happens when I forget my propensity for verbosity.

Meeting myself.

I was just perusing my Pinterest boards outside myself. My thoughts:

- This chick's kinda all over the place. She seems like a mom one second and then the next I'd swear she's not old enough to even understand HOW to have kids. Babies having babies so to speak.

- There are also hints that she's formally educated, and then I see Atari coasters....

- And does she really want to live in a house that looks like one Mr. Magorium built?

- She must live in her head most of the time, this one.

- I'd hate to see her dropped in the middle of a fashion show.

- She seems to have lead a really interesting life thus far. I mean, how else could she be this weird? It's kind of impressive.

- We should be friends.

Lacking substance.

I've had many blog ideas hopping around in my head.

I really want to blog.

But I can't.

Well, obviously I can. I'm doing this now.

What I mean is that I can't blog anything that takes longer than a few minutes to write.

You see, here at my grandma's house, I'm having to use my little brother's quite old laptop. The battery on it lasts about an hour. When it's plugged in, it has to be sitting on a flat, stable surface.

While running on battery power, I can get in a cozy spot, curl my legs underneath me, and get in my favorite blogging posture. While it's plugged in, I have to sit at the kitchen table, in a straight chair, feeling completely uninspired.

Also, I can't sit at the kitchen table in the middle of the night, which happens to be my blogging hour of choice.

So until I can learn to write something of substance in under an hour, as long as I'm here hanging out with my recuperating grandmother, I don't see myself blogging anything but this.

Sad days are upon us. Us meaning me.