Shout. Out. Loud.

I just want to give a shout out to a fellow blogger & fantastic photographer, Chris Newby. He has the world's coolest wife... Here's his stuff. CHECK IT OUT, then thank Jesus for the gifts He has given.

And here are some shots of moi:
(I had a hard time picking seven to put on here.
Seriously, check out his blog.)




































































































DON'T YOU WANT TO USE CHRIS NEWBY FOR ANY PHOTOGRAPHY NEEDS YOU MIGHT HAVE?! (Then do it.)
Side note: I've decided to quit college & pursue modeling.

Chrysanthemums & Mary Oliver

I think I have a thing for chrysanthemums. And Mary Oliver's poetry.

Peonies by Mary Oliver

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open ---
pools of lace,
white and pink ---
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities ---
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again ---
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?















(P.C.: Google Images)

Peonies reminds me of this:

A voice says, "Cry out." And I said, "What shall I cry?" "All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the LORD blows on them. Surely the people are grass.The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God stands forever. Isaiah 40:6-8

Have a happy Monday.

A Date Night Downtown

Hello blogosphere (never to be used again)--

This past weekend I took a little trip down to College Station, TX to see the wonderful Ryan Trevino, & it was the most comfortable, sweet weekend to date. I'll spare you blog readers the gory details of the visit & just share some adorable pictures from our date night in downtown Bryan.




























































I love him so very much.

On another note, this weekend will consist of:
Studying, relaxing, cooking, reading, & just being.
Cherishing a couple of days Jesus has given me to rejuvenate & rest in Him.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters.
Psalm 23:2

I can't wait!

Good & Bad

I'm frustrated because I don't know how to form my thoughts & feelings into complete, coherent sentences tonight. To be honest, I feel completely devoid of any peace whatsoever, I'm stressed out, & I'm irritated that rain got my lab manual wet. However, because I should not be complaining & focusing on myself/my fallible ways, I will choose tonight to focus on God's goodness & His inerrant ways. I should not be focusing on my "good" or "bad" days, but rather the God in my life.

My life, the days I spend wandering around this planet, the hours I spend meandering around my small, small world, cannot be deemed as "good" based on my circumstances. A "good" day doesn't mean that nothing bad happens. A "good" day doesn't mean that that boy or that girl smiled at you (Ryan Trevino, I love you, & I do not look for boys to smile at me). A "good" day doesn't mean you got an A on a geography quiz. A "good" day doesn't mean that for some reason everything fell into place.

What is a "good" day? Here's what I think: A good day means getting up only to fall in love with Jesus more. A good day means recognizing the urgency of the Gospel & sharing it with the weird looking girl who sits next to you in math class. A good day means encouraging a brother or sister in the Lord to keep up the good fight of the faith. A good day means being encouraged just the same. And, to be honest, a good day means a good cup of coffee... Or maybe that's just me.

I don' t do all of these things all of the time, but a good day also means thanking God every single moment possible for sending His precious & perfect Son to die an excruciating death on a beautiful cross. Doesn't get any better than that...

Jesus, we are desperate for You. We're homesick children, & we're eagerly awaiting Your return. You are our only good.

In all that I have found
Your evidence abounds
I’ve always sensed Your fingerprints
If I just look around...

And yet this grand display
Will all soon pass away
So I hold on to the mighty truth
That Your love is here to stay...

Life has let me down
In wealth, joy can’t be found
I’ve searched for peace in all of these
But I have always found...

When I stumble
When I fall
When I’m walking ten feet tall
Your love is there day after day
Even at the worst extreme
Or after I have been redeemed
Your love is there
And it won’t let me go

The love of the Lord endures

Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman was good, people (I didn't say good looking). The following are some of my favorite stanzas from Song of Myself.
















(P.C.: Google Images)

4
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

51
The past and present wilt--I have fill'd them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.

Who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?

Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late?