I’m sick

25 01 2008


I have a cold. I expect it was the stuffiness of Starbucks last night, and the cold, rain and lack of sleep in general over the past couple of weeks. I feel about a million years old this evening, especially when I contemplate just how much I need to do this weekend in order to be on par (kind of, even). There’s Set 3 Listening to go through, Paper 1A to mark, essays from Set 3 to correct, Paper 2 Mock Exams to write, and the plethora of reading that needs to be got through before Monday’s lecture… ad infinitum…

I miss the days when I used to sleep in and not give half a tomato who I needed to meet, or what I needed to do. The price of being grown up now, I suppose. Although I don’t feel grown up.

I got told I was a religious chick last night; what the heck does that mean?!

But I’m looking forward to Solid Rock tomorrow. We’ll be watching a movie. Perhaps I’ll plug up my nostrils so my nose doesn’t run. Now that I think of it, the last couple of times I came down with pretty bad colds was the day after Solid Rock. Dang.

I was reading Donald Miller’s book again tonight (when am I going to finish reading it? It’s great reading and really insightful and I’ve learned a lot from it, but boy, do I read it slowly. I can’t think why, either) and he said something that blew me away: the people who met Jesus and knew Him personally couldn’t help but love being with Him and around Him, and if this kind of love, which is felt and received, was less articulated and watered down, the love would move the hardest of hearts. If we were a people who could speak uncomfortable truths into the world, and still go around loving people to the point of being willing to die for them, then magical stuff would happen, magical stuff like real love that is warmth and light and doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not.

Love is Enough

Love is enough: though the World be a-waning,
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
    Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
    And this day draw a veil over all deeds pass’d over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
    These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

-William Morris




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