Taking Off toward a New Journey
Welcome to the beginning of a completely new journey! To those of you who will periodically or regularly read my blog, I deeply appreciate your care, support, and prayers. As I prepare to step on a one-way flight Monday morning, your standing behind me and keeping watch on the wall unspeakably strengthens my spirit.
I named the web address of this blog “holding by the edges,” because in so many ways, I am. Though I’m returning to a place I have been before, I am holding by the edges something much larger than I, seeking to grasp with childlike understanding a reality much older. I am an infant in the shadow of the world’s vast need, asking God to teach me again how to walk through broken places with the childlike faith that so delights Him.
Four months in Romania in 2007 began steeping me in a complex social history, one that I have since spent my Honors Research and an advanced writing project studying. The paradox of Romania and its people has been embedded in my thoughts, expressed in pages upon pages of my writing, discussed in numerous conversations, and pondered quietly in the recesses of my spirit. Eastern Europe has captured my heart every day since leaving, and now, God has called me back to again immerse myself in a world so different from any that has formed me. I didn’t know if I would ever again see the faces that became so dear to me there, but two years later, here I am packing my bags to return! Incredible. I believe God has been preparing me for this day since I was a child, so I step out in confidence of my Father.
Only two days left! I am so excited and overwhelmed. I am not sure how often I will be able to update this blog, but I hope to at least post glimpses and clips of living in Eastern Europe and working with New Horizons Foundation over the next year. Consider this my disclaimer: these blogs may in turn be appallingly honest, terribly unprofound, or perplexingly theoretical...but do not be daunted! Please feel welcome to comment, express concern over my sanity, or contact me by e-mail. :)
Below is a poem I wrote last fall that holds the original idea of “holding by the edges.”
Holding by the Edges What Measures Me
My hands smooth over
the Formica, fingers curling down
beneath the countertop ledge,
supporting this weight.
I am standing in the sunrise
and the fields are running up to the horizon.
By what I am see
I am held against
other mornings,
when the sunbeams were just falling
upon my head and years later
descending over my shoulders.
I used to wait for the sunrise, here,
fingers clinging
to the cool countertop.
My head barely reached
the kitchen sink, but I had
wanted to see those undulating fields,
ribboning up to the brink
of the world just
beyond the window.
Straining on little toes,
pulling up my feather-light
understanding with a
fingertip grip,
I held by the edge
what measured me.
I wanted to change
the world. My mother
had read to me their stories --
Amy Carmichael,
Corrie Ten Boom,
and others who had
lived the meaning of
grace. When my chin
could rest on the counter,
I stared into
the glass-framed sky
waiting for my chance
to go, to be
something of what
they were.
And finally -- I went and
watched the ways of the world.
Edges jagged and crumbling,
I saw abused and starving
children, the oppressed
suffering affliction, lives leeched
by addiction, devastation the
prediction. Need and grief
and why -- and I was a child again,
fingertips slipping
from what I had wanted
to hold in my hand.
Now, my palms pressing down
against the countertop,
I am taller, and smaller,
gripping more, and less,
learning from each day's turning
and from warmth upon my skin
that I will always be a child,
reaching for the edge
of something far
above my head.
Thank you so much for being part of this journey and for supporting me as I keep reaching.
I named the web address of this blog “holding by the edges,” because in so many ways, I am. Though I’m returning to a place I have been before, I am holding by the edges something much larger than I, seeking to grasp with childlike understanding a reality much older. I am an infant in the shadow of the world’s vast need, asking God to teach me again how to walk through broken places with the childlike faith that so delights Him.
Four months in Romania in 2007 began steeping me in a complex social history, one that I have since spent my Honors Research and an advanced writing project studying. The paradox of Romania and its people has been embedded in my thoughts, expressed in pages upon pages of my writing, discussed in numerous conversations, and pondered quietly in the recesses of my spirit. Eastern Europe has captured my heart every day since leaving, and now, God has called me back to again immerse myself in a world so different from any that has formed me. I didn’t know if I would ever again see the faces that became so dear to me there, but two years later, here I am packing my bags to return! Incredible. I believe God has been preparing me for this day since I was a child, so I step out in confidence of my Father.
Only two days left! I am so excited and overwhelmed. I am not sure how often I will be able to update this blog, but I hope to at least post glimpses and clips of living in Eastern Europe and working with New Horizons Foundation over the next year. Consider this my disclaimer: these blogs may in turn be appallingly honest, terribly unprofound, or perplexingly theoretical...but do not be daunted! Please feel welcome to comment, express concern over my sanity, or contact me by e-mail. :)
Below is a poem I wrote last fall that holds the original idea of “holding by the edges.”
Holding by the Edges What Measures Me
My hands smooth over
the Formica, fingers curling down
beneath the countertop ledge,
supporting this weight.
I am standing in the sunrise
and the fields are running up to the horizon.
By what I am see
I am held against
other mornings,
when the sunbeams were just falling
upon my head and years later
descending over my shoulders.
I used to wait for the sunrise, here,
fingers clinging
to the cool countertop.
My head barely reached
the kitchen sink, but I had
wanted to see those undulating fields,
ribboning up to the brink
of the world just
beyond the window.
Straining on little toes,
pulling up my feather-light
understanding with a
fingertip grip,
I held by the edge
what measured me.
I wanted to change
the world. My mother
had read to me their stories --
Amy Carmichael,
Corrie Ten Boom,
and others who had
lived the meaning of
grace. When my chin
could rest on the counter,
I stared into
the glass-framed sky
waiting for my chance
to go, to be
something of what
they were.
And finally -- I went and
watched the ways of the world.
Edges jagged and crumbling,
I saw abused and starving
children, the oppressed
suffering affliction, lives leeched
by addiction, devastation the
prediction. Need and grief
and why -- and I was a child again,
fingertips slipping
from what I had wanted
to hold in my hand.
Now, my palms pressing down
against the countertop,
I am taller, and smaller,
gripping more, and less,
learning from each day's turning
and from warmth upon my skin
that I will always be a child,
reaching for the edge
of something far
above my head.
Thank you so much for being part of this journey and for supporting me as I keep reaching.
buna sunt Marcel mi nr, tel 0735143868
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