i have not been sleeping a whole lot in the past 2 days. i have not been praying a lot in the past 2 days. maybe that has something to do with the status of my soul . it throbs. it is exhausted. it wants a holiday. a holiday of rest, where it can forget its pain and anxieties. but even on these days there is enough grace.
Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus
O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There's a light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.
Through death into life everlasting He passed,
and we follow Him there;
Over us sin no more hath dominion-
For more than conquerors we are!
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.
His Word shall not fail you-He promised;
Believe Him, and all will be well:
Then go to a world that is dying,
His perfect salvation to tell!
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.
Helen H. Lemmel, 1864-1961
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
broken
i have this cut on the side of my foot. i do not remember when or how it got cut, i do not even remember it bleeding. but by the time i noticed the cut, my shoe was full of blood and i had already left a trail of blood behind me. my cut has not completely healed yet. i simply clean and bandage my cut every morning, hoping that one day it will no longer be there and i can forget about what caused the cut in the first place.
i know something fell on it the night of the tornado. that night when i ran into the commons and tim dragged me into the safety of the hall. when i opened my eyes i was on the ground, i could not move because wood, debris and a tool box were on top of me. there was blood all over me. i could see blood on my arms and hands, and i could feel the blood on my face.
and so i have this pain that grips my heart. i try not to remember when or how it got broken and bruised, i try to not even remember it hurting. but by the time i take time to notice the pain, my eyes are full of tears. i simply clean and bandage my pain every morning, hoping that one day it will no longer be there and i can forget about what caused the pain in the first place.
i know something fell on it the night of the tornado. that night when i ran into the commons and tim dragged me into the safety of the hall. when i opened my eyes i was on the ground, i could not move because wood, debris and a tool box were on top of me. there was blood all over me. i could see blood on my arms and hands, and i could feel the blood on my face.
and so i have this pain that grips my heart. i try not to remember when or how it got broken and bruised, i try to not even remember it hurting. but by the time i take time to notice the pain, my eyes are full of tears. i simply clean and bandage my pain every morning, hoping that one day it will no longer be there and i can forget about what caused the pain in the first place.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
i simply interpret
I have begun this blog as an avenue to distraction while on my interpreting job. All this effort from my brain seems to awaken in me the desire to write, as well as a voracious appetite I did not even know I had. I am on an interpreting marathon: 7 and a half hours yesterday, 10 hours today. I have eaten about 10 expresso beans and half a bag of M&M's in the past 5 hours.
my name is 5722.
i have been here way too long.
consider these to be confessions from an interpreter.
sometimes i wonder how it is that i ended up saying words that do not belong to me for 7 hours on a friday. the words belong to the one who listens and the one who utters. i am somewhere in between...i treat words as if they were mine, but then they slip away. i hold them for a second and they quickly slide from my grip. i am a word usurper. i steal the word. it is yours but it is mine and so i take it and morph it into beauty, into meaning, it's the same but it is different; and then, as vapor it is gone. i cannot hold on to it. it is gone. after i have procesed, digested, deeply felt, and even reacted to the word in its full meaning, it is gone. i cry, laugh, cuss, scream, whisper, politely request information, i even order pizza. yet i remain the invisible voice who is quickly forgotten but does not quickly forget. i am the one who wishes to be a character in the story but is forced to remain a spectator. i simply interpret.
my name is 5722.
i have been here way too long.
consider these to be confessions from an interpreter.
sometimes i wonder how it is that i ended up saying words that do not belong to me for 7 hours on a friday. the words belong to the one who listens and the one who utters. i am somewhere in between...i treat words as if they were mine, but then they slip away. i hold them for a second and they quickly slide from my grip. i am a word usurper. i steal the word. it is yours but it is mine and so i take it and morph it into beauty, into meaning, it's the same but it is different; and then, as vapor it is gone. i cannot hold on to it. it is gone. after i have procesed, digested, deeply felt, and even reacted to the word in its full meaning, it is gone. i cry, laugh, cuss, scream, whisper, politely request information, i even order pizza. yet i remain the invisible voice who is quickly forgotten but does not quickly forget. i am the one who wishes to be a character in the story but is forced to remain a spectator. i simply interpret.
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