Fear not.

Aside from the few guilty pleasures of Clemence Dane and Oswald Chambers, my literature life lately is all about allegory. I have fallen in love with Hannah Hurnard's "Hinds' Feet on High Places" all over again, and I'll be honest with you, I am agitated beyond belief in a search for "Pilgrim's Progress." I moved down here without realizing the only copy I've ever had my hands on is my mother's.
There are woes I discover daily to pulling up roots and leaving those you love. My library is tiny and lacking in comparison to that which I left behind; that is what I learned today as I ached for John Bunyan's words.

I miss a lot of things.

And it's such a perpetual state that I find myself in, this missing, that I worry I'll never be rid of it. I am trying to get over that though. This year I have found two phrases to live by, and one of them is

Fear not. 

I'm tired of being afraid of everything.
I drove to school early the other morning, the sun had just come up. The sunrise is different here. The colors are missing from it, the violets and lavenders and roses and oranges and periwinkles. This one was amazing though, even with a lack of boldness. It was like the ocean had erupted into the sky, with huge waves crashing against the hills and gold light spilling everywhere with a luster I'd never seen. Pale blues and greys and I swear, I don't think those clouds were clouds.
It looked so much like the sea that I began to cry.
And then, against my usual inclination, I began to apologize to God instead of thanking Him. I apologized for everything I was afraid of. And though my drive is only fifteen minutes long, my list could have filled pages and with my bitterness written across the margins too. I am afraid of a lot of things.
After my profuse apologies, I begged the Carpenter to help me shrug off those fears this year.

It's almost too perfect, beginning 2014 with Much-Afraid in my hands, and knowing it will end with Grace and Glory. Yearning for Christian and his story, and sure I will find a beautiful copy of my own by December.

I claim this year.

I claim it as a year for overcoming and for firsts.

July.

I came to the realization this morning as I lay in bed that it is July. This year is halfway over. I feel like I am not even partway done with the things that I need to do, but that's okay.
I am okay with that.
Because June is done, and she was beautiful. And July is sure to be just as gorgeous, if not more.
Just so you all know, I have been looking through the pictures of your sunsets and rises, and not to be prideful, but mine are so much more beautiful. There is something incredibly intense and humble all at once about the Oregon sun. It takes your breath away constantly. Every time. I admonish and implore you to visit my state at least once. And to see the same sun in a different way. Your life will change, or your expectations will.

Some days I wake up early all alone and I watch the sun rise.
No one will ever convince me that it's not worth it.

I wrote stacks of letters this last month, and now there are more to come. If you'd like one, email me. I'm happily painting little pictures and writing small notes in the lulling moments of my days. And there are many of those moments. It is swollen with heat here.

This week has seen the beginnings of my translating materials into French, running out of envelopes, and pushing myself to work on my 2013 goal.
So.
I'm going to paint and cut up magazines to make envelopes.