hmmm.

"I simply argue that the cross be raised again at the centre of the marketplace as well as on the steeple of the church. I am recovering the claim that Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves; on the town garbage heap; at a crossroad so cosmopolitan that they had to write his title in Hebrew and Latin and in Greek; at the kind of place where cynics talk smut and thieves curse, and soldiers gamble. Because that is where he died. And that is what he died about. And that is where churchmen ought to be, and what churchmen should be about.” - George MacLeod

perhaps i should have named oatmeal, eliot-

some of the brilliance might have rubbed off then.

two feathers have appeared on the former's otherwise bald american eagle's head; hope of handsomeness. in the meantime he remains single-minded and biasedly curious. sometimes he wrings my heart in his patient hopeless waiting, at others he drives me to name-calling and other insults, like today when i had to clean up after his poop inbetween reading eliot. mostly i am exasperated at my inconsistency.

does anyone else like eliot/the mill on the floss? credit goes to whoever called it a tragedy of the everyday; i can't agree more. and all that tension, be still my heart.

(haha oatmeal is so sleepy he's closing his eyes on standing on my laptop, but the silly bird refuses to go to his box.)

and-

hi 24, you have had me confounded for most of this year. but let's see what we can do with you.

i just spent the past hour or so cutting my hair :)

didn't know that much time was passing; it felt more like twenty minutes actually. and i must say i'm pretty darn pleased with the result; cheers.

in other news, i'm happily counting down to the end of july. work is such a refining process, really. but as g reminded us the past thursday, our work rests on Christ's- which is already perfect, already complete. crazy truth. this means no striving for merit, no search for validation or worth through the work of my hands. because His work was the ultimate fulfillment, i may do mine without fear. what a relief to the otherwise insatiable demands of the burden. liberte!

speaking of time and counting, i often wonder what 2012 will see. i am not insensible to the fact that 2011 has been pretty well swirled, like flavours rainbowing basic ice+cream. and it's only(already) july! i can smell the end of the year. :) -sniff sniff.

our work rests on Christ's- already perfect, already complete. thank God.

the new four letter word

so, work is still teh sadness.

i don't know what it is about work that turns otherwise would-be perfectly exuberant girls into serious ones, talking quietly while cocoa cream cheese muffins bake. why is it, that back in uni we could be stressed with essays and projects and yet, when meeting up over a cup of tea we could be so cheerful, so happy.

and why is it that events two years ago still count? once in awhile, i'll remember flashes of what transpired that blazing day by the reservoir, and a part of me ruefully concludes that if nothing else perhaps i have been proven true.

i don't know, i wish i did. every day i tell myself that this, the daily grind, calls of duty, meetings, behaviour management and classroom control has its purpose, and worth, in a place where i feel neither drive nor ambition, faithfulness is the offering i bring. to learn to do well at tasks that seem to demand what i am precisely weakest at. does it have to be dreary?

oh, stuff and bunnies. (and zirrafes)

so you know the patterns of my thoughts

hi weekend, a perfectly lovely one so far. i have just finished some soup and am content. yesterday i met mummy after seeing the doctor and we wrote a letter to my grand-uncle to china while waiting for daddy to come. today i heard a woman speak; she seemed to hold women in very high regard. maybe i should pick up a something, something to be interested in and work at. went shopping with gayle last night, not that we bought anything but it was so nice to be appreciating clothes. there was the prettiest coral dress, but not in my size, awh. after that i met the guys and a girl named charissa at old school. they morphed into a camera club without telling me, so scarf, dress and i ended up on a sleepy heap on the boards of the singapore river. sometime after four i reached home and woke up when daddy called my name. i am currently reading rudyard kipling; unbelieveable how it took me 24 years to get there. when i have children to read to this will be their bedtime story. speaking of bedtime, it's mine. goodnight world.

update: putting up a photo j took of me in said sleepy heap; not that i remember this