The Searing Present

Almost a year ago my sister gave me a book that taught how to fight and face the hard and give thanks-- and ever since then I've been fighting. Since the second month, the one that first held the broken heart, an intentional, painstaking battle has been taking place in my brain, making its way down to the gripping muscles and ink on the paper. I've begged for eyes to see, to peel back the layers of grime that so carelessly assault the senses and bring to light the hidden graces.

The head knows and the hand follows, but the heart still holds back. Why is this always the hardest muscle to reel in? The lists of seemingly insignificant are opened and bring praise, but have yet to seep and course through my veins and change the way I live and move and have my being. But I want that. I wait for it. For now, time seems slow while I count. I'm stopping the searing present dead in its tracks and hoping that it soon turns the heart.

The eleven year old--the one who raises herself and feels light when she talks about Him

The Taiwanese treat with the thick straw

Haji Lane, a hidden mess in the land of order

The mom with a gaggle of girls who always makes time

Xiao long bao on the corner of Holland and Lor Liput

The long lost neighbor with a heart like mine

That big white house up the hill

The buckets of rain that rattle the roof and pound their way through umbrellas

Sitting high on the bus with a front row view of the happenings below