I was made to be wide-eyed all the days of my life.

Monday, August 31, 2009

back and forth

God does not love us because we are good. 
He makes us good because he loves us. 

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Who does that?

"Love your enemies, to good to those who persecute you."
The politics of the Kingdom are a strange thing.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Heart more than Muscle

Why is it easier to work for God than pray to God?

Why is it easier to break our own backs than to come rest in Him?
Don't I believe God can do more with a moment of prayer than I could with a millennium of work? (He'll ask me to do both, but He asks me to do one first.)

Is it easier to have faith in our own flesh and sinew than in our own Father and Savior?

I have questions. Do I want the answers?

[The invisibility of prayer terrifies me]

 Its easier for me to work, to go,  to bluster and plan and delegate and do.  Its so very much tangible, so visible. 
But prayer? The unseen communication? 
Not tangible.
  To actually kneel before my God, who doesn't need his picture taken, or his house cleaned? To come before a God who need any of my services or duties?
How simple.
But also, how seriously foriegn to anything else in my life currently. 
He desires the duties of my heart. 
The affections of the inside man, not the currency of world events.
I am terrified of prayer, because perhaps, I know its power. 
And it requires me to die, die, die to self and to the world; something thats simple, yet very complex.
Because its so invisable, because it can't be seen... I ignore it most of the time. Trading  the Knees, so hidden, for the hands, so laudable.
I am a fool not to pray. 
But.... I am learning. 
This summer has been a whirlwind of events, days blowing off the calendar like leaves off the late summer trees. I scarcely find time to sleep. 

To rest. To pray. 
I am learning that in the whirlwind, in the day to day is when I need it most, 
this prayerful solstice, this redeeming rest. 
I cannot wait till the winter to revisit the knees, to find time to be quiet again. 
If I cannot pray in the crazy times, the times when each box in my calendar is filled, the times when each day brings work,work,work, then how will I even have a desire to pray in the slow times? the times when I have nothing better to do? 
So, in the midst of my crammed calendar, I'm learning to slow, even at this breakneck speed. 
I am learning to rest. To make time.
Its more a sacrifice of the heart than the clock, I am beginning to find.
So, I remind myself.
"He needs your heart more than your muscle, Laura."
"Heart more than muscle"

So, I am learning to rest. 
To find a quiet place, even in the mess.
So, I let the words come slowly, thoughtfully, out loud, out of the places of being...

Our Father which art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.
Matt. 6:9-13


Here are some images from a few weeks back.
Acutally. Last week. Yeah, they are from last week.

Man, time just runs on by, yet...
it takes a long time.

The story goes like this:

When you live in the country,
everybody is your neighbor.

Except, of course, if your dressed in overalls and a cowboy hat standing in the middle of the road taking pictures.
Then everyone just thinks your wierd.
Case in point:

This hickish presentation brought to you by:
Stalkers United 

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

When Life Gives You Lemons

 Start a lemon orchard and then use all of your lemon money to buy a lime orchard, thus beginning your citrus monopoly.

Like a kite

Winds whipping by, 
blowing, faster, faster.
Life speeding up, a likely disaster.
I can choose two things. 
To fall.
down, bruised with impact. 
Shaking my fist at the wind. 
"Youre mean to me! When will you stop? STOP! STOP! STOP!"
Overwhelmed. Overboard. 
Like a rock.
To soar.
The harder it comes, the higher I go. 
And ever going up and up, the valley? Its my golden cup.
And life, the wine which overflows, 
and I am lifted as I go.
like a kite.

...he soared on the wings of the wind...
psalm 18

Monday, August 24, 2009


as self concieted as it is, here is a picture of me. 
from a project I was working on this weekend. 
It promises to be promising.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Monday, August 17, 2009

Sunday, August 16, 2009



A cup of coffee and a camera.
I shouldn't be left to myself.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

August 15th, Minneapolis

All things are full of labor; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.

I'm back in the run of things, sitting here, in the basement of my grandparents house.
My flight got in at about 4 and I've sorta been bumming around the house, staying away from my computer, trying to procrastinate as much as possible before diving, diving, diving into weddings and workshops.

This past week in Georgia was a good one. I'd forgotten about stories,
about how much I am entirely addicted to them.
I forgot how epic even the simplest of stories can be.
And how everyone has a story.

From a homeless guy, Tristan, on Peachtree ave

to David the Barista who doesn't even like coffee

From Angie, a woman with a heart for the homeless

to William, the warrior in the woods

From Martha, the retired carnival worker...

to Mike, my theologian friend from the laundry mat

I forgot that everyone has their own story.

I get so easily wrapped up in my own story that I forget that the world is made up of little ones. A billion little stories about people, meshed together to make up History.

I am tempted to stop. Cause I'm kinda tired.

But that would leave things unwritten, unsaid.
And too many things are left unsaid.

(Things like:
I love my friends, even when I can't take a decent self portrait.)

I cannot stop. I must keep moving.


(I still dress weird and love life.