The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,000 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 33 trips to carry that many people.
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This is my last entry for the Creative Writing course, ENG 265. It has been a great discipline to know that I need to write entries in order to pass this course, (and hopefully to write good entries at that!) Here are a few things I’ve learned from this new habit.
1. I’ve learned to be more observant of the events around me, or events that I am involved in. I have been thinking more about how these events could translate into anecdotes or fun thoughts to share.
2. Experimenting with style, word combinations and the like has also been a really fun, creative experience. Practicing with blog entries has made writing papers a smoother experience.
3. Because of this need to write blog entries, I have been hyper aware of other’s writing styles, be it in magazines, on websites or in books.
4. I have been discovering other anecdotal authors such as Anne Lamott and Donald Miller. They are my aspirations.
5. I’ve been really enjoying reading much more lately.
I probably could go on, although I shouldn’t. After a while I might just be making up things to fill space.
The title of this blog entry is The End of an Era. Or a couple of eras. . . And the reason for that is the season of change that Bas and I find ourselves in. We are both foreigners in this city, like many of Vancouver’s inhabitants. And like many of these inhabitants, we are also transient people. Knowing that we wouldn’t be here forever, we had planned on moving back to Europe at some point, finding ourselves jobs, settling down and having a family. Little did we know that this transition would be coming around so soon. At the beginning of the year, we talked seriously about the possibility of moving and started coming up with ideas of what we could do, where we would live and how we would go about this process. To cut a long story short, doors opened up easier than we thought. Bas was offered a job in the Netherlands as of the beginning of July 2012 in a town called Zwolle, and so we are moving back to Holland.
Just writing that sentence alone brings up a lot of emotions. Moving to Canada was one of the most major turning points in my life so far, and it will be a real wrench for me to leave this city that I have made my home in. The city itself is appealing, enjoyable and offers a lot of different amenities, but that is all easy to leave. I can find those things, or joy in new things, in our new home town of Zwolle next year. The hardest thing for us both to leave is our new found family. We have family in England and Holland, family that we were born into. But while we were away from that family, others stood around us, loved us and encouraged us as we learned new things, experienced new events and took challenges on.
I’ve been here just over seven years. A quarter of my life here and I think I can safely say that I have some definite Canadian traits about me. . . (well, maybe more Vancouverite traits) I have found my identity here, grounded my relationship with God here and established morals, beliefs and traditions with myself and my husband. It has been a cocoon for growth and maturity, and now I have to step out of that warm incubation and move on. Thankfully Holland doesn’t get much colder than Vancouver, so it won’t be a cold experience!
So thus endeth two eras. This writing course, and my time in Vancity. I guess I can’t really write much more about it because there are so many things to think about. It is for sure an emotional experience that will take a long time to walk through, and I am sure, get used to when we transition over to the Netherlands.
Until next time, because there will be a next set of blog entries, despite not needing to write in order to pass courses. . .
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I love people: they are strangely curious creatures. I love the shifting, changing nature of communities, personal lives, philosophies. I love to listen to people’s thoughts and dilemmas and in my mind, crawl across the table and into the inside of their heads to see what it might be like looking through their eyes. I try to imagine holding their responsibilities, the things that weigh on their shoulders and what it could look like walking the path they have chosen.
These last two years I have learned to shut my mouth and listen more. I think it was Ghandi that said something about two ears and one mouth, meaning we should listen twice as much as we talk. And listening, well, I often think that that is a good remedy for a bad day, a sad heart, or a hurting friend. Oprah, Dr. Phil, Jeremy Kyle (the british Oprah) and all the self help books collecting dust on our shelves already tell us of the 100 more things we should be doing/thinking/praying/believing/meditating on. The last thing someone needs is to be told one more thing to do/think/pray for/believe or meditate on. The last thing I want on a “bad day” is to be told one more thing to think or feel or try or buy. I’m done with it all. For Pete’s sakes, just listen. Please.
Working in youth ministry also taught me to listen. Actually, it forced me to listen. Anyone who knows a teenage girl knows that man, can she ever talk! I often wonder if electricity could be produced by the talk of teenage girls and their excitement over Twilight, Justin Beiber, Robert Pattinson or whatever the next craze is. (When I was a teen, Tamagotchis were the “thing”, now it’s vampires. Go figure). However, once I’d explored the jungle of the teenage girl’s latest boy crush, most hated subjects at school and most loved film stars, we’d often get to other topics somewhat deeper and more vulnerable than the previous. Rejection, divorce, cutting, self image, desire, loneliness, desperation. These things and more plague the teen girls heart, and to her, they are all very real (no matter how much we rationalize on our own position of what they’re going through). A young girl’s heart can rise and fall in a single day, depending on a graded paper, a conversation with a guy, a nasty look from a girlfriend. So when she steps into my office and opens up her heart, the last thing she needs is to be told what Bible passage to look for, or what to say, or what to do or think or feel. School already does all of that and more. She needs to be heard.
Isn’t it so nice when you have the freedom to tell someone you trust something that is plaguing you? Or how about opening up and sharing your fears about faith with someone from church? Doesn’t it feel so great to just be listened to, with no interruptions. You have the freedom to verbally vomit all the things that are jumbled and tangled in your head, and not be judged for them. A safe environment, a trusted friend or spouse or stranger. Sometimes I imagine that it would be like that talking to Jesus, but at the end of your rant He’d having something incredibly profound and life changing to say. He, on the other hand, can get away with it. After all, He is God. But you and I are not. Our words can complicate things, our secret, unconscious motives get in the way, or even our pride.
“Doesn’t that sound good?” My subconscious sometimes whispers while I’m proudly dolling out advice. “You sound so wise for such a young age”.
“Why thank you!” I respond, silently. Then instantly I realize I have a friend in front of me, pouring out their heart about a delicate matter. In my mind I scold myself. ”Just shut it and listen”. Stupid pride.
But seriously. I think we may have an epidemic on our hands: the inability to listen. And I’m not commenting on this because I’ve had a bad experience recently. Not at all, in fact my husband is a great listener as well as my close friends. But generally speaking. As a Christian community, I think we need to be quieter. We need to listen, to catch on to every word that someone utters to us. Give eye contact, nod our heads in agreement. And when someone is done, let there be silence. Let all that they have said sink in slowly into our own hearts and if you are that way inclined, silently reach out to God in our hearts to say “I have no clue how to respond. God, this is your cue because my experience in these subjects ended a while back in the story.” Cue God. Cue God when we let go of our own ideas about how to fix others, or how others should behave. Cue God when we silence our own thoughts and let the Spirit weave in between the words that have been spoken to form questions in our mind. Cue God to help us tread carefully forward when someone has laid in front of us their vulnerability, hurt and insecurity. Cue God because in reality, we have no idea how to go about this world any more than the next person does.
And isn’t it the case that you know what the answer is already? You know what it is you need to do more of, or less of. You know what to think or feel or explore or let go of. Surely, in the sharing we’re not always asking for advice. I know when I share with someone, I already have the solution. I’m reaching out to you and asking you to listen, not because I need fixing but because I’m asking you to help me in my loneliness. I’m sharing my heart and tangled thoughts because I need someone sane to help me remember that I’m totally normal and that sometimes feeling crazy in this world is an okay response. I also need to be reminded that you are my friend, my trusted companion. I am holding out my hand to you and asking you to quietly join me – walk alongside me on this journey, just like the Lord would. Listen, observe and tell me you understand.
And at the end of it all, when it is your turn to go through something, reach out to me and I will be there, waiting to listen.
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Well, I’m not really Canadian, as most of you know, but I have lived there long enough to consider myself “part of the furniture” as Oliver would say. Yet one week into my two week stay in the UK, my home land, I’m feeling quite strange.
I do not fit in here, but, I do fit in here.
Living in another country has made me proud of my roots. “I am English,” I’ll say. “From tip to toe and toe to tip!” Cute right? But now I’m here, the rose tinted glasses are off, and I am starting to remember why it is I left. Hopelessness, poor government, lack of inspiration, rubbish television, yet at the same time I have something precious right in front of me that I refuse to ignore: family. They are where my heritage is, they are from whom I have been given life and character. They are what make up a part of me and they are what I treausre the most since leaving.
It’s all well and good leaving your small village in Essex (famous for jam) to live in the big wide world. At first it’s great: you laugh at the local newspaper writing a tribute to your leaving. You’re famous, if all for five minutes (and to those only who live in the same said village.) Nonetheless, you feel proud for doing something that others have not, yet. You arrive in a big city and you realize just what it is you’ve done. So, you spend the next 2 weeks crying at night, realizing that you actually relied on your family much more than you wanted to admit. Small things, like buying shampoo and stamps, throw you for six. You have to learn new coloquialisms, where the good food stores are, say words like “store” instead of “shop”, or “pants” instead of “trousers”, get used to the unusual amount of water in the toilet bowl, and driving on the right hand side. But soon enough, these things become habit and they’re not such a novelty anymore. Much like a chameleon, you blend in to your surroundings and start to soak them up. You smile as you look out of the window on the bus, remembering where it is you live and basking in independance. And then after a few years of this, another feeling sets in.
My cousins are the closest things I have to siblings, and I love them. Charlotte and I grew up together being only two years my junior, and we spent many a weekend together playing, growing up, making up and talking. We journeyed through teenage-dom together untill I jet setted off to North America to “find myself”. Just two years ago she had a baby, and for the first time next week I will meet him. My childhood friend got married a month ago, and I sadly looked on via facebook, wishing I could have been there for her, just like she was for me on my wedding day. Dad’s sister fell seriously ill, as did my Mom’s Mom. People have aged, changed jobs, got new boyfriends, girlfriends or apartments, lost, gained, felt, and I am on the other side of the world experiencing my own life, somewhat independantly. Half of my family has not even met my husband of almost two years.
I live too far away.
The Great Adventure has been great so far in these seven years. Each time I’ve come back to the UK for a visit I’ve been glad to see family and friends and familiarality, but I have also been glad to get back on the plane to go “home” again to Vancouver. This time though, with thoughts of the future in mind (children and such) it is harder to think about the journey to the airport, saying goodbye and going back home.
Even though we have Skype, letters, emails and parcels in the mail at Christmas, the world does seem an awfully large place when you realize that your family is worth more to you than you originally thought.
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For my course I have had to submit two concrete poems. I had to wrack my brains to dig up High School information to actually remember what a concrete poem was. To be honest, I was so excited when I found out! I love the opportunity to create and play with image and words. For those of you whose English class memories are tucked behind some other important information, here’s a reminder. Concrete poetry is word play: arrange the words of your poem into a form that represents your theme.
I found a great website called Tagxedo where they provide a platform for creativity. You type in your words, poem, blog etc, and choose your image. The program processes the words into the image, but then you get to edit how it looks. I spent almost 3 hours on this yesterday, playing around and finding out what I liked best. Here’s the first creation I came up with for school.
Enjoy!
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On this morning, the third morning of hearing the news from London and across England, I am angry. I feel helpless, hopeless and frustrated at the amount of talk that is going on over the news. Speculation: how will the Police force cope tonight? What do you think has caused this? Let’s hear from so-and-so, the leader of Economics at some prestigious University. Let’s now go to bigwig leader-from-some-important-part-of-the-government. Sure, speculation is all well and good, but what are we going to do? Talk is cheap if changes are not made. What really is the source of all this unprecedented violence? It’s not even making a point! It’s just a bunch of angry young adults who think they can do what they want. Youth around the world protest for human rights, my young adult community is looting JD Sports and Curries to steal computers and sneakers. Wow, what a point you lot are making.
I grew up in England, I am British, from toe to tip and from tip to toe. I was proud to be English, but I am not proud of my country right now. I have lost faith in the government, faith in the education system and faith in the people of my generation. I am now a true Brit: I am hopeless. Generations before me have worked hard for a healthy country, members of my family fought in World War Two and fought for freedom. Families have set up businesses and have moved our economy on. My generation? We’re angry, and we can’t tell you why.
Please take a listen to this clip: BBC Interviews Riot Girls
“Everyone was on a riot, just goin’ mad like, chuckin’ fings, chuckin’ bottles. . .it was good tho’. . .it was good fun . . . ‘course it is!”
The interviewer asks “Have you been drinking all night?”
“Yeah. . .it’s the governments fault . . . conservatives whatever, whoever it is, I dunno’. We’re showin’ the police we can do what we want. That’s what it’s all about, showin’ the police we can do what we want. And now we have.”
“Do you reckon it will go on tonight?” asks the BBC interviewer.
“Yeah, hopefully . . . it’s the rich people, the people that got businesses, and that’s why this is all happened . . . we’re just showin’ the rich people we can do what we want.”
I am shocked, disgusted and ashamed. All of my bitterness towards my generation is now at the forefront, all that I’ve believed in the past about hopelessness amongst a class of young people is now inflamed: maybe we are a hopeless generation.
The two girls involved in the interview do not even know why they are fighting. First they blame the government (whom they clearly know nothing about), then they claim they want to show the police that they can exercise their right to freedom. Then they go on to blame the rich, or those who have businesses. Surely they know that those who own businesses are not always rich? That there are people out there who own family run stores struggle each month to stay afloat while the economy drowns and rent rises? They are clueless. I want to tell them just how wrong they are, that they can fight another way, but they will face what they have already faced: the feeling that they are so small while the problems around us are so big. How can we make a difference?
How can young people make a difference in a country that doesn’t even have a solid government? How can young people make themselves heard when their education system has seemingly failed them, council housing and benefits have made it easy for us to become lazy, and we have so much information in front of us we’ve forgotten how to make a way for ourselves? How can a group of people fall so far between the cracks?
It is easy to become dispirited, and I am certainly becoming more and more dispirited as I watch the news, follow Twitter and hear people’s reactions. But I saw this picture this morning and I have seen a glimpse of hope. After all of this, maybe there is not as much hopelessness as I once thought.
As looters and rioters smashed up shops, looted and fought with police in Camden Town, Philippa Morgan-Walker, 25 and her husband, Jonny Walker, 31, made tea for the police who were protecting their street. Some of the officers had been on duty for more than 30 hours.
True British Spirit: let’s make a cup of tea.
But in all seriousness, this really did give me hope this morning. These two people are friends of my cousin, and their love for their community drove them to do what they could: care for those who were working hard for their town. A cup of tea, a cold glass of water, biscuits, sandwiches, anything like this is more than what it seems. It reminds the British Public that there are people in our country who care. It reminds me that even though we could be consumed by this sad news, there are young people who have hope and who want to make a difference. I hope and pray that this is the worst of it, and we make our way towards a brighter future from here on.
In Liverpool, which also saw rioting Monday, 21-year-old bartender Charles Jupiter set up a "Liverpool Clean Up" Facebook page that brought about 100 volunteers onto the streets Tuesday morning. "I thought, 'Not in my city'," Jupiter said. "People were posting, 'I'm embarrassed to be English, I'm embarrassed to be from London or Liverpool.' "I reposted and said, 'I'm not. That's why I'm going out there to help clean up.'"
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I have just finished a dinner with my husband and two friends and I am amazed at just how many things four people can manage to talk about in just a few hours!
This evening, our dinner topics covered the basic 101 in conversation: questions. How are you? How is work? How is your family, wife, sister, girlfriend etc.? What’s new for you? Then once those basics are covered I find something amazing happens: the natural evolution of conversation. (By evolution I mean the speed of topics covered and just how many topics are covered during a conversation.) Now, I reckon that the speed of evolution is directly correlated to A. the amount of people in the group and B. the type of personalities. With quieter personalities, it would be easy to assume that the evolution pace is much slower, but with personalities like those we had around our dinner table this evening, the evolution was fast!
So we started off with how good the food was (I made homemade Lasagne: thanks Mum!) We commented on our rate of consumption, types of food we ate and the rest of it. Then, inevitably, we talked about relationships. We covered the lack of single people found in the church these days (or at least the lack of 20-30 something singles) and moved on to online dating. We talked about babies, death, funerals, family and caught up on general “how is so-and-so” type of conversation. After that we moved into the Spiritual realm of things. This is common for Bas and I as we are spiritual people and like to seek for God in the every day to day dealings of our lives. We talked about the summer camp I’m involved with, how God orchestrates the meeting of singles who may become couples (for a conversation about my experience and opinion on that, let’s go for coffee!) We came around again to camping, church, car accidents with animals, my crazy experiences on the bus lately and we ended with more spiritual talk.
Why am I writing about this all? Well, I guess I am fascinated by people in general, and always love to reminisce about the topics covered at a dinner gathering. It reminds me that we are indeed complex beings as humans and love to interact with one another. The beautiful flow of conversation intrigues me immensely as if our memoirs and ramblings spark some kind of memory in another and they are compelled to share. Thus, the conversation goes around and around. What is more fascinating, however, is how these relationships build over time. At first, new friends are breaking ground together with questionings and sharing about life, but as time goes on, the flow of conversation becomes natural, like breathing. Being with those people is comfortable, safe, and allows you to each open up and share on a deeper level.
Meaningful conversations is something that makes me tick. Give me an hour, a cup of tea and a good friend and I am more satisfied than a Trekkie at a Convention! I love to hear stories from your life, hear how those experiences have shaped you now and influence your decisions. I love to journey with others through painful experiences and see myself in your shoes and try to imagine how that might feel. I love to be asked difficult spiritual questions, not have the answer, and wrestle to find a solution through long conversations.
My old room mate and I used to talk for hours. She visits back and forth from Sudan where she has spent years working. We often would talk about all kinds of topics, but our favourite was God and relationships. I loved hearing about her experiences, her deep friendships made out in Africa, and then I had the pleasure of meeting these people a couple of times. I saw a glimpse into someone else’s life, and through that glimpse I was able to see God.
That’s what happens over these evolutions in conversation: we open ourselves up to one another over time, we journey randomly through topics, but through these friendships and sharings, I am convinced that we each get to glimpse God, be it in a small or large way I don’t know. All I do know is that He is there in the midst of our time, and He revels in our connections with one another.
He is the Force that connects us.
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Imagine a world where everything was at your feet. Now add in the possibility that you could hypothesize, play with theories and mathematics like a child would with blocks, the ability to learn faster than humanly possible, earn millions in days and have any woman or man that you might desire. Now imagine that all this was possible if you just put your trust into a drug you knew nothing about.
That’s what Limitless is all about: the possibility that we could have it all: all we have to do is sell our soul to a clear plastic pill.
In The Tragicall History of Dr Faustus it has already happened: except in the 1600′s. Faustus is a theologian, but poor. He knows the fundamentals of religion, and does know God, but he is tempted by witchcraft. He comments that he has explored every possibility in life and he is still left empty. The play opens with him debating with himself about whether or not he should enter into what he knows is something that could end badly. He conjures up Mephistophilis, a devil that serves Lucifer, and the two strike a deal. Faustus can have 24 years of life on Earth with Mephistophilis as his servant, and then his soul will be Lucifers.
Problem was, Faustus wasted his skills. The main character of Limitless could be seen as somewhat similar: he doesn’t waste his intelligence per se, but he does not learn! He is bound by the drug: his dependance on something that gives him this ability. The two are bosom buddies: they are not limitless. They are bound by their mortality, as are we.
As much as we muster an opposition to the idea, discuss it in groups or ponder over it in solitude, you and I are mortals.
I have always been fascinated by the character of Data in Star Trek’s Next Generation. Despite being an android, during the course of the seven seasons, he explores his own mortality and his own humanness. Essentially, he asks the question “what is it that makes us human”? In the episode I watched today (and revelled over!) Data comes face to face with his own mortality. I won’t bore you with details, or explain to you the ins and outs of Star Trek (you’ll have to watch it for yourself) but Data has the possibility to last forever. He does not, however. He does not die in this episode, but poignantly at the end of the final movie for the Next Generation series.
Data gives his life for the benefit of someone else. Fans have loved Data’s exploration of humanity throughout the whole seven seasons. One of my favourite whimsical episodes is “Data’s Day” in which the show leaves aside the important missions, and lets the viewer in on the more personal aspects of each characters day. Data follows them in the hopes to discover how he himself can become more human. One of the greater episodes in many people’s opinion is “The Measure of a Man” in which there is a court ruling over whether or not Data is property of Starfleet, or an employee. The question throughout that episode: what makes someone human? So interestingly enough, after all these hours of watching, discussing, seeing characters develop, the entire series should end with the death of Data in a very Christ-like manner.
Read into this what you will, but I was left saddened at first, but then it made sense.
Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
John 15:13
Movies, theatre, stories, poetry, even religious scriptures all explore the theme of humanness, of humanity. What are we that God is mindful of us?
We are mortal. We are not limitless. We are limited, at least by our mortality. We dream of immortality, of greatness. But much like Icarus, our great dreams lead us sometimes too close to the Sun, like Faustus, to hubris, but maybe like Data, to the truth.
What if the greatest thing we could do with our lives was not to earn limitless amounts of money to better ourselves, but to better others? What if the focus of our day job was not solely to do our jobs well, but to do them well and be mindful of others? Mother Teresa, although a fine example to us, was a unique one. We cannot all be Mother Teresa’s in Nepal because some of us have contracts, kids, bills, mortgages. But maybe we could each turn one or two degrees in our life styles and realize the great gift of our humanity, and realizing that through others around us.
And that is maybe a key: others. We are not alone on this “mortal coil”, but in community. Humanity could be reaching out through the awkward social situations we often find ourselves in and touch the lonely, or the marginalized, the untouchables.
And in this all I am still reminded of Data, his final act while alive (or functioning) was to realize his humanity and give his life for the sake of others.
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Bas flew to Toronto this morning, albeit only for 3 days, but it’s hard to say goodbye to him nonetheless.
When we first met, we spent all of our time together (when we had free time). Dinners, Saturdays, lunch after church, even before we were dating, we just liked spending time together. We do it well. But then it was time for me to fly home to the UK for the Summer, and we embarked on what would be 16 months of long distance dating. So you can understand that we both get uneasy when we see the airport looming on the horizon, both of us knowing that we will have to say goodbye and experience echoes of all of those emotions again.
In the days running up to a goodbye during our long distance period, it was rough. We’d argue, I’d feel sick, indecisive, frustrated. Emotions ran high and wide until that moment when one of us watched the other walk through the security gate at the airport and our countdown until the next time would begin. Just five more months, just three more weeks, just another day. It was a roller coaster that neither of us ever want to go through again.
Long distance dating had it’s long-term benefits though. We learned to communicate better. We’d meet on Skype as often as possible, but we’d always have the 8 hour time difference between Canada and Holland. It was my lunch and his evening. It was my late evening and his early morning. Either way, we were both in different time zones and periods of the day which took a surprising toll. But we had to talk, it was all we had that kept us together in those days. Some days were tough: we were tired, Bas’ Masters Thesis was taking it’s toll, and worst was when one of us was sick and the other couldn’t be there. But now, almost three years later, we’re able to benefit from those frustrating times. We have to talk, one of us is ESL (which he aptly names himself!) and that already adds a lot to the mix in our relationship. During those frustrating skype conversations that had time delay, video delay or just bad connection, we were building on a better communicative future, without us really knowing about it.
One of my sweetest memories though, was on my birthday. It was the first birthday after we had gotten together as a couple, and only a few days after I had arrived back in Canada. I knew I wouldn’t see him until at least Christmas. Bas told me to call, on my birthday, at a specific time. I did my hair all nice, put my makeup on and waited until the said time. I called, put my video on, and Bas answered. He’d decorated his room with balloons and even wore a party hat! We could celebrate together even though we were living with an ocean in between us. It was that very day that he gave me a great gift: he was going to move to Canada. We didn’t know when, or how, but that was his birthday gift: the knowledge that he was moving to be close to me. He is so sweet.
It wasn’t until a year and a half later though that it finally happened. And only after a miracle had been given to us by God Himself. Bas had come to Vancouver in March the following year and started looking for a job. Hard. Two weeks of searching turned up almost nothing, until one of the final days of the trip when Bas went back to UBC to hear a friends presentation. He had previously interned there for four months, leading to our meeting. At the presentation at UBC was a scout from Holland, looking for someone to open a Canadian office on behalf of a dutch company. Long story short, Bas has now been working as a manager for this company for almost 3 years. Our long distance story was finally coming to an end.
During those days we had to put all our trust into God’s hands. We knew we wanted to be together, we loved each other, but it didn’t always make sense that we had to be so far away from each other, constantly having to say goodbye. Bas had the feeling that our relationship was right, that moving to Canada was a good decision, but we weren’t seeing results. But then, just a few months after this meeting, Bas was in my arms at the airport. It was the final time we’d have to say goodbye for the long term.
So this is me reminiscing over the old days. I got thinking about it when I said goodbye for the umpteenth time at the airport today. Bas has to go away a lot on business, it’s always short trips, but it definitely brings up old memories.
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The LORD is my Guide,
My soul shall have satisfaction.
He leads me to Peace and Stillness,
In them, my heart finds its rest.
The LORD brings me renewal
And He leads my life towards Righteousness
For the sake of His Kingdom.
When I am surrounded by darkness
And chased by fear,
The Lord will walk ahead of me– I can hide in Him,
His Living Word will comfort me.
I am victorious because of You!
I have hope in the face of hopelessness,
I can be filled with Joy to the point of bursting.
I am assured that Your Presence
And Blessings
Will go with me
Until I meet you in Glory.
Amen.
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