Georgetownrose

…from glory to glory

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Something to sing and dance about…

Earlier this month I promised to share something to sing…dance…praise God…rejoice about…for such a time as this…

With the Feast of Esther-Purim and Holy Week colliding, there is so much to fill my meditations…So much of God’s incomprehensible sovereignty to thrill and fill my soul…Today, all the years of remembering the message of the magnitude of the God of Israel in the Book of Esther have come together…

For Such a Time as This…

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Odd Walking Thoughts – Two Wrongs

I was browsing and reading fellow WordPress writers and their posts this afternoon. I came across this piece by a WordPress writer with whom I am newly acquainted. It stuck to my heart like an arrow. The reason for that is for another blog of my own. I wish to direct your attention to his offering. It is short and painfully to the point.

mtaggartwriter

The street was covered with them.  One man was upset and ignored his wife. All men are the same. Have you ever wondered how that makes a young boy feel? Especially if heard when spoken with anger or hatred? Imagine those words even slightly pointed at the boy. Or, do you not care, just like all women.

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The Rains Had Finally Come: Sven Birkerts on Writing

This post by Cheri Lucas Rowlands is marvelous, and a true encouragement at a time when my own attention is divided and all I have are thoughts which I cannot articulate. This is a “keeper.” The link to Sven Birkerts’ piece, “The unearned gift,” at Aeon changed the way I’m looking at this frantic feeling of not being able to compose and communicate right now. Thank you, God, for these two writers and the unearned blessing they have been to me in this season of multitudes of unutterable thoughts.

The Daily Post

For the writers out there who’ve struggled with writer’s block, or whose wells are currently dry, I invite you to read Sven Birkerts’ Aeon essay on how it feels when the tide comes back in. He captures this moment, while sitting on a bench by a lake in Central Park in New York City:

All of a sudden, I found myself wanting to write sentences again and, when I did, it felt to me like the rains had finally come, stirring up life in the dry land. I don’t know if I even shifted in my place, but whatever it was has since brought something back that had gone missing. The time hasn’t been that long, really, but by what clock? What decides long? The clock of days or the clock of the inside life? How long can a person feel unconnected and not feel that it’s too long? Writing…

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