* Please see June 30th's post for background information on this post.
Thursday, January 15, 2004
Fate First, Followed By Intellectual Decision
Call it fate, call it divine appointment, call it whatever you would like. But whatever you call it, somehow life's circumstances have led you to someone. And they will continue to lead you to many different someones. Some will make you weak in your knees, twitterpated if you will, others you will allow to pass by going unnoticed. But when someone does catch the attention of your heart and mind, choice steps in.
Will he have the nerve to pursue this woman? Or will he allow intimidation and fear of rejection stand in his way? And how will she respond? Will she run from him in fear of falling in love and having her heart broken once more? Are both parties ready to be committed to someone else? Has he fallen for whom she really is or has her outward beauty seduced him? Has she fallen for him simply because he is showing her the attention she desires? Or has she fallen in love, not with his accomplishments, but with the man that he is?
Is a relationship even an option or does age difference or life calling stand in the way? And can barriers, such a geographical distance, be overcome? Is the person worth the sacrifice? Is the person worth the effort? Is the person worth taking your own life and intertwining it with theirs? Hopefully some day we will all have the opportunity to say yes to these final three questions, but until then . . .
~Marie
M, so many questions- what happened to love at first site..This sounds more like love after first interrogation, which is love by choice not love by fate. assessing the other person, finding their positives and negatives, seeing if you can live with their flaws and not being able to live without their touch. my friend you have joined the choice cult.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Destiny
* Please see June 30th's post for background information on this post.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
Fate
Swarms of people stream by while I drudgingly wade through the crowd. I glance from side to side wondering if he's passing me by. A few glances are returned, but with each reply I know it's not him. I wonder if he's thinking the same as me, questioning where is this person with whom my life is to be intertwined? Has destiny slipped beyond my reach? We both wish that we would fall upon each other's eyes and simply know the stranger we see, is no stranger at all. We'd halt in our tracks and in silence acknowledge the soul standing in arms length away is finally in reach of a life together. Tears creep from my eyes, for this is the moment of fate that I have been praying for.
The Other Side
The man of wisdom stood before me, speaking words of truth and destruction - the truth of his theology, the destruction of my hope.
"I could have married many different women and still remained in God's will. There's not a 'the one' out there until you've chosen one and then at the words of I do, she becomes 'the one.'"
Psalm 139:16 All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came into being.
Before we even came into being, God knew our life's course. He knows, but amidst his omnisciency, He allows choices to be made. Although there may be a more perfect spouse for everyone in this world, commitment supersedes wandering aimlessly year after year wondering if this will be the year that the most perfect someone will fall into view. The most intimate of human relationships is as the mystery of Christ and the church - a mystery in which glory is given unto God. God is love and a Godly marriage exemplifies Christ's love, as those who live in Him make his love complete.
Yet the "enemy" prowls, perhaps even before the fate of realizing beauty. For it is known that two beautiful people together will bring heightened beauty to this sore-filled world. So as in the movie Serendipity, two individuals on two separate elevators choose the same floor to build their future. But a child of "the enemy" destroys the path of destiny by pushing buttons that delay the meeting until the chance has forever passed. And both are left all alone.
~Marie Devonshire
how eloquently put, but what is the balance between faith/destiny/ and choice m? how far do we let ourselves pursue? Do we sit back and wait for destiny (faith) to drop an open door upon our lap, or do we "seek and (you will) find"? God never told us who to love, but how to love. (love your neighbor as yourself, do unto others...)
Thursday, January 08, 2004
Fate
Swarms of people stream by while I drudgingly wade through the crowd. I glance from side to side wondering if he's passing me by. A few glances are returned, but with each reply I know it's not him. I wonder if he's thinking the same as me, questioning where is this person with whom my life is to be intertwined? Has destiny slipped beyond my reach? We both wish that we would fall upon each other's eyes and simply know the stranger we see, is no stranger at all. We'd halt in our tracks and in silence acknowledge the soul standing in arms length away is finally in reach of a life together. Tears creep from my eyes, for this is the moment of fate that I have been praying for.
The Other Side
The man of wisdom stood before me, speaking words of truth and destruction - the truth of his theology, the destruction of my hope.
"I could have married many different women and still remained in God's will. There's not a 'the one' out there until you've chosen one and then at the words of I do, she becomes 'the one.'"
Psalm 139:16 All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came into being.
Before we even came into being, God knew our life's course. He knows, but amidst his omnisciency, He allows choices to be made. Although there may be a more perfect spouse for everyone in this world, commitment supersedes wandering aimlessly year after year wondering if this will be the year that the most perfect someone will fall into view. The most intimate of human relationships is as the mystery of Christ and the church - a mystery in which glory is given unto God. God is love and a Godly marriage exemplifies Christ's love, as those who live in Him make his love complete.
Yet the "enemy" prowls, perhaps even before the fate of realizing beauty. For it is known that two beautiful people together will bring heightened beauty to this sore-filled world. So as in the movie Serendipity, two individuals on two separate elevators choose the same floor to build their future. But a child of "the enemy" destroys the path of destiny by pushing buttons that delay the meeting until the chance has forever passed. And both are left all alone.
~Marie Devonshire
how eloquently put, but what is the balance between faith/destiny/ and choice m? how far do we let ourselves pursue? Do we sit back and wait for destiny (faith) to drop an open door upon our lap, or do we "seek and (you will) find"? God never told us who to love, but how to love. (love your neighbor as yourself, do unto others...)
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Footprints in the Snow
* Please see June 30th's post for background information on this post.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
I was already in bed, but it didn’t take much convincing for me to leave its warmth and to join yours. The temperature outside screamed single digits while our hearts longed for double. That’s why you called. And that’s why I got out of bed. I waited for your knock to confirm the reservation. But you had none and neither did I. The snow wasn’t planned; it simply happened and so did we. Your gentle knock on the door beat through my entire being. A deep breath and a turn of the handle, my heart was awakened.
I stepped outside, but it no longer felt cold for your smile had removed the chill from the air. Instead only laughter and snowflakes remained. Together we made fresh footprints in the snow as we walked to the park. While the world around us slept, our hearts were alive. We sled down the hills, threw balls of snow, and made angels underneath the night’s sky. That’s when I offered you a taste of the falling winter. You were skeptical, but I assured you that it would be fine. So your city lips touched snow for the first time. And then they touched mine.
~ Marie Devonshire
my favorite part is when you said "your city lips", very descriptive. much like hawthorne in 'a blithdale romance'. try clarifying the timeline, also think of other activities because not many people sled at night. i like it though!
(But we did go sledding - on stolen tray's from U of M's dining hall!)
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
"I still play with cardboard boxes." -marie
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
I was already in bed, but it didn’t take much convincing for me to leave its warmth and to join yours. The temperature outside screamed single digits while our hearts longed for double. That’s why you called. And that’s why I got out of bed. I waited for your knock to confirm the reservation. But you had none and neither did I. The snow wasn’t planned; it simply happened and so did we. Your gentle knock on the door beat through my entire being. A deep breath and a turn of the handle, my heart was awakened.
I stepped outside, but it no longer felt cold for your smile had removed the chill from the air. Instead only laughter and snowflakes remained. Together we made fresh footprints in the snow as we walked to the park. While the world around us slept, our hearts were alive. We sled down the hills, threw balls of snow, and made angels underneath the night’s sky. That’s when I offered you a taste of the falling winter. You were skeptical, but I assured you that it would be fine. So your city lips touched snow for the first time. And then they touched mine.
~ Marie Devonshire
my favorite part is when you said "your city lips", very descriptive. much like hawthorne in 'a blithdale romance'. try clarifying the timeline, also think of other activities because not many people sled at night. i like it though!
(But we did go sledding - on stolen tray's from U of M's dining hall!)
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
"I still play with cardboard boxes." -marie
Friday, July 6, 2007
To Re-Live Last Night
* Please see June 30th's post for background information on this post.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
today i recieved this:
stephen, Sept. 5 you wrote "If I could re-live last night over, I would."
And on Sept. 6th I wrote this:
If I could re-live last night over, I would. And that's all you write. That's all I have to ponder. No tone of voice. No facial expression. No story behind the words to ease my curiousity. Of course, when I first read the words on the screen, I immediately sensed romance. At least that's what female intuition assumed. A night - an encounter with a woman whose beauty and smile captured your entire being. I suppose you strolled the city together until you came across a local coffee shop. There the conversation intensified and so did the emotions as you shared your life dreams, your faith, your authors, and your philosophies. If only the ocean were nearby, you would continue the evening with a walk along the beach, the sand between your toes and her fingers entwined with yours. The stars claim their presence in the sky reminding you how small and insignificant you are. But as you lay down on the sand to breath in their gaze, you know for this night, they shine for you.
-(*****)
dear mam, who are you? have you read the romance novels i write in my head? though this sounds like an amazing evening, (the evening of sept 5) nothing of the sort happend at all that night. true there was someone else with me, but it was not as romantic as i wish your short story was, if that type of night would ever take place i would have a bit more optimism in my music, and a larger smile on my face presently. please keep writing to me i was lost in your words envisioning that the girl in your story was the girl in my present thoughts.
-stephen
Thursday, September 25, 2003
today i recieved this:
stephen, Sept. 5 you wrote "If I could re-live last night over, I would."
And on Sept. 6th I wrote this:
If I could re-live last night over, I would. And that's all you write. That's all I have to ponder. No tone of voice. No facial expression. No story behind the words to ease my curiousity. Of course, when I first read the words on the screen, I immediately sensed romance. At least that's what female intuition assumed. A night - an encounter with a woman whose beauty and smile captured your entire being. I suppose you strolled the city together until you came across a local coffee shop. There the conversation intensified and so did the emotions as you shared your life dreams, your faith, your authors, and your philosophies. If only the ocean were nearby, you would continue the evening with a walk along the beach, the sand between your toes and her fingers entwined with yours. The stars claim their presence in the sky reminding you how small and insignificant you are. But as you lay down on the sand to breath in their gaze, you know for this night, they shine for you.
-(*****)
dear mam, who are you? have you read the romance novels i write in my head? though this sounds like an amazing evening, (the evening of sept 5) nothing of the sort happend at all that night. true there was someone else with me, but it was not as romantic as i wish your short story was, if that type of night would ever take place i would have a bit more optimism in my music, and a larger smile on my face presently. please keep writing to me i was lost in your words envisioning that the girl in your story was the girl in my present thoughts.
-stephen
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Coming Soon: My Original Blogspot Work
I’ve decided to reclaim some of my original blogspot work - which, for the most part, was written under the guise of Marie Devonshire. My middle name, followed by the last name of a friend who taught me how to both surf and fall in love in the same day, is the name that became my pen name. 5 years ago Mr. Devonshire told me that he would fly out to Michigan and marry me if I was still single the eve of my 25th birthday. I didn’t believe him, but I liked him for some time and eventually he did come to Michigan – not to marry me, but rather to introduce me to his fiancé. He married her and a year later he divorced her. I think because of his love for gambling. Skilled at playing poker, Mr. Devonshire has left his wife and the field of youth ministry to pursue a career in gambling. However, he continues to maintain the same desire as my favorite ex-boyfriend to someday run a youth camp; I have faith that he will, but not until much later on in life when he grows weary of the game and remembers his first love (i.e. God). Last time I spoke with him he was getting ready to go to the Playboy Mansion for a celebrity poker tournament.
The blogspot I wrote upon was moderated by Stephen Christian – the lead singer of Anberlin. I have much admiration, and some jealousy, for the ambitious life that Stephen now leads. I think because his life seems to have greater eternal significance than my own. Long before Stephen’s rock stardom, I considered the possibility that he might like me. I think the invitation to the Presidential Inaugural Ball, along with the mix CD and Valentine’s Day card he sent me, led me to believe that he had some interest in me. Or maybe it was the plane ticket he offered to buy me so I could meet him in New Orleans. I’m uncertain now what he meant when he told me “You have a lot of qualities I hope for in a future love” because last month he informed me that he was never interested in me. I think his brother would disagree with his no interest claim because he had to fight Stephen for the computer as they were both waiting upon and writing e-mails to girls in Michigan (or so Stephen once told me).
So maybe Stephen was never interested in me, but I think he was rather fond of Marie Devonshire. I’ll let you decide. Over the next month or so I’ll be posting old blogspot writings that I had written for his site several years ago. Please keep in mind my book writing is nothing like the writing you will find here. This stuff isn’t funny; my book is (and so am I – or at least I'd like to think I am).
The blogspot I wrote upon was moderated by Stephen Christian – the lead singer of Anberlin. I have much admiration, and some jealousy, for the ambitious life that Stephen now leads. I think because his life seems to have greater eternal significance than my own. Long before Stephen’s rock stardom, I considered the possibility that he might like me. I think the invitation to the Presidential Inaugural Ball, along with the mix CD and Valentine’s Day card he sent me, led me to believe that he had some interest in me. Or maybe it was the plane ticket he offered to buy me so I could meet him in New Orleans. I’m uncertain now what he meant when he told me “You have a lot of qualities I hope for in a future love” because last month he informed me that he was never interested in me. I think his brother would disagree with his no interest claim because he had to fight Stephen for the computer as they were both waiting upon and writing e-mails to girls in Michigan (or so Stephen once told me).
So maybe Stephen was never interested in me, but I think he was rather fond of Marie Devonshire. I’ll let you decide. Over the next month or so I’ll be posting old blogspot writings that I had written for his site several years ago. Please keep in mind my book writing is nothing like the writing you will find here. This stuff isn’t funny; my book is (and so am I – or at least I'd like to think I am).
Sunday, May 27, 2007
In the Green Room
I’m doing something I probably shouldn’t. I mean, it would be fine if there was anonymity involved. But he knows my name and where I live both online and off. He’ll be reading this piece and I’ll regret writing it.
Last night I returned to Coffee Depot. My intentions, once again, were to spend the evening working on my book – which I did do for quite some time. I sat in my favorite chair – the comfy old one that sits closest to the unused fire place – reworking a section called “Turbulence.”
As the evening progressed, so did the number of distractions. I contemplated packing up and going home, but then I remembered Coffee Depot’s upper room.
I considered that it might be in use by the bands that were lined up to play. But when I climbed the stairs and peaked around the corner I knew the room was no green room. Okay, so it was painted green, but what I’m trying to say is the room was not packed full of musicians.
Only empty tables and chairs filled the room, with exception of one chair that held a man, whom I’ll describe as handsome. He was reading (or least pretending to read) when I walked into the room.
I quickly found a corner seat and opened my laptop, extending my writing break by checking my e-mail and MySpace. I was in the process of composing a reply to my favorite ex-boyfriend when the man across the room initiated a conversation.
I wish I could provide you with actual dialogue, but none of it seems to stand out. Maybe because I was too intrigued by him to really pay attention to what was being said.
I mean, I know we talked about his 9 (or 10) years in Kenya as an MK (i.e. missionary kid) and my aspiration to someday be on Jay Leno. And we discussed our books – the one I’m writing and the one he’ll be writing later this summer. (His book will be better than mine, but I can’t tell you what his book is going to be about because someone reading this might be tempted to steal his idea.)
I learned that he is not only a writer, but a musician as well – a guitarist, of course. For him, the room we were sharing was a green room; our time together ended when he had to go on stage.
I stayed for the show, sitting in back wondering about him, wanting to know more.
Afterwards we exchanged smiles and salutations, but not phone numbers - which is funny to me, because for once I would have actually been okay with giving mine away.
Last night I returned to Coffee Depot. My intentions, once again, were to spend the evening working on my book – which I did do for quite some time. I sat in my favorite chair – the comfy old one that sits closest to the unused fire place – reworking a section called “Turbulence.”
As the evening progressed, so did the number of distractions. I contemplated packing up and going home, but then I remembered Coffee Depot’s upper room.
I considered that it might be in use by the bands that were lined up to play. But when I climbed the stairs and peaked around the corner I knew the room was no green room. Okay, so it was painted green, but what I’m trying to say is the room was not packed full of musicians.
Only empty tables and chairs filled the room, with exception of one chair that held a man, whom I’ll describe as handsome. He was reading (or least pretending to read) when I walked into the room.
I quickly found a corner seat and opened my laptop, extending my writing break by checking my e-mail and MySpace. I was in the process of composing a reply to my favorite ex-boyfriend when the man across the room initiated a conversation.
I wish I could provide you with actual dialogue, but none of it seems to stand out. Maybe because I was too intrigued by him to really pay attention to what was being said.
I mean, I know we talked about his 9 (or 10) years in Kenya as an MK (i.e. missionary kid) and my aspiration to someday be on Jay Leno. And we discussed our books – the one I’m writing and the one he’ll be writing later this summer. (His book will be better than mine, but I can’t tell you what his book is going to be about because someone reading this might be tempted to steal his idea.)
I learned that he is not only a writer, but a musician as well – a guitarist, of course. For him, the room we were sharing was a green room; our time together ended when he had to go on stage.
I stayed for the show, sitting in back wondering about him, wanting to know more.
Afterwards we exchanged smiles and salutations, but not phone numbers - which is funny to me, because for once I would have actually been okay with giving mine away.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Meeting With A Stranger
My stomach is feeling a bit uneasy. It's possible that I'm hungry (I popped some popcorn just in case), but more than likely my gut is responding to the conversation I had an hour ago. Because it was a rather intense conversation to have with a complete stranger. I was finishing up a section in my book called "Beer" when a nearby patron at Coffee Depot decided to strike up a conversation with me.
"I caught you."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, I caught you pretending to look at your computer screen when you were looking over at me."
Okay, so true. Yes, at one point I was looking at him. I usually do take in my surroundings; this is an especially good thing to do when you are driving.
I politely continued the dialogue, not minding a small break from my book writing. But then he started asking questions... spiritual questions... and I knew my book writing was done with for the evening.
So we talked about God for a while; he was raised in the church, but his current claim is that he is an agnostic. I happen to have my copy Erwin McManus's new book - Soul Cravings - with me, so I asked if he was reader. He said yes so I offered the book, and he offered me the book he had been reading - a book of poetry by Walt Whitman called Leaves of Grass. He said that he wasn't finished with the book and that he'd like it back; I said the same - which means he and I will be meeting up again in the near future.
But he didn't want to talk just about God. He also wanted to talk about love. (Which is somewhat ironic being that God is love.)
"What do you think it means to be in love?" He pulled out his journal. "If you get to use any of our conversation in your book. I'm at least going to write down your answer in my journal."
“That’s fair enough, but I don’t think I have a good answer for you. I could talk about love being a choice or the intense longing to be with someone, but…” We dialogued for a bit attempting to formulate a good definition.
He then asked, "Have you ever been in love?"
"Yes."
"How did you know?"
"I almost hit another car." (Actually I did gently bump into another car; the story is in my book) "And when things were over between us I wanted to commit suicide."
"Yeah... like trying to figure how many pills it would take?"
"Actually I was trying to figure out how long it would take to fill the garage up with carbon monoxide. That's how I knew I was in love." He and I were both smiling. We did our best to stay lighthearted, yet we both knew the painful reality of losing someone you'd give anything to spend the rest of your life with.
"So you're not dating anyone?"
"Nope. I don't have much luck when it comes to guys."
“Why do you think that is?”
“I’m 5’8"? I honestly don’t know.” That’s been the mystery question ever since I entered into high school. What makes Katrina Blank undatable?
“Well, you’re certainly an attractive woman and you’re easy to talk. You can actually hold an intelligent conversation.”
“Well thanks.”
“So my fiance… or exfiance… she thinks I need some time to be by myself. I’ve always been in and out of relationships, never being without a girl for more than a month.”
“Maybe it’s time you start looking at God.”
“My dad…” He continued, telling me how he has been wounded by his father. But wow, what an interesting response to my suggestion.
I left Coffee Depot wondering why I had been dragged into this man’s spiritual journey and feeling responsible now to uphold him in prayer. And as I drove home I continued to think about what it means to be in love. Tonight I miss Shane.
"I caught you."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, I caught you pretending to look at your computer screen when you were looking over at me."
Okay, so true. Yes, at one point I was looking at him. I usually do take in my surroundings; this is an especially good thing to do when you are driving.
I politely continued the dialogue, not minding a small break from my book writing. But then he started asking questions... spiritual questions... and I knew my book writing was done with for the evening.
So we talked about God for a while; he was raised in the church, but his current claim is that he is an agnostic. I happen to have my copy Erwin McManus's new book - Soul Cravings - with me, so I asked if he was reader. He said yes so I offered the book, and he offered me the book he had been reading - a book of poetry by Walt Whitman called Leaves of Grass. He said that he wasn't finished with the book and that he'd like it back; I said the same - which means he and I will be meeting up again in the near future.
But he didn't want to talk just about God. He also wanted to talk about love. (Which is somewhat ironic being that God is love.)
"What do you think it means to be in love?" He pulled out his journal. "If you get to use any of our conversation in your book. I'm at least going to write down your answer in my journal."
“That’s fair enough, but I don’t think I have a good answer for you. I could talk about love being a choice or the intense longing to be with someone, but…” We dialogued for a bit attempting to formulate a good definition.
He then asked, "Have you ever been in love?"
"Yes."
"How did you know?"
"I almost hit another car." (Actually I did gently bump into another car; the story is in my book) "And when things were over between us I wanted to commit suicide."
"Yeah... like trying to figure how many pills it would take?"
"Actually I was trying to figure out how long it would take to fill the garage up with carbon monoxide. That's how I knew I was in love." He and I were both smiling. We did our best to stay lighthearted, yet we both knew the painful reality of losing someone you'd give anything to spend the rest of your life with.
"So you're not dating anyone?"
"Nope. I don't have much luck when it comes to guys."
“Why do you think that is?”
“I’m 5’8"? I honestly don’t know.” That’s been the mystery question ever since I entered into high school. What makes Katrina Blank undatable?
“Well, you’re certainly an attractive woman and you’re easy to talk. You can actually hold an intelligent conversation.”
“Well thanks.”
“So my fiance… or exfiance… she thinks I need some time to be by myself. I’ve always been in and out of relationships, never being without a girl for more than a month.”
“Maybe it’s time you start looking at God.”
“My dad…” He continued, telling me how he has been wounded by his father. But wow, what an interesting response to my suggestion.
I left Coffee Depot wondering why I had been dragged into this man’s spiritual journey and feeling responsible now to uphold him in prayer. And as I drove home I continued to think about what it means to be in love. Tonight I miss Shane.
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