well, first of all it's tuesday, the most common day for me to blog. i don't know why subconsiously i have chosen this particular day to grace the world with more of my random speculation, but tuesday it is. i have been wrestling with some pride this morning. some aspiration to greatness that will never come to pass. i was thinking about how great it would be if, after i die, someone finds my blog and publishes it. then millions of people would read about my semi-boring life and be inspired and amazed, not because i am so terribly interesting to read about, but because this semi-boring life has been so well written. amazing the lengths to which my mind will go in order to be self-glorifying.

moving along, i was thinking about making bagels today. yes, from scratch. yes...i know how to do that, well mostly know...at least, i have a recipe. it sounds fun anyway, i'll probably destroy my kitchen and burn the bagels, which my husband will obligingly eat and tell me they're better than his moms (omitting the fact that his mom never made bagels before, although she probably has because she is super-human). what is so unfair about my super-human mother-in-law is that not only is she as close to perfect as is humanly possible, she is also unbelievably nice and helpful and wise and all the things women dream of having in a mother-in-law. so i can't hate her, because she is not hatable. i can only never come close to being as wonderful as she is, knowing all the while that my husband grew up with her as the pattern for his future wife...how he got me is baffling, but he is quite color blind, so maybe he is wife blind too. he says it's because i have such big boobs (not exactly the most romantic comment, but hey, it's better than having really small boobs that he has to lie about liking)

wow, what a meaningless digression...i hope they don't publish that part of my blog until WAY after i am dead. although, i know they will never puublish my blog now that i have written about publishing my blog, because it just doesn't work that way. they only publish things that people never intended to have published, so, if anything, they will only pubish the part i just wrote that i want left out of my blog novel. Bah...people suck (except my mother-in-law)

My husband has too much free time.

On another note, I am suddenly tempted to write silly things about my life that are ultimately of no consequence, but would be (for the moment) interesting to random blog perusers, whom I could make jealous of my uncanny ability to amuse them with my life experience. I opt, instead, for the following:

This morning I came to the conclusion that breastmilk is not the perfect food. In terms of eternity, that is. Saints have the benefit of the living water of Christ, which is the perfect food. I understand what the woman at the well must have meant when she asked for this water. I already have it, but so often I find myself (and my stomach) seeking something else for satisfaction. Don't I realize that one day I will stand on the edges of Jordan, eternally secured by the Savior's love and filled with the glory of God? I get that! I don't deserve that, but it dwells within me even now. And this same PROVIDER is my Father today as well as on that one. What an amazing truth this is. Far more satisfying than the milk I give my daughter to eat.

Back to randomness...
A Big Hunk Of Love is the most obscure, ridiculous excuse for an Elvis song that I can think of. No one has heard of this song...ever.

I tend to write on my blog when I have checked my friends' blogs and see that they have written something new on theirs. Is this a subtle form of peer pressure?

After a long weekend filled with old friends, old struggles, and a new baby...I am tired. Yesterday was an adventure in errand-running. I took Tabitha to Earthfare, Target, and the park. This is her third time in a park, although she has no idea of that, because she slept through this trip (along with the previous two). Today she is sleeping again, largely because she decided not to do so last night. But I forgive her, because today is her 4 week old birthday! Yay! I can't believe how quickly the past four weeks have gone by. Much faster than the last month of my pregnancy, that's for sure. I am so thankful for the relaxing pace of my days since she has been born. I have someone to share the house with now during the day, and a forced schedule that makes me so much more effective in housekeeping.

Finally, I would like to say that I am so blessed to have such a great marriage. I love my husband, and he loves me. God provides for us, and there is no need for me to fear the future. Praise God for Johnmark, because he has been so amazingly equipped to lead and love me through this life. God's grace is evident in his life in so many ways. I am overjoyed to come to breakfast in the morning and see that he has spent time with God there, and to listen in the evenings to him worshipping the Lord with songs and hymns. What an awesome God we serve!

First of all, I would like to state for the record: I like lentil soup a lot. There, now that that is settled...I would also like to state (not necessarily for the record at this time) that I do not like fighting with my husband. In fact, it really sucks.

The amazing thing is that he probably doesn't realize that we are fighting, so honey, if you are reading this today...WE ARE FIGHTING right now. I am mad at you. I am pretty sure that you are mad at me too. Neither of us really know why, you least of all.
Maybe I can spell it out for you. I am selfish, and I like sleep. You deprive m e of both things. Therefore I get mad. Kissing and making up are scheduled for 5:30 p.m.

Bleh...that's how the past 24 hours has been. Tabitha has mysteriously been kidnapped and swapped out with some evil child that needs no sleep and wants to eat as often as she blinks. I am tempted to put her photo on milk cartons, but I don't think they do that anymore. I am living the parenting nightmare of no sleep and visitors on the way to further disrupt what is left of the "schedule". And I am having the worst cramps of my life. So, on the flip side...this experience has taught me to be truly grateful for the good child I used to have. I realize that many parents live this same nightmare, well, nightly. I have been blessed with a three week old who typically enjoys sleeping through the entire night without a peep. So, it could be much worse.

I have been thinking about the wrath of God today. How I am so unaware of its magnitude. Ignorance may be bliss, but it's still ignorance. And yet, is it that I ignore the wrath of God? Well, I must say that I probably do. As foolish a statement as that may be, for, anyone who genuinely encounters the wrath of God certainly cannot ignore it. Which makes me wonder, how am I to honestly fear something that I can't encounter? That wrath intended for me was poured out on Christ. At the same time, reading about the fate of people in the Bible who did meet with God's wrath, I am fully aware that they all ended up dead (at best). So, by intellectual consent, I do fear God. How silly of me to believe that emotional fear is what God is after. Oh no, He wants much more than that.

I must say I am having one of the most bizarre and yet stimulating conversations with my husband today. I often wonder if circumstances or creative energy are the catalyst for these things. Perhaps some of both. Either way, I am feeling extra alive today. It might be the shirt I am wearing. It's a pre-pregnancy shirt, and it fits, except it's a tad short, so it shows a tiny bit of skin, which I think (in spite of the zebra stripe that remains on my stomach) is just a little sexy. And since I am only bumming around the house today with no planned visitors...it's really nice to feel somewhat sexy. And it especially gives me hope for the future (our one year anniversary is coming up and just maybe I'll fit into that black corset again...whooppee!!)

Ok, I suppose that is enough broadcasting of my sex life for today. I got caught in the rain this morning on my daily walk with Tabitha. This was both meaningful and exhilirating for me. I love to get caught in the rain, pair that with my baby girl and it's ten times the joy. Don't worry, we didn't get too wet, just enough to matter.

Speaking of Tabitha, I had the nicest thought about her last night. I realized as I was pondering the smallness of her fingers, that inside of her body, there is already a planned future. Her appearance is, for the most part, mapped out. And significant portions of her personality and tastes have been decided already. I am so amazed by God when I think of these things. She's so small, yet, she is equipped already for her life. There are memories just waiting to be made. All that remains is the passage of time. Then I wonder if every mother realizes this. Did mine, when she stared into my little curled fist, think that one day I would be standing here with a daughter of my own, unprepared and full of anticipation the way she was?

Today will have to be a quickie, which is better than yesterday, which was a no-show. My baby bear decided not to sleep AT ALL today, so I haven't been able to get away. Granted, she hasn't been fussy, just...awake.

I can't believe how beautiful my daughter is, even when she cries. Her blue eyes shine like glass, reflecting the light that she is always looking at, and trying to figure out. I guess light is one of the greatest differences between in the womb and out of it. That and the leg room. She takes advantage of both regularly. But I love to watch her sleep, with her legs all tucked up like a tree frog. It comforts me somehow, realizing that that is how she laid in my womb. What a gift from God she is...

Hopefully, this will soon become habitual activity for me during Tabitha's afternoon nap. I took her for a walk this morning, and she really seemed to enjoy it. I think she got a bug bite, though, on her left knee. This upsets me greatly, but there's nothing really that I could do about it.

Anyway, I must confess that since my declaration of two days ago, I feel sort of nervous about simply rambling through my daily blog time. I suppose that I will write whatever is most important to me on a particular day, so this time will be quite a revealing account of my life priorities. I was also thinking about telling some people in my family about my blog. But, I do write about my sex life on here, which strangely enough, I am totally comfortable sharing with my friends and even strangers, but totally UNcomfortable sharing with my family (with the obvious exception of my huhsband).

Here is what has been on my mind a good bit over the past week. A simple analogy, and one that I have never truly understood until last week sometime. I don't know what brought it to my mind (perhaps it was our bug infested shed out back), but I was thinking about Jonathen Edwards and his sermon "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" The most famous segment of the sermon deals with the analogy of a spider, and so as not to embarass myself terribly, I think I will have to quote the actual moment for accuracy and poetry's sake:


The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked: his wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in his eyes, than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have offended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince; and yet it is nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment.

So, this analogy however basic it may seem to truly be, has never fully sunken in until the other day. I realized something about spiders that I have always believed. They are completely loathsome. I HATE spiders. I rejoice in killing them, I believe I would actually like to watch one burn to death in a fire. Call me cruel, but that's just how I feel. With that in mind, I now consider myself in the eyes of God. I am (or was at least) a giant, hairy spider. Nothing about me appeals to Him, I am a disgusting, bloodsucking, creepy pest. But...for some reason (which I now know to be the overwhelming mercy of God) I have not been cast into the fire to justifiably die for being so generally nasty and gross. And, it has nothing to do with me...and THAT, my friends, is mercy. Mercy like a flood, and it covers me now whenever I think of it. I think it must have been my own pride that prevented me from "getting" the whole spider analogy before. As if I, Taylor, could be compared directly to a bug. How foolish of me...and praise God for revealing the truth to me. Because now I can rejoice even more in the Merciful God whom I serve.

I love Jane Austen. I suppose every woman does...

In the case of Pride and Prejudice, I think what is so timeless is the unfolding of a true love affair. In a way, we all long for the excitement of love...the paradox of it. Lizzy Bennet is passionate in her search for the truth, and when she does find it, she is unexpectedly wrong about everything. However, there is grace for her in the eyes of the beloved Mr. Darcy. Yay for romance!

Well, my husband now has a blog...and since he is probably the only person reading mine, I will now take the time to pout. (The reason I am pouting is because he is keeping the location of this all-important blog a complete secret, telling only our infant daughter who can't yet talk) Life is so UNFAIR!! How can I go ON?? Not knowing all the deepest, most intimate details of my beloved's life is so unnerving that I just might not be able to face another day. sniff* sniff*
Ok, well now that THAT's over...

It has been a while, and as I said over lunch (perhaps to myself) I need to start writing every day again. Writing is such a simulating activity, though I really must guard from too much self-exploration. Not because I find myself boring. On the contrary, I am tremendously interesting to myself, which is the true problem. I am inherently sinful, and can easily convince myself that I am the most interesting thing I can think of...which would lead to immense pride and selfish ambition. So, instead I would like to write in order to explore and uplift other things, such as the Cross and the glory of my Savior, without whom I would never have known what a selfish, sinful person I am. And that, ironically enough, is one of the main reasons I am so eager to love and write about Christ. Because now that I know what I really am, the idea of Him loving me enough to die is completely mind-boggling. Much more worthy of in-depth contemplation than anything about ME I am quite certain.

For a person who spent at least four years of their life learning the art of composition, I am awfully lazy about actually doing it. Amazing how undisciplined humans are. Maybe just Americans. My Chinese friend was complaining the other day about how his little girl had no homework assignments to complete in the summer. I can't believe how lazy Americans (myself an actual real live one) are. We suck.

On another note, the baby will be here in about a month. I think it will be next week, but I also believed she was a boy for about the first three months of my pregnancy. Which means, she'll be three weeks late or something crazy like that.

On Day

I believe it began with red
however
the sensation of taste may appeal
that conception
as I objectify my love for you
over a suspect umbrella dance
perhaps defying the color scheme altogether

as it is
you cannot be a color
although vegetables are permissible
(I happen to prefer zucchini
over tomatoe).

Happy Birthday to me...Happy birthday to ME!

Addendum:
Being apart sucks. I amnot alone in this sentiment. Fortunately I have only a week of torturous seperation, hopefully followed by great sex (see previous entry). Unfortunately, it's my birthday tomorrow and I am pitifully alone. Not really, I have Tabitha. Even though she is constantly trying to beat me up in her little bubble, I know she really loves me and what she is trying to communicate is how glad she is that I am her mommy and that i am turning 22 tomorrow. Or maybe she is hungry.

P.S. The rain is (apparently) here to stay, but I am okay with that as long as it continues these crazy spastic downpours. Kind of reminds me of my life. And of God's grace.

Sex is so much better after a short absence. I am also glad to see my friend the sunshine once again. Tomorrow I will be a homeowner, with my very own street to go for a walk along whenever I want. Life is good.

I return to say that I wrote that poem, however since only my husband is reading these blogs, I suppose it is silly of me to do so, because he knows that I wrote it. I told him. On the other hand, I am nursing a secret hope that maybe some other person could stumble across this space and read my poem and wonder whether or not I wrote it. I did. :-)

The first reality

what comes out is the line
she traces along the inside
of me though her touch is inevitable, to say that
perhaps destroys its beauty (for Some)

my life will be erased by those hands
the ones that Some would call
dead. Would call rubber. In the mornings it is
always the same, I am awoken from nightmares

by touch, I have been beaten all night, or drenched
in salt (preserve my hands) and the sun rises
and the raspberry leaves beckon
me into the kitchen

...although not soo contagious today. I had to go outside in the cold dreary, which does NOT inspire me to dive in to the mood of melancholy that is this day. I suppose it isn't Thursday and that is why but no one should make excuses for bad weather, so I'll stop there.

The lime, electric green of the April sea
off Ischia
Is just a thumb-rub on the window glass between here and there:
And the cloud cap above the volcano
That didn't move when the sea wind moved;
And the morning the doves came, low from the mountain's shadow,
under the sunlight,
Over the damp tops of the vine rows,
Eye-high in a scythe slip that dipped and rose and cut down toward the
sea;
And the houses like candy wrappers blown up against the hillside
Above Sant'angelo,
fuchsia and mauve and cyclamen;
And the story Nicola told,
How the turtle doves come up from Afric
On the desert winds,
how the hunters take the fresh seeds
From thheir crops and plant them,
The town windows all summer streaked with nameless blooms.

The landscape was always the best part.

~Charles Wright, The Southern Cross

I wish I could rebegin at the actual beginning, instead of fostering some false desire to write the first things that come to my mind. they have come and gone already, although no one realizes it (besides myself and maybe tabitha). The rain outside inspires me to feel differently than I wanted to when I woke up, but of course...the rain always wins that battle and I find myself slipping into the dreary tranquility of the morning, with no desire outside of apathy. I feel like Charles Wright, perhaps, just before he composes some of his blue poetry.