Hi. I’m going to be real honest here. Real honest. This is Whitney-is-not-perfect honest. Confession time on steroids. If you're a Grace student, sorry--your secretary doesn't have it all together right now. If you didn't already know that from all the mass emails I've written, and corresponding mass emails correcting the first ones. But this post is probably my most raw one I've ever written, but I'm proud of myself because these past few days made me wonder if I’d ever blog again. You see, these past few days. Have been horrible. And I may keep using that word—horrible—throughout this post. Excuse the repetition. There really is no other word I can think of, despite all my AP English teachers’ lectures on word choice and variety. Sorry, six traits. You are taking a back seat because I still have reading due this week. It has been horrible partly because I am a horrible person. Wednesday of this week I called up a friend and told her that despi...
No name Just "Samaritan woman" Approached by a well by an odd man At an odd time: no one is supposed to be here right now, right now, when her shame forced her to draw water alone But shame was no match for the Living Water that baptized the isolated whore, raised her into prophetess, evangelist, beloved. "our Father Jacob," she said, but did she see? Jacob's wife was found at the well, and Isaac's too. Two matriarchs, fountain-heads of descendents, carriers of promise, approached the well and left betrothed and grafted into a covenant. Those women came and offered water, but you came and received it. Do you see, nameless Samaritan woman? You have left the well just as your mothers did: betrothed, dignified, grafted in, chosen. thirst quenched. A new mother to the many who believed your testimony A new matriarch for a new covenant. A new Bride to God himself.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I weren't a music major. What I would do with those two extra hours a day. How much more fun would I have? How much LESS stressed would I be every day of the year?! How many dumb music jokes would I be spared from listening to????? And summers, dear Lord...summers would NOT involve practicing piano. Man, if I weren't about to be a senior and hadn't already put hundreds of hours into this "senior recital" thing, I would be seriously tempted to abandon it all and just move to Boston, quite possibly giving that music department a finger they may be offended by. Kiiiiidding. Secretaries can't say that. I should be practicing right now. I have this schedule of things to memorize each week but there's this one song I hate and always leave until the end and by then I have no motivation and by that time my legs are stuck to the piano bench and getting up rips a layer of skin off and then I bang on the key...
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