rambling rosemarie

I want to depart from what is normal for me to blog or talk about. I want to talk about feelings. My feelings. Normally I would rather eat dead frogs than talk about feelings, especially my feelings. If you know me, I don't trust you. The random folks who happen upon my blog by google or providence I don't give a rip about. They can't hurt me. It's you who know me that scare the life out of me. Your words, spoken or un, have the ability to hurt me in a way too personal to avoid. I don't want you to have that power over me. I have always thought that there was something special about me. Something that nobody cared to find out. I like going on treasure hunts in the souls of others. I see gems and I see the dross but the gems are what I am looking for... they are the reason to go deep with someone. I have longed for someone to want to go deep with me and help me find those tiny gems I am fairly certain are in there. That's the special thing I am talking a...

There is a fierce wind blowing outside today and it reminded me to read Ecclesiastes. This caught my eye: Eccl 1:17-18 17 And I set my mind to know wisdom and to know madness and folly; I realized that this also is striving after wind. 18 Because in much wisdom there is much grief, and increasing knowledge {results in} increasing pain. Today my emotions are as tumbled as the leaves flying past my window and like the wind they howl at me, twisting one way and then another in a confused carousel. Sometimes I long to be the young Christian I used to be- was it really better to have faith without understanding or does it just seem that way?

As I sit alone in my home, feeling poorly because of whatever cooties are coursing through my body, I realized I was having a pity party. Feeling sorry for yourself is such a useless endeavor and yet we always seem to go there as if it is a profitable enterprise. We know we will not derive the tiniest bit of benefit but we go there. Why? Because, "Ah! It hurts so good!' You know how your mind sort of skips around when you're feverish? Like you cannot quite hold on to a cogent thought but you can't keep yourself from thinking? Perhaps I am the only one who suffers from this phenomenon, but when I am feverish my mind whirls and skips in slow motion. I decided I would try to concentrate on something profound rather than feel sorry for myself. Here's what I came up with. One of the books I am reading is "The Heart of the Cross," by John Montgomery Boice and Philip Graham Ryken. It's a small book and an easy read but it is packed with things that my hea...