He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (via thatkindofwoman)
there is sweet mercy in innocent until proven guilty - the crashing tide of justice breaking on compassion rather than incredulity. the benefit of the doubt singing and ringing louder than doubt himself; a sort of honey to the heart and dew for the soul.
we are protected from stealing the lives of the free, albeit at the cost of manipulation by the malicious, the accusatory or those being held to account.
but it is a price worth paying for the priceless safe haven of the blameless on trial. and you can hear our Father’s voice in the principle - there is something very much of grace about it.
Every writer, of every political flavor, has some neat historical analogy, or mini-lesson, with which to preface an argument for why we ought to bomb these guys or side with those guys against the guys we were bombing before. But the best argument for reading history is not that it will show us the right thing to do in one case or the other, but rather that it will show us why even doing the right thing rarely works out.Adam Gopnik on the value of studying history. (via newyorker)
it’s one week. and I want to remember how it feels, etched into my heart, imprinted in my mind. certain hope and preparation and the busy always of waiting and counting down the time until then - whether waking or sleeping or doing or being or still. boxes half-packed and unpacked. empty cupboards and uneasy rooms. a house that is almost, but not quite.
i know it will soon brim with nics and nacs, that books will line the shelves. there will be pitter-patters and the smell of home-cooked meals and mulled wine and words will trace the air. and life and love and steps of coming and going will tread the doormat bare.
but this next seven days will be all the days and everyday, until that day dawns on no more night.
although my groom is wonderful, our Groom is better. and this week’s almost song - all the impatience and jubilation and in-between - is one to be sung until He calls us Home.
Almost. It’s a big word for me. I feel it everywhere. Almost home. Almost happy. Almost changed. Almost, but not quite. Not yet. Soon, maybe.Joan Bauer (via thatkindofwoman)
there’s not much that’s worth doing that’s not simultaneously terrifying and wonderful.