handy baskets

caroline said something which i know isn’t something i haven’t heard before but it was wonderful being reminded of how it truly is in my weakness that God can show his great might. instead of trying to carrying my own yoke and failing miserably because of its sheer weight i should drop it and pick his up.

for the longest time i assumed i could do most things myself. i guess it was obvious to all but me that i wasn’t the best at it. i bought into the lie. how stupid and foolish it was to believe that one with so little experience can grapple with everything tossed at her, by herself. i lack resources, experience and wisdom to face each day by myself. yet coffee and laptop in hand i tried.

some days my knees start to buckle, my ankles threaten to give way, my eyes look back at my mistakes and allow tears to rain down on my cheeks. those days can drag out the worst and during those days i have to make a decision. turn around and know the future is as bright as the promises of God or let selfish pride continue to trail?

is my Lord not mighty to save? nay, his stubborn servant refuses to let go.

Behold, I am the LORD, the God of all flesh: is there any thing too hard for me?
Jeremiah 32:27

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
Matthew 11:29-30

i am weak. and i have nothing to offer but some cheese and crackers and tea. But his grace is sufficient.

student coffees.

thinking monday would be a good day to start on my assignment, i packed up my books and laptop and toted them all the way to uni, only to discover that nothing in uni is not open on easter monday. determined not to let a little thing rain on my internet-raiding parade i sat on the steps of H69 and logged on. anyway, i felt pretty stupid after a while and left for newtown in hopes of finding a place that offers free internet.

now, i m just table hogging. refusing to leave till my web-crawl craving is sufficed. but the internet at macro is so slow. by the time my hotmail page loaded i grew to the ripe old age of 60, had three children, 9 grandkids and married thrice. (i do things in multiples of three) furthermore, the organic banana bread isn’t very good at all. poo.

i still owe you for the hole in the floor.

is hate too strong a word?

maybe.
but, i’m still cut.

because sorry, there really isn’t anything else i can do.

jkhyi

went to uni pretty early today and now i have nothing to do because my class starts at four. because i live so damn far away from uni now, there really isn’t much point walking all the way home.

nevermind! our new place is really nice! but unlike our little hobbit house on Queen Street, this house was made for GIANTS! the cabinets are soooo high up, i have to go get/buy a stool.

the place is still in a very big mess. the boxes are laying around waiting to be recycled, the trash needs to be taken out, dishes washed and put away and the TV needs to be plugged in. urgh, so many things to do and so little drive to do them. a whole bunch of my stuff is missing and a whole bunch of stuff i thought i never see again has turned up in one of the boxes.

OKAY! i m hungry! bye!

break my candy heart.

cry me a damn river.
i ought to be shot in the head, rolled down to the bank and made to rest with the fishes.

the first week of uni is over. i have a wonderful four day weekend. we commerce students pride ourselves on the very few contact hours. i’ve spent most of my week sipping coffee, chasing driers (that comes hand in hand with semi-communal living), chowing down pastries, making small talk in the communal kitchen ‘can i borrow your oil? mine’s extra virgin and you know how we shouldn’t use that for cooking right?’, sleeping on airbeds and futons in very hospitable people’s houses and trying to catch up with all the sydney-siders.

in my old suburb, the very bright one with the lights we have a town hobo. in the day i have seen him leaning on the lamppost, sleeping between two slabs of cardboard or hunched over an old vittora coffee cup in various parts of the suburb. he is starting to bald from the top of his head, but his unshaven beard makes me forget he is loosing hair. his clothes are dark with dirt, in shreds and don’t provide much insulation for the later months. at night i’ve once heard him yelling but most nights he silently sits by his tattered cup on his cardboard mattress. i m not one for talking to slightly intimadating people, but like to imagine what our conversation would be like.

i would start off with the mandatory ‘how are you?’ and a neutral comment about the weather. would he be perturbed by my social mandatories? maybe he would brush me off and tell me to go back to wherever in china i’ve come from. but i like to think he would smile and tell me all that he has seen on the street. jumping from one experience to another. maybe he’ll talk about all the people who have been kind to him or maybe even about how he became a Cristian. i know experience tells me the likelihood of that happening is slim, but the hope of having a wonderfully decent conversation with the town hobo negates all negative past experiences.

i don’t think i’ll ever talk to him, but a girl should be allowed to wonder.