Category Archives: Life

Verses from Psalm 119 that I Pray while Preparing to Read Scripture

These were discovered while I was working on memorizing Psalm 119. While I never completed the entire psalm to memory, I did memorize most of it; this process gave me a great appreciation for both the hidden gems and the overall story. 119 is a beautiful psalm and I would recommend reading it in its entirety. I got into the habit of praying one or two verses from it before I read my Bible; this post is meant as a starting point for anyone who wants to do something similar.

“Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law. I am stranger on earth; do not hide your commands from me.” (v. 18-9)

“Let me understand the teaching of your precepts; then I will meditate on your wonders.” (27)

“The earth is filled with your love, O LORD; teach me your decrees.” (64)

“You are good, and what you do is good; teach me your decrees.” (68)

“To all perfection I see a limit; but your commands are boundless.” (96)

“I am your servant; give me discernment that I may understand your statutes.” (125)

“Your statutes are wonderful; therefore I obey them. The unfolding of your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple.” (129-30)

“Direct my footsteps according to your word; let no sin rule over me.” (133)

“Make your face shine upon your servant and teach me your decrees.” (135)

“Righteous are you, O LORD, and your laws are right. The statutes you have laid down are righteous; they are fully trustworthy.” (137-8)

“Your righteousness is everlasting and your law is true. Trouble and distress have come upon me, but your commands are my delight. Your statutes are forever right; give me understanding that I may live.” (142-4)

“You are near, O LORD, and all your commands are true. Long ago I learned from your statutes that you established them to last forever.” (151-2)

The Island

I went to counseling and she told me I should journal more. I’m posting the result in case someone finds it helpful. “Let him not vow to walk in the dark who has not seen the nightfall” is a Tolkien quote (The Fellowship of the Ring p. 315). All of the references to “the island” and coming back from it are meant to use imagery from the 2000 movie Cast Away (these kind of connections are just how my brain works).

This is for everyone else who is confused about the scars on their own soul. I don’t usually write about trauma without having a point, but sometimes we humans can’t see past the “Jesus wept” part (John 11).


Hanna’s Journal, summer 2021

I jumped of my own accord, although it was never my idea. It wasn’t a leap of faith for me; I didn’t hear the voice of God, I only heard the question.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I was vowing to walk in the dark when I’d never seen the nightfall. I don’t think my family knew either. We were all standing & admiring that first sunset and swearing we’d walk in the dark. Of course it didn’t go well. We were blindsided, unorganized, thrown off our feet. It was a crapshoot, of course.

Now I’m back. Back from the deserted island, having survived the leap, and those years don’t weigh heavy on my face, cause my hair is cut and I’m wearing a decent sweater and I still speak politely. Sometimes I wonder if anyone has looked close enough to see the fear behind my eyes. The corpse, that the new me dragged back home. The new me is a survivor. A prey animal with small, sharp teeth and a hard, hard shell. The new me is driftwood, that doesn’t even know what’s lifting her.

I brought the island home with me.

The Word Became Flesh. . .

I want to take a brief moment this Christmas Eve to remind you all of something that I needed to be reminded of this year: Emmanuel. I’ve heard about the incarnation so many times that it’s easy to forget what a miracle it was.

The God who is spirit (John 4:24) became flesh (John 1:14) in order to be accessible to us.

Flesh and blood, capable of dying, and willing to die. (Philippians 2:5-11)

In a year full of tragedy, fear, and isolation, let’s take a moment to reflect on the God who came to be with us. The God who is always with us. The God who left heaven for us and died to get close to us.

Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God. . . The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:12, 14)

Submit yourselves then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you.” (James 4:7-8)

Lights in Dark Times (re-sharing some words from my church)

Hello, friends. Life has been a little wild, hasn’t it? I’ve been pretty quiet, since I don’t think my voice is the one that needs to talk over the chaos. However, I wanted to stop in here to re-share some things from my church. Probably would have done this on Instagram, but I can’t share links on there, so here we are.

This video, A Conversation About Race, is a conversation between two of our pastors about racial tension. I found it very helpful, and it gave me some points to start thinking through.

This second video, Lights in Dark Times, is our sermon from last week (part two of a series on 1 Peter, but fine as a stand-alone 🙂 ). Not necessarily directly related to the first video about race, but I wanted to share this one too, since it was also helpful for me.

Hang in there. With love,

Hanna

Today,

Today, we washed out the bed of Dad’s pickup truck with the hose. The water ran down the street in a tiny river, hugging the curb. The boys and I followed it, splashing with bare feet.

Michael brought an old broom from the garage and used it to splash the running water over buckles in the concrete. We decided to see if it got all the way down to the storm drain.

We stopped to make dams out of sticks, and watched as they forced the water farther out into the street. We snatched the sticks away and watched the water surge ahead, a valiant and insignificant trickle. Nothing mattered but the blue sky, and the warm sun, and that trickle making it to the storm drain.

Today, we were ragamuffins, jeans rolled up, ankles dirty, shoes anywhere but on our feet.

Today, we got amused looks from the neighbors.

Today, we were straight up Huck Finn.

We swept the water along, taking turns with the broom. We reached the storm drain and watched the water fall headlong through the grate.

I didn’t get the boys home in time for dinner, but I got them out of the street every time a car went by. We came home with our feet and hands dirty.

Today, the world felt a little bigger, and I felt a little smaller.

Today, we chased our goal and reached the journey’s end, and tomorrow I’ll fall headlong into a new adventure, refreshed from today’s stream–just enough water to trickle to the storm drain.

Like a Crocus

When we moved into our current house, we didn’t know what was planted around it. The next spring, we were pleasantly surprised to find crocuses bursting through the soil right outside the front door. White, yellow, purple; faces trustingly open to the sky.

Shortly after this revelation in our front yard, I read Isaiah 35 and found this (v. 1-2a):

“The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.”

At the time, I was mostly struck by the fact that God cared enough to talk about something as small as a crocus.

This spring, the crocuses came up again. After the Landscaping Apocalypse my parents had inflicted along the front of the house, I was now struck by their resiliency.

The desert and the parched land. . . the wilderness. . .

. . . will rejoice and blossom.

My world has been turned over again and again in the last few weeks. But in the parched wilderness, joy can still unexpectedly spring up–bright, lush, and shocking.

I’m standing with my face trustingly open to the sky, waiting for it to rain again.

Classmates

We talk about weekend plans, homework, and the events we buy tickets to. We giggle (while cringing) about the social norms we both find weird. We both casually mention going to church, although we haven’t gone past casual yet. We’ve started waiting for each other.

It can be awkward to remember that we only met two months ago and in another three we could easily lose all contact again. It’s awkward, but I try not to let it scare me. Because I’ve learned that friendships are built in small moments like these.

In these moments, we are two humans, walking side by side for a few steps out of our crazy lives. Making a real connection. I think I’ve been underestimating how powerful this is.

Hanna

To ten-year-old Hanna: The hard work will be worth it.

To thirteen-year-old Hanna: I’m sorry, sweetheart, you don’t know everything yet. 😀

To fourteen-year-old Hanna: These feelings will go away. You will feel sane and happy again, I promise.

To seventeen-year-old Hanna: Don’t be scared. College will be hard, but it will be good. You will learn so much. You will still be you. Don’t be scared.

Cardboard Castles

The snowflakes flutter wet against my face.

The slush seeps into my boots and dampens my socks.

The car doors leave water crystals on my fingers.

I am somehow infinitely comforted by the fact

that I leave behind a small boy who still remembers how

to make castles out of cardboard boxes.

Because of him I stop to study

the snowflakes on my dark sleeve.

Because of him I remember

to quietly catch one on my tongue.

My classmates would think me strange,

for taking so much delight in such a nuisance.

But they have no one at home

to build them cardboard castles.

Emmanuel

We went to our church’s Christmas Eve service yesterday evening. Partway through worship someone got up and spoke, and he talked about the wonder of Christmas. I like to think I’m good at wonder, but when I tried to imagine the first Christmas again, I somehow couldn’t. It was too hard to think about the darkness, the stable, the first-century clothes. There was too much music, too many lights, too many people.

The moment wasn’t right, and the magic never happened. But in that moment, I hung on to what I knew:

Emmanuel–God with us. The God who gave up everything to be close to us. The God who can sympathize with our weakness. The God who is still there, even when I can’t see Him or feel Him or touch Him or when I push Him away.

When Simon Peter told Jesus, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man,” Jesus answered him, “Don’t be afraid.” And Peter left everything to follow this God (Luke 5:8-11, NIV). Emmanuel is God with us; today, tomorrow, and every day, if we’ll only let Him.

The most important thing about Christmas is that it gives us a second chance to be close to our Creator.

God and sinners reconciled.