1. (Source: rustically, via theborrowers)


  2. tomorrow i go to greece.

    i should be sleeping right now. because they told us we have to wake up early tomorrow and stay awake all day so that we can sleep soundly on the plane and defeat jetlag.

    tomorrow i go to greece.

    taste a bit of that eastern orthodoxy. feel anarchism ring in my ears. bear for a few days the weight of all of history’s past manifested in tradition, in ritual. they told us to not dress like a tourist but i think it’ll be pretty obvious, because americans have a way of being obvious.

    i’ve become so terrible at writing- reading my past posts always serves as that reminder. my post-spring-break resolution is most certainly to write more frequently. my head says there’s no functionality in writing when i’m headed for the big business- they write in numbers and formal salutations- it’s no place for similes. (“hey did we meet financial goals this past quarter” “sir this company is like a butterfly, we start as caterpillar before we fly” “wut”). but when i go back and read my memories made immortal on paper (virtual paper whatever), it’s soothing. a quiet reassurance that my life before this present point actually existed. and that it was good. i tend to only remember the bad parts, but this life is most certainly a good, good life, all praise to God. 


    they told us to wear red and black to fit in with the anarchists at exarcheia but i’m sure a lot of it is actually the greeks trying to fit in with the UGA bulldogs. gosh what am i going to do when i stand in the middle of ancient corinth. probably weep. weep until my body has no more water left inside of it and i’m forced to drink the scriptures to live. 

    in australia, creation taught me to worship the creator. in new zealand, the present unwrapped itself as a gift and i finally stopped longing for the future. in oxford, i learned to love to learn. in london, i became okay with being alone. in dublin, i learned to make friends with strangers, to let rhythm and song to be common ground enough to dance - image bearers of God, all of us. 

    in georgia, i learned synonyms: summer and humidity, pool and watermelon, family and laughter, God and life. 

    sometimes, when my memories become more real than life and life feels more like the board game from middle school than it does true, and sometimes when my heart still feels like it’s oceans away, i must remember that this is not my home. because if home is where the heart is, then my home is Christ. and though i can’t see it yet, i know the realest thing that was and is and is to come is what’s laid out straight in the word of God.

    that is the steadfast comfort i hold to, the home that i live in when i depart tomorrow.


  4. Wait, these photos are incredible. This is photography at its finest.  


  5. "At its simplest, gluttony is the soul’s addiction to excess. It occurs when taste overrules hunger, when want outweighs need…
    And yet, the desire for “more” is not inherently bad, but it is often misdirected. What we need is a relentless appetite for the divine. We need a holy ravenousness. Our craving souls can turn and become enthralled by a goodness that is found in the presence of an all-glorious God. There is only one infinite source of satisfaction that can satisfy our bottomless cravings.”

  6. sat with this view for about five hours; witnessed the comings and goings of readers who’d smile to themselves in lighted corners, old flower-printed ladies with names like Dot, couples who knew how to properly spend Saturday afternoons, farmers who knew how to drink their coffee black—


  8. "

    We don’t give other people credit for the same interior complexity we take for granted in ourselves, the same capacity for holding contradictory feelings in balance, for complexly alloyed affections, for bottomless generosity of heart and petty, capricious malice. We can’t believe that anyone could be unkind to us and still be genuinely fond of us, although we do it all the time.

    Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.


    Tim Kreider, I Know What You Think of Me (via kmnml)

    Perfectly stated.

    (via agrain)

    (via agrain)

  9. currently trapped in a state of nostalgia

  10. thank vivian (tumblrflickr | web