small things

Source: jesustotheworld.tumblr.com via Robyn on Pinterest

a swoon-worthy writing studio

Private Library from David Vegezzi on Vimeo.

when you are old

When You are Old
by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

a writing update

So, I smoke cigars now. Here's my latest for The Curator:

"The Liturgy of a Patio"

[photo: Jim Hime]

a lil' update

Um, so, my blog-mood dwindled again. Well, it's more like I'm in a continual state of relearning time management, and my free spirit has never been good at managing my daily tasks with punctuality.

Two recent time-suckers have been Pinterest and Instagram. I can't blame my lack of blogging or fulfilling more important duties on these technological mosaics of beauty, but I do get sucked into each one on a near-daily basis.

Instagram evidence:





I mean, if you have an iPhone, the Instagram app is free . . . and addicting. One day I aim to be a "real" photographer with a real camera, but until then, I've gotta work with what I have on hand. I feel compelled to document so much of my life in photographs; Instagram is both fun and helpful at the moment, and an art form of its own. (Look me up if you wish — I'm 'jennisimmons.')

I haven't been in a perpetual writing drought, though. I finally finished an essay and it published on The Curator yesterday — "An Epistolary Confession."

[photo: Kierstin Casella]

And an older Curator article of mine was reprinted on the Art House America Blog on Thursday — "Albert Hastings and Other Strangers."

[photo: KayLynn Deveney]

So I just wanted to say "hey" again, and I hope to be blogging regularly soon. No, really. I like to think I keep y'all on your toes, but I probably just cause a lot of exasperated eye-rolling out in the blogosphere. Mea culpa.

P.S. ~ I smoke cigars with Johnny on our back patio now. More soon; I'm writing a "cigarticle" . . .

"piece me whole"

Hey there. I sure have missed y'all.

I'm enjoying my Tumblr site, but it organically grew into a visual blog since I gravitate toward photography and images; they speak to me. And I am saying something specific with each photograph (and quote) I "tumble," yet it's not writing. I could write over on Just Jenni, but Dreams of Genevieve is my blog-home, the birth and growth of what I choose to journal in the virtual public square.

So, I'm in a blog-mood again after several months of thinking that Dreams of Genevieve, or any dreams for that matter, were over. I sludged through a few months of darkness and sorrow, partially of my own devising. I came to the obvious realization that I'm not "all that." People generally think well of me, which is truthful since that image is who God designed me to be. It's who I am when I live and move and have my being in Christ. But I'm also human, capable of just as much stupidity as anyone else. I felt very fragmented, and clung to Arthur Alligood's song, "Piece Me Together," (from I Have Not Seen the Wind) like a personal hymn:

I can't make it on my own
I can't make it on my own
All these years of trying have taken their toll
I can't make it on my own

I can't take another night
I can't take another night
I always end up in the darkness waiting on the light
I can't take another night

You're gonna have to piece me together
Piece me whole
Piece me together to get me home

I can't make it on my own
I can't make it on my own
Like a lost child I have wandered, but in my heart now I know
I can't make it on my own

There is a story to tell, but this isn't the right time and it may never be. I aim to write memoirs and the genre is a cautious endeavor. When I write about others, I will need to remember that their story is just that — their story. Every writer bears a phenomenal responsibility to quiet the words that need not be read. Regarding my story, it's about wisdom — keeping it hidden in Christ for as long as it needs to rest and heal. I don't have to share every single thing I'm thinking or feeling; very often, I should direct those emotions into deep prayers, and onto pages of Moleskines.

Well, on Easter Sunday, the weight of my burden was finally, surprisingly lifted off my weary shoulders. It was quite the appropriate day to actually feel redemption, peace, and joy. I worshiped, sang, smiled, feasted, and literally partied with my Church family. I felt able to surrender. ("Surrender" is an entire blog post in and of itself.)

I do believe God's blessings will continue to unfold until all of my cryptic tale is restored and made right. It'll be exactly like this:

"When the LORD restored the
fortunes of Zion,
we were like those who dream.
Then our mouth was filled with laughter;
and our tongue with shouts of joy ...
The LORD has done great things for us;
we are glad."
[Psalm 126:1-2a, 3]

Hallelujah and amen.

tumblr

This blog isn't going anywhere, but for the time being, I'm over at Tumblr.

See y'all there ...