Praying for GOD knows what

For years I've tried to figure out what my passion is as far as the Kingdom. I'm a very passionate person, and so the fact that I didn't have any ministry that really grabbed ahold of me made me feel almost like there was something wrong with me. I suppose there have always been the Jews, but it's never felt like there was a place for me to serve. There are words and languages, but I met with Wycliffe twice and wasn't feeling it. And there are so many other wonderful causes out there - fighting sex trafficking, teaching Sunday school, helping the homeless, assisting orphanages and schools in other countries...so many good things. But I felt like the prince in "Ever After." I felt like if I cared about anything I'd have to care about everything and I'd go stark raving mad. And so sure, I'd give money when people went on mission trips, and I'd happily pick out gifts in the Samaritan's Purse Christmas Gift catalogue. But there was nowhere I felt called to serve, nowhere I cared to serve (I do nursery because it's easy and I feel like I have to do something), because none of it was my passion.
But I've found it. And it makes sense. What are my favorite things? Books. What's my favorite book? "Les Miserables." Who's my favorite character? Jean Valjean. And like that one wall photo says, "I have non-fictional feelings for fictional characters." I adore Jean Valjean. I love his story of redemption. "One thing was certain, nor did he himself doubt it, that he was no longer the same man, that all was changed in him..."
Now here I am, going to church on Wednesday nights with a group that consists of many (mostly, even) people who have been in prison and/or who are former alcoholics and addicts (while Jean Valjean was never an addict, in our society these things often go together). I love these people. I love them so very much. I want there to be some way I can serve them. I don't know how yet, but I know that I've finally found my passion. Finding it is a start at least. I'll have to ask the ladies in small group if they have any ideas. Currently I wash the tables after our meals, cuz that's the only thing I know to do, but there must be something more. So that's my current prayer. That GOD will show me some way HE can use me. In my now found field. Praise GOD.

new method

any time i want to drool over mr. hottie-pants, i shall picture a cigarette dangling from his mouth

watched 'the prince of egypt' today

mostly there were lots of times when i was trying not to cry, but anyway.
lots of parts hit me, but this time i was really struck by 'deliver us.' hearing the men cry out to GOD...i don't know. there was just something about the men that grabbed me. their ache.  their plea. it hurt. and then to transpose that with yocheved. there's something different between the ache of a man and the ache of a woman. but they're both so deep. and then to have all the voices come together, showing that they're all together in need of a savior. and to then think of the world in need of the SAVIOR. i don't know how to explain it. but it hit me hard.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Kr4aCUYg8A

so last night...

I was running after a train (in a skirt and sandals, naturally), because I needed to get to the place. Unfortunately there were no handles on the side of the train I was running on, so I couldn't hop it. Out in the mountains we came across a train that had handles on the side I was on, but unfortunately it was going the other direction. I was frantic. I had to get on this train (which apparently I could run as fast as). But then the mountains opened up into a giant gorge, and there was no room for me to run beside the train as it hugged the side of the mountain. So I ran along the other side of the gorge, watching the train as it curved along the opposite mountain, nearing out of sight. And so I dove into the lake/sea at the bottom of the gorge and swam to the opposite shore. I then found myself in a grand old mansion, in a dimly lit formal dining room, sitting in a chair pulled back from a table set with fancy china, real silver, large candelabras, and the like. I was sitting next to the end of the table with a black man who was evidently a friend of mine sitting at the actual end. All of a sudden a stuffy, mean-spirited looking man with a 1930's looking mustache entered the room. He looked at me with a bit of disdain, yet with the knowledge that I had every right to be there, as I was as upper-class as he. Suddenly I was very aware of the fact that I was dripping wet, getting water all over the antique chair and the plush red carpet. I then saw him look at my friend, and was furious at what I saw. Self-righteous hatred lined his face at finding a black man in that house, at that table, sitting with a high-society white woman. "I suppose you've come for that to which you feel you are already entitled," meaning, of course, me.
I was livid. How dare he speak to and act toward my friend like that! How dare he have that attitude! No, this friend and I were not dating, but how dare that man insinuate that if we were it would be a terrible blight on not only ourselves, but all of society! How dare he be so full of ignorant hatred!
I woke up before whatever happened next. Probably because I was so worked up I couldn't take it anymore.

i love how this sounds

I'm currently reading a biography (from 1901) of Owain Glyndŵr, the leader of the last great Welsh revolt, and last true Prince of Wales. One of the stories it mentions of him is of an attack on his estate in 1401 by Lord Grey.
"...the attack upon him filled the Welshman's cup of bitterness to the brim. It was the last straw upon a load of foolish and wanton insult; and of a truth it was an evil day for Grey of Ruthin, and for his master, [King] Henry, that saw this lion hunted from his lair; and an evil day perhaps for Wales, for, though it gave her the hero she most cherishes, it gave her at the same time a decade of utter misery and clouded the whole of the fifteenth century with its disastrous effects." - "Owen Glyndwr," by Arthur Granville Bradley
It's so poetic. One would almost think it was written by a Welshman rather than an Englishman. I need to learn to write like this.
Oh, and in case you ever need to know, in Wales it is illegal to call a Welsh person English. :)

my friend's 5-year-old

More recent Kaley-isms:

Kaley: You're silly!
Me: No, YOU'RE silly.
Kaley: Let me rephrase that. You're silly!

Or: (While telling us about something) "And then; WAIT FOR IT - "