Jude twentyfour

Home sweet Home

My lovely home in Geraldine, New Zealand!

Hilaskomai

In Luke 18:9-14, there is a story of the prayers of the Pharisee and the tax collector. The Pharisee's prayer is self-centered and not in any way humble. However, the tax collector's prayer is the opposite. Verse 13 says, "But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!'"

The original Greek word used for "merciful" in this text is Hilaskomai which is translated as "to make propitiation for" or "to atone for (sin)" and also "to make ONE with God." The last translation caught me the most. This sinner, the tax collector, was not crying for mercy in that he wanted to escape punishment (which is what mercy is usually thought of), but rather crying out in utter despair: "GOD, MAKE ME ONE WITH YOU AGAIN"

my prayer tonight:

God, hilaskomai... make me one with You again.

Keep in touch

Dear Loved Ones,

Please write me letters at my home address-

124 Woodbury Rd.
R.D. 21
Geraldine
New Zealand

Also, please send emails to katrinaong@upperroomshows.com
Facebook will not be a regular part of my life from now on.

Love
Katrina

september eleventh

the journey by mary oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Dreaming of

roaming animals

handwritten letters

bright stars

the hills of New Zealand

New Zealand

Thirty days till my departure. You'll be hearing from me.

Curious Boy

The bold navy stripes on his pajamas looked more like sea waves when he crawled under and around the tables and chairs, blankets and sheets we’d assembled into a bedtime fort. He bumped and knocked over my Moira doll sitting perfectly in her high chair.
“Slow, please slow, brother.”
His loud grin told me exactly what he was thinking but I hoped for once he would speak. But he never spoke. My quiet, curious boy.

Lock it up

She kept it quietly in the old brown trunk hidden in the room made only of wood. Had she known it would blend in so well she wouldn’t be able to see it later, she may have kept it in the garden. Slightly after midnight, the badger who helped her months ago find the trunk told her that this was not an ordinary trunk. It would not keep her delicate heart, her rose petal pages, her bottles of tears and honey.

{inspiration}

My Brown Hair

I stumbled upon this post from a lovely blog I often read.
To all my lovely brunettes out there...

"Sometimes I wish I were blond, with thistle down hair that floats on the breeze and wispy brows, and lashes that are barely there. There is something so fragile about pale skin, pale hair, lilac unicorns made in to girls against their will.

Then I remember all the brave, proud brunettes. I remember Wendy and Dorothy and Sara and dearest Lucy and I tie my braids like a badge of honour. For we are the fierce, clever, plucky little maidens who save lost boys and open wardrobe doors and remember, in our dreams, how to fly."