Over mountains, thru the valleys, can I cross the oceans?
Sometimes running, sometimes weeping, sometimes time stands still
And You say You love me, but I'm not so sure, if I'm heading in the --right direction
And I've heard that hope is a beautiful thing. In spite of myself I'm inclined to believe it.
Domine dirige nos (Lord, guide us)
Dona nobis pacem (Grant us peace)
Emitte lucem tuam, et veritatem (Send forth your light and truth)
Amen
Hesitating, mind is racing, endless questions haunt me
My heart is waiting, to be wakened, end this dark and mourning
And You say You want me, but I don't know why for what can You do with these
broken pieces.
And I've tried to prove myself over again, though You've taken my proving and washed it in blood
Domine dirige nos
Dona nobis pacem
Emitte lucem tuam, et veritatem
Amen
Vita, gaudium, et constantia (Life, joy and steadiness)
Auxilio ab alto (By help from on high)
Dona nobis pacem
Domine dirige nos
Dona nobis pacem
Emitte lucem tuam, et veritatem
Amen, amen
Amen.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
No, I'm not Italian
I had a rather unusual childhood. I suppose most people could make such a claim. What is usual after all?
But my family truly is a rather unusual family. In college, I would hang out with friends and inevitably I would mention something about one of my siblings (there are 9 of us kids altogether). One thing would lead to another and I ended up telling countless tales of family life. It progressed to the point where people would ask me to recount specific stories. "Tell me about the time when you met the crazy lady at the library...!" They would go home and tell their families and even now, if I happen to run into acquaitances I rarely see, they remember all of my siblings names and who's older than who and how so and so said such and such. It's quite amazing really. My parents always told us stories and I learned that you can make a good story out of anything. The fortune teller at the dollar store, Salisbury Steak on Sundays, blowing 4 tires in 3 months (2 in the same month actually. yeah, that was me), being forgotten on the school bus and scaring the driver out of her wits, dancing on the table in the middle of kindergarden class (that wasn't me), the roommate who insisted I would be a field worker. Ah, memories. Some people could not tell a good story to save their lives. Hopefully they'll never end up in that predicament. When my family happens to be in the same room, it's so loud you could hardly hear yourself think. Someone starts a story and someone else will jump in with their perspective and next thing you know we're all shouting and laughing and gesturing wildly and re-enacting the whole ordeal. It's bliss. I want to get married and have children, but I don't plan on having more than 3. I love children very very much, but a.) they are time-consuming expensive little darlings and b.) I want to be able to give my kids oodles and oodles of love and individual attention and I know myself well enough to know that having more than 3 would probably greatly reduce the oodles and oodles-- maybe to one oodle. Of course, I may change my mind. Either way, I do hope that my three (?) will be extra loud and silly and tell great stories so that when they spend time with Granma and all of the aunts and uncles and cousins, they won't stick out like 3 little sore thumbs.
But my family truly is a rather unusual family. In college, I would hang out with friends and inevitably I would mention something about one of my siblings (there are 9 of us kids altogether). One thing would lead to another and I ended up telling countless tales of family life. It progressed to the point where people would ask me to recount specific stories. "Tell me about the time when you met the crazy lady at the library...!" They would go home and tell their families and even now, if I happen to run into acquaitances I rarely see, they remember all of my siblings names and who's older than who and how so and so said such and such. It's quite amazing really. My parents always told us stories and I learned that you can make a good story out of anything. The fortune teller at the dollar store, Salisbury Steak on Sundays, blowing 4 tires in 3 months (2 in the same month actually. yeah, that was me), being forgotten on the school bus and scaring the driver out of her wits, dancing on the table in the middle of kindergarden class (that wasn't me), the roommate who insisted I would be a field worker. Ah, memories. Some people could not tell a good story to save their lives. Hopefully they'll never end up in that predicament. When my family happens to be in the same room, it's so loud you could hardly hear yourself think. Someone starts a story and someone else will jump in with their perspective and next thing you know we're all shouting and laughing and gesturing wildly and re-enacting the whole ordeal. It's bliss. I want to get married and have children, but I don't plan on having more than 3. I love children very very much, but a.) they are time-consuming expensive little darlings and b.) I want to be able to give my kids oodles and oodles of love and individual attention and I know myself well enough to know that having more than 3 would probably greatly reduce the oodles and oodles-- maybe to one oodle. Of course, I may change my mind. Either way, I do hope that my three (?) will be extra loud and silly and tell great stories so that when they spend time with Granma and all of the aunts and uncles and cousins, they won't stick out like 3 little sore thumbs.
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