One punctuated with giddy laughter and one with somber expressions.

One wrapped in bright natural light and a vibrant color palette; one trapped in rich, light consuming shades and dim candle glow.

One was elegant, traditional, structured, and rehearsed; one was fanciful, free, casual, and daringly unique.

One was graced with the sweet sounds of piano, voice, and trumpet; the other with the bangle of tiny ankle bells and Celtic song and dance.

One pronounced Christ as the golden cord surrounding and enveloping both man and woman as they become one flesh through the covenant of marriage; one spoke of God as creator and giver of wisdom through a prayer of reverence, awkward and new.

One relationship founded, rooted, and sustained in the enduring love of Jesus; one relationship built in the sand of man, soon to be worn down by the waves of worldliness.

One relationship saved many blessings yet to be had; one relationship tainted, experienced, and familiar with impurity.

One God watches over both, desiring for man to fulfill his role to love, protect and provide; desiring woman to fulfill hers in submission, respect, and support.

All have
One Life.
One Love.
One chance to accept the gift of salvation through authentic belief and confession of the
One, the Only, Jesus.

A whole month has passed since I wrote my first couple of blogs. I honestly thought I would write more frequently, especially given the fresh advice I received from one of my most favored authors, Brennan Manning, concerning the steps, or rather step, to becoming a writer worth reading. "Write everyday," he flatly stated. For such simple advice, I can't seem to bring myself to do it, not for lack of desire but rather lack of words sufficient enough to convey with due luster the thoughts streaming through my mind; my random, revelational, and nearly incommunicable thoughts. Sometimes I would rather not say anything at all than sit a computer dumbfounded as to how to put my theories on life and love in a cold and stale word document. (wow, I am reminding myself of Hope...how many times has the word love been erased?!?!)

So instead of putting my heart into words, I bury my nose in a book and consider and study the ways in which the "pros" do it. I read novels, nonfiction, webzines, news articles, even other blogs, in the hope that the authors' wit and way with words would somehow change me into a writer worth reading. I am ashamed to say that I have played the comparison game to my loss; though I have learned a thing, maybe two, in my writing classes, I feel safe in saying that my writing will be as far reaching as the few friends who visit my blog out of curiosity. Just as well, I suppose.

Well, now that the pressure's off to write something fantastic, I will digress into more trivial subjects, like ultimate frisbee. I have played four (yes 4!) times in the past week and a half. Don't be fooled; this cosmo girl with an affinity for Starbucks, downtown skyscrapers, jazz, and fashion nothing less than LOVES this game. Mark your calendars, friends. Every Sunday at 2 and Tuesday at 730. I am hopeful to say that with this running I am doing, I'm sure to lose some excess pounds. Ok, I'll stop kidding myself. Truth be told, every calorie I burn I refill in chocolate. Lord, help me.

Perhaps in light of my absence of prose writing, I have taken interest in song writing. Don't ask for any samples; I don't have any yet. In fact, I might say that song writing is scarier than prose writing. I can't hardly record my voice...in my room by myself...with no one home...without letting apprehension well up within my throat, handicapping me from singing anything worth saving. Perhaps with some prayer I will overcome my fear of rejection (even by myself) and just do the things I love without reservation. Once again, Lord, help me.

I hope that's enough for you to chew on until next month when I once again feel motivated to record my randomness. With any luck, I will give you a morsel before then. Stay tuned, friends, and thanks for reading.