I moved.

The Things I Love About Chattanooga

Getting to know and love Jared, Deb, and Leo.
Getting to know and love their friends.
Venturing off and making my own friends.
My room for which Deb spent half of her Saturday finding awesome deals on furniture and the cozy result.
The amount of alone time that I'm discovering I need.
God.
Invitations.
Downtown Chattanooga--even more charming than downtown Fredericksburg.
Developing [the fun kind of] routines.
The gratefulness for my presence & what I have to offer.
Writing letters.
Playing Rock Band.
Watching Scrubs and movies with Jared.
Leo running up to me and holding up his arms to be picked up for cuddle time.
Leo learning how to talk!
Leo calling me "Kakie" unsolicited.
Leo's smile. Leo's sweet, angelic voice. Leo's laugh. Leo's energy. Leo's life.
Leo.
Coffee!
Painting!
The midnight train.

A Transition Mix

Or "Those Songs That Play at the End of Any Arbitrary Dramatic Episode of Anything Dramatic"

Whichever you prefer.

For all of you going through times of major transition out there (but really only those having just graduated from college--I can't empathize with weighty transitions), I've thrown together a playlist of sorts. It won't do anything for you if you listen to any or all of it. You might like it, but you might actually hate it. I like it, and this is my blog. It might be kinda similar to this, but the descriptions make this one more fun. Plus, I'm currently in a whimsical mood, which you'd have known already if we were on Myspace. *whimsical emoticon*

1. "Dog Days Are Over" -Florence + The Machine
--The song playing the last time I got to watch my roommates dance. Commencement of transition.

2. "Livin' on the Edge" -Aerosmith
--Aren't we, though?

3. "Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise" -The Avett Brothers
--This one is obvious. I just blog-referenced it a few days ago, during this transition period.

4. "Good Life" -OneRepublic
--Same reasoning as above.

5. "Take Your Carriage Clock and Shove It" -Belle and Sebastian
--It has beautiful violin, and it's about sticking it to the man. If I ever stick it to the man, I want violin accompaniment. It glorifies the experience, no?

6. "You Don't Know Me" -Ben Folds ft. Regina Spektor (I highly recommend watching this video.)
--Because as much as we feel like we've grown in college, we still have a long way to go. I don't know you. I don't even know myself. Or something like that. The more I learn about myself and other people, the less I assume I know about myself or other people. Life is a paradox like that. Babble babble. You don't know me!

7. "Imma Be" -The Black Eyed Peas
--If all else fails, youma be doin' your thang.

8. "The First Day of My Life" -Bright Eyes
--
So if you want to be with me
With these things there's no telling
We'll just have to wait and see
But I'd rather be working for a paycheck
Than waiting to win the lottery

9. "Untitled Hymn (Come to Jesus)" -Chris Rice
--This song has moved me on several occasions, and I don't know that I'm all that easily moved. I recognize that I would normally find these sorts of lyrics cheesy, but I can't deny the promise they hold.
And like a newborn baby
Don't be afraid to crawl
And remember when you walk
Sometimes we fall...so
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus and live! 

10. "Don't Panic" -Coldplay
--Don't panic, because we live in a beautiful world. Yeah, we do. Yeah, we do. This is on the Garden State soundtrack, and that movie just makes me think of life in its every gross-yet-beautiful nook and cranny.

11. "Holding on to Good" -Delta Rae
--For the moments goodbye seems a bit too harsh.


12. "And Winter Came" -Enya
--A song exemplifying transition from fall to winter. This is an encouraging time for me, because I love winter. It brings me the solace that summer seems to bring most everyone else.


13. "Extraordinary Machine" -Fiona Apple
--A vote of confidence, if you will.
If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me
Or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it
I'm an extraordinary machine 

14. "In the Sun" -Joseph Arthur
--So cliche! I'm pretty sure this song just played at the end of an episode of Scrubs I watched yesterday. I still love it, and it makes casual mention to an elusive God, which means I can pull an *insert belief here* and hijack it for Christ! 10 points for Christ-the-Lord (said with same syllabic emphasis and syncopation as "Gryff-in-dor")! [K, I'm finished blaspheming.]

15. "Still Alive" -GLaDOS
--A fun song and a video game reference to represent the end of the transition... meaning my transition into the world of my sister and brother-in-law, two hardcore gamers.

I guess 15 isn't very many. Here's to hoping this transition feeling doesn't last much longer.

a post without a title

Wednesday night service in an obnoxiously red chapel, a setting I only recognize from February 14, 2009, when my oldest sister betrothed herself to Jared. Tonight, I sit in a pew instead of standing behind my sister on the altar.

"What has God been teaching you this week?"

It's only Wednesday, but God has been apparent in my life with uncharacteristic ubiquity. I wouldn't know where to begin, so I'm silent.

"He has shown me again that he is in control, the Provider," says one man.
"He is Holy," says another.

Anecdotes are told, and God gets the glory he deserves. Then, a woman's silence breaks along with her spirit and composure.

"I don't love nonbelievers...not at all..." As she melts into tears, a knot forms in my throat. I start thinking about all of the people I love, noting this time the demographic of nonbelievers within this pocket of people I have chosen to love. This woman has decades on me. Her mind is running years into the past, searching and hoping for an indication that she can't be all wrong. Coming up short, she falls apart and succumbs to the inevitable selfish response of guilt. She's lived this long, but she missed the point.

I've missed the point. I will be that woman in a couple of decades despite my greatest efforts. I will crumble into tears at the realization that I don't know how to love my God or His people.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
-Psalm 51:17

There are a lot of points to miss. The infinite facets of God's character cannot be counted or understood by even the most fervent of His followers.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and uphold me with a willing spirit.
Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will return to you.
Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God,
O God of my salvation,
and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.
-Psalm 51:12-14

As important is the call for yielding to all God has planned for us, so is a ready understanding of our humanity and ever-looming failures. Pride may not have infinite facets, but I still haven't been able to count them all. It's ready to catch us in a web of guilt for all shortcomings and failures transpired.

God can't fail. Lessons always become those simple truths we were taught as small children, even when we're fifty-years-old and still guilt-driven.
God loves you.
God is in control.
God has a plan.
Philosophers really do get it sometimes. Kierkegaard said that life can only be understand backwards but it must be lived forwards. Solomon writing Ecclesiastes is a clear enough implication of that truth. If all I can ever truly understand is that I won't ever understand it all in this life, then I can only hope to let my pride take that beating and recognize God's glory and power over my own little life in a big, big world.

It's almost done. Changing the background some and trimming her ginormous forehead a bit. Feel free to buy it for a lot more money than it's actually worth.

[Leo] and Zooey

I'm back to painting again. I set up shop on the floor of my room in the Martin house. There probably won't ever be a time when I consider this my house. It's all too temporary. After a year or so, I'll be out of here. Maybe not out of Chattanooga, but out of this house. It's been fun so far, though. I painted with the door to my room slightly cracked open, just so that my music wouldn't interfere with Jared's out in the living room. When Leo got home from daycare, he waddled down the hall straight to my room and peeped through the crack. His face lit up at the sight of me painting (really at the sight of so many bottles of paint to play with), and he pushed the door open to waddle toward me. He handed me his little penguin bath toy, which I took as his way of bartering. "Here, you take this, and I'll take over the painting." He proceeded to point at the painting, looking back and forth from me to the painting and babbling all sorts of nonsense. That I took as him giving me instructions, so I listened. This is as far as I got today. Thank Leo for his eye. It wouldn't be the same without him.

Psalm 51

"When nothing is owed, deserved or expected
And your life doesn't change by the man that's elected
If you're loved by someone you're never rejected
Decide what to be and go be it."

Decide what to be and go be it. So simple, so my current mantra.

A lot can happen in a day. Today was one of those days. The meaning behind all the things sprung up when God brought me here and reminded me what I want to be so that I can go be it:

Psalm 51

1  Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions. 
2  Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin!
3  For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me. 
4  Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you may be justified in your words
and blameless in your judgment. 
5  Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,
and in sin did my mother conceive me. 
6  Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,
and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.
7  Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. 
8  Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones that you have broken rejoice. 
9  Hide your face from my sins,
and blot out all my iniquities. 
10  Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me. 
11  Cast me not away from your presence,
and take not your Holy Spirit from me. 
12  Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and uphold me with a willing spirit.
13  Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will return to you. 
14  Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God,
O God of my salvation,
and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness. 
15  O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise. 
16  For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;
you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
 17  The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
18  Do good to Zion in your good pleasure;
build up the walls of Jerusalem; 
19  then will you delight in right sacrifices,
in burnt offerings and whole burnt offerings;
then bulls will be offered on your altar.

this could really be a good life, a good, good life

And so it begins. Tomorrow's schedule is ridiculously busy, as I've actually set goals for myself here and have to do real things to achieve them. You know, like a real adult.

Already met a friend my age who has invited me to a Wednesday night Bible study she's just starting up and to come do volunteer ministry with high schoolers.

His mercies are new every morning, I tell you.

This is gonna be a good life.

I feel like I'm going to summer camp. If I actually did feel like I'm stepping into the rest of my life, I'd probably be flipping out a lot more. Life is a day-by-day, season-by-season. God doesn't give us the power to look beyond that. So here I am, going to summer camp, also known as the rest of my life.

sex parties

Something that my family kind of tries to hide is just how crude we actually are. I'm not sure how it happened. It was maybe all that MTV my sisters and I sneakily watched when we were little that we gradually used to infect our parents, or it is equally likely that both my mom and dad have harbored their dirty jokes in dirty little corners of their minds, waiting for that stage in their three daughters' triune maturation when it could all be unleashed. Either way, we're gross.

That being said, it has recently surfaced that my pastor's wife has mono. Consequently, my pastor has been under the weather as well. My investigative mother made the connection that another young lady in our church had mono not too long ago. Mom's conclusion: all the young couples at our church are having "sex parties." Her greatest concern is not being young enough to be invited.

Remembrance

I visited Sally yesterday, and we talked about some things that I realized I really wanted to write down. I could write them in a journal, I suppose, but my possessions aren't known to be very well cared for--when they even exist. I just threw away stacks of old papers and things yesterday without even weeding through for the good stuff. It's not that I get stressed about having so much extra stuff; I just don't see much purpose in it. It's possible I threw away some notes to myself and notes from friends. Perhaps I did toss some good reminders without affording myself the opportunity to be reminded. While talking to Sally yesterday, she started a lot of sentences with, "I so often forget..." and followed with some constant Truth from Scripture. Because for us thinkers and analyzers, that's what we do most often: forget Truth.

That's been the most important part of blogging for me. I can get my words and thoughts out quickly, and they're very easily stored in a place where I can't crumple them up in a wad of old school assignments and toss them away. As a disorganized person by lifestyle, I do lose things and forget to do certain things somewhat frequently. My disorganized lifestyle extends to my spiritual life as well. There is little organization to my communication with God and to my understanding of the things he tries to teach me. I can read his promises in Scripture and five minutes later find myself lost in doubt. Somewhere inside of me, there is a lack of connection and communication that keeps me from holding onto the promises that "I so often forget."

Sally pointed out something interesting about our analytical type. She said the only fix she has discovered for getting out of the mind-stirring effect of over-analyzing everything is to finally pour it all out into others' lives. Often times I feel really selfish for wanting to be around people all the time, and I tiptoe around my introverted family and roommates, trying not to force them to be those people I use for my mind dump. It's not that I am unloading heavy burdens all the time, but my mind is an ever-discerning machine. It churns out ideas and theories and concepts and questions and hopes and fears, but when those have nowhere to go, they start to rot and spoil my brain. Basically, my brain desperately needs people. It just does, so the most difficult environment for it to be in is going to be a place like Mathews where there just aren't many people. As life goes, I currently stand at a sort of impasse where I can't know which route is the right route: to get out of a place like Mathews and go to a place like Chattanooga where there are more opportunities for my mind to thrive and explore and live up to its greatest potential or to stay in a place like Mathews and learn to train my mind to function purposefully in a new and possibly better way. I wonder how much God wants me to follow my passions and indulge the most obvious, easy joys in my life versus how much he wants me to stretch myself and my perspective on who he is and his sovereignty over the things I can't understand. I see purpose in both directions, so I've found myself rolling with the beats. I've been invited to stay in Chattanooga for a while, and I can so that's what I'm doing.

I don't think it's supposed to be a matter of Chattanooga being a right or wrong choice. I can't predict what God knows to be right or wrong about my future experiences. I'm just going to jump in and do this, working toward a remembrance that these things do work toward God's plan and purpose even in my darkest pits of doubt. If life really is all about remembering, maybe I should start plastering pages of the Bible all over my walls, but to refrain from surrounding myself with tacky decor, I should instead work harder on plastering them all over my heart.

Uncomfortable

I like to imagine what I will say about this blog of mine ten years after I abandon it. I will likely laugh at my ignorance, my immaturity, and my general young-twenties-ness. Ten years ahead is a funny place to look. It's important for me to focus on the far distant, not guaranteed future during these times of transition, though, or else I get sucked into the vortex of my paralyzed present. I've spent the greater part of this day holed up in my room, occasionally stepping out to grab lunch with mom, sit outside, or desperately search for a distraction from my present depth of thought. I can't be left on my own. My mind never ceases to amaze me in how well it can beat me up and cast doubt on everything Good in my life.

I'm going to be in Mathews for less than a week, and I can't even handle that. Like a distraught child sneaks out and runs away from home, I want to run away from my mind. But just as that child can't ever truly escape, nor can I. We have to deal. I was sick of being at college. No, I don't want to go back, but there's not much more comfort in the unknown--even less comfort in liminality. Clearly, God won't stop trying to show me true comfort in himself. Stubborn child, it's time to sneak back home.

That Time I Jumped on the Chattanooga Choo Choo

       One thing procrastination can't destroy is desire, and I've put off planning for this next stage long enough. It's day one of being a college graduate, and my blond-haired, blue-eyed nephew is sitting here next to me, babbling about the remote control. I want to get to know this kid even as far as getting to know this remote. I have a desire to be part of his life. On this Mother's Day and beyond, I also desire to let my mother know how much I truly care about and appreciate her for not just the things she does for me, but for who she is as a person and who God has shaped her to be. I desire that for every member of my family. The prospect of still having many prospects gives me some variety of choice amongst all of the things I desire.
       And yeah, there are a lot of other desires on my heart. For being a cynical, doubtful person, this list far exceeds the bounds of expectation. I started reading Quitter, the latest book by Jon Acuff, last week thanks to Claire ordering it in time for dead week. I'm in the middle of Jon Acuff exploring this concept of a "dream job," the one you are always kind of working toward or wishing for while in the throes and woes of your settled job. Acuff discusses identifying your dream job and working toward it. Timely for a college grad, no? That's what Claire was thinking, and I agree with her. She asked me if she should read it right away. I said maybe, probably. Mostly I suggested that she should read it in bits and pieces. This man has endured over a decade of wasting his life on strange suppositions about careers and misguided pursuits. He had a lot to write in just a few hundred pages.
       He writes quite a bit about hinge moments, which are defined to be those times you usually note in retrospect when something in your life was pointing you toward your dream job. One of his hinge moments was when his first grade teacher laminated and "published" a book he wrote in first grade, because she believed in his writing even then. After years of working for IT, he has finally recognized his dream job, writing. Looking back, he knows he was headed for it all along.
       This seems like some worthwhile reflection, and I've done it from time to time in the past. I know people who are stuck in their not dream jobs currently and live for retirement. Ludicrous. I'd like to believe God gave us passions for a reason, and I'm going forth to search the depths of what God has laid on my heart. Now that those silly academics are out of the way, Imma put my pursuit pants on and get it. In Chattanooga! See you on the flip side!

Note: I still think I have mental issues. I plan on getting that checked out in Chattanooga, too.

I'm including this video for Sadie Smith:


Chattanooga Choo Choo by brainstorm

*EDIT*
I changed the layout, because that other one was super hard to read. I simply didn't care enough to change it until now. Sorry about the pain it may have put you through while it existed.
*EDIT*

Dead Week Alive

Thus commences dead week. Quite a name to live up to, yeah? This whatever I have, which I've come to term "the disorder" doesn't seem to understand the connotations of dead week. As Claire said earlier today, we can't easily deny the reality of having something medically wrong with a brain if we clearly see that we can have knee, liver, and stomach problems (amongst others). It's been verified (again). There's definitely something wrong with my brain.

That, compounded with the knowledge that I could have done so much better in college but didn't, drags me down to a feeling of being nearly dead. What am I even doing to show God my gratefulness for all he's done for me? How am I rejoicing in him despite my circumstances, or even due to these circumstances. I am by far not the worst person off on this planet, and all of this doesn't have to feel so alienating. I've had some of the most amazing conversations with friends and family over these past few days that have shown me that I'm not alone and I'm not a lost cause. For that I am grateful, and that's where I slowly start to find joy and peace through these trials. God could leave me moaning in the corner, but he has equipped my friends and family to pull me up from that place even when they don't know how. Love finds a place in these times and spreads until it's finally all I can see.

Questions

I am that crazy person who checks her motives at the first sentence of each blog post.

Why am I writing this?
Why am I writing this here?

When I was around the age of five, my second cousin Christopher threatened to give me a "knuckle sandwich" every time I spoke, because I had to question everything. Considering how terrible my memory is and how few specific childhood events reside in my memory vault, it's pretty pertinent that I can remember multiple family members tirelessly telling me to, "Stop asking questions!" You may be thinking that was rather insensitive of them, seeing as I was just a young, curious child. No, they had reason. I really did question everything, including the answers. I played, "But why?" on repeat.

It can be somewhat unsettling to look back on childhood patterns and say, "Oh, not much has changed there..." In some of my processes of psychoanalysis, I've been fairly certain that I asked the same questions over and over because I never listened to the answer. I was too invested in the question.

If this pattern doesn't sound familiar to you, I can point you to more than half of the posts on this blog.

The ringing truth in this assessment gets most unsettling when I think of that mantra: "Jesus is the answer!" The side of me that wants so desperately to remain kindred to my non-Christian friends is the one that won't accept the answer, the one still playing "But why?" on repeat.

But I also know I can't go on a schizophrenic attack against the curious side of myself. The God who transforms hearts allows for renewed minds, and I have no clue what He actually, specifically wants that to look like in me. Still, I don't think it means God wants me to stop questioning things, because there are a number of things He has told me to question.

But anyway, I only bring this up and blog about it, because it has been a consistent characteristic of my four years of college. Through all of the change I did undergo, this string of sometimes dangerous curiosity continues. I'm hoping a future Katie on the edge of mental crazy can look back on this and recognize the pattern for what it is. There's only so much I can beat myself and others up about until I have to get to the answer.

Underqualified

Here's a sort of reflection-y post for you. I am currently sitting with multiple tabs open for editing my class website. It took me entirely too long to weed through the CSS in my chosen wordpress theme just to change the background color of my header, so now I'm taking a break, realizing how long this could actually take me. My professor intends for these websites to characterize our professional selves in order to tempt potential employers with the endless possibilities of what we can do based on what we have done.

One thing about college that has always eluded me, though, is how little it actually does prepare you for the professional world. The greatest of my digital endeavors is an edited image of Justin Bieber's head on the screamer in Edvard Munch's "The Scream." Hardly professional. Sub-amateur even.

I can't help but wonder if my professor is just mocking us or giving us a reality check. Like, "See? You're not ready for the world. All you can do is fiddle around with CSS for half an hour and then get distracted by YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook." Is it true that I won't survive in a digital age if I don't catch up on CSS and HTML? If I don't run my own domain, will I really be that much less successful at life? I like a challenge, but I don't like living my life in or-else mode. My mathematics degree supposedly wants to send me off to some sort of computer or engineering job. That is, unless I want to teach. Still not sure about that one either. The seeming problem is that after all of this time and supposed preparation, I'm still daydreaming about what I could be and where I could go. I fear the slap in the face I'll get from my diploma next Saturday will crush my daydreams with the harshness of reality.

It's like I'm slipping into survival mode.
"Get a job!"
Which job?
"A job!"
Oh... well, okay.

I have a tendency not to fear the future, and I figure everything will be fine no matter how much effort I put into that guarantee. Part of it is laziness, part of it is because I've always had parents to make sure everything really is fine, and part of it is because I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

You better bet this song will become traditionally blared into my children's rooms every Easter morning.

Intents and Purposes

"To the Life!" was my stab at optimism once upon a time. I was sitting on my bed in Arrington Hall when the concept popped into my mind. Surrounded by linoleum floors and cold, white walls, the clinical environment of Arrington aptly cocooned my healing soul. This was sophomore year when I built a slew of friendships and started to learn what it meant to love not only my friends but God. "To the Life!" said, "There is so much here for me to learn. There is a God I know so little about. I am now charging myself to learn those things and turn my compass to the life God has provided for me." I didn't want life to go by; I wanted to pursue it.

Of course, there have been a lot of fumbles along the way. As it turns out, life is as exciting as my naivete projected, but it's equally difficult. I knew there would be bumps along the way, but I really never grasped how severe those could be. My mind went to some dark places my freshman and junior years, and while I did say that I was "spiraling into depression" during those times, I didn't believe it to be true. I didn't actually think I had a chemical imbalance in my head. Instead, I blamed myself for letting those things happen to me. I put the blame on my "bad faith" and made desperate attempts through studying the Bible to figure this whole faith thing out. The knowledge entered my mind but couldn't penetrate some unknown barrier inside of me. I started to think that I was uncontrollably cold-hearted, as if I was the devil himself. It didn't make sense that my friends and family could praise God and the wonderful things He was doing in their lives, and I had to work ten times harder to even reach a semblance of that reality in my own life. These struggles stacked onto the depression.

My sophomore and senior years, I think, were only better because of the measures of distraction I took from the real turmoil boiling underneath the surface. My entire college experience has not been a terrible one because of this, because (I really do believe) God is good, and His goodness functions through my dysfunction.

Sophomore year, I charged myself to know God.

Now three months shy of 23-years-old, I charge myself to let God.

The reality of my mental disorder is closing in on me hard, so hard that it's going to take every bit of energy and strength inside of me to walk the two minutes to my class in an hour. Yeah, this is hard, but I am now starting to see how wonderful is that cross Jesus carried. Walking in faith through this haze of depression means knowing how temporary this is, and knowing that Jesus experienced pain one-hundredfold. My Savior exists for this purpose, to walk with me through the valley of the shadow of death.

And so, I press on "To the Life!"

[daddy] said there'd be days like this

Daddy always said this wouldn't be easy, but he said it with his eyes. Eloquence pours from his soul, filtering through the wisdom of profound silence. My daddy isn't a normal daddy by any standard. He is gentle only for lack of a harsh spirit. Doesn't abuse, doesn't praise. Proverbs say less words are better, so I wonder if it's the value of the mystery.

I climb the stairs to his study.

The mystery of life. Equipped with the knowledge and wisdom to fill books and ears of congregations, my daddy sits silently before his God. Churches fail, wars wage on, destruction spreads. Daddy watches and waits.

What is a wasted life?

Surely not the one that first chooses to seek the Lord. And yet,

To go forth in faith
To hold fast to the teachings, spreading the Good News
To trust and obey

That takes the strength of God.

My daddy is a weak man, limping with the thorn of humanity in his side, daily humbled by his powerful Father. His mind full of the knowledge of the grace and glory of our God.

I stand at the top of the stairs.
I see his books on theology, his Bible on the ready, the bookmarked sites of biblical scholars on his desktop.
But then I look at him and hear his heart speak.

"I feel it, too. This life isn't easy."

a response to ineptitude

Look, O Lord, for I am in distress;
my stomach churns;
my heart is wrung within me,
because I have been very rebellious.
In the street the sword bereaves;
in the house it is like death. 

-Lamentations 1:20

For the Lord will not
cast off forever,
but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion
according to the abundance of his steadfast love;
 for he does not willingly afflict
or grieve the children of men.

-Lamentations 3:31-33