Awe & Wonder Without A Name

What do you call those moments when you are so in awe of the glory and wonder of God that it hurts? When you are suddenly very aware of how tenderly and passionately Jesus Christ has been loving and guiding you? And all the while you want to fall on your knees and cry out in surrender?

I have had these moments before. In fact the first time I found myself in a situation such as this was on vacation with my family, 11 years old, and praying quietly and tearfully alone in my vacation room. I probably had similar experiences throughout high school, as well, but after that time on vacation, the next experiences I can put my finger on have all occurred during my college career. To be most specific, these un-namable but sacred moments have been a regular occurrence for me over the past 12 months as I have fought through one of the most challenging yet rewarding years of my life.

So, now that you know I have experienced these sorts of things before, let’s get back to what they actually are. Do they have a name? “God moment,” as I used to call them just doesn’t seem appropriate. While they are without question moments filled with the knowledge of the presence of God, moments in which God’s reign is tangible, “God moment” seems oversimplifying. These moments are sacred, yet simultaneously turbulent and pacifying.

“Sacred moments,” perhaps?

“God storms,” because of the overwhelming, turbulent factor? No- that could easily be misinterpreted.

“Reminders of why I want to live for Christ”… No- too long.

“Sanctification”… If that is really what it is?


Or should I just not bother to put a name on it? Just soak in the power and goodness of the moment?

I like to put names to things. I guess that is one of my quirks. But, perhaps, when it comes to things concerning God, I shouldn’t try too hard. Not being able to name something is a sign of a lack of full understanding, and in this case that is completely appropriate. Truly I do not understand God and the way he works (as much I sometimes would like, anyway). And my lack of understanding is much of what leads to my awe and love of God.

So, hoping that this all made any sense at all…

I am going to end this bit as I focus on claiming for myself a contented acceptance of my inability to box and name these wondrous meetings with God.


Truly, I hope that this did make sense. As a writer, I want my readers to be able to understand what I am talking about… Duhh. But alas, if it didn’t make sense to you, it at least helped me myself.

With that, I wish you a cool and comfortable nighttime, with a hint of awe and wonder.

– Tanya

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The Art of Reading… Or Beginning To Read

I sit here surrounded by a large pile of books. Some of them I have already begun to read, some I have not ventured through beyond the cover. Some I want to read for joy, some for knowledge, some for spiritual growth, some for my writing. Now where to begin?

Some of them I have already begun to read, some I have not ventured…. But really, where to BEGIN?

There’s “On Writing: A memoir of the craft” by Stephen King, which I got from the library yesterday. But I couldn’t very well leave the library planning to read this book without having read a single piece by King himself. So I also now have “Christine” by King. And a few books that are long overdue to the library… A book of poetry by Ai, a book of poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay to read in contrast with the book by Ai, a book by Frances Mayes on the art of reading and writing poetry to help me to understand the books by Ai and St. Vincent Millay. Then there’s that book I bought in March, “The Ocean At The End Of The Lane” by Neil Gaiman– a New York Time’s best-seller. I assume it must be good, and it appears so from the first twenty or so pages. But there is a suicide within those first 20 or so pages, and so I must wait until I am in a comfortable state of mind to continue deeper into that book. Oh, and how could I resist buying books at the bookstore where I get an employee discount? I couldn’t, clearly. I work at a restaurant now which is joined with a bookstore that offers me a 30% discount. Just the word “discount,” no matter what percentage be attached to it, is thrilling and tempting enough in itself. So I just purchased a compilation of American poetry and a book called “Dear White People.” Both of these books I intend to use for enjoyment and education, particularly “Dear White People” since I am a minority in my workplace.

Oh, do you see my dilemma? So many riches, so little time, so little focus, so many different motivations.

So, where to begin?

What to educate myself on next? What can I choose, knowing that I will read it with dedication, cover to cover?

Where to begin?


As always,

T. LaReveur

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Is There One Name, Among All These Layers?

This skin.


This skin has felt miracles.

Has brushed through the same air

As pastors and Rabbis and Imams.

This skin has been scrubbed down

Between group therapy sessions

In the closely-watched Psych Ward bathroom.

This skin has been immersed

In an overly-chlorinated pool,

Naked and illuminated by the stars.

This skin has held the hands of strangers,

In sacred times of prayer.

This skin has turned against itself

In deep, perilous confusion.

This skin has been soaked

In the fumes of

Marijuana, cigarettes, and cheap liquor.


This skin.


The same skin that my mother caressed,

Is that which my sister tormented,

that which has been stuck with needles

upon needles, and with kisses upon kisses.


But what is this skin?

This is my skin, it bears my soul, and it clothes my bones.

But I am not completely comfortable

in this skin,

Because I cannot trace its true essence.




A poem by T.LaReveur

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Waters Flow Where Waters Will

There is a fountain

That flows and flows

And never lets up

And often you will find

A blue toad sitting

On its rim,

Its tadpoles taking a swim

As the cool ridges of water

Fold over and over again.


When it rains, the fountain overflows

And its contents spill

Over rounded stone edges.


It is really delightful

When it overflows,

An elegant chaos

Sparkling and muddy.

There is a turbulence in it,

A beauty, too,

When the waters do not exactly

Fall where you might hope.


But the blue toad,

He seems not to be bothered

And he splashes around,

Makes a lively sound

As waters flow

Where waters will.

And I think—

Is not this much like all

Of life?

Elegant chaos,

And waters flowing

Where waters will,

But waters that

Never let up.



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Perfect Companion

I call out as my heart grows faint,

From the ends of the earth I call.

And he comes, my beloved companion

Comes to my side.

This time, he sits with me and leans close.

He gently holds my right hand

In between both of his,

And I feel the calluses on his fingers

Hard-earned from his days spent wood-working.


I find great comfort in my time with him,

Comfort enough to find ease and cry.

My tears rush quickly, pouring out with great fervor

And some of them get caught in his hair,

But he doesn’t mind.

His hair is long, longer even than mine.

He is the sort that Grandmother

Would call a “Hippie.”

But as my tears flow, he doesn’t complain.

He just holds my hand and shares with me

The warmth of his heart.


Sometimes I don’t cry, and we just sit

Together, quietly thanking one another

For giving their love.

And sometimes I am already crying

And he comes and puts me on his shoulders,

Carrying me through my day,

The scent of fish and saltwater rubbing

Off of his robe and onto

My skin.

And he carries me until my eyes are dry,

Until my legs are stronger and I

Remember to laugh.

Or sometimes we talk about the troubles

Of this world, or about the beauty

Around us, or we dance together

Under the moonlight

Before he tucks me in to bed.


He always comes when I call out to him.

But in every moment, in those when I do not call,

I have this strong sense

That he is there beside me.


They say that when you are in love,

You are never alone in spirit.

And oh, I love my Jesus

And HE loves me.



A poem by T. LaReveur

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Getting Used To Invisible Illness

Today had, like most days recently, a late/rough beginning. I pulled myself out of bed at around 10:30am. This was an accomplishment that I want to be sure to note. I got up to, however, just moments later lay down on the sofa with a blanket and fall back asleep. I felt I hardly had any other option. My limbs, really every part of my body, felt as though they had been injected with lead. I did not want to turn my head, I did not want to shuffle my feet down the hallway, I did not want to hold my eyes open. The fatigue of Fibromyalgia is no joke. I never, and I mean never, feel rested upon waking up.

I slept on the sofa until about 12:30. I then ate some breakfast, read part of the newspaper, and plopped right back down on the couch. I slept that time until 2:30.

I feel so upset that I sleep so often. I feel unproductive. Part of me wants to think I am lazy, but I fight that off. I am not lazy. I have illnesses and I am going through a difficult time. I think this time for me would be a bit easier, though, if people knew how my Fibromyalgia and my thyroid disorder make me feel. I want some part of my illnesses to be visible so that people will understand at least somewhat what I am going through. Why is it so hard for them to know that I feel as poorly as I do and am fighting as hard as I am? And of course, they are doing nothing wrong. Nobody has maliciously chosen to misunderstand my illnesses. Unfortunately, though, that fact doesn’t make things easier.

All this Fibromyalgia stuff makes my heart sick. It is really difficult. I don’t have the strength for everything that I have to go through. I thank God for giving me his undiminishing strength to move forward. It is becoming harder not to thank God for getting me through each new day.

I do not understand, as much as I would like, why God lets us people suffer in the ways that he does. But, and that’s not a big “but,” I trust in him! My Father cares for me, he has a plan for me, and he is the only firm foundation on which I can plant my feet. May I forever stand only in him.

May I forever stand only in him even when my body is weighed down with lead and aches and pains and I am overwhelmed.

May I forever stand in him.

May we forever stand in him. Yes, I have illnesses, but we humans all have something that threatens to tear us apart. And the only way we can stand, which I pray we remember, is if we stand in him.


As always,


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It’s Hard, Friends

Woke up at 1:15pm today in the basement of a friend’s house. Got up, showered, ate cereal, sketched and read, and somehow three and a half hours passed until I was back in bed for a nap. Took said nap from 5:00 to 6:00, then ate some pizza and tried to numb out by watching Parks and Rec. Now I’m sitting in a giant chair and typing away.

I am still at my friend’s house. I feel alone though. My friend is completely emotionally unavailable, as she has been for several months, and today is just one of those days where I need a shoulder to cry on. I have been a big support to her, and I know she is grateful, but it gets hard trying to be the strong one. I am hurting and going through a really tough time and it just seems that she thinks her struggles are so much more difficult than mine
(or anyone else’s for that matter).

I want to cry, you know, because I feel the salt-water putting pressure on the backs of my eyeball. I don’t want to cry in front of people, at the same time. I feel weak. It’s hard to get myself to cry physically, too. Maybe if I cried, my friend would be a bigger support to me, but maybe if I cried nothing would change except for the number of tissues left in her house.

I’m back at one of those stages where I am struggling with my whole identity crisis/black sheep v. angel complex. Hard to explain… Equally hard to deal with.

Life is hard. I think working through everything that is making me sad and depressed and confused would be easier if I did not have chronic physical illnesses. It is hard to keep my eyes open, and my whole body hurts. Every time I get a new infection or some new symptom pops up, I get scared. When I first experienced my symptoms of hypothyroidism, my mom said “Oh, I’m sure your fine. Worst case scenario, you have mild anemia.” She said the same thing for my fibromyalgia. It’s getting a little difficult to look at things that way.

I love God, because he is my rock. He is my only rock, THE only rock, when everything falls out from under me. He is good, and I really do feel his presence with me, and you know what, I am angry with him! God is good, but/and I don’t understand why he allows so much suffering. I really just don’t know. And I’m a human, so I’m probably not supposed to know.

So there are my ramblings for tonight. I don’t feel like making all my words look and sound pretty. This post is a reflection of where I am right now, as I think it should be.


It’s hard, friends.


As always,


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