Hamilton is infinitely quotable, and this lends itself very nicely to cross-stitched messages on pillows and wall decorations, of which there are MANY.
However, the ones that are available are too obvious! Although my suggestions start with some obviously inspiring quotes, I’m proud to say that my ideas get increasingly ridiculous. Someone get to work on these, stat!
And if anyone designs the Domestic Burr or Mulligan’s Butt patterns, please alert me. I need them decorating my apartment YESTERDAY.
For the earnest fan:
“What is a legacy?
It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”
Pictured: Seedlings beginning to sprout from the ground.
“Just let me stay here by your side,
That would be enough.”
Pictured: Eliza and Hamilton walking away from the viewer, hands reaching for each other.
“Dying is easy, living is harder.”
Pictured: Hamilton climbing a mountain, carrying a burden made of books.
For the adults struggling with grown-up life fan:
“Domestic life was never quite my style.”
Pictured: Burr in an apron, looking harried. Continue reading
Anita at Feeling the Light is emailing out contemplative prompts throughout this year’s season of Lent. If you are interested in delving into your own spiritual formation, feel free to take these prompts and answer them for yourselves!
“Hands are amazing. There are few animals in the world who use their hands similar to how humans do. Meditate on these pictures or find other pictures of hands that speak to you in some way. Take pictures of your own hands, or of a loved one’s hands. Notice the contours, lines, shades and shapes. What is the texture of these hands? What do these hands say?”
The prompt feels like it’s leaning towards something empowering or beautiful, but yesterday was Ash Wednesday. As a former Baptist, I’m fairly ignorant about the rhythms of the church calendar, but I’m pretty sure Ash Wednesday is about death. And as I look at my hands, I think of death. Whether it’s the peeling nail polish or the extra lines or the faded scars, my hands are growing older.
So is the rest of me. I have gray hairs now, and it’s a battle to convince myself that I am proud of them rather than ashamed. I started working out a couple months ago because I was alarmed at how easy it was for my skin to start sagging, and I guess I’m trying to postpone the inevitable. My feet hurt after a day of walking. I get headaches when I don’t drink enough water. Jubilant play or dancing only lasts a couple minutes before I’m wheezing for air.
I am frail. My body is beautiful, yes. My body is useful and productive and sometimes efficient. But it’s falling apart, slowly but surely. “From dust you came, and to dust you will return.” Life is meant to be eternal, but it’s not. I believe in the Christian story because my soul feels its truth – I am made for something more than what I have. This world, and this body, is not what it should be. Beauty is shaded with corruption. My hands, which are strong and growing weaker, are capable of both helping someone and harming them. Everything has a dark side. Continue reading
I have all-time favorites when it comes to Mumford & Sons: “Hopeless Wanderer,” “White Blank Page,” and “After the Storm.” But there’s one song in particular that I always forget about, and when I hear it I always say, “Oh YEAH, I love this!”
“Below My Feet” is a catchy enough song. When the chaos drops out at 3:35 and the chorus grows in intensity, I have never yet been able to keep myself from punching my steering wheel in time to the beat. But what I really love are the lyrics. Continue reading
I’ve always fallen hard for male singers who can rock a falsetto, so it’s no surprise that I loved Darren Hayes’s Insatiable when it came out in 2002. I never owned the song, but I distinctly remember shrieking with joy every Sunday morning it cracked the Top 40 on the radio. I would dance around my room, singing every word as I got ready for church.
Ten years later, idly searching for new songs to buy on iTunes, Insatiable came to mind. I bought it, downloaded it, and listened to it. My mouth dropped open and my face grew beet red. I imagined myself singing the lyrics on Sunday morning, one door down from my mom getting ready for church. Had she listened to me sing this?
Look, okay, here’s the song. Continue reading