tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28765081464911989002012-02-16T07:38:32.027-06:00God. Life. Faith. Home. Motherhood. Writing. Growing things. Books. Optimism. Art.Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.comBlogger331100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-27179935874509264162011-02-08T09:19:00.005-06:002011-02-10T04:36:20.114-06:00

Maybe it is I who is in a state of winter. Finding that all of what I am is being said in a symbolic stutter all around me. That it is cold there, and frozen solid. A once fragrant heart pushed into a Ziploc bag and shoved away for a later thaw. Maybe I've forgotten just how good You are. Maybe I'm full of insteads. Each new dawn, I see Your new mercies that sit feather-light on the top of

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-52038483152844118432011-02-07T08:38:00.005-06:002011-02-07T08:45:11.040-06:00

I am in awe of the snow. Sitting in my bed this morning, drinking my coffee in my usual custom, I watch it come down, falling recklessly and heavily out of the sky. I think I find You in the snow. You are the white. Pure, glistening, blinding white in the stillness. The only sound is the falling, like thousands of hushed brushstrokes. You are the sound too, aren't You? And the light, the 

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-38904069905058225472011-01-28T09:49:00.000-06:002011-02-06T10:55:39.318-06:00

When I wake this morning, I can hear the birds beginning their daily shift. What seems like endless drudgery to me, the call to rise before the sun every morning and sing their hearts out, greeting the day before it exists, setting the mood before I throw covers off and stand in the cold air, is joy to them. It is their art, their love, the purpose they rise to, the clock they live by, the

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-43821615854303100912011-01-27T09:34:00.000-06:002011-02-06T11:10:25.996-06:00

Rearranging furniture is seriously one of my favorite pastimes. And painting walls. My kids are totally used to it. Sometimes when they go to school their room will be yellow and the bed will be under the window. When they come home, the walls will be green and the bed will be on the door wall. Sometimes the bed will be in someone else's room because that's not their room anymore. Kidding, 

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-33303884054253087032011-01-25T08:55:00.000-06:002011-02-06T10:53:12.771-06:00

So this is what you have to do. First you have to know that you are meant to do this thing that some would call work, but you will always call art. Maybe it is dancing. Or singing. Writing, teaching, mothering, ministry, what you love to do. You know it requires work, but the feeling you have after putting your whole self into it is more than work. It is joy. It is freedom. It is song. It is

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-21197324167297156632011-01-24T11:54:00.000-06:002011-02-06T10:53:41.009-06:00

"Mommy, what do you want to be when you grow up?", My 7 year old daughter asks me one Tuesday afternoon as we lounge on my bed reading books. The boys are sleeping and I have invited her to read with me in my room until their nap is over. She is reading The Secret Garden. I am reading The Hunger Games. "A mommy. And an artist. And a writer. And a missionary." "What did you want to be when you

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-26540600004787768952011-01-19T11:03:00.000-06:002011-01-23T21:00:58.448-06:00

I am now deeply enmeshed in the story I am trying to write. Last week I decided, on Thursday, to begin writing the fiction that I am constantly talking about writing. While writing fiction is exponentially difficult for me in some ways, it was much easier to start than one would think. You simply begin. You just start writing the first sentence that comes to mind, and keep going until you get

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-45166371910602168702011-01-13T08:49:00.000-06:002011-01-23T21:00:58.448-06:00

I am incapable of writing short blog posts. However, here goes nothing. I'm beginning. I kept rereading the post I did yesterday, certain there was something I had missed, because it wouldn't leave me alone. It haunted me all night, in fact, I dreamed about it, abruptly sitting up in bed at 2am-ish, staring into the inky blackness in front of my face, waiting for the revelation to come. What

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-38097958648972141462011-01-12T10:35:00.000-06:002011-01-23T21:00:58.449-06:00

I'm a pretty competitive person. Not with things I stink at, like dancing, singing, making people laugh or doing my hair (see photo at left). But with things I love and feel gifted to do, like making things with my hands, cooking and writing. Even with a definite awareness of what I am and am not gifted to do, I kind of get lost sometimes in the competition of something and lose sight of the

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-18134232698598500132011-01-10T10:54:00.000-06:002011-01-10T11:20:09.523-06:00

I write this, sitting on my bed, which sits at a 45 degree angle from the corner of my room, and allows me a perfect view of the backyard. It is snowing. The whole world is lost in a dusty whirl of snowflakes. There are  just a few right now, but the day holds the weatherman's promise of heavier snow later today and tonight. The snow is causing me to remember the post I keep wanting to

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-54035287459512605832011-01-05T10:35:00.000-06:002011-01-10T11:17:22.140-06:00

When it happened, I was in the preliminary stages of a bad attitude. You know the kind. One of those nasty, I'm mad at the world and so misunderstood, not to mention undeserving of all of these trials, and furthermore, if I had it my way...blah blah blah. One of those attitudes. And there was actually no reason for the change of perspective that seemed to be sweeping over me almost

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-51770984783389853932011-01-03T22:42:00.000-06:002011-02-06T11:09:42.314-06:00

I'm back! Did you wonder where I had gone? Well, offline actually. My computer of five years crashed in early December, forcing me to leave my poor little baby blog out in the cold for most of the month since we were going out of town for Christmas and wouldn't be able to focus on buying a new computer until we got back. And now I'm back. Don't worry, I still love you.   I've been

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-78355481377140858372010-12-03T17:28:00.000-06:002010-12-04T10:37:28.154-06:00

I'm juice fasting this week. I woke up the other morning with a huge, unfriendly zit from all that terrible food I've been giving thanks with for the last week. A Thanksgiving zit. How lovely. So, realizing the need for some detox, and anticipating that the bridesmaid's dress I'll be squeezing into in a couple of weeks for one of my best friend's weddings may be a little snug, my meals for

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-85844717860835485262010-11-29T09:51:00.000-06:002010-12-04T10:37:36.375-06:00

On any given weekday, if you show up at my house unannounced after school, you may find any manner of blanket and chair built contraption in our living room. You may find a tent set up in the family room, or a rock city being constructed in the backyard. There could be small people running around in inexplicable combinations of costumed attire or someone in the bathtub with every spatula I own

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-14480135908166262812010-11-24T16:50:00.000-06:002011-02-06T10:58:57.766-06:00

You know what I miss the most about Florida? I bet I know what you think I miss. The constant sunshine. Or the ocean. Disneyworld. The warm weather year-round. Wearing flip-flops all the time. The beach lifestyle. Being tan without trying. The salt air. Nope. I miss my hometown. And my people. And my church. I miss the feeling of not just expertly knowing my way around town, but the

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-68983120867465406252010-11-22T12:45:00.000-06:002010-11-22T12:51:27.932-06:00

Bow tightly strung, shoulders tautI stand poised on mountainsWith gravely shaking legsA seasoned eye and mind my gain I take noteOf lethal acrobatic heightPluck splinters to their bitter endAnd sing all manner of warbled lullabies Stalwart grace and knees well spentShaping small earthen hearts toward infinite DivineWith ears that hear what is never saidI point thoroughly to places hard to find

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-85967911817476059772010-11-20T08:21:00.000-06:002011-02-06T11:07:48.427-06:00

I am sitting at our old kitchen table. The thing is scarred, stained and wobbly and has been through quite a bit and every time I sit down at one of the old rickety mismatched white chairs that are pulled up around it, I think man, we need a new table. However, my attention is diverted at this moment to the backyard. It is early October and it's one of those perfect end of summer/beginning of

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-29513862033523624852010-11-19T17:40:00.000-06:002011-01-23T21:00:58.449-06:00

Writing is harder than it looks. Here I am, with my little blog, attempting, by describing my life, to impact the world for better, and I often doubt the value of anything I might have experienced or have to say regarding what other people are doing. After every post, I find myself filled with self-doubt and fear of rejection. While I understand the importance of writing honestly and being

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-15584852806985443622010-11-12T13:44:00.000-06:002010-11-12T20:56:44.504-06:00

The upper world ablazeQuiet trees in slow-simmered murmur Hissing death in brilliant splendourRemembering the Crucifixion Green grown dark, blood-red, With royal golden crownThe pruned and manifested lightGlorious surrender from a green-steeped life And falling withHeight-drunken and subdued balletThey sink into the brothy historyMy own rich and layered seasoning Becoming muffled testimonyOf

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-81676506172204858592010-11-11T08:40:00.000-06:002010-11-17T22:06:33.467-06:00

I've been pondering shadows lately. I grew up loving the 23rd Psalm and always thought the "valley of the shadow of death" (in verse 4) to be an eerie place filled with gray light, traversed with all muscles tensed, brightened only by the presence of God in the midst of our deepest or deadly troubles.  I have walked through whole days, months, and unfortunately, even years in the shadowy gloom

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-16708013668052861492010-11-09T10:47:00.000-06:002010-11-17T22:06:33.467-06:00

I'm reading Great Expectations right now, one of Charles Dickens' most beloved and widely read novels. What riches I am finding inside this wise story! I'll spare you the book review but at the very least, the contents of this book make me think of my own great expectations for my life and what I hope to see and achieve in my lifetime. Like the expectations I have for my writing. I've been

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-44584826589566044392010-11-08T11:28:00.000-06:002011-02-06T11:08:43.215-06:00

I am so excited about all the huge free pots Derek scored from the landscaping company at the next door neighbor's house this weekend! Some of them are huge. We live up on a hill here in Tulsa and I haven't been able to grow much in the ground aside from green beans and a teensy bit of unhappy basil because our soil is mostly clay. Even the green beans seemed like they weren't thrilled. I was

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-74819565203003133512010-11-05T13:52:00.000-06:002010-11-17T22:04:14.907-06:00

I recently finished the His Dark Materials series, by Philip Pullman, better known as the Golden Compass series, which is comprised of three books: 1. The Golden Compass 2. The Subtle Knife 3. The Amber Spyglass I had heard all kinds of talk about this series, and being a Christian, most of the hubbub was bad. So of course, in ordinary me fashion I decided to investigate. My favorite kind of

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-39812666560802391272010-11-03T14:00:00.000-06:002010-11-06T09:28:56.681-06:00

Has God ever intervened in your life in a huge and dramatic way? What about in a small way? Have you ever felt that absolute certainty in the middle of one of life's storms that He was right there with you, lending you courage, giving you grace, making you strong despite your very apparent weakness? It is July 2002.I am 7 months pregnant with my daughter Carson, and work as a bank teller

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-77938120141975654242010-10-19T14:42:00.000-05:002010-11-17T22:07:04.515-06:00

Whew. August 2010. While it was rather warm, the heat was not the only thing making me sweat. I've waited to write this post for two months now, anticipating a peace to overtake my sentimentality, a settling of the mom-turmoil in my heart. It is with a finally peaceful, albeit a little sore, heart that I type these words. All three of my children have been in school since August and I must admit

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-33214868848163971252010-06-13T19:37:00.001-05:002011-02-06T11:10:47.904-06:00

I am standing in my kitchen, frosting a huge dark chocolate fudge cake with Chocolate Lover's frosting, from the frosting recipe on the back of the Hershey Cocoa can.I am an artist and food is one of my favorite mediums. I must make this cake half a dozen times a year. Whenever the kids see me frosting it they start bouncing off the walls, shouting incoherent silliness about "Mommy's chocolate

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-62191080320026285782010-05-04T22:07:00.000-05:002010-11-17T22:07:04.516-06:00

Derek recently asked me what I would do if he took the kids out and about to have fun and I had a whole day to myself.First, I told him, I'd faint. I wouldn't believe it was true. I would watch them pulling out of the driveway in the minivan to go to oh, I don't know, the zoo followed by the park followed by a movie followed by ice cream followed by bowling and putt putt golf...and upon

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-58461439652376895972010-04-15T01:00:00.000-05:002010-11-17T22:04:14.907-06:00

I recently finished reading the Harry Potter series. Consequently, our family has also begun an exhausting search for a home church here in Tulsa. What in the world do these two things have to do with each other? Glad you asked.In being an incessant reader, a voracious consumer of classical and modern fiction, I have learned something. It's something you've probably heard your whole life in

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-46680486476864100112010-04-03T09:37:00.001-06:002010-11-06T09:39:12.184-06:00

The Great SwitcharooYou trudged that lonely hill to findA foresworn play of cacophonic GraceIn all that noise, the lonely MindAnd ailing curses in their placeOf love were You born, and loved to deathWere sent for stricken, choked off breathSweat provoking the smaller fliesThat flew and spat and smote Your criesIn foreward angle, foreordainedA backward glance at broken lanes(in gardens of old, now

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-54786265441652571072010-02-18T19:30:00.000-06:002011-02-06T11:08:43.216-06:00

I am daydreaming about gardens lately.Having just moved to Oklahoma where there is actually a real winter, after living in Florida for most of my life, I am prancing around in utter excitement for the anticipation of a real live spring! Winter has been nice, but spring oh spring, I can hardly wait for all the green...I have been planning my spring garden the last few weeks. Well, I may as well

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-24143503633142039392010-01-20T20:33:00.000-06:002011-02-06T11:07:48.428-06:00

It is 59 degrees.I am ecstatic. Though we live in Florida and heat is just part of the job description here, it is mid-October and we have just experienced the hottest, longest heat wave in as long as I can remember. Usually at this time of year it is at least in the mid 80's, though often in the high 70's. But we have had July heat around here and there is no one who has been more affected by it

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-50169248690393068882010-01-19T15:57:00.000-06:002010-11-17T22:06:33.468-06:00

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.How often have I heard this expression? How often have I said it? How often have I nodded my head in assent as it fell off another's lips with certainty and nonchalance? How many times have I felt the discontentment, envy, cynicism or resignation that is wrapped up in this statement?What about you?Think about life as dirt, with certain

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2876508146491198900.post-42439858694519752242010-01-10T17:30:00.000-06:002010-11-17T22:06:33.468-06:00

I love to cook. It is one of my favorite things to do. You can often find me in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards, analyzing ingredients, consulting cookbooks and generally making a huge mess that I hope to convince Derek to clean up.But the end result is usually worth it. I summon every ounce of my creativity when cooking. I build new recipes based on knowledge of what goes together and

Jillian Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09454886389260758501noreply@blogger.com0