You are currently browsing the archives for February, 2010.
Are you doing anything special this year to celebrate Ayyam-i-Ha? What things did you do as a kid, if you grew up as a Baha’i? If you don’t know about this time of charity, gift-giving, and celebration, what would you like to know about it?
My God, my Fire and my Light! The days which Thou hast named the Ayyam-i-Ha (the Days of Ha, Intercalary days) in Thy Book have begun, O Thou Who art the King of names, and the fast which Thy most exalted Pen hath enjoined unto all who are in the kingdom of Thy creation to observe is approaching. I entreat Thee, O my Lord, by these days and by all such as have during that period clung to the cord of Thy commandments, and laid hold on the handle of Thy precepts, to grant that unto every soul may be assigned a place within the precincts of Thy court, and a seat at the revelation of the splendors of the light of Thy countenance.
These, O my Lord, are Thy servants whom no corrupt inclination hath kept back from what Thou didst send down in Thy Book. They have bowed themselves before Thy Cause, and received Thy Book with such resolve as is born of Thee, and observed what Thou hadst prescribed unto them, and chosen to follow that which had been sent down by Thee.
Thou seest, O my Lord, how they have recognized and confessed whatsoever Thou hast revealed in Thy Scriptures. Give them to drink, O my Lord, from the hands of Thy graciousness the waters of Thine eternity. Write down, then, for them the recompense ordained for him that hath immersed himself in the ocean of Thy presence, and attained unto the choice wine of Thy meeting.
I implore Thee, O Thou the King of kings and the Pitier of the downtrodden, to ordain for them the good of this world and of the world to come. Write down for them, moreover, what none of Thy creatures hath discovered, and number them with those who have circled round Thee, and who move about Thy throne in every world of Thy worlds.
Thou, truly, art the Almighty, the All-Knowing, the All-Informed.
(Baha’u'llah, Prayers and Meditations by Baha’u'llah, p. 65)
I have really bad luck when it comes to weather and moving. In the last 8 months I’ve moved 4 times, and each time there has been some sort of precipitation.
Every. single. time.
I went back to check the weather reports from last year for those dates. “Surely,” I thought, “I must be mistaken! Perhaps my mind is making things up.”
Nope. And my poor friends who’ve helped me move have been subjected to this horribly inconvenient occurrence each time!
June 22, 2009 : Moved to my first sublet in Evanston from my parent’s house. It was raining.
August 17 & 19,2009 : Moved to my second sublet in Evanston. There was a torrential downpour. On both days.
October 30, 2009 : Moved to my third sublet in Evanston. Started drizzling as we drove to the new place.
February 16, 2010 : Moved to my condo. It was snowing.
February 21, 2010 : Moved more stuff from my sublet to my condo. There was sleet this time. Super fun!
February 23, 2010 : Getting a few last boxes from the old place, snow flurries.
I am so glad that I am done moving.
finding lost childhood toys
fancy hats
visitors
homemade pizza
the way the morning sunlight looks on the Baha’i House of Worship
the look of glee when you play a prank on me
brunch on a Saturday morning with nothing else to do all day
having a dishwasher
brownies
my home. finally, my home.
(I Like: #1,#2,#3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8)
What?! Yeah, well, I’m nearly as surprised as everyone else, trust me. 6 months ago I was all about leaving Chicago. Then, as time went on, I realized that I love Chicago, my job is amazing (almost as much fun as I had working in Israel!), and my family and friends are here. This is home.
It is also a really great time to buy, especially with the homebuyer’s tax credit and the low housing prices. So I bought a one bedroom condo a few miles away from the Baha’i House of Worship and Lake Michigan.
It feels good to be an independent adult. I am so happy that I have the freedom and ability to do something like this at such a young age.
I’m currently painting, and have already run into some minor problems, but in the grand scheme of things it isn’t too bad. Part of the process, right? When I have some more work done I’ll put up photos. Right now it looks a little disastrous, and is a maze of ladders, paint cans, and random tools. We managed to get the ceilings done, however, thanks to my amazing friends who came to help this weekend. (Y’all are the best.)
If anyone wants to come by in the evenings this week to help paint the walls, I’m happy to have assistance! I’ll buy you dinner. Seriously. 
There are even homemade cupcakes available. (I’m totally ok with bribing people!)
It will be wonderful to finally have a place of my own, move in, and be home. And no, it hasn’t quite sunk in yet.
“Verily, I pray God to make thy home a center for the radiation of light and the glowing of His love in the hearts of His people. Know that in every home when God is praised and prayed to, and His Kingdom proclaimed, that home is a garden of God and a paradise of His happiness.”
(Abdu’l-Baha, Tablets of Abdu’l-Baha v1, p. 68)
I wrote part of this about a year ago when I was still living at home.
She read the story of two broken hearts , pausing every few minutes to sip her cup of hot milk (now a nightly routine). The sound and smell of the wood turning to ashes in the fireplaces, the dishwasher on its thousandth cycle, and the sudden silence as the family settled into their dreams for the night…everything suddenly still.
Sometimes she wishes she could write like this. Writing on paper is an exercise in chaos. Right now, she wishes she could write with honesty about all of the beautiful, painful moments. She has always hidden these moments in her heart, behind words, in the secret places where regret and joy sit side by side.
She is starstruck with genius. The smarts, you see, take hold and she wants to be surrounded by a library: the smell of old books, furniture that wishes to be reborn, the scratches on the floor and the quiet whisper of pages.
Writing is like an addiction that she doesn’t have time for anymore. The words sit unopened, rattling around in her brain, occasionally wasted, but mostly just dusty.