I am Iris.

I have a planet on my eye.

this is where I harvest inspiration.

And i wish this theme didn't make the description caps lock.


If you’re reading this, if there’s air in your lungs on this November day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories aren’t finished yet. There is still time, for things to heal and change and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are still going, you and I. We are stories still going.

(Source:, via 0b-scurity)


Birdcage / Yuanyang


Birdcage / Yuanyang

(via freshiitake)


Houten, Netherlands


Houten, Netherlands

(via dearfully)


Questions to ask and affirmations to think about 

1. Did God really take him away or is he still somehow here? 
2. Is there something I could have done better? 
3. Is there a lesson I have to learn before attaining my treasure again? 

end of sabbath prayer

october 6/2013 

When God spoke the ten commandments He put extra emphasis on the Sabbath. 
Exodus 20:8 reads: 
"Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your manservant or maidservant, nor your animals, nor the alien within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. 
Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.”

My Sabbath runs from 6pm Saturday nights to 6pm Sunday nights. 

Although I have an accounting midterm in two days, I still forced myself to do nothing. And I’m happy that I did, because I was able to dedicate this time to the Holy Spirit. 

I give thanks to the Lord for this 24hr period he intended for us to just be ourselves, living out our original purpose… and I pray that throughout each day of this coming week, that I will be cleansed every morning as I prepare for baptism, and that I remember as many moments as I can that I am here to serve. Not to be of the city..but to be in it, and to seek its prosperity and peace. I give thanks for a time of fruitful interaction with loved ones, a time for developing community and meeting new people, a time for celebration and feasting, a time for Bible study and reunion, of prayer and discussion, of tears and hugs and Good mornings and worship and praise and catching up and remembering that there is only one set of footsteps in the sand during the most tiring intervals because God is carrying us, holding us. 

I yearn, so much. Praise God!

Time for accounting. 

(Source: s-o-j-u)


Yesterday by the bus stop I saw an old Chinese man sitting on the bench. He was holding a bottle of cough syrup. He may have got it from the drug store across the street, but he looked a little confused. I wonder what his story is. 

I was on my way to work when this happened and it was literally half a second of seeing him. I had to do a double take. I don’t know why I was taken aback by this man. I hope he is doing okay. 

(via nunmuri)

(Source: love-england, via caffes)


Beside my ironing board I keep the jar of summer 2013. This is the jar where I wrote slips of positive thoughts (almost) everyday, and filled it up during the four months of summer. 

I gave Eddie an empty glass milkjug to do the same, and we promised we would write the positive things that happen in our summer days and trade at the end of summer, when I would see him again. 

A few days prior to his coming back to Vancouver, I reminded him to bring back his milk jug so we could finally trade. I was very excited to read the things that he wrote and I was excited for him to also read my thoughts. 

But he told me he didn’t want to trade anymore, the things he wrote in his jug probably has lost its meaning, anyway. He said he wasn’t the same person he was when he wrote them. This project that I worked diligently on, and committed myself to, and one that I held close to my heart, did not mean much to him. 

In the summer I had a really hard time with keeping my chin up. It’s a feeling I don’t really know how to describe. It wasn’t distance that made me feel uneasy. It was the fact that I knew something had changed— and that something wasn’t me.

So at night before I slept, I wrote positive thoughts on slips of paper and put them in the jar— and that’s what carried me along. No matter how boring the day was, I still managed to find something to be joyful about. All I wanted was for him to do the same. 

Sometimes I wonder what he did with his slips of positive thoughts. I wonder if he’s thrown them away, or kept them. I wonder if I will be able to read them, a promise that was broken, but maybe not broken forever. 


On nights where the only thing I can dream of is accounting, nothing, nothing else— I find that my heart is a little more at peace in the morning. Sleeping and dreaming about accounting makes me so unwell in the night that I finally just want to wake up. 

Not that accounting is hard, it’s just annoying to think about when I’m trying to rest.