Life and Death in Little Women

Just those first few notes of music and I am wholly caught up in a story that I am never wearied of. How many times in my life have I watched or read Little Women? I don't know, but the number isn't that important to me. It's the weight of all of those years of loving that story. Louisa May Alcott wrote these characters from life into immortality, taking from her own childhood to create what she knew. And so it is a true story, as real as anything found in the nonfiction section, though the characters and events may technically be fictional. It is a story of separation and reunification, of growing up and growing older, of living and dying, of love and confusion, of hope and despair. I find myself reflected in the words and dreams of the sisters, more so in some than in others but connecting with each.

The most wrenching scene in the entire movie takes place when Beth dies, and I think it captures the heart of the tension. Jo, having just had her literary hopes dashed by Professor Bhaer, returns to her room to find a telegram from Orchard House where Beth is at last succumbing to her prolonged weakness. She rushes home in time to spend a last few hours with her sister, reading Dickens to her and trying to spoon feed life back into her. But it is too late for that, and Beth lovingly submits to those exertions because they help Jo though they do little for her. She doesn't mind death. And I understand, I think.

You see, what Beth senses is the world in tumult, always turning, always changing. In The Silmarillion, Tolkien refers to the mortality of Men as the “gift of Eru,” though they do not recognize it as such when they enviously consider the immortality of the Elves. But there is pain in immortality, as there is pain in change. The closeness that I shared with Maria when we were children is not the closeness that we will have as adults. Perhaps we will not be the less so, but there is no more innocence, no more of that casual negligence that one can have toward a relationship that practically maintains itself because the two of us lived together and could hardly hope to avoid one another on a daily basis. It's true that we treasure something least until it's gone. Beth asks Jo bitterly why everyone wants to leave. She loves home and what the four sisters had there. They did not lead a charmed life, but they had one another and what more could they desire? But the other sisters did desire more. Meg gained her John, not a wealthy man but a fine one, and as good a husband as she could hope for. Jo chased after her literary dreams in New York City, itching to leave the confines of Orchard House for Europe or somewhere big enough to hold her boundless imagination. And Amy traveled with Aunt March to Europe, pursuing art and a good match. The only person left to love the papers and fragments of the life they lived together was Beth, dear Beth who did not want to leave.

And perhaps that is what kills her. Because she can't move on from there to something else, the old memories and nostalgia draining her strength as she struggles to somehow justify the joylessness of the present against those fondly remembered days. But her life is a brief and therefore potent example of the gift that death is to us. I will never say that death is good. It is wholly and without a doubt a result of the Fall. But I think that it was God's grace that led him to prevent Adam and Eve from eating of the tree of life in their fallen state. Pain was a reality for them, as was separation. The perfect unity of their souls could be no more, and to live forever in such a state would be Hell. In order to relieve the awful burden of that separation, God allowed them the ability to die, to be removed from the immediate cares and pains of this world until he might renew it in its entirety.

I don't fear death, though it may involve physical pain. I would fear far more the thought of living forever. And as John Donne says, “One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally / And death shall be no more ; death, thou shalt die.”

Bloom

You're killing me.

I just thought you should know.

Once upon a time there was a bud:

tightly closed against the world,

afraid to open, to smile, to radiate.

But it felt a ray of warmth,

a single golden beam that felt like love.

In the moment of decision, it chose,

and chose wrongly.

To open and be known,

to shed the mystery and allure,

was the beginning of the end.

I learned as I gazed outward and upward

that the sun's warmth was impersonal:

it did not love me anymore than poison ivy,

treated us alike,

and in its heat I withered away.

You're killing me.

And it wasn't even worth it.

________________________________

Occasionally I wonder if those crackpot theories about positive and negative vibes are true. Only occasionally, and usually I come to the conclusion that "crackpot" is still an appropriate designation. But these past few days have made me wonder more than is my wont.

Having already been home for Thanksgiving break, I was not and am not keen to be home for Christmas. I should be, I know, and it's not that I don't love my family, friends, or job, but I would rather be depressed at IMPACT than depressed at home. Nonetheless, I went to the necessary lengths to ensure that I would not be trapped in the south by an ice storm in North Carolina, leaving at 8:30 on Friday morning. I thought that was sufficient, but was I ever wrong...

The day is going fairly well. Despite the fact that we were the last of the three vehicles composing the northern contingent, Randy and I managed to pass Grace and Jackson along the way and we were making excellent time heading into Virginia. I expected to be home no later than 12, and that as the traffic and Acts of God estimate. Then things just went funny. First, Randy realized that our directions were taking us in a really roundabout, extra long loop up into Richmond and then down south to Norfolk. But we figured we might as well just keep following them until we couldn't find our next step, so I turned around and went back down I-95 south until we reached a route that Randy said would get us to Norfolk.

Finally in Norfolk, I discovered that Randy lived there much of his life, but has not been there in a long enough while to get lost while searching for Five Points. Getting there involved an illegal u-turn at a busy intersection, wrong turns because I am directionally challenged at the best of times, and wrong turns because Randy didn't know where he was going. At long last, tired and frustrated, I dropped off Randy and turned my car north on I-64. Surely it would be a straight shot from there, and I could hold off on stopping for gas and food until I was out of the VA Beach/Norfolk/Hampton/Newport News area.

Bad idea. In the space of five minutes, pouring rain became freezing rain became heavy snow that was thick on the roadway. Traffic came close enough to a standstill as we crept along at an adrenaline-inducing 20 to 30 miles per hour. Three hours later and I finally reached I-295, but it was pretty clear that I would not be driving home that night. Thankfully, Katrina had a clearer head than I and booked a room at a hotel. After stopping at long last for gas and getting some food, I drove to the hotel and crashed with no clear idea of what tomorrow would bring.

The next day, I peered out the window to see a cessation of snowfall. Hoping for the best, I turned on the weather channel, only to find my hopes dashed as commentator after commentator went on about the storm that was stopping everything in D.C. and Philly. There would be no drive north that day. But I recalled an offer the night before from an IMPACT alumni who contacted me on Facebook. Corinne lives in Williamsburg and when she saw from my status that I was stuck in Richmond, she offered to help however she could. I took her up on that and drove on the mostly clear roads 40 miles back down I-64 to Williamsburg. The day was spent largely talking with Corinne and Cameron, another IMPACT alum staying with her for a few days. At last I slept and the next morning set out, determined to reach home but still feeling less than happy about the next two weeks. About twenty miles north of Richmond, traffic slowed to a grinding 5 miles per hour. Great. This again. Twelve miles in two hours, and I was ready to kill something, afraid that heavy volume would make this jam the par all the way through to D.C.

This was not the case, as I found out eventually, and most of the way was fairly clear and fast travel, although the McDonald's I stopped at for a late lunch proved to be quite a long stop with all of the drive thru traffic and a badly plowed parking lot. Everything was going well and I seemed to have a straight shot north, especially as the day wore on, but at long last I had to stop for gas just four miles inside the PA line at Shrewsbury. Having refueled, I went to turn my car on again, but it refused. Great.

An hour and a half later, parents and tow dolly arrived to carry dear overworked Izzy and myself home and not quite in the fashion I had envisioned. But we're home now and safe, although it'll probably be at least a week before Izzy is fixed and driveable.

Back to the negative emanations though: I don't understand how so many awful things could happen on one trip. The only thing that could've gone wrong and didn't was that I was able to get out of the unplowed hotel parking lot, but Izzy is one tough girl and thanks to her front wheel drive and grit we got out just fine. The weird part of the whole mess is that I kind of wanted it to continue, to delay the inevitable. But now I'm home. 13 more days. One day for every hour that my 60 hour trip ought to have taken. 13 days and I'll be in North Carolina. 14 days and I'll be back at IMPACT. Somehow I don't even want to go back to IMPACT, but I don't want to be here. I don't really want to be anywhere at all. Is that a bad thing?

Friend?

Lie to me, I said.

I can't handle your truth,

the bleak expression I spy

beneath the cracks,

the places where your mask wore thin.

There were moments,

fleeting seconds

that slipped through my fingers

like a cool mountain stream:

headed elsewhere, giving only a passing nod,

but they were mine and I surrendered them.

Now you're gone.

You and your dancing feet

have danced out of reach,

and all I want to say is,

"I love you."

Tumbling

A single soft snap
and you own temptation:
bloody sheen of apple blush
contrasting vividly against your skin.
Looks like you've been caught red-in-your-handed,
but nobody sees it, sees beyond the fruit,
to the tar-weighted soul.

You think it through
   -I know you do, don't scoff.
Before the taste caressed your tongue,
   you imagined it.
Every agonizingly pleasurable second:
    the crunch of taut skin;
    the sweet sin savor of juice
      bleeding from the tender white flesh.

Redemption. Grace. Just words?
   You're so good at imagining, imagine this:
Every agonizingly loving second:
    the crunch of bone on nail;
    the sour stench and sting of wine;
    the blood flowing, reddening the tender, pale flesh.
A savior's pain for a second's sin.

This is not judgment,
    no minute guilt-trip to the other side of the world.
You see, what you imagined?
    I did too.

And when I lamented, cried also, "Eloi, eloi, lama sabacthani,"
    He said,
        "I haven't."

Thoughts on Poverty

Take my will and make it Thine

It shall be no longer mine

Take my heart it is Thine own

It shall be Thy royal throne

Take my love, my Lord I pour

At your feet its treasure store

Take myself and I will be

Ever, only, all for Thee.

“God has blessed me so much with …” I've heard a lot of words filling that blank. A roof over my head, a family that loves me, a new set of mattresses. The many things for which we are thankful. And it is a wonderful thing to be thankful. We may have an entire holiday dedicated to the practice of thanksgiving, but it is a sadly dying lifestyle. Be thankful, please do, but think about those words for a moment. I know that after two recent experiences, I will have to pause briefly before filling in the blank. “Why?” You may ask, and I reply that there are people, Christians even, without a roof over their heads, without food in their stomachs, without clean water. Those blessings that I have taken for granted so much of my life are lacking in a very present, desperate way for some people around the world. Has God chosen not to bless them? What makes me so special?

The first of those two experiences was a three day trip to the SIFAT campus in Alabama. SIFAT stands for Servants in Faith and Technology, and the organization's mission is to train indigenous missionaries (the local pastorate in developing nations) in sustainable community development initiatives. At the same time, they use their campus to give Midpew Americans a taste of what life is like in those nations. I knew none of this going into our weekend there, just some vague notions of staying in some village and that it might be cold. Believe me, I was in for a surprise. We had a few activities during the afternoon as we got to know what they call the “global village,” a conglomeration of houses typical of countries such as Bolivia, the Philippines, and Uganda. But as night drew on, we were all gathered together and informed that in the upcoming simulation, whatever food, drinking water, and shelter we got would be what we would have for the night. With this rather vague explanation, we entered the slums.

Darkness. Mud. Confusion. Those were my first impressions of what were to be a very long two hours. We were forced to question the various slum dwellers to figure out what we had to do, which turned out to be working odd jobs for a cantankerous, persnickety woman to make money to buy what seemed to be very overpriced soup. Certain actions could send a family member to jail, but justice was not a concept the guard understood. As the evening was drawing to a close, everything seemed to go haywire as some of the students rebelled against the guard for selling drugs and other oppressive actions. At this point, I was sitting in a house that we had managed to purchase with another family, still pretty clueless. In my head, I knew that all of this was a simulation, that in a little while we would be leaving, going back to America where everything is sane and calm and normal. But every other part of me was terrified. I did not know what was going on outside; I just wanted to survive and get out, but someone was upsetting the order of things in which I understood my place and accepted it. As Chaarity can tell you, I was standing in the dark praying aloud to God. And suddenly everyone was being pushed into their homes and the slum dwellers were walking through the main way as they sang “Amazing Grace.” It was so surreal.

Two weeks later, we piled into the vans and drove to the heart of Atlanta. There, in the most crime-ridden part of Georgia, sits the City of Refuge, the main homeless shelter for that area. We only spent half a day there, plus a bit of a morning, but that was enough to expose us to real poverty. This was no backwoods simulation. As I walked along one of the streets, I was struck with the realization that this place had been beautiful once. When I mentioned to Lee my thoughts about what it would take to renovate a particular house, he informed me that that is one of the oldest neighborhoods in Atlanta. But now all of the buildings are in a state of disrepair with boarded windows or no windows, crumbling concrete, litter in abundance, and the clinging stench of pot. Many of the residences were abandoned, at least by their legal owners. As I look back on it, I am struck by the analogous relationship between the buildings and the people. This neighborhood was once beautiful, a place where people wanted to live and maintain and love. But somewhere along the line its well kept facade started slipping until it became the mask of despair. The people who live there are beautiful, the face of God on earth. They are, as another City of Refuge worker, Micah, was fond of saying, “the last, the lost, and the least.” Somewhere along the line in their life, they maybe made some bad choices. Or maybe (and perhaps more commonly, especially with regard to the women and children), they were caught in a flawed system that prevents them from rising above their situations. As they were held down in darkness, they assumed the attitude of despair that is overtly manifested in the squalor of their environment.

When I think of these people, the women that we talked to at City of Refuge, the children who greedily grabbed off all of the love we could give them, my own overwhelming confusion and fear in the slums, I hear the echo of David's cry in Psalm 143:3-4. “My enemy has chased me. He has knocked me to the ground and forces me to live in darkness like those in the grave. I am losing all hope; I am paralyzed with fear.” But what now? In an email from one of the staff members at SIFAT, he mentioned a quote, that “The aim of education is not knowledge, but action.” Each of us, myself included, must now figure out how to make serving those people that we met, that we briefly lived like, a reality in our lives.

I asked the question at the beginning, if God has blessed me so much, has He simply chosen not to bless others? And I think in writing this I have realized something. The answer is no. He has chosen to bless them through us. We have so much, but we have been given in order to give. Whatever my calling may be, God has still given me the responsibility of caring for those less fortunate in whatever way available to me as I walk in that calling. In giving of myself to others, I am giving myself back to God. As the song says, “Take myself and I will be / Ever, only, all for Thee.”

The Blessing of Brokenness

"Suffering is one of the sufferer's blessings." (Lament for a Son)

How can this be? How can I ask God for suffering when I beg for its removal in those times when it overwhelms me?

And yet... And yet in those moments of brokenness, of pain and sorrow, when I sit in dust and ashes: He is silent. Is that unexpected? I won't lie and say that I hear God speak in those places, but as Masters asked... "Of what use is language?" ("Silence") In our grief, there are few words that can provide comfort- who can know the meaning of suffering? But the presence of another, someone who understands and holds and loves, does not utter empty platitudes. That person is balm to the soul of that blessed mourner.

In the same way, God is the balm, the healing presence that supports us as we walk forward, slowly, staggering. God is the beauty amidst the ashes. Even as God's love is a suffering love, so must our love also be. I cannot be transformed into the likeness of Christ if I balk at the very thought of pain, for his pain was great. And when He walks with me, silent, there, I think I understand most deeply who He is and what He has done for me.

Break me, God, that in my pain and weakness, I will draw near to You. Fill the sores, the scars, the unhealed wounds. You are all I have and You are all I need. "Batter me, three person'd God, for you / As yet but knock; but breathe, shine, and seek to mend. / That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me..." ("Holy Sonnet 14")

I Am Selfish (Also: A Matter of Holiness)

I am sitting in my favorite cafe in the world, which also happens to be the one that I work at when I'm not in school or far away from Lancaster. Moments ago, the two people who were sitting next to me left for whatever they're doing, but for some forty-five minutes I have had the privilege of shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation. It's pathetic, really, but rather enlightening. One of them attends Messiah and was described by a friend as sort of "eh, yeah, she's a Christian," the other goes to American and... probably isn't. When discussing his relationship with his girlfriend, the girl asked him how far he had gone sexually with her. He was initially embarrassed, but proceeded to be quite honest (oh hurray... that's what I get for eavesdropping). Honesty is all well and good, but I got the sense that the dynamics of their conversation shifted at that point. In his honesty, he was almost challenging her to defy him, to say that he had done wrong. And she bowed to the pressure. She played along, asked him whether he liked it, laughed at an anecdote that wasn't really humorous.

Part two of the conversation that piqued my interest was a moment when he stated, "I am selfish." When she, perhaps somewhat surprised, asked if that ever bothered him, he replied that no, it didn't really, and that was okay with him.

This morning, I was sitting in the parking lot at the library waiting for it to open, and I decided it was high time I had some devotional time. Strange place, but no time like the present. I was reluctant to choose my reading because, as I reminded myself, practically anything I read would probably end up convicting me. These past few days have not been my best and I was fresh out of a conversation with some friends that did not really glorify God in any way. And yeah, I was right. 1 Corinthians, where I left off, but I reread the first few chapters to refresh my memory. Chapter one, verse two, "I am writing to God's church in Corinth, to you who have been called by God to be his own holy people. He made you holy by means of Christ Jesus, just as he did for all people everywhere who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, their Lord and ours."

These past few days have not been a question of failing to do something. In the things that I have done, said, and even "simply" allowed, I have been violating who I am as God made me, so not a matter of doing so much as being. God made me holy, and as Dr. Whitlock so aptly put it, as Christians, we are "able not to sin" where once we were "not able not to sin."

 I was disturbed by this fellow's frank, unapologetic admission of selfishness, but at least he had the insight to recognize it. Certainly, he could use some work on his attitude, but he sees in himself what most people don't even begin to notice. My selfishness is more subtle, manifesting itself in my tacit refusal to engage him in conversation despite the fact that such a possibility was not out of the question. Sometimes it is petty, as when I am tempted to get water from the second bottle so I don't have to replace the nearly empty first. Sometimes my selfishness is a failure to care about what someone else has to say because I want to be heard. It is insidious and it is ugly, yet I often manage to completely ignore it.

The command is repeated several times in Leviticus: "Be holy as I AM holy." There are no second chances. There is only living a life of holiness now and praying that in the future, He will somehow repair the damages of the past.

The Devil is in the [Distraction]

Occasionally I think back to IMPACT's mission statement which was hammered into our heads during orientation week. "To equip young adults to become Christ-centered servant leaders." And what I always come back to is that little blip of two words: "Christ-centered." Recently, we've had the delirious joy of the inevitable(?) coupling off. I question my own choice of words because I don't think that it has to be inevitable, but at the same time I really understand the emotions that are tied into those situations and how difficult it can be to follow one's head over heart.

We were warned during orientation week to think of one another as brothers and sisters because spending nine months with a lot of godly persons of the opposite gender can be very confuddling in terms of guarding our hearts. And God knows (because I've told Him about this occasionally), I am not immune to those struggles. But I keep coming back to the thought that I can't give in to those feelings because they are not the point. IMPACT is heaven brought to earth in the form of genuine Christian community, but it is also a training ground for the future. We are leaders who, because of our experiences here, will be incredibly well-equipped to begin and contribute to similar communities around the world. 26 + 19 + 13 + however many people were in the first class and it's only growing from there.

And the devil is in the distraction. It's a balancing act, no doubt about that. How do you have this incredible fellowship between young men and young women without any romantic interest, especially in a culture where we are conditioned to think that all close relationships between genders are destined to have some element of eros to them. It's hard to hold on to phileos when people at home are nicely but frustratingly asking, "So have you met anyone there?" Well gee, folks, yes, I have met plenty of people here. If you're insinuating anything other than formal introduction, obviously I need to refresh your memory about what we are seeking here. Keyword: what. Or if not what, still also not who, but Who.

When Meredith, Grace, and I slept in Liberia that second night at SIFAT, we ended up talking about relationships, and I mentioned my present stance. If I am going to love anyone, let it be God. Let Him be my lover, my husband, as the Hosea passage I mentioned in my last post says. That is the perfect romance. If He has anything more for me, my deepest thanks to Him. But it will be in His time, and I find it hard to believe that here at IMPACT in a learning community is His time.

Let us get to know each other deeply and well, but not as potential lovers. As brothers and sisters who have each other's best interests at heart, and with the understanding that the best we have to offer is not ourselves but Christ in us. As the song goes, "How good and pleasant it is / When we dwell together in unity / And praise the Lord."

Miami Beach Rhumba

I'll save Havana for manana
Meanwhile, I have it in my reach.
I found the charm of all Havana
In the rhumba at Miami Beach.


I mostly just like the song for its beat and because it's fun to sing along to, but Miami Beach Rhumba has always struck me as a song about settling. You could have Cuba, but you settle for a mere taste of Cuba. You could have Haiti, but you settle for a mere taste of Haiti. Maybe the rhumba was just so fast paced and fun that it was impossible to resist a turn around the dance floor, and then you discovered that it was a centripetal force, holding you inward less and less against your will as more time passes.

Why do we settle for less? I am convicted by the verse in Hosea 2 when the Lord says of unfaithful Israel, "When she runs after her lovers, / she won't be able to catch them. / She will search for them / but not find them. / Then she will think, / 'I might as well return to my husband, / for I was better off with him than I am now.'"The prostitute sighs and resigns herself to settling for the loving care of her husband, but the irony of her statement is captured in the next verse when He adds, "She doesn't realize it was I who gave her everything she has..." Really, in pursuing her lovers she was settling for less, running away from a husband who held a deep, undeserved love for her. And because of her attitude, even as she does grudgingly return home, she will miss the depth of what is offered to her.

I do that. I look at God and say, "You are not enough for me. I want ... " Finish the sentence with the empty distraction of your choice. But they really are empty. What little about them that can satisfy is only satisfactory because it points back to the ultimate satisfier who, like Hansel & Gretel, is dropping crumbs along the path to lead us back home to him. Sometimes I find the bread crumb trail and I start to follow it, but I get off track because I spot a pretty flower in the woods or the road ahead appears dark and forbidding. But the final reward is greater than anything I can imagine, more strong in its allure than the grip of fear can hold tight against. Because someday, she won't look to her husband as second best. Someday...

"But then I will win her back once again.
   I will lead her into the desert
   and speak tenderly to her there.
I will return her vineyards to her
   and transform the Valley of Trouble into
      a gateway of hope.
She will give herself to me there,
   as she did long ago when she was young,
   when I freed her from her captivity in Egypt.
When that day comes," says the Lord,
   "you will call me 'my husband'
    instead of 'my master.'"
{Hosea 2:14-16}

Growing Pains

At some point in every child's life, he seems only to eat, sleep, and grow. Sometimes I feel like that sums up my life here at IMPACT.  Well, except for the sleeping part, based on last night's late night essay cram session. But that was something that I wouldn't have missed for all the sleep in the world. We had a huge suite party with popcorn, Tang-laced Koolaid, and eventually brownies. Chelsea danced to Wannabe and Grace told all of us to shut up. I witnessed to Emma, and when Emma witnessed to me we discovered that Jesus Christ is like brownies based on the rather faulty argument that "Jesus is coming. The brownies are coming. Therefore, Jesus is like brownies."

Somewhere around 4 hours or less of sleep, I have this survival system that kicks in and keeps me awake without too much trouble so long as I don't abuse it. I was thankful for that this morning because we had an amazing Life Formations. Trent took us out to Callaway to a little pavilion by the lake, and we ended up spending an hour in quiet time as rain drops crackled through the leaves. I spent most of it praying, just praising God for how amazing He is and celebrating the many wonderful things He has done, then ended up reading Psalm 116 which led into a bit of confession. I love prayer.

Last night, I met with Mary Michael and we talked about a variety of things. She encouraged me to confront some people and had some excellent insights into my life and the universe, that sort of thing.

On Wednesday, I met with Basie and we just chatted about college plans, books, ideas, motives, and whatever it is that one talks with someone like Basie about. And I got a book for my trouble (SCORE!).

Tonight, Saltacious is setting up an open mic night in the classroom which is to begin in five minutes. I was considering singing "The Lonely Goatherd" from The Sound of Music, but I don't have it memorized and my voice will be awful now that I've had a blizzard from DQ. 14 of us went to Chick-fil-A in LaGrange for dinner this evening and then most of that number stopped by DQ while I think the rest went to Walmart. Over the course of dinner, Ben told Chuck Norris jokes, Chelsea tried to confuse the new CfA worker, and Kyle attempted to set David up with the manager, Brittany, based on the fact that they are both 21. On the drive home, Grace came decently close to hitting a deer at the exact place where Kyle hit one this past Wednesday, much to Jillian and Krista's horrified chagrin.

This afternoon, a group of us ended up having a discussion with Basie about dating. And when I poked my head into the SLC office, David and Mary Michael were playing with their Silly Putty. Win!

I did a gorgeous backstitch job on a dress of Mary Michael's that had a broken strap. It was kind of weird because a piece had actually torn off, so I had to take the same piece from the other strap, cut it in half, and then sew both straps back on, but I somehow had thread the exact shade of the dress and my stitching was marvelous, which is not something that I can say very often. Grandma once accused me of knowing more about sewing than I let on. It's true.

Tomorrow we're helping at Rosemont's Harvest Party, which means that I'll probably end up reading the Economics in Christian Perspective book on Sunday. That's not cool. Especially since Krista and I are going to church with Katie and then to lunch at her apartment and then Best Buy. And then in the evening, Nathan scheduled a drama practice and we have hall meeting. Thankfully, I like economics and I'm excited about this book.

Monday is my birthday! And by an awesome quirk, Monday also happens to be the day that Marana rescheduled the dinner for, so I'll be having dinner with the Basies for my birthday (although I didn't tell her because I would rather not be fussed over, thanks). Then on Wednesday my C group is having dinner at the Wilbanks. And on Thursday, all of my planning and plotting will come to fruition as somewhere between 17 and 19 people go on a CIU road trip. Another class with Dr. Gentry, a tour of the campus, and an overnight stay. One word: awesome!

Scary thought: somewhere in the course of the next week, I need to fill out and submit my applications. ARGH!

Paz

This afternoon was a gift from God. How else can I describe that kind of perfection? Some moments are too marvelous to be the sum of the various components.

I was sitting at my computer listening to Bach's Magnificat with the overhead light off, just the strand of Christmas lights around the window aglow, and the door open so that I could smell and hear the rain along with the music. Annie was walking to her room, but stopped and walked into my room instead. We had an amazing talk about the Cotes and Victoria, when friends become more than friends, roommates, and children's books. We prayed together, laughed, and shared the unexpected blessing of a half hour of close conversation. This is why I love IMPACT.

I had just finished reading The Garden of Abdul Gasazi by Chris Van Allsburg to Annie when Alex strolled by with his guitar and took refuge on our porch. Drawn by the appeal of guitar music and rain, we went outside and started chatting with him. Annie wandered away, but I wanted to play in the rain, and I ended up blowing bubbles while standing in the downpour and listening to Alex play.

He got distracted when one of the bubbles went particularly far and high, but I said that they are extra strong because I breathe love into them. So Alex  caught some and I told him to translate all the love on his hands to beautiful music, an idea which piqued my fancy and led me to write a poem.

Peace: For Alex Purdie
Georgia rain shower;
Not quite autumn, not quite anything.
Water drops mingle with
the iridescent swirl and pop of soap bubbles,
floating on the love breath of my lips.

Guitar man with rain song strings,
He plays a simple melody.
But first- hand outstretched,
he catches love,
each little bubble happily dying because
their death is the voice of his tune.

I read it to Alex, who loved it. And he continued playing amazing songs on the guitar while I read poetry, and rain fell on everything.

But the surreality has not completely loosed its hold on me. David and Mary Michael gathered us all together for a surprise meeting where Sean informed us that he is leaving. I will never joke about the 25 cap again. I have at times struggled to serve him, but never desired his leaving. Without him, we are less.  He is not erased from our "family tree" simply because of his absence, but his departure leaves a Sean-shaped hole that nobody else is going to fill.

An afternoon of beauty, of tranquility, of paz, of pain. And we live on.

6 Degrees of Separation

Bethany made the observation last night that we would probably not struggle so much with our "IMPACT exile" if it weren't for the fact that we can't go back whether we would or no. I would argue otherwise because I admit that less than one day into my voluntary weekend in Tennessee, I was writhing to get back on campus, but in her defense here, I had no means of returning even if I willed to do so, and I had no control over our plans including the return time. So while I think that I would miss everyone just as much if I left willingly, perhaps it would not be quite so poignant a separation as twould be if it were forced.

Mostly that's a side note. I was just thinking about that game, six degrees of separation. Y'know, the one where you try to connect people through acquaintances, work, family, etc. to prove that they are removed by no more than six relationships? That game attempts to connect people who are entirely unrelated and either know nothing about one another or, if they are somehow aware of but not acquainted with one another, have no personal connection. This fall break is a contrast to that game in that we who are already connected, having sunk our hooks securely into each other's lives, were separated. I wonder how many of us besides the Carolinian contingent would have any connections outside of IMPACT. With students from so far afield as Arizona, Texas, Illinois, Ohio, and Pennsylvania, and more local students scattered across Georgia, Florida, Tennessee, North Carolina, and at the far fringes of "local," Virginia, I think it is not unfair to say that few of us could ever have met outside of such a place. To God be the glory, then, because He has willed that we should meet in this time and place. Despite the fact that we have only known each other for a month and a half and been aware of each other for maybe three (more for the preview day-ers), we have begun to form friendships that will last for a lifetime. I think a fairly common observation that we will hear on returning is that "the friendships I've formed at IMPACT are already deeper than some that I've had for years!"

I hope that Kennedy works in a few more devotions about humility when we return. I know that we were all inclined to laugh a bit when for the first two weeks of devotions all Kennedy could say was "humility, guys, humility." But I think that by now we all know Kennedy well enough to recognize that he is constantly (yes, Hayden, I really do mean constantly) attuned to God and the moving of His spirit. If we are not reflecting back on those words, I think that we are setting ourselves up for disaster. With regard to those old friendships... A friendship requires two people. If you feel that you have somehow risen above that relationship, remember that it took two of you to take that friendship to whatever depth it had. If it was shallow, remember that once you were probably not so intent on diving deeper yourself. If it was deep, thank God for the amazing friend that He put in your life who was willing to tackle the issues beneath the surface and to sharpen you in the process. When we fail, we like to distance ourselves from the failure, while we embrace our successes. This attitude borders on the hypocritical. I would suggest that you ought to embrace failure as a stepping stone to success, while distancing yourself from your role in your success by glorifying God in those moments.

However, that is tangential because no friendship can be measured in success or failure: a shallow friendship is simply an opportunity to go deeper. In hall meeting last Sunday, David did a "temperature check" where we rated ourselves on a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being the worst day of our lives or 10 being the best. Someone made the observation that a 5 is like neutrality, neither good nor bad. But later on we did a group temperature check of our community where David redefined the numbers by saying that 1 is "you guys cannot continue this way and if you don't do something radical to change it within a day or two, we might as well all go home" and 10 is "you can't possibly do anything to increase your fellowship with one another." Well obviously we are not at a 10, but nobody would put us at a 1 either. But as David pointed out, on September 8th, we were at a 1. None of us really knew each other (again, the Carolinian contingent is the exception), and if we had not been willing to move from a state of ignorance to knowledge, we would never have survived past the first week and a half. So it's not so much moving past neutrality as it is a growth process.

What applies to our entire community as a cohesive unit also applies to individual friendships. Had I gone home for break and visited work, I probably would have realized that most of my friendships there were not far beyond a two. But there my optimism or pessimism would come to the fore in how I designate that situation. Is it a failure or is it an opportunity for growth? Sometimes it's easier to give up, but I would challenge both my classmates and myself to take the more difficult path of seeking growth. Would we really abandon old friendships because we're too elitist to deal in the nitty gritty of sorting out relational difficulties? I hope not.

Paper Cranes

Where some girls have necklaces or dice hanging from their rearview mirror, I have a simple origami crane. It is crude, made from an index card, torn through the middle to string a piece of hemp through it. But it is not just some frivolous piece of paper art. That crane was given to me by a man named Michael. Michael plays guitar as if he could somehow give musical shape to his soul simply by picking out the right chord progression. He has a rough life, but he does not dwell on his own problems, preferring to focus on the people he draws with his music. He'll sit outside the cafe and play for hours, talking with but mostly listening to the people who pause and dare to break from their plans to sit with him. Sometimes he tells me their stories, and through him I have been impressed with the beauty of human existence. Everyone has some deeply felt grief, everyone has a heart wrenching joy, and who that person is in his essence... that is worth knowing. I want to know people like Michael knows people. As stories, as a muddled whirl of laughter and pain, as human beings worthy of a listening ear and a loving heart.

Glance

I thought I knew you, thought perhaps that I owned some small part of you as if by knowing it I could claim it with the jealous word "mine." But you have reminded me that this is not so. In your shadow lies the invisible trail of history, of life lived without me in it. So much (how much, I cannot comprehend with percentages, mathematic formulas) of your present is alien to me, shaped by forces I will never experience as you experienced them. I would breathlessly dare to call you friend, but as I looked into your eyes, I realized that you were wholly separate, wholly distinct, entirely self and not of myself or, but for barest contact of lifestream brushing against lifestream, concerned with myself. I do not know you. I cannot know you. And that is the mystery that makes you so beautiful to me.

The Navigator Turns the Wheel?

How do you suddenly make a course correction after a year and a half of careful consideration and planning? Can you really just change your mind? I've been asking myself these questions for a long time. The story.

Three years ago, I was sitting in my car before work, somewhere between dozing and daydreaming about what a bookstore that I would own would look like. It would have tall bookshelves, lots of windy spaces, a place you could get lost in. The children's area would contain all kinds of nooks with a massive mural of fairy tale and fantasy characters. There would be crash spots for reading groups, philosophy discussions, creative writing classes. A cafe on the second story with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the street (this was pre-working at PSC, by the way), booths and couches for the college populace, a basic espresso and tea menu with two soups du jour, tables like the ones at the Ben and Jerry's in San Juan: decoupaged with newspaper cut out phrases that you could spend hours reading. It would be more than a bookstore. More like a center of culture and community, with local art displayed on the walls and sold, local music available for purchase, bands playing in the cafe area on Saturday evenings, late nights. It would be in a college town, of course, maybe western Philadelphia. A place like Media. There would be a book exchange type of a deal for the students where they could turn in books for credit. Wood floors. Book smells. Cobblestone sidewalk outside my door.

I still love that idea. I still love books. I still love the idea of sharing books, community, cultur. And I think that I would make a good businessperson, but more in the administrative area. I don't think that I'm terribly personable, which would be necessary to bring the fullness of the vision to fruition. At some point, I think that idea just became a convenient way of shrugging off that nagging senior question: what are you going to do after high school? Ultimately, I was avoiding a more significant question: what am I passionate about? Some author somewhere said that it is a mistake to think that you should not do something in line with what you love and are good at just because it comes easily to you and that convicted me. But I don't think I'm a passionate person. In fact, I'd say I'm rather boring (you can disagree, it's okay) because the full extent of my interests are basically books and blowing bubbles. That doesn't translate into a lot of interests to turn into a life course.

Two events:

Dr. J.P. Moreland was our first guest lecturer, teaching the Biblical Worldview I module on our second week at IMPACT. Dr. Moreland hails from the Talbot School of Psychology at Biola University, an excellent Christian school outside of Los Angeles. In other words, far, far away. One evening before dinner, he was sitting in the commons room as I was skimming an article in Salvo that Basie and someone else wrote on Top 10 Best and Worst colleges in certain categories. One of their bests was Biola, so I asked Dr. Moreland to promote his university to me a bit. It actually turned into a bit of a joke because he said that he thought I would love it, and I, startled, asked him how he presumed to know what I like. Anyway, the idea niggles. Basie chimed in with Moreland and started promoting the Torrey Honors Institute and I made the bad move of actually looking into it. Drool. Ahem.

And now that I have researched it a little bit, it looks even more appealing in light of this past Tuesday. We had a mixed up schedule, so 737, our bible study, took place in the morning, and David talked about the chiastic micro and macrostructures of John's Prologue. It was wonderful. I love that kind of analysis, and I love learning about the Bible in that context. Hermeneutics is probably not my strong point, but exegesis is so fun. For Honors New Testament Letters this past year, MC had us write a ten-ish page commentary research paper on 1 and 2 Thessalonians, and my favorite part was delving into commentaries to find out about the history behind the books and reading Acts 17. Suddenly I found all of these connections that I hadn't seen before, and it opened up the New Testament in some amazing ways that I hadn't thought a simple history check of Thessalonians could do. I could be seriously enthused about spending a lot of time learning things like David was teaching on Tuesday, and I suspect that Torrey really fits into that.

The Checkpoint:

Why am I suddenly prepared to dive radically off course? I have a nagging suspicion that I got bored with my plans and I just want to be suddenly spontaneous. That is such a bad reason. But then again, Lewis points out that you can have both good and bad motivations at work simultaneously.

Mr. Bowdre, a member of IMPACT's board of advisors, informed me that if I did decide to attend Hillsdale College I would not be disappointed. Everyone he's known to graduate from there was enthusiastic about the education that each received. And I really clicked with Hillsdale. They have bagpipes. A mission that includes both Judeo-Christian values and Greco-Roman education. Some amazing professors that I would be honored to learn under. In all likelihood, I would not be able to visit Biola.

Conclusions?

Pray. We were talking about soulmates in wrap up today and I confessed to Basie during the break that one of my biggest struggles with that idea is that for me it comes back to the concept of predestination vs. free will. I've especially been thinking about that since, well... tangent for a text conversation with Matt.

Me: How many times would a mute duck quack if a mute duck could quack lots?
Matt: Hm. As many times as he wanted?
Me: But what if there is no such thing as free will?
Matt: Ok, now that's just preposterous.
...I thought I texted something here and next thing makes more sense to me if I did, but I'm not sure...
Matt: Predestination and free will aren't contradictory. It's weird like that.

I love Matt. He's great. Back on topic. Since we were talking about soulmates, I tend to gravitate toward the stance that there are no such things. And the thought that came into my head is that "foreknowledge does not prevent free will." But sometimes I suspect myself of trying to avoid predestination because, let's face it, my parents did not exactly raise me to be super dependent. I like to believe that I am in control of myself and my life. I hate being undignified because it shows a lack of self control. I hate crying in public. Same thing. I loved ice skating, but to learn to skate, I had to let go of the wall and all my fears of falling on my butt and looking ludicrous. The toughest thing for me in the midst of the college search process is believing that God actually wants to have a say in my planning and that I should listen to him. How do you even do that?

At the same time, I'm reading The Call by Os Guinness. Slowly. But it's been good for the 20 pages that I've read. Calling is an important back of my mind kind of theme right now, but God is working on me. I just hope He gets my act together quickly because I don't have much time to ponder :P The THI application requires a 5-8 page argumentative work and if I apply, it will be by mid-December. Shoo! After what Basie said about having a big paper to work on after break, no less.

Jewels and Meetings

I hate meetings. Especially when the meetings involve 26 people who all have distinct opinions and who are all leaders in their own right. It can be an intense time, but you have to be patient and loving because you know that each leader, yourself included, can tend towards the dreaded windbaggery. Ha. If I were using Firefox, that would not be a word. That's why I use Safari. Anyway.

Tonight, Mary Michael called a mass meeting so that Julia could air some very important griefs with the group. First, she said that she came to IMPACT expecting to be spiritually and intellectually challenged not only by the visiting professors and the staff members, but also by her classmates. She challenged us to challenge one another. Second, she added that there is not a great deal of depth to our relationships here. I didn't share in the meeting because, let's face it, 25 other people who have presumably deep things to say take a lot of time and I have to accept that with grace and a prayer to God.

Concerning Julia's first point, I have not seen that so much intellectually, but I think there is a specific reason for that. I am wretchedly introverted in some ways and I find it difficult to connect with people that I live with on a regular basis, but I have taken very seriously the encouragement to talk to our professors. For some reason, whenever I come to lunch they are often sitting alone or with only one or two others, and that is just wrong. They have so much to share and I have so much to learn, but sometimes I don't know how to ask the right questions in class and lunch is a great setting to find out more from them. I can just sit there and eat and listen and practically feel my brain consuming the calories before I put them in my mouth because I am so enthusiastically processing what this man is saying. Seriously, not everyone can say that they had lunch with J.P. Moreland. Twice. And sat in on two informal q&a sessions on top of three lectures. This man is legitimately brilliant and he has so much to teach us, but I think that many times we do not appreciate the depth of knowledge beyond what we hear in class and while I might try to make myself look good here, I am just as guilty as the next person.

At the same time, I can understand where she is coming from with regard to classmates on both the intellectual and the spiritual levels. Intellectually, the only person I recall talking with at any depth is ... Charles? Yeah, Charles, I guess. And Chelsea, when we exit our separate worlds long enough to be proper roommates. Chelsea is amazing because she is so intensely practical, she knows exactly how to put a vague notion into the right words, and she can defuse a tense situation without letting people off the hook. In some ways, I don't think this deficiency of discussion is so much a problem of others. It is a pride issue for me because I have fallen back into my old groove of thinking that (1) I am an intelligent person. (2) Intelligent people do not need the perspectives of those who are less intelligent. (3) Most of the people here do not demonstrate the same level of intelligence that I do (Yes, yes, obvious flaw of pride here, let us quibble over that later). Therefore, (4) I do not need the perspectives of those around me. Just sitting in a wrap up session debunks that entire (flawed) argument in about three seconds. I am enriched by the flow of ideas, even the ones that are phrased as questions or are gently dismantled to show the weakness of the underlying structure. I am an individual, but I am part of a body and while I function individually, my function enhances and contributes to the function of the whole. I cannot operate as a lone ego seeking my own ends. The better analogy is that of a puzzle piece where I display a single, necessary element, but I do not have every single part of the picture and so must relay on the connections that I form with others to find meaning and purpose.

Spiritually, I totally 100% feel what she is saying. As I told her this evening, "Julia, you just put the right words to something that I thought was another thing entirely." For the past week, I have been craving the conversation of my friends to the point where I will mentally scroll through my contact list and scratch people off. I was even struggling with hurt because my closest friends are too busy to make the effort of calling me and it all just seemed so unfair, but that was a huge drama of silliness. Basically, I needed deep human contact so that I could pour out some of myself and provide a shoulder for someone else, but I was lost in this idea that what I really needed was more alone time because I just couldn't handle being around the same people 24/7. Um, I went to Tennessee this weekend, and after two days of being away I still had that same feeling, so you would think I would get the picture, but thankfully, Julia has the guts to see the situation more clearly than I did. She is so right. Each time that I was dying to talk to somebody about something, be it a matter of joy or a matter of personal concern, I ruled out anyone here because I didn't think I knew anyone well enough to really give that part of myself to them. And I thought I was learning so much about vulnerability.

Honestly, I can't say that I'm going to jump out of bed tomorrow morning (probably not, since it's getting kind of late) and charge zestfully into new relationships of energizing depth and scope, but Julia has challenged my perspective in a serious and awesome way. I am humbled by her wisdom and her courage.

As for her second point, I guess I stumbled into that with my life story there.

A few side notes to catch up anyone here (Plootz, this is for you since you're the only person who reads this) on my life:

The Prologue of John has the coolest structure ever. David wins for talking about that in 737 this morning, and a mere two hours of Bible study might possibly have planted the seed for a course correction in my college aspirations. Whoa.

I got to speak with the Board of Advisors this morning about my journey here and what I've learned since orientation. I jotted down a few thoughts yesterday about the learning part and it reminded me of the importance of examining where I am and where I would like to go. I haven't had a chance yet to sit down and write out a vision statement, but I definitely have that on my to do list because you can't know if you're going where you want to go unless you can visibly see the scenery changing in ways that you stated that you wanted it to change. Maybe you can see it is changing, but without a vision, you don't know if that's where you want to go.

On a more humorous note, the Winnie the Pooh character breakdown of IMPACT as determined by Bethany and myself is as follows:
Dr. Fant is Rabbit, Ben is Pooh, Kyle is Christopher Robin, Emma is Piglet, Leah is Kanga, Annie is Roo, Alex or Charles is Tigger, David or Ryan is Eeyore, and Nathan is Owl.

I think that was a lot of word vomit that needed to get out quickly, so thank you for bearing with my scatterbrainedness. If you're out there and you're praying for me, please pray that I find a mentor, that we draw together with depth in our community, that we challenge one another at every level, and that God would be able to get into my thick noggin what His calling on my life is. Thanks!

When you look yourself in the eyes, what do you see? For that matter, besides the casual, passing glance of a swift review of your appearance... can you do it? Connect with your own reflection and dare to question who you are and what you reveal about yourself? I don't think it is an easy matter. But it should be done. Those who are least able to look themselves in the eyes are the ones who need most to do so.

Out of My League by Stephen Speaks

it's her hair and her eyes today
that just simply take me away
and the feeling that i'm falling further in love
makes me shiver but in a good way
all the times i have sat and stared
as she thoughtfully thumbs through her hair
and she purses her lips, bats her eyes as she plays,
with me sitting there slack-jawed and nothing to say
coz i love her with all that i am
and my voice shakes along with my hands
coz she’s all that I see and she’s all that I need
and i'm out of my league once again

it's a masterful melody when she calls out my name to me
as the world spins around her she laughs, rolls her eyes
and i feel like i'm falling but it's no surprise
coz i love her with all that i am
and my voice shakes along with my hands
cause it's frightening to be swimming in this strange sea
but i'd rather be here than on land
yes she's all that i see and she's all that i need
and i'm out of my league once again

it's her hair and her eyes today
that just simply take me away
and the feeling that i'm falling further in love
makes me shiver but in a good way
all the times i have sat and stared
as she thoughtfully thumbs through her hair
and she purses her lips, bats her eyes as she plays,
with me sitting there slack-jawed and nothing to say
coz i love her with all that i am
and my voice shakes along with my hands
cause it's frightening to be swimming in this strange sea
but i'd rather be here than on land
yes she's all that i see and she's all that i need
and i'm out of my league once again

Who's Who

When you pass me by

You block out the light;

Shadow dancing on the wall,

Shadow boxing with my gut.

The blow lands:

Pardon me,

I think I've mistaken you for who you're not.

Pause. Rewind. Stop. Eject.

Restoration

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us... //Hebrews 12:1//


I would like to start by admitting that I just chose that verse because it mentioned races and I want to say something clever about running. And it kind of applies in other ways. Anyway. That's my confession. Now for the clever bit.


As we run the race of life, sometimes our attention drifts and we end up running into a wall. The thing about running a long distance race is that you can't stop once you've started. It is so hard to pick up the pieces of what you were doing and go on when your muscles are aching and your lungs are screaming and everything in you whispers (or shouts), "Stop a moment, rest, you can resume the course later." As any runner who is like me knows, once you've paused for a rest, you'll either not start again or you will take more breaks afterward. 


At some point over the course of this past week, I hit a wall. The combination of sleep deprivation, lack of proper alone time, and absence of the truly familiar began to wear down my reserves and when I sat down to work on my first real paper this evening, it clobbered me. Defeated but resigned to my fate of arduously pegging away at writing this paper, I wandered back in the direction of my room with the intention of cloistering myself until something came from my fingers. But thankfully Krista sprang to the rescue. She recognized that something was wrong and told me to take my car and go someplace where I could be alone with God. Also thankfully, I had a place in mind, so I gratefully took her advice and made a break for it with Bible and journal in hand.


The world is beautiful from the heights of the mountains. Why do we associate majesty with great heights? Whatever the reason may be, the valley at sunset is not a thing to be laughed at. I pulled into a secluded overlook on the border of FDR State Park and howled at God for a half an hour until the sun had sunk into its bed. Not quite ready to return, I laid on the hood of my car and watched as the stars began making their presence known. I don't know if I found peace, but when I returned, I felt a renewed sense of strength to carry on. Maybe that is peace: knowing that in spite of the stress and the burdens that we carry, we will never be unable to soldier on because our strength is not our own. So I took my time getting to the work that I needed to do. I ate a bowl of yogurt and granola, helped critique Julia's paper, drank an amazing Jamocha shake courtesy of Chelsea, laughed when Julia kicked her out, printed off notes for James, chatted with Leah about the lecture and paper topics, started my paper and found myself 100 words short of a good summary. At that point, I ran next door to Meredith asking to see her notes and when she expressed her frustration and writer's block, I took her for a random, delightful run around the campus to clear her mind which didn't work out so well for me because I was wearing jeans without a belt. Oh dear. :) And apparently it just completely distracted her because she ended up doing P90X in the Commons Room, but so? 


Yes, I only have a paragraph and a half of my 750 word, three page paper written. Yes, I am late in getting to bed now. But I feel like my evening was not a waste. If anything, I benefitted immensely from the varied activities because I felt rested in a way that transcends satisfying the demands of exhaustion.


So now that all of that is out of me, I'm going to sleep. Dream sweet!

Reptiles and Revelations

Georgia is not Pennsylvania. That being said, there are some things about Georgia that make it worth my while to be here. Er, let us briefly forget that I am attending an amazing program that has thus far introduced me to the likes of J.P. Moreland and forces me to read books like god is not Great by Christopher Hitchens. Tonight as I was walking to the laundry room I saw something leap across my path. At first I was startled, but then I recalled seeing a toad or two before and wanted to observe this one. I like little creatures. So I crouched down and stayed still, trying to acclimate him a little bit to my presence. He hopped a few times, eyed me, hopped some more. He was a cheeky little creature with a pale underbelly and big black marble eyes. What an odd gentleman! I understand why we attempt to personify the likes of him because I know he was giving me an intelligent, assessing look. Seriously. Anyway, you're probably like "why the heck are you describing this, Christy?" Truthfully? No reason whatsoever. But then I saw this bug crawling toward him, and just as I was delightedly predicting its doom, his little tongue shot out like a lightning bolt and black beetle bug was no more. HA! It was the coolest thing I've seen this week. Maybe more than that. After that, Charles and Grace walked close by talking loudly and startled him into running away, but I felt better about the universe, having sort of communed with nature or something like that.

This has been a week of weariness. I have always assumed myself to hold a significant amount of self-discipline, but that view is swiftly slipping away. It's easy to not go to bed at the right time when bed is right next to you and you can sleep tomorrow night. It's easy to forget about reading that book or writing this assignment when you're told that community is a key element of living here. Spending time with other people, that just comes with the territory, right? Prioritization... Well, I know that tomorrow night I have to write a paper since I didn't write any of it tonight. So that means, what, Friday morning to finish Hitchens?

Last night I finished reading Passion & Purity by Elisabeth Elliot. I shall have to buy it, since the copy I read was from the Commons Room library. Which means, yes, I heartily approved. Her words challenged and convicted me in so many ways. Waiting, prayer, dedication, surrender, self-denial, chastity that transcends the mere physical, hope, longing, love, singleness... It was a good book. Too bad I have so many books that I want to read for my own ends. The Four Loves, Milkweed, Music For Chameleons, Ethan Frome, Small Gods, Crime & Punishment, Orthodoxy... It's a wonder that I've read even 60 pages of god is not Great. But that is as it shall be.

I miss home a bit. The sky. My sisters. The familiarity. The aquarium life of working at Prince Street Cafe. But this is a good place, and I belong here, where I am. It's a beautiful place with some incredible people. We live together, learn together, grow together, will eventually fight and make up. Living poetry as we walk out the calling God has placed in our lives. That is the community I am a part of.

Boats and Birds by Gregory & the Hawk

If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky,
You can hide underneath me and come out at night.
When I turn jet black and you show off your light,
I live to let you shine
I live to let you shine
You can skyrocket away from me
And never come back if you find another galaxy
Far from here with more room to fly
Just leave me your stardust to remember you by...

If you'll be my boat, I'll be your sea
A depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity.
Ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze,
I live to make you free
I live to make you free
And you can set sail to the west if you want to
Past the horizon 'til I can't even see you
Far from here where the beaches are wide
Just leave me your wake to remember you by...

Psalm 143

Hear my prayer, O Lord;
   listen to my plea!
   Answer me because you are faithful and
      righteous.
Don't put your servant on trial,
   for no one is innocent before you.
My enemy has chased me.
   He has knocked me to the ground
   and forces me to live in darkness like those
      in the grave.
I am losing all hope;
    I am paralyzed with fear.
I remember the days of old.
   I ponder all your great works
   and think about what you have done.
I lift my hands to you in prayer.
   I thirst for you as parched land thirsts
     for rain.

Come quickly, Lord, and answer me,
   for my depression deepens.
Don't turn away from me,
  or I will die.
Let me hear of your unfailing love each
    morning,
  for I am trusting you.
Show me where to walk,
   for I give myself to you.
Rescue me from my enemies, Lord;
   I run to you to hide me.
Teach me to do your will,
   for you are my God.
May your gracious Spirit lead me forward
   on a firm footing.
For the glory of your name, O Lord, preserve
   my life.
Because of your faithfulness, bring me out
   of this distress.
In your unfailing love, silence all my
   enemies
and destroy all my foes,
for I am your servant.

You Reign Forever

... Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord ...


Sometimes I get really frustrated with God. And then I write something approximating that sentence, look at it, and laugh. Because really, who am I to rush Him? He definitely has a much better perspective of my life situations than I do.

Be that as it may, there are times when I am painfully aware of Him moving in my life, as is the case right now. But not everywhere. There are places that I want Him to be doing something and in my narrow perspective, I don't think He is. And then I caterwaul about it to Him, and He laughs gently and reminds me that really, it's okay, He's got it under control. I just need to wait on His timing and hold on to hope.

------------------------

When I stopped by Lyndsay's desk this afternoon to take care of some community group business, Basie came downstairs to get his mail and in his stack was a magazine called Salvo. He recommended it to me, and, curious, I asked if I could have it right then. I have since devoured this issue and I heartily recommend it for anyone who cares about sex, science, or society, a potent mix of sibilance if you will. It is a firmly conservative magazine, but staunchly defends its stance with some intriguing evidence. In between articles that touched on global warming and an epidemic of liberal indoctrination in institutions of higher learning were a few ads that ran in the spirit of political cartoons. I include one for your edification and delight.

Super Big Brothers

Holy Sonnet 14 by John Donne

Batter my heart, three person'd God; for you

As yet but knock; but breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I like an usurped town to another due,

Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,

But am betroth'd unto your enemy;

Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison, for I,

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Revelation 22

On the afternoon of April the 8th, a friend and co-worker, Micah Berthold, died from injuries sustained in a car accident. That morning, I finished writing my final exegetical paper of my high school experience on Revelation 22. Our talk last night recalled it to my mind and I want to share it here, as well as the brief note I included when I emailed my paper to Mr. Cote.

The email:

Of all the chapters in the world to have written my final exegetical paper on, this was it. When you read it, you will note that it was obviously written before I heard news of Micah's death. When I finished the paper yesterday morning, I never dreamed that it would so immediately come back to me as a comfort. I guess I'm trying to say thank you for this assignment because no matter how much it hurts, I am reminded that I have that hope. Life is messed up, but it won't always be that way. And as wrong as it all seems and as weak a comfort as it is right now, he is in a better place.

The paper (it is written in a certain form, so I apologize if it is a little awkward): 

Revelation is one of the major sources of apocalyptic literature in the Bible, and with that designation comes stunningly beautiful imagery. It was composed by John as a written account of his visions while on the island of Patmos concerning the days to come, and it is addressed to “the seven churches … in Asia” according to Revelation 1:4, although seven does not necessarily denote specific churches so much as all churches because seven is a number used to imply completion in Revelations1. Revelation 22 is the final chapter of John’s saga, bringing the persecution to an end in the triumphant return of Jesus, who has come to establish his reign on earth. In John’s description of his revelation, there are distinct allusions to Genesis 1-3 as God’s original intent for His creation is realized. Revelation 22 begins with that description, then John touches on his encounter with the angel, and finally, he records God’s words to the people concerning their choice, ending with a blessing of grace.

      In verse one, John says that God showed him a single “river of life”  which refers back to Genesis 2:10 where it says that “a river flowed out of Eden to water the garden.” In Eden, the river gave life to the plants growing therein, while its Revelation 22:1 parallel flows not from the center of Eden but from the throne of God. The life of this water is not in its components which facilitate photosynthesis, nor is it merely from an earthly well. Instead it provides soul life directly from God in a way not seen since Adam walked with Him, unashamed of his nakedness. John goes on to describe the collectively singular trees of life which grow around the river, producing an abundance of fruit in all seasons because the death which previously necessitated the cycle of growth and harvest no longer prevails in a world wholly alive. Noteworthy is the fact that the tree of the knowledge of good and evil is no longer a part of the picture; its function no longer exists and the results of consuming its fruit have passed away with the redeeming act of Jesus’s death. This absence is explained in verse three, where John states that “there will no longer be any curse,” bringing the cycle of redemption to completion. Whatever the parallels to Genesis’s creation account are, the new earth appears to be an improvement in one respect: verse five says that there will be no need for light “because the Lord God will illumine [the people].” Paradise, then, will not be an exact replica of the Eden abandoned in the Fall. Instead, John points to a fulfillment of Eden occurring in typical Biblical fashion whereby it is “filled fuller” than before.

      After describing the earth to come, John states the exact nature of his commission as it was given to him by the angel. The angel’s purpose was to provide an account of the things soon to come to the Lord’s bondservants on earth2. John identifies himself as the bondservant who is instrumental to spreading the prophetic word on earth in verse eight. When John heard these words, he says that he “fell down to worship at the feet of the angel.” John was simultaneously awed and humbled in the face of this experience, but the angel tells him to worship God rather than a fellow servant. This redirection of John’s praise serves a purpose; the angel does not want John’s revelation to be on his authority. Instead, the entire prophecy is on God’s authority, so He is the one to be praised3. John is then given a specific command in verse ten to keep his prophecy “unsealed,” meaning that he is to spread it abroad in contrast to the earlier apocalyptic literature of Daniel which was meant to be sealed “until the end of time”4. The reason for this command lies in the same verse: “the time is near.”

      The final words are a progression in thought. John has just established that the end is near, so he expresses a final call to redemption. In light of this purpose, verse eleven seems to be a contradiction. John tells the wrong to continue in their wrongdoing and the filthy to maintain their filthiness. However, his words refer to the dynamic nature of spiritual life. There can be no stasis, always a person is moving forward or he is moving backward5. That the filthy would be better off casting off their filth is highlighted in verse fourteen, where the angel adds the beatitude, “Blessed are those who wash their robes.” Therefore, verse eleven serves more as a means of contrast than a declaration that the filthy ought to remain so. Verse sixteen provides an ownership of John’s words by Jesus, reaffirming his authority as the ultimate foundation for John’s revelation. And in verse seventeen, the Holy Spirit and the bride of Christ offer a final invitation into Paradise to all who are thirsty. John concludes with some admonishments to preserve unchanged the words of his revelation and calls a blessing on all.

      The main point of this passage is to give hope amidst present darkness with the description of abundant life soon to come. Although John tells of terrible famine, sickness, pestilence, and violence, he points to a time beyond the momentary pain that will stretch into eternity, far exceeding that brief period. If the Christians of the seven churches can but lift their eyes beyond that to the new earth to come, they will have the hope they need to carry on.

      Perhaps those early Christians also struggled with a mindset too often embroiled in the trials of the present. The Thessalonians were warned by Paul not to let themselves slack off, but to constantly be on the alert, so it is not a giant leap in thinking. Yesterday, I received the news that a co-worker and all-around wonderful guy was in a terrible accident that has him attached to innumerable tubes and machines fighting to keep him alive. Multiple broken bones, a collapsed lung, brain swelling and inadequate oxygen flow… The picture is pretty hopeless. Right now I am struggling to hold on to hope that he will be okay and it is hard for me to believe that God will be able to work through this somehow. But this passage in Revelation, combined with something that the April 8th chapel speaker Conroy Lewis said, reminds me to look past the difficulties and the pain of the present. Micah’s situation may be awful, but I can still pray for his healing. And to be honest, he is one of few people my age that I think could actually come out stronger. He will need every ounce of strength that God can give him, but as Mr. Cote recently said at Headmaster’s Round Table, God gives specific anointing to people in specific situations. And failing all else, Micah is a Christian. Life hurts in so many ways, but the promise of the future is the hope of Jesus Christ. To despair is to deny him again.

Sinking Into Grace

 We are His portion and He is our prize

Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes

If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking

//from How He Loves by John Mark McMillan//

Today is a beautiful day. The clouds overhead are threatening rain, and when the rain falls, it is as if God's grace is in every drop.

Last night at our Tuesday Bible study known also as 737 we were talking about Genesis 1-3 and Revelation 21-22. Creation and ultimate Redemption. Somehow in the course of talking about those chapters, David (one of our Student Living and Learning Coordinators) said something very simple and profound. "God likes you." And I know your first thought is probably, "Yeah, Christy, I know. It's not exactly old news." But think about it. We all know that God loves us. Your mother probably told you that as she tucked you in at night when you were three. But do you really believe that God likes you? Because suddenly that changes things. Where once you feared to approach Him, suddenly that fear falls away. Because He likes you. He made you, and yes, you are flawed, and yes, you have a lot of scars, guilt, a burden that you ache under, but He likes you.

Today I learned a bit about grace. For years I have struggled with something that has torn away at my spirit, and while I have shared it before with some people, I have never been able to escape it. But I knew even as I was filling out the application and writing my admissions essays for IMPACT 360 that if I didn't deal with it then, I would end up dealing with it here.  So I came prepared to be vulnerable, to be raw and open, afraid but suffocating. 

Have you ever hidden in a closet while playing hide and seek? Your impatience grows as you await the hollers that accompany the seeker finding one of your playmates, gradually growing sweaty and uncomfortable, fighting off a sneeze as the dust of a well-packed closet creeps into your nostrils until you want so badly to be found. And you wait. Seconds feel like minutes. And you wait. Until at last you hear tentative footsteps, the creak of the door opening, the light pouring in as it is carried on a breath of the sweetest, freshest air you could imagine.

I have played hide and seek for a long time. But by God's grace, I have been found and the air outside is sweeter than honey, the rain that falls a kiss. Because He loves me. And because He likes me. 

I lie awake thinking of you, meditating on you through the night. Because you are my helper, I sing for joy in the shadow of your wings. I cling to you; your strong right hand holds me securely. //Psalm 63:6-8//

Have mercy on me, O God, because of your unfailing love. Because of your great compassion, blot out the stain of my sins. Wash me clean from my guilt. Purify me from my sin. For I recognize my rebellion; it haunts me day and night. Against you, and you alone, have I sinned; I have done what is evil in your sight... Purify me from my sins, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Oh, give me back my joy again; you have broken me-- now let me rejoice. //Psalm 51:1-4a, 7-8//

If we claim we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and not living in the truth. But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness. //1 John 1:8-9//

Counting down...

Sometimes those final minutes take forever to tick by. That was most of my summer. But occasionally time just hurls you forward like a catapult, painfully abrupt in the take off and the landing. That is my week.

Amidst the busyness of saying good-bye to friends and family, of trying not to go insane as I deal with those men in dark suits with the power to financially sink or swim my plans, of packing away the final pieces of this life that I will be carrying with me, a single line from an old song has been my crutch. When we were young, Mother would always sing, "The joy of the Lord is my strength." We would even sort of musically laugh the whole way through the song, I guess as evidence of the Lord's joy in us :) It was fun to sing when I was little, but it's truth never really popped out to me so much as now. Who knew there was so much to do in preparation for departure? But that line reminds me of two things.

First, my strength is not of myself. I can only get me so far before I falter. But in my weakness, God is glorified. The other day I was thinking about how little I credit God for, a thought that returned when I was talking with Grandma this morning. She has such gratitude to and dependence on Him and affirms it often. I was humbled to realize how little glory I give to God, when He acts so powerfully in my life. But He doesn't stop because of my blindness, or Debbie and Crystal definitely wouldn't have shown up at exactly the right time to save the day :) (Thank you both so much! I can't even tell you how much it meant to me just to be able to let everything out right then.) It's not that He's not acting. It's that I'm not looking.

Second, "the joy of the Lord." Dratted joyfulness. But worse still is crankiness! Honestly, if I rely simply on my physical state of being as the barometer for my mood, the rest of my week is going to just tank. I don't foresee much sleep between now and 6:30AM on Sunday morning. But joy is not dependent on physical circumstances. Otherwise, Paul could never have written his letter to the Philippians, or, at the very least, it would have been greatly modified.

Anyway, if I didn't/don't get to say good-bye to any of you, I really am sorry! I love you all and will miss you. But hey, with so many avenues of technology, you have no excuse not to stay in touch! So email me, call me, write to me. I'm on Facebook, and there are about 17 different ways to talk to someone on Facebook. And of course, I will be updating this blog throughout the year (no promises about the frequency), so you can always leave comments here. :)