Christ is our Priest.
"We do have such a high priest, who sat down at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, and who serves in the sanctuary, the true tabernacle set up by the Lord, not by man." Hebrews 8:1-2.
No earthly priest would have dared to sit down in the temple or the tabernacle, but Christ is seated at God's right hand. He is so honored and so pure, so precious and so beloved to the Father that He can minister for us even as He rests in God's presence.
He has entered Heaven itself for us. Instead of ministering in a shadow, He ministers in the real thing, God's own presence, not a symbol of God's presence. Because of His human nature, He knows our needs exactly and knows how to pray for God on our behalf. His prayers for us are immediate, wise, faithful. He never pauses or stops in His ministry.
What does that mean for me? That He knows what I need before I need it. That His prayers are accepted by the Father, even are pleasing to the Father. I am welcomed there because He is the one who has invited me, even into the presence of the holy Creator.
Also, that whatever sins and mistakes I make, they are covered by His faithful ministry. God can never cast me out because His Son prays for me continuously. Peace.
02 July 2009
The Cyprus team has been going well. It's been an intense three weeks, though.
Our first week was spent mostly painting the church hall. Technically, we were staining it, since it's covered in wooden siding. That was our first introduction to the blazing Cyprus sun, at least for Andrew and me. We would spend most mornings and at least part of most afternoons working on the building. For lunch, members of the Greek church brought us food, so we got to try Cypriot cooking. We also went to Finikoudes, the beach in Larnaca, one afternoon.
Every evening, we ran youth club for young people ages 12-18 at the church hall. The young people here are a wonderful bunch. Not very mature in their faith, perhaps, but full of energy and life. No cliques; everyone is friends with everyone else. They're all very talented, too, an artsy bunch. They love to act and ham it up, which makes youth club a lot of fun. We played games with them for about an hour-and-a-half each evening, followed by a talk or testimony by one of the team members.
During our second week, we ran Bible club for kids ages 5-12 at the church. On the day when we had the most, there were forty-five; on the day when we had the least, there were twenty-four. We began each day with opening exercises--singing, a story from the life of Joseph, and memory verse. Then half of the kids played games outside while the other half worked on a craft, and then they traded places. The kids had loads and loads of energy. Even after running around in the sun all morning, most of them were still active enough to chase Andrew all over the church property, laughing and screaming, while we cleaned up.
We continued to run youth club in the evenings during that week, which made the week quite intense. We would eat lunch at the house of someone in the church after Bible club, usually at about two o'clock in the afternoon. We'd get back to our house at about four o'clock, sleep for a little while, then go to youth club at about six o'clock. We wouldn't get back from youth club until at least half ten, sometimes later. But it was well worth it. We did activities with the youth: a photo scavenger hunt, a film night, a games night, a beach night, etc. They were up for the silliest things. For the photo scavenger hunt, one of the guys pretended to eat a live pigeon.
Last weekend, on Saturday afternoon, we went with fourteen of the young people (ages 16-18) up into the Troodos Mountains for youth camp. We stayed there until late Tuesday afternoon. The mountains aren't anything like the Rockies, but they smelled and felt the same. Pine trees thick on steep rocky slopes, blue ridges marching away into the distance. Our camp was on top of one of the mountains, and from the back of the kitchen, where we washed dishes, we had a lovely view of a long blue valley.
John George from Northern Ireland was our speaker for the weekend. He gave three talks on Ecclesiastes, which were really challenging. A call to put God at the centre of our lives: not to waste life, but to spend it pursuing Him. The young people were very responsive, and we had good discussion times after each talk.
Our days during camp were pretty free. We spent a lot of time just hanging out, playing games, going for walks, stargazing, sitting around talking, etc. A woman from the church and her daughter cooked for us, and we all helped with the chores. The tents were canvas pavilions set up on concrete pads with proper beds inside. We spent most of our time outside, though, sitting in the warm sunshine.
Yesterday, the youth group went on a trip to Waterworld, a water park about half-an-hour from Larnaca. Since it was the day after camp, the team and the young people who'd gone to camp were all still really tired. There were about thirty of us in the group, and we had a lot of fun. The water park was small enough that we could do most of the rides before lunch and then spend the afternoon either going back on ones we'd done or just relaxing. Lorna worked on her tan. I swam in some of the pools reserved for swimming and watched the young people go down the rides again.
Today we've been resting. It's been good to have some time to ourselves. Andrew has spent most of the day up in his room on his laptop, and Lorna, Kait, and I have spent most of it sitting in the living area, reading or on the internet, and listening to Lorna's iPod (she has an apparently inexhaustible music collection). Kait is making pizza for us tonight, and Chris and some of his friends are coming over to watch a film with us.
Cyprus is a lot like Oklahoma in many ways. Flat, with some big hills, and extremely dry. The fields are already brown, round haybales trundled untidily to bake in the sun. The houses are all white blocks, very square, with water tanks on top. Here, though, they can grow rhododendrons and bouganvillea, and there are palm trees everywhere.
Today I went for a walk along the big salt lake near the Mastris' house (we're staying with Adam and Jeanette Mastris, who are away in the States for their son's wedding at the minute). It's so barren. The salt lake is mostly empty at this time of year, one dead flat sheet of salt sparkling in the sun, stretching away with a tiny sheen of water in the middle. To the west, there are houses--square and white with red roofs--, and beyond them the vague blue bulk of the foothills rising against a bleached blue sky. Dead eucalyptus trees grew along the path with their bark hanging in shreds, and thick stands of bamboo grew ten or twelve feet high where the land was lower. I saw a fluffy cat playing with an enormous black snake that must've been four or five feet long--very surreal.
Tomorrow we're going to a nicer beach for the day with Chris and company (Alisia Burgess, Martha, a girl from youth club, and Alex, her college-aged brother), and then on Saturday to Paphos. Sabbath day will be another day of double church--first the English church, then the Greek--and on Monday I assume we'll be packing up.
Church here is quite an experience. Both the English and the Greek groups are small, though the Greek group is slightly larger. During Greek church, we sit at the back, and one of the elders interprets for us. Thus there's a constant low muttering undercurrent during the service of Greek being turned into English. Both churches, however, sing Psalms, so when the Greek church sings a Psalm to a familiar tune, we just sing that same Psalm in English.
Andrew and I fly back to the States on Tuesday. Our flights leave at the joyous time of 5:00 a.m. We go from Larnaca to Heathrow, where he takes a plane to Kansas, and I take a plane to Houston, and then to Oklahoma City. It's going to be a long, long day.
Our first week was spent mostly painting the church hall. Technically, we were staining it, since it's covered in wooden siding. That was our first introduction to the blazing Cyprus sun, at least for Andrew and me. We would spend most mornings and at least part of most afternoons working on the building. For lunch, members of the Greek church brought us food, so we got to try Cypriot cooking. We also went to Finikoudes, the beach in Larnaca, one afternoon.
Every evening, we ran youth club for young people ages 12-18 at the church hall. The young people here are a wonderful bunch. Not very mature in their faith, perhaps, but full of energy and life. No cliques; everyone is friends with everyone else. They're all very talented, too, an artsy bunch. They love to act and ham it up, which makes youth club a lot of fun. We played games with them for about an hour-and-a-half each evening, followed by a talk or testimony by one of the team members.
During our second week, we ran Bible club for kids ages 5-12 at the church. On the day when we had the most, there were forty-five; on the day when we had the least, there were twenty-four. We began each day with opening exercises--singing, a story from the life of Joseph, and memory verse. Then half of the kids played games outside while the other half worked on a craft, and then they traded places. The kids had loads and loads of energy. Even after running around in the sun all morning, most of them were still active enough to chase Andrew all over the church property, laughing and screaming, while we cleaned up.
We continued to run youth club in the evenings during that week, which made the week quite intense. We would eat lunch at the house of someone in the church after Bible club, usually at about two o'clock in the afternoon. We'd get back to our house at about four o'clock, sleep for a little while, then go to youth club at about six o'clock. We wouldn't get back from youth club until at least half ten, sometimes later. But it was well worth it. We did activities with the youth: a photo scavenger hunt, a film night, a games night, a beach night, etc. They were up for the silliest things. For the photo scavenger hunt, one of the guys pretended to eat a live pigeon.
Last weekend, on Saturday afternoon, we went with fourteen of the young people (ages 16-18) up into the Troodos Mountains for youth camp. We stayed there until late Tuesday afternoon. The mountains aren't anything like the Rockies, but they smelled and felt the same. Pine trees thick on steep rocky slopes, blue ridges marching away into the distance. Our camp was on top of one of the mountains, and from the back of the kitchen, where we washed dishes, we had a lovely view of a long blue valley.
John George from Northern Ireland was our speaker for the weekend. He gave three talks on Ecclesiastes, which were really challenging. A call to put God at the centre of our lives: not to waste life, but to spend it pursuing Him. The young people were very responsive, and we had good discussion times after each talk.
Our days during camp were pretty free. We spent a lot of time just hanging out, playing games, going for walks, stargazing, sitting around talking, etc. A woman from the church and her daughter cooked for us, and we all helped with the chores. The tents were canvas pavilions set up on concrete pads with proper beds inside. We spent most of our time outside, though, sitting in the warm sunshine.
Yesterday, the youth group went on a trip to Waterworld, a water park about half-an-hour from Larnaca. Since it was the day after camp, the team and the young people who'd gone to camp were all still really tired. There were about thirty of us in the group, and we had a lot of fun. The water park was small enough that we could do most of the rides before lunch and then spend the afternoon either going back on ones we'd done or just relaxing. Lorna worked on her tan. I swam in some of the pools reserved for swimming and watched the young people go down the rides again.
Today we've been resting. It's been good to have some time to ourselves. Andrew has spent most of the day up in his room on his laptop, and Lorna, Kait, and I have spent most of it sitting in the living area, reading or on the internet, and listening to Lorna's iPod (she has an apparently inexhaustible music collection). Kait is making pizza for us tonight, and Chris and some of his friends are coming over to watch a film with us.
Cyprus is a lot like Oklahoma in many ways. Flat, with some big hills, and extremely dry. The fields are already brown, round haybales trundled untidily to bake in the sun. The houses are all white blocks, very square, with water tanks on top. Here, though, they can grow rhododendrons and bouganvillea, and there are palm trees everywhere.
Today I went for a walk along the big salt lake near the Mastris' house (we're staying with Adam and Jeanette Mastris, who are away in the States for their son's wedding at the minute). It's so barren. The salt lake is mostly empty at this time of year, one dead flat sheet of salt sparkling in the sun, stretching away with a tiny sheen of water in the middle. To the west, there are houses--square and white with red roofs--, and beyond them the vague blue bulk of the foothills rising against a bleached blue sky. Dead eucalyptus trees grew along the path with their bark hanging in shreds, and thick stands of bamboo grew ten or twelve feet high where the land was lower. I saw a fluffy cat playing with an enormous black snake that must've been four or five feet long--very surreal.
Tomorrow we're going to a nicer beach for the day with Chris and company (Alisia Burgess, Martha, a girl from youth club, and Alex, her college-aged brother), and then on Saturday to Paphos. Sabbath day will be another day of double church--first the English church, then the Greek--and on Monday I assume we'll be packing up.
Church here is quite an experience. Both the English and the Greek groups are small, though the Greek group is slightly larger. During Greek church, we sit at the back, and one of the elders interprets for us. Thus there's a constant low muttering undercurrent during the service of Greek being turned into English. Both churches, however, sing Psalms, so when the Greek church sings a Psalm to a familiar tune, we just sing that same Psalm in English.
Andrew and I fly back to the States on Tuesday. Our flights leave at the joyous time of 5:00 a.m. We go from Larnaca to Heathrow, where he takes a plane to Kansas, and I take a plane to Houston, and then to Oklahoma City. It's going to be a long, long day.
15 June 2009
This poor blog is in a sad state of neglect....
Monday and Tuesday were Catherine days over here. She and I met up in Belfast as already mentioned and spent the two days together. Tuesday afternoon, we went to the beach. Both of us just lay in the sand in the sunshine and dozed before she took me to the McCollums' house.
Thanks to an endless succession of social activities and Emmaline's small Volkswagen, we've been driving all over everywhere: to Lisburn for a funeral on Wednesday, then to Cloughmills for a meeting of synod; to Belfast for a CU small group reunion on Thursday, then to Newtownards on Friday to drop off a wedding present. In between times we chased cows up and down roads, changed fences, and worked on various lessons for our separate mission teams.
Saturday was running errands around Coleraine day, and the Glenmanus RP Go Team arrived Saturday evening. Yesterday, we went for a soaking wet walk on the beach after church, and today we handed out leaflets all morning. This afternoon we had a Bible study and raided the church loft for games equipment.
I said good-bye to almost everyone this evening. If nothing else, it's simply strange not to be here, not to be able to meet up with Emmaline and Catherine and Rachel and Daphne and Amy and everyone. Unnatural. I hate the string of good-byes, leaving people behind one after the other, not knowing when I'll see them again. I already miss them, missing part of my body, and I haven't even left the country yet.
None of this is particularly newsworthy, though. Second verse, same as the first (almost, anyway). I want to be in one place with the people I love. Nothing new or different.
But that desire isn't enough. Trying to satisfy oneself on one's friends is dangerous. For one thing, it imperils the friendship, I think. Expecting too much puts pressure on everyone and diminishes the existence of Christlike grace in the relationship. Even simply wanting to be happy isn't enough. Happiness lasts for five minutes and ends as soon as the conversation or meal or afternoon is over. Despite that, I go to these things for satisfaction. I go to them again and again, like the Samaritan woman in John 4, trying to quench my thirst without ever having rest.
Somehow it sounds proud to say, 'I'll settle for nothing less than God Himself!' As though I'm so high-and-mighty that nothing else is good enough. Yet since our greatest act of pride was to decide that we would be the ones to choose what satisfied us, not God, perhaps it is actually an act of humility to set everything else aside. To lay aside all my attempts to make everything play out perfectly, all my attempts to please everyone. To say that none of that matters, only God and obeying His revealed will.
But that's very hard. My habits refuse to die. I'd much rather be pleased right here, right now, rather than pursuing some far-off, invisible satisfaction.
To that question it would be so easy to give the pat answer, 'Aha! Your satisfaction has been made visible! Christ was incarnate, and now He reigns in Heaven!' It is true, truth of truths, but the fact that my mind spits that answer out so easily reflects a lack of real understanding--of how deep my sin runs, of how much agony results from seeking satisfaction in other places, of how painful it is to pursue Christ, of how much Christ's incarnation cost for Him.
The truth is that I probably won't ever be at peace on this earth. Tiredness, loneliness, and despair will probably be an ingredient of most days here because I am sinful and so are the people around me.
On Saturday night, Emmaline chose James 1:2-5 as the Holiday Bible Club memory verse. God gives generously. And 'He rewards those who seek Him' (Hebrews 11:6). I need to devote myself so much more to learning about Him, to thinking about what He has done and what His will in the Scriptures means. So that when I am thirsty like this and dead tired, I can have real comfort, not just in 'Oh, you'll see them again,' or even 'Oh, you're going to Heaven,' but in the Lord Himself, who is the centre of every friendship and the crown of Heaven's glory.
Monday and Tuesday were Catherine days over here. She and I met up in Belfast as already mentioned and spent the two days together. Tuesday afternoon, we went to the beach. Both of us just lay in the sand in the sunshine and dozed before she took me to the McCollums' house.
Thanks to an endless succession of social activities and Emmaline's small Volkswagen, we've been driving all over everywhere: to Lisburn for a funeral on Wednesday, then to Cloughmills for a meeting of synod; to Belfast for a CU small group reunion on Thursday, then to Newtownards on Friday to drop off a wedding present. In between times we chased cows up and down roads, changed fences, and worked on various lessons for our separate mission teams.
Saturday was running errands around Coleraine day, and the Glenmanus RP Go Team arrived Saturday evening. Yesterday, we went for a soaking wet walk on the beach after church, and today we handed out leaflets all morning. This afternoon we had a Bible study and raided the church loft for games equipment.
I said good-bye to almost everyone this evening. If nothing else, it's simply strange not to be here, not to be able to meet up with Emmaline and Catherine and Rachel and Daphne and Amy and everyone. Unnatural. I hate the string of good-byes, leaving people behind one after the other, not knowing when I'll see them again. I already miss them, missing part of my body, and I haven't even left the country yet.
None of this is particularly newsworthy, though. Second verse, same as the first (almost, anyway). I want to be in one place with the people I love. Nothing new or different.
But that desire isn't enough. Trying to satisfy oneself on one's friends is dangerous. For one thing, it imperils the friendship, I think. Expecting too much puts pressure on everyone and diminishes the existence of Christlike grace in the relationship. Even simply wanting to be happy isn't enough. Happiness lasts for five minutes and ends as soon as the conversation or meal or afternoon is over. Despite that, I go to these things for satisfaction. I go to them again and again, like the Samaritan woman in John 4, trying to quench my thirst without ever having rest.
Somehow it sounds proud to say, 'I'll settle for nothing less than God Himself!' As though I'm so high-and-mighty that nothing else is good enough. Yet since our greatest act of pride was to decide that we would be the ones to choose what satisfied us, not God, perhaps it is actually an act of humility to set everything else aside. To lay aside all my attempts to make everything play out perfectly, all my attempts to please everyone. To say that none of that matters, only God and obeying His revealed will.
But that's very hard. My habits refuse to die. I'd much rather be pleased right here, right now, rather than pursuing some far-off, invisible satisfaction.
To that question it would be so easy to give the pat answer, 'Aha! Your satisfaction has been made visible! Christ was incarnate, and now He reigns in Heaven!' It is true, truth of truths, but the fact that my mind spits that answer out so easily reflects a lack of real understanding--of how deep my sin runs, of how much agony results from seeking satisfaction in other places, of how painful it is to pursue Christ, of how much Christ's incarnation cost for Him.
The truth is that I probably won't ever be at peace on this earth. Tiredness, loneliness, and despair will probably be an ingredient of most days here because I am sinful and so are the people around me.
On Saturday night, Emmaline chose James 1:2-5 as the Holiday Bible Club memory verse. God gives generously. And 'He rewards those who seek Him' (Hebrews 11:6). I need to devote myself so much more to learning about Him, to thinking about what He has done and what His will in the Scriptures means. So that when I am thirsty like this and dead tired, I can have real comfort, not just in 'Oh, you'll see them again,' or even 'Oh, you're going to Heaven,' but in the Lord Himself, who is the centre of every friendship and the crown of Heaven's glory.
10 June 2009
Now Playing: Indelible Grace, 'Pilgrim Days', 'Psalm 73'.
Nicole and I arrived safely in Belfast on May 22, took the bus, and got to Renwick at about one o'clock in the afternoon. We spent the weekend with Rachel and Daphne in their house up the Stranmillis Road. Everyone was revising for exams, so Nicole and I spent most of the time either sleeping or wandering around the city. The spring continental market was on in front of city hall, so we went down there and tried some of the exotic foods one lunchtime. The roses were just beginning to bloom in the gardens. We went to church at Shaftesbury Square on Sabbath day, and Rosemary cooked lunch for a whole bunch of us at her house afterward.
On Tuesday, Nicole and I flew over to Edinburgh, where we met Alyson. She gave us both enormous hugs. We walked the Royal Mile and, purely by accident, chose the most American restaurant on the Mile for lunch. Then took the bus to St. Andrew's, where we spent a couple of nights, helping Alyson pack, eating fish-and-chips, and going to the beach.
On Thursday, the three of us flew from Edinburgh to Pisa. Most of Europe was covered in cloud, but as we left England, I saw the white cliffs of Dover. Later, we saw the Alps, rearing massive and terrifying toward the plane. When we stepped off the plane in Pisa, the air was warm and smelled of jasmine. Blue Appenines in the distance.
Our week in Florence was lovely. We stayed in a convent in the city centre for four nights and then in a hostel on the edge of the city for three nights. The people in the convent were very kind, and the people in the hostel were entertaining (thirty French girls in the bathroom all getting ready at six o'clock one morning; a drunk Spanish guy shouting at Alyson and me one evening; a Chinese girl describing her Spanish lessons to a German girl in English at breakfast).
The city itself was very beautiful. Rich colors, warm terra cotta, gold, brown, umber, green, red. The churches and the gardens were my favorite parts, although the Accademia and Uffizi art galleries were spectacular in their own way. Santa Croce, San Maria Novella, and Orsanmichele, the three churches we saw properly, were all so beautiful. Full of frescoes by famous Renaissance and medieval painters, forests of arched columns, tombs of famous thinkers and artists. We went to mass in the Duomo on Sabbath day, which was quite an experience. At the moment when the priest elevated the host, not only was the organ playing, but suddenly the bells began to ring in the campanile far overhead, and the noise filled the enormous space, magnificent echoes rippling through the massive domes.
The food was also good. Our best meals were actually the ones we scraped together in grocery stores: bread, strange cheese, and whatever meat looked good. Nicole usually chose the cheese, and it was always something none of us had seen before (except the first day, when we ate gorgonzola). The fresh peaches, strawberries, and grapes were absolutely delicious.
We spent all of one day walking around gardens on one of the hilltops. Of course that was the one day it rained, but still, the gardens were quite lovely. Not much was blooming, but it was refreshing to wander down long aisles of trees after spending several days trying to navigate on the city streets.
On Thursday, we flew from Pisa to Edinburgh, and the three of us spent the night in a hostel just off the Mile. Alyson left early in the morning to return to the States. Strange to have our trip over and our threesome split up. Nicole and I flew to Belfast that day, and the Wilsons met us at the airport. We spent the weekend with them and went to Trinity on Sabbath day. Everyone welcomed us back. The Flemings and Officers each have a beautiful new baby girl. The Flemings' girl shares my middle name, and the Officers' girl just couldn't stop smiling at Nicole.
Sabbath evening, Mr. and Mrs. W took us back to Rachel and Daphne's house in Belfast, where we spent the night. At a quarter past four Monday morning, Nicole and I walked down to the Europa station, where she got the bus to the airport. Strange and sad to say good-bye, to have all our planning and sightseeing and fellowship over for the moment.
I spent Monday and Tuesday with Catherine mostly. We went up to Ballymoney on Tuesday, and from there we drove to Portstewart Strand Tuesday afternoon. The day was beautiful, light rippling over the small green hills as over water, vibrant, living colors. The sea was rich cobalt, very calm, sailboats on the water. Clouds were coming up over the cliffs of Donegal to the south, but Catherine and I spent a couple of restful hours lying on the sand dunes in the sunshine.
Then she left me at the McCollums' house in time for tea. It was as though I'd never been away. This morning Mr. M had Emmaline and me both up to chase cows into the fields after they'd been milked, and then Emmaline and I drove to Lisburn. I'm spending the afternoon in her uncle's house while she and their family go to a funeral, and then we're going to a meeting of the Northern Irish Reformed Presbyterian synod this evening.
Nicole and I arrived safely in Belfast on May 22, took the bus, and got to Renwick at about one o'clock in the afternoon. We spent the weekend with Rachel and Daphne in their house up the Stranmillis Road. Everyone was revising for exams, so Nicole and I spent most of the time either sleeping or wandering around the city. The spring continental market was on in front of city hall, so we went down there and tried some of the exotic foods one lunchtime. The roses were just beginning to bloom in the gardens. We went to church at Shaftesbury Square on Sabbath day, and Rosemary cooked lunch for a whole bunch of us at her house afterward.
On Tuesday, Nicole and I flew over to Edinburgh, where we met Alyson. She gave us both enormous hugs. We walked the Royal Mile and, purely by accident, chose the most American restaurant on the Mile for lunch. Then took the bus to St. Andrew's, where we spent a couple of nights, helping Alyson pack, eating fish-and-chips, and going to the beach.
On Thursday, the three of us flew from Edinburgh to Pisa. Most of Europe was covered in cloud, but as we left England, I saw the white cliffs of Dover. Later, we saw the Alps, rearing massive and terrifying toward the plane. When we stepped off the plane in Pisa, the air was warm and smelled of jasmine. Blue Appenines in the distance.
Our week in Florence was lovely. We stayed in a convent in the city centre for four nights and then in a hostel on the edge of the city for three nights. The people in the convent were very kind, and the people in the hostel were entertaining (thirty French girls in the bathroom all getting ready at six o'clock one morning; a drunk Spanish guy shouting at Alyson and me one evening; a Chinese girl describing her Spanish lessons to a German girl in English at breakfast).
The city itself was very beautiful. Rich colors, warm terra cotta, gold, brown, umber, green, red. The churches and the gardens were my favorite parts, although the Accademia and Uffizi art galleries were spectacular in their own way. Santa Croce, San Maria Novella, and Orsanmichele, the three churches we saw properly, were all so beautiful. Full of frescoes by famous Renaissance and medieval painters, forests of arched columns, tombs of famous thinkers and artists. We went to mass in the Duomo on Sabbath day, which was quite an experience. At the moment when the priest elevated the host, not only was the organ playing, but suddenly the bells began to ring in the campanile far overhead, and the noise filled the enormous space, magnificent echoes rippling through the massive domes.
The food was also good. Our best meals were actually the ones we scraped together in grocery stores: bread, strange cheese, and whatever meat looked good. Nicole usually chose the cheese, and it was always something none of us had seen before (except the first day, when we ate gorgonzola). The fresh peaches, strawberries, and grapes were absolutely delicious.
We spent all of one day walking around gardens on one of the hilltops. Of course that was the one day it rained, but still, the gardens were quite lovely. Not much was blooming, but it was refreshing to wander down long aisles of trees after spending several days trying to navigate on the city streets.
On Thursday, we flew from Pisa to Edinburgh, and the three of us spent the night in a hostel just off the Mile. Alyson left early in the morning to return to the States. Strange to have our trip over and our threesome split up. Nicole and I flew to Belfast that day, and the Wilsons met us at the airport. We spent the weekend with them and went to Trinity on Sabbath day. Everyone welcomed us back. The Flemings and Officers each have a beautiful new baby girl. The Flemings' girl shares my middle name, and the Officers' girl just couldn't stop smiling at Nicole.
Sabbath evening, Mr. and Mrs. W took us back to Rachel and Daphne's house in Belfast, where we spent the night. At a quarter past four Monday morning, Nicole and I walked down to the Europa station, where she got the bus to the airport. Strange and sad to say good-bye, to have all our planning and sightseeing and fellowship over for the moment.
I spent Monday and Tuesday with Catherine mostly. We went up to Ballymoney on Tuesday, and from there we drove to Portstewart Strand Tuesday afternoon. The day was beautiful, light rippling over the small green hills as over water, vibrant, living colors. The sea was rich cobalt, very calm, sailboats on the water. Clouds were coming up over the cliffs of Donegal to the south, but Catherine and I spent a couple of restful hours lying on the sand dunes in the sunshine.
Then she left me at the McCollums' house in time for tea. It was as though I'd never been away. This morning Mr. M had Emmaline and me both up to chase cows into the fields after they'd been milked, and then Emmaline and I drove to Lisburn. I'm spending the afternoon in her uncle's house while she and their family go to a funeral, and then we're going to a meeting of the Northern Irish Reformed Presbyterian synod this evening.
On Monday I met Catherine at Queen's gates at half nine. Or rather, was supposed to. She came running across the road at ten o'clock, breathless, and told me the following tale.
She woke up at a quarter past six Monday morning to get the bus from Ballymoney to the train in Ballymena to Belfast. But when she got on the bus to get the train, the driver asked her for eight pounds for the ticket. She only had four.
So she got off the bus, went home, and drove down to get the train from Antrim to Belfast. Having arrived in Belfast, she walked to the house on the Donegal Road where she and Amy will live next year. As soon as she opened the door, the alarm went off. For five minutes at least she was standing in the front hallway, with the door open and the alarm blasting, shouting, 'I can't hear you!' to Amy down the phone while Amy tried to tell her the code for the alarm, and a group of interested people lounged outside and watched.
When the alarm finally turned off, she dragged her suitcase up the three or four flights of steep stairs to Amy's room, dumped it down on Amy's bed, glanced down at her jeans, and realized that there was dirt all over her jeans. That happened to be the only pair of jeans she owns. As she took them off to put them in the wash, she realized that the dirt was also all over Amy's duvet cover and blanket, and then all the way up the stairs and across the kitchen floor. So she put things into the wash, mopped the floor, and at long last ran to meet me outside Queen's.
On our way down to city centre, we stopped so that she could take money out. When she opened her wallet, there was a twenty pound note tucked into one of the creases.
She woke up at a quarter past six Monday morning to get the bus from Ballymoney to the train in Ballymena to Belfast. But when she got on the bus to get the train, the driver asked her for eight pounds for the ticket. She only had four.
So she got off the bus, went home, and drove down to get the train from Antrim to Belfast. Having arrived in Belfast, she walked to the house on the Donegal Road where she and Amy will live next year. As soon as she opened the door, the alarm went off. For five minutes at least she was standing in the front hallway, with the door open and the alarm blasting, shouting, 'I can't hear you!' to Amy down the phone while Amy tried to tell her the code for the alarm, and a group of interested people lounged outside and watched.
When the alarm finally turned off, she dragged her suitcase up the three or four flights of steep stairs to Amy's room, dumped it down on Amy's bed, glanced down at her jeans, and realized that there was dirt all over her jeans. That happened to be the only pair of jeans she owns. As she took them off to put them in the wash, she realized that the dirt was also all over Amy's duvet cover and blanket, and then all the way up the stairs and across the kitchen floor. So she put things into the wash, mopped the floor, and at long last ran to meet me outside Queen's.
On our way down to city centre, we stopped so that she could take money out. When she opened her wallet, there was a twenty pound note tucked into one of the creases.
22 May 2009
At the moment I am sitting in Rachel M's house in Belfast, attempting to use her housemate Estelle's computer.
The flight from Houston to London Heathrow left on time, at half four in the afternoon, Texas time. It was a packed flight. I sat between a husband and wife, and Nicole was three rows behind me, beside a mother and son on their way to South Africa. We handed a couple of notes to each other. The flight was nine hours and ten minutes long. I watched The Tale of Despereaux during tea (chicken and rice--I was so nervous that I could hardly bear to eat it), tried to sleep while listening to the FOTR soundtrack on my MP3 player, listened to 'Indelible Grace: Pilgrim Days' while reading Sophie's World, and watched the first half of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring while I ate breakfast.
We had a long slow descent to Heathrow. The weather in London was actually good, mostly sunny. Finding our way out was a little confusing, but we ended up in the right line for going through customs together. We found our bags no problem and began the trek to the Aer Lingus check-in. This involved asking directions of two polite British women, trundling down the main hallway of one terminal, descending into the bowels of the subway system underneath the airport, riding a crowded train, then getting off the train, taking the lift up, and walking 300 metres (though it seemed like a lot farther) through cold tiled passageways. We found the check-in eventually, checked in, went through security again, and traipsed through the airport to the gate. Five minutes after we arrived (in typical lackadaisical style) the flight began to board.
Touchdown in Belfast was smooth. It was chilly and raining only very slightly. It took ages for Nicole and me to get our luggage, and then we caught the bus to Europa. The ride took a long time, too. Green fields, hawthorn and furze in bloom, young sheep and baby horses, brown cows. The windmills on the Antrim hills, the fields in their crazy patchwork, huddles of grey sheds around farmhouses. The outskirts of Belfast, the familiar hulking shape of Cave Hill. Nicole pointed excitedly at Belfast Castle. I pointed out the H&W cranes to her. She stared in amazement at the ruined church on the M2 as we entered the city. The bus trundled through city centre, past Marks & Spencer, Castlecourt, City Hall. There's a spring market on. The Belfast Eye is still in operation, and a gilded carousel had been set up among the wee white booths on the lawn.
We got off at Europa and made the long walk up to Renwick. Paused at the garden by the Moravian church because Nicole was drawn to the smell of green. Admired the dresses in the bt9 window. A few of the shops along the way has changed, but not much is different. We trundled our suitcases down Elmwood Avenue. The ivy growing on the chapel was pale green, and the elm trees were lush with leaves.
As we approached Renwick, I glimpsed Emmaline through the window and pulled a face at her. I saw her jump up and run for the door, so I dropped my bag and ran for the door, and then she and Rachel came spilling out on top of us. A very noisy happy reunion. The three of us were laughing so hard. It seemed like a dream. We hauled our suitcases up into the hall. Phil and Ian were standing in the door of Room 1 (Phil is Warden now) and said hello. Catherine came running down the stairs to spring a huge hug on me. We went into the common room. Linsey was there, and so were Catherine L. and Heather. I sat in the window with Nicole and Rachel, beside Emmaline and Catherine.
Emmaline had a French exam at half two, so when she went to get lunch from the kitchen, Rachel, Linsey, and Heather took Nicole and me down the street to Oasis. It's a Friday, so not many people are up, and the cafe wasn't very busy. We had hardly stepped in when who should come running up to me but Sarah W. It was lovely to see her since I hadn't expected that until another couple of weeks. She has braces now. After we ordered our food, we sat down. When I went to pick up my sandwich, I shouted Calvin's name: there he was standing at the counter, and he turned around and gawked at me as though I were a ghost. 'What're you doin' here?' he asked, and I chatted with him a little.
After lunch, we went back to Renwick. Picked up our luggage, and then Rachel walked us over to her house. It's in St. Ives Gardens off Stranmilis Road. Rachel's house is on the left side of the road, blue door, frosted glass panes. Nicole was nearly dropping with exhaustion. Rachel's roommate Estelle greeted us when we stepped from the narrow entry hall into the living area. It's a very nice apartment. Six girls share it. It's tall and narrow, with odd flights of stairs up and down leading to the bedrooms. The big room on the ground floor has sofas at one end and a kitchen at the other. White and yellow and cream, welcoming. Estelle and Rachel made us at home immediatey. Estelle made tea, and she and Rachel found a ridiculous video of Daphne on their 'house computer'. Rachel helped us carry our bags upstairs. Nicola, one of her housemates, has mostly moved out of her room, so we're staying there on her double bed. It's a nice wee room, tucked under the roof, with a window. Skylights in this house. Back downstairs, Nicole fell asleep on the sofa. Estelle left with a friend, and Rachel eventually left to revise.
So I've been sitting quietly on the living room sofa, typing this and chatting with my mother on Google. Nicole is still asleep. I've drunk my tea. The sun has begun to come out a little through the skylight, showing a deep blue sky behind.
Thank God for His mercy, which lasts forever.
The flight from Houston to London Heathrow left on time, at half four in the afternoon, Texas time. It was a packed flight. I sat between a husband and wife, and Nicole was three rows behind me, beside a mother and son on their way to South Africa. We handed a couple of notes to each other. The flight was nine hours and ten minutes long. I watched The Tale of Despereaux during tea (chicken and rice--I was so nervous that I could hardly bear to eat it), tried to sleep while listening to the FOTR soundtrack on my MP3 player, listened to 'Indelible Grace: Pilgrim Days' while reading Sophie's World, and watched the first half of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring while I ate breakfast.
We had a long slow descent to Heathrow. The weather in London was actually good, mostly sunny. Finding our way out was a little confusing, but we ended up in the right line for going through customs together. We found our bags no problem and began the trek to the Aer Lingus check-in. This involved asking directions of two polite British women, trundling down the main hallway of one terminal, descending into the bowels of the subway system underneath the airport, riding a crowded train, then getting off the train, taking the lift up, and walking 300 metres (though it seemed like a lot farther) through cold tiled passageways. We found the check-in eventually, checked in, went through security again, and traipsed through the airport to the gate. Five minutes after we arrived (in typical lackadaisical style) the flight began to board.
Touchdown in Belfast was smooth. It was chilly and raining only very slightly. It took ages for Nicole and me to get our luggage, and then we caught the bus to Europa. The ride took a long time, too. Green fields, hawthorn and furze in bloom, young sheep and baby horses, brown cows. The windmills on the Antrim hills, the fields in their crazy patchwork, huddles of grey sheds around farmhouses. The outskirts of Belfast, the familiar hulking shape of Cave Hill. Nicole pointed excitedly at Belfast Castle. I pointed out the H&W cranes to her. She stared in amazement at the ruined church on the M2 as we entered the city. The bus trundled through city centre, past Marks & Spencer, Castlecourt, City Hall. There's a spring market on. The Belfast Eye is still in operation, and a gilded carousel had been set up among the wee white booths on the lawn.
We got off at Europa and made the long walk up to Renwick. Paused at the garden by the Moravian church because Nicole was drawn to the smell of green. Admired the dresses in the bt9 window. A few of the shops along the way has changed, but not much is different. We trundled our suitcases down Elmwood Avenue. The ivy growing on the chapel was pale green, and the elm trees were lush with leaves.
As we approached Renwick, I glimpsed Emmaline through the window and pulled a face at her. I saw her jump up and run for the door, so I dropped my bag and ran for the door, and then she and Rachel came spilling out on top of us. A very noisy happy reunion. The three of us were laughing so hard. It seemed like a dream. We hauled our suitcases up into the hall. Phil and Ian were standing in the door of Room 1 (Phil is Warden now) and said hello. Catherine came running down the stairs to spring a huge hug on me. We went into the common room. Linsey was there, and so were Catherine L. and Heather. I sat in the window with Nicole and Rachel, beside Emmaline and Catherine.
Emmaline had a French exam at half two, so when she went to get lunch from the kitchen, Rachel, Linsey, and Heather took Nicole and me down the street to Oasis. It's a Friday, so not many people are up, and the cafe wasn't very busy. We had hardly stepped in when who should come running up to me but Sarah W. It was lovely to see her since I hadn't expected that until another couple of weeks. She has braces now. After we ordered our food, we sat down. When I went to pick up my sandwich, I shouted Calvin's name: there he was standing at the counter, and he turned around and gawked at me as though I were a ghost. 'What're you doin' here?' he asked, and I chatted with him a little.
After lunch, we went back to Renwick. Picked up our luggage, and then Rachel walked us over to her house. It's in St. Ives Gardens off Stranmilis Road. Rachel's house is on the left side of the road, blue door, frosted glass panes. Nicole was nearly dropping with exhaustion. Rachel's roommate Estelle greeted us when we stepped from the narrow entry hall into the living area. It's a very nice apartment. Six girls share it. It's tall and narrow, with odd flights of stairs up and down leading to the bedrooms. The big room on the ground floor has sofas at one end and a kitchen at the other. White and yellow and cream, welcoming. Estelle and Rachel made us at home immediatey. Estelle made tea, and she and Rachel found a ridiculous video of Daphne on their 'house computer'. Rachel helped us carry our bags upstairs. Nicola, one of her housemates, has mostly moved out of her room, so we're staying there on her double bed. It's a nice wee room, tucked under the roof, with a window. Skylights in this house. Back downstairs, Nicole fell asleep on the sofa. Estelle left with a friend, and Rachel eventually left to revise.
So I've been sitting quietly on the living room sofa, typing this and chatting with my mother on Google. Nicole is still asleep. I've drunk my tea. The sun has begun to come out a little through the skylight, showing a deep blue sky behind.
Thank God for His mercy, which lasts forever.
20 May 2009
18 May 2009
05 May 2009
Moved out today.
Woke up at seven o'clock and lay in bed, too tired to move, for awhile. Rachel was sound asleep. When I finally did get up and dress, I noted gloomily that the pavement outside was wet. I ate breakfast while reading Flannery O'Connor, suitably depressing.
After Rachel went out to meet with a professor, I put on headphones and spent all morning listening to sermons while I packed up almost all of my possessions. Listening to the riches of God's grace, His effectual invitation to us, the wonderful promises that we will be like Christ, the truth that the commandments are in themselves promises of our future Christ-likeness, and so forth, took some of the sting out of the melancholy work. I hate saying good-bye to places.
I started to carry things down to the Tank: boxes of kitchen supplies, mostly, and the lamps, baskets, and a few other odds and ends. The rain was sprinkling the pavement, misting the cardboard as I shoved the boxes into place in the trunk of the car.
Once I had packed everything I could on my own, I went to the caf and picked up lunch. It was half twelve. Back in the apartment, Rachel was there. She got lunch from the caf, too, and we sat and chatted while we ate on the floor. Talked about economics and writing parodies of the Austrian school in the vein of Lewis Carroll's "Walrus and the Carpenter". Rain rattled against the windows, and the afternoon gloaming stretched chill and dreary over blank walls.
Rachel spent the afternoon working; I spent it reading O'Connor. The stories were so depressing, though, that I really ought to have worked instead.
At half two, my father and Stephen arrived from Stillwater with the minivan. They loaded the mattress and box springs into the minivan, and then it began to rain again in earnest. While they loaded the rest of the furniture, Rachel and I carried more things down to the Tank. We managed to fit almost everything into the Tank until my father realized that my desk wasn't going to fit into the minivan. So we rearranged everything--but by the time he was finished, everything had a place, stowed away in some nook or cranny of one of the two cars.
Once the cars were loaded, we went up to the apartment to regroup. Rachel had been helping us valiantly. I opened the wee box my father had brought from home: a necklace, my parents' graduation present to me. Lovely. My father had a gift for Rachel, too, a book about George Whitefield. Then we said good-bye to Rachel and headed out. Stephen rode with me in the Tank. We left before my father, but we got stuck in a traffic jam just after we merged onto the highway. So when we arrived at the first toll booth, there was the minivan right ahead of us--I have no idea how he did it. It made Stephen and me laugh, though.
We talked most of the time. I kept awake by asking Stephen random questions. We watched patches of vivid red Indian paintbrush slide through on the road embankments, and I saw a tiny black hummingbird in one of them. It rained the whole way.
In Stillwater, my mother welcomed us in the kitchen. She was making chili and cornbread for tea. Laura came bouncing downstairs. While she and I emptied the smaller things out of the cars, my father and Stephen carried the furniture into the entryway. Laura and I filled my room with boxes, suitcases, lamps, baskets, etc. Then she left to take a final exam. I spent half-an-hour or so tidying the place up.
My parents, Stephen, and I sat down to tea together at six o'clock. We had chili, brown rice, and cornbread. Stared at the sodden lawn with the rain steadily falling. We talked about moving, about Laura's graduation next week, about birds (I saw a goldfinch outside), about OSU and finals. It was good to sit and talk for awhile about things.
At seven o'clock I drove downtown for a haircut. The Greenery was open unusually late. Mrs. H was just putting the finishing touches on the styles of two women, one older and one middle aged, while a large middle aged man sat and watched. When I sat down, he immediately started to ask me questions, which I answered as politely as I could.
After the trio left, and Mrs. H had shampooed my hair, she cut it, laughing and laughing about her three guests. She and the other stylist told some pretty sad stories about their family and the family feuds that they've heard about. "It always makes me thankful that my daughters are healthy and walking with the Lord and living reasonably normal lifestyles," Mrs. H declared.
I drove home through persistent mizzle. Laura, Stephen, and my parents were watching "Loony Tunes". Then my father read a Sherlock Holmes mystery. I sat in the living room with everyone. My mother was ironing and Laura and Stephen were eating dried cranberries. The mystery was long and convoluted and not finished until nine o'clock. Then we did family worship. Psalm 139B tonight, so good, "If I say, 'Darkness covers me', the darkness hides not from Thee. To Thee both night and day are bright; the darkness shines as the light."
After family worship, I said good-bye to everyone. Laura bounced all over me. They stood on the front porch and waved good-bye through the rain.
Back on campus, I went up to the apartment. RCS was talking on the phone with her family. The apartment seems large and bare, cold, lit by the fluorescent lights. Not too unbearable, though. Both the sofas are still here, and Rachel's photos and posters on the walls. Rachel and I chatted for awhile. Told each other about our afternoons, laughed about our families. Then she gave me a poster as a gift, a beautiful map of Middle Earth. I was so delighted.
I'm sleepy.... Rachel sits on the floor by the red sofa, working on History of Economic Thought, her enormous binder spread beside her. Rain patters on the windows, and the lights hum monotonously.
Woke up at seven o'clock and lay in bed, too tired to move, for awhile. Rachel was sound asleep. When I finally did get up and dress, I noted gloomily that the pavement outside was wet. I ate breakfast while reading Flannery O'Connor, suitably depressing.
After Rachel went out to meet with a professor, I put on headphones and spent all morning listening to sermons while I packed up almost all of my possessions. Listening to the riches of God's grace, His effectual invitation to us, the wonderful promises that we will be like Christ, the truth that the commandments are in themselves promises of our future Christ-likeness, and so forth, took some of the sting out of the melancholy work. I hate saying good-bye to places.
I started to carry things down to the Tank: boxes of kitchen supplies, mostly, and the lamps, baskets, and a few other odds and ends. The rain was sprinkling the pavement, misting the cardboard as I shoved the boxes into place in the trunk of the car.
Once I had packed everything I could on my own, I went to the caf and picked up lunch. It was half twelve. Back in the apartment, Rachel was there. She got lunch from the caf, too, and we sat and chatted while we ate on the floor. Talked about economics and writing parodies of the Austrian school in the vein of Lewis Carroll's "Walrus and the Carpenter". Rain rattled against the windows, and the afternoon gloaming stretched chill and dreary over blank walls.
Rachel spent the afternoon working; I spent it reading O'Connor. The stories were so depressing, though, that I really ought to have worked instead.
At half two, my father and Stephen arrived from Stillwater with the minivan. They loaded the mattress and box springs into the minivan, and then it began to rain again in earnest. While they loaded the rest of the furniture, Rachel and I carried more things down to the Tank. We managed to fit almost everything into the Tank until my father realized that my desk wasn't going to fit into the minivan. So we rearranged everything--but by the time he was finished, everything had a place, stowed away in some nook or cranny of one of the two cars.
Once the cars were loaded, we went up to the apartment to regroup. Rachel had been helping us valiantly. I opened the wee box my father had brought from home: a necklace, my parents' graduation present to me. Lovely. My father had a gift for Rachel, too, a book about George Whitefield. Then we said good-bye to Rachel and headed out. Stephen rode with me in the Tank. We left before my father, but we got stuck in a traffic jam just after we merged onto the highway. So when we arrived at the first toll booth, there was the minivan right ahead of us--I have no idea how he did it. It made Stephen and me laugh, though.
We talked most of the time. I kept awake by asking Stephen random questions. We watched patches of vivid red Indian paintbrush slide through on the road embankments, and I saw a tiny black hummingbird in one of them. It rained the whole way.
In Stillwater, my mother welcomed us in the kitchen. She was making chili and cornbread for tea. Laura came bouncing downstairs. While she and I emptied the smaller things out of the cars, my father and Stephen carried the furniture into the entryway. Laura and I filled my room with boxes, suitcases, lamps, baskets, etc. Then she left to take a final exam. I spent half-an-hour or so tidying the place up.
My parents, Stephen, and I sat down to tea together at six o'clock. We had chili, brown rice, and cornbread. Stared at the sodden lawn with the rain steadily falling. We talked about moving, about Laura's graduation next week, about birds (I saw a goldfinch outside), about OSU and finals. It was good to sit and talk for awhile about things.
At seven o'clock I drove downtown for a haircut. The Greenery was open unusually late. Mrs. H was just putting the finishing touches on the styles of two women, one older and one middle aged, while a large middle aged man sat and watched. When I sat down, he immediately started to ask me questions, which I answered as politely as I could.
After the trio left, and Mrs. H had shampooed my hair, she cut it, laughing and laughing about her three guests. She and the other stylist told some pretty sad stories about their family and the family feuds that they've heard about. "It always makes me thankful that my daughters are healthy and walking with the Lord and living reasonably normal lifestyles," Mrs. H declared.
I drove home through persistent mizzle. Laura, Stephen, and my parents were watching "Loony Tunes". Then my father read a Sherlock Holmes mystery. I sat in the living room with everyone. My mother was ironing and Laura and Stephen were eating dried cranberries. The mystery was long and convoluted and not finished until nine o'clock. Then we did family worship. Psalm 139B tonight, so good, "If I say, 'Darkness covers me', the darkness hides not from Thee. To Thee both night and day are bright; the darkness shines as the light."
After family worship, I said good-bye to everyone. Laura bounced all over me. They stood on the front porch and waved good-bye through the rain.
Back on campus, I went up to the apartment. RCS was talking on the phone with her family. The apartment seems large and bare, cold, lit by the fluorescent lights. Not too unbearable, though. Both the sofas are still here, and Rachel's photos and posters on the walls. Rachel and I chatted for awhile. Told each other about our afternoons, laughed about our families. Then she gave me a poster as a gift, a beautiful map of Middle Earth. I was so delighted.
I'm sleepy.... Rachel sits on the floor by the red sofa, working on History of Economic Thought, her enormous binder spread beside her. Rain patters on the windows, and the lights hum monotonously.
01 May 2009
29 April 2009
25 April 2009
21 April 2009
Now Playing: Blavet, Vivaldi, and Bach.
Today.
At half seven, Mrs. S came to take Rachel and me to breakfast at Panera. We met Mrs. P there: she's one of Rachel's good friends from Grace Bible Church, an older woman. Panera was crowded at breakfast, of course. The four of us sat at a small high table in a corner by a window. The ladies were very kind and friendly.
After, Mrs. S dropped me off at the apartment, taking Rachel on to her class in Chapman at half nine. I finished my devotions, sitting in a patch of sunshine. I love noticing the way the light falls differently in different seasons. On winter afternoons, the sunshine slanted through the south-facing window, making an oblong behind my desk. On spring mornings, it slants from the north, long over the blue armchair.
The verse today: "Light is sown for the righteous, and joy for the upright in heart." God has planted gladness for me, even if I do not reap the fruit yet.
I walked to Tyrrell to practice before HON at eleven o'clock. As I walked to HON, I stared at the day. Glorious day, peerless sunshine, blue skies. In HON today, we discussed the crisis in Darfur and whether the U.S. should be involved. I picked up a salad in the food court, then drove to Woodward Park to meet Tara for lunch. Lunchtime traffic around Utica Square was heavy, so it wasn't until nearly one o'clock that I got to the park.
The park was a little bit crowded. Tara had spread herself out on the lawn near the rose gardens. The roses aren't blooming yet, though the dogwoods and azaleas on the hillside facing 21st Street are making a luscious display of red, magenta, and white against the dark oak trees. Tara and I ate our lunches in the warm sunshine. We watched people walking dogs, notably a pair of very cheerful beagles and an enormous imperturbable Husky, behind us.
I left at about a quarter to two in order to meet Dr. E at two o'clock for another independent study. Then I practiced for another hour in Tyrrell, playing through the pieces slowly with the metronome. That helped ease the nerves a little. All day long I'd been telling myself to relax, relax, relax. As I stepped out of Tyrrell, the sunshine engulfed me. I flopped down on the U, firm cool grass under my back, and spread my arms out to the sunshine.
As I lay there, Jenny M. joined me. Rachel joined us, and then Hannah came strolling insouciantly across the grass. The four of us sprawled together in the sunshine. Conversation trailed off into comfortable silence. We all just lay there in the sunshine on our stomachs, listening to cardinals singing around campus.
Jenny went to choir at five o'clock. At half five, Hannah went to work. Then Rachel and I went back to the apartment. We opened all the windows. I washed dishes, then made a sandwich for myself for tea, and wrote e-mails.
I left for Tyrrell at ten to seven. I felt small and incongruous: pink brocade dress, flip-flops, and enormous black backpack. At Tyrrell, Professor R had already set up the stage. Michele joined us. We ran through a few spots in some of the pieces, getting used to the hall again and to the rhythms. Now that the time had finally come, I was actually not as nervous as I'd expected. Not paralyzed, anyway. My parents and Stephen arrived. I stepped outside with my mother. Abby was perched on the stone steps outside Tyrrell, watching Annabelle running over the grass, collecting sweet gum balls. Rachel Jr. and Nicole showed up, then Stephen N., then the Hs. I stood outside joking around with them for awhile.
Finally I went indoors, slipped into the cool musty recital hall and into the strange space backstage. All sorts of odds and ends are stored back there, and the ventilation system makes weird noises. I sat on an old wooden chair under a partially-boarded window and was quiet.
Michele came backstage. Took a few minutes to breathe--the dress restricts that a little--before we went onstage. There were perhaps twenty-five people present, mostly from RUF. And so we launched into the recital. The Blavet was a wee bit stunted. Not too dreadful, but not perfect. I was glad when it was over. All those repeats make me nervous. Michele and I went backstage, I shook out my tight muscles, she took a drink, and then we went back on again for the Vivaldi. Joy and delight. Then, at last, came the Bach. It's a weighty ordeal, like trying to muster a cathedral out of a flute and a keyboard. It went off fairly well. We bowed, then went backstage, so I went on again, and bowed, and everyone stood and applauded, which made me very happy.
After the recital was over, I went down to say hello to everyone. Even Dr. S was there. Everyone was so kind. My mother had brought fruit and cake, which everyone enjoyed in the hallway afterward. Stood around chatting. Crystal approved of my outfit; Annabelle kept running up to give me hugs. Abby laughed that she had heard the word "Princess" several times during the evening. Gradually people began to leave. RUF was at nine o'clock. Philip and I stayed with my family, cleared away the leftover food, chatted. Then we said good-night. They left. Philip went to an ultimate frisbee game.
I walked back to my apartment with the strange sense of pointlessness that comes after a performance of any sort. I changed clothes, then walked to RUF. Marc was just starting his sermon. Last RUF.
Afterward, I put things away in the apartment. Rachel and I chatted for a wee while about the recital and her mother's visit. Then I settled down to write this. The windows are open. Chilly evening air seeps through the screen. And noises, noises, noises. Cars driving through the car park; an Iranian chap on his mobile phone; people talking. The train whistles blowing, as they always do at night. Emergency sirens. The buzz of air conditioners. I'm tired.
Today.
At half seven, Mrs. S came to take Rachel and me to breakfast at Panera. We met Mrs. P there: she's one of Rachel's good friends from Grace Bible Church, an older woman. Panera was crowded at breakfast, of course. The four of us sat at a small high table in a corner by a window. The ladies were very kind and friendly.
After, Mrs. S dropped me off at the apartment, taking Rachel on to her class in Chapman at half nine. I finished my devotions, sitting in a patch of sunshine. I love noticing the way the light falls differently in different seasons. On winter afternoons, the sunshine slanted through the south-facing window, making an oblong behind my desk. On spring mornings, it slants from the north, long over the blue armchair.
The verse today: "Light is sown for the righteous, and joy for the upright in heart." God has planted gladness for me, even if I do not reap the fruit yet.
I walked to Tyrrell to practice before HON at eleven o'clock. As I walked to HON, I stared at the day. Glorious day, peerless sunshine, blue skies. In HON today, we discussed the crisis in Darfur and whether the U.S. should be involved. I picked up a salad in the food court, then drove to Woodward Park to meet Tara for lunch. Lunchtime traffic around Utica Square was heavy, so it wasn't until nearly one o'clock that I got to the park.
The park was a little bit crowded. Tara had spread herself out on the lawn near the rose gardens. The roses aren't blooming yet, though the dogwoods and azaleas on the hillside facing 21st Street are making a luscious display of red, magenta, and white against the dark oak trees. Tara and I ate our lunches in the warm sunshine. We watched people walking dogs, notably a pair of very cheerful beagles and an enormous imperturbable Husky, behind us.
I left at about a quarter to two in order to meet Dr. E at two o'clock for another independent study. Then I practiced for another hour in Tyrrell, playing through the pieces slowly with the metronome. That helped ease the nerves a little. All day long I'd been telling myself to relax, relax, relax. As I stepped out of Tyrrell, the sunshine engulfed me. I flopped down on the U, firm cool grass under my back, and spread my arms out to the sunshine.
As I lay there, Jenny M. joined me. Rachel joined us, and then Hannah came strolling insouciantly across the grass. The four of us sprawled together in the sunshine. Conversation trailed off into comfortable silence. We all just lay there in the sunshine on our stomachs, listening to cardinals singing around campus.
Jenny went to choir at five o'clock. At half five, Hannah went to work. Then Rachel and I went back to the apartment. We opened all the windows. I washed dishes, then made a sandwich for myself for tea, and wrote e-mails.
I left for Tyrrell at ten to seven. I felt small and incongruous: pink brocade dress, flip-flops, and enormous black backpack. At Tyrrell, Professor R had already set up the stage. Michele joined us. We ran through a few spots in some of the pieces, getting used to the hall again and to the rhythms. Now that the time had finally come, I was actually not as nervous as I'd expected. Not paralyzed, anyway. My parents and Stephen arrived. I stepped outside with my mother. Abby was perched on the stone steps outside Tyrrell, watching Annabelle running over the grass, collecting sweet gum balls. Rachel Jr. and Nicole showed up, then Stephen N., then the Hs. I stood outside joking around with them for awhile.
Finally I went indoors, slipped into the cool musty recital hall and into the strange space backstage. All sorts of odds and ends are stored back there, and the ventilation system makes weird noises. I sat on an old wooden chair under a partially-boarded window and was quiet.
Michele came backstage. Took a few minutes to breathe--the dress restricts that a little--before we went onstage. There were perhaps twenty-five people present, mostly from RUF. And so we launched into the recital. The Blavet was a wee bit stunted. Not too dreadful, but not perfect. I was glad when it was over. All those repeats make me nervous. Michele and I went backstage, I shook out my tight muscles, she took a drink, and then we went back on again for the Vivaldi. Joy and delight. Then, at last, came the Bach. It's a weighty ordeal, like trying to muster a cathedral out of a flute and a keyboard. It went off fairly well. We bowed, then went backstage, so I went on again, and bowed, and everyone stood and applauded, which made me very happy.
After the recital was over, I went down to say hello to everyone. Even Dr. S was there. Everyone was so kind. My mother had brought fruit and cake, which everyone enjoyed in the hallway afterward. Stood around chatting. Crystal approved of my outfit; Annabelle kept running up to give me hugs. Abby laughed that she had heard the word "Princess" several times during the evening. Gradually people began to leave. RUF was at nine o'clock. Philip and I stayed with my family, cleared away the leftover food, chatted. Then we said good-night. They left. Philip went to an ultimate frisbee game.
I walked back to my apartment with the strange sense of pointlessness that comes after a performance of any sort. I changed clothes, then walked to RUF. Marc was just starting his sermon. Last RUF.
Afterward, I put things away in the apartment. Rachel and I chatted for a wee while about the recital and her mother's visit. Then I settled down to write this. The windows are open. Chilly evening air seeps through the screen. And noises, noises, noises. Cars driving through the car park; an Iranian chap on his mobile phone; people talking. The train whistles blowing, as they always do at night. Emergency sirens. The buzz of air conditioners. I'm tired.
12 April 2009
Now Playing: Handel, Messiah, "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth".
Our call to worship today was Hosea 6:1-3:
"Come, and let us return to the LORD; for He has torn, but He will heal us; He has stricken, but He will bind us up. After two days He will revive us; on the third day He will raise us up, that we may live in His sight. Let us know, let us pursue the knowledge of the LORD. His going forth is established as the morning; He will come to us like the rain, like the latter and former rain to the earth."
Something beautifully appropriate about these verses, especially today. As we worshipped, it poured outside, a long gentle soaking rain. After the huge wildfires in Oklahoma this past week, the rain was a welcome change.
I love the way this passage demonstrates the union of Christ and His people. Christ is stricken with us, and as He was raised up, so we will be. The passage talks about God reviving His people on the third day--what appears to apply specifically only to Christ applies to us, too, as His body.
I was just reading Rachel's and Leslie's posts, which are also appropriate to today. There has been so much hurt and pain, so much dying over this past term, over this past year. I, too, need the reminder that my Redeemer lives, and that in my flesh I shall see God, I myself will see Him with my own eyes, I and not another. (Job 19:26-27)
That truth stands under and above and around all the chaos and fragmentation and alienation, all the despair and helplessness and fear. Christ lives. He rules now over all of this. And the leaves of the Tree in Heaven will be for the healing of the nations, for our healing.
"How my heart yearns within me!"
Our call to worship today was Hosea 6:1-3:
"Come, and let us return to the LORD; for He has torn, but He will heal us; He has stricken, but He will bind us up. After two days He will revive us; on the third day He will raise us up, that we may live in His sight. Let us know, let us pursue the knowledge of the LORD. His going forth is established as the morning; He will come to us like the rain, like the latter and former rain to the earth."
Something beautifully appropriate about these verses, especially today. As we worshipped, it poured outside, a long gentle soaking rain. After the huge wildfires in Oklahoma this past week, the rain was a welcome change.
I love the way this passage demonstrates the union of Christ and His people. Christ is stricken with us, and as He was raised up, so we will be. The passage talks about God reviving His people on the third day--what appears to apply specifically only to Christ applies to us, too, as His body.
I was just reading Rachel's and Leslie's posts, which are also appropriate to today. There has been so much hurt and pain, so much dying over this past term, over this past year. I, too, need the reminder that my Redeemer lives, and that in my flesh I shall see God, I myself will see Him with my own eyes, I and not another. (Job 19:26-27)
That truth stands under and above and around all the chaos and fragmentation and alienation, all the despair and helplessness and fear. Christ lives. He rules now over all of this. And the leaves of the Tree in Heaven will be for the healing of the nations, for our healing.
"How my heart yearns within me!"
11 April 2009
Now Playing: Chris Thile, "Stealing Second", Track 3, "Kneel Before Him".
I've been noticing how loudly I'm being told to go elsewhere for safety. For meaning, for security.
In HON, we're reading The Dumbest Generation: How the Digital Age Stupefies Young Americans and Jeopardizes Our Future, Or, Don't Trust Anyone Under 30. You can guess the whole book from the title. Perhaps the author has a point. But my main concern emerged as I read his endless lists of cultural icons that have been forgotten by young Americans (supposedly). What a Marxist critic would call "cultural capital": the Mona Lisa, Michelangelo, Beethoven, Bach, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Jane Austen, Tolstoy, Tchaikovsky, and the rest.
The author seems to think that if you don't know who these people and ideas are, then you're not a complete person. Somehow being without these great philosophical trends of Western civilization diminishes your humanity. Therefore, be liberal arts majors, everyone!
Or, if you'd rather be rich than cultured, listen to the President of the university. He quoted the father of an alumnus who has made millions on starting car rental agencies: "The only way to be successful is to work twelve hours a day, seven days a week." Work hard, make lots of money, donate to the university, and you'll be a successful person.
Or, if you'd rather spend that money than make it, listen to the shops in the mall. Glossy photos of models sporting the latest fashions. Enticing smells from food kiosks. Glamorous posters on the wall of the cinema and the pervasive smell of stale popcorn. Buy! Be entertained! Watch Brad Pitt, wear American Eagle or Fossil, patronize Victoria's Secret! Define yourself by your possessions, by your consumption!
Tacitly accompanying this message: Be popular. If you don't dress right, don't laugh at the jokes, don't use the language, don't listen to the music, then you're "out". Not wanted. Not worth much.
Or, if you'd rather not make money or spend it, or know anything either, then be a bohemian. Listen to Sarah Bareilles and Augustana, who told the crowd over and over again, "All you need is love! Love, love, love!" Shout it to the world and listen to the world shout it back to you. And if you aren't satisfied with your latest partner, write an angry song that blasts vitriol and electric guitar so loudly that it breaks everyone else's eardrums with your broken heart.
One more thing: Don't think that if you're a Christian, you're immune. We still have the propensity toward idolatry even after we're redeemed. We may try to satisfy ourselves with our spouse's love, our children, our friends, our service opportunities, our tithing, our doctrine, or whatever, but if it replaces God, then it is as hollow as any of the "bad" things listed above.
With so many enemies, enemies outside and enemies within, I wonder sometimes how any of us can ever leave this world and enter Heaven safely.
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are Mine."
I've been noticing how loudly I'm being told to go elsewhere for safety. For meaning, for security.
In HON, we're reading The Dumbest Generation: How the Digital Age Stupefies Young Americans and Jeopardizes Our Future, Or, Don't Trust Anyone Under 30. You can guess the whole book from the title. Perhaps the author has a point. But my main concern emerged as I read his endless lists of cultural icons that have been forgotten by young Americans (supposedly). What a Marxist critic would call "cultural capital": the Mona Lisa, Michelangelo, Beethoven, Bach, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Jane Austen, Tolstoy, Tchaikovsky, and the rest.
The author seems to think that if you don't know who these people and ideas are, then you're not a complete person. Somehow being without these great philosophical trends of Western civilization diminishes your humanity. Therefore, be liberal arts majors, everyone!
Or, if you'd rather be rich than cultured, listen to the President of the university. He quoted the father of an alumnus who has made millions on starting car rental agencies: "The only way to be successful is to work twelve hours a day, seven days a week." Work hard, make lots of money, donate to the university, and you'll be a successful person.
Or, if you'd rather spend that money than make it, listen to the shops in the mall. Glossy photos of models sporting the latest fashions. Enticing smells from food kiosks. Glamorous posters on the wall of the cinema and the pervasive smell of stale popcorn. Buy! Be entertained! Watch Brad Pitt, wear American Eagle or Fossil, patronize Victoria's Secret! Define yourself by your possessions, by your consumption!
Tacitly accompanying this message: Be popular. If you don't dress right, don't laugh at the jokes, don't use the language, don't listen to the music, then you're "out". Not wanted. Not worth much.
Or, if you'd rather not make money or spend it, or know anything either, then be a bohemian. Listen to Sarah Bareilles and Augustana, who told the crowd over and over again, "All you need is love! Love, love, love!" Shout it to the world and listen to the world shout it back to you. And if you aren't satisfied with your latest partner, write an angry song that blasts vitriol and electric guitar so loudly that it breaks everyone else's eardrums with your broken heart.
One more thing: Don't think that if you're a Christian, you're immune. We still have the propensity toward idolatry even after we're redeemed. We may try to satisfy ourselves with our spouse's love, our children, our friends, our service opportunities, our tithing, our doctrine, or whatever, but if it replaces God, then it is as hollow as any of the "bad" things listed above.
With so many enemies, enemies outside and enemies within, I wonder sometimes how any of us can ever leave this world and enter Heaven safely.
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are Mine."
Now Playing: Chris Thile, "Not All Who Wander Are Lost", Track 1, "Song for a Young Princess".
10 April 2009.
Rachel was away yesterday evening to Colorado for the weekend, so I woke this morning in an empty apartment. It was a cold, grey day outside. At half eight I was supposed to go to a breakfast for scholarship students. Accordingly I dressed up in business casual and hunched my way over to Collins Hall, the new administration building.
On the upper level outside a very posh meeting room, we were greeted by the President of the University and his staffr. They treated us as though we were royalty, nudged us first towards the food, seated us at an enormous sleek table, and entertained us for an hour with conversation.
As soon as it was over, I went back to the apartment, put on jeans, and went to the library to work on a HIST paper. At one o'clock, I went to HIST. Back in the apartment, I ate crackers, carrots, and peanut butter for lunch. The apartment was small, quiet, and grey, silent, the still, colorless light of the grey day outside lingering on empty furniture and pale walls. After I ate, I finished The Age of Innocence, which I've been reading for pleasure.
The book ended with a quiet poignance, somehow fitting the still, empty room. I curled up on the sofa and fell asleep.
I worked for an hour or so until Crystal rang me. The two of us met down in the car park at five o'clock and drove to Woodland Mall to shop for "accessories" to go with my senior recital dress. Emmaline complained that she hates shopping with me because I always know exactly what I want, and the unfortunate Crystal had to put up with the same thing. We spent two-and-a-half hours wandering around the mall. We weren't in a particular hurry, and Crystal enjoys shopping, and I enjoyed being with her.
We were back on campus by eight o'clock. I retreated to my apartment, ate leftovers for tea, and watched darkness fill the sky.
At half eight, Philip rang me to say that he and DMac were heading over to the basketball stadium for the concert. Every year, the university puts on a week of activities for students called Springfest, and the activities always culminate in a free Friday night concert.
So Philip, DMac, and I joined DMo, Kathryn, Nick, and Amy Sf. in the stands. The stage was in the centre of the floor with about a third of the court roped off for the audience and the rest of the court off limits behind barricades. It was set up, but the band hadn't started to perform yet. I sat with Philip and some of his engineering friends in the row in front of the others. Sarah Bareilles was the first act we saw. When the bass began, DMac shouted, "I can feel the air hitting me!", and Philip and I nodded back--could feel it pounding in my torso. Also there were spotlights, ostensibly to add to the hype, but really to blind all of us, DMac thought.
Sarah B. was a pop singer, fluttery and flirty. Like a pink butterfly. "She's a female musician," Philip laughed at me when I was laughing at her. All her songs were love songs. A couple of them were alright; they were all fluff. She played piano and ukelele and had guitar, bass, and drums (all guys). There was a small crowd on the floor around the stage, but almost everyone was sitting in the stands. Joanna and Nicole showed up for the last two songs.
After her band, there was a very long intermission in which the stage was rearranged three or four different times. I perched on the back of my chair and talked to Joanna and Nicole. Philip disappeared.
When Augustana finally came onstage, Philip reappeared on the bleacher steps, shouting at all of us to come down. Joanna, Nicole, and I ran down the steps onto the court. More and more people were making a crowd on the court. As Augustana started their first song, Philip got down on his hands and knees, and I climbed onto his shoulders. I found myself suddenly way above the rest of the crowd, fairly close to the stage. At first we were both nervous, Philip holding tightly to my legs and me swaying tensely, but then we both loosened up and started to dance a little bit. Nicole and Joanna were laughing at us. The adrenaline rush was pretty incredible. Unfortunately, when he put me back down, poor Philip got his hand stepped on, which made me feel awful.
Augustana was an all-guys band. The phrase "effeminate Greeks!" kept trickling into my mind from (Roman) HIST this afternoon. The lead singer, as I said earlier, was high, and somehow appeared to become more and more high over the course of the concert. His mannerisms, his face, the way he sang all reminded everyone of Captain Jack Sparrow. It was fun to watch the band, though--they all seemed to be enjoying themselves thoroughly, and enjoying one another.
In the middle of the concert, I suddenly found myself surrounded by a bunch of guys I didn't know but whose voices were vaguely familiar. It took me a moment to realize that they were pointing at the Queen's crest on my hoodie and to recognize their accents. Philip, DMac, Joanna, and Nicole turned around and stared. It was very hard to talk in the middle of the crowd with the band playing right above us, but there was something wonderfully surreal about discussing Coleraine and Belfast in shouts.
So the rest of the concert I stood a little behind everyone else, standing on tiptoe to try to see the stage, my head in a blur of sound. The lead singer rattled off the usual derisive comments about Tulsa, Oklahoma, and our school spirit (or lack thereof).
The concert ended at a quarter past eleven. I ran up to my apartment. It was quiet and dark.
10 April 2009.
Rachel was away yesterday evening to Colorado for the weekend, so I woke this morning in an empty apartment. It was a cold, grey day outside. At half eight I was supposed to go to a breakfast for scholarship students. Accordingly I dressed up in business casual and hunched my way over to Collins Hall, the new administration building.
On the upper level outside a very posh meeting room, we were greeted by the President of the University and his staffr. They treated us as though we were royalty, nudged us first towards the food, seated us at an enormous sleek table, and entertained us for an hour with conversation.
As soon as it was over, I went back to the apartment, put on jeans, and went to the library to work on a HIST paper. At one o'clock, I went to HIST. Back in the apartment, I ate crackers, carrots, and peanut butter for lunch. The apartment was small, quiet, and grey, silent, the still, colorless light of the grey day outside lingering on empty furniture and pale walls. After I ate, I finished The Age of Innocence, which I've been reading for pleasure.
The book ended with a quiet poignance, somehow fitting the still, empty room. I curled up on the sofa and fell asleep.
I worked for an hour or so until Crystal rang me. The two of us met down in the car park at five o'clock and drove to Woodland Mall to shop for "accessories" to go with my senior recital dress. Emmaline complained that she hates shopping with me because I always know exactly what I want, and the unfortunate Crystal had to put up with the same thing. We spent two-and-a-half hours wandering around the mall. We weren't in a particular hurry, and Crystal enjoys shopping, and I enjoyed being with her.
We were back on campus by eight o'clock. I retreated to my apartment, ate leftovers for tea, and watched darkness fill the sky.
At half eight, Philip rang me to say that he and DMac were heading over to the basketball stadium for the concert. Every year, the university puts on a week of activities for students called Springfest, and the activities always culminate in a free Friday night concert.
So Philip, DMac, and I joined DMo, Kathryn, Nick, and Amy Sf. in the stands. The stage was in the centre of the floor with about a third of the court roped off for the audience and the rest of the court off limits behind barricades. It was set up, but the band hadn't started to perform yet. I sat with Philip and some of his engineering friends in the row in front of the others. Sarah Bareilles was the first act we saw. When the bass began, DMac shouted, "I can feel the air hitting me!", and Philip and I nodded back--could feel it pounding in my torso. Also there were spotlights, ostensibly to add to the hype, but really to blind all of us, DMac thought.
Sarah B. was a pop singer, fluttery and flirty. Like a pink butterfly. "She's a female musician," Philip laughed at me when I was laughing at her. All her songs were love songs. A couple of them were alright; they were all fluff. She played piano and ukelele and had guitar, bass, and drums (all guys). There was a small crowd on the floor around the stage, but almost everyone was sitting in the stands. Joanna and Nicole showed up for the last two songs.
After her band, there was a very long intermission in which the stage was rearranged three or four different times. I perched on the back of my chair and talked to Joanna and Nicole. Philip disappeared.
When Augustana finally came onstage, Philip reappeared on the bleacher steps, shouting at all of us to come down. Joanna, Nicole, and I ran down the steps onto the court. More and more people were making a crowd on the court. As Augustana started their first song, Philip got down on his hands and knees, and I climbed onto his shoulders. I found myself suddenly way above the rest of the crowd, fairly close to the stage. At first we were both nervous, Philip holding tightly to my legs and me swaying tensely, but then we both loosened up and started to dance a little bit. Nicole and Joanna were laughing at us. The adrenaline rush was pretty incredible. Unfortunately, when he put me back down, poor Philip got his hand stepped on, which made me feel awful.
Augustana was an all-guys band. The phrase "effeminate Greeks!" kept trickling into my mind from (Roman) HIST this afternoon. The lead singer, as I said earlier, was high, and somehow appeared to become more and more high over the course of the concert. His mannerisms, his face, the way he sang all reminded everyone of Captain Jack Sparrow. It was fun to watch the band, though--they all seemed to be enjoying themselves thoroughly, and enjoying one another.
In the middle of the concert, I suddenly found myself surrounded by a bunch of guys I didn't know but whose voices were vaguely familiar. It took me a moment to realize that they were pointing at the Queen's crest on my hoodie and to recognize their accents. Philip, DMac, Joanna, and Nicole turned around and stared. It was very hard to talk in the middle of the crowd with the band playing right above us, but there was something wonderfully surreal about discussing Coleraine and Belfast in shouts.
So the rest of the concert I stood a little behind everyone else, standing on tiptoe to try to see the stage, my head in a blur of sound. The lead singer rattled off the usual derisive comments about Tulsa, Oklahoma, and our school spirit (or lack thereof).
The concert ended at a quarter past eleven. I ran up to my apartment. It was quiet and dark.
10 April 2009
It's been a surreal day. I shall post more tomorrow. For now:
Tonight I went to my first concert, consisting of Sarah Bareilles and Augustana.
The lead singer of Augustana was extremely high, became more so over the course of the concert (if that's possible), and reminded everyone of Johnny Depp. (*cough*)
In the middle of the concert, I was suddenly surrounded by four Northern Irish guys. (Only knew one of them, Ciaran.) All of them were amazed at the QUB hoodie, and we all pulled out our QUB ID cards with the horrendous photos to show each other as though we were wee kids showing off the latest toys. Philip slagged me off for "breaking out the Northern Irish accent", and before they left, they all gave me enormous hugs--!
Oh, yes, and I also spent the entire first Augustana song sitting on Philip's shoulders, way above the crowd, practically in the band's faces (it seemed at the time), trying to keep my balance while we both danced.
And now I'm thankful for peace and quiet.
Tonight I went to my first concert, consisting of Sarah Bareilles and Augustana.
The lead singer of Augustana was extremely high, became more so over the course of the concert (if that's possible), and reminded everyone of Johnny Depp. (*cough*)
In the middle of the concert, I was suddenly surrounded by four Northern Irish guys. (Only knew one of them, Ciaran.) All of them were amazed at the QUB hoodie, and we all pulled out our QUB ID cards with the horrendous photos to show each other as though we were wee kids showing off the latest toys. Philip slagged me off for "breaking out the Northern Irish accent", and before they left, they all gave me enormous hugs--!
Oh, yes, and I also spent the entire first Augustana song sitting on Philip's shoulders, way above the crowd, practically in the band's faces (it seemed at the time), trying to keep my balance while we both danced.
And now I'm thankful for peace and quiet.
07 April 2009
Now Playing: Bach, "Sonata in B Minor", "Andante." Two weeks until my recital! Augh!
Burroughs on discontentment and using God's mercies now to fight discontentment:
“To be discontented in any afflicted condition is sinful and evil, but to be discontented when we are in the midst of God’s mercies, when we are not able to count the mercies of God, still to be discontented because we have not got all we would have, this is a greater evil.” (Ch.
Burroughs on discontentment and using God's mercies now to fight discontentment:
“To be discontented in any afflicted condition is sinful and evil, but to be discontented when we are in the midst of God’s mercies, when we are not able to count the mercies of God, still to be discontented because we have not got all we would have, this is a greater evil.” (
“… Job helped himself against all murmuring thoughts against the ways of God, with this consideration, that he had received so much good from the Lord.” (
“If you do not make the mercies of God help you against your murmuring, you will make them aggravations of the sin of murmuring.” (
Burroughs comparing us to old horses--old horses don't do much work, so they are turned out to pasture and not fed as much: “… when our consciences tell us we live and do but little service for God, why, what if God should turn us upon the commons? We are being fed according to our work.” (
“[Of walking with God like Enoch] To observe what work God is now about, and to join with God in that work of his; so that, according as God turns this way or that way, the heart should turn with God, and have workings suitable to the workings of God toward him.” (Ch. 10)
06 April 2009
Now Playing: Chris Thile, "Stealing Second", Track 7, "Leaves Fall".
“[Discontent] takes away the present comfort of what you have, because you have not something that you would have.” (Ch.
“[Discontent] takes away the present comfort of what you have, because you have not something that you would have.” (
“Do you think that the Lord will come in mercy a whit the sooner because of the murmuring of your spirits? …. And this is the very reason why many mercies are denied to you, because of your discontent.” (
“So when we are content with our conditions, and what God disposes of us to be in, there is a blessing in it, then it is sweet to us, but if we must needs have more, and keep it longer than God would have us to have it, then there will be worms in it and it will be no good at all..” (
(Burroughs is comparing God's blessings to manna in the quote above. As the manna that the Israelites collected went bad the next day if they collected too much, so God's blessings will go bad if we cling to them instead of to Him.)
“God may justly withdraw his care of you, and his protection over you, seeing God cannot please you in his administrations.” (Ch. 9)
(Burroughs)
Sobering and a little terrifying. Not that God will ever remove His love from us, but even loving discipline appears frightening, especially when one is in the middle of it.
04 April 2009
Now Playing: Beethoven, Symphony No. 6, "Allegro Ma Non Troppo", which is usually on the playlist on cool days when the windows are open.
My poor sad lonely blog needs something to cheer it up, so I'll give it the story of today.
At a quarter to nine, I drove to Brady Heights for a community garden workday.
At the Ps' house, everyone was still praying. I stood upstairs on the threshold of the dining room while the group around the table finished praying through Psalm 51. After prayer, Tara beckoned me into the room. I sat at the dining room table, and Leah put a steaming piece of spinach quiche in front of me. Justin fed Augie pieces of very soft banana; Ellie and Ian rattled around the house with plastic trucks, and so forth.
It was about ten o'clock when people began to leave. Tara and I walked down to the garden together. The morning was cool and very, very windy from all directions at once. An intensely blue sky behind budding trees. The wind whirled maple helicopters everywhere, rough yellowing seed wings twirling through the air. Tara and I showed Ellie and Anna how to throw them up in the air so that they spun.
Jeremy and Justin were both working on pulling up weeds and sod between the beds, so Tara and I found shovels and joined in. When we got tired of yanking up dandelions and henbit (that tufted stuff with the wee purple flowers that comes up so enchantingly every spring over every available inch of ground), Tara showed me her garden. She has a nice crop of kale right now, as well as chamomile and curry bushes. Anna and Ellie were riding their bicycles up and down the neighbor's driveway and helping us feed grubs to the chickens.
Tara and I started to haul mulch from the foot of the garden to the cleared places between the beds. We had a couple of wheelbarrows and a pitchfork between us. It wasn't until after we had both gotten splinters in our hands that Justin mentioned casually that he had a bag of gloves we could use...!
The morning became warmer as it went on. Tara and I worked away. David B. came over from his house to help, with a wee baby strapped to his chest. Jenna came out to say hello, carrying Autumn. When she came out, we all stopped working and gathered around the picnic tables for a drink of water. Ian, Ellie, and Anna started to fish the ice cubes out of the pitcher, and after that no one particularly wanted a drink.
At about half twelve, Tara and I walked back to her house. I sat at the dining room table while Tara made lunch. Tara boiled pasta and sauteed onions, mushrooms, and the kale in a saucepan. We ate that for lunch along with homemade bread, real butter, and raspberry jam. Tara was doing her best to be a good conversationalist, but I was too dozy.
Driving back toward campus after lunch, I realized with some surprise that I feel guilty being happy. I've forgotten how it's done. Happiness seems like a strange trick, trying to loosen muscles that are always tense.
On campus, Rachel was studying in our apartment. I wrote a HIST paper, rang my family, and sent out invitations to my senior recital. After RCS went running, I walked to the library to print off my paper, then lay in the grass on the new U for awhile, reading for ENGL 4863. While I was lying on the grass, the afternoon was beginning to be overcast. Long clouds coming up from the west, blowing over the sun.
At six o'clock, Rachel and I walked over to ACAC for the Indian Student Association evening. The festival was being held upstairs in the great hall. We found an empty table and sat down. The main part of the evening was dancing, of course: Bollywood, "classical", and hip-hop/classical/Bollywood fusion. Katie danced with one of the groups. It was all flashy colorful costumes, jangling jewelry, and loud pumping music.
Towards the end of the program, tea was served. Everyone got up to eat at once, probably between a hundred and fifty and two hundred people. Indian students, of course, dressed in brightly-colored clothes with gold embroidery. Asian students, too, and then a fair number of other TU students.
Rachel and I waited in line for ages. The food was delicious, of course--spiced rice, naan bread, chicken tikka massala, and other dishes I didn't recognize--reminded me of getting Indian food with Emmaline and Rachel during exams last year.
While we ate, there was more dancing. The last dance was an impressive traditional dance, including both men and women (all the other dances had been women only). Highly choreographed, concentric circles weaving in and out of each other, each dancer holding sticks that they banged rhythmically against one another. Jumping, twirling, kneeling, leaping up again.
Rachel and I went back to our apartment. I curled up in the blue armchair to finish Castle in the Sky. Rachel has been working on her laptop most of the evening. I read "The Physician's Tale" and "The Pardoner's Tale" and ought to write a paper about them before I go to bed. The evening outside is cool.
My poor sad lonely blog needs something to cheer it up, so I'll give it the story of today.
At a quarter to nine, I drove to Brady Heights for a community garden workday.
At the Ps' house, everyone was still praying. I stood upstairs on the threshold of the dining room while the group around the table finished praying through Psalm 51. After prayer, Tara beckoned me into the room. I sat at the dining room table, and Leah put a steaming piece of spinach quiche in front of me. Justin fed Augie pieces of very soft banana; Ellie and Ian rattled around the house with plastic trucks, and so forth.
It was about ten o'clock when people began to leave. Tara and I walked down to the garden together. The morning was cool and very, very windy from all directions at once. An intensely blue sky behind budding trees. The wind whirled maple helicopters everywhere, rough yellowing seed wings twirling through the air. Tara and I showed Ellie and Anna how to throw them up in the air so that they spun.
Jeremy and Justin were both working on pulling up weeds and sod between the beds, so Tara and I found shovels and joined in. When we got tired of yanking up dandelions and henbit (that tufted stuff with the wee purple flowers that comes up so enchantingly every spring over every available inch of ground), Tara showed me her garden. She has a nice crop of kale right now, as well as chamomile and curry bushes. Anna and Ellie were riding their bicycles up and down the neighbor's driveway and helping us feed grubs to the chickens.
Tara and I started to haul mulch from the foot of the garden to the cleared places between the beds. We had a couple of wheelbarrows and a pitchfork between us. It wasn't until after we had both gotten splinters in our hands that Justin mentioned casually that he had a bag of gloves we could use...!
The morning became warmer as it went on. Tara and I worked away. David B. came over from his house to help, with a wee baby strapped to his chest. Jenna came out to say hello, carrying Autumn. When she came out, we all stopped working and gathered around the picnic tables for a drink of water. Ian, Ellie, and Anna started to fish the ice cubes out of the pitcher, and after that no one particularly wanted a drink.
At about half twelve, Tara and I walked back to her house. I sat at the dining room table while Tara made lunch. Tara boiled pasta and sauteed onions, mushrooms, and the kale in a saucepan. We ate that for lunch along with homemade bread, real butter, and raspberry jam. Tara was doing her best to be a good conversationalist, but I was too dozy.
Driving back toward campus after lunch, I realized with some surprise that I feel guilty being happy. I've forgotten how it's done. Happiness seems like a strange trick, trying to loosen muscles that are always tense.
On campus, Rachel was studying in our apartment. I wrote a HIST paper, rang my family, and sent out invitations to my senior recital. After RCS went running, I walked to the library to print off my paper, then lay in the grass on the new U for awhile, reading for ENGL 4863. While I was lying on the grass, the afternoon was beginning to be overcast. Long clouds coming up from the west, blowing over the sun.
At six o'clock, Rachel and I walked over to ACAC for the Indian Student Association evening. The festival was being held upstairs in the great hall. We found an empty table and sat down. The main part of the evening was dancing, of course: Bollywood, "classical", and hip-hop/classical/Bollywood fusion. Katie danced with one of the groups. It was all flashy colorful costumes, jangling jewelry, and loud pumping music.
Towards the end of the program, tea was served. Everyone got up to eat at once, probably between a hundred and fifty and two hundred people. Indian students, of course, dressed in brightly-colored clothes with gold embroidery. Asian students, too, and then a fair number of other TU students.
Rachel and I waited in line for ages. The food was delicious, of course--spiced rice, naan bread, chicken tikka massala, and other dishes I didn't recognize--reminded me of getting Indian food with Emmaline and Rachel during exams last year.
While we ate, there was more dancing. The last dance was an impressive traditional dance, including both men and women (all the other dances had been women only). Highly choreographed, concentric circles weaving in and out of each other, each dancer holding sticks that they banged rhythmically against one another. Jumping, twirling, kneeling, leaping up again.
Rachel and I went back to our apartment. I curled up in the blue armchair to finish Castle in the Sky. Rachel has been working on her laptop most of the evening. I read "The Physician's Tale" and "The Pardoner's Tale" and ought to write a paper about them before I go to bed. The evening outside is cool.
03 April 2009
Now Playing: Brahms, Piano Concerto No. 2, "Andante".
Burroughs:
“By murmuring you undo your prayers, for it is exceedingly contrary to the prayers that you make to God. When you come to pray to God, you acknowledge his sovereignty over you, you come there to profess yourselves to be at God’s disposal… Unless you will stand, as it were, at his disposal, never come to petition him.” (Ch.
Burroughs:
“By murmuring you undo your prayers, for it is exceedingly contrary to the prayers that you make to God. When you come to pray to God, you acknowledge his sovereignty over you, you come there to profess yourselves to be at God’s disposal… Unless you will stand, as it were, at his disposal, never come to petition him.” (
“When you are alone, you should spend your time in holy meditation, but you are spending your time in discontented thoughts.” (
“… for this is the vile nature of discontent, to lessen every mercy of God…. For you say that what God gives you is nothing and only common gifts… when they are the precious graces of God’s Spirit and worth more than thousands of worlds—how ungrateful it is!” (
“… if a cross comes to make the cross but little, but if there is a mercy to make the mercy great…. Thus, a godly man wonders at his cross that it is not more, a wicked man wonders his cross is so much.” (Ch. 9)
02 April 2009
Now Playing: The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, Track 1, "Prince Caspian Flees". It's been one of those days as far as music goes: LOTR soundtracks and now Narnia soundtracks. Some people who (used to) read this would be shocked.... *grin*
On Wednesday morning, which would be yesterday, at least that's what the calendar says, I woke up at half five. (Nice long run-on sentence there.) For some reason, my brain was unusually perceptive at that hour of the morning, at least that's the way it seemed. I had to wake up early to see Laura S. safely on her way to Indiana. Until I ate breakfast, my mind was full of all sorts of intriguing overlapping and intertwining ideas, but as soon as I ate, they all disappeared.
Perhaps it's for the best.
Nevertheless....
Life seems to be a perpetual waiting game right now. I feel as though I'm staring at a wall, trying to see through it, not realizing that the wall is actually a window through which I could see if I understood--the way it is at night sometimes when you look out of a lighted room or a car window.
Psalm 90 has been my fare this week, thanks to Matthew Henry and the (stilted) Heart Aflame translation of his commentary.
This Psalm is sobering. It makes human life sound futile in some sense. We are like a passing watch by night, like grass that is thrown into a fire, like yesterday. Everything we do is transient. Nothing appears to matter or have significance.
Even worse, we cling so easily to the things that aren't significant in order to find significance. Looking back on the past year, I find it so full of evil that it's discouraging. Every time I tried to do something that I thought was right, it turned out to be wrong. Half the time I wasn't even trying to do what was right but just trying to survive. It all looks very futile.
Back to Psalm 90. The end of the Psalm, vs. 17, has always terrified me a wee bit. The Psalmist prays for God to "establish the work of our hands on us". I have never particularly wanted my work to be established on me. But Calvin says this about that verse:
"Although God converts to good in the end whatever Satan and the reprobate plot and practise against Him or His people; yet the Church, in which God rules with undisturbed sway, has in this respect a special privilege. By His providence, which to us is incomprehensible, He directs His work in regard to the reprobate externally; but He governs His believing people internally by His Holy Spirit; and therefore He is properly said to order or direct the work of their hands.
"The repetition shows that a continual course of perseverance in the grace of God is required. It would not be enough for us to be brought to the midst of our journey. He must enable us to complete the whole course."
I've been praying for God to redeem the past year. Though I still think that prayer is a proper one to pray, Calvin here seems to suggest something more powerful--that God has "undisturbed sway" over His church (see the end of Ephesians 1) internally, that He is directing us from the inside despite our sin.
Also, it is not we that must persevere in the grace of God. Calvin means (unclear translation here, I think) that the grace of God is the "thing" doing the perseverance, not us.
I return to the metaphor of the believer being like a tree in Psalm 1. I want to be doing, to be adding, to be working hard, exerting all my effort. Though obedience is necessary and good, I wonder if it wouldn't be better sometimes to remember that it's not the obedience that saves.
Simply existing for God's glory, like a tree, is far better than working like a gerbil on a treadmill to be perfect. Crystal pointed out one afternoon while we were walking past the chapel that trees grow with their branches constantly spread to the sun, always in a posture of prayer--like the stability believers should have, constantly waiting on God.
On Wednesday morning, which would be yesterday, at least that's what the calendar says, I woke up at half five. (Nice long run-on sentence there.) For some reason, my brain was unusually perceptive at that hour of the morning, at least that's the way it seemed. I had to wake up early to see Laura S. safely on her way to Indiana. Until I ate breakfast, my mind was full of all sorts of intriguing overlapping and intertwining ideas, but as soon as I ate, they all disappeared.
Perhaps it's for the best.
Nevertheless....
Life seems to be a perpetual waiting game right now. I feel as though I'm staring at a wall, trying to see through it, not realizing that the wall is actually a window through which I could see if I understood--the way it is at night sometimes when you look out of a lighted room or a car window.
Psalm 90 has been my fare this week, thanks to Matthew Henry and the (stilted) Heart Aflame translation of his commentary.
This Psalm is sobering. It makes human life sound futile in some sense. We are like a passing watch by night, like grass that is thrown into a fire, like yesterday. Everything we do is transient. Nothing appears to matter or have significance.
Even worse, we cling so easily to the things that aren't significant in order to find significance. Looking back on the past year, I find it so full of evil that it's discouraging. Every time I tried to do something that I thought was right, it turned out to be wrong. Half the time I wasn't even trying to do what was right but just trying to survive. It all looks very futile.
Back to Psalm 90. The end of the Psalm, vs. 17, has always terrified me a wee bit. The Psalmist prays for God to "establish the work of our hands on us". I have never particularly wanted my work to be established on me. But Calvin says this about that verse:
"Although God converts to good in the end whatever Satan and the reprobate plot and practise against Him or His people; yet the Church, in which God rules with undisturbed sway, has in this respect a special privilege. By His providence, which to us is incomprehensible, He directs His work in regard to the reprobate externally; but He governs His believing people internally by His Holy Spirit; and therefore He is properly said to order or direct the work of their hands.
"The repetition shows that a continual course of perseverance in the grace of God is required. It would not be enough for us to be brought to the midst of our journey. He must enable us to complete the whole course."
I've been praying for God to redeem the past year. Though I still think that prayer is a proper one to pray, Calvin here seems to suggest something more powerful--that God has "undisturbed sway" over His church (see the end of Ephesians 1) internally, that He is directing us from the inside despite our sin.
Also, it is not we that must persevere in the grace of God. Calvin means (unclear translation here, I think) that the grace of God is the "thing" doing the perseverance, not us.
I return to the metaphor of the believer being like a tree in Psalm 1. I want to be doing, to be adding, to be working hard, exerting all my effort. Though obedience is necessary and good, I wonder if it wouldn't be better sometimes to remember that it's not the obedience that saves.
Simply existing for God's glory, like a tree, is far better than working like a gerbil on a treadmill to be perfect. Crystal pointed out one afternoon while we were walking past the chapel that trees grow with their branches constantly spread to the sun, always in a posture of prayer--like the stability believers should have, constantly waiting on God.
Now Playing: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe soundtrack, credits song by Imogen Heap, "Can't Take It In".
It's been awhile since I've posted any Burroughs, so here's some for this evening.
“How unseemly it is that you should be a slave to every cross, that every affliction shall be able to say to your soul, ‘Bow down to us’!” (Ch.
It's been awhile since I've posted any Burroughs, so here's some for this evening.
“How unseemly it is that you should be a slave to every cross, that every affliction shall be able to say to your soul, ‘Bow down to us’!” (
“We are of one spirit with God and with Christ, and one spirit with the Holy Ghost; therefore, we should have a spirit that might manifest the glory of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in our spirits: that is, the spirit of a Christian. The spirit of a Christian should be a lion-like spirit….” (
“A Christian’s profession is to be dead to the world and to be alive to God, that is his profession, to have his life hid with Christ in God, to satisfy himself in God. What! Is this your profession? And yet if you have not everything you want, you murmur and are discontented.” (
“A Christian should be satisfied with what God has made the object of his faith. The object of his faith is high enough to satisfy his soul, were it capable of a thousand times more than it is…. God never promised me that I should have these comforts, at this time, and in such a way as I would have. I am discontented because I have not these things which God never yet promised me, and therefore I sin much against the Gospel, and against the grace of faith.” (Ch. 8)
Mr. C was talking to me the last time I was in Stillwater, and he said that a friend of his had compared reading The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment to a story he'd heard. Apparently a shop somewhere employs people who are disabled mentally or physically. The employees do a good job at the simple work they're given, but every few months, they forget how to do their job because of whatever disability they have. The people who own the shop have to retrain the employees several times a year to remind them what they're supposed to be doing.
That just about perfectly sums up my relationship to this book. I especially like the first and second quotes here, the second because it mentions having a "lion-like spirit". That phrase reminds me of the passage in Prince Caspian when Lucy is complaining to Aslan about having to wake her sleeping companions and Aslan must breathe on her, making her a lioness, before she can obey willingly.
01 April 2009
31 March 2009
Laura S. drove out to visit Tulsa. She arrived early this morning (or very late last night), and today we visited Woodward Park.
Pictures here.
Pictures here.
30 March 2009
Now Playing: Beethoven, Symphony No. 7, "Allegro Con Brio".
Catherine rang me today!
And I got to eat lunch with Jenny M. after spending all morning listening to student presentations.
The AAAS-SWARM conference (which sounds like some sort of disease to me) is convening at TU this week, and they needed student judges to adjudicate presentations. I had the benefit of hearing two actually interesting presentations about a certain gene that may make people more likely to get stressed out (or, on a more serious level, suffer disorders such as bipolar or depression). The amusing part of the presentation was that the students had used watching a horror film as their stress test--Jenny, who'd helped with the research, told me afterward that the film was actually rather ridiculous and not very stressful at all.
Anyway....
Before HIST class this afternoon, Emily whispered to me, "I had a dream this weekend that it snowed. When I woke up this morning, the dream was over." There's hardly any snow left on the ground, except in a couple of big piles on the north sides of buildings. Even the extreme moisture has mostly evaporated because of the nearly gale force south winds all day. Yesterday, we could've paddled Rachel Jr.'s inflatable kayak around our apartment complex, but today the ground was only a wee bit mucky.
Catherine rang me today!
And I got to eat lunch with Jenny M. after spending all morning listening to student presentations.
The AAAS-SWARM conference (which sounds like some sort of disease to me) is convening at TU this week, and they needed student judges to adjudicate presentations. I had the benefit of hearing two actually interesting presentations about a certain gene that may make people more likely to get stressed out (or, on a more serious level, suffer disorders such as bipolar or depression). The amusing part of the presentation was that the students had used watching a horror film as their stress test--Jenny, who'd helped with the research, told me afterward that the film was actually rather ridiculous and not very stressful at all.
Anyway....
Before HIST class this afternoon, Emily whispered to me, "I had a dream this weekend that it snowed. When I woke up this morning, the dream was over." There's hardly any snow left on the ground, except in a couple of big piles on the north sides of buildings. Even the extreme moisture has mostly evaporated because of the nearly gale force south winds all day. Yesterday, we could've paddled Rachel Jr.'s inflatable kayak around our apartment complex, but today the ground was only a wee bit mucky.
29 March 2009
26 March 2009
Now Playing: Mark O'Connor, "The Fiddle Concerto". Cadenza to the third movement.
In honor of our class poetry reading tonight, here are a couple of the pieces I've written for class this term.
~
Dark
“Though I walk through the valley of deep darkness”
Honeycombed brain twisting heart roped throat
labyrinth aorta ventricles feeding minotaur
in dark places of world, fill habitations with violence
valleys of deep darkness, armpits, eyelids, neck
soft folds, tendons, bones, freckled skin
“characterized by absolute or relative absence of light”
Standing under medulla medusa wrapped stingers
tentacles along spinal cord, this inside minds
writhe gloom consuming by enzymes
“A dark house was formerly considered a proper place of confinement for a madman”, obs.
Shining on floor, yellow rectangles, three-by-six,
eyes invert images automatically match medusa
walking through the valley of deep darkness
“I will fear no good, for you are not with me”
Crawl away from coffins shining on carpet,
away from holes onto empty iridescence,
skull, entrails, epidermis quivering
into
~
Sun
Photoheterotrophs sip liquid vitality—
his ascendance enriches their pedalfer,
slow multifoliate unfolding face by face
downrushed viscosity spreading veins
eternal biosynthesis of wholeness.
They reach arms forward, upflung heliochryse
in jacinth foliage of foaming flesh
fingers’ mesmerism stretch toward the source:
no heliodon needed to track his path
metamorphosed chrysalises sprout
his swath’s cyclosis, infinity’s heliotropes.
~
The first one is an inversion of Psalm 23, to some degree. Intended as an exploration of the darkness of the human being, physically and spiritually, and what we do to God's promises.
The second one is a depiction of the final resurrection through the frame of biological language.
In honor of our class poetry reading tonight, here are a couple of the pieces I've written for class this term.
~
Dark
“Though I walk through the valley of deep darkness”
Honeycombed brain twisting heart roped throat
labyrinth aorta ventricles feeding minotaur
in dark places of world, fill habitations with violence
valleys of deep darkness, armpits, eyelids, neck
soft folds, tendons, bones, freckled skin
“characterized by absolute or relative absence of light”
Standing under medulla medusa wrapped stingers
tentacles along spinal cord, this inside minds
writhe gloom consuming by enzymes
“A dark house was formerly considered a proper place of confinement for a madman”, obs.
Shining on floor, yellow rectangles, three-by-six,
eyes invert images automatically match medusa
walking through the valley of deep darkness
“I will fear no good, for you are not with me”
Crawl away from coffins shining on carpet,
away from holes onto empty iridescence,
skull, entrails, epidermis quivering
into
~
Sun
Photoheterotrophs sip liquid vitality—
his ascendance enriches their pedalfer,
slow multifoliate unfolding face by face
downrushed viscosity spreading veins
eternal biosynthesis of wholeness.
They reach arms forward, upflung heliochryse
in jacinth foliage of foaming flesh
fingers’ mesmerism stretch toward the source:
no heliodon needed to track his path
metamorphosed chrysalises sprout
his swath’s cyclosis, infinity’s heliotropes.
~
The first one is an inversion of Psalm 23, to some degree. Intended as an exploration of the darkness of the human being, physically and spiritually, and what we do to God's promises.
The second one is a depiction of the final resurrection through the frame of biological language.
25 March 2009
Now Playing: Flook, "Haven", Track 2, "Gone Fishing".
Warning: I'm so tired that I can hardly see straight, so if this post is weird, that's why.
Reasons why:
a.) Haven't been sleeping well lately
b.) Have had weird dreams when I have slept (I dreamed very vividly last night that colonies of bacterium were living on my shoulders)
c.) Enormous thunderstorms have happened at night, which is truly awesome but also not conducive to sleep
d.) Woke up at a quarter to six this morning
And therein lies the tale....
Woke up, dragged on clothes, ate breakfast sitting in the dark at my desk, and crept out of the apartment so as not to wake Rachel. The east was just beginning to be grey. The morning was chilly. Sparrows were already chirping shrilly in the eaves of the apartments, though. I walked across campus to ACAC, seeing only the early-morning maintenance workers on their way to the physical plant building and the caf.
In ACAC I met the other faithful few from Mortar Board, our resident senior honors society. When my grandmother was at uni at SMU in Dallas, being in Mortar Board actually was "one of the highest honors an undergraduate could receive" (quoted from the script I heard repeated all morning). She always gets teary-eyed when she reminisces about how she knew she was selected for Mortar Board when she saw her sister stepping off the tram. However, at TU, Mortar Board is, for better or worse, rather a joke, known only for its extremely peculiar initiation ceremony.
This ceremony involves waking up ridiculously early (as previously noted), donning flapping black graduation robes, marching around campus in a big group, singing the Mortar Board song, banging on apartment doors or barging into classrooms, and "tapping" the selected student on the head with a graduation cap. ("Tapping" being reading aloud the schpiel quoted above, informing the student that he or she was excused from class for the rest of the morning, and then hitting them lightly on the head with the cap.)
Hence, at about seven o'clock, after a long delay, we all marched over to sorority row, where we managed to get into two sorority houses to "tap" new members. Then we went to the apartments, where we unceremoniously woke people to inform them that they had been selected. And so it went.... We even went into the volleyball gym, where the team was practicing. One of the coaches thought we were a choir, though I don't know how he made that mistake, since our singing left a lot to be desired.
We had about an hour-long break at eight o'clock. Then we were mostly going into classrooms, singing in the hallways of the buildings. People in Kep stared at us as we walked past; the secretaries in the business building smiled at us. We happened to go into one of Philip's classes in Kep, so he and I wrinkled our noses at each other while the selected student was "tapped". It was amusing to watch the students' and professors' faces in the classrooms: the professors generally watched us with bland good humor, having been warned ahead of time via e-mail, while the students gaped or raised eyebrows. Apparently there were usually people who had applied but not been accepted in the classrooms, and whoever had done the actual tapping always complained afterward about feeling awkward.
One of the students had skipped class. Accordingly, we all marched over to the frat house where he lived, went upstairs, banged on his door, and "tapped" him, joking the whole time that he was going to have his new membership revoked immediately for skipping class.
So my entire morning was spent parading around campus, listening to the other members chatter away, mumbling the Mortar Board song, and trying not to look too awkward while we crowded into narrow spaces in classrooms and apartment balconies. At least the morning was pleasant: cool, sunny, a high sky criss-crossed with contrails.
At eleven o'clock, I ducked out to go to "senior salute". Another peculiar tradition: the Great Hall upstairs in ACAC turned into a maze of tables at which graduating seniors can purchase photos or class rings, sign up for career services postings, check to make sure that the reader pronounced their name correctly, etc. I picked up my cap, gown, and tassel, and then went to Tyrrell to practice flute. After I practiced, I went to the SAC in Mayo for the Mortar Board lunch. Stephen was tapped today, so I sat with him and a couple of his friends.
After HIST this afternoon, I went straight to the CGE to work for a couple of hours. The CGE was fairly busy this afternoon. I worked on formatting the international students' study abroad handbook. At half five I walked over to ACAC. Philip had promised to teach me how to use the espresso machine at Carrello's. When I got there, I was treated to Amy, Jenny M., Andrew, and Philip hanging out together.
At seven o'clock, Hannah came to our apartment for prayer. We chatted until Rachel Sr. entered. When she came in, she was holding an absolutely stunning spicebush swallowtail butterfly in her hand. She set it carefully on the sofa, then on the carpet. Hannah immediately got down on the floor to look at it, and I pulled out my camera. It was one of the most perfect butterflies I've seen in a long time. Rachel said she'd found it on the ground, but it was completely undamaged. Beautiful: glossy black wings, sleek veins, iridescent blue, stunning red-and-gold eyespots, elegantly curled antennae. Hannah and I sat on the floor and stared at it while Rachel made jasmine green tea for the three of us. We all watched the butterfly for a long time. It crawled over the floor and then rested on the wooden moulding at the base of the wall. Finally, Rachel gingerly scooped it into a plastic dish, and we took it outside and put it in the grass on the new U.
Then we went back to the apartment. Lotus tea tastes exactly like honeysuckle, Hannah and I decided. Childhood memories for both of us. The three of us shared prayer requests, largely for provision for housing and work and guidance. Then we prayed through Psalm 84. Hannah read out of the Northern Irish split-leaf Psalter since she didn't have a Bible. The image of the butterfly was fresh in all our minds. So intricate, lavishly beautiful--and yet God says in Isaiah 43, "you are precious in my eyes...". If the butterfly is so incredibly beautiful, but God does not call it precious but reserves that term for His people....
After we prayed, we chatted for awhile. Hannah left at about a quarter past eight, and Rachel and I settled down to work.
I worked pretty intensely on poetry for two-and-a-half hours. I also rang Crystal and chatted with her for twenty minutes or so. Finally, when my eyes felt as though they were about to fall out, my muscles and joints were stiff, and my stomach was an acid knot from tension, I stopped and got on Facebook.
Warning: I'm so tired that I can hardly see straight, so if this post is weird, that's why.
Reasons why:
a.) Haven't been sleeping well lately
b.) Have had weird dreams when I have slept (I dreamed very vividly last night that colonies of bacterium were living on my shoulders)
c.) Enormous thunderstorms have happened at night, which is truly awesome but also not conducive to sleep
d.) Woke up at a quarter to six this morning
And therein lies the tale....
Woke up, dragged on clothes, ate breakfast sitting in the dark at my desk, and crept out of the apartment so as not to wake Rachel. The east was just beginning to be grey. The morning was chilly. Sparrows were already chirping shrilly in the eaves of the apartments, though. I walked across campus to ACAC, seeing only the early-morning maintenance workers on their way to the physical plant building and the caf.
In ACAC I met the other faithful few from Mortar Board, our resident senior honors society. When my grandmother was at uni at SMU in Dallas, being in Mortar Board actually was "one of the highest honors an undergraduate could receive" (quoted from the script I heard repeated all morning). She always gets teary-eyed when she reminisces about how she knew she was selected for Mortar Board when she saw her sister stepping off the tram. However, at TU, Mortar Board is, for better or worse, rather a joke, known only for its extremely peculiar initiation ceremony.
This ceremony involves waking up ridiculously early (as previously noted), donning flapping black graduation robes, marching around campus in a big group, singing the Mortar Board song, banging on apartment doors or barging into classrooms, and "tapping" the selected student on the head with a graduation cap. ("Tapping" being reading aloud the schpiel quoted above, informing the student that he or she was excused from class for the rest of the morning, and then hitting them lightly on the head with the cap.)
Hence, at about seven o'clock, after a long delay, we all marched over to sorority row, where we managed to get into two sorority houses to "tap" new members. Then we went to the apartments, where we unceremoniously woke people to inform them that they had been selected. And so it went.... We even went into the volleyball gym, where the team was practicing. One of the coaches thought we were a choir, though I don't know how he made that mistake, since our singing left a lot to be desired.
We had about an hour-long break at eight o'clock. Then we were mostly going into classrooms, singing in the hallways of the buildings. People in Kep stared at us as we walked past; the secretaries in the business building smiled at us. We happened to go into one of Philip's classes in Kep, so he and I wrinkled our noses at each other while the selected student was "tapped". It was amusing to watch the students' and professors' faces in the classrooms: the professors generally watched us with bland good humor, having been warned ahead of time via e-mail, while the students gaped or raised eyebrows. Apparently there were usually people who had applied but not been accepted in the classrooms, and whoever had done the actual tapping always complained afterward about feeling awkward.
One of the students had skipped class. Accordingly, we all marched over to the frat house where he lived, went upstairs, banged on his door, and "tapped" him, joking the whole time that he was going to have his new membership revoked immediately for skipping class.
So my entire morning was spent parading around campus, listening to the other members chatter away, mumbling the Mortar Board song, and trying not to look too awkward while we crowded into narrow spaces in classrooms and apartment balconies. At least the morning was pleasant: cool, sunny, a high sky criss-crossed with contrails.
At eleven o'clock, I ducked out to go to "senior salute". Another peculiar tradition: the Great Hall upstairs in ACAC turned into a maze of tables at which graduating seniors can purchase photos or class rings, sign up for career services postings, check to make sure that the reader pronounced their name correctly, etc. I picked up my cap, gown, and tassel, and then went to Tyrrell to practice flute. After I practiced, I went to the SAC in Mayo for the Mortar Board lunch. Stephen was tapped today, so I sat with him and a couple of his friends.
After HIST this afternoon, I went straight to the CGE to work for a couple of hours. The CGE was fairly busy this afternoon. I worked on formatting the international students' study abroad handbook. At half five I walked over to ACAC. Philip had promised to teach me how to use the espresso machine at Carrello's. When I got there, I was treated to Amy, Jenny M., Andrew, and Philip hanging out together.
At seven o'clock, Hannah came to our apartment for prayer. We chatted until Rachel Sr. entered. When she came in, she was holding an absolutely stunning spicebush swallowtail butterfly in her hand. She set it carefully on the sofa, then on the carpet. Hannah immediately got down on the floor to look at it, and I pulled out my camera. It was one of the most perfect butterflies I've seen in a long time. Rachel said she'd found it on the ground, but it was completely undamaged. Beautiful: glossy black wings, sleek veins, iridescent blue, stunning red-and-gold eyespots, elegantly curled antennae. Hannah and I sat on the floor and stared at it while Rachel made jasmine green tea for the three of us. We all watched the butterfly for a long time. It crawled over the floor and then rested on the wooden moulding at the base of the wall. Finally, Rachel gingerly scooped it into a plastic dish, and we took it outside and put it in the grass on the new U.
Then we went back to the apartment. Lotus tea tastes exactly like honeysuckle, Hannah and I decided. Childhood memories for both of us. The three of us shared prayer requests, largely for provision for housing and work and guidance. Then we prayed through Psalm 84. Hannah read out of the Northern Irish split-leaf Psalter since she didn't have a Bible. The image of the butterfly was fresh in all our minds. So intricate, lavishly beautiful--and yet God says in Isaiah 43, "you are precious in my eyes...". If the butterfly is so incredibly beautiful, but God does not call it precious but reserves that term for His people....
After we prayed, we chatted for awhile. Hannah left at about a quarter past eight, and Rachel and I settled down to work.
I worked pretty intensely on poetry for two-and-a-half hours. I also rang Crystal and chatted with her for twenty minutes or so. Finally, when my eyes felt as though they were about to fall out, my muscles and joints were stiff, and my stomach was an acid knot from tension, I stopped and got on Facebook.
22 March 2009
19 March 2009
Psalm 89:14,
"Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne;
steadfast love and faithfulness go before you."
Today I was walking around San Born Lake. The woods are beginning to bud and flower so that the late afternoon sunshine made silver halos around all the trees. Cardinals were singing everywhere, it seemed, crimson trilling against the pale green and white of the woods.
I was meditating on this verse from Psalm 89, just the "steadfast love" part. When I was younger, I used to pray over and over again, thanking God for this place because I was afraid that if I didn't thank him enough for it, he would take it away.
Despite the grave misunderstanding of his character implicit in that prayer (which, of course, continues on many levels), he graciously answers it. The peace and prosperity, the stability of this place resemble his steadfast love.
Continuous, no matter where I have been, no matter what I have done or said, no matter where I come from or where I am going, no matter what I am thinking. I cannot do anything to shake it or change it, nothing to break it.
This is not just God's kindness and goodness: those are key ingredients of love, of course, the will to do what is best for someone and the actual performance of that best thing. But also His delight in and enjoyment of His people in Christ, a truth I don't think about much. Whenever I do encounter it, my mind glances off of it--so wonderful that I don't want it. A dangerously potent joy, too heady for this mind.
They are blessed "who walk, O Lord, in the light of your face." (vs. 15)
"Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne;
steadfast love and faithfulness go before you."
Today I was walking around San Born Lake. The woods are beginning to bud and flower so that the late afternoon sunshine made silver halos around all the trees. Cardinals were singing everywhere, it seemed, crimson trilling against the pale green and white of the woods.
I was meditating on this verse from Psalm 89, just the "steadfast love" part. When I was younger, I used to pray over and over again, thanking God for this place because I was afraid that if I didn't thank him enough for it, he would take it away.
Despite the grave misunderstanding of his character implicit in that prayer (which, of course, continues on many levels), he graciously answers it. The peace and prosperity, the stability of this place resemble his steadfast love.
Continuous, no matter where I have been, no matter what I have done or said, no matter where I come from or where I am going, no matter what I am thinking. I cannot do anything to shake it or change it, nothing to break it.
This is not just God's kindness and goodness: those are key ingredients of love, of course, the will to do what is best for someone and the actual performance of that best thing. But also His delight in and enjoyment of His people in Christ, a truth I don't think about much. Whenever I do encounter it, my mind glances off of it--so wonderful that I don't want it. A dangerously potent joy, too heady for this mind.
They are blessed "who walk, O Lord, in the light of your face." (vs. 15)
Now Playing: Coldplay, "Viva La Vida", "Lost!"
“… you cry out as if you were undone and yet are a King’s son, you who stand in such relation to God, as to a father, you dishonor your father in this; as if either he had not wisdom, or power, or mercy enough to provide for you.” (Ch.
Quite a response to a) discontentment and b) worry!
“… you cry out as if you were undone and yet are a King’s son, you who stand in such relation to God, as to a father, you dishonor your father in this; as if either he had not wisdom, or power, or mercy enough to provide for you.” (
Quite a response to a) discontentment and b) worry!
“Consider your relation to Jesus Christ, as a spouse and married to him: his person is yours, and so all the riches of Jesus Christ are yours, as the riches of a husband are his wife’s.” (Ch. 8)
(Burroughs)
18 March 2009
Now Playing: Cherish the Ladies, "Woman of the House", "Betsy Bell and Mary Gray".
Can't escape Burroughs.
“As contentment argues much grace, and strong grace, and beautiful grace, so murmuring argues much corruption, and strong corruption, and very vile corruptions in your heart. If a man’s body is of such a temper that every scratch of a pin makes his flesh to rankle and be a sore, you will surely say, this man’s body is very corrupt, his blood and his flesh is corrupt, that every scratch of a pin shall make it rankle. So it is in your spirit, if every little trouble and affliction makes you discontented….” (Ch.
Can't escape Burroughs.
“As contentment argues much grace, and strong grace, and beautiful grace, so murmuring argues much corruption, and strong corruption, and very vile corruptions in your heart. If a man’s body is of such a temper that every scratch of a pin makes his flesh to rankle and be a sore, you will surely say, this man’s body is very corrupt, his blood and his flesh is corrupt, that every scratch of a pin shall make it rankle. So it is in your spirit, if every little trouble and affliction makes you discontented….” (
“Men are deceived in this, if they think their conversion is finished merely at first; you must be in a way of conversion to God all the days of your life….” (Ch. 8)
(Receiving and resting on Christ alone for salvation has to be a moment-by-moment practice.)
16 March 2009
Now Playing: Annie scurrying around the house.
Spring breaks are wonderful things, even if you don't get to spend them in New Zealand or the Grand Canyon, like some people.
Woke up to the sound of birds outside. I dressed, did my devotions, and went downstairs for breakfast. My mother was sitting at the dining table, reading The Four Loves. We chatted while I ate breakfast. We sat and talked until ten o'clock at least, and then I had to go to The Greenery downtown for a haircut at half ten.
It seems as though nothing changes at The Greenery: the same decor, the same ancient permanent machine in the corner, the same dusty green knick-knacks on the shelves. Mrs. H chattered away happily about Ireland (St. Patrick's day is her favorite holiday) and politics in Stillwater and visiting Tulsa yesterday, wearing a bright green suit to church while she scrubbed and snipped my hair. I basically grinned the whole time.
After she was finished with me, I walked down to the bank, then back to the house. I did my wash, rummaged through my albums for TFYP photos, scanning them into the computer, and so forth. My father came home for lunch, and we all ate together. Laura and Stephen were quite silly. After lunch, my mother, Laura, Stephen, and I went to SLS to volunteer, while my father went to visit his parents. My mother has been working on editing and collating addresses of donors to SLS. She's already logged several hours, and her goal today was to finish with our help. We split into pairs. Stephen and I worked together, giggling irrepressibly at some of the names we found. We finished the work in about an hour.
Then we drove out to Grammy's house. At Grammy's house, Laura and I refilled the bird feeder. We sat inside with Grammy for awhile. She and my mother talked. We went outside after awhile. My mother and I trimmed back the rose bush, which has grown quite large. It's a very thorny variety, with some extremely big thorns. The afternoon was warm and sunny with a slight southeast breeze. Driving back to the house, the countryside was so brown. Incredibly dreary. The blooming pear trees seem out-of-place.
Back at home, I made a toy, a rubberband and string, for Annie and played with her in the back yard. I dragged it through the brittle leaves and grass, and Annie pounced and frolicked along after it. Then I went indoors to finish my wash and to hunt for my mother's needlework, which has gone missing. She had asked me to look through the boxes and drawers in her room. It was a bit surreal to go through the highboy, the chests, the dressers, the boxes, to find bits and pieces of my parents' lives--familiar sweaters, blankets, handkerchiefs, tablecloths, papers, antiques going brown at the edges. Baseballs in my father's dresser; a book of half-sketched watercolors in my mother's drawers.
I helped my mother make curry for tea, and when she had to leave for an SLS board meeting, I kept an eye on things until the vegetables were done cooking. My father, Laura, Stephen, and I ate tea together and watched "The Three Stooges" afterward. Then I practiced my flute for an hour in my room, all Blavet. The sun went down quickly behind the budding trees. Laura has been learning "Dawn" from the new Pride and Prejudice soundtrack, and occasionally fragments of the beautiful running melody floated upstairs.
My father is reading to us now, "The Dancing Men" from The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. My mother is back and has been eating a belated tea, while Stephen sits and listens, and Laura teases Annie with the rubberband. Annie is absolutely wild. Sandy lies curled at my father's feet. Cool evening air seeps through the open back door.
Spring breaks are wonderful things, even if you don't get to spend them in New Zealand or the Grand Canyon, like some people.
Woke up to the sound of birds outside. I dressed, did my devotions, and went downstairs for breakfast. My mother was sitting at the dining table, reading The Four Loves. We chatted while I ate breakfast. We sat and talked until ten o'clock at least, and then I had to go to The Greenery downtown for a haircut at half ten.
It seems as though nothing changes at The Greenery: the same decor, the same ancient permanent machine in the corner, the same dusty green knick-knacks on the shelves. Mrs. H chattered away happily about Ireland (St. Patrick's day is her favorite holiday) and politics in Stillwater and visiting Tulsa yesterday, wearing a bright green suit to church while she scrubbed and snipped my hair. I basically grinned the whole time.
After she was finished with me, I walked down to the bank, then back to the house. I did my wash, rummaged through my albums for TFYP photos, scanning them into the computer, and so forth. My father came home for lunch, and we all ate together. Laura and Stephen were quite silly. After lunch, my mother, Laura, Stephen, and I went to SLS to volunteer, while my father went to visit his parents. My mother has been working on editing and collating addresses of donors to SLS. She's already logged several hours, and her goal today was to finish with our help. We split into pairs. Stephen and I worked together, giggling irrepressibly at some of the names we found. We finished the work in about an hour.
Then we drove out to Grammy's house. At Grammy's house, Laura and I refilled the bird feeder. We sat inside with Grammy for awhile. She and my mother talked. We went outside after awhile. My mother and I trimmed back the rose bush, which has grown quite large. It's a very thorny variety, with some extremely big thorns. The afternoon was warm and sunny with a slight southeast breeze. Driving back to the house, the countryside was so brown. Incredibly dreary. The blooming pear trees seem out-of-place.
Back at home, I made a toy, a rubberband and string, for Annie and played with her in the back yard. I dragged it through the brittle leaves and grass, and Annie pounced and frolicked along after it. Then I went indoors to finish my wash and to hunt for my mother's needlework, which has gone missing. She had asked me to look through the boxes and drawers in her room. It was a bit surreal to go through the highboy, the chests, the dressers, the boxes, to find bits and pieces of my parents' lives--familiar sweaters, blankets, handkerchiefs, tablecloths, papers, antiques going brown at the edges. Baseballs in my father's dresser; a book of half-sketched watercolors in my mother's drawers.
I helped my mother make curry for tea, and when she had to leave for an SLS board meeting, I kept an eye on things until the vegetables were done cooking. My father, Laura, Stephen, and I ate tea together and watched "The Three Stooges" afterward. Then I practiced my flute for an hour in my room, all Blavet. The sun went down quickly behind the budding trees. Laura has been learning "Dawn" from the new Pride and Prejudice soundtrack, and occasionally fragments of the beautiful running melody floated upstairs.
My father is reading to us now, "The Dancing Men" from The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. My mother is back and has been eating a belated tea, while Stephen sits and listens, and Laura teases Annie with the rubberband. Annie is absolutely wild. Sandy lies curled at my father's feet. Cool evening air seeps through the open back door.
08 March 2009
Now Playing: Brahms, Requiem, Track 1, "Blessed Are They That Mourn."
"Has your blog become one of those "lonely few", an artifact of the time before Facebook?" - Petr
That says exactly what I've been feeling for the past month or so. Methinks it looks a wee bit abandoned around here. *ahem*
I wish I could have taken a photograph of today.
Beautifully quiet this morning, chilly, incredibly still.
Since Nicole, Hannah, and I were planning to go to Redeemer today, I had time to do my devotions before church. On our way out, we picked up Dipti and Divya, who were in town this weekend for Sarah G.'s wedding.
We arrived at Redeemer in time for church. I sat next to Rachel because she wanted me to: vaguely pleasant little-kid associations with, "Mommy, can I sit next to -- in church today? Please, please, please?"
We took communion today. The first time in awhile for me, since January at least. I was meditating on the (philosophical) image of God as a page on which time is inscribed as a line (an explanation for His omniscience, sovereignty, etc.). Something made the association between that and us being "inscribed on the palms of His hands" as I looked at the bread and wine laid out on the communion table. He can not not know what is written on Himself--and He would not have it any other way. A sense of His continuous burning consciousness of me, intense perhaps to what would be pain to us, but willing on His part, joyful.
The method of taking communion today, though, was a wee bit unpleasant. They set up four "stations" with elders, and we just walked up in lines, took the bread and cup, ate and drank on our own, and passed on by. I was talking about that with Hannah afterward, and she used the word "bureaucratic". Part of the point of communion seems to me to be the very experience of standing around the table with other believers, seeing the body of Christ spiritual in that small section for that small moment.
After church, we drove back to campus. Nicole, Hannah, and I ate lunch in the caf, the caf's "famous" waffles. We ogled a pair of international students who slathered their waffles with enormous amounts of ice cream and hot fudge. And we remembered together the "good ol' days" (I teased Hannah for sounding like an old person) of freshman and sophomore years when we'd spend hours sitting in the caf, cramming as many people as possible around the small round tables and watching the guys concoct ridiculous combinations of food (usually Asher and DMac, though Kevin's specialty was drinks).
At about one o'clock, we went our separate ways. I wrote e-mails for about an hour to Elizabeth, Alyson, and Missy. Then I noticed that I'd missed a call from Syneva, so I took my phone and went outside to the new U. The afternoon was just cool enough that at first I wore my hoodie, sprawled on the grass in the sunshine, my jeans rolled up to my ankles. I love the feel of firm earth under my back, warm sunshine, the rich, rich smell of the grass. There were a few other people scattered over the U, sunbathing or playing frisbee. Syneva and I talked for an hour or so. I watched a honeybee burrow in the short green grass.
Just after we finished talking, Jenny H. rang me to ask if I was free to hang out with her. Only a few people had showed up to play soccer, so she was free early. I walked over to the pitch to meet her, and then we drove to Riverside in her car with the sunroof open. Oh, it was a lovely day, lovely, lovely. Riverside was crowded with people. She parked the car, and we crossed the street on the raised footbridge, then crossed the river on the long bridge and walked alongside it.
The whole town seemed to be out. Two families with loads of wee children, equipped with fishing poles and buckets. "Saunterers", "shufflers", bikers wearing brightly-colored spandex, loads of people walking dogs of every shape and size (Jenny cooed whenever she saw them), fathers shepherding children on training wheels, teens on rollerskates, women pushing strollers, ridiculously fit runners/bikers of every age and variety, sleek muscles bulging, weaving effortlessly between all of us paeans sauntering down the footpath. People sitting on blankets on the brown grass by the river. The Bradford pears are blooming right now, shimmering haloes of white blossom, dazzling like the haloes of Byzantine saints. The river flowed fast and loud over a low dam, and below the dam, people in waders were standing out in the middle of the water, fishing.
She drove me back to campus. She left me off on campus. We were both tired, well-stretched from the walk. Satisfied from the sunshine. Rachel was studying in the apartment. It was past five o'clock. I napped for an hour or so.
When Rachel and I got tea from the caf, we took our sandwiches out on the old U, sitting up closer to the library. The U was fairly crowded. Someone had strung a hammock from two of the young trees. "Good to see they're being put to some use," Rachel chuckled. People were sitting on blankets, too, and kicking soccer balls/throwing footballs. Mourning doves cooed in the trees. The grass where we sat was scattered with fuzzy bud shells, like rabbit's ears, soft as silk. The evening was beautiful. Cool, cool grass underfoot, cool sky overhead. Long thin clouds, like grass plumes pulled silver against the blue. In the west, where the sun was setting, they were vivid gold leaf, and higher, iridescent mother-of-pearl, unusual and beautiful. We didn't talk much. People rode skateboards down the sidewalk. We saw Kathryn and DMo having their engagement photos taken. I lay on my back in the grass and watched the sky. Airplane contrails interlinking.
We walked back to the apartment. I worked on Bible study, Psalm 22 this week. Then I started this journal entry and made tea for Rachel and me. We still had some windows open, though the night was becoming much cooler. Tara texted me, so at about nine o'clock, Rachel and I drove over to her house. The three of us settled down and watched Howl's Moving Castle. Lovely light fairytale, full of gorgeous scenery. Reeshe sprawled on the sofa next to Rachel and snored contentedly.
After the film, we chatted for awhile, and then Rachel and I went back to campus.
"Has your blog become one of those "lonely few", an artifact of the time before Facebook?" - Petr
That says exactly what I've been feeling for the past month or so. Methinks it looks a wee bit abandoned around here. *ahem*
I wish I could have taken a photograph of today.
Beautifully quiet this morning, chilly, incredibly still.
Since Nicole, Hannah, and I were planning to go to Redeemer today, I had time to do my devotions before church. On our way out, we picked up Dipti and Divya, who were in town this weekend for Sarah G.'s wedding.
We arrived at Redeemer in time for church. I sat next to Rachel because she wanted me to: vaguely pleasant little-kid associations with, "Mommy, can I sit next to -- in church today? Please, please, please?"
We took communion today. The first time in awhile for me, since January at least. I was meditating on the (philosophical) image of God as a page on which time is inscribed as a line (an explanation for His omniscience, sovereignty, etc.). Something made the association between that and us being "inscribed on the palms of His hands" as I looked at the bread and wine laid out on the communion table. He can not not know what is written on Himself--and He would not have it any other way. A sense of His continuous burning consciousness of me, intense perhaps to what would be pain to us, but willing on His part, joyful.
The method of taking communion today, though, was a wee bit unpleasant. They set up four "stations" with elders, and we just walked up in lines, took the bread and cup, ate and drank on our own, and passed on by. I was talking about that with Hannah afterward, and she used the word "bureaucratic". Part of the point of communion seems to me to be the very experience of standing around the table with other believers, seeing the body of Christ spiritual in that small section for that small moment.
After church, we drove back to campus. Nicole, Hannah, and I ate lunch in the caf, the caf's "famous" waffles. We ogled a pair of international students who slathered their waffles with enormous amounts of ice cream and hot fudge. And we remembered together the "good ol' days" (I teased Hannah for sounding like an old person) of freshman and sophomore years when we'd spend hours sitting in the caf, cramming as many people as possible around the small round tables and watching the guys concoct ridiculous combinations of food (usually Asher and DMac, though Kevin's specialty was drinks).
At about one o'clock, we went our separate ways. I wrote e-mails for about an hour to Elizabeth, Alyson, and Missy. Then I noticed that I'd missed a call from Syneva, so I took my phone and went outside to the new U. The afternoon was just cool enough that at first I wore my hoodie, sprawled on the grass in the sunshine, my jeans rolled up to my ankles. I love the feel of firm earth under my back, warm sunshine, the rich, rich smell of the grass. There were a few other people scattered over the U, sunbathing or playing frisbee. Syneva and I talked for an hour or so. I watched a honeybee burrow in the short green grass.
Just after we finished talking, Jenny H. rang me to ask if I was free to hang out with her. Only a few people had showed up to play soccer, so she was free early. I walked over to the pitch to meet her, and then we drove to Riverside in her car with the sunroof open. Oh, it was a lovely day, lovely, lovely. Riverside was crowded with people. She parked the car, and we crossed the street on the raised footbridge, then crossed the river on the long bridge and walked alongside it.
The whole town seemed to be out. Two families with loads of wee children, equipped with fishing poles and buckets. "Saunterers", "shufflers", bikers wearing brightly-colored spandex, loads of people walking dogs of every shape and size (Jenny cooed whenever she saw them), fathers shepherding children on training wheels, teens on rollerskates, women pushing strollers, ridiculously fit runners/bikers of every age and variety, sleek muscles bulging, weaving effortlessly between all of us paeans sauntering down the footpath. People sitting on blankets on the brown grass by the river. The Bradford pears are blooming right now, shimmering haloes of white blossom, dazzling like the haloes of Byzantine saints. The river flowed fast and loud over a low dam, and below the dam, people in waders were standing out in the middle of the water, fishing.
She drove me back to campus. She left me off on campus. We were both tired, well-stretched from the walk. Satisfied from the sunshine. Rachel was studying in the apartment. It was past five o'clock. I napped for an hour or so.
When Rachel and I got tea from the caf, we took our sandwiches out on the old U, sitting up closer to the library. The U was fairly crowded. Someone had strung a hammock from two of the young trees. "Good to see they're being put to some use," Rachel chuckled. People were sitting on blankets, too, and kicking soccer balls/throwing footballs. Mourning doves cooed in the trees. The grass where we sat was scattered with fuzzy bud shells, like rabbit's ears, soft as silk. The evening was beautiful. Cool, cool grass underfoot, cool sky overhead. Long thin clouds, like grass plumes pulled silver against the blue. In the west, where the sun was setting, they were vivid gold leaf, and higher, iridescent mother-of-pearl, unusual and beautiful. We didn't talk much. People rode skateboards down the sidewalk. We saw Kathryn and DMo having their engagement photos taken. I lay on my back in the grass and watched the sky. Airplane contrails interlinking.
We walked back to the apartment. I worked on Bible study, Psalm 22 this week. Then I started this journal entry and made tea for Rachel and me. We still had some windows open, though the night was becoming much cooler. Tara texted me, so at about nine o'clock, Rachel and I drove over to her house. The three of us settled down and watched Howl's Moving Castle. Lovely light fairytale, full of gorgeous scenery. Reeshe sprawled on the sofa next to Rachel and snored contentedly.
After the film, we chatted for awhile, and then Rachel and I went back to campus.
07 March 2009
Now Playing: The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers soundtrack by Howard Shore. Track 2, "The Taming of Smeagol".
Last night, a group of us from RUF went to Karl's recital in Tyrrell Hall. Philip insisted that Tyrrell should be converted into a mead hall, complete with enormous fireplace, several large boars roasting on spits, long tables, rushes on the floor, dogs, shields, and tapestries.
This was Karl's senior composition recital, so all the music on the hour-and-a-half long program was music he had composed himself. The opening and closing pieces were from a musical he's writing entitled Paul's Waltz, a piece dealing with homosexuality, Christianity, and male friendship. The pieces in between explored lying, sex, murder, deceit, anger, pain, and so on, with a dash of very strange parodic humor.
Kent and Karl played piano, and Karl sang with Kirsten and one of their friends. A string quartet played some of the pieces, including a movement from the incidental music Karl wrote for TU’s Hamlet. Poignant, the movement for Ophelia. Dark themes, conveyed at times with nearly grotesque humor; the audience laughed quite a lot (the performance opened with the typical “please turn off your mobile phone” announcements expanded, with ironic commentary, into a full-blown musical number).
As Mrs. P said afterward, “I just went through so many emotions.” She said that she was proud of him for being so personal and honest. She said that displaying one’s sin so openly takes a lot of courage and a huge understanding of God’s grace, how much one has been forgiven.
He was speaking for so many people so powerfully. It became harder and harder to listen: to see this open display of sin, so honest, so forthright, with parody, irony, humor, anguish, pathos, outrage displayed onstage. At times I hated the audience for laughing.
Why does humanity find its sin so enthralling? Because we are thralls, I suppose. Carnival? We can mock our master, mock ourselves and thus construct the façade of freedom for a few moments. Lampoon our sins and set ourselves farcically free. Make the beggar king for a day, social critic for a day.
Also, in the face of what was at times pure genius, I felt my own worth as an “artist” dwindling away into nonexistence. Music and words perfectly fitting, yes, but even separately, either words or music, exactly conveying harsh intense emotion. Conveying the gaps between sin and forgiveness, the tensions between ought and is, between desires and realities. In light of something so much more skillful: entertainment, commentary, conviction, indictment, all at once—why bother writing what has already been said?
Also, the words ripping out my own fears. Listening to others’ sins, my sins become more potent. And guilt: a good little church girl shouldn’t do or imagine such things.
Of course we all applauded thunderously when it ended, and then everyone stood round chatting for ages in the warm, humid hall while the performers deconstructed the cluttered stage.
Last night, a group of us from RUF went to Karl's recital in Tyrrell Hall. Philip insisted that Tyrrell should be converted into a mead hall, complete with enormous fireplace, several large boars roasting on spits, long tables, rushes on the floor, dogs, shields, and tapestries.
This was Karl's senior composition recital, so all the music on the hour-and-a-half long program was music he had composed himself. The opening and closing pieces were from a musical he's writing entitled Paul's Waltz, a piece dealing with homosexuality, Christianity, and male friendship. The pieces in between explored lying, sex, murder, deceit, anger, pain, and so on, with a dash of very strange parodic humor.
Kent and Karl played piano, and Karl sang with Kirsten and one of their friends. A string quartet played some of the pieces, including a movement from the incidental music Karl wrote for TU’s Hamlet. Poignant, the movement for Ophelia. Dark themes, conveyed at times with nearly grotesque humor; the audience laughed quite a lot (the performance opened with the typical “please turn off your mobile phone” announcements expanded, with ironic commentary, into a full-blown musical number).
As Mrs. P said afterward, “I just went through so many emotions.” She said that she was proud of him for being so personal and honest. She said that displaying one’s sin so openly takes a lot of courage and a huge understanding of God’s grace, how much one has been forgiven.
He was speaking for so many people so powerfully. It became harder and harder to listen: to see this open display of sin, so honest, so forthright, with parody, irony, humor, anguish, pathos, outrage displayed onstage. At times I hated the audience for laughing.
Why does humanity find its sin so enthralling? Because we are thralls, I suppose. Carnival? We can mock our master, mock ourselves and thus construct the façade of freedom for a few moments. Lampoon our sins and set ourselves farcically free. Make the beggar king for a day, social critic for a day.
Also, in the face of what was at times pure genius, I felt my own worth as an “artist” dwindling away into nonexistence. Music and words perfectly fitting, yes, but even separately, either words or music, exactly conveying harsh intense emotion. Conveying the gaps between sin and forgiveness, the tensions between ought and is, between desires and realities. In light of something so much more skillful: entertainment, commentary, conviction, indictment, all at once—why bother writing what has already been said?
Also, the words ripping out my own fears. Listening to others’ sins, my sins become more potent. And guilt: a good little church girl shouldn’t do or imagine such things.
Of course we all applauded thunderously when it ended, and then everyone stood round chatting for ages in the warm, humid hall while the performers deconstructed the cluttered stage.
06 March 2009
Now Playing: Elgar, "Violin Concerto in B Minor", Movement 3, "Allegro Molto".
“So the creature in the apprehension of its own baseness, and the infinite excellence that is in God above it, when it comes to worship God, comes and crouches to this God, and lies down at the feet of God…. ‘I am a dog I confess, but let me have only a crumb.’ …. in active obedience we worship God by doing what pleases God, but by passive obedience we do as well worship God by being pleased with what God does.” (Ch.
“So the creature in the apprehension of its own baseness, and the infinite excellence that is in God above it, when it comes to worship God, comes and crouches to this God, and lies down at the feet of God…. ‘I am a dog I confess, but let me have only a crumb.’ …. in active obedience we worship God by doing what pleases God, but by passive obedience we do as well worship God by being pleased with what God does.” (
“So if we would be vessels to receive God’s mercy, and would have the Lord pour his mercy into us, we must have quiet, still hearts. We must not have hearts hurrying up and down in trouble, discontent and vexing, but still and quiet hearts, if we receive mercy from the Lord…. When the heart lies down quietly under God’s hand, then is it in a fit frame to receive mercy. ‘Your strength shall be to sit still,’ says God, ‘you shall not be delivered from
05 March 2009
Not much time to post--I need to go practice flute this morning before my lesson. But I've been giving Burroughs a break, so I thought I'd post several of his aphorisms at one go.
“… the saints of God have an interest in all the promises that ever were made to our forefathers…. To Joshua God says, He will not leave him nor forsake him; but in this place in Hebrews in the Greek there are five negatives, I will not, not, not, not, not again….” (Ch.
I love the above quote because it demonstrates how the Old Testament is fulfilled in Christ's work in the New Testament on the "small" level of the promises: even the Old Testament promises become more expansive in Christ.
“… the saints of God have an interest in all the promises that ever were made to our forefathers…. To Joshua God says, He will not leave him nor forsake him; but in this place in Hebrews in the Greek there are five negatives, I will not, not, not, not, not again….” (
I love the above quote because it demonstrates how the Old Testament is fulfilled in Christ's work in the New Testament on the "small" level of the promises: even the Old Testament promises become more expansive in Christ.
“A man who is little in his own eyes will account every affliction as little, and every mercy as great.” (
“… God has set me in this world, not as in my home but as a mere stranger and a pilgrim who is traveling to another home, and that I am here a soldier in my warfare….” (
“God is most honored when I can turn from one condition to another, according as he calls me to it.” (Ch. 5)
Something I am very bad at!
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