30 December 2008
23 December 2008
Not entirely fair to make so many posts in one day, but I did want to say that this weekend parcels from Emmaline and Catherine and an amazing card from the Wilsons arrived. Very happy times. Laura was delighted with the Percy Pigs, and I sat on my bed and laughed for ages over the ridiculous cow card.
Laura and I decorated the house this morning. We listened to The Nutcracker, which seemed appropriate. We unpacked the most battered cardboard boxes ever, which live on the top shelf in the laundry room and are mostly full of newspaper with a few ornaments thrown in for good measure. Yards and yards of brown packing tape crumbling from their battered corners. A lot of the decorations are fairly ancient. While Laura put knicknacks and odds-and-ends on the living room bookshelves (the traditional wooden jigsaw puzzle beasties, a tiny tree with colorful lights, Noel Christmas holders in the shape of a train), I tried to hang the big wreath over the dining room door, resulting in a quarter-inch splinter in my finger. When the wreath was finally hung, Laura chose ornaments to go on it. The result doesn't look too bad, though in the process I dropped a green glass ball, which smashed all over the dining room floor. My mother remarked calmly that she'd always wanted to know what happened when one of those broke, and swept up the sherds silently.
Laura and I decorated the house this morning. We listened to The Nutcracker, which seemed appropriate. We unpacked the most battered cardboard boxes ever, which live on the top shelf in the laundry room and are mostly full of newspaper with a few ornaments thrown in for good measure. Yards and yards of brown packing tape crumbling from their battered corners. A lot of the decorations are fairly ancient. While Laura put knicknacks and odds-and-ends on the living room bookshelves (the traditional wooden jigsaw puzzle beasties, a tiny tree with colorful lights, Noel Christmas holders in the shape of a train), I tried to hang the big wreath over the dining room door, resulting in a quarter-inch splinter in my finger. When the wreath was finally hung, Laura chose ornaments to go on it. The result doesn't look too bad, though in the process I dropped a green glass ball, which smashed all over the dining room floor. My mother remarked calmly that she'd always wanted to know what happened when one of those broke, and swept up the sherds silently.
Now Playing: "Age of Empires" on the boys' computers upstairs.
An account of the Ponca City Christmas ball. (Yes, Emmaline, we danced the Waves of Tory at both dances, and it was AMAZING! :o) No Strip the Willow, though the Virginia Reel is very similar.)
19 December 2008. Slept well and woke at about half nine. The basement bedroom is dark, of course, at the bottom of the Colles’ huge mazelike house with all of its random oddments from far-away countries (mostly Asian), and its warm Christmas decorations on the main levels, poinsettias, red and gold. Mrs. Colle knocked on the door to say that breakfast was ready. Syneva, Stefni, and Rachael had already left to start decorating the hall, but Alyson, Philip, Grant, and I ate at the table in the kitchen, delicious blueberry waffles, hot off the griddle.
We packed the cars with more decorations and drove out to assist with the decorating process at about half ten. The hall is a “memorial”, built in the 1970s, across the street from the highschool on the other side ofPonca City
We spent all morning there. All the wee things that had to be done were done very slowly: there seemed to be a lot of bustling about nothing, flicking, twisting, plugging in, moving about, arranging, rearranging, but all with a happy spirit. When the sound system was hooked up to Syneva’s laptop, the riotous Mannheim Steamroller song for the Grand March came on, and I couldn’t help dancing the two-hand by myself. Syneva thought aloud to Rachael and me, trying to figure out a better way to dance the Grand March. We unpacked more ornaments, wrapped more presents….
Stefni, Rachael, Jacob, Josiah, and I went back to the Colles’ house at about one o’clock to bake pizza for lunch. Stefni and Rachael didn’t need much help, so I settled down in the living room with my laptop to write up yesterday’s journal entry, and when the others returned, they collected nearby. Syneva flopped down on the sofa beside me, and we talked about our plans for next year, going to theU.K.
Philip, Alyson, Grant, and I spent the afternoon icing cookies, batch after batch of sugar cookies, as Rachael cut them out of the dough and baked them. While Alyson edged each cookie in thick white icing, the three of us slathered on runnier colored icing that filled in the outline. Grant was careful to make each cookie rather wild. It was a fun time. Someone had turned on orchestral Christmas music on the speaker system in the living room, and we worked away while Syneva and Stefni bustled around us, preparing other foodstuffs and sewing last minute repairs on dresses before the ball. When tea was ready, at about five o’clock, I took a plate of rice and meatballs up to Stefni’s room and sat on the floor, watching while Stefni painted glamorous blue-and-silver swirls and sequins on Syneva’s face.
After I ate, I ran downstairs to get ready with Alyson, the two of us doing our hair and makeup in the bathroom together, then going into separate rooms to wiggle into our dresses. Everything was all a-flutter. The Colle guys were, of course, ready first, and left with Syneva and Stefni to add final touches to the hall before people arrived. Just as Alyson and I arrived upstairs, we found a deputation fromTulsa
We were among the first to arrive, wandering a little uncertainly into the concert hall. The overhead lights were dimmed so that the icicle lights on the railings and around the stage, and the Christmas tree on the stage and the deer in the corners, glowed brilliantly. For awhile everyone stood around talking awkwardly. At last, Syneva took the mic and corralled everyone into couples. Stephen asked me to dance, so we all lined up for the Grand March: about sixty couples crowding in the entry area just outside the hall with Syneva and Jacob, the older of her two brothers, at the head. As the lively music struck up, we marched into the hall, following them.
When the music ended, we applauded, standing again in a great circle. Mr. Colle then stepped out, welcomed everyone, and introduced the callers, Syneva, Stefni, and Amanda, and the evening began. We danced through all the dances in succession, with short breaks between every two or three: Scottish Wheel, Virginia Reel, Emma Dance, Mr. Darcy Dance, Waves of Tory, Fairfield Fancy, Spanish Waltz (which rather fell apart while Stefni was calling because the music had some extreme rubato), Dashing White Sergeant (which I danced with P and Alyson, as we’d done at the practice last night), and finally the Posties. The guys who know the dance make Postease into a competition. Philip asked me to be his partner with a ridiculous grin on his face, as he freely acknowledge, so that he could throw me around. He, Matt, and Luke formed a set with another couple, and the dance began. When he heard the music, Matt rolled his eyes, for the pace was absolutely wild. The dance became a race, a competition, a merry free-for-all, with everyone laughing and gasping and twirling and galloping over and under. I was laughing so hard that I was out-of-breath, never mind the fast pace of the dance.
When it ended, everyone was hot, sweaty, and grinning. I stepped outside to cool off in the baltic breeze. Clouds had come over the sky. Back in the warm hall, everyone was taking a half-hour break, eating, drinking, snapping pictures. After the break, the dances began again, and so it went. We danced through all of them (except the Spanish Waltz). People began to leave. I sat up in the chairs, watching the dances and taking pictures: the more I danced, the more blisters formed on my feet.
The last dance of the evening, by request, was the Emma Dance. I had been sitting up in the seats, half-dozing with exhaustion, half-laughing at the last set of Posties, when Matt came up and joined me. He invited me to dance with him, so I did, which was pleasant. We finished the evening as we always do, standing in one great circle, hands joined, singing the Benediction, with applause to follow. Of course people stayed afterward. More photographs, more eating of cookies. RUF picture, saying good-bye to Alisha and Stephen before they returned to Tulsa with DMac, listening to Matt tell teacher horror stories to Rachael, saying good-night to Amanda, and so forth. Someone asked for the music to be turned back on so that another set of Posties could be danced, but Alyson and I both had excruciatingly sore feet, so Philip and Grant drove us back to the Colles’ house.
Alyson and I immediately ducked downstairs to change into comfortable pajamas. Rachael joined us, and we talked about Nickel Creek happily. Back upstairs, I was just getting ready to serve the hot wassail, as instructed by Syneva, when the Colles all came trooping in the back door. After a good deal of bustle and laughter and unpacking of food, we all ended up sitting comfortably in the living room with cups of hot wassail (hot apple and cranberry juice boiled with an orange, cloves, and allspice), cookies, grapes, and cheese and crackers. The whole Colle family (except Josiah, who fell asleep on the floor in the corner), Grant, Matt, Rachael, Philip, Alyson, and me. For some reason we talked about serious things at first, about how the dance had gone, about Syneva’s plans for next year, and so forth, until Syneva joked about how it seemed impossible for us to be silly.
At that point people began to try to tell jokes, which became quite amusing. Matt: “What is black and dangerous and sits in a tree? A crow with a machine gun!” and so on. Some very bad jokes and puns were made over the course of the evening. P began to doze. Mr. Colle went to bed. Syneva took me upstairs to the boys’ room and showed me the incredible map of Middle Earth that she and her brothers had painted during the last week of summer: on one wall, the whole map, and on the other three walls, close-ups, very impressive. We sat around and talked for awhile, the conversation slowly degenerating until at about one o’clock in the morning we all decided to go to bed.
An account of the Ponca City Christmas ball. (Yes, Emmaline, we danced the Waves of Tory at both dances, and it was AMAZING! :o) No Strip the Willow, though the Virginia Reel is very similar.)
19 December 2008. Slept well and woke at about half nine. The basement bedroom is dark, of course, at the bottom of the Colles’ huge mazelike house with all of its random oddments from far-away countries (mostly Asian), and its warm Christmas decorations on the main levels, poinsettias, red and gold. Mrs. Colle knocked on the door to say that breakfast was ready. Syneva, Stefni, and Rachael had already left to start decorating the hall, but Alyson, Philip, Grant, and I ate at the table in the kitchen, delicious blueberry waffles, hot off the griddle.
We packed the cars with more decorations and drove out to assist with the decorating process at about half ten. The hall is a “memorial”, built in the 1970s, across the street from the highschool on the other side of
We spent all morning there. All the wee things that had to be done were done very slowly: there seemed to be a lot of bustling about nothing, flicking, twisting, plugging in, moving about, arranging, rearranging, but all with a happy spirit. When the sound system was hooked up to Syneva’s laptop, the riotous Mannheim Steamroller song for the Grand March came on, and I couldn’t help dancing the two-hand by myself. Syneva thought aloud to Rachael and me, trying to figure out a better way to dance the Grand March. We unpacked more ornaments, wrapped more presents….
Stefni, Rachael, Jacob, Josiah, and I went back to the Colles’ house at about one o’clock to bake pizza for lunch. Stefni and Rachael didn’t need much help, so I settled down in the living room with my laptop to write up yesterday’s journal entry, and when the others returned, they collected nearby. Syneva flopped down on the sofa beside me, and we talked about our plans for next year, going to the
Philip, Alyson, Grant, and I spent the afternoon icing cookies, batch after batch of sugar cookies, as Rachael cut them out of the dough and baked them. While Alyson edged each cookie in thick white icing, the three of us slathered on runnier colored icing that filled in the outline. Grant was careful to make each cookie rather wild. It was a fun time. Someone had turned on orchestral Christmas music on the speaker system in the living room, and we worked away while Syneva and Stefni bustled around us, preparing other foodstuffs and sewing last minute repairs on dresses before the ball. When tea was ready, at about five o’clock, I took a plate of rice and meatballs up to Stefni’s room and sat on the floor, watching while Stefni painted glamorous blue-and-silver swirls and sequins on Syneva’s face.
After I ate, I ran downstairs to get ready with Alyson, the two of us doing our hair and makeup in the bathroom together, then going into separate rooms to wiggle into our dresses. Everything was all a-flutter. The Colle guys were, of course, ready first, and left with Syneva and Stefni to add final touches to the hall before people arrived. Just as Alyson and I arrived upstairs, we found a deputation from
We were among the first to arrive, wandering a little uncertainly into the concert hall. The overhead lights were dimmed so that the icicle lights on the railings and around the stage, and the Christmas tree on the stage and the deer in the corners, glowed brilliantly. For awhile everyone stood around talking awkwardly. At last, Syneva took the mic and corralled everyone into couples. Stephen asked me to dance, so we all lined up for the Grand March: about sixty couples crowding in the entry area just outside the hall with Syneva and Jacob, the older of her two brothers, at the head. As the lively music struck up, we marched into the hall, following them.
When the music ended, we applauded, standing again in a great circle. Mr. Colle then stepped out, welcomed everyone, and introduced the callers, Syneva, Stefni, and Amanda, and the evening began. We danced through all the dances in succession, with short breaks between every two or three: Scottish Wheel, Virginia Reel, Emma Dance, Mr. Darcy Dance, Waves of Tory, Fairfield Fancy, Spanish Waltz (which rather fell apart while Stefni was calling because the music had some extreme rubato), Dashing White Sergeant (which I danced with P and Alyson, as we’d done at the practice last night), and finally the Posties. The guys who know the dance make Postease into a competition. Philip asked me to be his partner with a ridiculous grin on his face, as he freely acknowledge, so that he could throw me around. He, Matt, and Luke formed a set with another couple, and the dance began. When he heard the music, Matt rolled his eyes, for the pace was absolutely wild. The dance became a race, a competition, a merry free-for-all, with everyone laughing and gasping and twirling and galloping over and under. I was laughing so hard that I was out-of-breath, never mind the fast pace of the dance.
When it ended, everyone was hot, sweaty, and grinning. I stepped outside to cool off in the baltic breeze. Clouds had come over the sky. Back in the warm hall, everyone was taking a half-hour break, eating, drinking, snapping pictures. After the break, the dances began again, and so it went. We danced through all of them (except the Spanish Waltz). People began to leave. I sat up in the chairs, watching the dances and taking pictures: the more I danced, the more blisters formed on my feet.
The last dance of the evening, by request, was the Emma Dance. I had been sitting up in the seats, half-dozing with exhaustion, half-laughing at the last set of Posties, when Matt came up and joined me. He invited me to dance with him, so I did, which was pleasant. We finished the evening as we always do, standing in one great circle, hands joined, singing the Benediction, with applause to follow. Of course people stayed afterward. More photographs, more eating of cookies. RUF picture, saying good-bye to Alisha and Stephen before they returned to Tulsa with DMac, listening to Matt tell teacher horror stories to Rachael, saying good-night to Amanda, and so forth. Someone asked for the music to be turned back on so that another set of Posties could be danced, but Alyson and I both had excruciatingly sore feet, so Philip and Grant drove us back to the Colles’ house.
Alyson and I immediately ducked downstairs to change into comfortable pajamas. Rachael joined us, and we talked about Nickel Creek happily. Back upstairs, I was just getting ready to serve the hot wassail, as instructed by Syneva, when the Colles all came trooping in the back door. After a good deal of bustle and laughter and unpacking of food, we all ended up sitting comfortably in the living room with cups of hot wassail (hot apple and cranberry juice boiled with an orange, cloves, and allspice), cookies, grapes, and cheese and crackers. The whole Colle family (except Josiah, who fell asleep on the floor in the corner), Grant, Matt, Rachael, Philip, Alyson, and me. For some reason we talked about serious things at first, about how the dance had gone, about Syneva’s plans for next year, and so forth, until Syneva joked about how it seemed impossible for us to be silly.
At that point people began to try to tell jokes, which became quite amusing. Matt: “What is black and dangerous and sits in a tree? A crow with a machine gun!” and so on. Some very bad jokes and puns were made over the course of the evening. P began to doze. Mr. Colle went to bed. Syneva took me upstairs to the boys’ room and showed me the incredible map of Middle Earth that she and her brothers had painted during the last week of summer: on one wall, the whole map, and on the other three walls, close-ups, very impressive. We sat around and talked for awhile, the conversation slowly degenerating until at about one o’clock in the morning we all decided to go to bed.
Now Playing: Star Wars V on the VCR. Laura and my mother are giving Angie, the Chinese exchange student who lives next door, an introduction to American culture.
I thought it would be appropriate, considering the season, to think about the names of Christ in Isaiah 23. He is the Wonderful Counselor. Whenever I read that phrase in Isaiah, it puzzles me: I don't think of counselors as being particularly wonderful. What does it mean to be a "wonderful counselor"? In common parlance, "wonderful" would just be "good", someone who gives excellent advice. Aside from its everyday connotations, though, the word carries the idea of amazement, surprise, delight. So Christ is our counselor who is directing us to glory, a glory beyond imagination. His wisdom goes beyond our expectations; He leads us through things for purposes that we cannot understand but that will result in surprise and delight. His guidance is infallible, even if at the moment it does not seem to work out very well. I can trust that whatever direction He gives me is right and will be worked out by Him for glory.
The name Mighty God emphasizes His authority to carry out His counsels. If He were just to guide His people with His wisdom and to plan history through His insight, but not to have the authority to carry out those plans, His wisdom would be diminished. However, as God He has the power and sovereignty to accomplish His plans. When His guidance of me appears to work out to be dark and difficult, or even to have resulted in sin because of my foolishness, there is still room for hope because of His power as God to direct and accomplish everything by His will.
If Christ were merely Mighty God, He would be distant, terrifying, separated from us. Since the Godhead is Everlasting Father, though, His wisdom and sovereignty are carried out in love. As our Father, He knows our needs, our weaknesses, our abilities. As our Father, He provides the gifts we require to live for His glory. As our Father, He disciplines us, in His wisdom teaching and training our faith. We have freedom before Him, though He is the Mighty God, though He is the all-knowing Counselor, to pray to Him, to grieve before Him, to rejoice before Him.
My favorite of all Christ's names is His title, Prince of Peace. The name rolls off the tongue (lovely English translation alliteration). It's easy to say without thinking, to cling to without understanding what exactly it means. I was trying to puzzle out Christ's office as Prince of Peace and so started to think about other titles. Ideally, I suppose, the Prince of somewhere rules over that place and controls it. He is in charge of its affairs, of the goods it produces, of the welfare of its people. Christ rules peace. In order to have peace, He is the authority to whom I must turn, for He is the owner of it, the controller of it. He is in charge of giving peace. On the other hand, though, a prince is someone who hasn't reached maturity yet, someone who is waiting to be crowned, the ascendant to the throne. His rule is not yet complete. So Christ, though He is our Prince of Peace, though He has made full peace between His people and God, in some sense lacks His full glory. In Heaven His office as peacemaker will be fully displayed, for there we will enjoy to the greatest extent the benefits of His peacemaking. On earth we can taste it as we go about our daily lives, but in Heaven He will be King of Peace, His glory fully and completely revealed.
I love the fact that Christ not only makes peace between us and God but between us and ourselves, between us and other people, between us and our circumstances. Looking back on the year as it's gone by, I'm amazed at His faithfulness to protect my faith despite all the skyrockets of joy and depths of sin and sorrow the year has brought. Salvation always comes eventually, even if it's not when I expect, and with salvation, peace. Rest in the knowledge that my sins are completely forgiven; rest in the knowledge that broken relationships are being healed; rest in the knowledge that the confusion of this season of life will be resolved and is being resolved with every passing moment. Beyond that, though, delight: Someday all of this will be dissolved in the glory of His revealed Kingship and the arrival of peace that cannot be disturbed by sin or confusion any more.
May a taste of that peace be with His people now and always.
I thought it would be appropriate, considering the season, to think about the names of Christ in Isaiah 23. He is the Wonderful Counselor. Whenever I read that phrase in Isaiah, it puzzles me: I don't think of counselors as being particularly wonderful. What does it mean to be a "wonderful counselor"? In common parlance, "wonderful" would just be "good", someone who gives excellent advice. Aside from its everyday connotations, though, the word carries the idea of amazement, surprise, delight. So Christ is our counselor who is directing us to glory, a glory beyond imagination. His wisdom goes beyond our expectations; He leads us through things for purposes that we cannot understand but that will result in surprise and delight. His guidance is infallible, even if at the moment it does not seem to work out very well. I can trust that whatever direction He gives me is right and will be worked out by Him for glory.
The name Mighty God emphasizes His authority to carry out His counsels. If He were just to guide His people with His wisdom and to plan history through His insight, but not to have the authority to carry out those plans, His wisdom would be diminished. However, as God He has the power and sovereignty to accomplish His plans. When His guidance of me appears to work out to be dark and difficult, or even to have resulted in sin because of my foolishness, there is still room for hope because of His power as God to direct and accomplish everything by His will.
If Christ were merely Mighty God, He would be distant, terrifying, separated from us. Since the Godhead is Everlasting Father, though, His wisdom and sovereignty are carried out in love. As our Father, He knows our needs, our weaknesses, our abilities. As our Father, He provides the gifts we require to live for His glory. As our Father, He disciplines us, in His wisdom teaching and training our faith. We have freedom before Him, though He is the Mighty God, though He is the all-knowing Counselor, to pray to Him, to grieve before Him, to rejoice before Him.
My favorite of all Christ's names is His title, Prince of Peace. The name rolls off the tongue (lovely English translation alliteration). It's easy to say without thinking, to cling to without understanding what exactly it means. I was trying to puzzle out Christ's office as Prince of Peace and so started to think about other titles. Ideally, I suppose, the Prince of somewhere rules over that place and controls it. He is in charge of its affairs, of the goods it produces, of the welfare of its people. Christ rules peace. In order to have peace, He is the authority to whom I must turn, for He is the owner of it, the controller of it. He is in charge of giving peace. On the other hand, though, a prince is someone who hasn't reached maturity yet, someone who is waiting to be crowned, the ascendant to the throne. His rule is not yet complete. So Christ, though He is our Prince of Peace, though He has made full peace between His people and God, in some sense lacks His full glory. In Heaven His office as peacemaker will be fully displayed, for there we will enjoy to the greatest extent the benefits of His peacemaking. On earth we can taste it as we go about our daily lives, but in Heaven He will be King of Peace, His glory fully and completely revealed.
I love the fact that Christ not only makes peace between us and God but between us and ourselves, between us and other people, between us and our circumstances. Looking back on the year as it's gone by, I'm amazed at His faithfulness to protect my faith despite all the skyrockets of joy and depths of sin and sorrow the year has brought. Salvation always comes eventually, even if it's not when I expect, and with salvation, peace. Rest in the knowledge that my sins are completely forgiven; rest in the knowledge that broken relationships are being healed; rest in the knowledge that the confusion of this season of life will be resolved and is being resolved with every passing moment. Beyond that, though, delight: Someday all of this will be dissolved in the glory of His revealed Kingship and the arrival of peace that cannot be disturbed by sin or confusion any more.
May a taste of that peace be with His people now and always.
22 December 2008
16 December 2008
Now Playing: The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack by Howard Shore
Last night Nicole and I watched Silence of the Lambs together, probably one of the first R rated films I've seen. I closed my eyes or didn't look at the screen through about a third of it because of the gore: at times the screen resembled something far worse than a medical dissecting room. The language was as might be expected in an R rated film, and all in all I had a rather hard night sleeping.
At the same time, though, the film had one redeeming quality: it depicted, in all of its brutality and hideousness, the depravity the human soul is capable of containing. On Sabbath day I just finished listening to a series of four sermons by Pastor Donnelly about Hell. Not the most cheerful topic in the world, but watching this film after hearing those sermons answered, to some degree, the question as to why God would permit such a horrible place as Hell to exist. If this is the degree of evil of which all human beings are capable, then it is no wonder that God in His perfect beauty, justice, and holiness would be righteous in condemning forever such souls to the torment they have devised for themselves. Truly none of us are worthy to stand before Him.
Providentially, this morning I read Psalm 53 in my quiet time. Once again, I was struck by the pervasiveness of evil in all human beings. If in films and culture we are capable of realizing our own sinfulness to the degree emphasized in Silence of the Lambs, how much more must God Himself, who sees our sin both from a perspective of complete omniscience, so He knows just how far it extends, and also from a perspective of complete purity, which makes it even more disgusting in His sight. Desensitized by the violence we think even more than by the violence we see, our sense of sin cannot be as precise as His.
This makes Christ's work as a whole, particularly His death, even more incredible. One of Pastor Donnelly's points in his concluding sermon was to this effect when it comes to Hell. Hell ought to make us appreciate Christ's work even more, for He took Hell into Himself on the cross, experiencing the anger of God, the degradation of His personality physically and spiritually, the separation from all goodness and grace, that we as sinners deserve. The power of Christ, able to bear this eternal burning hatred against not only one person but against all His people, and then to rise again, shining, not corrupted but even more glorious, is incredible. His value, His beauty, His strength and glory....
Watching this film also makes His life more amazing. It is a wonder to me that He was willing to descend into a world so dark, to be surrounded by creatures in whom the potential for evil was so intensely dangerous, and to love those creatures with such power and intensity. I do not understand how a Being so beautiful, so holy, so perfect could be willing to make His home among creatures whose external sin might not have been fully developed to the point of perversion and murder but whose internal sins were certainly far more horrible to Him.
But such is His glory and grace.
It may seem very easy for me to write all of this sitting comfortably in 15th Steet Coffee Shop with a cup of Earl Grey and a raspberry bar for company, but glancing around me at the other human beings in the shop is a sober reality check. That under the serene faces and quite normalcy lurks this amount of evil reminds me just how blessed we are by His restraining grace, and how much more by the grace of His redemption so that beyond the comparative peace of a December afternoon there is hope for a fullness of joy glorious beyond imagination.
He is truly worthy of praise forever and ever.
Last night Nicole and I watched Silence of the Lambs together, probably one of the first R rated films I've seen. I closed my eyes or didn't look at the screen through about a third of it because of the gore: at times the screen resembled something far worse than a medical dissecting room. The language was as might be expected in an R rated film, and all in all I had a rather hard night sleeping.
At the same time, though, the film had one redeeming quality: it depicted, in all of its brutality and hideousness, the depravity the human soul is capable of containing. On Sabbath day I just finished listening to a series of four sermons by Pastor Donnelly about Hell. Not the most cheerful topic in the world, but watching this film after hearing those sermons answered, to some degree, the question as to why God would permit such a horrible place as Hell to exist. If this is the degree of evil of which all human beings are capable, then it is no wonder that God in His perfect beauty, justice, and holiness would be righteous in condemning forever such souls to the torment they have devised for themselves. Truly none of us are worthy to stand before Him.
Providentially, this morning I read Psalm 53 in my quiet time. Once again, I was struck by the pervasiveness of evil in all human beings. If in films and culture we are capable of realizing our own sinfulness to the degree emphasized in Silence of the Lambs, how much more must God Himself, who sees our sin both from a perspective of complete omniscience, so He knows just how far it extends, and also from a perspective of complete purity, which makes it even more disgusting in His sight. Desensitized by the violence we think even more than by the violence we see, our sense of sin cannot be as precise as His.
This makes Christ's work as a whole, particularly His death, even more incredible. One of Pastor Donnelly's points in his concluding sermon was to this effect when it comes to Hell. Hell ought to make us appreciate Christ's work even more, for He took Hell into Himself on the cross, experiencing the anger of God, the degradation of His personality physically and spiritually, the separation from all goodness and grace, that we as sinners deserve. The power of Christ, able to bear this eternal burning hatred against not only one person but against all His people, and then to rise again, shining, not corrupted but even more glorious, is incredible. His value, His beauty, His strength and glory....
Watching this film also makes His life more amazing. It is a wonder to me that He was willing to descend into a world so dark, to be surrounded by creatures in whom the potential for evil was so intensely dangerous, and to love those creatures with such power and intensity. I do not understand how a Being so beautiful, so holy, so perfect could be willing to make His home among creatures whose external sin might not have been fully developed to the point of perversion and murder but whose internal sins were certainly far more horrible to Him.
But such is His glory and grace.
It may seem very easy for me to write all of this sitting comfortably in 15th Steet Coffee Shop with a cup of Earl Grey and a raspberry bar for company, but glancing around me at the other human beings in the shop is a sober reality check. That under the serene faces and quite normalcy lurks this amount of evil reminds me just how blessed we are by His restraining grace, and how much more by the grace of His redemption so that beyond the comparative peace of a December afternoon there is hope for a fullness of joy glorious beyond imagination.
He is truly worthy of praise forever and ever.
15 December 2008
True to form, last week of finals: IT SNOWED!
Not what you could genuinely call snow, more like a nasty mixture of ice and sleet, but it's beautifully white on the roofs of the other flats. The grass on the new U is still green, which creates a rather lovely contrast with the white buildings and white... precipitation.
And it's 25 degrees here (roughly -8 Centigrade), so the walk to the gym this morning to run was not particularly enjoyable to say the least. My nose was frozen off.
Not what you could genuinely call snow, more like a nasty mixture of ice and sleet, but it's beautifully white on the roofs of the other flats. The grass on the new U is still green, which creates a rather lovely contrast with the white buildings and white... precipitation.
And it's 25 degrees here (roughly -8 Centigrade), so the walk to the gym this morning to run was not particularly enjoyable to say the least. My nose was frozen off.
13 December 2008
Now Playing: Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, "The Nutcracker", Act I, Scene I, "March".
Tonight Rachel Sr., Crystal, Jenny M., and I went to see The Nutcracker at the Tulsa Performing Arts Centre. Quite a lovely production, though not entirely traditional: they had changed the storyline significantly and cut out a couple of the dances. Nonetheless, it was a lovely production. It was set in 1920s France, and the two main sets were the Opera Garnier and the mirror room at Versailles, both of which made me delighted thanks to last Christmas's happiness. The costumes were lovely, particularly for the girls, of course--long 1920s-style dresses and simple sparkling tiaras, sometimes with single feathers in them, very elegant.
The music for this work is so full of joy that had it been a performance simply of the music alone I would have been happy. Gorgeous lush harp runs in Act 2 in particular. The dancing was elegant, serene, courteous, gracious, full of spectacular lifts and leaps, which seemed to be the strong point of the company.
There was, however, somehow a slight disjunct between the dancing and the music, something that didn't quite mesh properly. Jenny and I agreed that a purely traditional performance would be satisfying to see someday.
It's so windy here. Think Causeway Coast from January to March. The wind thrums in the walls and the floor (our apartment is on the third storey) and rattles in a piece of loose gutter and shakes the windows.
Almost finished with finals. All I have left is an Honors essay and a take-home exam for Philosophy of Art. The Honors paper is as good as done, and the take-home will be finished by Monday at teatime.
Tonight Rachel Sr., Crystal, Jenny M., and I went to see The Nutcracker at the Tulsa Performing Arts Centre. Quite a lovely production, though not entirely traditional: they had changed the storyline significantly and cut out a couple of the dances. Nonetheless, it was a lovely production. It was set in 1920s France, and the two main sets were the Opera Garnier and the mirror room at Versailles, both of which made me delighted thanks to last Christmas's happiness. The costumes were lovely, particularly for the girls, of course--long 1920s-style dresses and simple sparkling tiaras, sometimes with single feathers in them, very elegant.
The music for this work is so full of joy that had it been a performance simply of the music alone I would have been happy. Gorgeous lush harp runs in Act 2 in particular. The dancing was elegant, serene, courteous, gracious, full of spectacular lifts and leaps, which seemed to be the strong point of the company.
There was, however, somehow a slight disjunct between the dancing and the music, something that didn't quite mesh properly. Jenny and I agreed that a purely traditional performance would be satisfying to see someday.
It's so windy here. Think Causeway Coast from January to March. The wind thrums in the walls and the floor (our apartment is on the third storey) and rattles in a piece of loose gutter and shakes the windows.
Almost finished with finals. All I have left is an Honors essay and a take-home exam for Philosophy of Art. The Honors paper is as good as done, and the take-home will be finished by Monday at teatime.
07 December 2008
Now Playing: New Song, "Psalms For the King of Glory", Track 6, "I Cried With My Whole Heart: Psalm 119".
Click here to see pictures from the RUF dance last night.
Click here to see pictures from the RUF dance last night.
05 December 2008
Now Playing: Sufjan Stevens, "Illinoise".
This has been a week of firsts, thanks to Nicole and Rachel Jr. Nicole taught me on Wednesday night after we ate tea in The Hut how to play pool, at which I was laughably bad. On Thursday night, Nicole and Rachel attempted to teach me how to play gin, which I might understand, and rummy, which I almost certainly do not understand, and together they introduced me to the wonders of Freckles frozen custard.
Tonight Tara, Amanda, Rachel Sr., and I watched Get Smart. Popcorn film, ridiculous and (if I may say so) extremely silly. The level of innuendo was rather more than my Victorian sensibilities could handle, but the mockery of James Bond was hilarious.
Almost finished with my senior project, I discovered to my dismay today that my advisor has been ill all week, so she has been completely unable to look over the draft I sent her a couple of weeks ago. I suppose I'll just have to turn it in on Monday and hope that it is acceptable.
The RUF Christmas ball is tomorrow night. Most people in RUF only know how to swing dance, but a few people like to dance English country/Irish dances, so I may be attempting to teach the Waves of Tory and Strip the Willow tomorrow, if I can find music for the dances. Nickel Creek and Flook will help most likely.
High time for some sleep now.
This has been a week of firsts, thanks to Nicole and Rachel Jr. Nicole taught me on Wednesday night after we ate tea in The Hut how to play pool, at which I was laughably bad. On Thursday night, Nicole and Rachel attempted to teach me how to play gin, which I might understand, and rummy, which I almost certainly do not understand, and together they introduced me to the wonders of Freckles frozen custard.
Tonight Tara, Amanda, Rachel Sr., and I watched Get Smart. Popcorn film, ridiculous and (if I may say so) extremely silly. The level of innuendo was rather more than my Victorian sensibilities could handle, but the mockery of James Bond was hilarious.
Almost finished with my senior project, I discovered to my dismay today that my advisor has been ill all week, so she has been completely unable to look over the draft I sent her a couple of weeks ago. I suppose I'll just have to turn it in on Monday and hope that it is acceptable.
The RUF Christmas ball is tomorrow night. Most people in RUF only know how to swing dance, but a few people like to dance English country/Irish dances, so I may be attempting to teach the Waves of Tory and Strip the Willow tomorrow, if I can find music for the dances. Nickel Creek and Flook will help most likely.
High time for some sleep now.
02 December 2008
Now Playing: The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers soundtrack by Howard Shore, Track 19, "Gollum's Song".
How sad, no white rabbits for me this month.
Was just looking at pictures from the "football dinner" last spring. Two conclusions: Cultural differences make me want to laugh for the awkwardness, and Heaven is going to be wonderful.
I hope it snows tomorrow, just for the fun of it.
How sad, no white rabbits for me this month.
Was just looking at pictures from the "football dinner" last spring. Two conclusions: Cultural differences make me want to laugh for the awkwardness, and Heaven is going to be wonderful.
I hope it snows tomorrow, just for the fun of it.
29 November 2008
Now Playing: The Decemberists, "16 Military Wives" from "The Picaresque" on Philip's laptop.
For once the house has been completely full. Our days usually include Philip doing loads of thermodynamics, physics, and statics homework at the living room table, Stephen building sewers for his Roman helots on the computer upstairs, and Keith mucking about with Philip's computer.
Of course the first third of the week, after Keith arrived, was spent "fixing" Philip's computer: Philip and Keith spent most of Wednesday and Thursday attacking the problem, getting frustrated, doing something else, then going back to the computer again. I think that after a lot of jockeying with memory sticks and online downloads they finally managed to uninstall or reinstall or install Linux, and after that, having nothing better to do, they proceeded to install a myriad of add-ons and slick cosmetic changes that make Philip's Dell look like a Mac when booted up. Which is the point, as Keith informed me.
Our house has been sadly cat-less since Mandy left us. Sandy is being given an unprecedented amount of attention. On Wednesday, she chased one of the neighbor's cats all the way down the street into the creek, and returned about an hour later absolutely filthy and very proud of herself. She has since then been given two baths, one of them with my mother's own hair shampoo.
On Wednesday, Laura, Stephen, Keith, my mother, and I spent most of the afternoon raking leaves in the front yard. The south side of the yard was a mat of silver maple leaves, silver and gold, that crunched underfoot like tissue paper. The north side of the yard, where the grass was longer, was harder to rake, but we did our best. It was nearly dark before we finished. Keith and Stephen stacked twenty-two bags under the basketball goal on the driveway.
Thanksgiving was the usual family affair, though Mr. Workman, from church, also joined us. After everyone left in the afternoon, we all went for a walk around San Born Lake--even my parents went with us. Philip led Keith, Laura, and Stephen on a wild goose chase down the side of the dam into the swamp under the old cottonwood trees, but my parents and I walked around the lake on the normal trail. We saw a magnificent red-tailed hawk, a great blue heron trying to fish while a flock of mallard ducks paddled nearby, and a kingfisher. Someone had butchered a deer on the peninsula, the hideousness of a sawn-off leg and its empty rotting rib cage reminding me of the horror of the dead frogs in Perelandra. We stood on the peninsula and waited for the ardent explorers to return--we could hear their voices coming clear across the still water.
Yesterday, my mother and all of us except Philip went out to Grammy's house. We dug up her dead basil plants for her, aromatic brittle stalks crammed into a bin bag. I refilled her bird feeder. Last night all of us except my father went to the Cs' house for a post-Thanksgiving party to which everyone was supposed to bring Thanksgiving leftovers--I'd say that people brought a lot more. Mrs. S brought venison stew, and Bridget had made a peanut butter meringue pie. After people finished eating, we played games. Philip started a poker game with the guys in the living room, playing with chips from another game. The younger girls played a sort of Scrabble while Mrs. C, Mrs. S, and my mother laughed hysterically over Mad Gab. Then Mrs. C decided that she wanted to play Pit, and quite soon an incredibly noisy game of Pit was happening back in the sunroom. It got even noisier when Philip and Laura joined in. The parakeets in their cage on the bookshelf twittered nervously while everyone yelled "One, one one!" or "Three, three, three!" at the tops of their lungs.
I went grocery shopping with my mother and Laura today. The disgusting commercialism of Wal-Mart at Christmastime is enough to make me want to pick up and move to some deserted island in the Pacific, or the coast of Donegal, but I don't think that would be very wise.
Somehow or other I managed to finish almost everything on my list for the week, including a couple of parcels posted, a haircut, birthday presents purchased, cards made, e-mails written, and the like. Also read A Wind in the Door, A Wrinkle in Time, and the first two Harry Potter books. "Helped" my parents choose new glasses frames, too, though I'm not sure I was quite necessary for that job.
Stephen and I baked loads of cookies yesterday, and I baked scones today for Anna and me. Philip and I have been teasing each other non-stop. I suppose it helps him let out steam while he's revising. I'm fairly sure it scandalizes our parents. At some point I guess we'll have to grow up and stop mucking about, but I don't know when the cut-off age is for nonsense.
Oh, yay, "Sons and Daughters". It's about the only happy song The Decemberists have ever written. Rhyming "cinnamon" and "aluminum"...!
For once the house has been completely full. Our days usually include Philip doing loads of thermodynamics, physics, and statics homework at the living room table, Stephen building sewers for his Roman helots on the computer upstairs, and Keith mucking about with Philip's computer.
Of course the first third of the week, after Keith arrived, was spent "fixing" Philip's computer: Philip and Keith spent most of Wednesday and Thursday attacking the problem, getting frustrated, doing something else, then going back to the computer again. I think that after a lot of jockeying with memory sticks and online downloads they finally managed to uninstall or reinstall or install Linux, and after that, having nothing better to do, they proceeded to install a myriad of add-ons and slick cosmetic changes that make Philip's Dell look like a Mac when booted up. Which is the point, as Keith informed me.
Our house has been sadly cat-less since Mandy left us. Sandy is being given an unprecedented amount of attention. On Wednesday, she chased one of the neighbor's cats all the way down the street into the creek, and returned about an hour later absolutely filthy and very proud of herself. She has since then been given two baths, one of them with my mother's own hair shampoo.
On Wednesday, Laura, Stephen, Keith, my mother, and I spent most of the afternoon raking leaves in the front yard. The south side of the yard was a mat of silver maple leaves, silver and gold, that crunched underfoot like tissue paper. The north side of the yard, where the grass was longer, was harder to rake, but we did our best. It was nearly dark before we finished. Keith and Stephen stacked twenty-two bags under the basketball goal on the driveway.
Thanksgiving was the usual family affair, though Mr. Workman, from church, also joined us. After everyone left in the afternoon, we all went for a walk around San Born Lake--even my parents went with us. Philip led Keith, Laura, and Stephen on a wild goose chase down the side of the dam into the swamp under the old cottonwood trees, but my parents and I walked around the lake on the normal trail. We saw a magnificent red-tailed hawk, a great blue heron trying to fish while a flock of mallard ducks paddled nearby, and a kingfisher. Someone had butchered a deer on the peninsula, the hideousness of a sawn-off leg and its empty rotting rib cage reminding me of the horror of the dead frogs in Perelandra. We stood on the peninsula and waited for the ardent explorers to return--we could hear their voices coming clear across the still water.
Yesterday, my mother and all of us except Philip went out to Grammy's house. We dug up her dead basil plants for her, aromatic brittle stalks crammed into a bin bag. I refilled her bird feeder. Last night all of us except my father went to the Cs' house for a post-Thanksgiving party to which everyone was supposed to bring Thanksgiving leftovers--I'd say that people brought a lot more. Mrs. S brought venison stew, and Bridget had made a peanut butter meringue pie. After people finished eating, we played games. Philip started a poker game with the guys in the living room, playing with chips from another game. The younger girls played a sort of Scrabble while Mrs. C, Mrs. S, and my mother laughed hysterically over Mad Gab. Then Mrs. C decided that she wanted to play Pit, and quite soon an incredibly noisy game of Pit was happening back in the sunroom. It got even noisier when Philip and Laura joined in. The parakeets in their cage on the bookshelf twittered nervously while everyone yelled "One, one one!" or "Three, three, three!" at the tops of their lungs.
I went grocery shopping with my mother and Laura today. The disgusting commercialism of Wal-Mart at Christmastime is enough to make me want to pick up and move to some deserted island in the Pacific, or the coast of Donegal, but I don't think that would be very wise.
Somehow or other I managed to finish almost everything on my list for the week, including a couple of parcels posted, a haircut, birthday presents purchased, cards made, e-mails written, and the like. Also read A Wind in the Door, A Wrinkle in Time, and the first two Harry Potter books. "Helped" my parents choose new glasses frames, too, though I'm not sure I was quite necessary for that job.
Stephen and I baked loads of cookies yesterday, and I baked scones today for Anna and me. Philip and I have been teasing each other non-stop. I suppose it helps him let out steam while he's revising. I'm fairly sure it scandalizes our parents. At some point I guess we'll have to grow up and stop mucking about, but I don't know when the cut-off age is for nonsense.
Oh, yay, "Sons and Daughters". It's about the only happy song The Decemberists have ever written. Rhyming "cinnamon" and "aluminum"...!
26 November 2008
Now Playing: Some random rap song Keith found on YouTube.
I've been trying to teach Laura how to make paper cranes this afternoon. My mother is baking the turkey for tomorrow, and two fat loaves of challah bread that Laura made earlier are sitting on the dining room table.
Psalm 36, trying to explore the love of God. One way to battle unbelief is to think about His love in concrete ways.
5 Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds.
6 Your righteousness is like the mountains of God; your judgments are like the great deep; man and beast you save, O Lord.
7 How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
8 They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights.
9 For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light.
God's love is infinite and overarching. It is a love that is transcendent, superior to any love on earth, while still touching the earth. His love is steadfast, like the mountains, and also like the mountains, in some ways terrifying. C.S. Lewis beautifully describes angels in Perelandra as exemplifying the pure intense charis of God, an intensity resulting from its purity, its sovereignty, its immensity. In some ways this is the redemption of the Romantic idea of the sublime that Burke and Kant talk about: God's love is frightening in its immensity and hugeness, in the fact that it makes us as human beings realize our smallness, our helpless, our inability to love in a way at all comparable.
This love is not without purpose, though. God's love would be terrifying because of its transcendence and sovereignty since we cannot and will not choose to reflect it, but it is channeled into redemption, David says. Not only redemption of human beings, but redemption of creation, "man and beast". His love has chosen to manifest itself sovereignly by flowing through creation instead of judging fallen creation for its inability to reflect that love. C.S. Lewis again writes about the "joy" that happens when the infinite, simply for love, rejects all other possibilities for the one on which His choice has settled. Here that choice is salvation, into which God has amazingly directed all the power of His will.
This makes God's love precious, valuable, weighty. This also makes His love safe, a place of refuge. In this love human beings can find rest and protection, complete security. There is no anger remaining for sins in the past. In the face of His love I can acknowledge my vulnerability and need and find rest.
Not only is His love protecting, but it is satisfying. David speaks of God's love as food and drink, satisfying and refreshing. In Christ nothing else will satisfy or should satisfy. Christ Himself is our abundance, the meal that we eat and drink. This means peace for the future and peace for the present, energy to love those around me.
God's love gives truth, gives direction, gives light. By God's love I can measure all other loves, see all other lights in light of His light. Light also gives freedom from fear: in the light I can confront the things that terrify me and see them for what they are. Since His love is my refuge, I have a safe place from which to confront sin and straight sight with which to confront that sin, to see it for what it is. Then His love gives the energy, the satisfaction, the food and drink, with which to combat that sin.
So I pray this for those I know:
10 Oh, continue your steadfast love to those who know you, and your righteousness to the upright of heart!
I've been trying to teach Laura how to make paper cranes this afternoon. My mother is baking the turkey for tomorrow, and two fat loaves of challah bread that Laura made earlier are sitting on the dining room table.
Psalm 36, trying to explore the love of God. One way to battle unbelief is to think about His love in concrete ways.
5 Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds.
6 Your righteousness is like the mountains of God; your judgments are like the great deep; man and beast you save, O Lord.
7 How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
8 They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights.
9 For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light.
God's love is infinite and overarching. It is a love that is transcendent, superior to any love on earth, while still touching the earth. His love is steadfast, like the mountains, and also like the mountains, in some ways terrifying. C.S. Lewis beautifully describes angels in Perelandra as exemplifying the pure intense charis of God, an intensity resulting from its purity, its sovereignty, its immensity. In some ways this is the redemption of the Romantic idea of the sublime that Burke and Kant talk about: God's love is frightening in its immensity and hugeness, in the fact that it makes us as human beings realize our smallness, our helpless, our inability to love in a way at all comparable.
This love is not without purpose, though. God's love would be terrifying because of its transcendence and sovereignty since we cannot and will not choose to reflect it, but it is channeled into redemption, David says. Not only redemption of human beings, but redemption of creation, "man and beast". His love has chosen to manifest itself sovereignly by flowing through creation instead of judging fallen creation for its inability to reflect that love. C.S. Lewis again writes about the "joy" that happens when the infinite, simply for love, rejects all other possibilities for the one on which His choice has settled. Here that choice is salvation, into which God has amazingly directed all the power of His will.
This makes God's love precious, valuable, weighty. This also makes His love safe, a place of refuge. In this love human beings can find rest and protection, complete security. There is no anger remaining for sins in the past. In the face of His love I can acknowledge my vulnerability and need and find rest.
Not only is His love protecting, but it is satisfying. David speaks of God's love as food and drink, satisfying and refreshing. In Christ nothing else will satisfy or should satisfy. Christ Himself is our abundance, the meal that we eat and drink. This means peace for the future and peace for the present, energy to love those around me.
God's love gives truth, gives direction, gives light. By God's love I can measure all other loves, see all other lights in light of His light. Light also gives freedom from fear: in the light I can confront the things that terrify me and see them for what they are. Since His love is my refuge, I have a safe place from which to confront sin and straight sight with which to confront that sin, to see it for what it is. Then His love gives the energy, the satisfaction, the food and drink, with which to combat that sin.
So I pray this for those I know:
10 Oh, continue your steadfast love to those who know you, and your righteousness to the upright of heart!
24 November 2008
Now Playing: Mozart, "Requiem", "Kyrie Eleison".
What have I been doing these past weeks?
Monday, 10 November: Decided that next year I would sleep in a broom closet under someone's stairs, Harry-Potter style.
Tuesday, 11 November: Listened to some ridiculous Australian rap with Nicole and was laughed at by someone for using the word "wellies".
Wednesday, 12 November: Ran into my main lecturer in the gym, which was awkward, and sat through an exceedingly dull Mortar Board meeting.
Thursday, 13 November: Drank a latte made for me by Philip, which kept me awake while I worked on my senior project.
Friday, 14 November: Went to an international fair with Rachel at which Europe was sadly underrepresented, and then watched Harry Potter with a constantly-changing assortment of people in Nicole's apartment even though Nicole herself wasn't there most of the time.
Over that weekend, I talked to Catherine on the phone, volunteered at an international festival for kids where I got to help out in the booth for Scotland, and was visited by Sarah, Laura, and Anna, who crashed our apartment and helped Rachel and me eat up whole bags of sweets while watching Superman Returns.
Monday, 17 November: Was invited by a professor to give a lecture on Old English poetry next year if I'm still in Tulsa, which would be so much fun!
Tuesday, 18 November: Attempted with varying degrees of success to be in five places at once, including tea with Crystal, a fancy shmancy cocktail reception in the library, a birthday party for Nicole, an editors' meeting for Stylus, and RUF.
Wednesday, 19 November: Went to tea at Joanna's apartment and worked on senior project all evening after that.
Thursday, 20 November: Made snowflakes with Crystal, Alyson, and Rachel after Bible study tonight! We covered our apartment floor with tiny snippets of paper and hung the beautiful results all over the ceiling.
Friday, 21 November: Went to a performance of Mozart's "Requiem" with my mother, Laura, Tara, Nicole, Rachel, and Amy in Trinity Episcopal Church downtown, and was overwhelmed by its absolute beauty.
Saturday, 22 November: Spent all morning working on a community garden with other RUFfians, and then spent all afternoon cleaning our apartment and packing so that Philip and I could be back in Stillwater in time for tea.
And that's about the sum of my life for the past two weeks.
Today we had to put one of our cats down.... Not exactly the best way to start Thanksgiving break. She was my favorite of our pets, too, so I have to admit that I'll miss her (N.B., "her", not "it", which might admittedly be rather ridiculous to the sensible world).
Think of it as one more tiny piece of delight taken away, and one small token of the hideousness of the Fall, our sin wrecking even the helpless creation.
More serious stuff some other time. I'm away to sleep.
What have I been doing these past weeks?
Monday, 10 November: Decided that next year I would sleep in a broom closet under someone's stairs, Harry-Potter style.
Tuesday, 11 November: Listened to some ridiculous Australian rap with Nicole and was laughed at by someone for using the word "wellies".
Wednesday, 12 November: Ran into my main lecturer in the gym, which was awkward, and sat through an exceedingly dull Mortar Board meeting.
Thursday, 13 November: Drank a latte made for me by Philip, which kept me awake while I worked on my senior project.
Friday, 14 November: Went to an international fair with Rachel at which Europe was sadly underrepresented, and then watched Harry Potter with a constantly-changing assortment of people in Nicole's apartment even though Nicole herself wasn't there most of the time.
Over that weekend, I talked to Catherine on the phone, volunteered at an international festival for kids where I got to help out in the booth for Scotland, and was visited by Sarah, Laura, and Anna, who crashed our apartment and helped Rachel and me eat up whole bags of sweets while watching Superman Returns.
Monday, 17 November: Was invited by a professor to give a lecture on Old English poetry next year if I'm still in Tulsa, which would be so much fun!
Tuesday, 18 November: Attempted with varying degrees of success to be in five places at once, including tea with Crystal, a fancy shmancy cocktail reception in the library, a birthday party for Nicole, an editors' meeting for Stylus, and RUF.
Wednesday, 19 November: Went to tea at Joanna's apartment and worked on senior project all evening after that.
Thursday, 20 November: Made snowflakes with Crystal, Alyson, and Rachel after Bible study tonight! We covered our apartment floor with tiny snippets of paper and hung the beautiful results all over the ceiling.
Friday, 21 November: Went to a performance of Mozart's "Requiem" with my mother, Laura, Tara, Nicole, Rachel, and Amy in Trinity Episcopal Church downtown, and was overwhelmed by its absolute beauty.
Saturday, 22 November: Spent all morning working on a community garden with other RUFfians, and then spent all afternoon cleaning our apartment and packing so that Philip and I could be back in Stillwater in time for tea.
And that's about the sum of my life for the past two weeks.
Today we had to put one of our cats down.... Not exactly the best way to start Thanksgiving break. She was my favorite of our pets, too, so I have to admit that I'll miss her (N.B., "her", not "it", which might admittedly be rather ridiculous to the sensible world).
Think of it as one more tiny piece of delight taken away, and one small token of the hideousness of the Fall, our sin wrecking even the helpless creation.
More serious stuff some other time. I'm away to sleep.
09 November 2008
Now Playing: Handel, "Messiah", "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth".
A sense of undeserving makes receiving the gladness of others a powerful means of grace.
Yesterday I was eating breakfast, and Rachel was heading out the door to the gym, when my mobile rang: it was Emmaline, to my delight. I was treated to an excellent half-hour of drinking good tea and talking to her while she was on the train out of Belfast, at least until her service gave out. We chatted away until her service cut out (the first time), and when she rang me back, I was justly slagged off for having assumed that after only ten minutes she was already to Culleybackey when five minutes before she'd been buying her ticket from someone near City Central.
For her birthday treat Saturday afternoon, I took Crystal to the Gilcrease Museum to see the Ansel Adams exhibit. We spent about three hours there, until the museum closed, meandering through endless rooms of black-and-white photographs. Like the afternoon outside, intense, sharply defined beauty, overwhelming in its powerful detail.
Afterward, Crystal, Rachel, and I ate tea in The Hut. Rachel left to study in the library then, but Crystal and I went back to our apartment. We were talking about Seneca when my mobile rang: Emmaline again. Listening to my accent change when I greeted Emmaline, Crystal glanced at me and laughed, and Emmaline on the other end slagged me off. I was regaled with accounts of pranks happening inRenwick and plans for another Thanksgiving dinner over the course of our conversation.
Crystal left, and I said good-night to Emmaline at half seven, when Stephen and I had agreed to meet to go to the Signature Symphony concert for which Alisha had reserved tickets. They playedVivaldi's "Four Seasons" tonight, alternating with Piazzolla's "Four Seasons", an Argentinean version. Equally beautiful pieces, Vivaldi's irrepressible exuberance and lyricism on one hand and Piazzolla's exotic tango rhythms and eerie quotations from Vivaldi on the other. The violin technique was amazing.
Today I went back to Stillwater for church: was amused by Renee babbling during Sabbath school, was attacked by Christa after Sabbath school (she wanted to know where Rachel Sr. was), was nearly strangled by Laura, and was given a much-needed talking-to from wise Katie during lunch. In second service we prayed U.K. style, in small circles of five or six all in the one room, which I like far more than our normal practice of praying as one huge congregational group. Laughed with Stephanie at her crazy children, who were running around everywhere without shoes after second service, and spent the afternoon with my parents before driving back to uni.
As my parents pointed out, we are monuments to God's excellence: He shows His power by subduing His enemies and His grace by making them His children.
Even when the mental knowledge of this is questioned and the heart's emotions evaporate, that truth is still true because He is still the same, and His possession of us never ends because He never ends.
A sense of undeserving makes receiving the gladness of others a powerful means of grace.
Yesterday I was eating breakfast, and Rachel was heading out the door to the gym, when my mobile rang: it was Emmaline, to my delight. I was treated to an excellent half-hour of drinking good tea and talking to her while she was on the train out of Belfast, at least until her service gave out. We chatted away until her service cut out (the first time), and when she rang me back, I was justly slagged off for having assumed that after only ten minutes she was already to Culleybackey when five minutes before she'd been buying her ticket from someone near City Central.
For her birthday treat Saturday afternoon, I took Crystal to the Gilcrease Museum to see the Ansel Adams exhibit. We spent about three hours there, until the museum closed, meandering through endless rooms of black-and-white photographs. Like the afternoon outside, intense, sharply defined beauty, overwhelming in its powerful detail.
Afterward, Crystal, Rachel, and I ate tea in The Hut. Rachel left to study in the library then, but Crystal and I went back to our apartment. We were talking about Seneca when my mobile rang: Emmaline again. Listening to my accent change when I greeted Emmaline, Crystal glanced at me and laughed, and Emmaline on the other end slagged me off. I was regaled with accounts of pranks happening inRenwick and plans for another Thanksgiving dinner over the course of our conversation.
Crystal left, and I said good-night to Emmaline at half seven, when Stephen and I had agreed to meet to go to the Signature Symphony concert for which Alisha had reserved tickets. They playedVivaldi's "Four Seasons" tonight, alternating with Piazzolla's "Four Seasons", an Argentinean version. Equally beautiful pieces, Vivaldi's irrepressible exuberance and lyricism on one hand and Piazzolla's exotic tango rhythms and eerie quotations from Vivaldi on the other. The violin technique was amazing.
Today I went back to Stillwater for church: was amused by Renee babbling during Sabbath school, was attacked by Christa after Sabbath school (she wanted to know where Rachel Sr. was), was nearly strangled by Laura, and was given a much-needed talking-to from wise Katie during lunch. In second service we prayed U.K. style, in small circles of five or six all in the one room, which I like far more than our normal practice of praying as one huge congregational group. Laughed with Stephanie at her crazy children, who were running around everywhere without shoes after second service, and spent the afternoon with my parents before driving back to uni.
As my parents pointed out, we are monuments to God's excellence: He shows His power by subduing His enemies and His grace by making them His children.
Even when the mental knowledge of this is questioned and the heart's emotions evaporate, that truth is still true because He is still the same, and His possession of us never ends because He never ends.
05 November 2008
Now Playing: Felix Mendelssohn, "Symphony No. 4 in A Major," "Con Moto Moderato".
I've been collecting words this week. I was reading Walter Benjamin for Honors and senior project, as well as talking to Rachel and Alyson, the combination of which resulted in these fine specimens.
Sesquipedalian: Describing words a foot-and-a-half long, from Horace. As Rachel pointed out, this word is self-defeating. You can't accuse someone of being sesquipedalian without being it yourself.
Chthonic: Underground. It makes me think of submarine things that have become subterranean, round ammonite fossils and tiny limestone shells.
Phantasmagoria: An exhibition of optical illusions chiefly produced by a magic lantern. Not even the Oxford English Dictionary knows where it comes from, so the word itself is phantasmagoric, a combination of unusual or strange elements. The first part is Greek, but the second part might be Greek or French or the invention of someone wanting a word that sounded fantastic.
I was reading Perelandra today while I was practicing my flute (yes, the two go together, which is why I'm an English major and not a music major). As the Green Woman says at the beginning, stepping out of time and looking at oneself from the Alongside is rather a strange habit that we earth-dwellers have. I seem to have had trouble doing it these last few months, at least with the quiet calm contemplative attitude, too busy either worrying or working to step out for a moment and consider.
We had an absolutely glorious thunderstorm in Tulsa Wednesday night. When I emerged from working in the library at five o'clock in the evening, a huge cloud was rearing along the western horizon between the sky and the setting sun, its edge gilded white and gold from the sun behind it. The wind was swirling round the corner of the library. For some reason, because of the way the library is built, it always seems to be blowing up at you from the doorway, which is on a level below the ground.
Then when Nicole and I left The Hut a couple of hours later, the pavement was damp and the air moist. We were standing outside her apartment talking when a blue flash of lightning lit the sky, and we hightailed it to our separate apartments. Rachel and I spent the rest of the evening studying in our apartment and watching the storm as it came in two separate "events". The second one was more violent and prolonged than the first. Cascades of rain blew over the roofs of the apartments; the streetlamps outside rocked with the force of the wind; lightning staggered the darkness.
The next day, it was crisp and clear and very windy from the northwest, and ever since then it's been blowing colder and colder, stripping the leaves from the trees against a vivid blue sky. Intense sunshine dazzles through what leaves are left.
Today I had an extra flute lesson, the first of a set of extra lessons that will be happening on Friday mornings. Bach and Vivaldi are both at the stage where they require mostly large-scale practice, so today the professor and I started on Blavet. Fussy French music, like Versailles, all ornament with very little underneath. Whenever I play the crisp shining little trills and appoggiaturas, I see those gardens and gilded facades.
I've been collecting words this week. I was reading Walter Benjamin for Honors and senior project, as well as talking to Rachel and Alyson, the combination of which resulted in these fine specimens.
Sesquipedalian: Describing words a foot-and-a-half long, from Horace. As Rachel pointed out, this word is self-defeating. You can't accuse someone of being sesquipedalian without being it yourself.
Chthonic: Underground. It makes me think of submarine things that have become subterranean, round ammonite fossils and tiny limestone shells.
Phantasmagoria: An exhibition of optical illusions chiefly produced by a magic lantern. Not even the Oxford English Dictionary knows where it comes from, so the word itself is phantasmagoric, a combination of unusual or strange elements. The first part is Greek, but the second part might be Greek or French or the invention of someone wanting a word that sounded fantastic.
I was reading Perelandra today while I was practicing my flute (yes, the two go together, which is why I'm an English major and not a music major). As the Green Woman says at the beginning, stepping out of time and looking at oneself from the Alongside is rather a strange habit that we earth-dwellers have. I seem to have had trouble doing it these last few months, at least with the quiet calm contemplative attitude, too busy either worrying or working to step out for a moment and consider.
We had an absolutely glorious thunderstorm in Tulsa Wednesday night. When I emerged from working in the library at five o'clock in the evening, a huge cloud was rearing along the western horizon between the sky and the setting sun, its edge gilded white and gold from the sun behind it. The wind was swirling round the corner of the library. For some reason, because of the way the library is built, it always seems to be blowing up at you from the doorway, which is on a level below the ground.
Then when Nicole and I left The Hut a couple of hours later, the pavement was damp and the air moist. We were standing outside her apartment talking when a blue flash of lightning lit the sky, and we hightailed it to our separate apartments. Rachel and I spent the rest of the evening studying in our apartment and watching the storm as it came in two separate "events". The second one was more violent and prolonged than the first. Cascades of rain blew over the roofs of the apartments; the streetlamps outside rocked with the force of the wind; lightning staggered the darkness.
The next day, it was crisp and clear and very windy from the northwest, and ever since then it's been blowing colder and colder, stripping the leaves from the trees against a vivid blue sky. Intense sunshine dazzles through what leaves are left.
Today I had an extra flute lesson, the first of a set of extra lessons that will be happening on Friday mornings. Bach and Vivaldi are both at the stage where they require mostly large-scale practice, so today the professor and I started on Blavet. Fussy French music, like Versailles, all ornament with very little underneath. Whenever I play the crisp shining little trills and appoggiaturas, I see those gardens and gilded facades.
04 November 2008
Now Playing: Fox News on Nicole's TV.
You can't escape it even here.
Somehow, this is indicative, though: Fox is finally getting around to announcing the results of the first states with polls to close, and Rachel and Nicole have both dozed off on the battered green leather sofas.
So much talk. Pastor preached an excellent sermon on Sabbath day about how our hope is not in political candidates. Neither one of these boys seems to do what is exactly right, and in my young idealistic mind that's cause enough for voter disillusionment.
It's been interesting to hear professors talk about this election. They're all voting for Obama, of course. We talked in Honors today about the use of the media to frame this election. Media announcers make fanfare and spectacle out of something that happens quietly in tiny booths, individual by individual: fair enough assessment. It's interesting to think about how voting is a public spectacle just like sporting events or parades.
Meanwhile, though, the demands of the body have to be met. Rachel and I are away for our tea.
You can't escape it even here.
Somehow, this is indicative, though: Fox is finally getting around to announcing the results of the first states with polls to close, and Rachel and Nicole have both dozed off on the battered green leather sofas.
So much talk. Pastor preached an excellent sermon on Sabbath day about how our hope is not in political candidates. Neither one of these boys seems to do what is exactly right, and in my young idealistic mind that's cause enough for voter disillusionment.
It's been interesting to hear professors talk about this election. They're all voting for Obama, of course. We talked in Honors today about the use of the media to frame this election. Media announcers make fanfare and spectacle out of something that happens quietly in tiny booths, individual by individual: fair enough assessment. It's interesting to think about how voting is a public spectacle just like sporting events or parades.
Meanwhile, though, the demands of the body have to be met. Rachel and I are away for our tea.
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