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.
22 May 2009
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
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