Laura Lucille

westminster & west end

2011-01-04T22:24:00.002-05:00

I have to admit, I wasn’t a huge fan of Westminster Abbey. It was absolutely beautiful, but…so crowded. I’d like to go back and explore on my own - spend more time in Poet’s Corner and at the memorial to William Wilberforce.
Also…first time I ever saw Les Miserables. In the West End, with 4th row seats. Becca kept telling us “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Les Mis!” I think it’s safe to say she’s right. So, so amazing.

st. mary’s tower

2011-01-03T11:57:00.001-05:00

A Haiku:

Last day in Oxford.
Dizzying tower venture.
Most beautiful view.

the kilns

2011-01-02T13:33:00.001-05:00

This time last year, I was experiencing the hospitality of the lovely people who now take care of The Kilns, C. S. Lewis’s home.

Students live there now - American students. One had lived there for 7 years and had soaked up a genuine accent. We toured the house and had tea in his kitchen, and had a few lecture sessions with Michael Ward. A student living in The Kilns had dinner with us in a pub and took us back to Christ Church, and he willingly told us about how he got to study theology there after finishing his undergrad in the States.

I think that night, walking towards Evensong at Christ Church Cathedral, was the night I realized my dreams might actually be possible.

new year.

2011-01-01T18:00:00.001-05:00

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
– Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God.

This last year has been one of questions. Lots of them. We’ll see about 2011.

At any rate, this is what I did with my New Year’s Day last year:

I heard in Addison’s Walk a bird sing clear:
This year the summer will come true. This year. This year…

one year ago…

2010-12-31T10:26:00.001-05:00

I stumbled off a plane and into a new country. I was amazed that two countries could speak the same language (with a few words’ difference) and still have completely different cultures.

“Queues? What? What’s this obsession with making lines?”

I sat on a bus and watched the city and the countryside pass by, from the wrong side of the road. The bus driver made hilariously dry quips the whole way.

After a few hours we left the bus, dragged our things to the hostel, slept (finally) and set out to explore Oxford.

One word: Juxtaposition.

Old and new. Bustle and peace. Together, in the same city.

The Cultivation of Christmas Trees, 1954

2010-12-24T23:16:00.001-05:00

There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Some of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),
And the childish – which is not that of the child
For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree
Is not only a decoration, but an angel.
The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder
At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;
So that the glittering rapture, the amazement
Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,
So that the surprises, delight in new possessions
(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),
The expectation of the goose or turkey
And the expected awe on its appearance,
So that the reverence and the gaiety
May not be forgotten in later experience,
In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,
The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,
Or in the piety of the convert
Which may be tainted with a self-conceit
Displeasing to God and disrespectful to the children
(And here I remember also with gratitude
St. Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire):
So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas
(By ‘eightieth’ meaning whichever is last)
The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall also be a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.

[T. S. Eliot]

0201-0214: delight.

2010-11-15T21:11:00.001-05:00

Growing up, I thought the primary way to show affection was to serve. My family raised me to love through service—not a bad thing for a kid to learn, really. But somewhere along the way, I got the idea that God also only loves through doing. We need air to breathe, so He gave us trees. We can’t see in the dark, so He gave us the sun & moon. We fell, so He sent a Savior.

I am learning, slowly and falteringly, that God’s love and God’s affection are inextricably linked. That He draws me near, not out of mere necessity, but from sheer delight. That I am lovely because He loves me.

Wow. Just…wow.

And so I count these simple gifts—sent because I am His, and He shows His affection in ways my feeble understanding can grasp:

0201: A cancelled 9 AM class. Extra rest.
0202: Last test before finals, completed. And it went better than I expected, largely due to my friends who learn kinetically.
0203: “Why do you worry so much about things you can’t control?” [so. true.] Gentle reminders from friends.
0204: My memorization file. Categorized. Full of verses (both Scripture and poetry) and prayer requests to remember.
0205: Testimonies shared.
0206: They asked us for Bibles.
0207: 60 degree weather. Sunshine. In November!
0208: Prayer doesn’t change God…it changes me.
0209: Productive Saturday.
0210: Paper idea approved…and I’m really excited about this one.
0211: Feeling at home in a church. Truly at home.
0212: The tangibility of kneeling, of corporate prayer, of coming forward to receive Communion.
0213: The Lord has promised good to me, His word my hope secures; He will my Shield & Portion be, as long as life endures.
0214: “Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk; I took them up by the arms, but they did not know that I healed them. I led them with cords of kindness, with the bands of love, and I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws, and I bent down to them and fed them.” [Hosea 11.1-4 ESV]

0181-0200: autumn.

2010-11-08T09:07:00.001-05:00

These weeks have been long. They’ve been stressful. I’ve laughed a lot; cried some; slept little. You’ll notice that a lot of these thankfuls have to do with rest and/or friends. It’s what happens in college, I guess. God reminds me continually that neither my body nor my heart is independent.

So many things to be thankful for, and I’ve missed counting week by week. But life is about stumbling and getting back up, and so I pick up right where I left off…

0181: this girl came to visit me:

0182: I got to show my sister my world. introduce her to my friends. hear her infectious giggle.
0183: already November, and I haven’t gotten sick yet.
0184: sunshine after days of gray, damp cold.
0185: friends who cheer me up with faces like this:

0186: “I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the LORD sustained me.” [psalm 3.3]
0187: the Puritans. Edward Taylor. Anne Bradstreet.
0188: English tests. Exhausting (physically, mentally, and emotionally)…but oh, so fun (if you’re prepared)!
0189: making new friends.
0190: This website. A guy who sat down with his acoustic guitar and sang the whole book of Ephesians. [click on “music” link at the top.]
0191: brilliant fall colors. my school is the most beautiful place on earth in the fall.
0192: crisp air, corn mazes, hay rides, windblown hair, fall colors, and friends to enjoy it all with:

0193: the friend who woke me up when I slept 10 minutes into a midterm. 0194: a gracious professor whose only reaction was to hug me and ask if everything was okay.
0195: friends who threw a blanket over me when I fell asleep on their floor after that long week…who let me sleep there for 10 uninterrupted hours.
0196: inspiration to finish each writing assignment well.
0197: “Wash me white as snow, & I will be made whole…” [Jon Foreman, “White as Snow”]
0198: “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were f a r o f f have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace…” [Eph. 2]
0199: loose-leaf black raspberry passion-fruit tea. mmm…
0200: “Anchor my heart on Me, thy Rock.
I do in thee Delight.” [Edward Taylor, “Christ’s Reply”]

timeless moments

2010-11-06T11:11:00.003-04:00

I opened my eyes, and rolled over to check my clock, certain that I had mere minutes before my alarm went off. Nope. Five A.M. Why was I awake this early? The only time all year my 8 A.M. class was cancelled, and here I was, wide awake even before the sunrise. What a waste of a Friday morning. All week, I envisioned sleeping for a glorious extra hour before my next class. But it wasn’t meant to be.

I closed my eyes again and lay very still, hoping that I would drift to the space between sleeping and waking for the rest of the time I had left. No luck—I wasn’t even drowsy. Slowly, the pale beginnings of the sunrise crept in. I parted my curtain just enough to let the early morning light fall across my half of the room. My roommate slept soundly, and so I reached for my copy of The Complete Poems & Plays of T. S. Eliot. I lovingly fingered the pages as I meandered through the poetry, careful to keep loose leaves in place. A few pages from “Burnt Norton” and “East Coker” had broken off entirely, though I had only owned the book since January. I like to think its worn condition resulted from being loved too well, but perhaps cheap binding had a role to play in its premature demise.

Years of reading by flashlight and streetlight had trained my eyes for dim conditions, and so I turned to The Four Quartets, my homework assignment for the week, and began to read movement by movement, book by book, in hushed voice:

A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter’s afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England…

***

I dropped my bags by the nearest bed I saw. The days had been so long and weary. England had been everything I dreamed it would be, but on this night I found myself a little tired of living out of a suitcase. Weak heating in the bedrooms detracted from the rustic charm of Little Gidding, despite strategically placed space heaters and closed doors. My bones ached from the bustle of the city. Anyone who believes, like Samuel Johnson, that people who “tire of London tire of life” must not value peace and quiet very much. My harried soul craved rest. I fell asleep more quickly that night than any previous night on the trip.

I woke to complete stillness and cool winter light. I tried to roll over and go back to sleep for a few precious minutes, but to no avail. The two other girls in the room were still fast asleep, and I wished, not for the first time, that my body wouldn’t always wake up before its time. But then it occurred to me—we had arrived at Little Gidding long after dark, and we only stayed inside. “What must the outside look like?” I wondered.

The curtains hung over the window to block the waking light. I slipped behind them, and my breath caught in my throat. Beauty. Pristine natural beauty. Unbroken snow lay across the fields. I could see for miles without a single housing development or building blocking my view. The sun rose in pastels, shades of baby blue and pink. One lone tree stood, reaching naked branches to the skies; a solitary blackbird glided through the scene. I looked down to see tracks of all kinds—rabbits and some kind of bird—and a huge, pigeon-type bird I’d never seen before. I peered beyond the frozen glass and fixed my gaze on the horizon. I don’t know how long I stood there, but those moments of quiet simplicity nourished my soul more than days of manmade grandeur.

I cannot remember whether that day at Little Gidding fell on a literal Sunday. Regardless, it was my Sabbath. We did nothing that day but read poetry, drink tea, eat home-cooked meals, and wander around the English winter countryside. No tours, no deadlines, no trains. No TV, no internet, no phones. Time froze. Every few hours I would return to my place behind the curtain and refill my soul. The light changed with the passing hours, from cool blue to pale yellow, and finally a blazing vermillion sunset that sparkled off the snow. I knew it must be beautiful in the spring when the world would come alive; but I dared not imagine anything that could surpass that landscape, in that moment.

At the end of the day we took Holy Communion together; after conversation of grace around the fire, I returned to my bed. The room was warmer now, or maybe I had warmed from the inside out. In my last moments before sleep I reached into my backpack, and from the scarves and pamphlets I pulled my brand-new copy of The Complete Poems & Plays of T. S. Eliot. The trip culminated in a revelation this day: Somehow in the last semester, I had learned to love poetry. And so I read silently, pencil in hand:

Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing the laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality…

***

Time froze that morning at 5 A.M., just as it had that day in Little Gidding. I do not know how long I read, only that I whispered The Four Quartets in its entirety. And right as I got to the lines,

Quick now, here now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)…

I heard the sound of rain. A usual sound in northern Pennsylvania, so I thought nothing of it…until I looked out my window and saw that the sun still rose. Sun and rain—two of my favorite things, usually antithetical, existing in the same moment. Not only existing together, but enhancing one another.

I grabbed my ID, rolled up my sweatpants, and ran barefoot into the morning. The hard, frigid rain mixed with the warm air so that all was awash in a misty glow and the earth smelled sweet. Each rain drop served as a prism, magnifying the light that shone through it and brightening every color in jewel hues. The world sparkled.

The rain sped into a torrential downpour. By the time I reached the chapel doors, I was soaked through. I stepped inside and dripped a puddle of rain on the floor, marveling that the colors outside were more vivid even than those in the stained glass windows. I only stayed inside a few seconds to clear the rainwater from my eyes—who knew how long this moment would last?

I stopped at the bridge to watch the sun finish rising through the rain. As I soaked in the rain, the sunshine, the brilliant colors and the smell of the earth, the words of Gerard Manley Hopkins filled my heart with praise:

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow…
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

I returned to my dorm soaking wet, thoroughly exhilarated, actually grateful that my plans had been interrupted. The glory of that morning far outshone the sleep.

0165-0180: exhaustion.

2010-09-06T21:37:00.001-04:00

It has been a long week of firsts, but I am finally in a routine. I know my favorite (and least favorite) times of the week, and can better prepare. I have planned almost all my major projects, and I know I’ll survive the semester.

Right now, I just got back from the dishroom. Yes, I work in a dishroom on campus. The only cafeteria open on Labor Day. The tray accumulator broke multiple times. The conveyor also broke, so I spent most of the evening acting as a human conveyor, running back and forth with heavy stacks of trays and plates. I cleaned every apparatus in that dishroom at the end of the night.

I returned to my dorm 45 minutes later than usual. My fingers were swollen from absorbing so much water. And now I can sympathize some with pregnant women, because my feet were swollen too.

Tonight, I need to count my blessings. More desperately than ever. And so:

0165: Courage needed for my creative nonfiction class.
0166: Luther & Calvin. Just a fun class, with a fun professor, and good friends.
0167: Honest friends, who speak encouraging truth.
0168: American literature. It’s going to be fun. :)
0169: Laughter. I laughed so much this week.
0170: No 8 AMs!
0171: Direction in choosing extracurriculars.
0172: Time & determination to accomplish everything needed.
0173: 60-70 degree weather. Finally.
0174: Warriors. Worship in the dark.
0175: Disney music.
0176: Hallmates who make a bad night after work better.
0177: “Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us.”
0178: Oh, how He loves us so.
0179: Now You are sitting on Your heavenly throne/Soon we will be coming home…
0180: “With no taint of what we should now call self-approval, she will most innocently rejoice in the thing that God has made her to be, and the moment which heals her old inferiority complex for ever will also drown her pride…If God is satisfied with the work, the work may be satisfied with itself; ‘it is not for her to bandy compliments with her Sovereign.’” (C. S. Lewis)

the love of Jesus

2010-09-04T10:04:00.001-04:00

O Father of Jesus,
Help me to approach You with deepest reverence,
not with presumption,
not with servile fear, but with holy boldness.
You are beyond the grasp of my understanding,
but not beyond that of my love.
You know that I love You supremely,
for You are supremely adorable, good perfect.

My heart melts at the love of Jesus,
my brother, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh,
married to me, dead for me, risen for me;
He is mine and I am His,
given to me as well as for me;
I am never so much mine as when I am His,
or so much lost to myself until lost in Him;
then I find my true [womanhood].

But my love is frost and cold, ice and snow;
Let His love warm me,
lighten my burden,
be my heaven;
May it be more revealed to me in all its influences
that my love to Him may be more fervent and glowing;
Let the mighty tide of His everlasting love
cover the rocks of my sin and care;
Then let my spirit float above those things
which had else wrecked my life.

Make me fruitful by living to that love,
my character becoming more beautiful every day.
If traces of Christ’s love-artistry be upon me,
may He work on with His divine brush
until the [c o m p l e t e] image be obtained
and I be made a perfect copy of Him,
my Master.

O Lord Jesus, come to me,
O Divine Spirit, rest upon me,
O Holy Father, look on me in mercy
for the sake of the well-beloved.

[a late-night prayer, read in turmoil, from The Valley of Vision.]

the saturday evening blog post [vol. 2 iss. 7]

2010-09-04T09:43:00.002-04:00

September is finally here! After a week of unseasonably warm weather at school, we are finally down into the 60s and 70s. Yesterday marked the first rain of the school year.

BUT, September means more than cooler weather and a chance to break out the jacket and rainboots I’ve been stashing. It’s also time for the Saturday Evening Blog Post!

This week, I selected a short reflection I wrote during a thunderstorm. I chose it because it reflects where I am in life – learning to see God’s beauty and love in things I wouldn’t normally see as beautiful or lovely.
If you are so inclined, head on over to Elizabeth Esther’s blog and link up!

why I journal

2010-08-31T08:19:00.004-04:00

“It was a folly, with the materiality of this daily life pressing so intrusively upon me, to attempt to fling myself back into another age; or to insist on creating the semblance of a world out of airy matter, when, at every moment, the impalpable beauty of my soap-bubble was broken by the rude contact of some actual circumstance. The wiser effort would have been, to diffuse thought and imagination through the opaque substance of to-day, and thus to make it a bright transparency; to spiritualize the burden that began to weigh so heavily; to seek, resolutely, the true and indestructible value that lay hidden in the petty and wearisome incidents, and ordinary characters, with which I was now conversant. The fault was mine. The page of life that was spread out before seemed dull and common-place, only because I had not fathomed its deeper import. A better book than I shall ever write was there; leaf after leaf presenting itself to me, just as it was written out by the reality of the flitting hour, and vanishing as fast as written, only because my brain wanted the insight and my hand the cunning to transcribe it. At some future day, it may be, I shall remember a few scattered fragments and broken paragraphs, and write them down, and find the letters turn to gold upon the page.”

-Nathaniel Hawthorne, “The Custom House”

(hello, American literature. it’s nice to see you again.)

0141-0164: round two.

2010-08-30T00:08:00.003-04:00

This week has been so hectic, and I am left feeling pretty incoherent. But at the end, here I am. I’m not a freshman anymore. Instead of a myriad of introductions and events, everything new and strange, I met the dear and familiar. Friends tackled in me on the sidewalk, in Walmart, and I never knew when I would suddenly run into another friend. These 2 days have been spent decorating, making a home, catching up, and laughing.

Tomorrow: First classes. The work begins.

But on this Sunday evening, I count my blessings:

0141: parents willing to help me move in
0142: EVERYTHING fit in our little Taurus.
0143: a safe drive up to school
0144: a fun dinner with my parents
0145: I didn’t forget anything!
0146: showing my parents around campus the night before moving in
0147: introducing my parents to my friends as we all moved in
0148: my closet is big(ger than it was last year)
0149: I have shelves on the wall!
0150: smaller floor space, but more storage (maybe will make for a cleaner room?)
0151: the finishing touches on this room that make it my home.
0152: big, big hugs
0153: deep belly laughs
0154: love. so, so, so much love.
0155: rest. soul-rest, heart-rest, body-rest.
0156: first Sunday back at this church
0157: a service that always brings me to the cross
0158: communion at His table.
0159: bubble blisters
0160: these girls. every one of them.
0161: the way each of them makes me laugh in a different way. each brings me a different kind of joy. each friendship is deep & beautiful.
0162: sunshine.
0163: hearing how God worked in & through a friend on the domestic mission field. great encouragement.
0164: Because the sinless Savior died, my sinful soul is counted free / For God the Just is satisfied to look on Him & pardon me…

0124 – 0140: summer’s end.

2010-08-23T08:46:00.003-04:00

My summer is officially waning to a close. The explosions in the living room & my bedroom look no better…but they will soon. My day today will be spent sorting, cleaning, grouping, counting, double-checking – and all the while, listening for the exact moment the dryer stops, so I can start a new load of laundry immediately. Funny how I "never have anything to wear", but I have SO much laundry!

Despite all these things – the mess and the fight against procrastination – I have had some really good days. Here’s the best of ‘em:

0124: a day in the woods with my freshman roommate
0125: meeting part of her extended family
0126: who live in a garage converted to a 2-story home. it’s beautiful & so cool. [they are building their own actual house. by themselves.]
0127: she’s right – Mennonites are amazing cooks.
0128: eating sun-warmed blackberries right off the vine (…they grow on vines, right?)
0129: canoeing for the first time since the Canoeing Disaster of 2008.
0130: not falling in this time.
0131: sore muscles afterwards
0132: learning to skip rocks
0133: “There was once a Velveteen Rabbit, & in the beginning he was really splendid…”
0134: “Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin…”
0135: “In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines lived twelve little girls in two straight lines…”
0136: campfire for pudgy pies (so fun to say) & s’mores.
0137: “What people or experiences in your life so far have been most formative?” – great dinner conversation
0138: big, big hugs
0139: my roommate. all of her, & everything she is.
0140: Thou hast bid me gaze upon Thee / & Thy beauty fills my soul, / for by Thy transforming power, / Thou hast made me whole.

packing.

2010-08-20T20:44:00.003-04:00

This is the week that I condense my life into cardboard boxes. And trashbags. And suitcases. And anything else that will hold all my stuff.

The living room looks like this:

(…and that’s only the beginning.)

Packing is really just one big puzzle. Or maybe puzzles within a puzzle. Washing all my clothes in the most efficient way. Making sure I have everything together. Fitting it all into as few containers as possible. Deciding which things I need now and which can wait 3 weeks (my box of non-school books will have to wait). Cramming as much as possible into our little Ford Taurus.

When I arrive at school, more puzzles: Getting all my boxes and bags into my room in as few trips as possible. Cramming all my clothes into a closet that is inevitably too small, even for my meager wardrobe. Keeping all my shoes in one place (not so bad if the bed is high enough). Finding crannies for odds and ends like a miniature toolbox, a sewing kit, and zip-lock bags. Carving out all the space I need for textbooks and binders. Organizing my desk. Showcasing my books and movies. Filling those blank cinder-block walls with posters, with pictures of people and places I love, with the Words of Life. And all this I need to do in just half of a room.

But in the end, I’m just half of the puzzle. There is a girl hundreds of miles away, compiling the elements that will fill the other half of that small room. We will create a home, my roommate and I. I can’t wait to see how our tiny puzzle-home turns out.

0108—123: summer nights & back to school

2010-08-16T07:00:00.003-04:00

This is the week that I realized…I’m leaving for school soon. I am looking forward to being back, to seeing my friends, getting to know my new roommate, taking challenging classes, and getting more involved in extracurriculars. At the same time, it feels like I just got home. And I will miss my family a lot in the weeks that I am away.
Even so, God is providing many blessings and happy memories in this time of packing and preparation:
0108: God's peace & glory in a thunderstorm.
0109: A few hours in a book store.
0110: Self-control to not buy anything from the book store.
0111: Recognizing when I am on the fast train to Burn Out
0112: & subsequent peace about taking a lighter course load.
0113: No damage during many thunderstorms.
0114: A week of just mom & sister.
0115: Dad's safe return.
0116: Skyping with the my freshman roommate (& much laughter)

0117: Provision to buy the clothes I need for school
0118: Shopping is no longer a self-esteem-breaking ordeal.
0119: $180 coat for $38.
0120: An evening at the fair with my younger sister.
0121: First funnel cake ever. Sooo good.
0122: A long talk walking up & down the carnival street.
0123: Out of distress into jubilant psalm, Jesus, I come to Thee…

thunderstorms

2010-08-13T16:31:00.000-04:00

I woke up at 5 AM yesterday morning to shouts of thunder and drumming rain. I've never seen so many flashes of lightening all at once. Going back to sleep was impossible now, so I thought I might as well watch the show.

The rain ran sideways, the trees bent low under the weight of the wind. Branches leaned so close, I imagined I could reach out, touch the leaves, climb out the window, and ride the the tree.

I watched the rest of the storm from my bed, so sleepy and yet unwilling to miss this glory. "The world is charged with the grandeur of God./It will flame out like shining from shook foil" -- isn't that how the poem goes? I repeated that line each time lightening struck.

As I curled tighter in my bed, I remembered another night when a 12 year old girl opened that same window to watch the eye of a hurricane pass over her home. She too wondered how it could be so light outside, and how something everyone feared and prayed against could be so beautiful.

In that moment, as in this, I felt deepest peace, because God makes thunderstorms as well as sunrises. I used to think thunderstorms were God's grief flowing down to earth. But these moments make me wonder if maybe...maybe sometimes...God takes delight in thunderstorms too.

[Gerard Manley Hopkins, "God's Grandeur"]

sun & rain

2010-08-10T00:03:00.004-04:00

i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor & squalor of hurrying cities
-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun & rain make april.

When I read the phrase "little church", I see a small, white chapel. Nothing too big or fancy. There are wooden pews, with cushions, perhaps – no chairs. There is a piano, keys worn from use, but still in tune. Worn Bibles and hymnals are placed in every row. I see a stained-glass window in the front – not a large one, not very fancy, but the colors that stream through dance on the white walls. Light fills the room. There are lots of windows, and no dark corners. It's the kind of small-town church I imagine my mother grew up in.

This image contrasts sharply against my memories of the great English cathedrals I saw this year. They are grand, indeed. I got dizzy from looking up so much, examining the artwork painted across vast, far-away ceilings. I remember the intricate stonework, woodwork, the floors so nice I almost feared to tread on them. The windows were always my favorite part – so grand, so many colors, so much light.

When I read of the splendor juxtaposed with squalor, religious connections of the little church still lingering, I remember Westminster Abbey. The Abbey is by no means “squalor” in the typical sense, don’t get me wrong. It’s one of the grandest buildings I’ve ever seen in my life – but cluttered, so full. People milling everywhere, tour guides trying to keep track of their group, talking over one another. Impatience grows when the group in front does not move fast enough, resentment threatens when rushed past a revered place. Every step is a step upon a grave here, a memorial stone there. And though there are prayers every hour…the place feels far from sacred. There is too much busy to feel the holy ground in that place. The hustle and bustle in that Abbey reflects the rush of the city.

And so I pray that my life would be not like a historical landmark in a large city, but like a small, sunny chapel. A place that people can come to and say "This is home. This is quiet and peace."

“i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest” – How I wish that that were true! I have grown up near cities, constantly aware of the pressured value of time. Even more aware now that I am a college student, and deadlines multiply faster than they seemed on the syllabus. There is never, never enough time. And yet, who can add an hour to life by wishing for just one more? And so I pray that God would teach me to number my days & give me a heart of patient, peaceful wisdom, so that when days grow brief(est) I remember in stillness: He Who neither slumbers nor sleeps knows my needs.

“i am not sorry when sun & rain make april.” - This line...this line is near perfection for me. I complain about metaphorical rain far more than literal rain, I know. It is not as pleasant. But both the rain & the sun are necessary for growth, for spring-sweet smell, for brilliant jewel colors, for cool breeze, for radiant sunsets, for puddle-jumping and barefoot dancing. Everything that is worth-while and beautiful, literal or metaphorical, requires some inconvenience - some disappointment, some thunder, some fallen limbs, some flickering lights gone dark, some cold, pounding drops. And so, much as I sometimes complain of the rain...I am not sorry for it. I am learning to rejoice in April.

(This post started as a series on e. e. cummings's poem "i am a little church". Then I realized I need to do more thinking, more mulling on the rest of the poem before I can write well on it. It's a rich, beautiful poem - if you read it, let me know what you think of it [all of it, or just sections] in the comment section!)

0096-0107: quiet.

2010-08-09T14:04:00.008-04:00

This has been a fairly quiet week - no major struggles or ecstasies, nothing out of the ordinary - & I'm okay with that. As I enjoy these last peaceful weeks before packing & moving & everything school, I count these gifts:

0096: mini roadtrips with my mom
0097: the stereotypical father/daughter bonding experience known as The Parallel Parking Lesson

0098: leaking tire & long search for air aside, the lesson went well.

0099: my first Chipotle burrito. {I know, I know}

0100: one hundred gifts counted - a heart opened to His simple mercies.

0101: discipline to maintain consistent Scripture reading

0102: "As for me, I am poor & needy, but the Lord takes thought for me." {Psalm 40.17}

0103: "The LORD is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O LORD, have not forsaken those who seek you." {Psalm 9.9-10}

0104: good Sunday morning fellowship {not such a rarity, anymore}
0105: Jesus sees, knows, & loves.
0106: e. e. cummings & a new life-poem

0107: Oh, the Saviour pleads your pardon with his blood & the Spirit blows the embers of our hearts...

the saturday evening blog post vol. 2 iss. 7

2010-08-07T09:05:00.002-04:00

Once again, I'm joining the circle of bloggers known as the Saturday Evening Blog Post (hosted by Elizabeth Esther). This month was a hard choice between a post commemorating my parent's 20th wedding anniversary, and the post I chose on my favorite moment of a friend's wedding (yes, I did just link to both). I ended up choosing the friend's wedding - maybe because I think the writing is a bit better? Maybe because that realization was just so strong for me, and I wanted to share it? I don't know. But I guess love is in the air this month.

If you're so inclined, head on over to Elizabeth Esther's blog & join the circle! Happy Saturday. :)

promises & praise: 0082-0095

2010-08-02T09:08:00.005-04:00

This week started well. But then struggle spiraled downward.
Focus...gone.
Motivation...none.
Prayer...inarticulate, distracted.
Scripture reading...last priority. Even when I knew it should be my first comfort.
Guilt...off the charts.
My soul crawled to the Lord's Table on Sunday morning.

And because God is good, faithful to His promises, abounding in grace, mercy, and steadfast love, my soul left that Table singing a new song. And so this week, I give thanks for...

0082: This post by Sarah Markley on forgiveness. ("He’d rather us hug one another, but when we can’t just bring ourselves to throw our arms around the neck of someone who has wounded us in our soul, He is there. We can fall into Him and be reconciled to one another BECAUSE of Him". Amen & amen.)

0083: pictures of my new baby nephew.

0084: my younger (now taller) sister. and her infectious giggle.

0085: cool breeze and 80 degrees. finally.

0086. a porch swing on which to enjoy #85.

0087: after-dark driving with my dad.

0088: "Is anyone among you in trouble? He should pray." (even if all I can pray is "Father...hold me.")

0089: "Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need."

0090: "...the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials..."

0091: "The word of the LORD is upright, and all His work is done in faithfulness."

0092: "The earth is full of the steadfast love of the LORD."

0093: "He spoke, and it came to be; He commanded, and it stood firm."

0094: "Behold, the eye of the LORD is on those who fear Him, on those who hope in His steadfast love, that He may deliver their soul from death and keep them alive in famine."

0095: "My sin -- not in part, but the whole -- is nailed to the cross, & I bear it no more. Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!"

my dad sings like perry como

2010-07-28T07:10:00.008-04:00

Saturday morning sunlight streamed through lace curtains as a 5-year-old early riser stretched and blinked the sleep from her eyes. Instantly she heard singing - loud, wake-the-whole-house baritone singing. That only meant one thing: Dad was cooking breakfast that morning, and he was happy. As she got closer, the girl, realized he was singing a love song to her mom: "Some enchanted eeveniinngg, you will see a straaangeeerr. You will see a straangeerr across a crowded rooomm. And somehow you'll knooww, you'll know even theenn, that somewhere you'll see her again and aaaggaaaiiiinnn..."

The 5 year old giggled. Mom glowed.

Later that afternoon: "Daddy, how did you and mom fall in looooovee?"
"We didn't, Laura. We stepped deliberately into it."

"Oh," disappointedly. "Well that's no fun."

"That's what you think."

~*~

I never get tired of my parents' incredible love story - how he wasn't really looking, but they met at work and my mom suggested lunch (or something). How 4 months later my mom bought a simple dress at a department store (which still fits!), and they married in a small chapel with a few family and friends, and that was that - their married life began. He provided, and she paid the bills, and he kept the house running when migraines hit, and they raised 2 girls and made each other laugh.

It's been 20 years, and still sometimes I catch them slow-dancing in the kitchen as dinner cooks.

Happy 20^th anniversary, mom & dad.

rain, reading, & red hair: 0065-0081

2010-07-26T14:13:00.000-04:00

A long, tiring week - I can barely remember past Saturday. I really should keep this list during the week, instead of making it over the weekend.

Even so, God is good. Despite my forgetfulness.

0065: Cooler days after a heat wave.

0066: Good conversation after Bible study.

0067: Making breakfast with my soul sisters.

0068: Solemn conversation to hysterical laughter in an instant.

0069: Different outlets of creativity - two dancers, a musician, and a writer.

0070: Chocolate chip pancakes.

0071: Naps - lots of them, and deep and long.

0072: Thunderstorms that come & go in a violent flash.

0073: No electricity - a night of no radio, no TV, no internet. Just talking and books.

0074: Finishing Middlemarch. A bucket list item completed. [highly recommend, by the way - I loved it!]

0075: "The world is hungry for positive art." - an encouraging word from a wise lady.

0076: The electricity came on this morning. Hello, showers and food other than peanut butter.

0077: Coffee and reading by the Potomac River.

0078: A new baby nephew - Andrew Joseph.

0079: A safe, quick delivery with no complications.

0080: Hearing my brother's proud, tired, new-father voice.

0081: My nephew's curly red hair!

why I read

2010-07-24T07:46:00.000-04:00

“Because for some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us to understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die. They are full of all the things that you don’t get in real life—wonderful, lyrical language, for instance, right off the bat. And quality of attention: we may notice amazing details during the course of a day but we rarely let ourselves stop and really pay attention. An author makes you notice, makes you pay attention, and this is a great gift. My gratitude for good writing is unbounded; I’m grateful for it the way I’m grateful for the ocean.”

--Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird p. 15

mercy cuts deep

2010-07-22T09:25:00.003-04:00

The only thing harder than asking forgiveness is to ask it...and live with its denial. Even if you hear the words “I forgive you”, words ring false. Averted eyes, icy silence, stolen friends, complete rejection – these speak the truth in the heart.

I do not understand. I cannot fathom how someone can sing of God’s mercy and grace on sinners, but refuse to extend that God-given forgiveness to a repentant sister. That’s not how it's supposed to work, I protest. So much of me wants to cry out: This is not fair.

But I cannot be angry. I cannot be resentful, or bitter. I cannot even want justice, because the penalty has already been borne by Another. To cry out for more justice is to curse the blood that covers me.

Still I struggle, because all that is not of God in me is not satisfied with that answer.

And yet, what do I read? God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. While I am still a sinner, Christ died for me. While they are still sinners, Christ died for them. This Gospel I sing compels me to believe that neither of us will receive justice. Not only to believe it, but to rejoice in it.

The cross gives me hope that one day, long-held grudges and old wounds will not matter. We will all praise the Giver of the grace lavished upon us. And not just grace that we ourselves have received, but that has been poured upon all who trust in the name of Jesus - even those who caused the wounds.

"Let us wonder grace & justice,

Join & point to mercy's store.

When through grace in Christ our trust is --

Justice smiles, and asks no more."

(Photo: A church in the Bronx. Taken as I sat in New York Friday traffic.)

bride & groom

2010-07-20T14:37:00.006-04:00

There he stands, watching her come towards him. She’s so excited; she has eyes for no one but him. And he—well, just look at his face. She is his bride. As he places the ring on her finger, she laughs in incredulity: “Is this real? Are you really making this promise to me?” Yes. The rings are the sign.

I never understood the power of the Church as the Bride of Christ, the Groom, until this moment when I saw this human groom’s face. Because instead of wondering whether a man would ever look at me in that way and place a symbol on my finger, I realized – one day, my Savior will gaze upon me with even greater love. The seal of the promise is not a metal circle, but scarred wrists, bloody feet, a new heart. And I shall see His face. I am His bride. He is my Groom.

I know that the Church collectively is the Bride, not mere individuals. Christ, in His love, will see us as one. But a groom doesn’t just love his bride as a whole being; he cherishes every part of her. Her big, shining eyes. Her soft, long hair. Her dimples. Her nose and the way it wrinkles when she laughs. Her tiny hands and feet. Her smile. Her voice. Everything that makes up who she is, he treasures. He examines the details of each feature with delight.

And so, just as Christ will look upon His Bride, the Church, with unimaginable love, so He will gaze upon me. So He will delight in you. And we together shall see His face – distant now as we walk down this long aisle of the years, but coming closer, closer…

O Lord, haste the day.

(Thank you, Kristen & James, for inviting me to be part of your God-honoring wedding celebration. May God bless your life together richly, and keep us all ever-focused on the eternal wedding feast.)

0052-0064: journey mercies and wedding bells

2010-07-19T23:41:00.000-04:00

I never really understood the concept of “journey mercies” or the comfort in prayer for safe travels…until I took a road trip by myself.

0052: The semitruck miraculously saw us and did not run us into the wall on the George Washington Bridge. Accident averted.

0053: We never got hopelessly lost. Not even when Google directions were wrong and our maps were unhelpful. Not even when we missed a turn in Friday rush-hour New York City. Not even when we were driving around middle-of-nowhere New Hampshire.

0054: We never ran out of gas (…though I occasionally worried when we were stuck in traffic).

0055: Fresh fruit, soft-serve ice cream, and a friendly home at the end of a long driving day.

0056: The gracious hospitality of our friend’s family (especially their mother. Especially during a busy weekend.)

0057: Relaxing by the water.

0058: Driving past grave yards

0059: Blasting The Sound of Music cassette. Old School, I know.

0060: Patience and endurance for the long drive home. Even when we thought we would lose our minds from looking at so much traffic-filled highway.

0061-64: Her infectious joy. The way he treasures her. A wedding celebration that constantly proclaimed the Gospel and anticipated the wedding feast we will share in heaven with our faithful Groom. The spiritual reality that this image points me towards:

Lord of all, to Thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.

one thousand gifts 1-14
one thousand gifts 14-30
one thousand gifts 31-51

this blog is...

2010-07-19T23:08:00.001-04:00

...a continuation of the first blog I started. I really just switched to Blogspot because it offers more free controls over the aesthetics of my blog, and I enjoy dabbling in things like that. So, to read previous posts, go there.

And now, the story continues...