my life is a juxtaposition
driving the tractor, pulling fence posts, hauling cedar, making dinner.
sometimes life takes strange paths. I never imagined this.
I’m a country girl……….. with patent leather heels, an extreme sensitivity to the beauty of melancholy music and poetry, an affinity for fairy tales and Europe, and a scholarly mind.
but here I am plunging through brush to yank a fence post out of the ground with my gloved hands, using the steps I learned on the dance floor to avoid tangling my feet in barbed wire, kneeling on thorns as I work rusted nails out of wood (and thinking of new analogies), and holding my 4-year old brother on my lap as I drive the tractor along the fence line.
and the funny thing is… I like it. The high heels can wait. I’ll wear them on Sundays. I’ll write poetry and read aloud to my sister in the evenings. I’ll cherish my shelf and memory full of fairy tales and tell myself stories as I lie awake in bed. I’ll save up to go to Europe someday, and I’ll study history and theology and literature when I can.
but watch for me running across the grazing field with pliers in my pocket, stretching electric fence wire from here to kingdom come, buying new leather gloves and work boots, and being able to do more pushups than most girls. (…not necessarily that last one. =P)
it wouldn’t have been my choice, but life isn’t a “Choose-Your-Own-Adventure” book. It’s a fairy tale, full of unexpected tasks, surprising romances, and… mostly just miracles. And the funny thing about miracles? we can’t choose them. They choose us.
defined by love
“I felt it first when I was younger… a strange connection to the light. I tried to satisfy the hunger; I never got it right. So I climbed a mountain and built an altar… looked out as far as I could see. And everyday I’m getting older. I’m running out of dreams. (I’m running out of dreams.) But Your love, Your love…. The only thing that matters is Your love. Your love is all I have to give. Your love is enough to light up the darkness! It’s your love, Your love. All I ever needed is Your love.”
Yesterday, I was accosted by my 19th birthday. Amid all the activities, I managed to allow myself some time for reflection, because one shouldn’t simply blow through life without remembering what made life what it is. So, in no particular order, I recalled to memory my preschool years (with bangs and Lamb Chop and playing grocery store in the kitchen and Bambi), my elementary influences (with Jungle Jam and suddenly green eyes and my drama queen t-shirt and patient parents and playing ‘house’ with my cousins at Christmas), middle school turmoil (with choir obsession and fashion realization and The Chronicles of Narnia and questions about Christianity and international student ministries and changing churches), and the combined confusion and clarity of high school (with state-wide singing competitions and The Lord of the Rings and NCFCA and the beauty of sound doctrine and the passions of wonder and love and voracious reading and poetry and discovering what friendship means).
“You know the effort I have given, and You know exactly what it cost. And though my innocence was taken, not everything is lost. (Not everything is lost, no.) You’re the hope in the morning. You’re the light when the night is falling. You’re the song when my heart is singing. It’s Your love! You’re the eyes to the blind man. You’re the feet to the lame man walking. You’re the sound to the people singing. It’s Your love!
Your love is all that I needed. All I ever needed is Your love.” [Brandon Heath]
finding answers
Ivy clings to the sober walls like a restless sleeper clutching at the sheets. Its stretching tendrils are not the green of hopeful growth or the green of eager eyes, but the green of long-forgotten memories just barely alive in the crumbling loam.
I sit in the dark, unmoving, and there’s nothing to see, but everything to feel. The wind becomes a symphony, and maybe it’s a lonely voice above my head, or maybe it’s voices together as one, with my voice among them.
I need you to understand that I write because I feel, and I feel so much that it hurts inside, like music caught in my soul. I write to get rid of it, and I write to keep it forever, because words never die. Somehow they make beauty out of uncertainty and passion out of pain, and even my little life starts to look noble.
I write because words are tears and words are laughter; frozen, yet so alive. Words are the miracle I never was.
I need you to understand. I write because… because… because I need you to understand. I need you to recognize the irregular pulse of my soul, and know that beneath the blood that paints its way through my veins, there’s more life than you can see. I don’t know how that life found me here, but it’s making me more than I am, and I write to set it free.
I know you have felt the same way. Maybe you have never felt so at home, and yet so full of longing when you’re capturing emotion with your camera. Or with your paintbrush. Maybe you don’t paint with colours or words, but with raw action and physical exertion. Perhaps you can touch a musical instrument and make it sing the deepest chorus of your heart. There’s something inside you that won’t stay there, and it’s glorious and sad and full of hope and confusion, and you know that it can’t just be yours or you’ll blow into a thousand tiny pieces trying to contain it.
What is it that reveals your soul? What is it that I need to understand about you?
{away}
I took a week off from real life. I wandered up and down the bank of the Frio River like a wanderer come home, stepping on the same ground I visit every year. I remembered a game I made up when I was very young: trying to walk as far as possible without touching anything except cypress tree roots. I spent my childhood here, and somehow I managed never to take it for granted. It’s the simplest place in the world, a combination of peaceful and exciting that I needed so much. When did I turn into a grown-up with a life to escape from?
You would love those sprawling cliffs and the deep water below them. When you swim ten feet above the lazy catfish parties, it’s like you’re alone in an aquamarine mystery, and the mystery is more beautiful than the answer. I don’t think there is an answer, and that’s why it’s beautiful. The breeze turns the stillness into contented energy, and little ripples kiss your upper lip again and again like there’s no tomorrow and all we have is now. The past is gone and the future will never come and no one cares. You just swim into the 4 o’clock sun. You see poetry in everything. And for once, you exult in being alone… but then you’re not alone. Because your little sister and your fabulous cousin come and play seals right next to you, and then you exult in being not-alone. And you swim through the ripples to the diving log and pretend it’s a ship. Sometimes you can feel a fresh-water spring under you and it’s so COLD you scream and everyone thinks you saw a snake and then you laugh at them.
Then it’s eleven in the morning on another day and you’re alone again, down by the rope swing without much sunscreen, building a waterfall and channels for three hours. When you’re finished, it’s a quality establishment, and that sunburn on your back? It hardly matters. And your chipped fingernail polish? It doesn’t matter at all.
There’s a big hill from the upper campground to the lower campground, and it’s perfect for riding your bike with no brakes. People talk about throwing precaution to the wind, but I don’t think that’s what happens. I think the wind whooshes around you so fast that it snatches your precaution away from you, whether you’re holding it tightly or not. And I never hold mine tightly on that hill anymore. I’ve been hurtling down it at top speed ever since I was nine years old.
You would love the annual catfish-fry… sitting on rocks with fishing poles all day long, baiting with hot-dogs, naming the fish you catch, and throwing away the “stanleys”. And then at the end of the day, you haul your stringer back up to the cabin and your dad tries to show you how to clean the fish and it’s disgusting but now you’ll be able to survive in the wild. If you had a knife. And matches or flint. And cornmeal and Lowry’s salt and oil to coat the fish with. I fried them this year, and it took forever.
Oh, and then when you feel like it, you can walk up to the office and charge any number of ice-creams to your family’s account.
It was a week of enchantment and detachment. When being alone didn’t ever feel lonely. A week of painted rocks and curious fish and family and hardly any other campers to bring my mind back to the present. I don’t think I took a week off from real life, really. I think I took a week of visiting it. Maybe paradise is what’s really real, and everything else is simply the contrast material.
Scratch the maybe.
Ah, but the contrast material always seems so very contrasting when I come home. When I was a kid, I used to be sad to come home because home wasn’t as fun. But now I’m sad to come home because home is so much less home. It’s so much more complicated. Here is where I have to think about the future and figure out how to deal with the past. Here is where alone always feels lonely. But I tell myself to get a grip and wear a smile, because even while I miss that carefree river, a River of Life is flowing inside of me and I only have to look to the Source to realize that I will never despair and I will never let go. Even when all I want is to fade, there’s colour holding onto me that won’t let me give up. I can’t stay in paradise, but I can carry it with me always. And I will.
NCFCA memories part 3: farewell
So it’s over. There will be no more sitting on dirty carpet waiting to speak after the 4th person on the list. No more spending all day in suits-of-many-layers and stiff black shoes. No more rushing back to the common room to grab a forgotten apologetics box. No more using the convenient phrase, “Um, I have to go give a speech now,” in order to escape an awkward conversation. No more scarfing down Chick-fil-a sandwiches before the next round.
And part of me feels pensive and slightly plaintive. But the loss of the above facets of competition is nothing to me, because it’s YOU I care about. You priceless, ridiculously wonderful people. I don’t want to lose you, and I foresee myself going to great lengths in order to avoid that. =) But “whatever way our stories end, I know you have re-written mine by being my friend.” We seniors are ready to move on, but our readiness is due so much to what we’ve learned from our fellow competitors and comrades.
And I will never forget what you have been to me. “I thank my God every time I remember you.” -Philippians 1:3
More (for everyone I love in the NCFCA)
I remember the beginning
I was a little bit scared.
I was ready for the judges…
But I was so unprepared.
I had been warned you were skillful…
That competition would be tight.
But no one warned me you were wonderful!
I got a shock of delight.
Because you’re so much more than a first-place award.
You’re defined by more than your I.O. boards;
The joy in your eyes is a smile in a thunderstorm.
I felt that spark when I first walked through those doors.
And you’re so much more than a balanced chart.
You’re business-attired works of art.
You scribbled your names on the flowpad of my heart
And I’ll never forget it, even when we’re far apart.
I remember returning
How could I stay away?
We were comrades and allies
And this was our heyday.
We dropped our defenses,
And picked up guitars.
And we whirled through the season,
With songs, words, and linked arms.
And I loved you, ’cause you’re so much more than a first-place award.
You’re defined by more than your I.O. boards;
The joy in your eyes is a smile in a thunderstorm.
I still feel that spark when I walk through those doors.
And you’re so much more than a balanced chart.
You’re business-attired works of art.
You scribbled your names on the flowpad of my heart
And I’ll never forget it, even when we’re far apart.
You’re so much more than I was looking for.
You’re so much more….
Than I could have hoped for.
Now life is so picturesque
Since we’re all here again.
But my time’s almost up–
I’m nearing the end.
Now I’m one of the Seniors.
We almost wish we could stay.
But we are stones full of promise.
And this league is our trebuchet.
Thank you for being so much more than a first-place award.
And defined by more than your I.O. boards;
The joy in your eyes could bring a smile to a thunderstorm.
I still feel that spark as I walk out of those doors.
And you’re so much more than a balanced chart.
You’re business-attired works of art.
You scribbled your names on the flowpad of my heart
And I’ll never forget it, even when we’re far apart.
And I’ll never forget it, even when we’re far apart.
<3
This video is a commemoration. A reflection on times of revelry and revery. A wistful celebration. And it’s for you. You are NCFCA.
And because I knew you, I have been changed. For the better. For good.
(p.s. I wanted to get everyone in this slideshow. I really tried. Unfortunately, there are people I know I missed. If I’ve talked you you more than 3 times, you really should be in this… so mentally add yourself. 
This video is for you, too.)
cumulonimbus
“The sky is turning into popcorn! Come look!”, chattered Anna as she sprang away from the window.
“Cumulonimbus,” I said, imitating the inflection of Russel from Pixar’s “Up”.
When a mass begins to grow in the corner of your bigger-than-real-life Texas skyline, and mutates into fantastic shapes accented by the setting sun… everyone is at the windows.
“It looks like a marshmallow in the microwave,” I nodded. But apparently some food analogies are superior to others, and Anna defended her popcorn word-picture with enthusiasm before she began to pick out shapes in the gigantic marshmallow/popcorn cloud.
“I see an Indian talking! He has his mouth open like this!” I had forgotten that my sister can open her mouth very wide. But she couldn’t leave it like that, because she was our cloud monitor, keeping track of the changing shapes. She had a couple of assistants in Alan and myself.
“Der’s a cowboy reading a book wid his feet up!” declared Alan, and I’m not sure whether he actually saw this or was making it up. But Anna went along with it.
“Okay, and there’s a lady with a cat leaning on her EYE!”
“Where?” I asked.
“Uhhh… it’s gone now. These things change so FAST!”
“Uh-huh,” I said slowly, my eyes laughing about several different things at once. “Look at that top part– it looks like a caterpillar, with the feet and everything.”
“Yeah, it does!”
“And if you cut it in half and only looked at the left half, it would be a buffalo.”
“Yeah, a charging buffalo! With smoke behind it,” she added. And she was right. It wasn’t hard to imagine the muscled beast rampaging across a rippling American plain– the cloud was growing larger by the second, morphing into new shapes and creating new creativity-conducive poofs. It looked so marvelously alive. It was like watching footage from one of those time lapse cameras… but here we were in real time.
“It all looks like babies!” Alan announced with excitement.
“Haha, you’re just copying Ellie in Up. She saw babies in all the clouds too,” Anna laughed at him before launching into her next description. “That white part over there looks like a waterfall… the part with all the smudgyness.”
“Or like the walls in Carlsbad Caverns…” I thought to myself while she pointed out another cloud sculpture. A few seconds later I heard her say, “The whole cloud looks like it’s evaporating!” And I’m not sure where she got that, but I thought it was funny when Alan tried to imitate the word: “Buddaperading.”
The sun was sneaking off at this point, taking the orange and pink and yellow away from the cloud as it left. Soon the miraculous mutations of the marshmallow/popcorn cloud were almost indistinguishable. And I don’t believe we’ll even get any rain from our evening art exhibition, because it was following a northern trajectory. But it was enough to have seen and wondered.
“He causes the clouds to rise over the earth.” -Jeremiah 10:13
country trees
The trees in my yard are not noble. Sometimes I sit staring at them, noticing how much they could use a good rain, and I wonder if they envy their distant cousins, varieties of maple, beech, or pine, and wish they could wear such blooming veils of leaves, and tickle their neighbors with branches sheathed in such sturdy and supple bark. The trees in my yard are like the people in my town– rugged, hardy, and familiar with drought. They don’t flaunt their elegance, since it can’t be found in the blunt organization of their boughs. They weather the world with a matter-of-fact grimness, like maiden aunts who know their bridal day will never come. But sometimes, when a storm knocks at the horizon and the wind sweeps through like an upstairs maid shaking out the rugs, I catch the trees in my yard laughing to each other, as if to say, “Life is one enormous practical joke, and isn’t our part in it supreme?”
when your words don’t dance
Imagine that today is Valentine’s Day and your Grooveshark playlist is on shuffle. You’re wearing red ruffles and listening to ‘Flaming Red Hair’ (the song known to your little brother as ‘hobbits dancing’), as you start to fling words through your swiftly typing fingers. You knock out two sentences before pausing to listen to ‘Tadarida’ from Batman Begins, and explain to your aforementioned little brother that this is NOT a Mater {from CARS} song. Then you redirect your attention to the screen.
…
This is not called writer’s block.
…
It’s honestly not that enigmatic ailment that strikes terror into the hearts of NaNoWriMo participants. You’re writing. But nothing is poignant, no memories or hidden truths or profound one-liners strike the gong of your heart and vibrate out the ends of your fingers and onto the page. You try to explain why Valentine’s Day makes you want to celebrate, even though you’re single. Why ‘single’ doesn’t equal ‘alone’. You tell stories about people you love. But something is missing; the very love you feel– the love that you’re endeavoring to siphon into your words.
So when your dad calls you to help him move a desk out to the storage building, you relinquish the computer to your young sister who begins to watch all the animated Hallmark Valentine’s Day cards.
You pull your cowboy boots over your heart-patterned socks and load the desk onto the truck. The air smells deep and wide in the country when it’s winter time. Much deeper and wider than your thoughts, not to mention your words. You know you won’t be publishing those you wrote earlier. Maybe someday you’ll reach into a previously-undiscovered pocket and pull out the phrases you were looking for. Perhaps then you’ll paste them on a blank-paper canvas and admire them for hours and guard them from graphite or ink smudges. But for now, you listen to Owl City sing ‘If My Heart Was a House’ and borrow a bit of the genius of others.
“There’s a lot of love out there, man.” -Filmore (CARS)
Literate
I have a shelf of adverbs inside my head. It’s right above 5 baskets of adjectives, and directly to the right of the bureau over-stuffed with nouns. (The pronouns are in the drawers.) I keep verbs hanging from silver strings all over the ceiling, and sometimes breezes vault through the open window and blow some to the floor, where they usually end up under the bed, fraternizing with all the interjections and articles that wouldn’t fit in the closet.
What fun we have, my words and I.
I confess I play favorites. I try not to show it, but my favorite words may tend to roll into life, off my tongue or my pen, slightly more often than others. I’m especially susceptible to this trend when I’m taking notes. My debate flow-sheets know this. It’s just the truth that debate rounds improve when I let my pen and my mind trace the composition of words like ‘audacity’ or ‘suspenseful’ or ‘symbolism’.
I feel sorry for words like ‘binge’. There’s nothing in the word ‘binge’ that hints of its extravagant meaning. ‘Extravagant’. That’s an impressive word entity.
But even though the worthy English language possesses some words that stick tight to my heart and appeal to my imagination, and some that don’t, I treasure them all inside the cabinets and baskets of my mind. Sometimes I wash my hands and plunge them deep into those stored-up words, provoked to laughter because of ‘rambunctious’ and ‘chasm’ and ‘lilting’, and their lovely, pronounced tonal quality. Then I gather armfuls of less euphoric and euphonic words to add to the conglomeration, and I swirl them around like an over-cautious cook, waiting to savor the summer glory of my creation. And although the sight and sound of noble, passionate words can make me smile… only the meticulous and magical rapport between them and a hand-picked collection of their lesser counterparts can make me cry.
Words are the flames under my heart, and my heart boils over.
Stuffed with Fluff
Winnie the Pooh’s world is a work of art
where we can grasp the string of a balloon
and be carried away to the sky
and carpe diem.
Sometimes fluff is wiser than wise.
(If I was Winnie the Pooh, would you be my Piglet and hold my hand?
Would you spell all my difficult words, like Owl?
Would you Tigger-bounce some wide-eyed wonder into me?
Would you be my Christopher Robin and always make wrong things come right?)
“I don’t see much sense in that,” said Rabbit. “No,” said Pooh humbly, “there isn’t. But there was going to be when I began it. It’s just that something happened to it along the way.”
“If you want to make a song more hummy, add a few tiddely poms.”
“Poetry and Hums aren’t things which you get, they’re things which get you. And all you can do is to go where they can find you.”
“Some people care too much, I think it’s called love.”
“You can’t help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn’t spell it right; but spelling isn’t everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn’t count.”
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
“It’s snowing still,” said Eeyore gloomily.
“So it is”
“And freezing”
“Is it?”
Yes,” said Eeyore. “However,” he said, brightening up a little, “we haven’t had an earthquake lately.”
“Oh Tigger, where are your manners?”
“I don’t know, but I bet they’re having more fun than I am.”
“Hallo, Rabbit,” he said, “is that you?”
“Let’s pretend it isn’t,” said Rabbit, “and see what happens.”
“If the person you are talking to doesn’t appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.”
“They’re funny things, Accidents. You never have them till you’re having them.”
“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best — ” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.”
“Piglet took Pooh’s arm, in case Pooh was frightened.”
“If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so I never have to live without you.”
Someone Else's Family
I became a stranger for 10 minutes. The sentimental boarder in an active household. No one took much notice of me in the kitchen as I microwaved some leftovers and ate without sitting down. From the aesthetically distasteful display of jello-like cubes on the counter, I gathered that one of the children must have been doing some sort of science experiment. I hoped it wasn’t destined to be eaten. I appreciated the turkey and roast beef sandwich bake I was eating, though inadequately heated. The refrigerator and pantry are usually stocked well here, except on grocery-store morning, and my hostess doesn’t mind if I slip downstairs sometimes to avail myself of a bunch of grapes or a package of gummies (not intended for individual sale). She’s sitting over there at the table with the youngest daughter, patiently listening to her eager chatter, and I hear snatches of conversation which confuse me. Something about ‘bald wigs’ for bald movie characters, in particular. But I don’t absorb much of the context of that snippet, because the piano is in the next room, and the middle daughter is conducting the blended strands of ‘Forrest Gump’ out of the instrument’s wooden heart with nimble fingers. As I muse, she switches to a piece unfamiliar to me, which wafts up to the high white ceilings and continues to obfuscate the threads of house life and disguise my active mental narrative. I’m not sure where the father of the house is at the moment, but his young male progeny is adding to the general conglomeration of sights and sounds by wiggling in his highchair and trying to direct everyone’s attention to his most intriguing person. A few minutes later I rinse out my glass and glimpse him tearing out of the kitchen, pudgy bare feet tapping the tile floor.
I have a family at home and I think they’re something like this one, but I never observe their inner workings very closely, because I guess I’m farsighted. Being a stranger here makes everything stand out with stark detail… admonitions to ‘put the iron away’ and ‘finish the laundry’ and ‘feed the dog’ blend with the wildflowers next to the metal sink and the incessant invisible influence of a few leftover cardboard boxes from a recent move, and the good-natured rolling of someone’s eyes. I watch people a lot at gas stations and airports, and they’d probably be disturbed if they knew I was wondering whether they liked to climb trees or go sailing, or if that half-hopeful expression of anxiety on their face meant that they were waiting for someone special to text them back. But if they’re very much disturbed, they can go home where they’ll be safe from anyone’s pondering. No one watches his family.
Except perhaps the child who plays outside until dark, and then holds the magnifying glass of imagination to her eyes and looks at the fresh lighted windows of her house with a pretend lonesome hunger, followed by a welcome shiver as she smiles and enters with confidence.
Except perhaps the working man who comes home early from a business trip to surprise his wife, and sneaks in the door and around the corner with a boyish excitement.
Except perhaps the teenaged daughter who dons a mental disguise and a pair of reading glasses belonging to a sentimental boarder, and eats lunch quietly at the suddenly-unfamiliar counter.
Review: Hurtling Toward Oblivion
Hurtling Toward Oblivion by Richard A. Swenson, MD
What: The subtitle of this 130-page book is ‘A Logical Argument for the End of the Age’. And the difference between this and many other end times books, is that this one is, in fact, logical. By using abstract arguments that most anyone can follow, Dr. Swenson expounds a theory which is, in hindsight, obvious. But for those who have acquired the (often warranted) habit of disregarding all predictions of the ‘end’, it will be a rather energetic eye-opener. Dr. Swenson’s main arguments spring from the concept of progress and profusion. Since the earth is fallen, he says, everything good must therefore contain some particle of bad. And as progress leads to profusion of ‘good’ things, the particles of bad increase and increase. He claims that, although the number of good things may never be overcome by the number of bad, there comes a point when there’s enough bad to render the good useless. He calls this the threshold of lethality… and gives a number of examples to show that eventually, our techologically advanced system will simply destroy itself.
Who: Swenson isn’t necessarily talking about an ‘end of the entire physical earth’ catastrophy. Rather, he points to the inevitability of the world’s economy and integrated system of life crumbling on itself. This will effect everyone, since society is so meshed together. As we saw in the recent U.S. economy crisis, one misstep of one company can throw the entire world into disarray. And the danger is that at some point, this will happen and be beyond the aid of a government bailout, where everyone will be forced to band with their neighbors and dig their way out of the ruins of a self-desecrated sea of Walmarts, Best Buys, dentist offices, banks, food distribution factories, and even *gasp* Mcdonalds.
Where: It’s like Owl said to Bambi and Thumber and Flower after he explained the strange behavior of a certain pair of birds: “It could happen to you! And you! And yes… it could even happen to you.” The three friends walked away, determined to never let it happen to them… and guess what.
When: One of the strengths about Swenson’s theory is that he never pins it down with dates. There’ve been people for ages trying to predict the time of the end of all the ages, and they’ve watched their doomsday dates fly by with nothing resembling even a whiff of brimstone. There was 6/6/06, for example. We have yet to see whether the movie 2012 was right, but if it’s not (which is rather likely…), a bunch of people are going wake up on New Year’s Day, 2013, and watch the movie and laugh. However, even though we, like Christ, cannot tell the day and the time, it is certain that it is coming and coming soon. Therefore…
Why: “We gotta live like we’re dyin’!” Basically. Dr. Swenson doesn’t advise everyone to buy a bomb shelter and freeze dried food. But there IS something to being prepared, even if we can’t be fully ready. For example, my family recently moved out to 27 acres of country soil. And one of our reasons for doing this was the current instability of the world. We’re not canning all our food and burrying it in an underground cellar. But we’re learning to live more independently. Reading Dr. Swenson’s book will set you thinking about what YOU should do to be responsible in these uncertain times. Sometimes the most important thing you can do is solidify your relationships. Or buy gold. Or [you fill in the blank]. Regardless of the tack you take, it’s better to be aware than to be
Hurtling Toward Oblivion, by Richard A. Swenson.
Understanding
I was talking to God last night. This isn’t along the lines of my regular posts, but it hit me like… a cantaloupe in the stomach or something, and I just felt led to share it. Of course it’s hard to re-create what was obviously not a tangible conversation, just back-and-forth thoughts.
Me: God, can you please, just give me some encouragment? I’m sorry to ask, but all of me is at half-mast tonight.
God: *shows me the lighthouse on my desktop background*
Me: But that’s so impersonal.
God: Every wave that was captured and frozen on camera was for you.
Me: But not only me.
God: Only you, and only each other person who saw them.
Me: But you know I wish for encouragement from people, people whose approval I crave.
God: You wish for that more than MY approval?
Me: I knew you’d say that. …I’m sorry. But it’s so difficult to be two people at once- myself, and the person I choose to show…. And it never really works. I always try to wear a mask to soften my piercing emotions, but no one ever seems satisfied with that mask… and even less with my UN-masked self. I know YOU care… I wish more people understood.
God: I do care: hear that film music in the background? I caused that to be written for you.
Me: *a sigh and the twinge of a smile*
God: So… you want someone to understand you.
Me: Yes!
God: If someone did, if someone knew all your expressions and what they meant, if they understood all your secret fears and prayers… would you keep casting all your cares upon Me?
I realized I was caught.
Me: …..no, I wouldn’t.
God: *gently* Grace, no one will ever understand.
I hung my head a moment. I knew He was right. What if there WAS someone who could penetrate my soul? Would I want that comfort if I knew it would ultimately result in God’s singular comfort fading out of my life? I came to understand why He withholds this from me. And I not only became resolved– I praised Him for it. He was very gentle. “But I will always understand,” He assured me quietly, while He showed me again His signature on the lighthouse, on the woods around our house, on the faces of those around me, and on my own body and heart. Part of me still wishes for that human comfort I had craved. But the knowledge that it will never come in perfection, and the thankful awareness that something better is already mine… somehow makes the deprivation easier to bear.
Inadequacy
Lowering my eyelashes, the world I see is sun-setting.
The earth, that ancient trebuchet, picks up the sun to draw it back again.
And in the morning it will fling across the sky in gaiety to chase the moon.
Ah, nobility and beauty come to muse with me at wistful times.
Sometimes I assume them to be my own, since they are what I see.
But whatever I may see or feel, it’s only alive in my eyes, my soul.
Invisible in me, I think, to all who look… and even to myself, to my chagrin.
Fairy dust prickles the inside of my eyelids, and I never want to open them and see myself
disenchanted.
There’s a beauty spell out there somewhere, and I don’t know the words.
Words, not to make a plain face fair… but to put fairy dust behind our eyelids and make it stay
forever.
So that everything beheld lies in a golden glow, and even I can be what I see.
Age of Ease
We live in an age of unparalleled ease.
Need something to eat? Just call up the nearest Pizza delivery service. Need to get somewhere? Don’t bother pulling out the map, just tell your GPS where to direct you. If you’re tired of the current TV channel, a push of a button will take care of that problem – you don’t even have to leave the couch. Whenever you’re home alone, just text back and forth with all of your acquaintances. You don’t need to wait until you get home! Text in the office, in class, or wherever you are! If your room is too hot, turn down the AC. If you’re bored, go online. If the kids whine, stick them in front of the X-box.
For a War Memorial (by G.K. Chesterton)
“We sleep safely at night because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those who would harm us.”– Winston Churchill
I would have written you a poem. I would have drawn my pen as weapons have been drawn, while an overwhelming sense of thanks and honor welled up in my eyes. But as I aimed my mind to capture the thoughts which manifest themselves so poignantly right now, I discovered that it’s all been done before. My prayers have been whispered by other lips. My feeble battle-cry has been attempted by other voices… and they shout louder than I ever could. So I muster my emotions as you mustered your courage, and add my voice to the grateful multitude, honored to stand for you, as you stood for us all.
For a War Memorial, by G.K. Chesterton
The hucksters haggle in the mart
The cars and carts go by;
Senates and schools go droning on;
For dead things cannot die.
A storm stooped on the place of tombs
With bolts to blast and rive;
But these be names of many men
The lightning found alive.
If usurers rule and rights decay
And visions view once more
Great Carthage like a golden shell
Gape hollow on the shore,
Still to the last of crumbling time
Upon this stone be read
How many men of England died
To prove they were not dead.
Mere Color
“Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways.” -Oscar Wilde
I think I could write a song called ‘Purple’. A song with no words, but a wealth of choral harmonies to wade between. And all would distill into lavender sweetness at first, and falter with a vulnerable flutter, but then it would merge into a highway of torrential grandness, and the color would deepen and deepen until– until its beauty was too great for the human ear to comprehend. It would end in a flash of clarity, and never resolve, just lilt out of sight and sound….
I think I could write a song called ‘White’. And because white is indeed a color, not just the absence of color, it would be thick and firm… but on the top there would glisten a layer of ruffly coloratura notes, which would lend a sense of innocence. But while white is pure and sweet, it is also strong and proud. So the reigning notes of White’s song would have long voices and measured vibrato, alluding to courage and honor and love. What can black do against such reckless beauty?
I think I could write a song called ‘Green’. It would modulate several times, each key higher than the last. Because green is a growing color. Not only is it the color of growing things, but it seems itself to grow. Green’s theme would be peacefully progressive, blowing from a whispering flirtation to intense and eager friendship. If you ever wanted to be friends with a color, pick green.
I think I could write a song called ‘Blue’. Oboes and clarinets would be called upon to play. And the notes they projected would wash the sea into your throat and the sky under your feet. Listen closely and see anew / the wonders and mercies of the color blue. Don’t look for bird interruptions or green undertones, for you will find none. Blue is vast and foamy and bold, and it calls. One could be subsumed forever into such fullness of life.
I think I could write a song called ‘Red’. It would be busy, it would be fast. Almost too fast, for before you scarcely had time to register the definite pattern of flickering, lively notes, it would vanish in a whirl of presumptuous authority. But you would smile, and probably play it again.
I don’t think I could write a rainbow. But I can let the elusive thoughts of such a melody caress my mind… and then I can go outside and watch the colors of the world splash by.
If you don’t have anything else to do… maybe you could come with me.
"What do you mean you still like that song??"
Fireflies. The immediate hit by Owl City that had teens raving over it for weeks. Until… everyone got tired of it. But I never will tire of it. I do, however, tire of people asking me,”What do you mean you still like that song??” =) And so here is my answer, once and for all.
“You would not believe your eyes…” Driving in the morning along the ocean. I was cold, or at any rate, I was shivering. The van smelled so special (I’ll always love that smell). We got out Avery’s ipod and soon ‘Fireflies’ imprinted itself indelibly on my heart, because we were together, on our way, so nervous, so glad! “They fill the open air and leave teardrops everywhere…” The sea foam was shining gold for me, like it had earlier in the breakfast room- that ballroom on the top floor. They could have served us anything up there and it would have been delicious. And I still wouldn’t have been able to eat it, because I was so excited. None of that excitement dissipated as we drove past sun-enchanted buildings. It was only a ten minute drive, or less, but it seemed like a precious lifetime of wonder. “I’d like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly…” I smoothed my skirt, fiddled with my lip gloss, and was so thrilled that first morning. Unbelievably nervous and excited. I write it how it felt, and my fingers are trembling now like they did then. The jolt when we rolled into the parking lot was the sudden leap of my heart. Getting out of the van, I donned my lace gloves and Avery borrowed a pair. Holding hands like ridiculous children, we scampered across the blessed Corpus Christi asphalt. We found the Clarkson’s and did some impromptu hopping about. It wasn’t cold, so what was with my trembling? I was bubbling over like a fountain with a shot of dish soap. We fluttered/skipped/walked to the nearest entrance, but hardly anyone was in the church yet, so we waited by the stairs. Renee Sprinkle said hello (I love her), Mrs. Aschmutat as well, and Phil gave Avery and I quick hugs before he went to help set up registration. “Cuz I get a thousand hugs from ten-thousand lightning bugs as they try to teach me how to dance!” I noticed a skate park out the window, and Avery and I laughed at nothing in particular as we stood together examining its concrete simplicity. We walked back down the hallway towards the stairs, still chuckling (and still trembling, on my part, at least!), and oh! there was Tim coming down! Somehow we managed to hug on the second step or so, before my brown pumps betrayed me into tripping backwards slightly, and we had to descend a few inches to earth. “The disco ball is just hanging by a thread.” Did I mention how much I was smiling? How could I keep myself from it? My brother, and Avery, and a whole four days in front of us! I hugged Ed again. Soon it was a blur in that building, as kids came filing through, and tables were being carried, and interns were flying around like maniacal fairies. “I saved a few and I keep them in a jar.” Registration magically appeared, and I waited in line, not knowing most people, but ready for anything. Eric Fleming looks crazily like his older brother. I heard Tim tell his fellow intern Kelsea, ‘see my sister Susan?’, and I smiled even wider. I got my name tag with the whimsical purple-faced parrot on it (that name tag we were supposed to relinquish at the end of the conference, but I have it still, by accident. And I’m happy about that!), and somehow I remembered to find Mrs. Aschmutat at the food table and register for meals, and I kept hugging people I knew. I ended up in this small room, sitting and waiting for general assembly to commence. “everything is never as it seems…” And as I sat there with a whole row to myself, I could feel the inside of my heart begin to tremble on the brink of change, accompanied by the inspiring instrumental music of Michael W. Smith. (But it isn’t his music that conjures up these memories!) So began one of the best weeks of my life.
I cannot be thankful enough for that wonderful, marvelous, absolutely sensational week! The repercussions still fly through my bloodstream, waking the senses, forcing up laughter. I cannot hold it in! I was so happy, and happiness returns at the mere memory of CFC.
This is why I still like that song.
Wonder
I have a little two-year-old brother who is pretty much the cutest kid in the world. I love doing things with him, because seeing him experience something for the first time is almost like doing it the first time myself. Yesterday he and I were wandering around outside, and he was just like any other kid, pointing out everything he saw. Kitty! Truck! Flowers! Water! Sand! Trees! And while I followed him, I caught his same contagious joy of discovering objects. Have you ever looked at something you see every day, and suddenly seen it for the first time? Or do you go about your daily life, ignoring ‘normal’ things? Humans are so inclined to take things for granted. I’m sure we all realize that, and yet, how often do we really try to change and view everything as special, brilliant, wonderful? Not very often. G.K. Chesterton rightly pointed out that, “The world will never starve for want of wonders, but for want of wonder.” Maybe that’s because we don’t think it’s necessary. But it is! Westminster catechism tells us that the primary purpose of man is: “To glorify God and enjoy Him forever”. Enjoy Him forever! It’s a Biblical command!
But how can we break away from monotony and embrace surprise, wonder, and joy? By looking at everything like a child- and seeing it for the first time. The following are seven things that have earned my wonder and complete enjoyment. I hope you make your own list, and add to it every moment.
Purple! This is a miraculous color- the gorgeous result of the marriage of red and blue. Yet it resembles neither. It’s a color that makes me want to dance when I see it splashed across the universe. The color of royalty, the color of violets, the embodiment of spherical music. Surely if music was visible, it would be purple.
Skyscrapers. Remember walking in the heart of some huge city, your route drenched in the shade of massive buildings? Looking up, they are all windows, reflecting the sky and their monolith neighbors. At night they are blanketed in diamond lights. They are crisp while weighing tons; they kiss the sky while people scurry at their feet.
Noses. These are weird. Don’t go around staring at people too much, but noses are definitely a reason to laugh and enjoy life.
Tides. Sure, we know the moon controls the tides and keeps them from flooding the earth and annihilating the human race, but this isn’t just a fact of science, to study in Elementary school and toss aside. Just think of the intricacy of this arrangement! Every time the tide comes in or recedes, a miracle has occurred. The brilliance of God astounds me- He has made nature His canvas for the most wonderful artistry.
Plastic. Who thought up plastic? That God enabled man to create synthetic materials is amazing. We use His laws of physics to construct perfect angles, curves, and lines in our products. This is cool.
Gravity! Ever considered that it’s an absolutely remarkable phenomenon that you walk upright? Or can sit still for hours (even if this gets uncomfortable)? Think of how everything could have been different. We are all amazing, because we all might not have been.
Wonder. Wonder itself- the emotion, the realization- is wonderful. God didn’t just create amazing things- He gave us the ability to be amazed. This is a brilliant facet of His grace. Besides the command to glorify Him, He cared enough to command us to enjoy Him! And we can enjoy Him all our lives, with every miraculous breath, in every rather odd word of our language! He gave us more than life- He gave us life with Him. And because He died- we can truly live. So live!
As Oscar Wilde said, “To live is the rarest thing in the world- most people exist, that is all.”
Love or Beauty?
[[cross-posted from Facebook, written as the answering article to a very long and awesome comment discussion]]
Early last November found me in Corpus Christi, Texas, participating in a communications conference. I treasure that experience as one of the most wonderful weeks of my life, because as well as having an utterly amazing time with everyone, I was exposed to truths which have cemented themselves permanently in my heart, further directing my mindset towards missions, genuine leadership, and ultimately towards Christ. I remember one particular class I attended where the students were told to write on a piece of paper two values- two admirable things to pursue. I, being a rather abstract person, chose ‘altruism’ (brotherly love) and ‘beauty’. After we had chosen our two values, they told us to underline one. So… I underlined beauty. And then our two teachers excitedly informed us that we were each going to write down all the reasons we could come up with for why the underlined value was greater than the other. I raised my eyebrows, blinked, and thought myself in a quandary. I mean, what reasons could you come up with for why beauty was better than brotherly love? But I got to thinking. And those thoughts that began to stir within me in November have remained to the present moment. Which is why I bring you the question, ‘which is more fundamental- love or beauty?’ I will be endeavoring to answer this question for all of us in these next few paragraphs.
If the answer to the question seems obvious to you on the surface, let me lead you into the depths of the problem. I’m sure it seems clear that love should be valued above beauty. But is it possible that, before we can have love, we must have beauty? Can you ever bestow love without recognizing beauty in the loved thing or person? I’m not talking about physical beauty here, but overall wholesomeness and worth. Without seeing this deep beauty manifested in something (or someone), can you love it? Of course we are commanded to love our enemies and rejoice through suffering. But when we do these things, is it because we realize that there is some inherent beauty in a person or situation, even if we don’t see it? This is the question that I’ve pondered in length.
First of all, I should define love and beauty to prevent any confusion. I will be speaking of love not only in the context of human relationships, but also as affection, admiration, or appreciation for an object or circumstance. Beauty I define as ‘the quality that gives pleasure to the mind or senses’. And now, on to the issue at hand….
Since this is a question that faces mankind, and not God, I’ll not be looking at God’s point of view immediately. For flawed humans, which is more fundamental? Does beauty determine love in our case? I believe, for most people, it does. We are born with human sight, and look for beauty at the surface. Only God is capable of seeing beyond the obvious. When a man loves something, it’s because he sees something lovable, something beautiful in the loved object. No normal person is going to go out and love a dirt road, a paper clip, or another person, without first seeing value or worth in it. The apparent value and worth is relative, depending on the person. I’m completely capable of loving dirt roads for their simplicity and overall dirt-ness, and paper clips for their perfectly practical (yet unlikely) swirl. But Hitler loved destroying all other ethnic groups in favor of the Arian race. He saw value and worth in his stance. Throughout the entire human population, there is not one who is capable, in and of himself, of loving something that does not appear favorable to him. So, to much of mankind, beauty is the supreme value. In order for something to be lovable in the eye of the beholder, it must be beautiful in the eye of the beholder. But notice I said that this is the case for much of mankind.
Because you see, as Christians, we don’t love in and of ourselves. We love because of God’s perfect love channeled through us. Romans 5:5 says, “…and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” For God and His followers who he enlightens, love is the more fundamental, because as the Scriptures state, God is love. Love is more than an emotion- it can be bestowed, received, accepted, withheld…. it’s more than something like ‘happiness’, which is a mere emotion and can’t be given away. Love is something infinitely precious- we really have no idea how it works, and yet it rules the world. God is love. God is not beauty, though He is beautiful, and no beauty can exist apart from Him. (In actuality, nothing can exist apart from Him.) Beauty is an attribute, but love is something much more. The fact is, however, that love is not something humans are fully capable of. Thus, without God, WE can only love when we find something apparently lovable. There are plenty of lovable things to be found, since everything God created holds some inherent beauty- otherwise He wouldn’t have created it and said that it was good. We were made in His image, and we have retained that image. Of course we understand that Adam’s fall corrupted that beauty forever, but by God’s grace, it is still there. Nothing WE’VE done has sustained it; it was bestowed once and for all at the beginning of the world. So we still have no reason to boast. Why does God love us? I cannot answer that question. No one can. It’s true that we still retain His image, but God is perfect and we most certainly are not. Why would He love something so flawed? And yet He DID love us enough to send Christ as our bridge to Him, that in Christ our sins might be washed away. God doesn’t value beauty above love. It’s His love that enables beauty to exist. Somehow His love reaches us in our stiffened, black souls, and makes us beautiful. He takes from us all of our sin, and gives us in return a softened heart- capable of loving. We don’t love because of beauty. We love because He first loved us.
So for Christians, love has become the fundamental value! And when God commands us to love our enemies, we can, because He enables us to do so. When He assures us that He will bring good out of every seemingly evil situation, we believe Him, and sometimes He graciously allows us to actually see the beauty that our eyes weren’t able to recognize. This is where a certain quote by G.K. Chesterton comes in, “A thing must be loved before it is lovable.” I translate this to mean that a thing must be loved before it is LOVELY. Certainly there are many things in the world that are obviously lovely. If we love them… big deal. We would probably have loved them before we received new life and new love in Christ. It’s in loving the unlikely things that God’s love is manifested. When He gives us the strength to love our enemies, He may also give us the pleasure of seeing our enemies become our friends. Or perhaps they may stay as vile as ever, but He will work in US when we do His will. And that growth will be beautiful. When we love, it’s as much for our benefit as for the loved. When God fills us with Himself, our eyes are opened to see beauties that were never visible before. St. Augustine put it very wisely, “Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.”
So love should be considered the ultimate goal to strive towards. Even though our human flesh aches for the beautiful, there may be unparalleled beauties just around the corner in the dark. If we follow God’s guidance, letting His will subsume ours, we can break through our earthly tendencies and embrace true love. Remember that, as Corrie ten Boom believed, “Whenever we cannot love in the old human way, God can give us the perfect way.”
Let us love for Love’s sake alone.
————————–
[As a post-script, I wrote an Italian sonnet. Don't that sound impressive now? Tehe.]
Such Beautiful Love
The wrinkle in my shirtsleeve is so light.
Not so the cavern breach inside my heart.
All marred existence bleeds for mankind’s plight.
A shadow of the crimson, blighted art.
Why were we deceived by falsehood’s warning
That we were incomplete and ill-prepared?
For there at the beginning of earth’s glory,
We reigned in love; beauty our only care.
And yet we drove away creation’s smile
So innocent, infused with music’s laugh.
In favor of a crooked grin, and wiles
That made us slaves unto the whip of wrath.
That day the sky was wrinkled in a frown,
And all our paths to beauty fraught and dazed
Until, through tears, we heard a promise sound.
Throughout the wasted world, it still remains.
Hear it in the silent cavern’s recess.
Watch it rend a tree with lightning’s gasp.
Know it as it pulses through your soul’s depths.
Unable to be earned, yet here to grasp!
Love has simply melted all our weapons.
Torn the earth apart out of His mercy.
Seized upon and wasted man’s directions,
Infusing in us His own peerless beauty.
And every stubborn wrinkle will dissolve
At the touch of such a beautiful love.
Define: Romanticism
Do you see yourself in these words?
“Romanticism, perhaps the most sublime of afflictions, is a congenital psychic disorder whose symptoms are evident throughout life. In childhood the romantic writes poetry and dreams of grand and noble exploits. As a youth he embraces causes and fights for them with reckless bravery– which is easy enough for him to do, since he is unable to imagine that failure or defeat is possible. He falls in love once, passionately, and for life. He is spirited, gallant, and bold and sees high drama where others see blandness. He inspires admiration and loyalty in some, envy and hatred in others; he can be charming and witty but not genuinely humorous, for though life to him is always a joyful affirmation, it is never funny. Like the sentimentalist, the dreamer, and the do-gooder, the romantic is ruled by his heart rather than his head. Unlike them, he is also tough-minded and realistic, and that creates within him a turbulence they never know: he drives himself to excel, requires discipline of himself far beyond other men, is ever concerned with honor, sometimes excessively.” -Forrest McDonald
I really wish I’d written this definition. Because it’s dead on. Romanticism certainly can be the ‘most sublime of afflictions’. But all traits of character must be watched, because when used wrongly, they can become detrimental to one’s happiness along with such inherently bad ones as cowardice or vanity. Traits that aren’t absolute virtues like patience or kindness can easily be corrupted. Or simply ignored and left to simmer in a dark corner, breeding discontent or rebellion. In fact, I maintain that to keep your character uncorrupted, you must use every facet of it for a good purpose. What use is it to be an idealist if you do not find the best ideals to pursue? What good is it to be naturally diligent if you are not constantly working hard to further your most cherished principles and plans? As for the romantic, why dream up such beautiful fancies if you don’t even know where your heart lies? A romantic, an idealist… these will latch onto any promising opportunity or idea, if not checked. I’m not saying they should be checked, but one must be certain that the idea or opportunity which seems so fascinating is actually worth pursuing and fighting for. For example, Alexander Hamilton was, among other things, a romantic and an idealist. And he was one who chose his ideals carefully. Extensive study, varied experiences and acquaintances- these helped him weed out the unworthy causes and settle on the ones which had the most potential. Once he discovered those causes, he bent himself to work with a will, because he knew how noble his chosen calling was. Throughout his life, he gave himself to America- to her government and to her people (even though he was dissatisfied with them), and worked along with other valiant men to make his country the grandest in the world. He saddled his romanticism and made it work for him, instead of following blindly any path which presented itself in a pleasant light. And these idealistic and romantic tendencies of his didn’t hinder him- they assisted him in a great work. A fight that was worth winning.
Are you a ‘hopeless romantic’? I guess I would fit under that category as well. And you and I have no business hiding behind our dreams or sighing for impossibilities. Get out of yourself and make the world beautiful. I’m not saying ‘follow your dreams’. Because some of our dreams are not worth following, and might just lead us to a dreary dead end. But some of them are truly noble. How do you know which to pursue? Think of the Master of the mind, the Healer of the heart, the Savior of the soul. I think He might be able to tell you. =)
Communicate
[click for larger image]
We all communicate, whether we aim to or not. This is what it means to me. I am not my own… I belong to a God who is Love. Everything He does through me… that’s what is worth communicating. And oh, I want so much to be used! Because when He channels His Love through me, I shiver with joy in the warmth of His glory. And when that glory spills through me and over me and around me, into others… I want nothing more. As Emily Dickinson says, “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not have lived in vain.” But when all’s said and done… it’s God who mends every breaking heart, who speaks each life-changing word, who writes every inspiring paragraph. I want to be the channel, Lord. Communicate You through me.
This is what communicating means to me. This is what life means to me. What does it mean to you?
Copyright © GraceElizabeth
Do you dream of escape?
Last week I was very alive.
You just read that short sentence and raised your eyebrows at me, because you’re thinking, ‘Grace, you are pretty much always alive. I hope.’ Well, I hope so too. But I believe that you will understand what I mean when I draw your attention to some of those times of your life when you felt so bursting with happiness that you were… more alive than ever. If you can’t recall any, I pity you. Because life is made up of times like that. Moments. Days. Most recently for me, it was last week. I was tremendously blessed to be able to attend a Communicators For Christ (CFC) conference in Corpus Christi. The motto for the organization is; ‘shaping culture through authentic communication’. Generally, people equate public speaking with communicating. But although public speaking is an important part of communicating for Christ, the biggest part is simply how you interact with the people around you. And even those of you who aren’t big about the whole ‘command the platform’ can’t tell me that you don’t interact with people. Not even homeschoolers are that unsocialized. =D So read on a little further, as I try to relate a little of what I’ve learned this week.
I competed in the National Christian Forensics and Communications Association (NCFCA) last year. And I had gone to a CFC conference before. And I was never a shy person. It’s actually pretty funny to listen to all the accounts my friends give of how their mom made them go to the conference, or whatever. Because my parents didn’t tell me I had to go. I told my parents they had to send me. =D Anyway, nothing I learned at this conference was new to me. Anyone could have asked me about it, and I would have agreed. But not until last week were these truths really cemented in my heart. The theme for this year’s tour conference is ‘Lead the Escape’. It’s not talking about escaping from your problems or from the world- on the contrary. This is an escape from artificial to authentic communication. And an escape from Self. The goal is to throw aside everything that would hinder you from sharing the Truth of the gospel, and equip yourself to go into the world in order to change it. And isn’t that all our lives are about?
I’d like to briefly share four things with you that specifically stuck out to me while I was at the conference. I’ve put them into a handy little bullet list for you. (I love those things!)
- Not only is it totally awesome to know how to talk to people and communicate your beliefs, it’s necessary. We do not have a choice. Let me repeat that, because the truth of it still hits me like a bomb: we do not have a choice. Either you will be able to converse with people and share Life with them, or you will be showing them through your insecurity that you don’t know the answers. Everyone communicates. Through your glances, through your body language, through your words or lack of them. You will either communicate your beliefs, or you will communicate your unbelief. It’s that simple.
- Value the relationship above the argument. Those of us who don’t have problems with shyness often struggle with forcing our beliefs on others. We’ve got to remember that only God can change the human heart, and we are only his instruments through which He channels the Truth. Once we plant the seeds, our job is now to tend the ground gently and pray for the rain. And after all, if you are willing to lay the argument aside in order to keep your friendship with someone, you will have another chance. Once you sever ties with a person, you can never go back. There’s a quote I heard this week by Phillip Yancey. It says, ‘No one ever became a Christian because they lost the argument.’
- Being a competent cultural communicator means being willing to risk yourself. That scares me, so I know it probably scares you too. But life is so not about us. If we are willing to risk looking ‘weird’ or being in awkward situations sometimes, or simply willing to give other people the time of day when we’re busy, we will be able to reach farther into people’s lives. We’ve got to be engaging and real and joyful and trustworthy. Then people will connect with us, and we can touch their lives through Christ. We can’t wait on the sidelines for the world to come to us. We must go to them.
- For those of you who compete in speech and debate, let’s remember that competition is only a way to hone our skills. Our goal is never to win rounds, but to win people. How many people do you think you’re going to win by speaking to a bunch of homeschool parents? Sure, there may be a few ‘community judges’, but most likely they are Christians as well. Unless we’re taking the skills we learn out into the community, all our moving rhetoric is for nothing. I know we’ve heard this before, but NCFCA is a game. A means, and not an end. Let’s actually use what we’ve learned by impacting people who need us.
I can’t tell you everything that I learned at this conference. But I felt that those four points were very important, and I hope you think so as well. I’d like to remind us of one thing, though. And that is, we can’t do it. Yes, I know I just took several precious minutes of your time explaining to you what I’ve learned and how to do it. But all of that knowledge is useless. We can’t do it. The only one who can is Christ. And He has chosen to use US! It’s so, so important to remember that Christ is the only one who can light a fire under our rhetoric. He is our answer. One morning of the conference we were beginning the day with prayer, and my friend praying said this- “Let us realize that there’s no possible way to communicate FOR Christ, unless we communicate WITH Him.” I feel that every day. Let us always realize that we are nothing without Christ in us. He must lead us before we can Lead the Escape.
In final (I promise, this is the final) conclusion, I wrote a poem:
Dream of an Escape
If this was all a dream,
Spun from silver moon reflections on the water,
And fanned by firefly wings.
Or tossed from wave to wave, in tempests worthy…
Then when I wake up, I will laugh with the sky,
And everything will be more real, and more right.
I’ll grasp for the pillow and sing for pure joy,
Because this dream has changed my life.
Sometimes our dreams are more real than our lives,
When we are not willing to live them for Christ.
And sometimes our dreams are our way of escape
When we are too frightened to risk for His sake.
But sometimes life seems like a dream
And everything exudes a golden gleam.
And I know that it’s real, more real than I am.
Though it’s bound to my heart with a velvet band.
And I realize that, escaping this way,
I’m delving in, not fleeing away.
The care isn’t that I should save myself,
But help to lead the escape from Self.
For Christians may all sit and babble away,
And be very smart and have things to say,
But what have we done for the kingdom of Christ
Unless we go into the world and speak Life?
There is no higher calling, and no greater care
Than to reach out to others and simply be there.
If we can love in a world full of hate,
We are called to Lead the Escape.
{For more information about the Communicators for Christ nation-wide tour, visit http://www.instituteforculturalcommunicators.org. or http://www.theiccblog.com/ }
Copyright © GraceElizabeth
Adventures in DC
This isn’t as long as the first part! You have my permission to be happy.
Family Vacation Part Two- Washington, D.C.
Day 10- Tuesday
I begin where I left off. We awoke in our new hotel, remembering we had left our friendly ABP behind. We had to scout out a new breakfast spot. So Dad took the other girls and headed out to look. They called us some time later, saying they’d found a Burger King. (We found out that they’d also been in some sort of park, hidden behind the Office Depot across the street.) Normally Burger King is no good, but they had as decent a breakfast menu as anywhere else, I guess.
We were bound for the Capitol building, by way of the Air and Space Museum. We took the subway downtown… ick.
I forgot to mention that the weather in DC is more in the upper 80s. Warmer than Boston, very unfortunately. And I was wearing a black hat that day, which didn’t improve matters.
The Air and Space Museum is decent. I mean, it’s amazing if you really like that kind of thing. But I’m not big on airplanes or rockets, unless I get to ride in them. I’d say, overall, that NASA Houston is cooler. We did get to see the Spirit of St. Louis before we left for the Capitol, though.
All the Smithsonian Museums (of which the Air and Space Museum is one) are along the Capitol Mall. You know, that looong lawn between the Capitol building and the Washington Monument. Anyways, so we walked up the Mall to the Capitol, hurrying, because we had a tour to catch. Anyone who likes photography knows that it is hard to take good pictures with a point-and-shoot camera when you’re walking fast. Consequently, when we came in full sight of the Capitol building, I fell pretty far behind the ‘caravan’. It paid off, though! I guess all that running at the last minute was worth the pics I got. After all, it’s a once-in-a-life-time experience, says my dad. He kept telling us to enjoy the trip, because it’s highly unlikely of us making it out there again as a family!
We discovered that we had to walk all the way around the back of the building to get to the visitor center. And when we got there we had to wait in a long line for security….. It was hot outside. And security was really quite ridiculous- we’d emptied our water bottles, since they wouldn’t let you in with liquids. But they took our empty bottles and threw them away! And we had to take the sleeping baby out of the stroller…. it was dumb.
We missed our tour, but got in on another one. First we filed into a theater to watch a ‘movie’ about the history of the Capitol. But most of it was black, because something was wrong with their projector, I guess.
Our guide took us to the Rotunda, Statuary Hall, and the ‘Crypt’ downstairs. (No one is buried there, but that’s what they’d intended it for.) And that was it! It was kind of lame. But it was still neat to be there.
After our tour ended, we went to watch the Senate in session. They confiscated our cameras, cellphones, etc., for us to claim later. I guess they don’t want anyone texting, ‘hey, I’m in the Senate chambers! there’s this one weird senator….’ They’re pretty strict over there. We weren’t allowed to point into the chambers. (?) Even though there was almost nobody down there, and they did nothing interesting. We left after about 45 minutes.
We’d planned on heading to the Art Museum, but it was closed (it being later than 5 already), so we went back to the Air and Space Museum, ate lunch/dinner there, and saw the Wright Flier. I was ready to head ‘home’ after that (my feet hurt! =), but we went out on the grass of the Mall to let Alan run around. So I took advantage of that and took pictures of everyone with their finger on top of the Washington Monument. And took pictures of grass. Grass is interestingly inspiring.
I guess now’s as good a time as any to explain why D.C. didn’t win my heart like Boston did. The best reasons I can come up with are 1). It’s more artificial. Not as old. Not as historic. Sure, the museums and everything are great, but the actual city is more… artificial than Boston. Boston grew slowly of its own accord. DC was molded and shaped by and for the government.
2.) And that first reason is why, I think, that the city seems almost stiff. As my friend said, DC just feels stiffer than Boston. The locals seem to consider their city a workplace and not a home. Everything, every building, every bit of landscaping, seems created for a business. Consider the difference between the yards you see in a nice neighborhood somewhere, compared to the landscaping for an office building. Both may be pleasing to the eye, but one is charming and hospitable, and the other is usually just… professional. And stiff-ish.
I don’t know if any of that makes any sense, but that’s what DC was to me. The pink clouds floating over the Washington Monument at sunset are lovely, though! Sunsets are beautiful anywhere.
The rest of the sunset was wasted for us, as we got on the subway to head back. 
Day 11- Wednesday
Today marks the date of my falling in love with a certain man’s estate. The beauty and charm of it! It was incredible. Too bad the master of it has been dead so long. He must have been twice as charming as his plantation! *affected sigh*
We took a bus to Virginia and toured Washington’s Mount Vernon. I could gush over it forever. Even the drive there was beautiful. After we got out of the strict city limits and into the Virginian neighborhoods. We drove alongside the Potomac river for a while, and saw plenty of expensive houses. Kind of reminded me of the really nice neighborhoods on Lake Austin, here in Texas.
But Mount Vernon was like stepping into a dream or a movie. It was enchanting. I think the estate is around 500 acres now. But get this: it used to be like 8000.
The mansion is the crown of the plantation, which has been restored to its original state. It stands grandly on the crest of a hill, overlooking the Potomac. Washington himself wrote of his home: “No estate in United America is more pleasantly situated than this.” I agree. We toured the house after standing in a looong line. Inside the mansion, much of the furniture is original, and it’s all from Washington’s time period. You could film a grand movie in that house. (Side note to myself: the original pianoforte was there!! *happy*)
Once through the house, we roamed the rest of the grounds blissfully. The view from behind the mansion is luscious. And the grass is soft (not like Texas!), and there were these low-hanging trees to explore.
The outer buildings like the stables and the servants quarters are there to peek into as well. I did some of that. But I loved to just walk among the trees, and sit on the grass, and appreciate the beauty of it all. It was a world away from bustling DC. It was perfect. 
So that is what we did until we realized that we had only an hour until closing. And then, all of a sudden, there was all this stuff to do! Anna wanted to visit the horses, Emily and I wanted to walk down by the river bank, Mom wanted to go to the education center, Dad wanted to see Washington’s grave. How we fit all that in, I have no idea. It helped when we split up. I saw Washington’s grave, and the river (which wasn’t as great up close, naturally), and then Mom and Emily and I headed to the education center. That education center/museum is one of the most well-done exhibits I have ever seen. Whoever designed it was immensely creative! There were interesting videos (like the one about spying during the war!), quotes on the walls, pictures, sculptures of Washington, clothing he and Martha owned, etc. I really liked that part and could have spent much longer there, but I also wanted to visit the gift shop. Which was huge. We meandered through it for a while, quite contentedly. I ended up buying a couple postcards and a pen in the shape of a rifle. That pen honestly rocks. I’m looking at it as I type. It’s just like a rifle, except for the pen tip at the end! Hehe, I couldn’t resist. I can’t have a real gun, so I went for a fake one. It’s cool. Actually, the coolest thing I saw was a letter opener in the shape of Washington’s sword. All silver and everything! =)
I ended up with time to spare, so I went back into the museum thingy until Dad came looking for me. I couldn’t get phone service in there! :-/
Then we got on the bus and took leave of the beautiful estate. I hope I can go back someday, maybe with my kids.
I don’t remember what we did for dinner. But we got back fairly late, I believe. Because we were ‘allowed’ to sleep in the next morning! Till like 8:30, anyway.
Day 12- Thursday
I wrote like half of this day and then lost it. Erg! I think writing in such detail gets majorly on your nerves after a while. Anyways, I’m nearly burned out, but we’ll see if I can push through to the end.
So this morning we slept in.. not a very smart idea for those who have tons to do that day. We realized this later. We hit Burger King at 10:45- 15 minutes before they stopped serving breakfast. I’m glad we made it in time- my idea of a good breakfast does NOT include cheeseburgers.
We had to take the subway (of course, bleh. But still much better than walking.) to the Capitol Mall and the Holocaust Museum. I guess most people wouldn’t consider the Holocaust Museum a must-see on vacation. But I’m so glad we went. (As a side note, that building is built like some modern prison. Alan didn’t like it at all- he didn’t understand why any place should be so dark and depressing. Thankfully he took a nap. I wish I could just fall asleep when I’m in distress!) The exhibit was heart-rending. There they had all the evidence, all the pictures, all the quotes from survivors and others, all the documents, even the shoes of the victims who were gassed. It was horrible. But I’m glad it’s there. We need it to be there. Everyone needs to go and witness such evil that humans are capable of, so we can prevent it from ever happening again. Never again.
There was so much to see that we didn’t get out of there until they closed. 5:00. And we still hadn’t eaten lunch. So after being informed by a guard where the nearest place to eat was, we headed down to the Reagan building food court. Which was still about 5 blocks away!!
By six we were moving again- now bound for the White House. No, we didn’t see Obama. He was in Russia, probably avoiding us. It was just cool to be there in front of the gate, in front of the house where so much has happened, for good and evil. We took a couple pictures (with difficulty, since there were a lot of people doing the same), and walked on towards the Lincoln Memorial. We stopped at the WWII Memorial on the way. I think that’s my favorite memorial in DC. Besides the fact that WWII has always been fascinating to me, it was designed so artistically. I took quite a few pictures there. With the sun going down behind those pillars it was a perfect time of day!
The Lincoln Memorial looks like a Grecian Temple. I mean, I know you’ve all seen pictures of it, but when you’re actually there it’s kind of eye-opening. It’s huge, for one thing. And the steps are very many and very steep. And you’re supposed to be quiet inside. I saw a little kid slide down a banister-type thing and get fussed at by a (rather young) policeman for it. I kind of wondered if that policeman wouldn’t mind sliding down himself!
I saw Lincoln and the quotes engraved on the walls, but there’s really nothing much inside, so I spent most of our time there sitting on the steps, watching the light fade gradually over the city. I like the reflecting pool.
It was nearly dark when we left the Memorial, but it was still catching the last rays of sunlight. We deliberated on whether to head back to the hotel or walk around the Tidal Basin to the Jefferson Memorial. I was for the latter, and that’s what we ended up doing. The Tidal Basin is much wider than it looks. And much more lovely and peaceful at night than I can describe. I tried to capture it with the camera, and failed utterly. Our camera doesn’t have a good night setting. But still, walking around that light-speckled water was one of my two favorite things that we did in DC. The other being Mt. Vernon. The only bad thing was that since I kept stopping to take pictures, I kept getting left behind and having to run to catch up. In an idealistic world I would never have minded being lost along the Tidal Basin! Besides, I had my cell phone. But you know, safety measures usually do interfere with the fun. =(
The Jefferson Memorial was neat, all lit up in the dark. There was a big cobweb hanging from Jeff’s head, though. :-0 And by this time we were all rather bushed. Walking back to the subway station was… long. I don’t like endless walking. It’s best to break it up with running, skipping, or stopping at intervals. But hey, we made it back… finally found the correct entrance to the station, and waited on the platform for a very long time before a train came to pick us up.
It must have been 10 by the time we got off at our stop. And then we went into the corner grocery store for like 30 minutes to buy fruit, cottage cheese for Alan (he loves that stuff! Just like me!), and got very hungry. We ate at a Subway (the restaurant). I think the workers found us amusing. I guess we were. I kept hearing songs on the radio that I’d heard somewhere, and had to rack my poor tired brain to remember where. Things like that bother me- I have little peace until I can figure out the answer.
So yep, we had our little Subway party, and finally made it back to our room at like 11:30.
Day 13- Friday
Last full day in DC. And very full it was! We spent the entire morning and some of the afternoon gaping in the National Gallery of Art. All I can say is… wow. It was, as my adopted brother said, glorious. =) To see all those classic works of art- all original, all perfectly stunning. It was… let’s just stick with the word glorious, shall we? I saw pieces by Rembrandt, Monet, all the masters. And took pictures! Even though the guards were kind of picky about the WAY you take pictures.. *mumbles*… at least it was allowed! I’m usually faster than my family in things like this, so I browsed alone to my heart’s content.
There are two buildings to the Gallery. We were in the one with the ‘real’ art. We didn’t have time to go into the other one anyways. We finished one of the two wings in our building before lunch, and came back for the other afterward!
Lunch was crazy-ish. You don’t even want to know. Let’s just say it involved Alan making a mess.
The second wing was better than the first. ( It was all in chronological order.) I love those American landscape paintings! I wish I could paint. I can draw, but painting (especially the evil art of watercolors), has never been within my grasp. I sometimes use acrylics, when I get ambitious. But even then I sketch the entire thing first. And the paint usually makes it look fake. And shading is hard. And skin tones are impossible! </rant>
I love art. <3
It was like 3:30 or 4 when we left the Art Gallery for the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. Talk about logical fallacies! Evolution was everywhere in its full ridiculous garb. Sometimes it was funny. I got pictures of a couple of hilarious (only to us, of course… =P) signs.
There were dinosaurs (which have never captured my fancy). There were stuffed animals (which were cool). There were gems and minerals (the best part, to me). We saw the Hope Diamond- the biggest known diamond of the time. And there was a necklace that Marie Antoinette had worn. Plus, all the stuff about how gems are formed (I skipped this part), and info on all the different kinds of rocks (which I skipped too…). I basically just wandered around by myself, taking pictures of whatever was neat-looking, and not reading many signs. That is the classic teenage way to go through a museum, right?? Oh wait, I’m homeschooled. Well, never mind. It was an interesting museum, but Natural History isn’t my biggest ‘thing’. And I was tired. So there are my lame excuses for not seizing the opportunity to further educate myself.
The gift shops (yes, there were like 4) were spiffy. (I’m having a hard time thinking of descriptive words here!! What do you say about something that’s interesting, but not overly amazing? Cool, neat, or fun. Three very useful, but very drab words.)
Off topic. Anyways! I went in all the gift shops, but didn’t buy anything beside a pencil and a pen. Reason 1). I didn’t have much money left by this time. Reason 2). I didn’t need/want anything. Aren’t I smart? =) We all met up again at the last gift shop, where Emily and Anna got themselves some pressed pennies (which were insanely expensive), and I got that pencil and pen.
And then (4th grader phrase) we went to Taco Bell. And then ‘home’. And then packed.
Day 14- Saturday
I just know my suitcase was heavier by the end of the trip than at the beginning. At least we didn’t have to roll them extremely far. Just from the hotel to the subway, and from the subway to the terminal. The DC airport is massive. We got to ride on that sky-tram thing to get to our terminal.
Well, we went through security again, and this time I made sure my cellphone was in my purse. The lady looking at the x-ray screen thing (what do they call it anyway?) couldn’t figure out Dad’s little laptop case. For one thing, the laptop wasn’t in it. It had all our Camcorder tapes in it, and when it went through, she just stared at that screen with a puzzled look on her face asked us what it was. But she let it through when Dad told her.
Auntie Anne’s pretzels are scrumptious. We got a couple just before boarding the plane.
The flight home was uneventful. They played some very dumb TV show on the overhead screens. I listened to Charlie Zahm and thought about poetry… the trip… all the emails I’d have to answer… all the Facebook stuff I wasn’t even going to try to catch up on… our dog… recording my next vocal album, and the like.
We had a short layover in Dallas, and then the flight into Austin. It was good to be back… but it is way too hot here in Texas. Seriously, it’s pretty ridiculous. =)
Once we collected our baggage (none of it was lost- yay!), my dad went to get the car while the rest of us stood around dazedly. Wow, it’s amazing to have your own car. SO grateful for no more subways!
We ate dinner at a random Mexican restaurant. Some people don’t like going two weeks without Mexican food. Me, I can stand it. =)
And so I arrived home and found my little world none the worse for my absence.
Copyright © 2008 by GraceElizabeth
