The sadness of not being perfect, the discovery that you really are sinful, is a feeling much too human, even borders on idolatry. Focus your vision outside yourself on the beauty, graciousness, and compassion of Jesus Christ. ... A heart like that is stripped and filled stripped of self and filled with the fullness of God.
But holiness is not a personal achievement. It's an emptiness you discover in yourself. Instead of resenting it, you accept it and it becomes the free space where the Lord can create anew.
You are no longer aware of yourself, like the sparrow aloft and free in the azure sky.
~Francis of Assisi
----------------
Be prepared for a good dose of nostalgia/sentimentality:
The snow enchants me.
...walking absentmindedly across the quad, kicking the snow as if were an empty coke can or as if I were dragging my toes through the freshly damp sand
...unable to will myself to move inside, into the warmth, away from the frostbite grabbing hold of my finger, wrapped around an empty teacup...snowflakes coating the inside, infusing the Earl Grey leaves with a touch of white water
...walking over puddles of ice, stomping on them carelessly, without reverence
...staring straight up at the snowflakes hitting my glasses lenses like the rain drops feel on the day when the old man was snoring
In pure wonder. Suddenly, at least for a moment, my sorrow was lifted; released into the torrential down fall of unexpressed, unfulfilled deep-seated dreams and desires.
It was a gift; a grace. Given unexpectedly, un-asked for--like all gifts should be, if they possibly can.
...snow freezing upon each hair follicle
...the lamplight and purple Houghton college logos dusted, as if an afterthought...by glittering, suspended-in-gravity flakes
...as God's angels faithfully pelt snow down from the stores of the heavens, perhaps sprinkling it upon the earth as we venture to drench Christmas-tree shaped cookies with red and green
As I think on these things,
I feel courage.
I feel Love.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die
Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
lies silent in the grave.
William Cowper
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
lies silent in the grave.
William Cowper
Friday, December 12, 2008
Love All Lovely, Love Divine
Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming from tender stem has sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming as saints of old have sung.
It came, a flow'r-et bright, amid the cold of winter, when half-spent was the night.
Come, thou long-expected Jesus! born to set thy people free, from our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee. Israel's strength and consolation, hope of all the earth thou art, dear desire of ev'ry nation, joy of ev'ry longing heart.
This is the irrational season when love blossoms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason there'd have been no room for the child.
Of Jesse's lineage coming as saints of old have sung.
It came, a flow'r-et bright, amid the cold of winter, when half-spent was the night.
Come, thou long-expected Jesus! born to set thy people free, from our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee. Israel's strength and consolation, hope of all the earth thou art, dear desire of ev'ry nation, joy of ev'ry longing heart.
This is the irrational season when love blossoms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason there'd have been no room for the child.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Scattered Musings
Later, a man lying awake,
he might ask it again,
just to hear the silence
charge him, this night
arching over your sleepless wondering,
...
just to remind himself
...
out of what immense good-bye,
each must make a safe place of his heart,
before so strange and wild a guest
as God approaches.
Li-Young Lee, Nativity
A poem Dr. Woolsey shared with us in London.
-------
Last night, I watched "East of Eden". A film adapation of a novel by John Steinbeck, starring James Dean. The novel is set in Salinas/Monterey, CA, which are classifiable as Northern Californian towns. Out of nowehere, I began wistfully longing, with a deep ache in my heart, for California. This doesn't happen very often; usually it occurs when I'm looking over all of my old childhood pictures and craving some REAL Mexican food. There's something very desolate about the West; something that always leaves one wondering; something that I can't quite explain, no matter how hard I try. I could use descriptors like "rugged", "untamed", and such, but I don't think that would do it justice. Of course, then again, it might. The colors there are less rich; the greens, especially. Even the blues, on the coast. Also, it rained yesterday, in Houghton, New York. It's the middle of December; it should be snowing--the snow coating the countryside like a little kid eagerly coats a makeshift gingerbread house with frosting. But it rained. Of course, it never snowed in Half Moon Bay, a town at the edge of the ocean, a town at the edge of the continent--in fact, even on a different continental plate than a town 20 minutes east by car.
A few years ago, my dad decided to take my sister and I on a trip to Monterey, as we hadn't spent a lot of time there, growing up. We usually didn't make it any further than Santa Cruz, for the beach boardwalk there in all its delight. The landscape down there is a bit different than that I grew up with. There was less sand, and more mishmashed colors in the shrubbery reaching down to the ocean. The trees were more akin to acacia trees found on African savannas. The ocean itself was more blue, more vivid, somehow; the weather was slightly more clear and less bleak. Half Moon Bay is one of the most fog-drenched towns on the entire coast of California, I'm sure. Perhaps this is why I resonated so well with London. This city with such roots in history and tradition (as I've come to associate the East Coast) yet constantly indwelt by this fog, this dampness, powerful enough to reach into the very marrow of your bone and take hold of your heart. Where is my home?
Is my home my dorm room, in Houghton, New York? My only ties to the place being my professors and my friends?
Is my home the Amish-owned house we rent in Rebersburg, Pennsylvania? A place I've not lived in for more than 3 months at a time, I think? A place my mom claims as her home.
Is my home still the house we rented in California, 756 Mill Street? With an adobe feel to it?
With childhood memories I can't quite or don't try to access?
Is my home London, a city I spent 3 months in, but that made me feel so alive? Where tea tasted somehow better than it does to me now?
All of this may just be nostalgic and sentimental fluff.
But, I'm longing for Home.
So desperately.
he might ask it again,
just to hear the silence
charge him, this night
arching over your sleepless wondering,
...
just to remind himself
...
out of what immense good-bye,
each must make a safe place of his heart,
before so strange and wild a guest
as God approaches.
Li-Young Lee, Nativity
A poem Dr. Woolsey shared with us in London.
-------
Last night, I watched "East of Eden". A film adapation of a novel by John Steinbeck, starring James Dean. The novel is set in Salinas/Monterey, CA, which are classifiable as Northern Californian towns. Out of nowehere, I began wistfully longing, with a deep ache in my heart, for California. This doesn't happen very often; usually it occurs when I'm looking over all of my old childhood pictures and craving some REAL Mexican food. There's something very desolate about the West; something that always leaves one wondering; something that I can't quite explain, no matter how hard I try. I could use descriptors like "rugged", "untamed", and such, but I don't think that would do it justice. Of course, then again, it might. The colors there are less rich; the greens, especially. Even the blues, on the coast. Also, it rained yesterday, in Houghton, New York. It's the middle of December; it should be snowing--the snow coating the countryside like a little kid eagerly coats a makeshift gingerbread house with frosting. But it rained. Of course, it never snowed in Half Moon Bay, a town at the edge of the ocean, a town at the edge of the continent--in fact, even on a different continental plate than a town 20 minutes east by car.
A few years ago, my dad decided to take my sister and I on a trip to Monterey, as we hadn't spent a lot of time there, growing up. We usually didn't make it any further than Santa Cruz, for the beach boardwalk there in all its delight. The landscape down there is a bit different than that I grew up with. There was less sand, and more mishmashed colors in the shrubbery reaching down to the ocean. The trees were more akin to acacia trees found on African savannas. The ocean itself was more blue, more vivid, somehow; the weather was slightly more clear and less bleak. Half Moon Bay is one of the most fog-drenched towns on the entire coast of California, I'm sure. Perhaps this is why I resonated so well with London. This city with such roots in history and tradition (as I've come to associate the East Coast) yet constantly indwelt by this fog, this dampness, powerful enough to reach into the very marrow of your bone and take hold of your heart. Where is my home?
Is my home my dorm room, in Houghton, New York? My only ties to the place being my professors and my friends?
Is my home the Amish-owned house we rent in Rebersburg, Pennsylvania? A place I've not lived in for more than 3 months at a time, I think? A place my mom claims as her home.
Is my home still the house we rented in California, 756 Mill Street? With an adobe feel to it?
With childhood memories I can't quite or don't try to access?
Is my home London, a city I spent 3 months in, but that made me feel so alive? Where tea tasted somehow better than it does to me now?
All of this may just be nostalgic and sentimental fluff.
But, I'm longing for Home.
So desperately.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
From The Imitation of Christ, by Thomas a Kempis
In Me ought thy love for thy friend to be grounded, and for My sake is he to be beloved, whosoever seemeth good to thee, and is very dear unto thee in this life. Without Me friendship hath no strength, nor shall endurel neither is that love true and pure, which is not knit by Me.
If thou couldest but perfectly bring thyself to nothing, and empty thyself of all created love, then ought I with great grace to overflow into thee. When thou lookest to the creatures, the countenance of the Creator is withdrawn from thee. Learn in all things to overcome thyself, for the sake of Thy Creator...
Forasmuch as when Thou art present, all things are delightful, but when Thou art absent, all things are a loathing.
for without sorrow none liveth in love...
Thy Beloved is of that nature, that He will admit of no rival; but will have thy heart alone, and sit on His own throne as King.
But now God hath thus ordered it, that we may learn to bear one another's burdens; for no man is without fault, no man without his burden, no man sufficient of himself, no man wise enough of himself; but we ought to bear with one another, comfort one another, help, instruct, and admonish one another.
If thou couldest but perfectly bring thyself to nothing, and empty thyself of all created love, then ought I with great grace to overflow into thee. When thou lookest to the creatures, the countenance of the Creator is withdrawn from thee. Learn in all things to overcome thyself, for the sake of Thy Creator...
Forasmuch as when Thou art present, all things are delightful, but when Thou art absent, all things are a loathing.
for without sorrow none liveth in love...
Thy Beloved is of that nature, that He will admit of no rival; but will have thy heart alone, and sit on His own throne as King.
But now God hath thus ordered it, that we may learn to bear one another's burdens; for no man is without fault, no man without his burden, no man sufficient of himself, no man wise enough of himself; but we ought to bear with one another, comfort one another, help, instruct, and admonish one another.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Christ as the Bridegroom
This is one of my favorite passages of Scripture.
Hosea 2:14-23 (New Living Translation)
The Lord’s Love for Unfaithful Israel
14 “But then I will win her back once again.
I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her there.
16 When that day comes,” says the Lord, “you will call me ‘my husband’ instead of ‘my master.’
17 O Israel, I will wipe the many names of Baal from your lips, and you will never mention them again.
19 I will make you my wife forever, showing you righteousness and justice, unfailing love and compassion. 20 I will be faithful to you and make you mine, and you will finally know me as the Lord.
21 “In that day, I will answer,” says the Lord. “I will answer the sky as it pleads for clouds. And the sky will answer the earth with rain. 22 Then the earth will answer the thirsty cries of the grain, the grapevines, and the olive trees. And they in turn will answer, ‘Jezreel’—‘God plants!’
23 At that time I will plant a crop of Israelites and raise them for myself. I will show love to those I called ‘Not loved.’ And to those I called ‘Not my people,’ I will say, ‘Now you are my people.’ And they will reply, ‘You are our God!’”
Hosea 2:14-23 (New Living Translation)
The Lord’s Love for Unfaithful Israel
14 “But then I will win her back once again.
I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her there.
16 When that day comes,” says the Lord, “you will call me ‘my husband’ instead of ‘my master.’
17 O Israel, I will wipe the many names of Baal from your lips, and you will never mention them again.
19 I will make you my wife forever, showing you righteousness and justice, unfailing love and compassion. 20 I will be faithful to you and make you mine, and you will finally know me as the Lord.
21 “In that day, I will answer,” says the Lord. “I will answer the sky as it pleads for clouds. And the sky will answer the earth with rain. 22 Then the earth will answer the thirsty cries of the grain, the grapevines, and the olive trees. And they in turn will answer, ‘Jezreel’—‘God plants!’
23 At that time I will plant a crop of Israelites and raise them for myself. I will show love to those I called ‘Not loved.’ And to those I called ‘Not my people,’ I will say, ‘Now you are my people.’ And they will reply, ‘You are our God!’”
Isaiah 54:4-6 (Amplified Bible)
4Fear not, for you shall not be ashamed; neither be confounded and depressed, for you shall not be put to shame. For you shall forget the shame of your youth, and you shall not [seriously] remember the reproach of your widowhood any more.
5For your Maker is your Husband--the Lord of hosts is His name--and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; the God of the whole earth He is called.
6For the Lord has called you like a woman forsaken, grieved in spirit, and heartsore--even a wife [wooed and won] in youth, when she is [later] refused and scorned, says your God.
4Fear not, for you shall not be ashamed; neither be confounded and depressed, for you shall not be put to shame. For you shall forget the shame of your youth, and you shall not [seriously] remember the reproach of your widowhood any more.
5For your Maker is your Husband--the Lord of hosts is His name--and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; the God of the whole earth He is called.
6For the Lord has called you like a woman forsaken, grieved in spirit, and heartsore--even a wife [wooed and won] in youth, when she is [later] refused and scorned, says your God.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Attributes of God from A-Z
Father, You are abounding in love for Your children.
You are beautiful beyond description.
You create in us clean hearts.
Your light is dazzling, blinding.
You are excellent.
You are funny.
You are gracious.
You are holy.
You are indescribable (why do I even try?)
You are just.
You are knowable.
You are love.
You are marvelous, magnificent, magnanimous.
Your mercies are new every morning.
You are outrageous!
You are phenomenal!
You are quite beyond my expections of who I imagine You to be
You are righteous.
You speak truth.
You are unyielding in Your love.
You are victorious.
You are wonderful.
You are exalted above all others.
You are yearning for Your children to come home!
You are zealous in Your love.
You are beautiful beyond description.
You create in us clean hearts.
Your light is dazzling, blinding.
You are excellent.
You are funny.
You are gracious.
You are holy.
You are indescribable (why do I even try?)
You are just.
You are knowable.
You are love.
You are marvelous, magnificent, magnanimous.
Your mercies are new every morning.
You are outrageous!
You are phenomenal!
You are quite beyond my expections of who I imagine You to be
You are righteous.
You speak truth.
You are unyielding in Your love.
You are victorious.
You are wonderful.
You are exalted above all others.
You are yearning for Your children to come home!
You are zealous in Your love.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Rest
According to Mark Twain, the worst loneliness is not being comfortable with oneself.
I often wonder, sometimes aloud, to my friends, how they can possibly stand being around me for more than two minutes at a time, and why on earth would they possibly want to be my friend? What could they (you, if anybody reads this) possibly see in me? I swear, they must just tolerate me. They're stuck with me.
So, a thought.
Really, I'm projecting these feelings of inadequacy onto my friends. I'm just not comfortable with myself. I don't like myself. Period.
Borrowing from the wisdom of a good friend:
as my long-suffering friends are simply there...willing to sit and simply be with me, very strongly...how much more does our Father desire to just sit with us, to just be there, among us and between us?
And in that being there, loving me silently and persistently, loving me out of my self-hatred, desiring nothing more than to dwell among me, to communicate with me, my spirit to His.
To place my entire ravaged restless heart into His care and keeping. To enter His rest.
I often wonder, sometimes aloud, to my friends, how they can possibly stand being around me for more than two minutes at a time, and why on earth would they possibly want to be my friend? What could they (you, if anybody reads this) possibly see in me? I swear, they must just tolerate me. They're stuck with me.
So, a thought.
Really, I'm projecting these feelings of inadequacy onto my friends. I'm just not comfortable with myself. I don't like myself. Period.
Borrowing from the wisdom of a good friend:
as my long-suffering friends are simply there...willing to sit and simply be with me, very strongly...how much more does our Father desire to just sit with us, to just be there, among us and between us?
And in that being there, loving me silently and persistently, loving me out of my self-hatred, desiring nothing more than to dwell among me, to communicate with me, my spirit to His.
To place my entire ravaged restless heart into His care and keeping. To enter His rest.
London letters
So, I decided to write my first church visit paper on Holy Trinity Brompton, the church I attended in London. Which required me to dig out my London archives, so to speak. Which is, to be perfectly honest, extremely painful. I have all of the maps of all of the galleries we went to on a regular basis. When just picking them up and glancing through them, I can recall almost every step, every scramble to write down the information on the placard, every laugh at something ridiculous, every near tear shed over something excruciatingly beautiful. And then, of course, there are little things that bring great delight to my heart over the sheer silliness of it all. For instance, the Winnie-the-Pooh shop I stumbled across in Canterbury, the Mexican restaurant in Angel Carolyn and I braved over break, and the Tea Rooms some of us gals went to while in Canterbury. Then...my very first paper topic, and advice from Londoners in years past. Then there are the MAG assignments. Then there are concert programs. I even still have a train ticket from our trip to Bath! Also, also, also, the LICC's Summary of Vision & Activities. And then a map of the Imperial War Museum, which contained exhibitions regarding Crimes Against Humanity and The Holocaust. Papers I have neglected to look at. My plane ticket from Newark to London, of course. And, this makes me chuckle: actual menu items at the National Gallery cafe: smoked mackerel pate with apple, chicken liver mousse with roasted garlic, and Potted Old Spot pork with prunes. Blech! All these things bring me great joy in remembering, but also great sadness in knowing I'm not there! I felt oh so alive in London. I don't want to not live and not inhabit my time wisely here in Houghton, but I miss it oh so much. Oh so much.
I'm heart sick for the city. I realize this sounds a bit pathetic, sentimental, and perhaps like an idealization of London, but I swear that's not the case. It was not all bliss and beauty. It was flat out hard. And of course, I can't forget being pickpocketed, and my computer dying the Sunday before a paper was due.
From a relatively recent journal entry:
So what, in fact, was it that made me feel so alive in London? Was it the exchange of ideas, or the just right foggy chill? Was it the people I suffered and rejoiced alongside with? Was it the interaction with the professors, wells of brilliance, and You--spouting the wisdom of this world you deem as foolishness, yet which still defines the West today, and subconsciously works its way into us? Was it You? Learning what it is to depend on You much more radically than I think I had before? Seeing Your very active presence in the small percentage of British/international Christians? Seeing You as much bigger than I had conceived before? Being among so many people, so many beautiful reflections of You--both in number and ethnicity and language? Was it the romance of the whole thing? Was it the sheer impossibility and blessing of the whole thing? the sense of connectedness to Western history? the aesthetic architectural beauty of the city?
I'm heart sick for the city. I realize this sounds a bit pathetic, sentimental, and perhaps like an idealization of London, but I swear that's not the case. It was not all bliss and beauty. It was flat out hard. And of course, I can't forget being pickpocketed, and my computer dying the Sunday before a paper was due.
From a relatively recent journal entry:
So what, in fact, was it that made me feel so alive in London? Was it the exchange of ideas, or the just right foggy chill? Was it the people I suffered and rejoiced alongside with? Was it the interaction with the professors, wells of brilliance, and You--spouting the wisdom of this world you deem as foolishness, yet which still defines the West today, and subconsciously works its way into us? Was it You? Learning what it is to depend on You much more radically than I think I had before? Seeing Your very active presence in the small percentage of British/international Christians? Seeing You as much bigger than I had conceived before? Being among so many people, so many beautiful reflections of You--both in number and ethnicity and language? Was it the romance of the whole thing? Was it the sheer impossibility and blessing of the whole thing? the sense of connectedness to Western history? the aesthetic architectural beauty of the city?
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Dear Lord, grant me the grace of wonder. Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of Your universe. Delight me to see how Your Christ plays in ten thousand places, lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not His, to the Father through the features of men's faces. Each day enrapture me with Your marvelous things without number. I do not ask to see the reason for it all; I ask only to share the wonder of it all.
Joshua Abraham Heschel
Joshua Abraham Heschel
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Snow...
What could this snow mean? Perhaps it means nothing more than just that. Winter has come a bit early this year. I feel asleep last night at around 6 o' clock. It was just supposed to be a nap before dinner. But apparently, my body (or mind--or spirit) really needed that rest. I just woke up from this extended sleep, and saw some white resting casually upon the still-orange deciduous leaves, looked out the window and saw the picnic table below lambein covered in a perfect sheet of snow. What could this mean? Could this mean that I've begun or am in the process of being purified? And that in this purification, there will be a dark night of the soul, so to speak? And that afterwards, wholly unexpected, will come untouched beauty? not cold or rigid beauty--not some beauty that I've created? But beauty falling out of the sky--or, in this case, rushing into me slowly, steadily, chilling away any unruly and excess heat or passion--rushing into me like the Spirit, like the wind, like the snowflakes carried upon the wind? Like the patterns of snowflakes we're never quite allowed to see, except under the crucial examination of a microscope.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
St. John of the Cross' Dark Night of the Soul
He strips their faculties, affections and feelings, both spiritual and sensual, both outward and inward, leaving the understanding dark, the will dry, the memory empty and the affections in the deepest affliction, bitterness and constraint, taking from the soul the pleasure and experience of spiritual blessings which it had aforetime, in order to make of this privation one of the principles which are requisite in the spirit so that there may be introduced into it and united with it the spiritual form of the spirit, which the union of love.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Delaying the Inevitable
So, once again, here I sit. In front of my computer. With an outline to finish and miles to go before I sleep. (Sorry, I couldn't resist). Well, maybe not miles--perhaps kilometers? or even meters? And here I sit, thinking of how inadequate I am for the task of being a college student, of being a friend, of loving Christ. It seems like no matter how many times someone tells me I'm wonderful or beautiful or intelligent or worthy of being loved or of being friends with, I still cannot accept it in my innermost being. Silly, and irrational, isn't it? And I know these are lies. But they're terribly easy lies to believe. That's no excuse, I know. They're comfortable lies. Lies that allow me to stay tucked in my shell, never reaching out and making myself vulnerable to my friends, never really loving my neighbor as I love myself. Never really accepting the fact that I am, in some measure, valuable to my friends and family, perhaps even classmates, but most importantly to my Father and Creator.
So, here are some antidotes to these lies:
I was created out of love, to love and be loved by God, to know and be known by God.
I was created in the image of God--somehow I am a unique expression of the character and beauty of God.
No one can steal me out of your hand.
You see the depths of my heart and You love me the same.
Dust of the earth, but Thine we are.
You love Your children freely and generously; You are merciful and graceful toward them.
And God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.
What am I, that I might be called Your child? What am I, that You might die that I might live?
You know my innermost being Lord, even better than I know myself!
What a beautiful God!
At the risk of wearing out my welcome, at the risk of self-discovery, I'll take every moment and every minute that You give me
So, here are some antidotes to these lies:
I was created out of love, to love and be loved by God, to know and be known by God.
I was created in the image of God--somehow I am a unique expression of the character and beauty of God.
No one can steal me out of your hand.
You see the depths of my heart and You love me the same.
Dust of the earth, but Thine we are.
You love Your children freely and generously; You are merciful and graceful toward them.
And God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.
What am I, that I might be called Your child? What am I, that You might die that I might live?
You know my innermost being Lord, even better than I know myself!
What a beautiful God!
At the risk of wearing out my welcome, at the risk of self-discovery, I'll take every moment and every minute that You give me
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Medieval Theology...pt. 1
From the Writings of Thomas a Kempis:
If your heart were right, then every created thing would be a mirror of life for you and a book of holy teaching, for there is no creature so small and worthless that it does not show forth the goodness of God.
Christ will come to you offering His consolation, if you prepare a fit dwelling for Him in your heart, whose beauty and glory, wherein He takes delight, are all from within. His visits with the inward man are frequent, His communion sweet and full of consolation, His peace great, and His intimacy wonderful indeed.
Nothing so mars and defiles the heart of man as impure attachment to created things.
How dry and hard you are without Jesus! How foolish and vain if you desire anything but Him!
The man who lives without Jesus is the poorest of the poor...
Let all things be loved for the sake of Jesus, but Jesus for His own sake.
In the cross is salvation, in the cross is life, in the cross is protection from enemies, in the cross is infusion of heavenly sweetness, in the cross is strength of mind, in the cross is joy of spirit, in the cross is highest virtue, in the cross is perfect holiness.
Let it be granted me to find You alone, O Christ, to open to You my whole heart, to enjoy You as my soul desires, to be disturbed by no one, to be moved and troubled by no creature, that You may speak to me and I to You alone, as a lover speaks to his loved one, and friend converses with friend.
You in truth are my Beloved, chosen from thousands, in Whom my soul is happy to dwell all the days of her life. You are in truth my pledge of peace, in Whom is the greatest peace and true rest, without Whom there is toil and sorrow and infinite misery.
You truly are the hidden God.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Names
My mom did not give me the name Olivia because of any potential biblical significance; in fact, she named me after the mother of the Waltons--you know, the television show?
My name itself means something like olive tree, branch, or leaf. I suppose given that symbolism, I've sort of taken ownership of verses, especially in the Old Testament, that mention olive trees and branches. I do have a name placard which says "One of Peace". My favorite verse relating to anything olive is Psalm 52:8:
But I am like an olive tree, thriving in the house of God. I trust in God's unfailing love forever and ever.
God has, quite literally, hundreds of names or manners of address. The names of God I currently identify most with are:
Yahweh-Shalom (our Peace)
Redeemer
Deliverer
The God Who Sees
Abba, Father
Yahweh-Rapha (our Healer)
Husband of the Bride of Christ
Names can have such wonderful, tangible, relatable meanings.
My name itself means something like olive tree, branch, or leaf. I suppose given that symbolism, I've sort of taken ownership of verses, especially in the Old Testament, that mention olive trees and branches. I do have a name placard which says "One of Peace". My favorite verse relating to anything olive is Psalm 52:8:
But I am like an olive tree, thriving in the house of God. I trust in God's unfailing love forever and ever.
God has, quite literally, hundreds of names or manners of address. The names of God I currently identify most with are:
Yahweh-Shalom (our Peace)
Redeemer
Deliverer
The God Who Sees
Abba, Father
Yahweh-Rapha (our Healer)
Husband of the Bride of Christ
Names can have such wonderful, tangible, relatable meanings.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
He is especially fond of you.
Today in chapel, Dean Brittain preached on the parable of the talents. To be honest, I always dread when someone preaches on this particular topic because it usually convicts me about how I'm not using my 'talent' (yes, i've always happened to think of myself as the one talent person). What stuck out most to me was that fact that the one talent person had thought of the Master as some terribly mean and vindictive entity. And then Dr. Brittain discussed how some people may view the distribution of the talents as either punishment or reward. That is certainly not the case! And today, I learned for the first time how much an individual talent is worth.
I must confess that I have fallen prey to all of the above lies. I've always been quite covetous, and jealous of those who have immense talent--or, rather, the talents I thought I had or wanted or needed. I'm an okay writer, but I'm certainly not Tennyson or Austen or anything of the sort.
I'm sort of intelligent, but I have not the math and science gift, so to speak. I can take landscape shots of which I may be terribly proud, but utterly ashamed of in the next breath as I take a look at the skill of others my age. And so on, and so forth.
But really, I'm missing the whole point.
I received this quote in a card for my birthday while I was in London, by George MacDonald:
"I would rather be what God chose to make me than the most glorious creature that I can think of; for to have been thought about, born in God's thought, and then made by God, is the dearest, grandest, and most precious thing"
This is rather intimidating, don't you think? It's much easier to think of God's love in an abstract sense than to actually receive it, actually accepting the person God had in mind when He created us. This love is so extravagant, so embarassing, even! Sitting in the chapel for the concert tonight, surrounded by a few hundred students and families and teenagers, I was overwhelmed by this concept. Each and every single one of these persons is dear to you! You are especially fond of them.
I really can't quite grasp this.
God had us in mind, much like the way, I imagine, an artist dreams up his or her next painting or drawing or collage--or a poet conceives of an abstract concept or strikingly simple event and incarnates it in his/her words. It is much easier, typically, to extol the grandeur of creation, than to celebrate the crown and most precious part of God's creation. No matter how enraptured we may be by a night sky with stars sprinkled in precise patterns or calmed by a gentle breeze on the quad while it's still sort of summer, God claims us, His creatures, as more wonderful than these things! I'm not in any way trying to discount the beauty of the earth, but I just really think it's incredible how much value God ascribes to humans.
Zephaniah 3:17-19, Hosea, Psalms, 1 John
I must confess that I have fallen prey to all of the above lies. I've always been quite covetous, and jealous of those who have immense talent--or, rather, the talents I thought I had or wanted or needed. I'm an okay writer, but I'm certainly not Tennyson or Austen or anything of the sort.
I'm sort of intelligent, but I have not the math and science gift, so to speak. I can take landscape shots of which I may be terribly proud, but utterly ashamed of in the next breath as I take a look at the skill of others my age. And so on, and so forth.
But really, I'm missing the whole point.
I received this quote in a card for my birthday while I was in London, by George MacDonald:
"I would rather be what God chose to make me than the most glorious creature that I can think of; for to have been thought about, born in God's thought, and then made by God, is the dearest, grandest, and most precious thing"
This is rather intimidating, don't you think? It's much easier to think of God's love in an abstract sense than to actually receive it, actually accepting the person God had in mind when He created us. This love is so extravagant, so embarassing, even! Sitting in the chapel for the concert tonight, surrounded by a few hundred students and families and teenagers, I was overwhelmed by this concept. Each and every single one of these persons is dear to you! You are especially fond of them.
I really can't quite grasp this.
God had us in mind, much like the way, I imagine, an artist dreams up his or her next painting or drawing or collage--or a poet conceives of an abstract concept or strikingly simple event and incarnates it in his/her words. It is much easier, typically, to extol the grandeur of creation, than to celebrate the crown and most precious part of God's creation. No matter how enraptured we may be by a night sky with stars sprinkled in precise patterns or calmed by a gentle breeze on the quad while it's still sort of summer, God claims us, His creatures, as more wonderful than these things! I'm not in any way trying to discount the beauty of the earth, but I just really think it's incredible how much value God ascribes to humans.
Zephaniah 3:17-19, Hosea, Psalms, 1 John
Friday, March 14, 2008
Romantic and Realistic Poets
This week we're studying, among other things, the literary movements of Romanticism and Realism. Surprisingly, I had a really strong reaction against Romanticism. When you really, really look into the theological basis for Romanticism, it's actually quite disturbing. Nature is viewed as God, and the experience and search for the meanings of the Universe is all. There is, in some cases, a disdain or disregard for matter and the real, instead of the ideal romantic sentimentality. This movement did follow the rigid and excessive reason of the Enlightenment, but it went completely too far in the opposite direction. Realism, on the other hand, I really enjoy. In poetry, in this period, the poets were attempting to incarnate emotions using concrete images.
Barrett Browning, in Aurora Leigh, argues that:
Without the spiritual, observe, the natural's impossible, - no form, no motion:
without sensuous, spiritual is unappreciable-NO BEAUTY OR POWER
Anyway, I guess I've come to the conclusion that I'm really NOT a Romantic, in the sense of -isms. I mean, I am occasionally sentimental and dream about a perfect world consisting of meadows of heather and wildflowers on top of a rugged cliff overlooking the unpredictable ebb and flow of the ocean walking with my lover, or sitting in a window on a rainy day with a cup of coffee or tea or hot chocolate, reading poetry or getting lost in a romantic adventure, and other such things. But I find the most beauty in what I see, now: the human soul under the lordship of Christ, God's stamp on each of His creations, lone flowers in the midst of a multitude of bulbs, a laugh, the sweet sounds of an oboe or violin, etc.
I recently fell in love with this Emily Dickinson poem, and I thought I'd post it here:
He fumbles ar your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on--
He stuns you by degrees--
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
By fainter Hammers--further heard--
Then nearer--Then so slow
Your Breath has time to straighten--
Your Brain--to bubble cool--
Deals--One--imperial--Thunderbolt
That scalps your naked Soul--
When Winds take Forests in their Paws--
The Universe--is still--
And...
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth the nibbles at the soul.
And, of course, there's the brilliant Tennyson:
I falter where I firmly trod,
and falling with my weight of cares upon the great world's altar stairs
that slope thro' darkness up to God.
I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, and gather dust and chaff, and call to what I feel is Lord of all, and faintly trust the larger hope.
A warmth within the breast would melt the freezing reason's colder part, and like a man in wrath the heart stood up and answered--I have felt.
No, like a child in doubt and fear: but that blind clamour made wise;
then was I as a child that cries, but, crying, knows his father near.
(Both passages from In Memoriam)
For always roaming with a hungry heart much have I seen and known.
-from Ulysses
Barrett Browning, in Aurora Leigh, argues that:
Without the spiritual, observe, the natural's impossible, - no form, no motion:
without sensuous, spiritual is unappreciable-NO BEAUTY OR POWER
Anyway, I guess I've come to the conclusion that I'm really NOT a Romantic, in the sense of -isms. I mean, I am occasionally sentimental and dream about a perfect world consisting of meadows of heather and wildflowers on top of a rugged cliff overlooking the unpredictable ebb and flow of the ocean walking with my lover, or sitting in a window on a rainy day with a cup of coffee or tea or hot chocolate, reading poetry or getting lost in a romantic adventure, and other such things. But I find the most beauty in what I see, now: the human soul under the lordship of Christ, God's stamp on each of His creations, lone flowers in the midst of a multitude of bulbs, a laugh, the sweet sounds of an oboe or violin, etc.
I recently fell in love with this Emily Dickinson poem, and I thought I'd post it here:
He fumbles ar your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on--
He stuns you by degrees--
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
By fainter Hammers--further heard--
Then nearer--Then so slow
Your Breath has time to straighten--
Your Brain--to bubble cool--
Deals--One--imperial--Thunderbolt
That scalps your naked Soul--
When Winds take Forests in their Paws--
The Universe--is still--
And...
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth the nibbles at the soul.
And, of course, there's the brilliant Tennyson:
I falter where I firmly trod,
and falling with my weight of cares upon the great world's altar stairs
that slope thro' darkness up to God.
I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, and gather dust and chaff, and call to what I feel is Lord of all, and faintly trust the larger hope.
A warmth within the breast would melt the freezing reason's colder part, and like a man in wrath the heart stood up and answered--I have felt.
No, like a child in doubt and fear: but that blind clamour made wise;
then was I as a child that cries, but, crying, knows his father near.
(Both passages from In Memoriam)
For always roaming with a hungry heart much have I seen and known.
-from Ulysses
Friday, March 7, 2008
A Touch of Royalty
We went to Hampton Court Palace today, the residence of Henry VII, William and Mary, and so on. It was just stunning, visually, inside and outside (the grounds were delightful). What struck me most about touring the palace were the several larger, more general public state rooms that the monarches occupied that preceded the interior or heart of the king or queen's private residences. It reminded me of the elaborate ritual involved with Judaism and only the high priest being allowed into the Holy of Holies: the most isolated, compact, sacred space in the temple. It makes me thankful that Jesus tore the veil so we could approach Him directly, but it also makes me think-if kings and queens were once treated with such reverence (whatever the motivation), how much more so should we honor the King of kings. That title of Jesus really took on a new meaning for me today. God (in Three Persons) is so many things: in essence, He's everything-everything good, beautiful, and just.
The gardens were so unbelievably delightful and gorgeous; the kind of gardens I think all girls, at some level, delight and revel in. There were the more formal, strictly geometrical gardens with crisp cut corners on the laws and carefully and methodically laid out flower beds; but there was also this garden that had daffodils, crocuses, tulips, etc. planted everywhere-it gave the appearance of being in a field of wildflowers.
In open fields of wildflowers...she breathes the air and flies away...
She thanks her Jesus for the daisies and the roses in no simple language...
Someday she'll understand the meaning of it all
He's more than the laughter or the stars in the heavens
As close as a heartbeat or a song on her lips
Someday she'll trust Him, learn how to see Him
Someday He'll call her and she will come running...
and fall in His arms...and the tears will fall down and she'll pray:
I want to fall in love with you...
-Jars of Clay, Love Song for a Savior
There was such a contrast between the whimsical, relaxed loveliness of some of the gardens and the pomp and order of the palace rooms. Just as Jesus is as close as a heartbeat, He is also the King of all kings, who reigns forever or ever.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
I took a bath in Bath. My life is complete.
Just got back from the town in the southwestern part of England named Bath.
It's really an adorable little city with about 100,000 residents.
Its claim to fame is that Jane Austen resided there for a brief period of time in here life (she hated it there), her novels all mention Bath, there are remains of Roman baths from the first century, and Edgar (first king of England) was crowned at Bath abbey. Also, there is a neat set of building called the Royal Crescent: the hotel in the center of the crescent charges 850 pounds a night (roughly 1700 dollars)-it's the town's most exclusive hotel. There is also a set of buildings that make up the circus (circle). It's quite dizzying, actually. Speaking of dizzying, we went into the Assembly Rooms in Bath and went into the ballroom and attempted to waltz and tango with each other. It's times like that when I really wish I had any dancing skill at all.
We stayed in this adorable little hotel = Pratt's hotel. It was AWESOME. There are no other words right now. We had Twinings tea (the best kind ever) along with chocolate chip shortbread. The room had a trouser press (which I didn't actually end up using), and two chairs (armchairs) besides the beds -perfect mattress softness, perfect pillow firmness, and perfect weight and warmth of sheets. Our dinner was three courses: my first course was fan of melon drizzles in strawberry sauce, then I had chicken with a bacon sauce, then I had a tart for dessert.
Debbie (my temporary roommate and I) felt very pampered, and conceded that the only thing that could make our lives better at that moment was to be rescued by knights in shining armor.
Going to the Roman baths was an enriching experience, for lack of a better adjective. I don't think I've ever encountered something so obviously ancient.
The Bath Abbey is gorgeous and TALL.
There are lots of little shops around town, and one of my favorite parts of the trip was buying several pains au chocolat at this little bakery on Pulteney Bridge.
I also liked just walking into Bath Abbey and being in awe of its majesty. At the front of the cathedral, there are 56 different stained glass representations of the life and death and resurrection of Christ, and in the back, there are numerous Old Testament stories depicted.
Gorgeous.
It's really an adorable little city with about 100,000 residents.
Its claim to fame is that Jane Austen resided there for a brief period of time in here life (she hated it there), her novels all mention Bath, there are remains of Roman baths from the first century, and Edgar (first king of England) was crowned at Bath abbey. Also, there is a neat set of building called the Royal Crescent: the hotel in the center of the crescent charges 850 pounds a night (roughly 1700 dollars)-it's the town's most exclusive hotel. There is also a set of buildings that make up the circus (circle). It's quite dizzying, actually. Speaking of dizzying, we went into the Assembly Rooms in Bath and went into the ballroom and attempted to waltz and tango with each other. It's times like that when I really wish I had any dancing skill at all.
We stayed in this adorable little hotel = Pratt's hotel. It was AWESOME. There are no other words right now. We had Twinings tea (the best kind ever) along with chocolate chip shortbread. The room had a trouser press (which I didn't actually end up using), and two chairs (armchairs) besides the beds -perfect mattress softness, perfect pillow firmness, and perfect weight and warmth of sheets. Our dinner was three courses: my first course was fan of melon drizzles in strawberry sauce, then I had chicken with a bacon sauce, then I had a tart for dessert.
Debbie (my temporary roommate and I) felt very pampered, and conceded that the only thing that could make our lives better at that moment was to be rescued by knights in shining armor.
Going to the Roman baths was an enriching experience, for lack of a better adjective. I don't think I've ever encountered something so obviously ancient.
The Bath Abbey is gorgeous and TALL.
There are lots of little shops around town, and one of my favorite parts of the trip was buying several pains au chocolat at this little bakery on Pulteney Bridge.
I also liked just walking into Bath Abbey and being in awe of its majesty. At the front of the cathedral, there are 56 different stained glass representations of the life and death and resurrection of Christ, and in the back, there are numerous Old Testament stories depicted.
Gorgeous.
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