How do we humans, as relational beings, make connections? And why are they so fragile?

Today in chapel I was challenged with a message of humility. Later on, I was told, when tempted to judge that I should ask myself, "What can I learn from you? What is it about your beautiful self that can teach me grace?"

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?

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.

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.

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.