Mattie, Mom, and I just got back from a fun overnight trip to Jefferson with our girl cousins, Aunt Robin, and Grammie.
I've got the SAT tomorrow, so I've been spending the afternoon diligently avoiding all forms of study. No, I really was going to come home and stuff in some more algebra. It seems though, that just cramming in more numbers and frets is only going to make me worry. I guess the best preparation is to rest, relax, drink tea, and...maybe have some sewing therapy? Hmm. That will certainly keep my mind off of it, but I'm afraid it will also keep me up at night. Thinking about sewing causes me more sleep deprivation than anything else barring Starbucks (and more often!) I just get so involved and wound up.
It was a great time at the Bed and Breakfast. I sort of feel like all I do these days is party (but that's not entirely true!). It was a special treat from Grammie for conglomerated birthdays.
We pretty much took over the house. In the midst of a kafuffle over who was going to sleep where, Elizabeth and I ended up in the room we were both secretly coveting, even though we never said a word. The ceilings were about 14 feet tall, wallpapered in pale blue with white trim and simple white lace curtains on the tall windows. The gigantic bed was draped with a canopy of something suspiciously like mosquito netting (at least that's what I thought of first.) It was all rather breathtaking...the garden, the daffodils and jonquils in bloom. The whole house had a homey, restful atmosphere that made me want to patter around in sock feet, and gave me a queer ache inside.
I was so inspired. I pored over several Country Living Magazines in the "conservatory" (the dining room with lots of windows opening onto the garden where there was a good spot for drinking tea and having fresh cookies and visiting). I'd never looked at current issues of Country Living, so I was kind of dazzled with the artistic flair of home decorating. I fell in love with the fabrics. Scissors began to dance dangerously through my head, shredding up old clothes and visiting Goodwills to start a little artistic sewing myself. Of course, this comes a little late. My room has just been redone. But I was thinking tableclothes...clothe napkins (which I think are so homey) and bags...skirts...cushions.
All of us had a splendid "girl time" together, and after 9:30 Liz and I sat in the giant bed and looked at more decorating magazines. We hardly said a word to each other, but I think we had fun. At 11 we turned the lights out and hit the sack (a rather luxurious sack, I must add), but I coudn't go to sleep. I tossed and turned, listening to the old wooden floor creak and the train screaming by just down the street, and...thinking.
I feel like I have a disease. I can hardly enjoy the beautiful things I see because I'm so craving to create them myself. I want to snip and sew and paint and play the piano and sing and dance and do calligraphy and make delightful food and plant tulips and write and make cozy corners for teatimes. All at once. Without spending any money, preferably. I think I'm a little crazed, and I usually go 'round in circles with it, concluding that "what's the use, it's all going to burn up anyway." But this morning, when I had woken from an interlude of fitful sleep at a bright, early, and unexpected 6:15, I crept out to the white porch swing in the damp morning with my coat and pondered it a while. I thought about the verse in 1 Timothy 6 that says that God has "given us all things for our enjoyment." I don't want to waste my life getting tied up with the things of this world, or spend my life on work that has no eternal value, but the thought that was in my head was, maybe I am supposed to look for beauty right here, right now, and do what I can at this moment, in this day, to bring joy to other people, and to point us to God. Creating is certainly a godly quality trait! We can't make anything apart from Him. It's all a gift from Him. I can't go out today and take art lessons or decorate a house, but I can send a pretty card to a friend, draw a doodle in my journal, and drink tea out of an enchanting teacup!
Today I did stifle my inner penny pincher and make way for delight: I bought a beautiful teacup. It's a pale irridescent wintery blue with silvery-gold and white designs- very delicate and beautiful and breakable, and entirely unpackable. Since I plan on making it the first of a lifelong collection, however, I will have to just pack it on faith and tote it around the world as I go :)
See, one of my dreams is to have a home where people come and stay, whether for short or long, a place where teacups are in definite cirrculation. No dust. Dusty collections are my dread. There will be lots of gathering together, lots of meals together, lots of prayer and rest and good things. I'd love to make a tranquil, delightful haven for seeking, weary people, a little like Francis Schaeffer's "L'bri." I want people to seek God and know Him. I want them to know others, without being rushed and pressured. I want there to be beautiful things in the house that point people to God and help create a restful atmosphere. Pictures of bare trees in the snow. Light, fresh curtains. Fresh cut flowers. Tea in teacups. Long talks in cozy corners. Tulips and daffodils and shade trees outside. Paintings inside. Rich, soothing colors. Lamplight, candles, firelight. Warm soup in big bowls. Scripture stenciled in gold around door frames. I don't know. It's just a fantasy. I know that I can't create a utopia, and I should know well from observation that external things don't make a peaceful place. But it's just a dream, after all. I like it. And you have to start small. That's why I bought the teacup.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Little Vespucci's and My Personal Bean Craze
What to say about today…
I’m tired after threedaysofnonstopbusiness (work, math, and an abbreviated English class with the girls). After tomorrow morning, though, I’m home free…Mattie, Mom, and I are going to spend the night in Jefferson at a bed and breakfast with Grammie, Aunt Robin, and cousins. A special treat from Grammie. And after that, on Saturday…the SAT. Last night I started feeling nauseous as I lay in bed thinking about it. What is my deal?
When I arrived at the Crowe’s today , the house was strangely hushed. Deb was on the phone, but she pointed out the back the back door and told me the kids had gone “exploring” down to the lake next door. They had set their watch alarms and were supposed to be heading back to be home for school. I went outside and looked for them, but there was only the dry, bare pasture and a cold, stiff February wind. No kids in sight. I walked to the fence and called for them, and saw some movement in the brush across the field, plus a silent black cow adorning the landscape. She looked a little puzzled, but wasn’t complaining. Maybe she knew the visitors.
I yelled for Bronwyn several times, but I could see that no one could hear me. So I tested the tight new barbed wire and cautiously squeezed through it (not noticing, of course, that there was a gate a few yards away with less perilous squeeze room).
The cow regarded me placidly, but she didn’t have any horns. That’s a good thing, because I still retain a vestige of that childhood fear of cows…
Soon they saw me and came running, full of their adventures. Bryce, the neighbor kid, was with them.
“We were trying to come home, but Bryce is still on the other side of the ditch,” Broderic explained, make a wrinkly sort of sniff with his nose like he often does when he’s talking to me, “Bryce is kinda chicken about these things.”
Brent poured everything out to me in tumbling, glumped up bits of sentences.
“We were trying to get away from home.” He said, “We went exploring by the lake and then Broderic and me were trying to get home, but we couldn’t find ourselves.”
Yes, well, that is a problem.
“My arms are covered in prickys and scratches,” he continued, rubbing the offended arms vigorously. Bronwyn emerged from the brush and the exiled Bryce found his way around the “ditch” without falling in. Tucker came running up and grabbed me, obviously elated.
“It’s my bolth-day, Cassie!” That it was. We went back to the house to start school. I worked with Bron and the boys did other things. Poor Bryce had to go home, a looking pained and lonesome.
It’s fun being with the kids. Yesterday, I was in Bronwyn’s room and Broderic came in, glanced around, and said, “Huh, I thought I smelled you in here.” I hope that’s a good thing Bronwyn and I are reading Hans Brinker, and it’s the perfect part of school time when we curl up in a blanket and she snuggles up to my shoulder while I read to her. I love seeing her get interested in the book. Whenever we stop she begs for “just one more…” and I really don’t mind obliging!
Tonight I was trying to convince Mom that falafel is yummy… but she didn’t buy it. At first she only thought it sounded weird, but when I told her that you make it with chickpeas, I lost her forever. There was that diet back in the early 90’s that ruined her forever…
Well, I found a recipe for falafel in the newspaper accidentally, and since I’m in a current fascination with beans of all kinds, I want to try it. I had no idea you could sprout any old bean in a jar. I should have known from seeing our compost, though I can’t admit to giving much study to a pile of rotten food. I love sprouts, and we’ve made alfalfa sprouts before, but now I want to try sprouting pintos and garbanzos and whatever others I can get my hands on. We all know what a bad rap beans get…but I think they’re underrated and misunderstood little vegetables. Wait…are they vegetables?
Yeah, will, I think it would be great to make a sandwich like the one in the newspaper, which we actually had once at Mrs. Burklin’s for geography class (on Israel, I think). You make the falafel balls out of sprouted chickpeas, garlic, eggs, and other ingredients, then chop them up and put them in a pita with salad and yogurt and…wal-lah! A sandwich my Mom will sure miss out on. Oh well. It’s just a fantasy unless I manage to
1) Induce Mom to buy garbanzo beans (well, she did agree to)
2) Actually sprout the garbanzo beans
3) Actually make falafel
4) Somehow procure some real yogurt
5) Make pitas some time in the near future
6) Get around to putting them all together
Since I don’t seem to be around the house that much for now, I don’t know if I’ll do it, but I did try a good bean recipe in the crockpot today. I liked it, and I could detect a measure of approval even from the less-bean-eaters of the family. It was just pintos with two chopped up pork chops, onions, minced garlic, salt, pepper, cumin, a little oregano, and two dried chili peppers, which added some spice. We have yet to find out how they rate gastronomically.
I’m tired after threedaysofnonstopbusiness (work, math, and an abbreviated English class with the girls). After tomorrow morning, though, I’m home free…Mattie, Mom, and I are going to spend the night in Jefferson at a bed and breakfast with Grammie, Aunt Robin, and cousins. A special treat from Grammie. And after that, on Saturday…the SAT. Last night I started feeling nauseous as I lay in bed thinking about it. What is my deal?
When I arrived at the Crowe’s today , the house was strangely hushed. Deb was on the phone, but she pointed out the back the back door and told me the kids had gone “exploring” down to the lake next door. They had set their watch alarms and were supposed to be heading back to be home for school. I went outside and looked for them, but there was only the dry, bare pasture and a cold, stiff February wind. No kids in sight. I walked to the fence and called for them, and saw some movement in the brush across the field, plus a silent black cow adorning the landscape. She looked a little puzzled, but wasn’t complaining. Maybe she knew the visitors.
I yelled for Bronwyn several times, but I could see that no one could hear me. So I tested the tight new barbed wire and cautiously squeezed through it (not noticing, of course, that there was a gate a few yards away with less perilous squeeze room).
The cow regarded me placidly, but she didn’t have any horns. That’s a good thing, because I still retain a vestige of that childhood fear of cows…
Soon they saw me and came running, full of their adventures. Bryce, the neighbor kid, was with them.
“We were trying to come home, but Bryce is still on the other side of the ditch,” Broderic explained, make a wrinkly sort of sniff with his nose like he often does when he’s talking to me, “Bryce is kinda chicken about these things.”
Brent poured everything out to me in tumbling, glumped up bits of sentences.
“We were trying to get away from home.” He said, “We went exploring by the lake and then Broderic and me were trying to get home, but we couldn’t find ourselves.”
Yes, well, that is a problem.
“My arms are covered in prickys and scratches,” he continued, rubbing the offended arms vigorously. Bronwyn emerged from the brush and the exiled Bryce found his way around the “ditch” without falling in. Tucker came running up and grabbed me, obviously elated.
“It’s my bolth-day, Cassie!” That it was. We went back to the house to start school. I worked with Bron and the boys did other things. Poor Bryce had to go home, a looking pained and lonesome.
It’s fun being with the kids. Yesterday, I was in Bronwyn’s room and Broderic came in, glanced around, and said, “Huh, I thought I smelled you in here.” I hope that’s a good thing Bronwyn and I are reading Hans Brinker, and it’s the perfect part of school time when we curl up in a blanket and she snuggles up to my shoulder while I read to her. I love seeing her get interested in the book. Whenever we stop she begs for “just one more…” and I really don’t mind obliging!
Tonight I was trying to convince Mom that falafel is yummy… but she didn’t buy it. At first she only thought it sounded weird, but when I told her that you make it with chickpeas, I lost her forever. There was that diet back in the early 90’s that ruined her forever…
Well, I found a recipe for falafel in the newspaper accidentally, and since I’m in a current fascination with beans of all kinds, I want to try it. I had no idea you could sprout any old bean in a jar. I should have known from seeing our compost, though I can’t admit to giving much study to a pile of rotten food. I love sprouts, and we’ve made alfalfa sprouts before, but now I want to try sprouting pintos and garbanzos and whatever others I can get my hands on. We all know what a bad rap beans get…but I think they’re underrated and misunderstood little vegetables. Wait…are they vegetables?
Yeah, will, I think it would be great to make a sandwich like the one in the newspaper, which we actually had once at Mrs. Burklin’s for geography class (on Israel, I think). You make the falafel balls out of sprouted chickpeas, garlic, eggs, and other ingredients, then chop them up and put them in a pita with salad and yogurt and…wal-lah! A sandwich my Mom will sure miss out on. Oh well. It’s just a fantasy unless I manage to
1) Induce Mom to buy garbanzo beans (well, she did agree to)
2) Actually sprout the garbanzo beans
3) Actually make falafel
4) Somehow procure some real yogurt
5) Make pitas some time in the near future
6) Get around to putting them all together
Since I don’t seem to be around the house that much for now, I don’t know if I’ll do it, but I did try a good bean recipe in the crockpot today. I liked it, and I could detect a measure of approval even from the less-bean-eaters of the family. It was just pintos with two chopped up pork chops, onions, minced garlic, salt, pepper, cumin, a little oregano, and two dried chili peppers, which added some spice. We have yet to find out how they rate gastronomically.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
A Faithful Witness
I'm sure that at least once in your life you played a game or filled out a form or engaged in a conversation where you got asked the question, "If you could meet any character from history (aside from Jesus), who would it be?" I've been asked several times. I never was sure what to answer. I could think of a lot of heroic people, but none stood out as my particular favorite.
But last night I found someone who stands out. Her name is Blandina, and she lived in the first century a.d.
"Blandina,...one of the noble martyrs, dreaded that she would not be able to witness a good confession, because of the weakness of her body;--[but] Blandina was endued with so much fortitude, that those who successively tortured her from morning to night were quite worn out with fatigue, owned themselves conquered and exhausted of their whole apparatus of tortures, and were amazed to see her still breathing whilst her body was torn and laid open.
The blessed woman recovered fresh vigor in the act of confession, and it was evident annihilation of all her pains, to say--'I am a Christian, and no evil is committed among us.'
...Weak and contemptible as she might be deemed, yet when clothed with Christ, the mighty and invincible champion, she became victorious over the enemy in a variety of encounters, and was crowned with immortality."
-Foxe's Book of Martyrs, from pages 26,27,28, emphasis mine
This woman saw her children tortured and killed before her eyes. Blandina herself endured horrific tortures such as being torn by wild beasts and roasted in an iron chair. She thought she was too weak to face the things she faced...and she was right. But she claimed Christ as her champion. This is the same strong and mighty Champion I know and love, and who helped me conquer just today when I was weak, tired, and afraid. I'm amazed that, while my struggle is nothing compared to hers, our Champion is the same! So I can look at her witness and know that, just like her, I will overcome through weakness. I would love to meet her face to face, and I think that someday I will, when my race is finished.
But last night I found someone who stands out. Her name is Blandina, and she lived in the first century a.d.
"Blandina,...one of the noble martyrs, dreaded that she would not be able to witness a good confession, because of the weakness of her body;--[but] Blandina was endued with so much fortitude, that those who successively tortured her from morning to night were quite worn out with fatigue, owned themselves conquered and exhausted of their whole apparatus of tortures, and were amazed to see her still breathing whilst her body was torn and laid open.
The blessed woman recovered fresh vigor in the act of confession, and it was evident annihilation of all her pains, to say--'I am a Christian, and no evil is committed among us.'
...Weak and contemptible as she might be deemed, yet when clothed with Christ, the mighty and invincible champion, she became victorious over the enemy in a variety of encounters, and was crowned with immortality."
-Foxe's Book of Martyrs, from pages 26,27,28, emphasis mine
This woman saw her children tortured and killed before her eyes. Blandina herself endured horrific tortures such as being torn by wild beasts and roasted in an iron chair. She thought she was too weak to face the things she faced...and she was right. But she claimed Christ as her champion. This is the same strong and mighty Champion I know and love, and who helped me conquer just today when I was weak, tired, and afraid. I'm amazed that, while my struggle is nothing compared to hers, our Champion is the same! So I can look at her witness and know that, just like her, I will overcome through weakness. I would love to meet her face to face, and I think that someday I will, when my race is finished.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Precious Hospitality
I'm still thinking about our time with the Johnsons the other night. On Sunday night they invited us over for supper, and we had the most precious time. Just that morning I had been praying that God would give me a chance to have fellowship that night...and He answered!
We came at four, and were going to leave at eight because we were all tired and had a lot to do on Monday. But we stayed till 10! We felt so honored and blessed by their sweet, welcoming family. They made a delicious meal for us, and after supper we visited and Mr. Johnson and some of the kids and Connor played worship songs on various instruments. Others of us sang and danced...we (the girls and little ones) were going crazy dancing in cicles and I felt like I was at, oh, maybe a Jewish wedding or something. Like Fiddler on the Roof! That's sort of a far-fetched fantasy, but that's what I thought of. We had so much fun.
That simple act of hospitality and kindness touched my heart so much. It's so rare in our culture to be invited to a family's house and share a wonderful meal, and to be begged to stay till all hours. Being invited into someone's home is like being invited into their heart. You see more clearly who they are and what they truly value and believe. It takes some willingness to be vulnerable, but it's such a sweet blessing. I went away thinking, "That's what I want my home to be like someday."
We came at four, and were going to leave at eight because we were all tired and had a lot to do on Monday. But we stayed till 10! We felt so honored and blessed by their sweet, welcoming family. They made a delicious meal for us, and after supper we visited and Mr. Johnson and some of the kids and Connor played worship songs on various instruments. Others of us sang and danced...we (the girls and little ones) were going crazy dancing in cicles and I felt like I was at, oh, maybe a Jewish wedding or something. Like Fiddler on the Roof! That's sort of a far-fetched fantasy, but that's what I thought of. We had so much fun.
That simple act of hospitality and kindness touched my heart so much. It's so rare in our culture to be invited to a family's house and share a wonderful meal, and to be begged to stay till all hours. Being invited into someone's home is like being invited into their heart. You see more clearly who they are and what they truly value and believe. It takes some willingness to be vulnerable, but it's such a sweet blessing. I went away thinking, "That's what I want my home to be like someday."
Friday, February 15, 2008
Adventures in Barbary, oops, I mean Barbering
I just got done cutting Connor's hair with the clippers. Boy, was he jumpy! Good grief. It's true that I've only done it once before and therefore don't have much experience in the fascinating art of barbering, but like any other skill, it takes practice. Unfortunately for the victims, it takes cutting real heads of hair to really practice ;) Brothers are the perfect subjects. Dad...well, I only tried him once.
The fact that I couldn't remember which settings to use right away probably made Connor feel uncomfortable. I don't know if that had anything to do with the way he nervously gripped Mom's hand-held mirror, his eyes hovering suspiciously over my every move like a mama cat. "Relax." I told him, thinking of the times he's driven me around in the car since he got his license. Then I had to quote Dori. "Trust me on this!"
Well, I can't blame him for being nervous. I hadn't done it in a while. Mom wasn't home. I needed instructions. So he gave them, and I followed them, mostly without incident. I shuffled around in a mound of icky hair clippings to the tune of the obnoxious buzzing clippers, bzzing this way and that. He has (had) a lot of hair.
One thing I figured out very quickly was that you have to use the right language. When in doubt about how you're cutting someone's hair, you shouldn't express it verbally, especially if the victim is already nervous. You should eradicate all traces of "oops" "whoops" and "uh-oh" from your vocabulary. And I'd go so far as to banish the hesitant "hmm" as well. Either muse in silence or give a cheerful running commentary (if truthfully possible) like "I'll just get that little tuft with the other setting." "Just over that ear and we'll be finished." "I'm just evening that side out a bit." Emphasize small amounts. Smile confidently. Stay calm. And if at all possible, persuade the subject to stop stalking your every movement with the mirror.
When it was all over, we both agreed that it looked good. He's a rather handsome dude. And I was proud that I could actually cut his hair, though I hope he doesn't gray prematurely over it :) After all, it's like my Dad says: "The difference between a bad haircut and a good haircut is just two weeks." There's not that much to be lost. Of course, it's not my head...
The fact that I couldn't remember which settings to use right away probably made Connor feel uncomfortable. I don't know if that had anything to do with the way he nervously gripped Mom's hand-held mirror, his eyes hovering suspiciously over my every move like a mama cat. "Relax." I told him, thinking of the times he's driven me around in the car since he got his license. Then I had to quote Dori. "Trust me on this!"
Well, I can't blame him for being nervous. I hadn't done it in a while. Mom wasn't home. I needed instructions. So he gave them, and I followed them, mostly without incident. I shuffled around in a mound of icky hair clippings to the tune of the obnoxious buzzing clippers, bzzing this way and that. He has (had) a lot of hair.
One thing I figured out very quickly was that you have to use the right language. When in doubt about how you're cutting someone's hair, you shouldn't express it verbally, especially if the victim is already nervous. You should eradicate all traces of "oops" "whoops" and "uh-oh" from your vocabulary. And I'd go so far as to banish the hesitant "hmm" as well. Either muse in silence or give a cheerful running commentary (if truthfully possible) like "I'll just get that little tuft with the other setting." "Just over that ear and we'll be finished." "I'm just evening that side out a bit." Emphasize small amounts. Smile confidently. Stay calm. And if at all possible, persuade the subject to stop stalking your every movement with the mirror.
When it was all over, we both agreed that it looked good. He's a rather handsome dude. And I was proud that I could actually cut his hair, though I hope he doesn't gray prematurely over it :) After all, it's like my Dad says: "The difference between a bad haircut and a good haircut is just two weeks." There's not that much to be lost. Of course, it's not my head...
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Special Someone
Today was a very special Valentine's Day. It turned out differently than I would have thought a week ago, when I was listening to dj's on the radio mention Valentine's every time they were on and was starting to get that sinking feeling...
I've always been a little fascinated with Valentines Day, even though I didn't have much reason to. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I've had Valentine's decorations at every birthday party I've ever had, and my first stuffed animal was a cute little white teddy bear with hearts on its paws from my Dad.
But I'm not going to lie...I'm a hopeless romantic at heart (albeit quietly) and that's part of the fascination. I never went for the cute little kiddie valentines and chocolate from my grandmother...well, I ate it, but it didn't MEAN much. I was waiting for the real deal.
So last week I started feeling a little grumpy about it. A little jealousy crept in...not that many other people I know are really having a terribly romantic Valentine's Day either, but you know how envy works.
But all that is changed now. I don't need to miss out on Valentine's after all. What have I been thinking? Jesus has satisfied every desire and need I have, and just because I can't see Him now doesn't mean He's not my sweetheart. I'm not going to be left out of the fun. So this afternoon, I went to Walmart and bought Him a Valentine's card.
You should have seen me, turning all red there in front of the card rack. I poked through the cards that looked like they'd be appropriate until I foudn one I liked. It felt awkward at first, but then I started getting excited when I thought of the things I'd write to Him (that He already knows).
It's crazy how I always thought the longing in my heart needed a person to satisfy it, but truly, when I'm with Him, He's everything. I can be giddy and silly for Him and it makes Him happy. This year has been one of becoming very weak and discovering his amazing, loving strength.
This is what He's like...
"You are the most excellent of men
and your lips have been anointed with grace,
since God has blessed you forever.
Gird Your sword apon your side, oh mighty one,
clothe yourself with splendor and majesty.
In your majesty ride forth victoriously
In behalf of truth, humility, and righteousness;
let your right hand display awesome deeds.
Let your arrows pierce the hearts of the king's enemies;
Let the nations fall beneath your feet...
You love righteousness and hate wickedness
therefore God, your God, has set you above your companions,
by anointing you with the oil of joy.
All your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia;
from palaces adorned with ivory
the music of strings makes you glad..."
Psalm 45
"This is my lover, this is my friend;
oh daughters of Jerusalem." Song of Solomon 5:16
I didn't write this to be sappy, and I'm not writing it to convince myself I'm happy that I'm at home with my two brothers on Valentine's day. I wrote it because Jesus has truly captured my heart, and I want you to know how very impressive He is. If anyone has been tender, it's Him. If anyone has been patient, it's Him. If anyone has ever been faithful to come through for me, yep, it's Him. I am part of His bride, His church, and so are you! If I thought I was jealous...well he's jealous! He's waiting for her with a passion He can hardly contain.
"Because Your love is better than life, my lips will praise You." Ps. 63:3
Happy Valentine's Day!
I've always been a little fascinated with Valentines Day, even though I didn't have much reason to. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I've had Valentine's decorations at every birthday party I've ever had, and my first stuffed animal was a cute little white teddy bear with hearts on its paws from my Dad.
But I'm not going to lie...I'm a hopeless romantic at heart (albeit quietly) and that's part of the fascination. I never went for the cute little kiddie valentines and chocolate from my grandmother...well, I ate it, but it didn't MEAN much. I was waiting for the real deal.
So last week I started feeling a little grumpy about it. A little jealousy crept in...not that many other people I know are really having a terribly romantic Valentine's Day either, but you know how envy works.
But all that is changed now. I don't need to miss out on Valentine's after all. What have I been thinking? Jesus has satisfied every desire and need I have, and just because I can't see Him now doesn't mean He's not my sweetheart. I'm not going to be left out of the fun. So this afternoon, I went to Walmart and bought Him a Valentine's card.
You should have seen me, turning all red there in front of the card rack. I poked through the cards that looked like they'd be appropriate until I foudn one I liked. It felt awkward at first, but then I started getting excited when I thought of the things I'd write to Him (that He already knows).
It's crazy how I always thought the longing in my heart needed a person to satisfy it, but truly, when I'm with Him, He's everything. I can be giddy and silly for Him and it makes Him happy. This year has been one of becoming very weak and discovering his amazing, loving strength.
This is what He's like...
"You are the most excellent of men
and your lips have been anointed with grace,
since God has blessed you forever.
Gird Your sword apon your side, oh mighty one,
clothe yourself with splendor and majesty.
In your majesty ride forth victoriously
In behalf of truth, humility, and righteousness;
let your right hand display awesome deeds.
Let your arrows pierce the hearts of the king's enemies;
Let the nations fall beneath your feet...
You love righteousness and hate wickedness
therefore God, your God, has set you above your companions,
by anointing you with the oil of joy.
All your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia;
from palaces adorned with ivory
the music of strings makes you glad..."
Psalm 45
"This is my lover, this is my friend;
oh daughters of Jerusalem." Song of Solomon 5:16
I didn't write this to be sappy, and I'm not writing it to convince myself I'm happy that I'm at home with my two brothers on Valentine's day. I wrote it because Jesus has truly captured my heart, and I want you to know how very impressive He is. If anyone has been tender, it's Him. If anyone has been patient, it's Him. If anyone has ever been faithful to come through for me, yep, it's Him. I am part of His bride, His church, and so are you! If I thought I was jealous...well he's jealous! He's waiting for her with a passion He can hardly contain.
"Because Your love is better than life, my lips will praise You." Ps. 63:3
Happy Valentine's Day!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Birthday
Yesterday was my birthday, and I started it out with a bang. We were up peeling potatoes for Mom at dawn (not a usual occurance...it was an unusual day all the way around). I got vicious with the potato peeler and almost ripped of my fingernail. Ok, so I didn't rip it off. I cut it very deeply so that it was bleeding out the middle. In all my (now nineteen) years, I've never broken a bone or had a surgery (well, since I was born), so the sight of my own blood kind freaks me out. I got it all bandaged up though. Dad was comforting me with thoughts of what would happen if I got it hung on something. *Shudders* As you can imagine, hair twisting has been sorely impeded.
But on to better things...it really was a very good birthday. I worked, but then got to go to Mrs. Burklin's for our usual second Monday teatime, with a birthdayish twist. And since Mom was very busy, Mattie saved the day and made a nice spaghetti-bread-and-olive oil meal and a super delicious birthday cake. With GREEN filling! I was too impressed. I ate so much I felt sick. But it was scrumptious.
To top it off, there was a beautiful crescent moon last night, which seemed to be a particular birthday gift from God, since He knows I like them so much and I can't recall telling anyone else :)
I don't have time for any profound thoughts...some other time...
But on to better things...it really was a very good birthday. I worked, but then got to go to Mrs. Burklin's for our usual second Monday teatime, with a birthdayish twist. And since Mom was very busy, Mattie saved the day and made a nice spaghetti-bread-and-olive oil meal and a super delicious birthday cake. With GREEN filling! I was too impressed. I ate so much I felt sick. But it was scrumptious.
To top it off, there was a beautiful crescent moon last night, which seemed to be a particular birthday gift from God, since He knows I like them so much and I can't recall telling anyone else :)
I don't have time for any profound thoughts...some other time...
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Extreme Room Makeover and a Picnic
My room is going orange. At least, the one sheet rock wall is being painted orange, and I think that pretty much takes care of the rest of the room! Thanks to Mattie, Dad, and Mom, our room is getting a makeover. An extreme makeover.
I don't really know what started it-- the psychedelic new bedspread Mattie Kate got for Christmas, or the new rug someone gave us for Connor's room, which also produced a string of renovations. Having a house painter for a dad helped. Even though he painted the wall purple just last spring, he dove in cheerfully and did it over in orange to match the bedspread. And of course the curtains no longer match, so Mom and Mattie have spent the day making new ones out of a bedsheet purchased for the purpose. Mattie seems to be financing the operation. I haven't had anything to do with it, besides dazedly granting permission for my nook to be blitzed. The changes are quite drastic, and I can't say I would have chosen those exact colors myself, but I have to admit, it's...well...stunning. Blinding, in fact.
I figure that, by lamplight (when I spend most of my awake-time in my room) the orange should be muted to a warm, tranquil glow, and by letting Mattie have her way for a change I can sooth an achy conscience for all the miserly space-hogging I've done since she came to share the room with me! Oh, and the very best part is the floor-- imitation wood laminate to replace the depressing carpet. Dad bartered for it. It's smooth and cool, and mercifully un-hunter green :) Wow, thinking about all this makes me really thankful! And Dad is so sweet to redo the room for his girls.
Ethan and I had a picnic earlier by the creek. It was a perfect day, and I was off of work earlier than I expected. He went dressed to the hilt in his jeans, cowboy hat, checkered flannel shirt, and pretend pistols (in holsters). He sat on the stream bank, placidly chewing his peanut butter and banana sandwich. He really is such a contemplative little personage. He chewed and thought, and asked odd questions, and chewed and thought again. Consequently, I could've built a second Taj Mahal before he finished eating. So I sat sunning myself like a turtle, pondering the chocolate residing beneath my right thumbnail and wishing I'd remembered the napkins.
By the way, the world is a very geometric place. Extremely geometric. It took making mosaics for a couple of weeks for me to figure that out. Take corn chips for example. Edible geometry. All shapes and sizes. Then, try laying under a tree in February, before the leaves are out. Not only is the trunk more or less a cylinder, but the branches splay out in all directions, fracturing the sky into a big, frenzied mosaic. Mosaics haunt me now...shadows on the wall, bits of cookie, peoples' teeth...
I'm going to quit now and either study math or sew. It may be an awfully inconvenient time for it to happen, but I think another mad little sewing frenzy is developing. We shall see.
I don't really know what started it-- the psychedelic new bedspread Mattie Kate got for Christmas, or the new rug someone gave us for Connor's room, which also produced a string of renovations. Having a house painter for a dad helped. Even though he painted the wall purple just last spring, he dove in cheerfully and did it over in orange to match the bedspread. And of course the curtains no longer match, so Mom and Mattie have spent the day making new ones out of a bedsheet purchased for the purpose. Mattie seems to be financing the operation. I haven't had anything to do with it, besides dazedly granting permission for my nook to be blitzed. The changes are quite drastic, and I can't say I would have chosen those exact colors myself, but I have to admit, it's...well...stunning. Blinding, in fact.
I figure that, by lamplight (when I spend most of my awake-time in my room) the orange should be muted to a warm, tranquil glow, and by letting Mattie have her way for a change I can sooth an achy conscience for all the miserly space-hogging I've done since she came to share the room with me! Oh, and the very best part is the floor-- imitation wood laminate to replace the depressing carpet. Dad bartered for it. It's smooth and cool, and mercifully un-hunter green :) Wow, thinking about all this makes me really thankful! And Dad is so sweet to redo the room for his girls.
Ethan and I had a picnic earlier by the creek. It was a perfect day, and I was off of work earlier than I expected. He went dressed to the hilt in his jeans, cowboy hat, checkered flannel shirt, and pretend pistols (in holsters). He sat on the stream bank, placidly chewing his peanut butter and banana sandwich. He really is such a contemplative little personage. He chewed and thought, and asked odd questions, and chewed and thought again. Consequently, I could've built a second Taj Mahal before he finished eating. So I sat sunning myself like a turtle, pondering the chocolate residing beneath my right thumbnail and wishing I'd remembered the napkins.
By the way, the world is a very geometric place. Extremely geometric. It took making mosaics for a couple of weeks for me to figure that out. Take corn chips for example. Edible geometry. All shapes and sizes. Then, try laying under a tree in February, before the leaves are out. Not only is the trunk more or less a cylinder, but the branches splay out in all directions, fracturing the sky into a big, frenzied mosaic. Mosaics haunt me now...shadows on the wall, bits of cookie, peoples' teeth...
I'm going to quit now and either study math or sew. It may be an awfully inconvenient time for it to happen, but I think another mad little sewing frenzy is developing. We shall see.
Friday, February 8, 2008
The Annie Moses Concert
Last night I was spontaneously whisked away for an evening of delight by my good friend Gracie and her Mom. It was just before supper when Gracie called and said, "I know this is short notice, but..." and within half an hour we were on our way to the Belcher center for the Annie Moses concert. It's so pleasant to have a friend who sounds giddy over being with you. It's a complete miracle.
Wow. I guess it was a night of miracles, because that concert was amazing! I was a little apprehensive when we walked in and the only people in the auditorium were elderly couples clustered here and there. And when the band began playing sort of gospelish style hymns and singing "weirdly." But I just wasn't used to it yet.
Soon the auditorium filled up (with an audience of varied ages), and the band started playing. They are definitely a curiosity. The band is comprised of a family (six kids and both parents) and two other guys. They play a variety of instruments VERY WELL, including (but probably not limited to) violin, mandolin, harp, cello, keyboard, piano, drums, base guitar, and electric guitar. And the oldest daughter, Annie, sings. Like Bernadette Peters. It's crazy. It's like a mini orchestra gone crazy. And they were all in red and black. The curtains (those gorgeous curtains!) were red and black too. Even the drums were red with silver. After a while I just wanted to close my eyes and drift away on the sheer beauty of that dancing violin and moaning cello...everything combined into one glorious chorus. I always forget how beautiful music really is until I hear it in a performance like that. And then I end up wishing I could sit at a symphony every night for the rest of my life. (Or something.)
Just like when I went to the art museum, I found myself walking away saying, "God, please, please let me bring beauty into the world somehow." We humans just can't quit craving it.
Some of the songs were about heaven, and what it's going to be like. At first, I almost thought them cheesy (just because I'm not used to that style of music) but then, as I sat there, my heart was tugged. Heaven isn't just a fluffy, clouds-and-harps place to me any more. It's more like a Person, a Reunion, a stained-glass cathedral being prepared for a wedding. Hearing that beauty is just pressing my ear up to the door.
Wow. I guess it was a night of miracles, because that concert was amazing! I was a little apprehensive when we walked in and the only people in the auditorium were elderly couples clustered here and there. And when the band began playing sort of gospelish style hymns and singing "weirdly." But I just wasn't used to it yet.
Soon the auditorium filled up (with an audience of varied ages), and the band started playing. They are definitely a curiosity. The band is comprised of a family (six kids and both parents) and two other guys. They play a variety of instruments VERY WELL, including (but probably not limited to) violin, mandolin, harp, cello, keyboard, piano, drums, base guitar, and electric guitar. And the oldest daughter, Annie, sings. Like Bernadette Peters. It's crazy. It's like a mini orchestra gone crazy. And they were all in red and black. The curtains (those gorgeous curtains!) were red and black too. Even the drums were red with silver. After a while I just wanted to close my eyes and drift away on the sheer beauty of that dancing violin and moaning cello...everything combined into one glorious chorus. I always forget how beautiful music really is until I hear it in a performance like that. And then I end up wishing I could sit at a symphony every night for the rest of my life. (Or something.)
Just like when I went to the art museum, I found myself walking away saying, "God, please, please let me bring beauty into the world somehow." We humans just can't quit craving it.
Some of the songs were about heaven, and what it's going to be like. At first, I almost thought them cheesy (just because I'm not used to that style of music) but then, as I sat there, my heart was tugged. Heaven isn't just a fluffy, clouds-and-harps place to me any more. It's more like a Person, a Reunion, a stained-glass cathedral being prepared for a wedding. Hearing that beauty is just pressing my ear up to the door.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
My Brother, the Thug
Here's a peek into my life, fresh off the reel of, um, life...
Mom and "us kids" are at church doing the cleaning job there (Mom and Mattie usually do it, but today Connor and I are helping/getting other things done. So I walked into the coffee room to find Connor moving chairs for Mom. He looked up at me and said, "I look like I'm about to go rob a convenient store." Huh. Funny, he did kind of have a thuggish look about him! He was wearing his usual slightly rugged jeans and what I mentally refer to as his Jason Bourne sweater (it's a black pullover sweater thing with a zipper at the neck and a turned-up collar). To top it all of, he was wearing a grey and black toboggan. So he did look a little menacing. I told him he'd better lose the toboggan next time. At least there was no bling.
My hands are cold. They're always cold. I was just noticing it more than usual because my left hand was resting in the stream of the warm damp breath of my laptop. If the laptop wasn't so hard and square, it might actually be cozy. It's so warm. Well, the epitome of cozy is the furry blanket Grammie gave me for Christmas. Sleeping with it is like curling up with a cat. It even smells like a cat...which may not be a good thing at all!
Mom and "us kids" are at church doing the cleaning job there (Mom and Mattie usually do it, but today Connor and I are helping/getting other things done. So I walked into the coffee room to find Connor moving chairs for Mom. He looked up at me and said, "I look like I'm about to go rob a convenient store." Huh. Funny, he did kind of have a thuggish look about him! He was wearing his usual slightly rugged jeans and what I mentally refer to as his Jason Bourne sweater (it's a black pullover sweater thing with a zipper at the neck and a turned-up collar). To top it all of, he was wearing a grey and black toboggan. So he did look a little menacing. I told him he'd better lose the toboggan next time. At least there was no bling.
My hands are cold. They're always cold. I was just noticing it more than usual because my left hand was resting in the stream of the warm damp breath of my laptop. If the laptop wasn't so hard and square, it might actually be cozy. It's so warm. Well, the epitome of cozy is the furry blanket Grammie gave me for Christmas. Sleeping with it is like curling up with a cat. It even smells like a cat...which may not be a good thing at all!
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Contemplating the Gnarled Family Tree
I will get to blog again. Getting used to working more is crazy, and yesterday, when everything suddenly cleared out of my schedule, I just layed on the couch all day with a brutal headache, too limp to read or anything. But, I'm happy to say, it went away, and today I got back to everything just fine.
I just got back from a pleasant little coffee time with my Mom and grandparents (Grammie and Paw Paw live next door, but I wasn't sure I'd ever get to spend time with THEM again either!) I sat and sipped strong coffee from a delicate tea cup while they discussed various ancestors and their eccentric names, colorful history, etc. There was the red-headed French aunt who tried to trip her older sister and sister's bridegroom at their wedding dance, Uncle Menos, who almost got horsewhipped for becoming Methodist in a very stout Catholic family, and then the six sisters on the other side of the family somewhere with names like Mattie Fay, Nelda Kay, Dorothy Lee, and Patsy Nell. Yikes. How can I be so normal when I have such tangled roots? And then, it dawns on me...maybe I'm not very normal at all! But then, none of us actually are.
Connor is standing over me with the cattle prod, goading me on to the next event of the day (youth group), so I guess I should go. And there's the dinner call. That, I can more readily obey :)
I just got back from a pleasant little coffee time with my Mom and grandparents (Grammie and Paw Paw live next door, but I wasn't sure I'd ever get to spend time with THEM again either!) I sat and sipped strong coffee from a delicate tea cup while they discussed various ancestors and their eccentric names, colorful history, etc. There was the red-headed French aunt who tried to trip her older sister and sister's bridegroom at their wedding dance, Uncle Menos, who almost got horsewhipped for becoming Methodist in a very stout Catholic family, and then the six sisters on the other side of the family somewhere with names like Mattie Fay, Nelda Kay, Dorothy Lee, and Patsy Nell. Yikes. How can I be so normal when I have such tangled roots? And then, it dawns on me...maybe I'm not very normal at all! But then, none of us actually are.
Connor is standing over me with the cattle prod, goading me on to the next event of the day (youth group), so I guess I should go. And there's the dinner call. That, I can more readily obey :)
Friday, February 1, 2008
A Memo from the Dungeon
I have a hard time concentrating on writing when I'm listening to music. Argh. I'm typing this on my laptop in Connor's room because he needs someone to keep him company in "the Dungeon." Doing schoolwork. He thrives while listening to music, whereas it cuts my academic productivity by at least 50%, even if I like the music. First we were listening to Desperation Band, and then the newest Caedmon's Call CD, which has ended up driving us both crazy.
"Two weeks, and we all can feel the calling
To make the world a little smaller
So a girl got on a plane..."
All the Caedmon's Call music does, besides distract me, is remind how much I want to go on a missions trip this Spring Break. But I'm thinking it may simply be a selfish seeking for a reason to "escape" normal life and the struggles of pressing into God. It's a little wierd to put it like that, maybe. I have such a desire to go that it's like I need a calling to stay sometimes. It's harder to stay and be the prayer support or the one who "holds down the fort." Last year I stayed home because I felt like the continual short term missions trips were kind of rupturing my life too much. All that picking up and going and making relationships and leaving them again and coming home and adjusting...it kind of hurts. And then my consistency of seeking God is interrupted by the "high" and subsequent low.
And schedule is a question, since I think I have a job now. Mrs. Castleberry said "see you on Monday," so I don't know if that means I'm hired or what. Anyway, I can trust that God sees my heart and my desires. It seems that His clearest, most audible direction to me when I'm asking Him about missions trips is when He says no. It's like Chris Rice says, "I'd take no for an answer just to know I heard you speak." Just knowing He cares is enough, and He's assured me of that.
I have to ask, though, is it selfish to seek fellowship with other people, sharing a similar heart and purpose? That's probably my honest reason for wanting to go. Huh. I just want to follow God in company. Not alone. So I don't believe the desire is wrong, but the Lord still might have some reasons He wants me to be here. Reasons I readily submit to.
"Take my hands
I lift them high
They're Yours not mine
To do what You will...
I'm ready now
I'm ready now
Do what you will
I'm ready now..." (Desp. Band)
Yeah. He's so good.
Today I did some unusual things (for me). The first was eating sausage links and old cake for breakfast (ok, that's probably weird for most people).
And then, this afternoon, I played basketball with Mattie and Connor. We needed exercise. It was sort of fun to be a little agressive, since it was just my brother to play against. Waxing a little athletic there, *haha,* even if I dribbled with two hands and was winded in five minutes. Gasp. My heart usually doesn't pound like that except for expressly emotional reasons :)
Then we (Mattie, Ethan, and I) rolled down the big hill. I haven't done that in a long time, and it wasn't as miserable as I anticipated. In fact, it would have been quite a delight if the world hadn't kept spinning for five minutes afterward :) Which also usually only happens for expressly emotional reasons. Blah.
Mattie and I are going to spend the night next door at my grandparents' house tonight. (They're gone and said we could invite someone over and have a slumber party there if we wanted...how sweet). So we asked Bailey and Emma over. It will be fun. Games, giggles, movies, munchies...hopefully a little sleep thrown in there as well. I'm lookign forward to spending a little time with Bailey, since I don't see her that much. Of course, I also don't spend that much time with my own sister...so that will be good to be with her too!
"Two weeks, and we all can feel the calling
To make the world a little smaller
So a girl got on a plane..."
All the Caedmon's Call music does, besides distract me, is remind how much I want to go on a missions trip this Spring Break. But I'm thinking it may simply be a selfish seeking for a reason to "escape" normal life and the struggles of pressing into God. It's a little wierd to put it like that, maybe. I have such a desire to go that it's like I need a calling to stay sometimes. It's harder to stay and be the prayer support or the one who "holds down the fort." Last year I stayed home because I felt like the continual short term missions trips were kind of rupturing my life too much. All that picking up and going and making relationships and leaving them again and coming home and adjusting...it kind of hurts. And then my consistency of seeking God is interrupted by the "high" and subsequent low.
And schedule is a question, since I think I have a job now. Mrs. Castleberry said "see you on Monday," so I don't know if that means I'm hired or what. Anyway, I can trust that God sees my heart and my desires. It seems that His clearest, most audible direction to me when I'm asking Him about missions trips is when He says no. It's like Chris Rice says, "I'd take no for an answer just to know I heard you speak." Just knowing He cares is enough, and He's assured me of that.
I have to ask, though, is it selfish to seek fellowship with other people, sharing a similar heart and purpose? That's probably my honest reason for wanting to go. Huh. I just want to follow God in company. Not alone. So I don't believe the desire is wrong, but the Lord still might have some reasons He wants me to be here. Reasons I readily submit to.
"Take my hands
I lift them high
They're Yours not mine
To do what You will...
I'm ready now
I'm ready now
Do what you will
I'm ready now..." (Desp. Band)
Yeah. He's so good.
Today I did some unusual things (for me). The first was eating sausage links and old cake for breakfast (ok, that's probably weird for most people).
And then, this afternoon, I played basketball with Mattie and Connor. We needed exercise. It was sort of fun to be a little agressive, since it was just my brother to play against. Waxing a little athletic there, *haha,* even if I dribbled with two hands and was winded in five minutes. Gasp. My heart usually doesn't pound like that except for expressly emotional reasons :)
Then we (Mattie, Ethan, and I) rolled down the big hill. I haven't done that in a long time, and it wasn't as miserable as I anticipated. In fact, it would have been quite a delight if the world hadn't kept spinning for five minutes afterward :) Which also usually only happens for expressly emotional reasons. Blah.
Mattie and I are going to spend the night next door at my grandparents' house tonight. (They're gone and said we could invite someone over and have a slumber party there if we wanted...how sweet). So we asked Bailey and Emma over. It will be fun. Games, giggles, movies, munchies...hopefully a little sleep thrown in there as well. I'm lookign forward to spending a little time with Bailey, since I don't see her that much. Of course, I also don't spend that much time with my own sister...so that will be good to be with her too!
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