Reverse Solar Eclipse

This past week has been one of freakish circumstances and what seems to be unreasonable pain. Circumstances that didn't happen to me directly but somehow managed to affect me deeply. And physical pain that seems to come out of nowhere(difficult to accept for those of us who want black and white answers to everything.)

Monday was a weird day that shook us but left us seemingly ok. Monday night I came home from Cheddars and the movie theater with Connor, Grammie, and Lauren. The movie was great. But one little word sparked an angry burst from me that was alarming. What, I'm angry? Why? What? I'm pretty much heart broken? What? I can't sleep because everytime I lay my head on the pillow a new breaker of tears washes over me?

I've asked a lot of questions about why bad things happen, why God seems to let evil go on, why there is so much brokenness. But that night was not a night for those questions. I can't say I have specific answers, but I don't feel like I'm struggling to mount a beach ball in a surging ocean any more. I don't feel like everything is going to slip out from under me. I don't feel the need to ask "why" right now.

What I did feel was a deep pain for the brokenness that is, and the brokenness that will be until Jesus comes back. And now my question was, How? How, God, can we deal with this pain? How am I, looking from the outskirts, supposed to deal with it, and how in this breaking deluge are the people in the middle of the circumstances supposed to survive? I can't even hold up physically. I'm nothing but a stick of drift wood, God. How can people live in this hellhole we call a world and still smile, and laugh, and play?

It all sounds pretty miserable and Job-ish. But in the middle of this I read Malachi, and in chapter four, this verse suddenly changed me.

"And the sun of righteosness will rise with healing in His wings."

You know the verse in the gospels where Jesus says that His followers must hate their mothers and fathers in comparison to their love for Him? I know that Jesus loved every person and told us to follow suit, so obviously He means that we deeply love our families. But if we have to choose between family and Jesus, there isn't even a question...we pick Jesus.

He is so full of love that He cares deeply about family relationships, while our relationship with Him is so vast and deep that it entirely eclipses the love we have for our families. It's hard to believe.

Basically, from what I can see, God's people are going to experience a complete reverse solar eclipse of several thousand years worth of pain and sorrow. Jesus, blotting out the darkness...with light!

For just a moment, when I read the verse about Jesus healing His people, I could glimpse what Paul meant when he said "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not to be compared with the glory to be revealed to us." (Romans 8:18)

If Revelations speaks truly that "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes." (Revelation 7:17) then we aren't going to be weeping in heaven for all the things that happened on earth. He will make all things new, and the joy we have with Him will be so vast it will completely eclipse anything painful we've ever experienced or witnessed.

No darkness will be able to enter the heavenly city. No gloom or depression. Nothing will be able to weigh us down. Our bodies will be free from the physical limitations of living in this fallen world. Free from sins that plague us. Free from the enemy's plots.

In a strange way, the suffering here doesn't matter. Don't get freaked out. I don't mean that in a New Agey way. It's not that suffering doesn't exist. It's not that we pretend it's not a big deal. It's never, ever that we react indifferently or harshly about it. But compared to the joy that waits for us, it doesn't even mark the radar. Why else could Peter, who suffered intensely, even willingly for the sake of the gospel say,

"And though you have not seen Him, you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory..."
1 Peter 1:8

"Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me. In my Father's house there are dwelling places; if it were not so I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you." John 14:1-2

How could I ever sleep at night if not for this? How would I get up in the morning? How would I make it past the age of 20? Even in a fallen world, God is the lifter of my head, the prince of peace, the God of comfort, author of faith, merciful father, God of hope. He brings joy to my soul. Even now! He brings laughter and victory, even now! He fills my life with good things, even now.

All He asks is that I believe. All He asks is that I follow the footsteps of the men and women of faith, the Abrahams, the Marys, the Gideons. All that He asks is that I remember, day after day, the joy set before me, just like Jesus did.

No, I'm Not Coming Out...

Yesterday I was supposed to meet my friend Iryna and we were going to go for coffee or something like that, as we've done several times in the past few months. But yesterday the house felt so cozy and as usual, I was loath to leave my habitat. So I thought maybe I should bring her here and we could make cookies.

The more I thought about it, the happier I grew, so I finally called to ask if I could pick her up an hour earlier so we could do it. And she said yes. And when I drove up in the truck (a large white vehicle I like to call "The Tank") she was so elated that she hopped right in and gave me a big smooch on the cheek. I guess we were both missing Ukraine a bit.

Before stopping to get her, though, I had to make a Walmart run for baking supplies. Jiminy Cricket! The traffic...the hustle...the bustle...the lines!

I thought there were a lot more efficient people in the world. I thought last minute shopping was supposed to be the exception to the rule. Don't you guys want to go home? Isn't that what a holiday is for? Shouldn't pickup trucks be banned from the roads during Christmas holidays? Wait...I'm driving one...Ok, but I don't have a choice...couldn't the rest of ya'll have bought mini coopers or something? Not redneck enough for ya? I'll getcha some duct tape.

So I found two pounds of butter, two pounds of powdered sugar, and 8 ounces of creamed cheese. And I waited behind seven or eight carts in the express lane. The checker was holding out pretty well. I bet it's spiked eggnog for her tonight. She could probably use some extra Christmas cheer.

So I stood in line surveying the newest varieties of M&M's. Strawberried peanut butter??? What? I want to go home now. Gosh, I love to be home. Just two days ago I was all irritation about home. But I always get over that. It takes little more than a trip to Walmart. Abscence makes the heart grow fonder.

So, after sitting in traffic on the narrowest road in town with three hundred other pickup trucks and other such unwieldy vehicles through about four lights, I reached Iryna wrecklessly (without a wreck) and we went back to my house and made cream cheese cookies, which turned out super yum.

And now nothing can induce me to come out of hiding but dire emergencies or dear friends...until after Christmas.

A Room Cleaning Observed

All the clever things I was planning to write earlier in the day have flown my mind like little birds going south for the winter. But I live in south. So I don't know why my thoughts would want to fly anywhere.

Today I cleaned my room. I haven't done that in a long time, and I should have known better. I told myself it would only take thirty minutes, but an hour and a half and 2000 dust bunnies later, I was just getting warmed up.

It needed cleaning in those sneaky places like under the bed, on the window sills behind the blinds, and behind the Rubbermaid containers in my closet. Once the vacuum cleaner came out, I couldn't stop. It would have been an ideal situation, a joy to my mother, but the timing was bad. I needed to stop so I could have tea with Mrs. Burklin, which I was greatly looking forward to (and thoroughly enjoyed).

So I did claim victory over the vacuuming impulse. I found some things in the closet along the way. T-shirts, hoodies, someone's bow and arrow, my scattered drawing stuff, Mom's Christmas present, a lot of ladybugs.

Our house is infested with ladybugs. I vacuumed up dozens of them. The ladybug inundation marks the onset of winter at our house every year, and has done so for as long as I can remember. Whenever I am in bed watching them crawling around on the light fixture like little turtles, I think of my dear friend Chelsea. She walked into my room one day (ten or twelve years ago), got one look at the wildlife, and fled screaming. She eventually recovered.

I don't mind the ladybugs, if they stay on the ceiling. But the past two mornings I've woken to the sight of a little spotted bug scurrying along the line of my bed covers at eye level, and that's a little disconcerting. Especially since the little creeps let off such a stench if you disturb them. Connor said, "They're like little skunks in red suits." I wouldn't go that far, but...

I didn't get around to everything I could have done in there. There is still a huge Rubbermaid container full of all the cards and letters I've received since I was seven; that needs some attention. I can't carry those to and fro across the planet for the rest of my life.

I did put away the last little pile of gear from my last suitcase from Ukraine. So that is that. After five months, I guess it was about time.

You are so Embarrassing Me!

"I'll be glad when Mom is my teacher."

That's what my little brother said this morning, slouching in his desk while I tried to control my laughter. He said this because I am his teacher right now, and I embarrassed him. It was not intentional at all. I merely pointed out that a "b" has a big belly and a "d" has a big bottom, because sometimes he doesn't remember which letter goes which way. Visual usually helps, but Ethan just got mad at me. And they say I need to lighten up!

He was also mad because I kept trying to speak Russian to him. What could have been a great learning opportunity turned out to be a pain. It drove him crazy. So I stopped. But I could hardly help myself!

During breakfast I pored over a library book on the Czech immigrants in Texas. At the end is a Czech pronunciation guide, and with this magic key, I was able to unlock precious mysteries. You wouldn't know from looking at the words, because the Czech and Russian alphabets are so different, but the two languages are extremely similar. Once I knew what the funny hats and lines meant, I could sound out words that were, if not siblings, rather close cousins to the Russian ones. *squeals of delight*

I only know enough Russian to be annoying, and even less Ukrainian. Actually, Czech seemed more like Ukrainian than Russian, but they're all in the family. I declared that I wanted to learn all the languages in the world. And then I started school with Ethan.

No one else in the family cared about my exciting discoveries. One member was irritated, as aforementioned. I'm not sure why it means so much to me either. I guess I like how things are related to each other. When I see how languages interconnect, they no longer seem like random gibberish, but a series of complex patterns that could only have been designed by God.

Language discoveries are exhilarating, too, because love finding out how closely related we really are to people who seem completely foreign to us. People all over the world greet each other, they just do it in different ways. Every culture offers proverbs and words of wisdom, the worldviews are just different. Pretty much everyone in the world has to eat, and usually they have to work in order to eat. They sleep and wear clothes and try to get an education and get married and have families and funerals and holidays. We all just have different ways of talking about it.

Here is a thought from the Czechs that I appreciate:

"Everything has an end, but a sausage has two."

And this is certainly true:

"Without work there are no kolaches." (!)

And this is how the Czechs see it:

"Where a Czech housekeeper cooks, everything fares well."

I believe it!

(proverbs from Krasna Amerika, A Study of Texas Czechs, by Clinton Machann and James W. Mendl.)

So I will enjoy my little epiphanies as they come and try not to bother Ethan too much. After I did away with the Russian, math went much better and we even got to make a paper mache volcano which is now drying by the fire, waiting to be painted.

In Which My Siblings and I Wage WW3 and Enjoy Ourselves Immensely

It is 2:00 pm on the day before Thanksgiving. Connor left for work just when I was enmeshed in the delicate process of conquering the world. Now the suspense is killing me.

I forgot how much I like to play Risk. I'm not much of a board game person, or a take-over-the-world-person, for that matter, but today I was getting a bit angsty over that land war in Asia. As it stands, Mattie is spreading herself out over Asia but growing stronger, while Connor camps in a small cluster in Europe, just recovered from a sweep into North America that dealt me a keen blow but did no lasting damage. I'm holding the Americas a bit shakily with Alaska badly exposed to Mattie's forces in Kamchatka and the cold uppermost reaches of Asia.

After some Thanksgiving baking this morning, the four of us sat down to a game of Risk. Ethan was on my team and has been my faithful dice roller, until the last ten minutes or the game, when the little traitor went over to the other side. He thought he would get to play for Connor when Connor left, but was thwarted when we decided to keep the game till Connor's return.

At the beginning, I lined up our extra roman numeral figures into lines by tens, fives, threes, and ones (ours were yellow) and Ethan expressed his admiration. ("That is so cool, Cass.") Of course Ethan would think that was cool. Lining things up is a hobby of his. He was simply admiring a fellow master.

Ethan dropped the dice at every opportunity. After retrieving them with his toes, he shook them ferociously for about ten seconds, scrunched his nose up, prayed for a good roll, and let them go. I'm not sure that his rolling tecniques have benefited us much.

Connor consistently reminded Mattie and I to take our precious cards at the end of our turns. Mattie croaked like a frog throughout the game, fighting off a headcold. We ate leftover lasagna while gambling the fate of Irkutsk. And now, we suspensefully await the return of our honored opponent and the end of the world as we know it.

November has finally hit with a chill blast! I said something about Christmas music this morning, and Connor said not till after Thanksgiving, which I usually agree with...but I said, what if it never gets this cold (you know, the 50's) in December? This might be our only chance.

But he ignored me. His car, his ipod, his choice. But he did ask me what music I wanted to listen to, and he let me ride in his car, and...hey, it's not a bad deal for me.

So we drove off with our scarves wrapped around our necks, (respectively), humming along to Regina Spektor, which can be hard to do when she really gets up there. And I was thinking of how nice it will be to come home tonight in the cold dark and find my warm house again and a kitchen steaming with the chicken soup my Mom put on this morning before she left for work. And this thought made me very happy.

Human beings are the funniest things ever. God must have had a fun time making us. Here I am, sitting at my laptop in a gray sweater feeling small and grayish and composed, and across the table is this big fellow in a black and white t-shirt, with a lot of hair, periodically looking up at the ceiling between spurts of paper.

First he asked me if internet worked here, as I was setting up my computer. Then he went away. Then he came back and asked if I knew where another plug was. With the scrap of human kindness usually residing in my soul, sometimes farther in than not, I offered to move the table over and share, and that's when he set up shop across and over one. And began talking about how bored he was with internet down. And making money.

My little brother, Ethan, is a funny person too. Probably because he is so serious. A few nights ago, I was reading a book about countries that don't like America and it was making me blue, and I said, to the general audience of the living room, that the world is "so messed up." And Ethan, who was wandering around the couch in Robin Hood-ish garb and a wooden sword, said,

"No it's not." And I said,
"Yes it is." And he said,
"Well my world isn't messed up. And you shouldn't say that right in front of my face!"

This is entirely true and I should have apologized for my insensitivity to his little bubble. Yes. No matter how messed up the world is, there is still humor in it, and it's good to have people around to remind you, passing stranger and little brother alike.

In Which I Become Aware of Significant Envelope Licking Rituals

According to Bruce, my blog is no longer interesting because I'm in school now and not having any adventures. (Besides those tidings of ill news it was wonderful to see Bruce and Deb again while they are in from Ukraine visiting Longview for a few days.)

But though I can't be the judge of my Blog Interestingness Quotient, I can, today at least, and as many times as I continue these charming visits to the Financial Aid desk, share an experience to satisfy my readers' taste for the ridiculous.

I understand that a home made high school transcript might raise a few eyebrows. After all, this particular student (probably not the first time in the history of homeschooling) had to design and fill out her own transcript. What can I say? The principal was busy! At least they taught me to be honest.

It's true that I made my own transcript, faithfully filling in the grades received from parents and other instructors. And when they told me at the Financial Aid desk that I'd have to have it notarized, I didn't make a fuss. If they want a little extra ink that's fine, although I didn't see how it was going to make anything more official. I know my notary better than most people know theirs because she also happens to be the church secretary, but that doesn't mean she knows how I fared in Biology.

I got the transcript notarized, and, having nothing but a plain long envelope, popped it in. I left it open because I figured that looked cleaner and neater than what it would be if they had to rip it open and look at it. Oh, how wrong I was.

When I returned to the registrar's desk and handed her my envelope, she looked it over and said,

"Well, I'm sorry, but we can't accept this. It has to be sealed." I stood there, a little concerned, picturing some kind of fancy sticker...bees wax...something official that I needed stamped on the outside of my envelope, something that definitely wasn't at my house.

"So...it's a homeschool transcript. Where am I supposed to get this seal?"

"You just need to bring us a sealed envelope, that's all."

"Oh, you mean it just needs to be closed?"

"Yes." I think for a moment, trying to get this straight.

"So you mean...that I can just go outside, lick my envelope, and come back in?"

"Uhh..." Awkward silence. Mostly for her. She turns to the lady at the desk behind her and asks what to do. That lady brushes it off with a wave of her hand and a crinkle of her nose that says "No big deal." And I heave a sigh that agrees.

The lady behind the desk carefully licks the envelope and regards me seriously.

"I guess it's ok, just this once," she concedes.

"So let me get this straight," I say, one more time, just to clarify. (I know my Dad's going to be all over this.) "What I should have done is licked the envelope at home and then brought it here, and that would have been ok?"

She nodded.

Well, my transcript is now sufficiently licked and filed away (I hope) and all I can do is issue a warning to my fellow homeschoolers planning to submit high school transcripts to a college...Never underestimate the importance of that official, clandestine ritual of Licking the Transcript Envelope...it could mean your future!

Causes of the Revolution: A Poem

Last night when we arrived home from a weekend of camping, Connor and I had now idea that we would be up till 3 in the morning studying American history-- and liking it.

But that's what we did. Camping was a thrilling, though somewhat face-chapping affair, what with the wind and all. I'm glad I went, but after hiking 9 miles in two days I was happy to see home and my bed. The trip home took longer than usual because we had to make an extra stop at Walmart in DeQueen to find some brie. I had a sudden revelation on the trail between the Shady Lake dam and our campsite that I desperately needed to eat some brie. It sounded good to Connor, too, and Rebekah, who rode home with us. So we bought it and traveled on our merry way.

Bekah's parents were still at life group when we got home at 8:30, so we stood around in the kitchen eating brie and crackers and hummus and drinking earl grey to warm up. The house was freezing inside, and the cat was tearing around like some kind of dervish. I take it she was happy to see humans, but I think she was upset that we weren't the particular human she wanted-- Mattie Kate.

After collectively consuming six ounces of brie (my instincts were right. It was just the ticket) we drove Rebekah home to be reunited with her waiting family, who were overflowing with anticipation. Except Sarah, who is still at Shady Lake with the others.

Connor and I were tired out, not to mention grimy and greasy from camping. So we weren't exactly pumped about breaking out the textbook. I'd had the chance to at least make notes on the material beforehand, though, so we stood in the kitchen (it's the best room in the house-- everything exciting happens there) and shot questions at each other.

It got a little out of hand. The answers started rhyming. And then we were ad libbing, and before you could say "Boston Massacre," I was bending over the blank sheets of Mom's grocery pad, scribbling couplets of doggerel foolery and madly twisting my greasy hair while Connor spouted out more rhymes and slapped his thigh with the hilarity of it all. It helps that it was 1:00 in the morning and many ordinary things become hilarious at that time of day.

I thought I'd share the results of our efforts with the rest of the world, with an apology to any Brits and a disclaimer that it's hard to tell the truth when it has to rhyme, so we fudged a little on that. Poor King George got it hard, but then, you have to find someone to blame. Back then there were no presidents.

Causes of the Revolution

The Causes of the Revolution
Were not Helen of Troy, or air pollution
They were political factors, economic strifes,
Social troubles, (the stuff of life)
An unwillingness to compromise—
If you think it’s otherwise
Go ask Sam Adams, he’s the fellow
Who fanned the flame with his rhetorical bellows.

After Pontiac’s rebellion (trust me dears, he was a hellion)
King George issued the Royal Proclamation,
“I will squelch this budding nation!
No more moving farther west!
I’m the king, and I know best!”

With the fall of Salutary Neglect,
King George sat and did reflect
This was no little piece of cake
The health of his empire was at stake
The Sons of Liberty were about,
Committees of Correspondence were on the scout
Patrick Henry had assumed his stump
And Ole’ Sam Adams had put a goad in their rumps

After one too many mugs of beer
Those Liberty Boys weren’t thinkin’ too clear
They threw some snowballs at a guard
Gee, I guess some were a little hard
British regulars came out to spar
And some bloody idiot shouted, “Fahr!”
There was a massacre on the premises—
At least that’s what Paul reminisced

After that the Townshend Acts
Were declared to impose a tax
On glass and paper, tea and paint
(“What do I look like,”
Said King George, “a saint?”)

The colonists were up in arms
They donned some feathers and left their farms
They had a party on the sea
And ruined all King George’s tea.

King George declared the Coercive Acts
“Boston port closed till my tea is paid back!
Privileges limited, legislatures suspended,
By Goerge, we’ll have this government upended!”
So the colonists made a fuss
“We’ll have no more of your laws on us!”
They’d rather have been stabbed and died,
So this is how those boys replied,
With the Continental Congress of ‘74
(The British knew not what was in store)
Suffolk Resolves declared Acts impolite,
They drafted a Declaration of Grievances and Rights
They organized a boycott against British trade,
Then sent the militias off to raid

The Midnight Rider, Paul Revere,
Rode away (he is not here)
He rode with buddy William Dawes,
Who did not follow British laws
The minutemen were good old boys
Their guns were not just childrens’ toys
Their shots were heard around the world
And then Old Glory was unfurled!

By: Cassie and Connor Walters

This morning, we presented the poem to Mrs. Szafran, and she got a laugh. And all the way through the quiz we smirked with glee as little couplets ran through our heads, igniting our craniums for victory.

No Mommy in Morocco

Today I spent the time after government class while Connor was in computer class to attend some of those delightful little details such as finding someone to talk to about financial aid and registering for a CLEP test.

One of the major problems in trying to communicate with human beings is that it's hard to know the right questions to ask. If that isn't bad enough, when you think of the questions, you have to get up the nerve to ask them. Then you have to deal with the change in brain waves depending on the answer you get, which you sometimes can anticipate and sometimes haven't the foggiest idea of. Communication is a beast, I'm telling you.

There, I'm sounding like Junie B. Jones. What can I say? I like third graders.

But-- communication. Whenever I go to the financial aid desk, I try to pull up the questions from the files in my brain. Right now the files are full of messy details of money and transportation and scheduling and tests and homework and other peoples' tests and homework that I am assigning them. The files are chronically unorganized so it's hard to pull up the right questions. And when I think them up ahead of time and write them down, I always leave something out.

Or I stroll up to the desk and ask a question, only to be confronted with another scenario that requires me to think up and ask more questions. And the ladies behind the desk are nice enough, but they aren't prepared to sit there doing nothing while I shuffle through the mental files (besides, seeing as I'm the only one who can see the files, it probably looks a little more "mental" than that).

The result of all this is that I have to visit the F. A. office frequently as I think of questions. But bit by bit, it's coming along.

Today I was also registering for a CLEP test for English, trying to add a few more credit hours without all the time and cost. More information, more mental memos to attend more little details. I am my personal secretary.

On the way out of the Student Center, a red and white magazine caught my eye outside the international student office. It said "Study Abroad" in catchy red font, and I immediately sat down on the bench to take a look. I glanced quickly over Argentina and Mexico and Peru and Spain, lingering longer over Brussels and then landing on Morocco, where I stopped to stay a while.

Ahh. Sometimes I just want to jump up and grab a backpack, catch a bus to the airport, and fly far, far away. Not because I don't like it here. Just for an adventure. And Morocco has always grabbed my interest. It seems obscure. Mysterious. Exotic. Not a popular cruise destination, not the top pick of exchange students. The kind of place that makes me think of my favorite shade of blue. The kind of place that, while flying home standing in an infernal customs line at 3:00 in the morning you would casually be chatting with the person behind you and they'd ask "Where were you?" and you would modestly swallow the grin that is attacking you and say, "Morocco." All casual-like, you know.

Yes, I do a great deal of fantasizing. Don't worry, there is plenty to keep me firmly anchored to the ground. All those previously mentioned "little details," for instance. What do I think I'm going to do with a semester of Arabic, anyway? Or "Conflict Resolution?" (Ok, well I might be able to put that to good use.) As far as I can see, people don't usually take a semester of college courses for fun. They usually need to count for something.

Well, I will give this some thought. I think for now, it's here for a year or two at least. And of course I'm glad. I would probably miss my Mommy in Morocco.

Giving it a Try

A few weeks ago I got inspired and decided to submit an article to the local newspaper, just for kicks. I didn't tell anyone except Connor because I wanted to surprise the rest of my family. I was so giddy I could hardly contain myself. It's funny, the things that turn a person on. Road trips and freshly sharpened pencils. Sending an article to the newspaper.

I had figured newspaper editors were like publishing people on a smaller scale, and I expected a sort of disinterested, condescending aloofness. But when I talked to Ms. Ana Walker, who is over the Voices column of the Longview News Journal, I was surprised to find her kind, positive, enthusiastic, and very accessible. The whole experience was very encouraging to me.

Here is the article for those of you who don't get the paper. Or read the paper. I'm just now looking through it a few times a week. Ours was sopping wet from rain that morning, and I had to hint pretty strongly to get Dad to pry it open and check the insides. Of all mornings for the paper to be so drenched no one wanted to open it!

http://www.news-journal.com/search/content/news/opinion/stories/2009/10/09/10092009_voices_walters.html

I just had a little scuffle with Starbucks internet. Starbucks isn't my first choice of coffee shops, but here I am and I bought a gift card so that I could access the internet. Too bad I couldn't buy a side of brains with that.

I tried typing my card number in several times without any luck. Every time, ugly red words came up telling me my card wasn't activated. I went to the barista up front, who was really busy with other things and couldn't help me much. I went back and retyped the numbers. Twice. It was then I realized I'd been typing in the card number of the sample card on the screen-- not my card!

So now I am reveling in the light of my own shocking brilliance of mind, drinking an especially delicious hot chocolate.

My Words are Chewing on Themselves

I am sitting at Goodday Coffee+Book shop in Kilgore. I'm with Connor and we just finished classes at Kilgore for the day. He is in a chair nearby wrestling with a computer class assignment and talking to his laptop in an unfriendly way in short syllables.

I am lucky because major tests are over for now and I'm free to blog. At least I want to say I'm free to blog. My head is still imprisoned in a rut of the antithesis of creativity and when I start to write, sadness comes out. I don't want to write about sad things, because I figure I've done that enough. But how do you write from the heart on such an overcast day without sounding sad?

The sad things I feel but don't want to write about are like boxes in a room in a house I moved into a long time ago. I don't come into this room much and it hurts unpacking the boxes, but I am curious about their contents because I seem to remember some things in them that used to be displayed and enjoyed in the brighter parts of my house, and some time ago I packed them away out of sight. I miss them like a favorite book. Or a favorite tea cup.

This coffee shop is peaceful. The soft green on the walls is soothing, and so are the beautiful books that line the walls, books that look like they were chosen for expressly decorative purposes, but are actually for sale. On the wall over the table
where Connor and I often sit, there is a quote by T.S. Eliot that says "I have measured out my life in coffee spoons."

Connor thinks this is an awesome quote and so do I, although putting it up in a coffee shop is taking it grossly out of context, I would think. But poetry is subjective-- I suppose you can take it to mean anything you please, as long as you don't assume the author meant that as well.

My brother and I have been thinking about art and discussing it lately-- music for him, writing for me. Art is something that has to be shared, or it will ferment and burst out of you. That's why we have to listen to music in the car together, that's why I want to write a blog, that's why I am glad there is poetry on the walls of a coffee shop. It's why I wish more people took time to love beauty instead of trampling it. It's why I want to find more creative outlets. I don't know much about art, only that there's a part of me that hungers for beauty, and a part of me that was created to create.

After a long walk at the walking track a few days ago, and the conversation we had there, Connor and I agreed that what we are looking for in art is what is REAL. On my part, if I have to wake up to the ugliness of life, I need all the more to wake up to the beauty, because the beauty is the rope where we hang onto God. By beauty I don't just mean flowers. I mean everything that is good. A Weird Al song that makes me laugh my head off, walls painted green, Winnie the Pooh, rain outside the window, my sister's shimmering hair, sitting in the living room with friends talking about life...real life.

I didn't mean to write about this. It seems foolish to me somehow. Every time I write a word it turns and attacks the word behind it so that my sentences regularly get chewed to bits and I have to erase everything and start over. Even now they are salivating and growling and I see that I should post this blog before I lose my chance...

Triumph in the Hunt

Today I embarked on a journey to find and seize (lawfully) some of that stuff that has given humankind the most pleasure and botheration since the advent of the fig leaf: clothing.

I am like the guy in that one Sonic commercial-- my wallet creaks when I open it. I don't go shopping very often. It's not because I don't like nice clothes; I have plenty of good reasons for not shopping. I won't enumerate them now because many of you are familiar with them yourselves and it will only bore or depress you.

Well, today, I did go shopping, and today, I did buy clothes. After discovering four small rips in the back of my favorite and nearly only pair of jeans on Monday, I decided that was the limit. And today, because of unexpected events at our house which kept Dad from his usual grocery shopping, I got the groceries instead.

Before Walmart, however, I stopped at two other stores to hunt for jeans. Not only did I find jeans, I found shirts and a dress that all fit and I liked. I bought some of them. I had forgotten how to swipe my debit card. But I figured it out without too much trouble.

I could just keep my holey jeans. After I got a look at what was selling, I figured mine were pretty much in style. The difference is just where you put the holes, unfortunately. I don't care how stylish they are, when I get around to buying new jeans every eon or so, I'm not going to pay for holes. I can make them myself, thank you.

I went home to tell my family what I'd done. I had not warned them before hand, and I wondered if the shock might not be too great.

"Well good for you," Dad said, (Not the response of average Dads to average daughters.) "Do we need to put this on the record or something?" Mattie congratulated me warmly and said she I could tell she was proud of me.

And I-- well I'm downright proud of myself. It's not every day I go out on the hunt and return triumphant, clothed in the booty.

The Big Book of Why (is too heavy to lift.)

Sometimes you come to a place inside your head where you feel terribly small and helpless and forget that God is bigger and better than you.

It hits you at night after the house has fallen silent besides the whir of the fans and the faint breathing sounds, and you are lying there in bed, unable to sleep. In the lonely hours you begin to think about love and loss and all the genocides that have happened that you wish you didn’t know about, and you can’t see that God is really bigger than bombs and heartbreak.

You write a book in your head and it is called “The Book of Why.” It is a huge book. There are several chapters, titled, “But…,” “What?,” “How Come?,” and “How Could You?” Then you stand up in front of God (which is easier to do at this point because you cannot see Him) and insist on reading the book to Him, to see what He will have to say for Himself.

But the book is so hard to lift and your tears are so thick, and God is being so quiet, that you start to think that maybe there is something you don’t know. Even though you know so much, so much you wish you didn’t know, maybe God still knows something you don’t.

So, exhausted from the ordeal, you throw yourself back down among the tangled blankets and try, once more, to sleep.

And God says, I’m glad you wrestled with me.
And you say, But I’m limping.
And God says, It’s ok.
And you say, But it hurts.
And God says, I love you.

And in the morning, you find the twenty pieces of wadded tissue on the floor beside your bed, and your eyes are squinty. But outside it is raining quietly and in the kitchen your mother is making blackberry pies, and you think perhaps it will be alright after all.

Based on a true story.

“Therefore thus says the Lord God, ‘Behold, I am laying in Zion a stone, a tested stone, a costly cornerstone for the foundation, well-placed. He who believes in it will not be disturbed (i.e., in a hurry).'” Isaiah 28:16

A Family Adventure

The kitten incidents are far removed, but I am now seeking blog solace in yet another Texas town (besides my own.) Another adventure trip, this time with my family on a weekend adventure planned by our own private travel agent, Agent Dad. As usual, he braved hell and high water to get us out of town and find some hiking and good food—two ingredients to an enjoyable vacation.

Mom got the weekend off and the plan was a camping trip in Arkansas. But as it often happens with us, storm clouds caught wind of our sunny plans and gathered for miles around to settle in a steadily spinning system directly above every camp ground in Arkansas and Oklahoma, delivering a generous supply of wetness. Camping plans were squelched. Travel plans—not so much.

Camp grounds in Texas are reservation-only and this weekend the nearbyish ones were full. The Hilton sometimes runs rooms on Priceline.com for ridiculously low rates, thus luring unsuspecting bumpkins through its doors with Playmate coolers full of breakfast to be duped by their stupid internet fees. And consideration of these facts may explain why my family is presently camped out in the Hilton in Austin, within view of the airport and a pleasant show of airplane departures.

We don’t “belong” here, but this is, after all, a free society depending on how you look at it, but at least we gave the bellboy some entertainment.

This morning we ate our nutri-grain bars and drank some kind of fortified breakfast drink fortified with enough chocolate to wake us up, and then we drove to Enchanted Rock, a few hours from here.

This rock is enchanted because it is a solid granite dome-like formation that rises 425 feet in the air like a miniature Ayers Rock. Unlike Ayers Rock, you can walk up it because it curves gently on the sides. From a distance you can see the people moving around on top like little bugs.

As we came within sight of it, Dad explained to Ethan about climbing it. “And you have to be careful up there on top, that you don’t fall,” he said.

“Well, I’ve never fallen off a cliff before in my life,” Ethan replied matter-of-factly, as if to say how could you doubt me when I’ve always proved myself so responsible?

“In all your six years…” Dad added.

“But I did fall off the couch once.”

We climbed the rock, which was like a giant tombstone with prickly pear cactus sticking up in patches, which is surprising when I remember that it was a rock and had no soil to speak of. I ate a prickly pear fruit not long ago with taco salad for supper because I got curious while shopping with Dad and we bought a couple of them. It was full of seeds but otherwise very tasty. The skin is thick and green and slimy, and the insides are a watery, sort of green version of pomegranates. I could never decide whether I liked it, so I kept eating it until it was gone. (Other people helped.)

But when I saw bulbs of prickly pear fruit sticking off the cacti on top of Enchanted Rock, I suddenly decided I liked them and desperately wanted one. The only problem is that gathering fauna and flora in a state park is prohibited by law and I already have this problem with park rangers. Actually it is their problem. They’re the ones having heart attacks over innocent children idly plucking an oak leaf. But I have bad memories and there are better reasons to get thrown in jail, so I didn’t think I would pick a fruit.

Dad, however, found a prickly pear already plucked just sitting there on the ground like it was waiting for me. Last I had seen the Park Rangers, they were sitting in their cute little uniforms having lunch at a picnic table, and one of them was having a smoke, so I figured they were not after me and this particular prickly pear. So I sat my bum on the rather stony granite and started prying the thing open.

I forgot about the “prickly” part. The ones at the store were, as I always suspected of the other Walmart vegetation, genetically engineered for physical perfection rather than taste, and therefore had no prickles. This is what they would like to do to people too, but I doubt it is working.

But I found the prickles. Every prickle spot generously gave me seven or eight stickers. So I plucked them all out and then shaved the outside with my water bottle cap. Then I started prying again and got slime all over my fingers. My labor revealed a disappointingly small, hard lump of fruit, which tasted like most unripe fruit tastes. So I threw it in the little pool of water I was sitting by.

The rest of the afternoon I sat on the rock with Mom enjoying the view of Texas (well, you know, some of Texas since Texas is so big and you can’t see all of it even if you climb up on a very big piece of granite.) I was going to go hiking around the base of the rock with Dad and Mattie and Ethan (Connor stayed home and missed out.) But Mom and I don’t get to talk together much anymore when she is working and I am going to school, so we took advantage of that instead. And she said she was hoping to lay out on a sunny rock this weekend and just enjoy it, and look at the rock God gave her…a 425 foot tall one.

For supper we went to a German restaurant and ate outdoors on the porch. Mid-way through our meal some young guys came and set up speakers and instruments on the stage and we were waiting to see what kind of music they would play because they were wearing black t-shirts, and designer jeans with dew-rags and cowboy boots. They seemed like fellows too decent to play country music, and I wanted to hear what they had to sing for themselves, but they spent the rest of the time check-check-checking and 1-2-3ing while I chewed my half of weinerschnitzel and tried to hold my own with a stout batch of sauerkraut. And then we left.

It took one and a half hours to reach the hotel again, and it got dark, and I was reading an implausible but somewhat thrilling book called Blink, about a Saudi princess runaway who likes to wear jeans and a guy with an IQ of 193 who surfs (and will eventually save her and precipitously fall in love with her). And I must be getting tired because on the way home I misread a sign that said “Cap. of TX.” for “Cup of Tea,” and you can see where my mind really is.

Since I got back to the hotel I have showered and blogged this and I will have to post it in the morning in the atrium where internet is free, because I don’t want to pay $10.77 for room internet like I accidentally did last night. Ouch.

I really have it too good…

The Kitten From Paris

We found a kitten in Paris. Paris, TX, that is. In a moment of particular foolhardiness we pulled out and followed our lead to Paris, where a woman with three kittens lived in a small house we spent a good deal of time trying to find with an internet map on Lauren's computer. She and Gracie had sisterly disputes about the four points of the compass for a while as I stared out the window enjoying the scenic route through downtown Paris, which contained a lot of run-down buildings that seemed to have potential to look vintage, although I am still not sure what vintage looks like. Exactly.

We found the house by accident, after accidentally losing the map, and we knew it was the right house because a small curly headed, brown-eyed boy was standing behind the screen door, holding a resigned black kitten upside down in his chubby hands.

There were two additional more or less resigned kittens in a cardboard box begging in kitten eye language for us to rescue them from certain imminent death. So we promptly did. I commandeered the fuzzy black thing and he rode in my lap all the way home. Except for the time he spent burrowing against the seat behind my neck. He was silent as a shadow all the way home, never once mewing or showing any sign of purring. He didn't shake or tremble, just gazed imploringly up at me with round, blue-green eyes.

After all the deliberation of the morning, Gracie settled on Puddleglum, as the orange kitten's name (due to his melancholy propensity to complain) and Bagheera for the new kitten, because of his panther-like coloring. He is not the sleek stereotypical panther, having a bit of a wormy paunch, but he will most likely grow into it...

Kitten Hunting

It is a very good day today, because it is raining, and I am in a car with two very dear friends. I am also on a trip, which, however short, still qualifies as a trip because it took over two hours to get here and I am spending more than one night away from home. Which greatly buoys my spirits, even though I am such a home body and like to be home. I usually want to be completely home or completely not home, not just...busy.

Gracie and I came to visit Lauren in Bonham for her birthday, trying to surprise her, which we generally did, except that she walked out of the house too soon and we had to be quicker on the draw with the silly string than originally intended. She also had a surprise for Gracie: a striped orange kitten who was paranoid to breathe and spent the afternoon yelping and crying in his new mother's arms. He is very cute and still nameless, but he needs a sibling.

Hence us, in the car, in downtown Bonham, searching for free kittens on the internet. We tried sitting in McDonalds but they had no Wifi. So after an iced mocha and a large shared order of fries and half an important conversation we left and went searching for Wifi...and kittens.

No luck yet.

A Wallfower on Mount Everest (Included: A Tribute to Guys)

Yesterday was a great day in the history of Cassie Walters. Yesterday I scaled my Mount Everest. Yesterday I found out that I can mingle with other human beings in a human being-ish manner…and survive. And be happy. This is a very good thing.

Yesterday was the lake party for college students at our church. And against all my hermitical inclinations, I went. I thought I might chicken out and go home after church because of a sudden onslaught of what I call the “social headache” a queer ailment I deal with whenever there are too many people around and I feel out of my league. I’ve left so many of these sort of gatherings so discouraged that I didn’t want to try any more.

But the good news is that God doesn’t desert His kids, and He changes them when they aren’t looking for it. I went to the lake party with my history of wallflowerism and left with confidence that even wallflowers sometimes sprout tendrils and reach for the sun. We played spoons and Frisbee and ate Mr. Hammond’s delicious brisket. I stayed out of the shell the whole time and managed to meet and talk to a number of people, and really appreciate them.

While on the subject of people, I have to give some sort of tribute to guys. Guys in general, God-following guys in particular. I don’t hang around very many guys very much of the time, but in a culture that attacks masculinity I guess somebody (in this case, me) needs to stand up and say that you guys are great.

You make much funnier jokes than most girls, you don’t tend to form clicks like girls do, and you can be really encouraging when you want to be. You have confidence that lends a certain amount of stability to the human race. I know girls complain all the time about how guys are clueless and don’t seem to remember a lot of things females deem vital to social existence…such as birthdays and anniversaries and what she was wearing the night they first went out…but that’s ok.

It’s nice if guys manage to get a handle on those things too, but basically I realize that most of you are too busy locating things without asking for directions, building contraptions that make our world run, and figuring out how to blaze a trail into the world where no other guy has actually gone before, whether spiritually, physically, or mentally. And I, as a girl, am personally ok with that. (My apologies to any girls who like to do all those things too, I’m just trying to make a point). Thanks guys, for being yourselves.

A lot of people were going around in the boat on the lake but I was satisfied with hanging around the deck on the porch swing and jumping off the roof into the water. The running leap…the sensation of flying and the plunge into the murky depths of Lake Cherokee...The moderate rush from jumping off the roof diminished the repulsive feeling of sludge at the bottom of the lake. I got more microbiotic friends out of the lake water than I ever wanted, but then, nothing can be too bad after swimming in the Dneipr river south of Chernobyl. All the locals say it’s no big deal. I haven’t grown an extra arm yet or anything.

The day was fine, and the breeze after a dip in the lake on a warm day…heavenly. I treaded water for maybe ten minutes maximum and then got out and just enjoyed the breeze and the porch swing. I felt so relaxed after treading water that I could have gone to sleep. I thought I should try treading water in public more often, seeing as it’s so therapeutic for the disturbed soul. I came up with an idea involving the church baptismal but decided it wasn’t one of my more brilliant ones.

By the end of the day I felt like the old me had melted and drained away like so many saccharine ice pops, and the sun had left me feeling either slightly delirious or maybe just relaxed to a normal human level. Dare I assume that I’m beginning to feel happy inside my own skin and at ease with this whole group of nice people?

Squinting at Life

I suppose I am a little lost when it comes to blogging. What is this blog about again? Oh yes, a close up look at life. Let’s just say I’m having to squint.

I smell coffee. Mom is making it, because she just got home from work and it’s a rainyish day. I spent a lot of the day schooling and reading to Ethan. He seems to have the same interest in geography that the rest of us kids got from Dad. I showed him the seven continents and tried to demonstrate the world on an apple, which, because this apple was even less spherical than normal apples, was tricky.

I never thought of myself as a coffee drinker, but now I want it whenever I can get it. But not ice cream. My whole family swarms to the freezer for ice cream about half an hour before bed time, but I don't feel interested. Is it a bad sign to not want ice cream?

Although I dreamed of Rocky Road Blue Bell for months before I came home, and after I got back, I watched a whole carton be devoured before my very eyes without eating a single bite. It’s not that they wouldn’t share. They offered. But I just didn’t feel like eating it. No thanks, I said. Just make it an aspirin with a side of sledgehammer.

Squinting…squinting…

I drank my coffee.

I took a walk.

I got a shower because I tend to think better when I don’t stink.

Now I give up. I’ll try to write another day.

Thoughts About Learning

Well, I have been trying unsuccessfully to post on my blog for a week or so now. Something always gets in the way. Last time it was the computer itself. But that is beside the point.

Connor and I had our first day of classes yesterday. He is taking three dual credit courses this semester and I'm just taking two regular courses. Part of me would like to be doing a lot more, but this is how it works this semester, and in the end, I'm happy with it. I get to supervise Ethan's schoolwork and plan Mattie's English and Spanish work for the year, and I love doing that. It might not count as college credit, but I enjoy the experience.

So, the classes. I went into this with a biased view of Kilgore College. Most of what I'd heard about the school was negative. That, coupled with my propensity for expecting the worse, set me up for a very pleasant surprise. The buildings were good, the people were really helpful, and the teachers actually acted like they wanted to help us succeed. I was stunned. First impressions may lie, but basing your impressions off the impressions of other people isn't the way to go either.

Of course I'd love to be at a four year university right now, but that's not what I'm doing. So I figured I may as well swallow my pride and appreciate what I get. There are a lot of things I'm going to like about Kilgore. I love to learn, and I've always tried, (maybe not always striven,) for excellence. I'm not going to Kilgore so that I can shirk. But, it did occur to me yesterday that perhaps a bonus to attending Kilgore instead of a more challenging school would be that I can relax and enjoy learning instead of continually scrambling to make top grades with a really high standard. Enjoying what I learn is more important to me than earning the highest grades, and I think it's the key to retaining information anyway.

Our history teacher emphasized that she believes in redemption, and as I understand it, giving us room to fall and pick ourselves back up again. As a person who wants to try hard anyway, I appreciate that. I have spent way too much time kicking myself over mistakes, and it helps not to have someone else kicking you too.

I've been reading a book on probiotics (almost the opposite of antibiotics, but not quite!) that I got from the library. I love it. I love learning about my guts. I love learning about other peoples' guts. And all the little bugs. I lovingly refer to them as my "internal garden" and have had a great interest in promoting the health of my microflora lately, mostly with yogurt. I found a recipe on line for making it (very inexpensively) in the crock pot. It's delicious. It's almost scary how important the balance of bacteria in our gut is to the health of our whole bodies.

Anyway, all that is just to say that I've been learning far more about biology from that book than I ever did from my high school science curriculum, and with 100% more enthusiasm! I was never interested in biology in school, but now I'm almost looking forward to the college class. Massage therapy is next on the list.

Well, at this point, my only issue with college, besides the fact that it costs both arms and both legs, is that I need to pick only one or two majors...because suddenly, the whole world looks like a new and fascinating place, full of so many things to learn.

New Starts and Memory Blanks

This week I've been pouring my time into the details of getting into college. Yes, it's a bit late to be "starting" on this. That shouldn't actually be in quotation marks. I literally started on Monday looking up information on Kilgore's website. I wasn't prepared at all. I met with several large roadblocks. But after seven hours on the computer, phone, etc., and some sweat (jogging to loosen my tense shoulders) and blood (cut my leg on the metal filing cabinet while locating SAT scores), I was able to make great progress and somehow the worst of the roadblocks melted away.

After I finally quit for supper, I got a particularly encouraging bit of news concerning funds and promptly burst into tears. I'll never understand girls. Hold out under all kind of pressure all day, and when something good happens, we start bawling.

There's a long way to go, but I feel amazed at how God is making my paths straight. I am not Miss On Top Of It, and I'm not Miss Self Sufficient, either. I didn't "do my homework." And compared to "everybody else," I'm behind. I'm not even planning to take a full load this semester, but I keep on thinking of the Tortoise and the Hare! God has provided just right for the amount of work I feel comfortable with during this transitional time. Right now I'm Miss Standing In Awe.

I've been driving Dad's truck (I expected it to have died in my absence). But it's still chuggin'. Driving comes back to me with surprising ease, but directions...not so much. I sometimes draw a complete blank when trying to picture roads connecting. I keep getting lost on the way to places I used to know how to get to. It's a strange feeling. As if I'm trying to remember a map in a dream world, except this world is my real world. Oops.

The Rains Came Down and the Floods Came Up

Well. The world continues to turn. And although I haven't continued to blog as frequently as I'd like, I continue to want to blog...

I've been back from Ukraine for two weeks today. Dwelling on the adjustments only confuses me, so I won't. But I like being back, and I'm excited for the future as I look into courses at Kilgore Community College and think about options for work.

Today Ethan and I started reading lessons. He already knows some, but with the topsy-turviness of Mom working, he hasn't practiced in a while. So we worked on sounds for a bit. He's so serious that his subtle humor takes me off guard. It creeps into his eyes under the long lashes when I'm in the middle of an explanation, and then I look up and find him cracking some joke. Which takes me off guard, because I'm being serious too. And then I remember that silliness is a greatly underestimated part of education. Not constant silliness, but a healthy sprinkling to loosen things up a bit.

He wanted to go and build things in the creek. After a year in the Crowe household, the lack of boy around here is absolutely alarming. What? Only one? You need two at least, preferably five...

I am a sad substitute for a boy, but only Ethan and I were home, so we went to the creek to build things.

Since I've been home it's done almost nothing but rain. When I left Ukraine it had been raining, and Dad told me to bring some with me, because they hadn't had rain in weeks. As soon as I arrived home, storm clouds began to gather and within two hours there was a shower. Then we went to Glen Rose, TX for the weekend, where they hadn't had good rain for a month. It rained two days. Incidentally, the evening we got home, it stormed violently at our house again. Dad said he should send me on a world tour :)

Well, yesterday and the night before we had five or six inches. Afterwards, it was so humid out that our windows fogged up. Naturally, the ground couldn't hold it, so our lowland lot became a wetland lot, with an island of sagging vegetable garden and an island of house. The creek, which normally runs at only a few inches, was flooding its ten foot banks for a few hours.

This left a nice scene to be explored this afternoon, and some pleasantly squirchy mud to be tested by feet. The water has gone back to almost normal.

(and here I wanted to insert a few pictures I took, but alas...)

One is of Ethan beside the water with the yellow sun on his tanned back mingled with shade, and the coffee-and-milk creek flowing by. Another is of the two of us, and he is making a face. And the last was of the miniature (3 inch high) hut I made out of reeds woven together. We were the proverbial (parablial???) man who "built his house apon the sand," and Ethan spent as much time repairing his house as he spent building it. He dug his out of the shifty bank. By the time we finished we had had three leaf boat races and a million mosquito bites.

In Which I Lose the Rest of my Dignity and Arrive Home Happy

Well, I'm back. No, I'm not threatening anybody :)

I can't believe only a week ago I was in the air probably over an ocean, wishing I could sleep but probably reading Flowers for Algernon instead. (I picked that book up at the airport...it was really interesting, but I would be very cautious in recommending it.)

I have to relate one last Ukraine incident. I suppose I was bound to close my time there in style...my style...

After hugging the sending off crew goodbye (Deb, some of the kids, and Simeon & Asia, who were going shopping with Deb) I got through checking in just fine and got my boarding pass, then sat down in the lounge area to wait, staring for a while at the wavy lines in the roof design and the blue ones of the walls with names of cities painted on.

I discovered that I was suddenly very hungry, so I went over to the little cafe type place across the room. I saw kefir there and, thinking "When am I going to get kefir again?" I decided to get one. In Rzhishchiv it would have only cost fifty cents or so, but this one was four "stinking" dollars and I was a little affronted to find that I had not only been grossly overcharged by also badly ripped off with a bad exchange rate. But I figured that breakfast is breakfast, and I would rather have a four dollar Kefir than a four dollar anything else. So I was a sucker and bought it.

I returned to my seat, as usual trying to act more graceful and composed than I really am, and as usual, not succeeding. I tried to pull off the tab that sealed my kefir, but instead of peeling back, it broke off. Result: sealed kefir, no tab. Unwilling to sacrifice four dollars to a kefir never to be drunk, I pried it open with my fingernails with some trouble. It opened with a sudden burst, spraying kefir onto my face and down my shirt! Dignity...composure...grace...

Well, I managed to clean it up and drink my kefir from the awkwardly designed bottle before boarding the plane. What better way to exit the country? I told myself.

I settled onto the plane, relished the lift off, and spent the next half hour nursing a surprise nosebleed that shattered the rest of my dignity. So I gave up on dignity and composure for the rest of the trip and had a great time, happily joking with the Gatwick checking people, who shocked me by being very nice to me, and laughing almost out loud at the ogreman who yelled at me and everyone else throught the line at JFK. Somebody was having a bad day, but it wasn't going to be me!

I arrived home after a long and sleepless journey, and delighted in the hugs and raptures of my family members. We spent a night in Dallas, then came home for a day or two, then went away again to Glen Rose, TX for a few days.

And now we are home, and I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff with blankness before me. All the nicely formulated plans I had back in Ukraine now seem to fade to mere ideas and wishes, and at least for the moment I feel the need to look down at the ground to steady myself, because looking out THERE is making me dizzy. We only get one day at a time anyway. God is good to keep me trusting Him.

More Later...

A Raw Sort of Love

This morning was my "last" church service with my folks here. I am leaving on Wednesday.

If I've learned anything about God this year, it's that He's a faithful provider. He gave me this family that I love and belong in. He'll make a home for me everywhere I go no matter who I am with.

All week I was sensing that something was going on behind my back, especially when Masha begged me not to go away on Thursday night, because I had planned to visit Nadia at a camp in nearby Baliko Shuchenka.

So I stayed home and Nadia came for supper and then we went over to my house for Thursday night prayer meeting. I already knew something was up, but I didn't know what. I came into the living room, which was rather fuller than usual, to be greeted by a lot of goofy looks, and balloons and something behind the semi-see through guest room door, which Masha was diligently guarding.

Then Cheryl asked me to go get my Bible, so I went to open my door, and Bam! The door flew open and out flooded a dozen or more people! I screamed and then started laughing and we had a hugging assembly line because they could only get out my narrow bedroom door in single file.

I was a little shocked to see most of the church there (about 30 people,) because, having rather limited ideas about parties, I had imagined a small quiet get together. And then this. I was so blessed and I felt blanketed in love. I just have these awesome sneaky friends! I tend to be uncomfortable in groups, but this was a very good kind of uncomfortable, a raw sort of love, one that we could all share. The Body of Christ is precious and I feel so privileged to be a part of it. I love it that even when I wasn't a very sociable person, people loved me into the family anyway.

The only thing that saved me from crying was the fact that I was laughing almost the whole time. They said a lot of really nice things, and there were poems and a song, and we prayed, and they Cheryl and Deb served up banana splits. Ruth said they were talking like it was my funeral, but I didn't mind. Yeah, what's with all the past tense, anyway??

So I am very happy, and very at peace. It's like what Simeon said in his message this morning at church, that we are like sheep, and sheep need the shepherd to take care of certain things for them so that they can relax, like protecting them, finding food for them, making space for them, etc. They get really nervous and freaked out about just about anything. But they know the shepherd so well that just his presence on the scene is enough to calm them.

And I guess that's what I felt this morning as I sat in the upstairs of the Gollan's house with these friends, listening to Simeon talk about the Good Shepherd. God's comforting hand soothing me, completely resting me.

My Weird Dream

Last night I had a very weird and detailed dream.

In it, Masha and I woke up very early and we drove Gaven’s mo-ped to the bus station. I discovered that it is nearly impossible to be ladylike while riding a moped in a skirt. When we got there, we met Gaven and took a bus to Bila Tserkva, where Masha used to live. We went shopping and I found souvenirs for my family and Gaven picked out shoes for Masha that she liked and she bought them. (Weird or what?)

The next thing that happened was that we were in a pizzeria and ate you guessed it, pizza…and then the lights turned off in the toilet while I was there and I was left in the dark.

After that we went to a park where Masha and Gaven went on a spinning-round-and-round-kind-of-ride, but I didn’t do it because just watching it made me feel sick. So instead I took pictures of them, and of the colorful zinnias along the fence. They got off and my nose started to bleed, so I had to sit on a bench with my head cocked back, waiting for it to stop and trying to clean up with Kleenex and water.

I said that it was like a weird dream, and they said that maybe it really was.

When the “leak” as Gaven put it, had stopped, we rode a decrepit ferris wheel that was slow enough that I didn’t get sick but had plenty of time to think about the distance between me and the ground. I was scared silly but it was a nice view.

After that park we went for a walk in a foresty park and saw pelicans and lions and statues we didn’t want to look at, and I ate a hazelnut snickers. Masha hit Gaven a lot with a bottle and I laughed a lot. We were so hot and tired and happy that we dozed on the way home in the marshrutka. And that was that.

Actually, it wasn’t a dream at all. It was all real…except that the lions and pelicans were not real, they were statues. And it was a very nice day.

St. Sophia's

Here are actual pictures of St. Sophia's cathedral. I didn't take very good ones because I was so embarressed at being caught "touristing."

This picture was taken from the other side, right above the entrance.

This Road DOES Lead to Kiev...I Think...

I am so enjoying the Texas team being here. We have the three girls/ladies staying with us. The team is here for a business seminar and has also been getting acquainted with the area, so I've joined them on a few sightseeing ventures. It's perfect timing, considering I hadn't so much as visited the tomato farm in my year here, and it's only a 15 minute drive from here.

Yesterday we went to Kiev. Although the original plan was to ride in by Marshrutka, we ended up having to take the rental van with the heroic Mr. Art Bradshaw as our driver. And guess who navigated? Tanya (from here) and I did the directing, which sort of went like this...

"Well, I think you turn up here. To the left. No wait, right! It's just past that thing...next to that other thing...across the street from that blue thing...How much farther? I don't actually know. Maybe 10 or 15 minutes. Or maybe more. I don't really know, sorry. The speed limit? Umm, well I know you can go at least 60 Ks. Well I think 80 would be ok. You could try 100. Well this looks right. I know I've seen those kind of trees before..."

It didn't help that the roads were abnormally thick with policemen, one every 100 yards or so along some stretches of road. But in the end we made it victoriously to the Fershette parking lot, where we changed to the metro and began a new adventure.

I don't think our driver had much faith in my navigational abilities, but then, what could I say? At least we didn't end up in Kaniv. I really thought we should make a trip there, seeing as it's such a special place and all...

I had a blast on the car ride. It was delightful to be with a vanload of people and laugh at all the jokes, gleefully discovering that I could understand them. The world is funnier with it speaks your language. I guess I've grown accustomed to being in groups where everyone is laughing their heads off about something I only half understand, and I didn't realize what a treat it would be to be with these folks! On the rare occasions that I actually catch what Ukrainians are saying in Ukrainian, I get a glimpse into their humor, but the rest of the time I am...lost. And as Elizabeth Bennet says, I dearly love to laugh!

But I haven't even got to Kiev yet. Nadia and her dad met us in Kiev to give us a tour of the city. We saw St. Sophia's cathedral, which was built in the 11th century I think, and was inspired by the Hagia Sofia in Constantinople, now Istanbul. The inside is covered in detailed mosaics and ancient paintings of apostles and Jesus and royal people. I could have stared at some of them all day. I feel like it's such an unbelievable privilege to be all the way across the world seeing something so old and historic and beautiful. History seems much more appealing than it ever did in school!

We also visited a monastery called Pecherska Lavra, and were twenty minutes too late to go into the caves that lie under the extensive monastery grounds in the middle of Kiev. Monks built the caves so that they could do their monkish living-in-poverty-thing, and later the impressive buildings up top were constructed. Quite a contrast between caves and the domed and guilded monastery! I would have loved to see down there, although I'm told it's dark and narrow and there are a lot of people kissing mummied remains of deceased monks...which is really sad, because they really do that, thinking it will add fervency to their prayers.

Here are Tanya and I on a street on the monastery grounds.

And this is part of the monastery...as I was saying, they must have given up the whole poverty idea...

This is the gate of St. Sophia's.

And lastly, a "We Love Ukraine" sign...

Team Coming!

The last couple of days we have been getting ready for the team coming from Longview and Kilgore to have a "Sister Cities" seminar with business people here in Rzhishchiv. Exciting! It will be fun having six visitors. The three ladies will stay with Masha and I. It's so nice that we have a house so close by with plenty of extra room. God gave us such a good place...for free.

Yesterday I stayed home from the Crowes and scrubbed and vacuumed and did dishes and spent a lot of time packing my stuff. Even though I still have a week or so here, I wanted to pack the things I don't need so that there would be room for our guests. Plus, I will be a lot more relaxed knowing that I don't need to pack in those few days remaining after the team leaves. I can just enjoy time with my "family."

This is so weird, guys! I'm leaving and starting a new life. And it's like Masha said, "But I just got used to you!" It's both sad and exciting at the same time. I think I will just with the flow. I was listening to a sermon today on Luke, I think chapter 12, a passage that warns us to be ready when Jesus comes and not to cling to things. I'm glad that everything that really matters will be restored to us one day when Jesus comes. Until then we live as if waiting for a "heavenly city, one that is to come."

This afternoon it has been raining deliciously. I love rain, and it doesn't seem to rain in Rzhishchiv very much. There was distant thunder, but the rain was soft and gray, and between dishes and housework I snatched a moment to curl up on the Crowes' wide windowsill. I sat there, feeling the breeze in the window and just drinking in the smell of the rain and dust meeting, and hearing the gentle pattering, and watching the drops form pools and rivulets in the leaves of the grape vines beside the house. Mmm. My very soul was refreshed :)

God is such a good father, such a good friend. It's been so long since I really felt "in love" with Him, and I miss that. We have been on good terms, and I know I am growing in Him, but I miss those foolish, happy feelings of "wasting" time in His presence and liking it. But for a few brief moments, in the windowsill, my heart remembered what only my head could recall before, and I could feel Him as a blind person feels the face of an old friend and finds familar, beloved lines.

I want more of this.

Our visitors will be here any minute now, so I will go...

Blood but (thankfully) No Guts

We did it!

Bruce and Deb just got back from their trip and I'm happy to report that we at home all survived, and what's more, have full use of our faculties to tell about. I would venture to say that we are all happy, even. Who needs extreme sports? I'm into Extreme Babysitting.

Today there was more blood and gore than usual. It started when Noah came wailing into the house with blood smeared over his bare tummy and mouth and dripping from his fingers. Naturally I was a little alarmed, but instinctively felt that it wasn't as bad as it looked. All that blood came from two small cuts on his fingers where he had picked up a piece of glass outside. Definitely sad for him, but no severed arteries! I cleaned him up and gave him candy to try and quell the anguished cries. We didn't have any small bandaids, so I tried bandaging the little injured fingers with paper towels and tape. Poor little guy. It worked ok for a while, but he got upset eventually and ended up having an early nap. Which was not the end of the world.

Twice during the day I had a thorn in the flesh interrupting my housecleaning when my nose started streaming blood. Nosebleeds are very rare for me, so I felt a little freaked out laying flat on my back with toilet paper stuffed in my nose and blood draining down my throat. While making supper I stuck wadded kleenex up my nose to prevent further deluges, which was entertaining for the kids at least. "What is that thing in your nose, Cass?" I couldn't keep a straight face when they looked at me.

In the afternoon we had a casualty of war when Tucker got beaned in the nose/forehead with a grenade, er, metal spray can during a battle outside. It was a large one, and it left a nice bruise and some scratches on poor Tuck's head. I gave him a plastic baggy of ice to put on it, and I think he recovered pretty quickly, because next time I saw him he was contorting his mouth around the corner of the bag trying to slurp ice water out of the tiny hole he had made.

Those were the sum of our crises for the day. I am tired but marvelling at the energy God supplied this week. I really enjoyed the kids. We had our moments of course, but hopefully we made some memories to treasure before I leave in two weeks' time. I can't believe these little sprouts will all grow up into men and women (woman, I should say). That will be something to see.

I Want Some Too

This morning around breakfast time:

Clark: *Babbling* "I didn't make any sense."

Me: "No, you didn't."

Clark: "Well, if some people make some sense, they can give it to me."

Now we're talkin'!

The Crowes' Nest

Yesterday Bruce and Deb left for London/then Ireland and the kids and I are here for the week. "A whole week with no PARENTS!!!" Bronwyn chortled gleefully, to which I said, "Sounds like a Disney movie," and Deb replied, "Scary!"

Nothing Disney about this actually. Chores, chores, chores. Scrub the floors with toothbrushes! I want those tiles clean enough to eat from! (Not that they don't already...)

No nothing like that, either. They have just enough chores to keep them out of trouble, and just enough free time to have some fun. We will make ant farms with all the ants scurrying about the house (as Rodge said, "We already live in an ant farm.") And we'll make homeade ice cream (or try again anyway.) Tomorrow night will be pizza-movie-night.

The kids like to sleep in the basement, since there is no air con. in the house and it's much cooler there, so this morning, because it was completely dark, the five older ones didn't get up till 8:30 or so. Even Noah, who was upstairs like I was, slept till 8. Surprise! I wonder if luck will hold out for another 12 hour night...

I love these kids and I'm so glad to be with them. (Ask me about this again next Tuesday) Parties are fun, beaches are good, conferences are nice now and then, and camps and classrooms are great too, but what I love best (closely seconded by car and plane trips) is a happy home. The family unit is a most fascinating creation.

Here's what the little birdies have been up to:

Noah is still potty training, so basically he spends his waking hours in a rather messy cycle of drinking and peeing, sometimes on the toilet and sometimes not. He does a good job of alerting us when he needs to go, but unfortunately he has some tummy trouble at the moment, so there have been as many as five or six underwear changes in an hour...

The lifesaver for me is that Broderic and Bronwyn are getting paid (by their ingenius parents) for every time they take Noah potty, which cuts my job in half, and has them jumping at every chance and practically begging Noah to go.

Clark has reconciled himself to having me in the house. A few days ago he told me, in some little mood that took him, "I don't want you in this house, Cass!" He got in trouble with his dad, and since then he has been really angelic. Every few hours he reminds me of his repentance and his changed life. "I really like you in this house, Cass. I do." And more often, "I very love you, Cass, I very love you."

Tucker only has six more lessons left in "Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons," which I've been going through with him. He's getting so fast and so good, and he claims he wants to finish before his parents get home. I reminded him that this will take extra work, and his eyes got big and he nodded his eagerly and assured me that he still wanted to do it.

Last night Brent came in with an interesting contraption, composed of wood pieces nailed together and a stick with about ten rubber bands wrapped around it. It's an airplane, and he's trying to get it to wind up and fly over the house. Someday that kid will invent something great.

Bronny has been a right-hand helper. She keeps the other kids in line :)

Rodge and I are reading "The Giver" by Lois Lowry in the afternoons. I read it for the first time a month or so ago after finding it in the Crowes' book shelf. I loved it and I think he is enjoying it too.

I wanted to write something more "inspired," but Noah is doing interesting things in his pants about every ten minutes, so things aren't exactly flowing. I mean, for him they are, but...

Get Off the Drug

I have concluded that chic flicks should be outlawed. They are detrimental to the mental and emotional health of females, (as well as physcial, as they provoke irrational consumption of chocolate.)

A chic flick is a narcotic that gives a high for approximately 1-2 hours and then drops the user with a sickening thud into reality where real guys don't kiss girls the first time they meet them and romance take months and years, not minutes and hours, to develop. Those most susceptible to this drug are females between the tender ages of 12-24. Its effects include abundant sighing, an apathetic attitude towards life, antagonism and resentment towards well-meaning males, bouts of moaning and weeping, and a curious attraction to chocolate.

I've decided to get off this drug. I will stick to fairytales. In fairytales, damsels cheerfully clean houses for incorrigble dwarves. They wait, shut up in high towers for undetermined amounts of time. They sometimes fall into a coma for years on end. There is a lot of encouragement in that. There must, after all, be some hope for the rest of us.

Also, fairytale princes are chivalrous, and they never expect vulnerable maidens to compromise their honor. Nay, good folk, they are sworn to protect a lady's honor at all costs. Not so in Hollywood.

I will go home and find my Jane Austen and The Princess and the Pea. Not to mention the Bible, that great True tale of chivalry, justice, and undying passion from which all beautiful fiction is derived.

In Memoriam

This is a poem to honor Masha's and Gaven's chickens, lately slain on the Ulyaniki farm in a brutal and senseless manner by a wild animal. For the sake of the poem, a few facts have been exaggerated :)

The Great Ulyaniki Chicken Massacre

The ghostly moon shone wicked white
The grass flashed silver in the light
A foreboding calm hung in the night,
As the fox crept nigh to the henhouse.

Unsuspecting, the roosters did peacefully sleep
The hens, they uttered nary a peep
As the wily fox through the grasses did creep
Toward the slumbering fowl in the henhouse.

In the silent night, the silence broke!
The fowl in a frenzy of fear awoke
The eggs, they scrambled, white and yolk
With fright that night in Ulyaniki.

The fox attacked and severed their heads*
Feathers flew and blood ran red;
A score of chickens soon lay dead
By the light of the moon in Ulyaniki.

The fox seized his prize and away he shot,
Leaving the headless chickens to rot
And has not since been seen or caught,
The phantom fox of Ulyaniki

This gruesome tale I do relate
To remember the truly terrible fate
Of those innocent fowl, the good and the great—
The fallen on the fields of Ulyaniki.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To Masha and Gaven, my heartfelt condolences.

*Whatever the creature was really did bite their heads off, leaving most of the chickens in the henhouse. Weird or what?

The Flower Girl Ruined My Wedding

This morning was one of those mornings when I wrapped myself in my fuzzy blue blanket and huddled in bed fervently praying between snooze alarms for the will power to rise from my bed. Sinus trouble lately.

Anyway, I did get up, as I always inevitably do, and I put on some normal sort of clothes and decided to brighten up a little by wearing my favorite earrings-- the dangly silver ones my 6-year-old friend Eric gave me for my eighteenth birthday. I hastily put them on and left.

Deb's sis is visiting here this week, and they seem to be having a blast together. Today they went to Kiev to spend the night and have some girl time, so I came to watch the kids today, because Bruce was in Kiev for the day. So I greeted them, said bye to them, and had continued on my merry way for an hour or two before I looked in the mirror and saw, to my acute embarressment, that I had two different earrings in my ears!

I've only done this one other time that I remember (and it was worse, because I went out to breakfast with my friend Chelsea, who notices those things, and we were in public). Of course, I may have done it countless other times and not ever realized it. If you ever see me with two different earring in my ears, please graciously let me know.

This incident pretty much describes my life at the moment. Actually, lots of exciting things are happening right now, and I'm glad. But I tend to hover more or less in a state of dazedness. I think I'm tired.

Masha and I had several girls over at different times during the past week for supper, or tea, or to spend the night, or both or two at once or all three. I got a lot of Russian practice, and found that I was even wanting to try speaking Ukrainian one night when I felt particularly relaxed. Russian seems harsh to me, but I love Urkainian. It's much more musical, and although the alphabet is almost the same as in Russian, the few changes soften it and keep it from looking so intimidating. I feel like it's a little too late now to be learning Ukrainian.

What else has been keeping me so busy? How could I have forgotten! I almost got married on Wednesday night! Sorry, it was all so sudden I didn't have a chance to send out announcements or anything. In fact, I was planning to mail the bouquet to my mom, but I regret to report that the flower girl ate it. Unfortunately I don't have the photos, either, because they are still on Masha's camera.

It happened like this. Two friends (both named Anya) were spending the night at our place, and Masha was digging through boxes finding dress up stuff she has for skits for English Camp. She produced a wedding veil and a black top hat from a box. She got all excited.

"You have to try these on!" she told Anya and I (the "new" Anya, as I call her, because I met her only a few weeks ago.) We tried the things on and took pictures, and pretended to serenade each other with Masha's guitar, and she took picutures of that. And then my brilliant Masha had an epiphany and got a white summer dress out of her cupboard for me (since I was in the veil at the time) and a black dress coat and pants for Anya. We made a stunning bride and "broom," as Masha likes to say.

And then we recruited, or I should say Masha recruited Nasok to be the flower girl. We thought it would be droll to have him holding the flower in his mouth. But mostly the other Anya, who came in in the middle of our game when I was standing there in my wedding dress and navy blue house shoes, just got shots of Masha trying to shove the rose stem into Nasok's mouth while Anya and I struck wedding photo-ish poses. Finally Nasok chewed the rose off its stem, so we decided to call the wedding off after all. It wasn't really working out :)

Midnight Snack at 9

Life is fun. Here are a few reasons why.

This is the alphabet according to Tucker:

a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y n z

His perfectly logical question: "Why are there two "n's" in the alphabet? Haven't you always wondered the same thing? And why God's name is "Harold" and what in the world a "one horse soap-n-sleigh" is?

Today I got a much needed sleep in. I keep planning to a) go to bed earlier and b) wake up later but life doesn't work that way, most of the time. Which is fine. If you want to live a fuller life, just pretend you're leaving the country in less than two months...or better yet, do it...you're a lot more likely to take the crazy opportunities that present themselves.

A few nights ago I almost made it. I had been writing and just having a sort of pleasant, boring kind of evening, and I looked up, saw that it was 9 pm, and decided, "Tonight's the night. I'm going to bed early. I'm getting some sleep." Then Masha walked in. Since she's recovering from her operation she keeps weirder hours than usual and sleeps for most of the hours other people are awake. Naturally she wants to be awake during the hours other people want to be asleep, and she wants other people to be awake at those times too. Other people means me.

She also wanted pancakes. She has been pining for pancakes for days, ever since that jar of apple jam made its home on our kitchen table. So she whipped up a batch of kefir pancakes with her amazing whipping up skils and I got my little collection of saggy candles, and we put a nice, mellow cd in the stereo, and had what she called a "midnight snack." "Midnight for some people," she added.

I was very glad. I didn't want to sleep that much after all. At 10, Cheryl dropped in. She ate the three tiny remaining pancakes (Masha and I had no trouble doing away with the rest) and visited with us.

Well, for now, I'll once more attemp going home and going to sleep. May your days be full of tea-time conversations and your nights with candlelight pancakes...

Having Tea

Ok, this is for Masha, because she's had a leg operation and I think she needs cheering up. Not that she's not a strong woman and all that, but strong women still need cheering up ;) Be cheered, Mash.

I'm glad Masha is back. (She was gone for her operation and stayed at the Gollans for a few days.) Human beings are very weird creatures and when you are living by yourself you forget how weird other human beings are and begin to think you are the only one who is weird, which can drive a person to a New and Dangerous Level of Weirdness.

You begin to talk to yourself in the mirror to make sure your self is still ok. Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't. You start to analyze normal actions like cooking dinner until they appear trivial and ridiculous (going to all that trouble to make food for yourself that you are going to eat by yourself? Come on, have some cookies.) Something inside you wants to have a cup of tea, but what's the point of having tea when no one else is around?

I'm learning this about tea. The point is not tea. The point is people and conversation and friendship. The same goes for coffee. Americans have these drinks so that they can get energy to keep working. Ukrainians have them so that they can relax and enjoy each other. Which I think is absolutely brilliant.

When I came home on Thursday afternoon, a girl named Anya was at our house, having tea with Masha. I had been cleaning and I was stinky and dirty, so I went to change and then came back and Anya asked if she could make me a cup of tea. Masha was tired from her operation and went to lay down. So Anya grabbed some mugs and made tea for the two of us. She handed me my tea and then sat down with Masha's giant red mug.

"I took the biggest mug so that I could talk with you longer," she said.

I like that.

So the next day, when Masha was using her laptop in the schoolroom at the Crowes, I asked if she wanted a coffee. Deb and I have coffee while we're cleaning the kitchen, sort of snatching a gulp here and there...usually there are several mugs of luke warm coffee mixed in with all the other counter-clutter.

"Do you want a coffee?" I asked.

She was sitting with her leg (which was stitched up like a grotesque rag doll) propped on a stool and her computer in her lap, and she gave me a look that was close to her "sassy" look but not quite there. It was more of a "testy" look.

"Well, if you will have it with me," she said.

*Mental Culture Shift*

"Well, yeah, I will!"

And we did. And I liked it.

So now she is home and we can have tea more often. And we can go to other people's houses and have tea, like Saturday night when we went to Jono's for supper (and coffee later) and sang Ukrainian/Russian karaoke. And other people can come to our house and have tea, like Sunday afternoon when Cheryl came over and spent the evening curled up on our couch and then it rained deliciously and was cold out.

So that's one of the reasons I am glad Masha's home and glad that I am in Ukraine. As long as we have "tea" I won't be in too much danger rattling around the house like a babushka and possibly losing all my marbles.

A Nice Song

"At the foot of the cross
Where grace and mercy meet
You have shown me your love
By the judgement you received

And you've won my heart
Yes, you've won my heart
Now I can
Trade these ashes in for beauty
And wear forgiveness like a crown
Coming to kiss the feet of mercy
I lay every burden down
At the foot of the cross

At the foot of the cross
Where I am made complete
You have given me life
Through the death you bore for me

And you've won my heart..."

At the Foot of the Cross (Kathryn Scott)

That song has been on my mind a lot lately and I really love it. I commented to Deb this morning that it's weird how I can be struggling with so many things and at the same time be so happy with life. When you have hope in Jesus for eternity and you know He's going to redeem all things, you don't have to be afraid or worried about the painful or scary stuff. Of course I'm still learning this...but I know it's true.

When I wake up groggily in the morning I remember that the Spirit that raised Christ Jesus from the dead probably won't have a problem raising me from bed in the morning. And sure enough, I sit up, rub my eyes, slip on my shuffly houseshoes, and there I am, up for another day.

Speaking of another new day...there will be one soon and I promised myself I'd go to bed earlier and get some sleep tonight, so since I don't know where this blog post was going anyway...I'll end.