Joy is a subtle elf

God is in it

2011-11-04T00:20:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, this is the most incomprehensible concept in the world for me to grasp and fully believe. God is somehow in this whole thing - in creation, in relationships, in the inner workings of human hearts, wrought with good and evil, in the births of living creatures, even in deaths, in wars, in awful atrocities. Not that God necessarily orchestrates evil along with the good, but that He is somehow intertwined with His creation. He feels the utter depth of our sorrow and experiences our pain alongside us. Likewise, He delights with us and is furthermore in a constant state of absolute joy.

The joy of God fascinates me. In Madeleine L'Engle's A Swiftly Tilting Planet, the Murry family is adopted by a dog, which was sent to them from the ancient past via tesseract. They name the dog Ananda, which means, "that joy in existence without which the Universe will fall apart and collapse" (L'Engle). Not only is God in all this somehow, experiencing, hurting, orchestrating, redeeming, and loving, but His joy holds the entire Universe together.

And now turn in your hymnals with me to hymn No. 7, Ode to Joy. All together now.....

NaBloPoMo is upon us

2011-11-03T00:06:00.001-07:00

Poor sad blog. Mmmaybe I'll attempt it again. Maybe baby.

The True Voice

2011-04-07T23:16:00.000-07:00

I am your God. I have molded you with my own hands, and I love what I have made. I love you with a love that has no limits, because I love you as I am loved. Do not run away from me. Come back to me-not once, not twice, but always again. You are my child. How can you ever doubt that I will embrace you again, hold you against my breast, kiss you and let my hands run through your hair? I am your God- the God of mercy and compassion, the God of pardon and love, the God of tenderness and care. Please do not say that I have given up on you, that I cannot stand you any more, that there is no way back. It is not true. I so much want you to be with me. I know all your words. I see all your actions. And I love you because you are beautiful, made in my own image, an expression of my most intimate love. Do not judge yourself. Do not reject yourself. Let my love touch the deepest, most hidden corners of your own heart and reveal to you your own beauty, a beauty that you have lost sight of, but will become visible to you again in the light of my mercy. Come, come, let me wipe your tears, and let my mouth come close to your ear and say to you, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Nouwen, Show Me the Way

Oh the blogs we weave when time we neglect to retrieve

2011-03-06T23:56:00.000-08:00

I have countless blogs stored up in the labyrinth that is my mind (and I don't mean that the way David Bowie means it). However, only a few ideas/thoughts are accessible to me currently-the others are hidden amongst my mental chasms and caves. I'm not really in the mood for metaphorical spelunking right now, so those will have to wait for another day.

Here goes the rambling.

In every new season of life, I have always been provided with a new Kindred Spirit. In my most recent season, that of Seattle, God instantly provided me with a new friend. Almost as soon as my request for a friend escaped my lips, there she was-Jessika (www.just-jessika.blogspot.com). In a very distinct way, she inclines my heart toward the beautiful, just by existing as herself. I always seem to walk away from time with her with that longing heart pang, of which Lewis speaks, for Heaven. She loves beautiful things, has a deep faith in God, takes healthy risks in her life, pursues her dreams, and loves on people. I like her a lot and I am thankful for her essence, which draws out a distinct part of my own essence in a unique sort of way.

There is a strange house that I pass on one of my bus routes to and from work. I remember the first time I saw it. It is along Lake Union, in a row of beautiful houses, with very green and plant-filled front yards. It is a typical 1900s historic house with a front yard. However, in place of a grassy front lawn, there is simply concrete. A concrete front lawn. No green. No flowers. I instantly thought of the N.I.C.E. from CS Lewis's That Hideous Strength. I bet Filostrato would have lived in that house and poured concrete over the lawn, ex-ing out as much organic life around him as possible. I wonder what kind of person actually lives there.

I have decided to pursue my masters in music therapy. I'm going to do it unless the hand of God stops me. However, I think it is His finger that has been nudging my heart in this direction.

I miss my Swingrovers, my Brianna, my Starbucks, my La Mirada, my Grace E.V. Free church, and my friends outside of Seattle so, so very much.

That is all for now. Lovies.

"Blessed be the true life that the pauses between its throbs are not death" -G.Mac

2011-02-25T00:30:00.000-08:00

I wish the pauses between my "life throbs" were not so deathly. Furthermore, I wish my life would not throb so sporadically. Furthermore, I wish my life's heart rate would speed up a bit.

And yet, in response, I recall these words spoken by MacDonald's Mr. Raven: "A man is as free as he chooses to make himself, never an atom freer."

ouchy.

2011-01-29T23:08:00.000-08:00

This happened today...

Thanks ridiculously heavy, swiftly closing, starbucks bathroom door, for slicing my fingers and bruising (and/or something worse) my fingers and their respective bones.

To lose one's voice...

2011-01-21T23:31:00.000-08:00

is truly awful in either sense. Though I have had plenty of experiences with losing my voice figuratively, I had forgotten how powerless and frustrating it is to lose my voice literally as well.

For the past week, my body has been racked with illness. Racked, I say, because my body has felt entirely taken over by the "dark thing," that is, evil in molecular form, that is, pathogens. I have undergone the complete spectrum at this point: basic head cold, to flu-like all consuming achy-ness, to chest cold, to bronchitis, to sinusitis. I guess it can only get better from here, right? Oh please, Lord. May it get better.

Anyway, my vocal chords have been physically unable to phonate at all for the past 24 hours. There have been multiple occasions today in which I was extremely tempted to burst into tears or throw a mute temper tantrum. It is infuriating! It feels as if a part of my identity is gone. I cannot express myself. I cannot even begin to think about singing. I cannot communicate, and therefore truly commune with people.

At the restaurant today, I probably came off as a cold-hearted, disengaged bitch of a host since I had to avoid all communication with guests. And for those guests that insisted on talking to me, all I could do in return was smile, nod, and point to my throat. Ugh.

And so, after canceling a coffee date with a friend, getting work off at the store, and feeling entirely estranged from the world, I comforted my heart by reading A Wrinkle in Time...again. Comfort did ensue, as I was reminded of the simple reality of the fight between Good and Evil (the "Dark Thing"). I feel a bit like Meg after she tessered out of Camazotz and was racked with the lingering effects of the Dark Thing. Jealous as I currently am for an Aunt Beast to nurse me back to health, I was surprisingly encouraged and refreshed by the reminder of said fight and the fact that there is always hope. There is hope for this world, racked with darkness. There is hope for my heart racked with darkness. And, thank God, there is hope for my poor body racked with darkness.

Praise God for the light that "shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (John 1:5).

"My heart leaps up when i behold"

2011-01-12T00:55:00.000-08:00

I am a storehouse of interesting things to blog about currently. If I am not careful, they will all spew out in this blog post. Here's to being careful...

Today was quite the eventful one. One of those with a vast array of contrasting events, emotions, people, and extraordinary experiences.

Brianna-my pseudo-sister, other-half, and a little piece of home-was with me in Seattle.

Brianna and I went to a place neither of us have been to: Discovery Park. Our excursion was thoroughly enjoyable. There's a lighthouse too!

As we were walking back to the parking lot, unknowingly enjoying ourselves by making various rhythms with our stomping, we approached a very broken-into car. As I proceeded to freak out, we discovered that ALL of Brianna's luggage and both of our purses were stolen out of the trunk of the car. Literally hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of Bri's stuff was stolen. We filed a police report, during which we learned that there were two other reports within the past few hours of cars broken into. Oh good. We eventually got Bri to the airport, thanks to a nice friend in Seattle, who drove us and loaned Bri some money to change her flight. As BriBri is talented at haggling, she talked her way onto her plane without any form of ID and is now safely home.

After that drama, I decided to de-stress at a coffee shop and start on David Copperfield (since my MacDonald treasury is in my stolen purse!!) During my time sipping coffee and reading/talking with random people, it began to snow! Fremont magically transformed into a winter wonderland within hours.

So naturally, I took a midnight walk around my neighborhood. Oh the loveliness! How peaceful and silent everything is. And the crunch beneath your feet. And flakes on your eyelashes. And whirling white everywhere. My walk was delightful.

As you can see, the horror and violation of being stolen from, was drastically contrasted with the magic and delight of snowfall. From shock to enchantment in a matter of hours.

Perhaps everyone needs one experience of being stolen from to remember how fleeting life and it's material possessions are. Things* rot and are destroyed. Beauty, however...

*I suppose that is easy for me to say, since my stolen things were nothing compared to Brianna's.

What the world needs NOW.

2010-12-10T09:50:00.001-08:00

I wish everyone in the world could be loved the way everyone deserves to be loved.

I have been noticing the way in which I (along with everyone else) tend to overcomplicate my life and life goals, when all of it really comes down to love; loving the angry business man I walk past, loving the old lady I sit next to on the bus, loving my co-workers, loving my landlady; loving people for their intrinsic value, but also because they need it. I need it.

Why is it that the one thing everyone truly wants, is the one thing we flee from? We all want to be loved fully, but are afraid to be loved fully.

Lets just all love everyone to the brim and find ourselves loved to the brim in the process, ok?

Ready....go!

Oh, and, yeah....decblopomo fail.

"Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth"

2010-12-03T23:53:00.000-08:00

Picasso, be mine? Thanks.

Can you guess what this is?

2010-12-02T23:49:00.001-08:00

I came home to find this in my house and was stunned by the intricate beauty all-naturally carved through this filthy mire.

Perhaps this is a portrait of life. In my bathtub.

Shameless

2010-12-01T23:47:00.000-08:00

is the way that I am blatantly back-dating this blog post so that I will have started Decblopomo punctually.

Here's to another round.

Ohhh

2010-11-23T23:02:00.000-08:00

So that's how you back date. It's in the computer!

whoops

2010-11-22T22:42:00.000-08:00

whelp, I'm out of the game. It was fun while it lasted.

However, I am home. It is warm and sunny and dry and blue skies and my very own family and baby nephew and friends and no responsibilities and love and acceptance and music and my old starbucks and reading nice book and pumpkin cookies and roots.

HOME

2010-11-19T22:46:00.000-08:00

is where I am going in just a few hours.

Togetherness

2010-11-18T23:55:00.000-08:00

"We are human because we belong. We are made for community, for togetherness, for family, to exist in a delicate network of interdependence...We are sisters and brothers of one another whether we like it nor not, and each of us is a precious individual."

~Desmond Tutu

Wingelburt Humptywack, Slap Von Walla, Jerry Dorsey, Engelbert Humperdink

2010-11-17T23:02:00.000-08:00

I proudly sat in the audience at UW tonight, watching my Cristieloo steal the opera as Hansel in Hansel and Gretel. If you have not heard and/or seen this opera, do so. At least listen to this thing.

More Life!

2010-11-16T22:45:00.000-08:00

When we say we are tired of life, it is death of which we are actually tired.

"Life is so exhausting right now. I need a break."

No, death is exhausting you. You need more life.

"Life is weighing me down!"

No, death is weighing you down.

Those who numb themselves from "life", revert to any form of escapism from "life", or eventually seek death to escape from "life," are escaping to the very thing they are attempting to escape from, which is death.

"Discontent...is the life in us that has not enough of itself, is not enough to itself, so calls for more. He has the victory who, in the midst of pain and weakness, cries out, not for death, not for the repose of forgetfulness, but for strength to fight; for more power, more consciousness of being, more God in him" (MacDonald, Unspoken Sermons, 117).

And in refusing the so-called "repose of forgetfulness," but choosing to fight for life's sake, only then will you and I receive the most fulfilling rest--that of abundant life.

"Home is when I'm alone with you"

2010-11-15T23:23:00.000-08:00

When I come to my computer at the end of the day, aspiring to write a nablopomo post, I have a specific process I follow. In determining my topic, I think of the most lovely or significant thought, feeling, or moment on the top of my head or heart that is worthy of sharing in a setting such as blogger.com.

As I sit in front of my computer and scoop up the top layer of my heart, as I would from an excessively foamy late, this is the sentiment I find...

In 4 days, I go home. HOME.

That is all.

My "Aristotle" Poem

2010-11-14T00:28:00.001-08:00

L-is for the way you look at me
Ambiturner
Unflappable, and I don't mean it the way fowl mean it
Ride's the tide (bum, bum, bum)
Ask-kicking

Lessons From Trees

2010-11-13T23:07:00.000-08:00

"Because a sycamore's primitive bark is not elastic but frangible, it sheds continuously as it grows; seen from a distance, a sycamore seems to grow in pallor and vulnerability as it grows in height; the bare uppermost branches are white against the sky."

Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

Little Rituals

2010-11-12T22:43:00.000-08:00

On the way home from one of my bus stops, I walk up a hill. There is a certain evergreen tree whom I have befriended along this walk, whose elegant arched arms gracefully droop over the sidewalk. Whenever I walk under this tree, I always secretly make sure to let one of its droopy needles gently brush against my face, as if to say 'hello.' This has become a little secret ritual, of which I am rather fond.

When on the verge of implosion...

2010-11-11T23:03:00.000-08:00

see a ballet. or listen to Brahms. or both.

case in point.

Characters of Downtown Seattle Part 2

2010-11-10T23:17:00.000-08:00

The first time I saw them, I couldn't help but giggle. What a pair they are. Like the sweet hunchback man, they too walk past my work often. The first time I saw them, I could not rip my eyes away from the spectacle. Two older ladies, perhaps in their 60s, one tied to the other's wrist by rope of some sort. The rope was what caught my eye first, the reason for which I quickly discovered by the 4 inch thick glasses (goggles, really) of the lady whose wrist was tied to the other's. She is obviously nearly blind and in need of assistance. The funny thing is that the other lady, who seems to be guiding Goggled Lady, is rather old and uses a walker, which usually has about 6 full grocery bags hanging off of it. The last time I saw them, as they bumbled along at a rather slow pace, Walker Lady's bags were so heavy, her walker completely tumbled over! My first reaction was to run outside to help, but after a few attempts of picking up her walker, she succeeded. They continued to bumble along. I feel a little prick of joy every time I see them.

Aslan is on the move

2010-11-09T19:23:00.000-08:00

I am talking to Brianna-boo. She is wildly squeaking about Reep-a-cheep! Nobody knows Reepacheep like BriBee (so she says).

And now she is singing songs from Alice in Wonderland. No, really. I just had a personal 10 minute medley...o wait....it's still going...and...yep, still going.

And now i am going to Fremont Coffee Co. to escape my lonely house, drink myself some coffee, and read about Diamond and North Wind.

15 of those whose written words have influenced my mind and life the most

2010-11-08T12:42:00.000-08:00

In no particular order...

1. George MacDonald

2. Charlotte Bronte

3. J.R.R. Tolkien

4. C.S. Lewis

5. The Apostle John

6. Isaiah the prophet

7. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

8. Madeleine L’Engle

9. Dorothy Sayers

10. Victor Hugo

11. L.M. Montegomery

12. A.W. Tozer

13. Henri Nouwen

14. Annie Dillard

15. Elizabeth Elliot

Characters of Downtown Seattle Part 1

2010-11-07T21:35:00.000-08:00

The hunchback man walks by my work every single day. Occasionally, I will see him walk by the starbucks I often go to in between my two jobs in downtown, a few blocks away from my store. His severely curved spine bobs up and down as he scampers by, straining his neck to look up and see where he is going. If I met him, I would bend down and kiss him on the cheek.

Sweet Baby Daddy

2010-11-06T22:30:00.000-07:00

It's his birthday today and I couldn't be more grateful for his birth, lo those many years ago. I love you Daddy.

"A stone of stumbling and a rock of offense"

2010-11-05T23:04:00.000-07:00

I realize that I mention George MacDonald in just about every other blog entry, but it cannot be helped! I am currently reading The Back of the North Wind as well as his Unspoken Sermons. One common theme in his writings is that of Love and the different reactions of Love in hearts of different states of being. For instance, to the soul that has willfully invited Love to dwell within him or her, that person will experience joy and blessedness. For the person that is living in sin, Love is a thing of terror, misery and agony.

"The terror of God is but the other side of his love; it is love outside the house, that would be inside." -MacDonald, The Cause of Spiritual Stupidity

In The Back of the North Wind, the little hero Diamond hears his drunken neighbor abusing his wife and making his baby cry. Diamond, who has been to the back of the North Wind (of which the narrator reminds us rather often), wakes up and quietly creeps into his neighbor's house to comfort the baby. When the drunken neighbor eventually sobers up, he is absorbed with misery. MacDonald writes, "this misery was the voice of the great Love that had made him and his wife and the baby and Diamond, speaking in his heart and telling him to be good. For that Great Love speaks in the most wretched and dirty hearts; only the tone of the voice depends on the echoes of the place in which it sounds. On Mount Sinai, it was thunder; in the soul of St. John it was perfect blessedness."

Praise God for the times when Love echoes within our hearts in tones of stabbing agony. When misery encompasses us, let us be driven to invite Love inside our house, so that His voice may echo in blessed tones.

Rather late than not at all

2010-11-04T21:35:00.000-07:00

Since I was a little girl, I have always had this urgent fear of missing out. As a child, I always wanted to do whatever my siblings were doing, be a part of whatever fun they were having with their friends, and stay up as late as I possibly could so as to not miss any potential fun. I remember times when I would come a few minutes late to the dinner table after my family had prayed. Feeling so hurt and distraught that they prayed without me, I made my dad pray again every time. I just couldn't miss out.

And so. I find my entire family (minus the Daddy) is participating in nablopomo. I don't care that I am starting a few days late. I WILL NOT MISS OUT THIS TIME.

And now for a scattered account of nice things that happened today:

As I had the day off, I slept in (glory) and woke up to coveted rays of sunshine pouring into my room. My first thoughts were something like: "oh the possibilities!" After peppermint coffee and scrambled goat cheese/eggs, I proceeded to spend my afternoon productively playing in the mud, that is, planting daffodils. Oh the joy and delight that ensued! This was my first time planting anything! It's just like magic! You dig a hole, place a bulb in it, cover the hole back up, and a living thing springs up out of the ground. How nice to be a catalyst to growth.

The bulbs

The gardener

View of my house from the daffodils

Sitting down on my porch steps with my messy garden hair, muddied jeans, and gardening gloves, I looked out upon the garden in satisfaction. During this particular moment, sissy called. This conversation happened.

My next venture was chocolate chip cookies, during which I talked/not talked with BriBri as Pumpkin Man for two hours on g-chat.

See...

Also, I got some good time with my mom on the phone and another good friend on Skype. I did, as a result of my complete inability to multi-task, burn a batch of cookies, but the rest turned out well. One day they will turn out EXACTLY like my momma's. One day.

I conclude my rather scattered introductory blog post for the month of November....now.

I promise!

2010-10-16T21:04:00.000-07:00

It is quite unfortunate - this always saying that I am going to start blogging again and never actually beginning to blog again. I really am this time, though...

It's just, well, here's my problem: I always want to blog about everything all at once, which subsequently leads to an overwhelmed state of being, the outcome of which inevitably leads to no blog entry at all. This is truly sad since most of my friends and family are at least 1000 miles away and I would like to share pictures and thoughts and meager attempts of creativity with them. If I can't live life alongside my people currently, I would like to share as much of it with them as I can.

So, um...I'm going to start blogging again.

Here is some stuff.

Proof that I am currently alive:

Proof that I have pretty things outside my kitchen window:

Proof that I am domesticating myself:

And the view from my favorite place to read and/or talk to you people.

Lovies.

As requested...

2010-09-12T20:29:00.000-07:00

The Lovely Apartment!

Reality

2010-09-09T17:15:00.000-07:00

Reality ineluctable, rapidly closing in. Forcefully enveloping you, swiftly pushing it's way down your throat, into your lungs. It propels its way into your veins and into your heart so that it pulses through your very body. Inescapable. You cannot run from it. It is within you. It is you.

Dishes

2010-07-30T15:46:00.000-07:00

Lately I have felt a bit frantic about existing as a waste of creativity. I will not garble away, divulging my fears and anxieties now. If I were to garble, however, I would do so about my fear of wasting away my time and potential.

I occasionally go through bouts of anxiety about such things and question the value of everything I may be doing in the moment. Work, desires, books, blah, blah, blah. While I have currently given over my anxieties to the One who deals with such things best, the healthy concern for properly allocating my time/gifts to their fullest capacities remains.

Amongst other things today, I washed the dishes. It was really nice. There is a certain sacredness about washing dishes or cleaning in general. I have been tempted to feel as if I am wasting time doing so, but there is a certain beauty and value in the act of cleaning. It has become a sacred ritual for me, symbolizing the destruction of filth and mire, which renders useful things, like dishes (or hearts), useless.

Creativity

2010-06-21T23:11:00.000-07:00

There are times, such as now, when I feel I will burst if I don't create in some capacity. My emotions and wordless thoughts simmer beneath a seemingly adamantine surface. No matter how hard I strive to provide a proper outlet, I cannot unleash or harness these swirling colors and thoughts and ideas into something tangible - like a pregnant woman who cannot give birth.

Perhaps this is why I opened up my abandoned blog, hoping that my emotions would congeal into colorful words. Alas, my thoughts are bound in places I cannot currently reach. At least I wrote something.

Resolutions. I has them.

2010-01-08T22:37:00.000-08:00

My resolutions for the year 2010...

1) Read through the entire bible
2) Take control of my body with physical activities that make me happy (Rock climbing, hiking, yoga, cardio training - all supplied by Fullerton College, except climbing and hiking which will be supplied by Rock City and the mountains)
3) Journal consistently
4) Dwell on/memorize a bible verse a week
5) Work on improving my prayer life

Brianna's Resolutions for me...

1) Once a week (at least), speak up or be confrontational in a way that I would typically avoid.

2) Don't lose my phone

Some of my goals for the year...

*Read the Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
*Read Harriet the Spy
*Read Brother's Karamazov
*Exhaust my poetry books which lovingly call out to me from my bookshelf
*Engage in creative activity at least once a week
*Pay off credit cards
*Seek out the solace of trees/animals/pretty places more
*Graduate college
*Visit Kansas
*Visit Portland
*Visit Boston
*Learn 3-5 moderately entertaining songs on my ukulele
*Make more music with Brianna
*Expand and deepen in faith
*Move closer toward independence on all levels
*Delight more consistently in things that ought to be delighted in
*Grow steadily upon the foundation of surrender and acceptance-with-joy that was so profoundly and Divinely built in me these past six months.

Choices

2010-01-06T01:16:00.000-08:00

Isn't it interesting the way in which one simple healthy choice, when made, always necessarily leads to multiple healthy choices?

My evening:

felt depressed and useless.

realized that I was succumbing to creeping lies and therefore doubting God.

healthy choice # 1: Repented.

Subsequent healthy choices: changed two light bulbs in my room and then...CLEANING RAMPAGE for 2 hours.

And now my heart and my living spaces are more organized. How nice.

Endings.

2009-11-25T01:51:00.000-08:00

Why is it that when a portion of a good and beautiful thing gets moldy, you must throw it out entirely?

Joy is a Subtle Elf

2009-11-21T17:56:00.000-08:00

The idea of joy has been a subject of inquiry on the forefront of my mind for the past few years. I find myself now in a strange, ever-foreign place in life. My future is more uncertain than ever. A good portion of the hopes and dreams and plans that have been built up for the past three years, are suddenly out of my grasp, unattainable, and perhaps even void. I have little direction as to what the rest of my life is going to look like in terms of career, residence, etc. So many things are uncertain, yet I am okay. Actually, more than okay…I am at peace. Just now as I am pausing from writing a paper (no surprise there), I have realized that I have the beginning budlings (new word) of joy sprouting somewhere in the depths of my Laura-self. What a beautiful discovery! I’m not even sure when this “budling” began to sprout, but I am sure of the exact time the seed was planted. (side note: I apologize for the abundant plant analogies. I am sitting right beside my plant Plant [that’s her name] that Morielle and I have had since sophomore year.)

For the absolute first time in my life, I have been learning to live in a state of surrender. Not an unhealthy fatalism or lack of care in the future. I am beginning to realize that 1) God truly loves me 2) Jesus is returning to purify and restore all of creation unto Himself 3) He wants to use my life for His beautiful, life-restoring purposes 4) my life on earth is short and will end soon 5) God is the only true source of value, worth, delight, and joy, and wants us to delight in Him with every fiber of our being. 6) My life is not my own to twist and choose and plan. My story is God’s—the inventor of love and beauty and all goodness and truth. I am a poor, young, fallible, sinful person. I have found myself to be entirely incapable of wisdom in and of myself and have therefore given myself over to the hands that have formed all things; that have knitted together the intricacies of my very soul. My story is His to create and use.

When I was a sophomore in college, I remember a night alone in my dorm room…actually sitting next to this very plant that is currently emoting green and life at me. I was feeling very frustrated with myself for my lack of joy. I cried out to God in the process and immediately after doing so, I opened up an old journal from high school and happened to flip to a page where I had written John 15: 1-11…

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.”

(And again with the plant analogies…also unplanned)

I am learning to abide in God; the source of all life; the living water through which one will never be thirsty again. I wasn’t seeking joy in and of itself in the process, but to my surprise, the subtle tendrils of joy are now beginning to twine around and in and through my inner being. Joy is indeed a subtle elf. And it starts with the giving up of oneself.

"Goldener light sets noon a sleeping like an afternoon; Colder airs come stealing, creeping from the misty moon"

2009-09-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the first day of Autumn. Well, not actually, but as Brianna would say, yesterday was the beginning birth pains of Autumn. The air suddenly turned cool, the colors suddenly changed, and the scent of the air was suddenly that of the beginnings of decay. Something strange has been happening without fail for the past several years whenever the weather abruptly changes to Fall. Unlike any other smells of the different seasons, the smell of Autumn makes my heart ache. Winter makes me reverent and reflective, Spring excites me and sets my soul spinning, Summer brings out my inner child, but Autumn pierces me. Autumn is simultaneously glorious and intensely painful.

Just as soon as I took my first step outside yesterday, my eyes were delightfully surprised by the changed colors, not in the trees necessarily, but in the glow of the sun set against a crisp sky with rolling clouds. However, as my eyes delighted in the colors, my heart was pierced with the beginning smells of decay that bring back such vivid memories from Autumns past. These memories consist of exciting stages in my life, building new friendships, the glory and excitement of falling in love, reckless abandonment to joy, warm drinks with friends, bundling up and reading a good book, crazy unpredictable weather, love delayed and unfulfilled, disappointment, despair, and the list goes on. All of the memories of events, people, emotions, or brief moments in time flood back with just one intake of air.

Why is it that Autumn and no other season does this to me? The pain and pleasure are not unwelcome, I must confess. There is a certain satisfaction in this nostalgia. I am reminded that these events in my life, the good with the difficult, are what have been used to form and grow me. I would not change any of it at all. I can only hear God telling me, “Get excited, for I have great things in store for you”. I wonder what sort of events, people, emotions, etc will be stored with my composite of Autumn memories this time, to be remembered in future Autumns.

Ps. My title is taken from G. MacDonald' poem: "Autumn Song"

AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST, AND ARISE FROM THE DEAD!

2009-08-01T21:32:00.000-07:00

I love George MacDonald. He is the type of person whom I would love to have as a grandfather or uncle, alongside Lewis and Tolkien. Like Lewis' main character in the Great Divorce, I imagine I will have long and lovely conversations with him in Heaven. I appreciate and deeply relate to his literature due to his romantically poetic language through which he conveys the most profound truths by use of allegorical myth. Much like beautiful music, MacDonald's allegories sing eternal truths to my soul. He is a nice one.

Currently I am reading Lilith, in which a man inherits a house passed down for generations, which has a rather extensive library. This man meets a mysterious sexton, Mr. Raven, who has apparently been the librarian since it has been in existence (at least since the man's great great grandfather possessed the house). The nameless owner of the house follows Mr. Raven through an old mirror in a forgotten chamber into another world, in which the only way out is to go further in. After bringing him to his home, Mr. Raven offers the man a bed to sleep in amongst others who are peacefully sleeping (or dead?), blanketed in the healing rays of the moon. The man reflects to himself, "I thought at first their sleep was death, but I soon saw that it was deeper still--a something I did not know". The sexton also refers to this deathly room as one of the cellars he was placed to watch, adding: "much wine is set here to ripen!--But it is dark for a stranger!"

The man exclaims:

"'But these are all dead, and I am alive!' I objected, shuddering.

'Not much,' rejoined the sexton with a smile, '--not nearly enough! Blessed be the true life that the pauses between its throbs are not death!'"

These people in MacDonald's story are becoming alive by dying. The man in the story seems to be alive, but is more dead than those who seemingly lay in death! He is not really alive--he does not possess the true life, which can only be possesed through the complete giving up and dying to oneself.

"Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it" ~Matt 10:39

"We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life" ~Rom 6:4

"AWAKE SLEEPER, AND ARISE FROM THE DEAD, AND CHRIST WILL SHINE ON YOU" ~Eph 5:14

Sometimes I wish that I could enter one of MacDonald's mythical worlds. If only I could stumble my way into the Raven's world to find a bed amongst those who are dying and simultaneously becoming more and more alive until they are wakened to newness of life. However, I can hear what MacDonald would say to me..."Laura, you are in Mr. Raven's world."

"The one in the middle, I love you!"

2009-07-29T00:32:00.000-07:00

I recently returned home from a 6 week-long stay in South Africa, during which I was completely immersed in a new culture, landscape, society, climate, etc. This trip was nothing short of life changing, which is to be expected when one leaves their country and everything familiar for a significant amount of time. As I flew into Cape Town, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue on the luscious green farmlands and the crowning natural wonder of the City--Table Mountain, around which the city is formed. Such a view inspired the warm feelings of meeting a long lost friend. I can only use the word 'magical' to describe my first few days there. Although I was mostly in a western society similar to my home in the States, I was surrounded by entirely new trees and plants and animals and birds and smells and landscapes. My senses were overwhelmed. I felt a bit like a child again, wildly asking questions about the names of the birds and trees. I was given immediate answers to my questions as well. South Africans, at least the ones I interacted with, are well acquainted with and respectful of their surroundings. I even managed to escape customs with some smuggled acacia seeds (teehee).

For the most part, my trip was successful in accomplishing the tasks I had set out to accomplish, though at times it seemed unbearable. It sucks being so drastically separated from your support system--the people who know you and love you the most. However, I've found that now that I am home, my insides are a bit torn. Where ever one lives or travels to, and whomever that person develops relationships with, these places and people become a part of you or shape you in some way. Being in South Africa for so long, the people that I began to love, the smells and sounds and landscape that I experienced on daily basis, have all embedded themselves in my heart--never to be removed.

The day I left South Africa was a brilliant sunny day--the first sunny day all week in fact. For my last meal in the country, my boyfriend's family took me to this lovely restaurant on a farm situated on a green rolling hill. This hill overlooked other rolling hills with sheep and vineyards and other such lovely things. On the premises, there were a number of small simple houses where the workers lived. After we finished our meal, we piled into the car, where I sat in the middle backseat. When we drove through the workers' housing area, the cutest little black girls, about 6 years of age, were standing on either side of the road blowing kisses at us. I couldn't tell what they were saying at first, but then I heard one of them call out: "The one in the middle, I love you!". Needless to say, my emotions were cascading out of my eyes. I think that was the most perfect 'goodbye' and parting memory Africa could give me.