28 March 2010
Palm Sunday
I am again in a part of the world where Spring flourishes. Though today’s weather is chilly and grey, the flowers have been bursting forth for weeks now. The crocuses and snowdrops are already being replaced by daffodils and columbine. The forsythia glows along the sides of the road and the edges of fields and yards. A few blooming trees have burst in the unseasonable warmth, but most just sit, prepared, a sheen of color over their branches, ready to bloom forth from long Winter slumber with the coming of Easter next week.
This morning the words of an old hymn flow from my lips: “Fairest Lord Jesus, Ruler of all nature, O Thou of God and man the Son.” The hymn goes on to compare all nature to its Ruler. Te meadows, woodlands, blooms of Spring, sunshine, stars, and moonlight pale in comparison to the Son of God and Son of Man. This year, even the season seems to be in submission to Him. As though the resurrection of Spring desires to reflect the First Resurrection.
And resurrection is coming. But today I enter a week of reflection on His passion. More words blend with the music in my soul: “Amazing love! How can it be that Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?” Then we sing out His name: “Jesus, Messiah. Name above all names. Blessed Redeemer, Emmanuel. The rescue for sinners, the ransom from heaven, Jesus Messiah, Lord of all.” Before we celebrate the resurrection, we must face the reality of death. Rescue. Ransom.
Yesterday I cleared away the dead leaves and branches from around the green shoots and bursting blooms of daffodils. The leaves died last Autumn, and fell to the ground, turning brown. As I cleared the dry, dead leaves from the top, I found those underneath had begun to disintegrate, the papery brown giving way to become rich, dark soil. From the black soil, new life was coming forth. Their death led to new life.
The leaves paid a cost. They lost their glossy greenness, flaming out into red and yellow, then fading to brown. They lost their shape and structure, the membrane between the veins disintegrating into dirt. They died and their death paid a ransom that equipped new life. Nature once again following the pattern its Ruler set.
The Ruler arose, though. His real death, His rescue, His ransom, did not end His life. Resurrection. The blooming trees which lost their leaves last Autumn are perhaps a better analogy. They sacrificed their crown, their beauty, the bright green of high Summer, paying a price for new life to come forth. But now they await resurrection, to burst into greater beauty than they lost.
As I enter my reflection of Christ’s sacrifice, I look forward to Resurrection. Not only His, but also those for whom His sacrifice paid ransom. Their bodies lie still beneath the earth. Beauty covered by dead leaves. But from the dirt they will arise. Their former bodies having served to bring forth good things from the soil, they willl arise with a new crown of beauty.
I think of Keren’s grin, Aimee’s smiling eyes, Peter’s dad’s hands. We keep the old body in our memories, but we shall not see it again. As the glossy green leaves of Summer cannot compare to the flowering beauty of Spring blossoms, so those old bodies will fade in relation to the resurrected ones. I miss what I knew. I cannot imagine what resurrection will bring.
As Spring bursts forth from the ground in yellow, pink, purple, blue, and green, as the sheen of color replaces the icy white of winter’s blast and the dead brown of its end, I consider what the ransom of Christ’s death paid for: the resurrection of His own.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Longing---Peace
The hymn “It Is Well with My Soul” begins with the following line: “When peace like a river attendeth my way…” Peace. My first thought is that there is no peace today in my heart. There is restless longing. I’m not satisfied anymore with walking with Christ through this life. Not when I desire so to be with Him. My eyes, my heart, have opened to the reality of eternity in His presence. I want to be there.
Is it simply because I long to be reunited with those I’ve lost? I don’t think so. It’s the idea of true rest. It’s the understanding that true peace and joy exist in His presence. Knowing that, can I be satisfied with less?
And then the words of the hymn roll over me again. “Peace like a river attendeth my way...” Is it here? Can I experience it now? Maybe it’s just a matter of perspective. To one who doesn’t know Christ, we who grieve in Him are bewilderingly peaceful, joyous. They see us and wonder. They cannot understand. They desire such peace and joy.
But here, the step closer, belonging to Christ and living and grieving within His light, right now it doesn’t seem enough. Walking with Him through this broken world seems tainted. The peace I can have here is not what I know exists. I can almost touch that greater peace; I can see it, but I can’t yet experience it. Somehow, though, I live in peace in the midst of turmoil. I live in joy in the midst of suffering. I have respite in the midst of care.
But today the final words of the hymn are so much fuller of meaning than they used to be. “Oh Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight. The clouds be rolled back as a scroll. The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend, ‘Even so’ – it is well with my soul.” Now, I see through a glass darkly, but then I shall know as I am known.
I’ve always loved that phrasing. The concept that there is a veil, an obstruction on my vision. Lewis’ The Last Battle has called to my heart for that very idea. In The Great Divorce the grass of heaven is so much harder, more real than anything we’ve ever felt here. My heart recognized, desired that truth before I realized it intellectually. It is only recently I’ve begun to grasp this longing with my mind. To comprehend it.
I’m restless in attending peace. I’m longing in grateful fulfillment. I’m sorrowing in unending joy. We truly are a peculiar people, set apart. We long even as we experience glimpses of that which we long for. We experience joy as we look to celebration. We have peace while we wait for rest.
Is it simply because I long to be reunited with those I’ve lost? I don’t think so. It’s the idea of true rest. It’s the understanding that true peace and joy exist in His presence. Knowing that, can I be satisfied with less?
And then the words of the hymn roll over me again. “Peace like a river attendeth my way...” Is it here? Can I experience it now? Maybe it’s just a matter of perspective. To one who doesn’t know Christ, we who grieve in Him are bewilderingly peaceful, joyous. They see us and wonder. They cannot understand. They desire such peace and joy.
But here, the step closer, belonging to Christ and living and grieving within His light, right now it doesn’t seem enough. Walking with Him through this broken world seems tainted. The peace I can have here is not what I know exists. I can almost touch that greater peace; I can see it, but I can’t yet experience it. Somehow, though, I live in peace in the midst of turmoil. I live in joy in the midst of suffering. I have respite in the midst of care.
But today the final words of the hymn are so much fuller of meaning than they used to be. “Oh Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight. The clouds be rolled back as a scroll. The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend, ‘Even so’ – it is well with my soul.” Now, I see through a glass darkly, but then I shall know as I am known.
I’ve always loved that phrasing. The concept that there is a veil, an obstruction on my vision. Lewis’ The Last Battle has called to my heart for that very idea. In The Great Divorce the grass of heaven is so much harder, more real than anything we’ve ever felt here. My heart recognized, desired that truth before I realized it intellectually. It is only recently I’ve begun to grasp this longing with my mind. To comprehend it.
I’m restless in attending peace. I’m longing in grateful fulfillment. I’m sorrowing in unending joy. We truly are a peculiar people, set apart. We long even as we experience glimpses of that which we long for. We experience joy as we look to celebration. We have peace while we wait for rest.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Losing Aimee - Transformation
On the loss of Aimee Powell, 21 January 2010
A friend asked if I would write about Aimee…about losing her, and grieving. My friend said it would help her know how to pray. And it made me wish I was closer. Wish it hadn’t been a few years since I’d spoken with Aimee. Wish that we kept in contact more than through Facebook and our mutual friends. Wish I were the right person to write about losing her.
I’m not.
But I am a writer.
So maybe I’ll try.
You know those friends you have sometimes in life, who you’re not in touch with every day, or even have been really close to – in the way you’re close to a best friend – but who you’ve always known, who you’ve shared times with – good times, and who, no matter how far apart you get, you love?
That’s who the Powells are to me. Who Aimee was. I don’t know when I first met them. I first remember spending time with them during our year in Hong Kong. We visited Taiwan, and hung out with the Powells a lot. As soon as I heard about Aimee’s accident, vivid memories of chasing a spider in her bedroom into the corner behind the dresser and squashing it there came flooding back. They were followed by the Taiwan conference that year – when I hung out more with Aimee’s brothers than her, but remember her there on the edges, playing with her sister Allison, a blonde toddler at the time, on the open lawn. The memories jumped ahead a few years – our touches during my teen years were rare and brief – she was three years younger than me, and when you’re 11 and 8, or 15 and 12, that makes a difference.
But Aimee came back into my life in college. I was a senior, and RA, and she came in as a freshman. I don’t think she requested my dorm – though she might have – but God knew where to put her: right across the bathroom from me. We didn’t become best friends, or deep bosom buddies. But we shared our lives for a school year. There were jolly conversations into the evenings, boggled laughter at her roommate, Cammy, who would surprise us with random information like the fact that shooting and field dressing an eight point buck over Fall Break was nothing compared to the alligator she’d once hunted, and good talks – talks about being an MK, about what it meant to “re-enter” a culture you didn’t know you belonged to.
After that year we went our separate ways. Aimee went on to another school. I graduated. I honestly can’t say if I’ve seen Aimee since then. I think we may have connected once, in New Jersey, but I’m not sure when that was…For six years the river of time has flowed past. But Thursday, when I first heard of her accident, my mind jumped back almost twenty years, and then slowly worked its way forward from scene to scene to the present. In every single memory, Aimee’s joyous smile and sparkling eyes stood out.
I read in one of the articles about Aimee that she recently wrote she felt “settled” for the first time in her life. And I know exactly why she wrote that. Most of our mutual friends know why she would write that. We’ve all experienced the rootlessness that comes from growing up as a TCK, an MK. We know what it means to try to be rooted now that we’re adults, and the itching that comes to the soles of our feet when we leave them in one place too long. It’s no surprise to me that the people who Aimee and I both know are grieving across the globe – posts from California, Hong Kong, Michigan, Taiwan, Maryland, Germany, Pennsylvania, China, Alaska are filling her family’s Facebook walls.
When I’ve worked with MKs going through culture change, one of the things that we talk about is citizenship. The definition of a TCK is someone who spent a significant portion of their formative years in a culture different from that of their parents’ passport culture. Citizenship is a confusing concept for a TCK. But God seemed to know the needs of TCKs when he inspired the words of Scripture. He had Paul pen this: “But our citizenship is in heaven,” (Phil. 3:20a). He gave TCKs roots, an unchanging citizenship.
But here’s the thing…Paul doesn’t stop with that phrase. He goes on, “and from it [heaven] we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself” (Phil. 3:20b-21).
Heavenly citizenship isn’t about having roots, though that’s an effect of it. It isn’t about feeling settled, though it gives us a place to belong. No. Heavenly citizenship is about transformation…change from the weak, dark, painful, hard world we struggle through – with bodies and minds diseased by sin – to His glory.
Heaven’s grown closer for me this year. That concept of transformation is played out in my mind’s eye as I see my niece – who was limited and handicapped in this world – running, jumping, and singing with Jesus. Aimee lived across the bathroom from me the year Keren was born. I don’t remember how much we talked about her, but I’m sure we did. And it wouldn’t surprise me if Aimee remembered; that would be like her. So, maybe today Aimee’s playing with Keren – reveling in the transformation that’s taken place for both of them
A friend asked if I would write about Aimee…about losing her, and grieving. My friend said it would help her know how to pray. And it made me wish I was closer. Wish it hadn’t been a few years since I’d spoken with Aimee. Wish that we kept in contact more than through Facebook and our mutual friends. Wish I were the right person to write about losing her.
I’m not.
But I am a writer.
So maybe I’ll try.
You know those friends you have sometimes in life, who you’re not in touch with every day, or even have been really close to – in the way you’re close to a best friend – but who you’ve always known, who you’ve shared times with – good times, and who, no matter how far apart you get, you love?
That’s who the Powells are to me. Who Aimee was. I don’t know when I first met them. I first remember spending time with them during our year in Hong Kong. We visited Taiwan, and hung out with the Powells a lot. As soon as I heard about Aimee’s accident, vivid memories of chasing a spider in her bedroom into the corner behind the dresser and squashing it there came flooding back. They were followed by the Taiwan conference that year – when I hung out more with Aimee’s brothers than her, but remember her there on the edges, playing with her sister Allison, a blonde toddler at the time, on the open lawn. The memories jumped ahead a few years – our touches during my teen years were rare and brief – she was three years younger than me, and when you’re 11 and 8, or 15 and 12, that makes a difference.
But Aimee came back into my life in college. I was a senior, and RA, and she came in as a freshman. I don’t think she requested my dorm – though she might have – but God knew where to put her: right across the bathroom from me. We didn’t become best friends, or deep bosom buddies. But we shared our lives for a school year. There were jolly conversations into the evenings, boggled laughter at her roommate, Cammy, who would surprise us with random information like the fact that shooting and field dressing an eight point buck over Fall Break was nothing compared to the alligator she’d once hunted, and good talks – talks about being an MK, about what it meant to “re-enter” a culture you didn’t know you belonged to.
After that year we went our separate ways. Aimee went on to another school. I graduated. I honestly can’t say if I’ve seen Aimee since then. I think we may have connected once, in New Jersey, but I’m not sure when that was…For six years the river of time has flowed past. But Thursday, when I first heard of her accident, my mind jumped back almost twenty years, and then slowly worked its way forward from scene to scene to the present. In every single memory, Aimee’s joyous smile and sparkling eyes stood out.
I read in one of the articles about Aimee that she recently wrote she felt “settled” for the first time in her life. And I know exactly why she wrote that. Most of our mutual friends know why she would write that. We’ve all experienced the rootlessness that comes from growing up as a TCK, an MK. We know what it means to try to be rooted now that we’re adults, and the itching that comes to the soles of our feet when we leave them in one place too long. It’s no surprise to me that the people who Aimee and I both know are grieving across the globe – posts from California, Hong Kong, Michigan, Taiwan, Maryland, Germany, Pennsylvania, China, Alaska are filling her family’s Facebook walls.
When I’ve worked with MKs going through culture change, one of the things that we talk about is citizenship. The definition of a TCK is someone who spent a significant portion of their formative years in a culture different from that of their parents’ passport culture. Citizenship is a confusing concept for a TCK. But God seemed to know the needs of TCKs when he inspired the words of Scripture. He had Paul pen this: “But our citizenship is in heaven,” (Phil. 3:20a). He gave TCKs roots, an unchanging citizenship.
But here’s the thing…Paul doesn’t stop with that phrase. He goes on, “and from it [heaven] we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself” (Phil. 3:20b-21).
Heavenly citizenship isn’t about having roots, though that’s an effect of it. It isn’t about feeling settled, though it gives us a place to belong. No. Heavenly citizenship is about transformation…change from the weak, dark, painful, hard world we struggle through – with bodies and minds diseased by sin – to His glory.
Heaven’s grown closer for me this year. That concept of transformation is played out in my mind’s eye as I see my niece – who was limited and handicapped in this world – running, jumping, and singing with Jesus. Aimee lived across the bathroom from me the year Keren was born. I don’t remember how much we talked about her, but I’m sure we did. And it wouldn’t surprise me if Aimee remembered; that would be like her. So, maybe today Aimee’s playing with Keren – reveling in the transformation that’s taken place for both of them
Friday, January 01, 2010
Urbana Update
Urbana Day 4 –
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. This morning, at Urbana, York Moore shared the gospel. Hundreds of students made a commitment for Christ. There were those who came from religious backgrounds, but have never made their faith their own. There were those who didn’t know why they came to Urbana. God is working in the lives of the individuals here both for their salvation and the salvation of others.
A young woman wants to work with the Goth subculture in Japan. An Asian-Canadian has a heart for the Native peoples of Alaska. A young man is looking to use teaching to reach the hearts of students in Asia. A guy is wondering how he can use sports ministry in Europe.
These students share the light of Christ with a dark world. Pray for us as we spend one more day talking with students who are seeking God’s will in their lives.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. This morning, at Urbana, York Moore shared the gospel. Hundreds of students made a commitment for Christ. There were those who came from religious backgrounds, but have never made their faith their own. There were those who didn’t know why they came to Urbana. God is working in the lives of the individuals here both for their salvation and the salvation of others.
A young woman wants to work with the Goth subculture in Japan. An Asian-Canadian has a heart for the Native peoples of Alaska. A young man is looking to use teaching to reach the hearts of students in Asia. A guy is wondering how he can use sports ministry in Europe.
These students share the light of Christ with a dark world. Pray for us as we spend one more day talking with students who are seeking God’s will in their lives.
Urbana Day 5 –
Finishing well, it's always a challenge. You come to the end of a semester as a student and you're worn out. You come to the end of a mission trip and you're spiritually exhausted, to the end of a job and you just want to move to the new opportunity before you. Today at Urbana the SEND representatives greatest challenge was finishing well. We were tired. Our throats were growing scratchy. We'd shared our heart with student after student for four days already. Somehow, though, we had to give today's visitors to the booth the same care and attention that we'd given visitors on Day 1.
The day started with a study of John 4, Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well. He was tired. He was thirsty. He asked for a drink, and then He shared the living water. In the general session, the words, "Man of Sorrows what a name, for the Son of God who came ruined sinners to reclaim. Hallelujah, what a Savior!" washed over us, our voices joining with 17,000 others who were calling out to the Man of Sorrows for another day of strength.
And that tired, parched, sorrowing Savior gave His strength, His encouraging hand, His power for one more day. From the moment the hall opened until a few moments after the final call for students to depart, we continued to talk with students about what God is calling them to. The board with the prayer of surrender continued to fill.
The night finished with an hour of communion, breaking the bread together, sharing the cup. And then, we worshiped in the New Year;17,000 students, thousands of exhibitors and people from local churches, singing and praising God together for His goodness.
When the emcee, Greg, began his announcements in the evening, he mentioned that it was the end of our time together. To the sound of disappointment that rose from the crowd, Greg held up his hand, "Woah!" he said. "No! This is a missions conference! If we were to stay here worshiping together we would have failed! We are called to GO!"
Thousands of students were called to GO this week. May God equip them to answer the call.
Finishing well, it's always a challenge. You come to the end of a semester as a student and you're worn out. You come to the end of a mission trip and you're spiritually exhausted, to the end of a job and you just want to move to the new opportunity before you. Today at Urbana the SEND representatives greatest challenge was finishing well. We were tired. Our throats were growing scratchy. We'd shared our heart with student after student for four days already. Somehow, though, we had to give today's visitors to the booth the same care and attention that we'd given visitors on Day 1.
The day started with a study of John 4, Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well. He was tired. He was thirsty. He asked for a drink, and then He shared the living water. In the general session, the words, "Man of Sorrows what a name, for the Son of God who came ruined sinners to reclaim. Hallelujah, what a Savior!" washed over us, our voices joining with 17,000 others who were calling out to the Man of Sorrows for another day of strength.
And that tired, parched, sorrowing Savior gave His strength, His encouraging hand, His power for one more day. From the moment the hall opened until a few moments after the final call for students to depart, we continued to talk with students about what God is calling them to. The board with the prayer of surrender continued to fill.
The night finished with an hour of communion, breaking the bread together, sharing the cup. And then, we worshiped in the New Year;17,000 students, thousands of exhibitors and people from local churches, singing and praising God together for His goodness.
When the emcee, Greg, began his announcements in the evening, he mentioned that it was the end of our time together. To the sound of disappointment that rose from the crowd, Greg held up his hand, "Woah!" he said. "No! This is a missions conference! If we were to stay here worshiping together we would have failed! We are called to GO!"
Thousands of students were called to GO this week. May God equip them to answer the call.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Urbana
Urbana – Day 1
Morning began with most of the SEND crew having arrived…Amy still stuck in Chi-town, Dan still driving in from VA…we rolled on over to the exhibit hall to register and set up by mid-morning, and wandered through the floating snowflakes. Unloading the van in the cold was, well, cold.
The SEND crew got registered and the booth set up, and the doors opened to students at 3 PM. For three hours various members of the crew hung out by the booth connecting with students. Amazing to see how many students came through already today, looking to see what God might have for them to discover this week.
Over the course of the afternoon, it wasn’t uncommon to see a SEND exhibitor talking with students, taking them over to the opportunities peg board to pick a card or two, then stopping to pray with them before they left.
In the kick-off session for the week Jim Tebbe, the director of Urbana challenged us to think about our neighbor, both next door and around the world. Ramez Atallah, the Bible expositor for the week, challenged us to imagine any middle class couple choosing to have their baby in the slums outside Cairo – no medical care, dirty facilities – and reminded us that God sent His Son to be born in a dirty manger among the poor of the earth.
Morning began with most of the SEND crew having arrived…Amy still stuck in Chi-town, Dan still driving in from VA…we rolled on over to the exhibit hall to register and set up by mid-morning, and wandered through the floating snowflakes. Unloading the van in the cold was, well, cold.
The SEND crew got registered and the booth set up, and the doors opened to students at 3 PM. For three hours various members of the crew hung out by the booth connecting with students. Amazing to see how many students came through already today, looking to see what God might have for them to discover this week.
Over the course of the afternoon, it wasn’t uncommon to see a SEND exhibitor talking with students, taking them over to the opportunities peg board to pick a card or two, then stopping to pray with them before they left.
In the kick-off session for the week Jim Tebbe, the director of Urbana challenged us to think about our neighbor, both next door and around the world. Ramez Atallah, the Bible expositor for the week, challenged us to imagine any middle class couple choosing to have their baby in the slums outside Cairo – no medical care, dirty facilities – and reminded us that God sent His Son to be born in a dirty manger among the poor of the earth.
Urbana Day 2 –
Amy made it in! We celebrated her arrival by singing “Happy Birthday” to Tom, about 10 times over the course of the day, in every public venue we could find…
Students have dreams…a girl we met wants to start a school in Japan, another a bookstore. A missionary kid is discovering how God has prepared him to reach international students at his university. A couple is searching for how their gifts in carpentry and administration can be used on a field. All of these students with dreams spoke with SEND reps today. Conversations led to connections, connections to prayer.
One of the most exciting parts of the Urbana experience is the opportunity to connect with students who are seeking God’s direction. There’s a board at the SEND booth that students can sign on which is written a simple prayer of commitment: “I will go anywhere to do anything, at any time, at any cost.” There are signatures beginning to fill the white space, students who are willing to commit themselves to God’s call, without agenda or plan.
Urbana - Day 3
Three years ago Drew met Ron at the SEND booth at Urbana. Drew was in college, interested in missions, and looking for a place to serve. Today, Drew came back to the SEND booth. The colors of the display have changed; the location in the exhibit hall is a bit different. Drew is now a graduate student in seminary; Ron's grandkids have grown a little older.
But the mission has not changed. There are still people who need the gospel, still people groups who have no evangelical witness. There are still young people seeking God's mission for them. There are still mobilizers who desire to equip those young men and women and mentor them through the process.
Drew and Ron spent time talking and praying together this afternoon. Drew spent two of the last three years on a short term experience overseas and is thinking about going back long term. There are decisions to be made, and things to consider. He doesn't know exactly what God's next step for him is, but he is trusting God's leading. And he knows that Ron is there as he walks this journey, available to listen, to mentor, to pray.
Three years ago Drew met Ron at the SEND booth at Urbana. Drew was in college, interested in missions, and looking for a place to serve. Today, Drew came back to the SEND booth. The colors of the display have changed; the location in the exhibit hall is a bit different. Drew is now a graduate student in seminary; Ron's grandkids have grown a little older.
But the mission has not changed. There are still people who need the gospel, still people groups who have no evangelical witness. There are still young people seeking God's mission for them. There are still mobilizers who desire to equip those young men and women and mentor them through the process.
Drew and Ron spent time talking and praying together this afternoon. Drew spent two of the last three years on a short term experience overseas and is thinking about going back long term. There are decisions to be made, and things to consider. He doesn't know exactly what God's next step for him is, but he is trusting God's leading. And he knows that Ron is there as he walks this journey, available to listen, to mentor, to pray.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
We found a nickname
Conversation before dinner:
Ev: "My brother's Jonathan Blewis."
Clare: "No. Jonathan Lew-is. She sometimes says it wrong. Maybe it's too long for her. Ezelyn, you can just say 'Jonathan'."
Conversation after dinner:
Aunt Carrie: "What color are carrots?"
Ev: "Pink!"
Aunt Carrie: "No, carrots!"
Ev: "Orange."
Aunt Carrie: "What color is Jonathan?"
Ev: (Pauses) "Jonathan Blue-ass."
[Aunt Carrie begins to laugh uncontrollably.]
Ev: "My brother's Jonathan Blewis."
Clare: "No. Jonathan Lew-is. She sometimes says it wrong. Maybe it's too long for her. Ezelyn, you can just say 'Jonathan'."
Conversation after dinner:
Aunt Carrie: "What color are carrots?"
Ev: "Pink!"
Aunt Carrie: "No, carrots!"
Ev: "Orange."
Aunt Carrie: "What color is Jonathan?"
Ev: (Pauses) "Jonathan Blue-ass."
[Aunt Carrie begins to laugh uncontrollably.]
Friday, October 09, 2009
Rest
I've redefined rest today. I came to this conclusion just a few moments ago. Rest isn't not doing anything, it's doing something different.
Today, I'm not grading papers. I'm not writing Annual Report text or editing PBU Today. Today has been a day of rest.
What did I do on my day of rest? Well, I still had to teach, but one class took an exam and in the other I got to talk about the climax of one of my favorite dramas in the world...oh, and worldviews. But then, I went to chapel and sat once again under the Bible teaching of Dr. Master, and remembered why I loved his classes so much. And then, I left PBU.
I went to the Social Security Administration and sat in their waiting room for half an hour before I got called to a counter to submit my application for a new card. Then I went to Target and the bank before driving back to my apt. to gather together the million and three documents needed to transfer my licence to PA. I took off for the Driver's License Center and there waited for only about 10 minutes in the waiting room before they called me to a counter, then sat me down again, then called me to another, took my photo, and sent me off with a temporary PA license.
On my way home I stopped by the library and switched out the CDs of The Witch of Blackbird Pond for the audio Fever 1793, jumping forward in history about a hundred years in the process. Then, before 3 PM I sat down upon my bed and spread out bills to pay and numbers to crunch and organized my finances for the next few months. Following that, I got a few quotes on car insurance and made a decision, paid for six months what I used to pay for two, and then checked email.
Email led me here, to the blogs of family and friends, reading, thinking, processing, resting.
Looking at the list above I don't think I should feel rested, but I do. In the back of my mind, I know that there are still 40 papers, 19 exams, and 16 blogs to grade. In the back of my mind, I'm concerned that I don't have the third student profile written for the Annual Report, and that I still haven't gotten text from two authors for PBU Today. In the back of my mind those things remain, but for today, they're staying in the back of my mind.
And that's rest. After weeks on end of constant focus, always processing, always thinking, always figuring how I'm going to get this and that done, I took a break from it--and rested.
Tomorrow the break will continue. I'll grade a bit on the airplane early in the morning, but the majority of the day will be spent in a cozy kitchen with apples simmering in stock pots on the stove. I'll crank the handle of the sauce-making thingy; I'll stir the apples with a wooden spoon. But I won't worry about the PBU Today; I won't concern myself with the papers and blogs. They can wait for Monday.
Today, I'm not grading papers. I'm not writing Annual Report text or editing PBU Today. Today has been a day of rest.
What did I do on my day of rest? Well, I still had to teach, but one class took an exam and in the other I got to talk about the climax of one of my favorite dramas in the world...oh, and worldviews. But then, I went to chapel and sat once again under the Bible teaching of Dr. Master, and remembered why I loved his classes so much. And then, I left PBU.
I went to the Social Security Administration and sat in their waiting room for half an hour before I got called to a counter to submit my application for a new card. Then I went to Target and the bank before driving back to my apt. to gather together the million and three documents needed to transfer my licence to PA. I took off for the Driver's License Center and there waited for only about 10 minutes in the waiting room before they called me to a counter, then sat me down again, then called me to another, took my photo, and sent me off with a temporary PA license.
On my way home I stopped by the library and switched out the CDs of The Witch of Blackbird Pond for the audio Fever 1793, jumping forward in history about a hundred years in the process. Then, before 3 PM I sat down upon my bed and spread out bills to pay and numbers to crunch and organized my finances for the next few months. Following that, I got a few quotes on car insurance and made a decision, paid for six months what I used to pay for two, and then checked email.
Email led me here, to the blogs of family and friends, reading, thinking, processing, resting.
Looking at the list above I don't think I should feel rested, but I do. In the back of my mind, I know that there are still 40 papers, 19 exams, and 16 blogs to grade. In the back of my mind, I'm concerned that I don't have the third student profile written for the Annual Report, and that I still haven't gotten text from two authors for PBU Today. In the back of my mind those things remain, but for today, they're staying in the back of my mind.
And that's rest. After weeks on end of constant focus, always processing, always thinking, always figuring how I'm going to get this and that done, I took a break from it--and rested.
Tomorrow the break will continue. I'll grade a bit on the airplane early in the morning, but the majority of the day will be spent in a cozy kitchen with apples simmering in stock pots on the stove. I'll crank the handle of the sauce-making thingy; I'll stir the apples with a wooden spoon. But I won't worry about the PBU Today; I won't concern myself with the papers and blogs. They can wait for Monday.
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