Growth means change, and change involves risk, stepping from the known to the unknown.
-Author Unknown
As wise man (my papa) once told me that life is a series of transitions, strung together by our responses and adjustments to them. Change is always happening - sometimes in a slow and steady drumbeat - flowing like the seasons; they are expected, predictable, offering ample warning, so that we can prepare ourselves. But sometimes change catches us off guard, and suddenly we find ourselves violently jerked out of the little world that had become ours. We are forced to find a new normal.
I'm beginning to think that change itself is neutral - that it can't, in and of itself, be good or bad. Let me clarify, the positive and negative effects of change can certainly be good or bad, but these consequences are dependent on, well, our dependence, on the One who is never surprised by change. Change is always an opportunity - for growth, for grace, for building new relationships and strengthening old ones, for discovering our passions, and for learning about ourselves and the intentions our Creator has for us.
Thursday, July 31
Monday, July 28
a large basket of Lorings
Yesterday I went to Jaemor Farm Market with my grandmother. This is how it made me feel:
Day after day from all those miles and leagues of flowers there rose a smell which Lucy found it very hard to describe: sweet -- yes, but not at all overpowering, a fresh, wild, lonely smell that seemed to get into your brain and make you feel that you could go up mountains at a run or wrestle with an elephant. She and Caspian said to one another, "I feel that I can't stand much more of this, yet I don't want it to stop."
-from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis
Over the course of the last week, I made two different plans for my Sunday, both of which involved hiking, both of which fell through. Turns out the Lord had different ideas. I didn't get it when I stepped on a nail a few days beforehand, nor when my parents offered their sound advice. He's guiding (I considered using the word "forcing" here) me to follow his will by eliminating my options, which is exactly what I asked for.
I am so thankful for what he is teaching me (finances, shalom), and even more thankful for the farm market. He knew I would love it. I wanted to look at and smell and touch and taste everything; I never wanted to leave and I cannot wait to go back next week when the Georgia Belles (white flesh peaches) are in. I brought home a pint of blueberries, fig preserves, homemade granola, four kiwis for Madison, and a large basket of Lorings which I cannot wait to share because even I couldn't possibly eat them all before they ripen.
Day after day from all those miles and leagues of flowers there rose a smell which Lucy found it very hard to describe: sweet -- yes, but not at all overpowering, a fresh, wild, lonely smell that seemed to get into your brain and make you feel that you could go up mountains at a run or wrestle with an elephant. She and Caspian said to one another, "I feel that I can't stand much more of this, yet I don't want it to stop."
-from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis
Over the course of the last week, I made two different plans for my Sunday, both of which involved hiking, both of which fell through. Turns out the Lord had different ideas. I didn't get it when I stepped on a nail a few days beforehand, nor when my parents offered their sound advice. He's guiding (I considered using the word "forcing" here) me to follow his will by eliminating my options, which is exactly what I asked for.
I am so thankful for what he is teaching me (finances, shalom), and even more thankful for the farm market. He knew I would love it. I wanted to look at and smell and touch and taste everything; I never wanted to leave and I cannot wait to go back next week when the Georgia Belles (white flesh peaches) are in. I brought home a pint of blueberries, fig preserves, homemade granola, four kiwis for Madison, and a large basket of Lorings which I cannot wait to share because even I couldn't possibly eat them all before they ripen.
Monday, July 21
this is me
My business is not to remake myself, but make the absolute best of what God made. -Robert Browning
I feel sexier in a climbing harness than I ever did in a prom dress or heels. hands down. I'm obsessed with fiber. I love peppermint tea, and teapots in general, for that matter. Sometimes I sew patches on blue jeans and old sweaters. I like birch trees and easter lilies. I listen to music much too loudly and have a mild bilateral low-frequency hearing loss as a result. My dream car is a solar-powered subaru outback. I'm growing my hair out again. I keep cloth grocery bags in my car.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
Plaid gets me every time. So do messenger bags, suspenders, scruffy faces (thanks dad), deep voices, and nerd-talk. I have too many shoes, and keep my favorites in the trunk of my car next to my jumper cables. I enjoy yoga and meaningful song lyrics. I love to sing and dance (but I'm sorry if you've experienced either of these). Becoming a vegetarian wouldn't be that huge of a lifestyle change for me, but I could never be a vegan because I like milk, yogurt, and cheese too much.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My plants are my pets. I'm terrified of fish, splinters, abandonment, and aliens. Forgiveness is the most beautiful concept that I have encountered thus far in my short years. I like to wake up early. My favorite subject is anatomy, but language is a close second. My aspirations for this school year include: becoming a decent slackliner, deepening a few friendships so that they will certainly last when I move away next year, and learning more about backpacking, lead climbing, healing, and Jesus. Recently I've developed a slight interest in the middle east.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
My favorite color is green. I love peaches. My temporomandibular joint (jaw) pops every time I open my mouth. I like poetry and art museums, but wish I knew more about them. I prefer windows down over air conditioning. I have control freak tendencies and sleep with a stuffed dalmatian named major nelson and I secretly like the song "I Hope You Dance." I figure I should be worried about graduate school for next year, but I'm really not.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
(Psalm 139:13-16)
If He wants me in Seattle, He will make it happen. If not, I will go to Boone and hike every weekend and love it. (Until today I did not truly have peace about this)
This is me; I make no apologies. I was created this way.
I feel sexier in a climbing harness than I ever did in a prom dress or heels. hands down. I'm obsessed with fiber. I love peppermint tea, and teapots in general, for that matter. Sometimes I sew patches on blue jeans and old sweaters. I like birch trees and easter lilies. I listen to music much too loudly and have a mild bilateral low-frequency hearing loss as a result. My dream car is a solar-powered subaru outback. I'm growing my hair out again. I keep cloth grocery bags in my car.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
Plaid gets me every time. So do messenger bags, suspenders, scruffy faces (thanks dad), deep voices, and nerd-talk. I have too many shoes, and keep my favorites in the trunk of my car next to my jumper cables. I enjoy yoga and meaningful song lyrics. I love to sing and dance (but I'm sorry if you've experienced either of these). Becoming a vegetarian wouldn't be that huge of a lifestyle change for me, but I could never be a vegan because I like milk, yogurt, and cheese too much.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My plants are my pets. I'm terrified of fish, splinters, abandonment, and aliens. Forgiveness is the most beautiful concept that I have encountered thus far in my short years. I like to wake up early. My favorite subject is anatomy, but language is a close second. My aspirations for this school year include: becoming a decent slackliner, deepening a few friendships so that they will certainly last when I move away next year, and learning more about backpacking, lead climbing, healing, and Jesus. Recently I've developed a slight interest in the middle east.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
My favorite color is green. I love peaches. My temporomandibular joint (jaw) pops every time I open my mouth. I like poetry and art museums, but wish I knew more about them. I prefer windows down over air conditioning. I have control freak tendencies and sleep with a stuffed dalmatian named major nelson and I secretly like the song "I Hope You Dance." I figure I should be worried about graduate school for next year, but I'm really not.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
(Psalm 139:13-16)
If He wants me in Seattle, He will make it happen. If not, I will go to Boone and hike every weekend and love it. (Until today I did not truly have peace about this)
This is me; I make no apologies. I was created this way.
Thursday, July 17
floating on the Lion's breath
Journal Entry from July 3, 2008:
She felt frightened only for a second. For one thing, the world beneath her was so very far away that it seemed to have nothing to do with her. For another, floating on the breath of the Lion was so extremely comfortable. She found she could lie on her back or on her face and twist any way she pleased, just as you can in water (if you've learned to float really well). And because she was moving at the same pace as the breath, there was no wind, and the air seemed beautifully warm. It was not in the least like being in an airplane, because there was no noise and no vibration. If Jill had ever been in a balloon she might have though it more like that; only better.
-from The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis
In May I was driving to the airport to visit my friends, Robby and Joanna. It was sometime around 4:30 AM and still very dark. Where Are You Going by DMB came on shuffle and, ordinarily, I would have skipped it because, truth be told, I don't much care for the song. As I fumbled for the button, I felt a strong impression that I should not change it. Perhaps it was the Holy Spirit; I hesitate to say so because I'm still only learning that kind of discernment. At any rate, He had my attention, and as if the aforementioned song was the question, the answer came next: Breakfast in New York by Oppenheimer, a song that I had quite recently begun to associate with my trip to Russia. (I am a little embarrassed to admit that I had been thinking about graduate school before the answer came, a gentle reminder not to get ahead of myself, or, more importantly, Him, as well as a promise to go with me to Russia).
My trip is entering its final stages, and I've noticed that an attitude of mild disappointment and frustration has built up over the last few weeks. I have not been able to feel His Presence as I so often do in Athens (He is moving there). I haven't heard from Him in powerful or obvious ways, and I know that I've passed up several opportunities to share with some of my new friends. But this morning as I read this passage from The Silver Chair, I realized that I have been floating on the Lion's breath, figuratively speaking. Regardless of what I feel, the Lord has most definitely been here with me, protecting both my body and heart - teaching me through the stories of Narnia and through conversations with the people I've met this month. As always, He is good, and I am thankful that He has opened my eyes to catch a glimpse of that truth today.
She felt frightened only for a second. For one thing, the world beneath her was so very far away that it seemed to have nothing to do with her. For another, floating on the breath of the Lion was so extremely comfortable. She found she could lie on her back or on her face and twist any way she pleased, just as you can in water (if you've learned to float really well). And because she was moving at the same pace as the breath, there was no wind, and the air seemed beautifully warm. It was not in the least like being in an airplane, because there was no noise and no vibration. If Jill had ever been in a balloon she might have though it more like that; only better.
-from The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis
In May I was driving to the airport to visit my friends, Robby and Joanna. It was sometime around 4:30 AM and still very dark. Where Are You Going by DMB came on shuffle and, ordinarily, I would have skipped it because, truth be told, I don't much care for the song. As I fumbled for the button, I felt a strong impression that I should not change it. Perhaps it was the Holy Spirit; I hesitate to say so because I'm still only learning that kind of discernment. At any rate, He had my attention, and as if the aforementioned song was the question, the answer came next: Breakfast in New York by Oppenheimer, a song that I had quite recently begun to associate with my trip to Russia. (I am a little embarrassed to admit that I had been thinking about graduate school before the answer came, a gentle reminder not to get ahead of myself, or, more importantly, Him, as well as a promise to go with me to Russia).
My trip is entering its final stages, and I've noticed that an attitude of mild disappointment and frustration has built up over the last few weeks. I have not been able to feel His Presence as I so often do in Athens (He is moving there). I haven't heard from Him in powerful or obvious ways, and I know that I've passed up several opportunities to share with some of my new friends. But this morning as I read this passage from The Silver Chair, I realized that I have been floating on the Lion's breath, figuratively speaking. Regardless of what I feel, the Lord has most definitely been here with me, protecting both my body and heart - teaching me through the stories of Narnia and through conversations with the people I've met this month. As always, He is good, and I am thankful that He has opened my eyes to catch a glimpse of that truth today.
Saturday, July 12
DAS-vee DON-yeh
A wise friend of mine made a prediction when I first found out that I was going to Russia to work as a camp counselor. She said that she could "totally see me giving my heart to Russian children." Little did I know how right she would be. I gave it away yesterday as Susan and I left Dubinina. I was okay, and up until about half an hour before we left, you couldn't have told me that I would cry. But when one of my little girls asked me to promise that I wouldn't forget about them it was all over. The tears started pouring down my cheeks. How could I forget the beautiful little ones that had so touched my heart and shared their lives with me? How could I forget jumping rope and swimming in the freezing cold pool? How could I forget my Russian lessons and dance competitions every night? How could I forget their beautiful eyes and their sweet smiles and cheerful laughter?
I will never forget. I'm back in Moscow for two days - home on Monday. I promise to fill in the blanks in my story as soon as I get a chance. I'm looking forward to seeing you.
I will never forget. I'm back in Moscow for two days - home on Monday. I promise to fill in the blanks in my story as soon as I get a chance. I'm looking forward to seeing you.
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