Patience, hard thing!

Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.
Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart’s ivy, Patience masks
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.
 
We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
And where is he who more and more distils
Delicious kindness?—He is patient. Patience fills
His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889), Untitled, pub. 1918

Not Destination 'A'

Well, it appears that--once again--I am not headed towards the expected Destination A.  I'll know more certainly about the job this coming week, but the latest is that it's going to someone else.

Now it just remains to be seen where I'm headed instead...

Love, Remembered

I recently found this email which I wrote to a friend back in 2007, during a difficult and beautiful time while I was at university and God was using pain to teach me about love. Finding it was encouraging to me, as it reminded me again how manifestly kind God was to me during that time, and to remember anew how amazing His love really is (...if only I didn't forget that so often). It's nothing "original": The things expressed here are things which I have been taught my whole life. And yet I remember, when I wrote the letter, how excited I was to be knowing them—"realer and deeper"—through experiences, for the first time. And anyway, truth always bears repeating, hey? So, as we approach Christmas—our celebration of God's craziest act of love—may you, too, be encouraged by who He is.

Hey ———,

When I ran into you on campus today and was saying how God was doing crazy things and it was good and hard and all that jazz, it made me start thinking about some of the things I've been learning. And then I wanted to share some of them with someone, because they're the kind of thoughts that well up within me and want to be shared, because God is so good and so immense and so Himself.

...I felt like I was in sort of a strange place internally that day we had our walk, and that I couldn't or wouldn't fully articulate what God was doing. My eyes weren't so much on Him at that time, even though looking back now I can see how He was holding onto me and showing grace to me even when I wasn't really seeking it. Since I missed my chance on our walk, here's some of what I would have said if I had known it at the time...

God is good. Something I've "known" since Sunday school, right? But He's not just good to me or good to His people. He is good. Completely.

God is everywhere. That should be terrifying in some ways, hey, since that means He knows everything about us, when we sit and when we rise and when we sleep and what we do and what we think. But that also means that when I'm facing something that seems insurmountable to me, I can't be anywhere where He is not. Ever. There really is no temptation that can seize us or anything that can mess with us outside of the context of Him being there.

But the thing I think I've been thinking and learning about the most is the whole idea of the love of God. And how mysterious and great and freakin' amazing it is. He is love, and He has shown that love to us. Lavishly. He loves us not for any of our individual qualities or even all of our qualities together, but because we're His. He loves us when we aren't lovable by any standard we can muster. He loves us in and through our weakness, more fiercely and protectively and jealously than we can imagine. I think it was the fearsomeness of His love which struck me last night: how overpowering and crushing the force of His love would be if it was anything but His love. He—the infinite, omnipotent, eternal God—is love, and that love is poured so completely on us and around us—finite, broken columns of dust—that it really is rather a wonder that we survive it. A glorious, beautiful, awesome wonder.

In that context, I guess I was thinking about the self-condemnation I often seem to fall into. I see my sin and how it sucks and how I wish it wasn't there and how I must be doing something wrong or praying wrong or "having faith" wrong if the same struggles come back again and again. And I realized I was having this thought that when I sinned, I couldn't turn to His grace immediately, because I thought that somehow cheapened it: I felt like I was "taking advantage" of the fact that He has forgiven my sins and so I needed to wait awhile (or something) before turning back and flinging myself on His mercy. But really, I'm beginning to see that "taking advantage" is the point...that's what makes it grace, hey? And that is so incomprehensible to me. In the best way imaginable.

But with that self-condemnation is a tendency to get myself all confused about what in my head is from God and what is not, and how He could ever possibly like me, and whether I'm actually selfish and petty and mean and arrogant and whatever else is thrown at me. Depraved and crazy. Seeking God "incorrectly". A sorry example of Him for the world. Full of fear and doubt and insecurity. I'm sure I could list more without much effort. And when I get caught up trying to figure whether each accusation is true or not, I think I only confuse the issue. Especially since it is true, really. All of it. I am selfish and petty and mean and arrogant and all those other things.

But I think that by claiming that—by taking those accusations and saying, "yeah, I do that" rather than trying to convince myself that maybe I'm not so bad—when I then point to God and His love and the measure of His sacrifice for me—when I point to the complete and sufficient work of Christ on the cross—His glory can be reflected all the greater. Because it is in those sins that I can see some glimpse of how amazing and all-encompassing and desperately, desperately needed is His grace towards me. Am I seeking Him "incorrectly"? Probably. Like CS Lewis calls our prayers badly-aimed arrows that God has to redirect, it is only His compassion on us that lets us address Him at all, much less to have any of that communication be effective. 

Am I insecure and prone to fear? Yes, I am. But even when I'm afraid, He is holding tightly to me and providing for me in ways that I cannot begin to see. Do I screw up His image when I present it to the world through my life? Yes, I do. And even so, He does His work (I think I make myself more important than I am in how much influence I think I have at messing up God's plans...I mean, really, it's not like they all hinge around me), and regardless, I can rest secure in His love for me. His grace is sufficient for me, and His power made perfect in weakness. So I can boast all the more in my weaknesses, because then others (and I) can see Him better. I screw things up all the time. And I don't have anything really figured out or nailed down. And it is that very fact which makes His love so astounding, and makes the fact that there is no condemnation now in Him because of Christ— none—such a glorious truth to hold onto.

Again, I really wonder how that love doesn't just evaporate us with it's immensity. But He lets us taste it, and sustains us in it, and holds us so tightly that even when we're too tired or stubborn or bewildered or weary even to cling to Him any longer, we are safe and protected and loved.

...This sounds perhaps too much as if I think I understand what's going on. I've noticed that God teaches me the same things over and over and over again, and each time it's realer and deeper and seems to provide such a fundamental part of the whole picture that I wonder how I could ever have thought I knew anything without that piece. And then in His grace He gives another one. And another one. And I see more and more how little I know or see or understand. But the tiny bit I can see is so beautiful, and God is so...God-like, that I wanted to share with someone.

I hope that with school and work and the people God has put around you that you can see that you are loved so utterly and all-encompassingly that there's no escaping it, and that the most mind-blowing part of that love is that it is completely non-dependent on what you do or accomplish or think or say. You are loved because you are ———, and you belong to God.

May you and He delight in each other this week.

Shalom,
Marybeth

Snowflakes!

I found out how to make five-pointed paper snowflakes this past week!

They're so much more fun than the six-pointed kind. (And yes, I'm aware that "real" snowflakes are six-pointed.  Consider it artistic license.)

Now these and others are a flurry hanging in front of my living room window, and it cheers me every time I see them. Some of them, like the one on the left, I made with aluminum foil, just to mix things up.

I'm probably much more excited about this than a grown-up person is supposed to be, but hey. It's Christmas-time. I like making snowflakes.

Destination Unknown

Obedience can be a tricky thing.

I've been doing a lot of waiting and listening the past few years. Lots of waiting. So much waiting that I have often wondered whether I'm totally missing something. (I know, I know, a few years isn't really that long, and some people are asked to wait decades, or even lifetimes. But it has seemed like a long time to me.)

Then several weeks ago I found this intriguing job posting, and I got excited. As I thought more, I began seeing all the ways my experiences and decisions were converging on this one point. Closed doors and disappointments of the past were suddenly filled with purpose: to lead me to this job at this time. And as I prayed about it, and began the paperwork, God lined up circumstances to clearly confirm that yes, I was to apply.

Finally. No more sitting around.

...And then, I remembered. All those closed doors and disappointments of the past? They had looked like open doors and possibilities precisely because the experiences and decisions of the years before them were converging. I had seen God providentially lining things up and confirming that yes, that was what I was supposed to do.

But, you know, I think that God in fact was providentially lining up circumstances and events in all those cases. And I think that all those "disappointments"--rejected applications and canceled trips and changed plans--were not because I had heard Him wrong in the first place or because He sadistically likes to string me along and then yank away the prize at the last second. I think they had more to do with me not understanding what it means to obey.

When God clearly tells me to do something--"apply for this job" or "move to that city"--I often hear what I assume will be the result of my obedience, as well. It's like I assume such explicit guidance must be leading to the obviously best outcome. ...Obviously best as I see it, that is.

Apparently I'm not very good at seeing what the real "best" is, though. Because more often than not God points me towards Destination A, only to veer me without warning a couple steps later towards Destination B. Or K, or Z. Or even &, which is not only unexpected but on an entirely different dimensional plane, which I hadn't known existed.

So. I've applied for this job in a faraway state. Does this mean I will get the job? I don't know. Does this mean that if I'm offered the job, I will take it? I don't even know that. I just know that God said "apply". That one step.

So I took it.

I've already thought of several reasons He may have had me apply for this job even if I'm not supposed to get it. Several Destinations B-Z, as it were.

And I'm still preparing myself for another Escher-esque moment where I take a step through a doorway and find myself upside-down and breathless on the ceiling of Destination &.

I don't pretend to understand God's will for my life perfectly, even in the small steps. I often feel like I'm in darkness, alternating between stumbling around aimlessly and standing very, very still. The insanely comforting thing, though, is that God knows that I'm confused and finite and impatient, and He's got me anyway. He consoles me in my disappointments even though He knows He's working out something inexpressibly better than the "best" I thought I wanted. He remembers that I am dust, and still chooses to love and lead me.

It's just that He tends to lead me one step at a time, while I try to obey in miles.

So praise Him again for His patience and re-direction. And here's to small steps of obedience--in and through and with Him--towards unknown destinations.

...Embracing the wave, hey?

Haiti: Lovely limbs and eyes

[Note: This is the same post which I contributed as a guest blogger to David and Christine's blog. So if you read their blog, too, it may sound familiar.]

I am sometimes insanely jealous of my brother. I mean, he gets to be a bush pilot. In Haiti. Speaking a new language and flying people and supplies in a single-engine plane to airstrips with annotations at the hangar like “Watch for goats in the tall grass along the runway.” I tell people what he does and they’re always impressed and get all animated and ask a million questions. My nephews believe they have the coolest uncle ever.

What he does is so adventurous. So exciting. So meaningful.

I’ve been on several short-term trips of various kinds to various developing countries, and they’re often flavored with a bit of that adventure. There you are, traveling around with a group of people, where everything is new and remarkable, with this heady atmosphere that you are going to save the world and see God do spectacular things. Even the “inconveniences” are exotic and make good stories when you get home. And in all of it, there’s this slightly manic drive to learn and serve and accomplish as much as possible in a very short amount of time.

Judging by the flocks of matching t-shirts I saw in the airport terminals en route, I assume that that’s how most of my fellow travelers experienced Haiti.

For me, though, this time, things were a bit different. I didn’t visit Haiti to build schools or distribute medical supplies or show the Jesus film or feed orphans. I went to visit my brother, because I miss him. I went to hang out.

And that’s what I did. I got to briefly join the lives of David and Christine and their fellow MAFers—missionary pilots extraordinaire—and experience Haiti at the pace of people who are there all the time. People ask me what I did during my visit, and I have to sort of laugh; I’m not quite sure how to answer that. I mean, a few things stand out: flying with David on one of his trips to Pignon, visiting Christine’s English class, driving up into the mountains to look for Fort Jacques (which we never found, but hey, the scenery was beautiful).

But mostly, I just did what they did. And mostly, that was pretty normal stuff.

We grocery shopped. We did dishes. Christine and I helped (a little) David install a ceiling fan. We did laundry. We read books and compared our favorite MythBusters episodes and watched Back to the Future. We ate homemade cake and ice cream to celebrate David’s birthday. We talked. We sat companionably not talking.

We hung out.

Yes, for me, there were plenty of sights and smells and sounds which were unfamiliar and beautiful and interesting. But it didn’t have the same somewhat-glamorous quality other trips have had, because I was just visiting my brother in his new normal life.

Correct, this Haiti-normal is not always like U.S.-normal (although the household pests and crazy drivers were disconcertingly similar to Baltimore). But when you deal with something everyday—be it fitful electricity or ridiculously good weather—you adjust, hey? The novelty, good or bad, eventually wears off, and it becomes your new ordinary.

And it’s in all that strange ordinariness that I saw God in Haiti.

You see, David and Christine would say—have told me—that they don’t consider their call to Haiti to be any more “special” than any of our callings anywhere else. They’re just obeying. Their obedience happens to have taken them to do crazy, exotic things in a foreign country. And we all prayed and watched that big, obvious step of obedience when they chose to pack up and move.

…but now they’ve done that part. They’ve moved. They’re there.

It’s in all the obeying that they keep doing that I saw God working. It’s in all those now-mundane details of their lives, which we back in the States don’t really see—when things are wearisome or inconvenient or just routine—that God is doing amazing things and drawing people to Himself.

There’s this poem* I love which includes the lines:

Christ—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father, through the features of men’s faces.

I found it running through my head over and over again during my visit. There’s Christ, lovely in the limbs and eyes of David loading that airplane with cargo and debriefing his passengers. There’s Christ, lovely in the limbs and eyes of Christine as she teaches her English class with love and enthusiasm. Lovely in the limbs and eyes of that Haitian pastor teaching his congregation on Sunday morning. In that guy, driving people across town to the hospital in the middle of the night. In that American, learning and speaking Kreyol even though language-learning is really hard for her. In that family, hosting a staff meeting at their home. In that friendly exchange with the woman selling plantains on the corner. In that guy doing paperwork at the hangar. In sharing meals and in raising kids and in encouraging words and last-minute babysitting and simple generosity.

I realize I haven’t really addressed what most people have asked me about since I’ve been back: What things are like in Haiti since the earthquake. Whether things are sad. I mean, sure, Haiti counts on the interesting-places-to-live list, but it’s not known for being particularly nice. What about the poverty, the devastation, the disease? The violence? The spiritual darkness?

Indeed, Haiti is a country whose needs are many and—especially since January—well-publicized. And yes, some of the things I saw there were frustratingly, helplessly sad. Tent cities and collapsed buildings and a ravaged ecosystem. Mothers cradling hungry children. Faith misplaced in powerless gods.

Haiti is broken and suffering in many ways. It needs Jesus desperately.

…But this whole fallen, groaning world of ours is broken and suffering. And it all needs Jesus desperately.

I say this not to minimize the very real struggle for survival faced daily by millions of Haitians, but rather to encourage us to remember that just as Haiti is no more broken than anywhere else, it is also no less redeemed by the work of Christ. It is no less beyond repair. He is no less present.

So take heart, friends, and continue to pray for Haiti. God is in His people there, and He is being glorified greatly through their ordinary lives, every day.

…May it be so in our own lives as well, wherever we are.
________________
* As kingfishers catch fire, Gerard Manley Hopkins

I know, I know...

...it has been a long time since I last posted. I have, in fact, been to Haiti and back since my last post. More on that to come. But if you're interested in a few pictures (very few, in fact), you can check them out here:



(Note: For captions, you can click the little dialogue bubble in the lower left during the in-blog slideshow, or visit the slideshow in Picasa itself.)

An announcment. Ah-ahem:

I HAVE A PLANE TICKET TO HAITI TO VISIT MY BROTHER!!!!

Just thought I'd share. I'm a little excited. October's not so far away.

It's my birthday present to me. I'm sooo happy. :) Okay, it's my birthday present to me, and to my brother. And isn't he all handsome and official-pilot-looking? (Thanks for the picture, Christine. Now it's on two blogs. Bwa ha ha.)


By the way, if any of you read my blog and don't already read David and Christine's blog, too (unlikely), here's the link. It's worth the visit.

...Did I mention I'm getting to visit them soon??!!!?!?! :D

Ha ha, now I know what I'm getting people for Christmas.

Just check out the testimonials. All of your dreams will suddenly come true! (And you don't even have to be British!!)

Peter, Good Intentions, and Missing the Point

Peter is an interesting guy. (Peter, like the apostle. In the Bible.)

I mean, he's so rash, and bold and...passionate. He doesn't do things halfway. I picture him a bit like Sergeant George in Dickens' Bleak House: a bit rough, but warm-hearted and fiercely loyal, and ready to fight immediately if he sees a wrong. I picture him laughing hugely and growling hugely and just generally throwing himself into life. (The stories of him, you know, jumping out of a boat to walk on water, sassing Jesus at their first meeting, cutting off a guy's ear in the brawl he started at Jesus' arrest, swearing in impatience and loudly weeping in shame come to mind, among others.)

And he gets ahead of himself sometimes.

This morning I was reading the story in John of Jesus washing the disciples' feet, and was intrigued by the interaction between Peter and Jesus there. At first Peter recoils from Jesus' posture of humility at his feet: never! Never will he allow Jesus--the great Teacher and Master--to wash his feet.

But then, as soon as Jesus tells him, "If I don't wash you, you have no share with me", Peter does this 360 and not only wants Jesus to wash his feet but is eager for him to wash his head and his hands as well.

In some ways, this reaction of Peter's is beautiful, I think. I think it shows how whole-heartedly he wanted to have a share with Jesus, and to be with him, and to follow closely after him. Was there pride in there? Perhaps. Probably, even. But I think a great deal of his reaction was motivated by love.

Jesus doesn't wash his hands and head, though. "A person who has bathed does not need to wash, except his feet." Apparently Peter is missing the whole point of the foot-washing exercise. He's off on his own track all of the sudden.

Now, I'm no scholar here, and maybe I'm missing the point, too. But when I read this one thing I see is Peter doing something I very often do myself. He genuinely wants to be close to Jesus, and to love him, and show him that love. And he's not a hundred percent sure how to do that. And so as soon as he has some clue, some inkling of how it's to be done--"let me wash you, and you can have a share in me"--it's like he seizes on that and runs with it, throwing himself into the thing (as he was wont to do). I can almost see the thought-progression: if washing my feet gets me a share, then washing my feet and head and hands must be even better and bring me even closer and show my love even more.

Jesus is in front of him revolutionizing the whole concept of leadership and service, but Peter is missing it. He's making the exchange about the "how"--the means of getting to know Jesus--and missing the person of Jesus, who is standing right there, wanting to teach him. He's frantically trying to follow by his own efforts, instead of listening, and waiting.

A very easy thing to do sometimes, I think.

One of my favorite parts, though? How gently Jesus rebukes him. It's not, "Hey brainless, I'm trying to show you something here! Would you pay attention?!" It was more like, "No, no, friend, you don't need your head and hands washed. You're already clean. I know this doesn't make sense to you now, but it will eventually. Trust me. Now let's get back to this whole part where I'm revolutionizing the concept of leadership, shall we?"

Thank God for his patience with us.

Happy Sigh

Last night I went to an outdoor "movie on the lawn" screening of The Princess Bride, and afterwards a friend and I got some ice-cream bars and sat outside and chatted until after midnight.

Then this morning I headed over to the farmers market, got some berries and summer squash and peppers and fresh eggs, got caught in a glorious rainstorm on the way home and stood on my back porch luxuriating in it before heading inside to make blueberry scones and tea.

And I have no plans at all this weekend, except watching the World Cup final with some friends, and probably making something particularly amazingly delicious with my squash. And maybe a nap or two.

Oh, and my cilantro plant--which I thought I had killed by transplanting it--is alive! It's sprouting new, hearty little cilantro leaves all over it.

Sigh.

Disappointed Sigh

Germany threw away their World Cup chances by playing a horrible game against Spain. Spain! It was like watching the 2008 EuroCup all over again. So disappointing.

I guess I have to root for the Netherlands now.

Sigh.

Danke, Deutchland

Yay Germany! Way to get back to your pretty, controlled, efficient football ways. I missed you to the last couple games. Keep it up.

(So long, England...)

Sigh

That's it. We're out. I'm depressed.

But you know--I hate to say it--I think the win went to the better team this time. Ghana really did play better soccer more minutes of the game, for all our American determination and scrappiness.

Now Germany had better beat England tomorrow. Seriously. No more fooling around.

An encounter

I was walking to the farmer's market this morning, and as I passed the art museum I heard a slight rustle above me. I looked up into the nearest tree, and one of these was looking down at me:

It's a red-tailed hawk, and in person, it's quite big. And claw-y. As it stared at me with its round, unblinking eyes, I was very glad to know they don't like to eat people.

Quite an imposing and beautiful bird.

(Unfortunately, I was not able to get a good picture of my hawk, so I had to steal this image from wikimedia.)

Drama

I thought I was going to have a heart attack, but we did it. What's with the American need for drama?

Bad First Day on the Job

Um, you'd think you know what you were getting into when you accepted the job-title "madator"...

Click here for YouTube clip (sorry, Blogger was having trouble embedding the video in this post)

But I do like the comment on the Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me site (where I got the clip): "You say he's a bad bull-fighter. I say he's a good stayer-aliver."

Here's to staying alive.

Let's go, guys

Today's the big day. The U.S. needs to beat Algeria this morning (okay, they could tie and still squeak through to the elimination rounds, but only if the England-Slovenia game goes in certain ways...it will be much simpler if we just win). Once we know how that game goes, I can decide how I want the Group D games this afternoon to go. I really want Germany to beat Ghana--not least so I can gloat over my Ghanaian friend--but I also don't want the U.S. to face Germany in the first round of eliminations, because then one of my teams will immediately eliminate the other. Not cool. (I wish they weren't in adjacent groups like that. Sigh.) So, they need to work it out so they're either both first or both second in their respective groups. Come on, guys. You can do it. (And remember, U.S. guys: scoring before the other team is often helpful for winning...)

Whew

Okay, we're still okay. England tied Algeria 0-0, so if we beat Algeria on Wednesday then we're on to the death-or-glory rounds.

But you know, I have to say, everyone keeps going on about how terrible England was--and they were pretty terrible--but there's also the fact that Algeria did quite well. They legitimately held their own. We shouldn't underestimate them in the upcoming match (nor should we play like we did for the first half this morning...crimenently, guys, the whole coming-from-behind thing is dramatic and exciting when it works out, but let's try scoring first once in a while).

Better than losing

Okay, I'll take the 2-2 draw against Slovenia. But really, we won 3-2, because that last goal totally should have counted. And yes, I am blaming the ref for this loss. We were robbed.

But what is, is. At least we're still in it. Now England and Algeria just need to tie this afternoon, and we'll be in okay shape...

Gah!

I know no one else in America is paying attention, but Germany just lost to Serbia!!! It was painful.

And--while I'm not offering this as an excuse--the ref was insane. Seriously.

Sigh.

Hopefully I'll have a happy moment today when the U.S. beats Slovenia...

Update

Hoody-wearing is officially back out. Hello, humidity.

Sigh.

Moosewood

I have discovered an excellent line of cookbooks: The Moosewood Collective cookbooks (inspired by the Moosewood Restaurant in Ithaca, New York). They are vegetarian-ish (there's a bit of fish thrown in there) and health-/ecology-conscious, and have delicious recipes that don't use (too many) strange ingredients. I have the low-fat book from the library right now, and am seriously considering purchasing it.

You out there who like to cook good food, go check them out.

An overdue post

I actually have started many blog posts over the last couple months. I just haven't finished most of them, because I can't get them to come out quite right. Or I put them aside and then by the time I come back to them they aren't relevant anymore. So, while it may look like I have abandoned you all, I haven't really. It just looks like it.

So, a post! Three celebratory things this week:

1) I am currently wearing a hoody and not sweating! For those of you in Oregon with your rain, that may not be very meaningful. But for those of us here where it has been in the 90s (in May! the East coast is so uncivilized) and humid, it is quite exciting. It's not actually cool enough to demand a hoody, but I'm wearing one because I can. It's the principle of the thing.

2) The fireflies are here! For those of you from places where fireflies are a ho-hum summerly occurrence, this may not be exciting. But for those of you in/from Oregon, where we don't have fireflies (I know! the West coast can be uncivilized, too), it is momentous. Yes, I have been acting like a three-year-old, gasping in delight and pointing them out to bored locals. Sue me. I'm excited.

3) I made curry today using fennel from my very own fennel plant in the backyard! Self-explanatory celebrativeness. (Celebratoryness? No, I like celebrativeness better.)

Okay, back to...whatever else I end up doing this evening. In my hoody. :)

Walking Song

We waited for an omnibus,
In which there was no room for us,
But Right foot first, then Left his brother,
Tried which could overtake the other;
And that's the way,
With nought to pay,
To do without an omnibus,
In which there is no room for us

- William E. Hickson

Redirection

I doodled a mural of my life yesterday. Thought I'd share:

Moses

I've been thinking about Moses lately.

Not the part of his life where he was miraculously saved as a baby in the bulrushes. Nor where he encountered the voice of of God at a supernaturally burning bush, or when he freed his enslaved people from the powerful empire of Egypt, complete with plagues and show-downs with the Pharaoh and parting seas. Not even the part where he wandered in the desert leading the grumbling Israelites.

No, I've been thinking about the part of his life that is all but missed when you read the narrative in Exodus. The part covered in the verse: During those many days the king of Egypt died, and the people of Israel groaned because of their slavery and cried out for help. Some scholars think those "many days" may have added up to forty years. In any case, it was a really long time.

I wonder what he was thinking.

I mean, there he was--a wealthy, educated, skilled, once-powerful, adopted son of Pharaoh--tending sheep. A fugitive from Egypt. Stripped of his power. Stripped of his royal identity. For years. And that whole time, the people of Israel were groaning in their enslavement and crying out for help.

His people were suffering, and he was hanging out in the desert with some sheep.

How did he react to that?

I wonder whether he strained against his shepherd role, restless to run back to Egypt--fugitive or not--and do something to help the Israelites.

I wonder whether he felt like his life in Pharaoh's house had been wasted, whether he questioned God: Why give me all that wealth and resources and powerful background only to put me out here with the sheep instead of letting me using those resources to save my people? Why send me out here when I had so much to offer there?

I wonder whether he sometimes enjoyed his new life--working outside, his wife, his children--and whether he ever felt a bit guilty about that, being aware of and apart from his people's misery, and not doing anything to free them.

I wonder whether he ever felt a bit...useless.

And I wonder if he was ashamed and rather surprised to see how fearfully reluctant he was when God finally gave him the command: "Yes, now is the time. Go rescue my people."

Perhaps he didn't think any of those things. But I think I would have if I were him.

Forty years is a long time to think. To wait.

Moses lived a lot of life before he became the venerable, bearded "Moses" [spoken in a deep, venerating voice] of Pharaoh-defying, sea-parting, Ten-Commandment-receiving, people-leading fame. He did a lot of shepherding first. A lot of waiting. A lot of living normal life with his job and his family. Maybe it was those forty years of quiet preparation which made it possible for God to use him so much and yet for him to remain humble about it. Maybe becoming a shepherd was what it took for Moses to see--even with all the great education and resources and authority he could have "offered" as a son of Pharaoh--that it was God and God alone who had the power and deserved the glory.

...I think we can learn a lot from Moses.

My new pet

Having a sourdough starter is like having a pet: you feed it every day, look after it, make sure it's warm enough and not sprouting unnatural growths... Of course, you do eat it eventually. But never all at once. So it doesn't really count as peticide. And cared-for ones can live for generations of human life. Don't you wish you could share pieces of your pet with your friends and still have a healthy creature to pass down to posterity?

I am expecting to make some very tasty sourdough bread by the end of the week. - sigh of happiness -

Disappointment

The thunderstorm faked us out. It made this big show about coming--everything got all still and muggy, the wind turned blustery, the clouds closed in, the air smelled fresh and anticipatory--and then it rained for maybe two minutes, lightning flashed once (which may have been my imagination, fueled by false hope (or residual head trauma)), and that was it. Then the air got all close and humid again. Sigh. Very disappointing.

Neighbors

So, I got to meet some new neighbors yesterday. I stepped out on my front porch to check how the hydrangea bushes are doing (beautifully, as far as I can tell), turned back around, and my door had gently swung itself shut. My automatically locking door.

As I stood their futilely attempting to turn the door handle, my thoughts ran something like this:

1. Keys? Right on the other side of the door. I can see them, but cannot reach them.

2. Windows? All the downstairs ones are latched.

3. A ha! I just gave my spare keys to Neighbors A two doors down!

4. Neighbors A, who are out of town. I know this because I'm watering their plants.

5. I'm watering their plants! I have their spare key! I can use it to get my spare from their house!

6. Their key is with my keys, right on the other side of the door.

7. Dumb despair.

8. Contemplating whether to go next door and introduce myself to Neighbor B, whom I haven't yet met, to ask if I can climb through her upstairs window onto the roof so I can try to break into my unlatched bedroom window....

At that point, Neighbor B comes out of her house on the way to her car. We exchange I-haven't-met-you-yet pleasantries, and I mention that I have locked myself out of my house. "Oh no!" says she. "And I don't have your spare, do I?"

"No," I say, "Neighbors A have my spare, but they're out of town. I know, because I'm watering their plants."

"Oh, I have a key to their house!" Hope blossoms. "Wait, no I don't. They have mine, but I don't have theirs." Hope dies.

- silence -

I'm about to resort to the window plan, when Neighbor B's face lights up. "Neighbor C has a key to Neighbor A's house!" I ask which one is Neighbor C's house, and she points to a woman also just coming out of her house, with a baby in her arms. Neighbor B calls across the street to Neighbor C that I'm on the way over, and I introduce myself to Neighbor C and explain the situation.

"Oh!" says Neighbor C. "Yes, I have their key. Hang on." She invites me in, where I chat with her baby while she rifles through a basket of keys and sundry items. "Here," she says, handing me three keys, "Two of these are to Neighbor A, and one is to Neighbor D. I'm not sure which are which, so just try them and see what works."

So I take the keys from Neighbor C and cross to Neighbor A's house. I try a couple of the keys, and success! I'm in Neighbor A's house. I then rifle through Neighbor A's basket of spare keys and sundry items (note: Neighbors A would be totally fine with this), and find my spare. I go to my house, open the door with the spare, fetch my keys, return my spare to Neighbor A's house, lock Neighbor A's house and return Neighbor A's and D's keys to Neighbor C, tell Neighbor B that her plan worked, and finally am back in my own house.

Whew.

That all ended up working out really well, too, because it gave me a natural way to ask Neighbor B if she would mind her indoor/outdoor cats wandering through my house occasionally to help scare away the mice. She was totally good with it.

I like my neighborhood.

I knew it was too good to last

I just had a mouse hop out of my dishwasher, run around on the kitchen floor, and hop back in. ...

I think I'm going to get a cat.

Literary thought of the day

"After all, people may really have in them some vocation which is not quite plain to themselves, may they not? They may seem idle and weak because they are growing. We should be very patient with each other, I think."
- Dorothea, in Middlemarch by George Eliot

Okay, okay

My mum tells me that my last post doesn't count. So, here; this time I'll included the latest poem I've learned. It's "Star-gazer", by Louis MacNeice:

Forty-two years ago (to me if to no one else
The number is of some interest) it was a brilliant starry night
And the westward train was empty and had no corridors
So darting from side to side I could catch the unwonted sight
Of those almost intolerably bright
Holes, punched in the sky, which excited me partly because
Of their Latin names and partly because I had read in the textbooks
How very far off they were, it seemed their light
Had left them (some at least) long years before I was.

And this remembering now I mark that what
Light was leaving some of them at least then,
Forty-two years ago, will never arrive
In time for me to catch it, which light when
It does get here may find that there is not
Anyone left alive
To run from side to side in a late night train
Admiring it and adding noughts in vain.

I really am planning to write more bloggish posts soon. I've just been working like a crazy person between visits to the MVA (Maryland's DMV from...an unhappy place, for you non-Marylanders), getting lost driving around Baltimore, housepainting, meeting the realtor, having friends, garden sprucing-up, and you know, eating and sleeping. So I haven't had much time for blogging. But I'll get to it.

(By the way, isn't that a great poem?)

A post

This is a post, because people have been complaining that I haven't posted anything.

So, here you go.

Calling

So, this week was a little weird for me, like I was existing in parallel worlds: the world in which I was at peace and contented and thrilled to be living every day here, and the world in which I was discouraged that I'm still working an admin job and have no idea what God wants me to do with my life.

Then God worked it out so all these people spoke into my life throughout the week--directly and indirectly--and left me both encouraged and challenged.

Encouraged that God is good and God is sovereign. Encouraged that God's strength is perfected in weakness. Encouraged to embrace this unique time I have to be still and listen and pray and be, without a lot of distractions. And encouraged that God is at work in ways we cannot see.

But I was also challenged (again) to deal with the pride that makes me bristle at having an "unimportant" job, which I don't find difficult, and with which I'm not materially successful (read: making money) or humanitarian-ly successful (read: saving the world).

And challenged to embrace that it's good that God is stripping away my "identity"--those things I use and have used to define myself--and humbling me, so that He will be my identity. Not my studies, or my job, or my world-saving, or my success, or my inflated sense of personal destiny. Him.

So often lately I've been asking God what He is calling me to do, what He wants from me, what the heck He is doing with me. I mean, sure, this random adventure over to Baltimore is great for now, but what am I actually being called to do?

Then someone pointed out that God is much less concerned with what He's calling us to do as He is with what He's calling us to be.

And I'm slowly realizing that the answer--my calling--is as true and present in this very moment, working an admin job in Baltimore, as it would be if God were to speak audibly from the clouds to send me to grad school or a "career path" or the refugee camps of Nepal. Because my call is to follow Christ.

That's the whole deal. Jesus.

Yes, I'm still antsy to go out and do something, anything, "spectacular" with my life. So I'm glad that God is such a patient teacher, and that I can cast myself on grace.

But it's good to know--however imperfectly I've learned it so far--that I do in fact have a calling. Even now.

Freakin' amazing grace

Hallelujah, God doesn't expect more than His own grace to carry us to shore. (Sojourn, "All Good Gifts)

I was reading through Jesus' famous Sermon on the Mount the other day, and was struck anew by what a brilliant picture it presents of our need for grace.

There's this line in there: "I say to you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and the Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Never. It has so much finality. Unless you do this impossible task of living more perfectly than the most intensely obsessive rule-followers of the day, that's it. You're out.

Jesus then goes on to list a bunch of those important rules for righteousness which his listeners would know, and makes them even more impossible: You've heard that if you murder someone then you're liable to judgment? I say if you're even angry with him then you're liable to that judgment. You've heard that you shouldn't have sex outside your marriage? I say that if you even lust after someone in your heart then you're guilty. On and on, taking the Law beyond the external "rules" and making it about our hearts and our minds and our motivations. He demands that we be perfect, all the way through.

Impossible.

Which would be really depressing, if it weren't for the fact that He then offers us the incomprehensible gift of grace. If He didn't live that perfect life for us, then switch places with us so He could bear the crushing guilt and nastiness of our lives and we could get the credit for the God-glorifying perfection of His. If God didn't remember that we are dust, and show his love and everlasting patience by letting us into His presence on nothing more than the merit of His son. No matter how badly we've screwed everything up, and keep screwing it up.

It's crazy, really. Crazy and beautiful and infinitely humbling.

Olympics

So, I've resigned myself to the fact that I can watch only the Olympic highlights online, and not the full events, but do they have to name the winner in the title every single time?

Takes a bit of the drama out of it all.

I have a street again!

They finally plowed my street, so cars can get through.

...Granted, to do that, they re-buried the freshly dug-out cars, so all of my neighbors are still stuck. But it still feels like progress.

Having people

So, I was out for coffee with a friend, and ran into someone else I knew. Someone else, from an entirely different social context, who didn't know the person I was originally meeting.

It made me happy.

There's just something so...settled-feeling, about having enough known people around to be able to run into them randomly on the street.

Spello-tape

I just learned today that the British word for that yellowish, translucent sticky tape is "sellotape". So the "spello-tape" in Harry Potter is actually a pun, not just the rather silly (and not-too-creative) made-up word I thought it was. Still silly, yes, but now in a pun-ish sort of way. My esteem for Rowling has increased.

By the way, it's snowing really hard again...

Latest forecast

I don't know how well it shows in the pictures, but the main roads around here have been plowed (although still extremely slick and narrow) and most things are open as usual today. I'm glad, however, that I don't have to try to drive anywhere today. Fortunately, I know at least one person who is very comfortably driving in snow and has four-wheel drive, so I'm totally fine if I do end up needing to go somewhere.

The latest forecast I heard this morning: It's supposed to get just above freezing today, and things will begin to thaw, then tonight/tomorrow it will drop into the 20s and freeze everything that has thawed and on Tuesday we're expected to get 6-12 more inches of snow. So I'm really glad I won't be trying to drive anywhere then.

Since I don't have to drive anywhere, though, I have to say I'm enjoying the wintriness of this week.

Neighborhood bonding

My neighbor and I dug out a road today:

Two women, two shovels. We bonded. It looked like people were bonding all over the neighborhood, as everyone ventured out to unbury cars and clear their alleys together. (Bonding, or yelling at each other for throwing the snow in the wrong place, depending on the group.)

If you're interested, there are some more pictures from the morning in my album, including the neighborhood and the nearby park.

Enjoy!

I used a snow shovel...

...for the first time in my life today. Exciting times.

The snow continues...

I awoke to this this morning, with snow still falling heavily and fast:

Yes, that is a car under there. Even less of it is visible now.

And no, that's not an illusion. The entire porch is full of snow up that high on railings.

Pardon the spots...I had to shoot these through the door, as it won't open, on account of the snow piled against it. (The front door is fine, though, with the overhang and all, so it's not like I'm officially "snowed in".)

Some very nice neighbor guys of mine shoveled my walk and stairs for me, and so I got to stay warm and dry and eat banana-walnut pancakes and drink hot coffee while I watched the snow outside. (I didn't sit and eat while watching them shovel, though...I thought that might be a little mean.)

The snow is supposed to continue all through today and tonight, and there are rumors that another storm will hit on Tuesday.

Somehow, I don't think I'll be going to church tomorrow...

Tutoring

Tutoring today was quite entertaining. I have been assigned to a fifth grader (who's ten--almost eleven), who seems to be a good kid, and funny. He asked me whether I had a job, then volunteered that, when he grows up, he doesn't want to be a firefighter, or a police man, or a banker, or anything like that. I asked him what he did want to do then, and he didn't know. Just something where there was no chance of being killed, injured or robbed. He also told me, when we were asked to sing a song as a group, that he "wasn't much of a singing kind of guy" and would prefer not to participate. But then an hour later he was enthusiastically performing for me his self-created remix of "I Believe I Can Fly" (pretty good, actually), which sounded suspiciously like something a singing kind of guy would do...

We studied apostrophes and quotation marks using a program in the computer lab, and practiced reading, and then played floor hockey for a bit (part of the evening routine at the learning center: spend the last fifteen minutes running around like crazy people).

When we were leaving he shook my hand solemnly and told me that he was very glad to have met me, and that I am a very nice person. Aw.

Anyway, we'll see how this all unfolds in the coming weeks, but so far, so good... :)

Weather on the way

Apparently a Baltimore-blizzard (1-2 feet of snow) is on the way for tomorrow and Saturday. Good thing I have plenty of toilet paper. :)

Oh, PETA

I'm sorry to say that until this moment I was unaware of the vastly important contribution PETA is campaigning to make to our English usage:

No, no, that scaly thing people catch and turn into sticks and eat on Fridays and throw around in the Pike Street Market is not a fish. Psh, you are so behind the times. It's a sea kitten.

I mean, who could ever bludgeon and eat a cuddly little sea kitten?

...

Oh, PETA.

Obedience, when it makes no sense

I've been thinking a lot lately about the crazy story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac, and the picture it presents.

I mean--even excluding the parent-child element (which adds a whole extra layer of craziness)--Abraham is being asked not only to sacrifice the one thing most precious to him in the entire world, but to destroy the miraculous means God provided to fulfill His promise of making Abraham into a great nation. There's Abraham, an old man with an old, post-menopausal wife, being told that God will give him a son. Not likely. But then through this incredible, miraculous birth of Isaac, everything is exciting and beautiful and on track for Abraham to father God's chosen people, to see this promised and hugely God-glorifying calling realized.

And then, God commands him to do the unthinkable thing: To sacrifice his son. To kill the joy of his life. To undo the only way to fulfill his calling, the way which God Himself had miraculously provided only years before.

And he obeys.

I don't pretend to be facing anything as dramatic and mind-blowingly painful and sacrificial as Abraham, but over the past couple years I have--more than once--experienced a taste of the confusion. I have seen God open doors and providentially orchestrate timing of events and so clearly lead me towards something that excites me and fills me with joy, the thing that must be my "calling"...only to have Him tell me "no" at the last minute. And I find myself asking why He lined up every so perfectly and let me get all excited if He wasn't actually calling me there. Or, if He is calling me in that direction, why that perfect step--in my mind, the obvious and and God-appointed path--towards it is being thwarted.

And I still don't know why. But I see that with Abraham, God was glorified through his obedience. His obedience not only in giving up his son whom he loved, but in--through Abraham's eyes--"thwarting" the fulfillment of what God had promised. And then God was glorified again, and He did fulfill His promise, and let Abraham keep his son and showered him with blessings on top of it.

But when Abraham chose to obey, he didn't know that would happen, and he chose it anyway. Even though it mustn't have made any sense at all.

So, if Abraham can obey God that crazily--with the life of his son and the birth of an entire nation at stake--I suppose I can trust Him with things like which country I live in, or what job I have. Even when it doesn't make sense to me.

(I have to say, though, it would be nice sometimes to get the whole audible-voice-from-God instructions which Abraham got. I mean, seriously.)

I hate money

So, today I got a stern letter warning me that my renter's insurance payment is overdue, and that I must pay it soon or bad things will happen. It's my Portland policy, which I thought had canceled. Long story. But I dealt with it, and it's fine now.

Not five minutes after straightening it out, I get this message on my cell: "This is the Fraud Prevention Center at US Bank. We need you to call us back to review some potentially fraudulent activity on your account number XXXX. This is important. It is not a sales call." Heart attack. Phishing? Identity theft? Something else I forgot or got wrong that would haunt my financial life forever?! I called US Bank directly, and got routed to the fraud department. It was a real call, but nothing is actually wrong. I started breathing again.

And then my tax documents came in the mail. Bah.

I hate money. Being a grown-up is stressful.

(I did get a phone call from my almost-three-year-old nephew this afternoon, though. And that made the day much cheerier.)

Snow

It's snowing again. Just thought I'd share.

That was entertaining

So, an internet-fixing guy had to come to my house again today (I now have internet, but am getting about a fifth of the speed I'm paying for), and I have to say, it was one of the more entertaining repair-person experiences I've ever had. In the half hour he was here, I learned his life story (hometown, time in the Navy, world travels, current home on two acres where he raises chickens and tends apple trees), his medical history, his favorite foods, how often he eats eggs (not counting when they're hidden, like in waffles), his opinions on several issues (wood stoves vs. furnaces, the merits of recycling, the state of the economy, whether people should be allowed to raise chickens in the city limits (touching on the historical ramifications of such rules in times like the Great Depression), his desire to see outsourced jobs brought back to the US, his disapproval of estate taxes, etc.), a brief history of the Baltimore rail system (which led to broader discussion of rail systems in general), his aspirations to live as much like a mountain man as he can, and an overview of the rawhide trade of California in the 1830s. And I'm sure I've left some of it out.

Whew.

Unfortunately, this man was not a good multi-tasker. So every time he spoke, he stopped what he was doing. You can see why this means he was at my house for half an hour instead of the thirty seconds it should have taken to test the line and say: "You're getting a great signal. It's .8mgs faster than you pay for, actually. Must be an issue with the wireless."

But he was so friendly and goodnatured with his chatter, that I couldn't help but be entertained by it. I wonder if the internet company knows that's why his jobs at each site take so long...

In other news: I have now officially volunteered to tutor junior high kids in reading once a week, in a nearby low-income neighborhood. My church helps run a youth center there. I'm looking forward to it as a way both to get out of the house and to get more involved with my church/city. I'll let you know how it goes. (And yes, all you mom-type people out there: I have a friendly ride with a fellow tutor to and from each week, so no scary walks or busses at night through sketchy neighborhoods. You may stop fretting.)

Sojourn

I've just become a big fan of Sojourn's worship album Before the Throne. It's lyrically and musically solid (sometimes a hard combination to find in worship music). I recommend it. Yay for iTunes gift cards.

An announcement(!), snow, and musings

Announcement: This is the first post I've been able to write using my very own wireless connection!! Finally I was able to make it work today. - happy dance - I never want to call tech support or tech-related customer service again. Ever.

Normal blog post: Well, it began snowing this morning just as I was leaving for the farmer's market, and it hasn't stopped yet. The farmer's market was a bit sparse anyway, being winter, and with the snow causing some of the booths to pack up early, it became even sparser. But I got to romp around in the snow with a new friend from church to get there, and I discovered a place that sells farm fresh eggs cheaper than the pseudo-farm eggs at the grocery store. Very exciting.

The snow is beautiful, and powdery, and it has been interesting to spend the evening watching it blow in gusts and swirls off the roofs of the rowhouses.

So, hearkening back to my last post: I've been thinking about Portland and Baltimore, and how Portland has a reputation for being friendly and community-oriented, and Baltimore, well, doesn't; yet I spent a year in Portland without any friends, and have been in Baltimore three weeks and have already exchanged phone numbers several times and met up with people to do random things. Granted, I have inherited some of my new friends here from my brother, but most of them are my very own (thank you very much). And--while I know I haven't had enough time or experience in either place to make these wild conjectures--I'm going to conjecture wildly anyway about why I think this is.

I think that Portland is a lonely city, because--while it's all about civic pride and community and all that jazz--it also holds so tightly to a fierce sense of independence. It's like it's "community"-oriented in the sense of having community gardens and city-wide litter-pick-up days and comfortably friendly conversations with the random people you encounter in the elevator...but that after that brief event everyone goes their own way and does "their own thing." Because that's what Portlanders do: their own thing. They are proud to be from Portland, and share a yes-I'm-a-recyling-nut-and-love-trees-too bond with other Portlanders, but that seems pretty much to be the extent of it.

While here... Well, actually, I have found the people to be friendly (much to the shock of natives, when I tell them this); but it's more that people seem to be involved with each other's lives. Like maybe it's less common to accept everything and everyone, but that once you are accepted, you're in all the way, and your life is now a part of their lives. Like Baltimore people don't have an I-am-my-own-person attitude in the same isolating way that Portlanders do (even while they remain some of the quirkiest people I've ever met).

Please understand, I love Portland. It's beautiful, and weird, and granola-y, and bookish. I love it's earthiness and openness to ideas and laid-back atmosphere, and I love it's sense of independence. But--at least where I lived--it was undeniably lonely. And for a place that prides itself in community, I think that's kind of sad.

Anyway, like I said: Wild conjectures without much basis in fact or research. But such are my unscientific musings...

This post was going to say something meaningful

Really, this blog is active again. As in, I'm planning to write regularly, and not only one or two posts a month as I have the last several months.

And I was going to wax eloquently about something meaningful tonight, to prove it. Like the ordeal of dealing with customer service, or my thoughts on why Portland is such a lonely city (as seen in contrast), or why I am not an iconoclast. But I'm on day two of some headache/scratchy-throat thing, so I'm going to go to bed instead.

But expect great things to come...

Poem of the Day (in the spirit of the refurbished blog)

Spring Morning, by A.A. Milne
--

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow-
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You'd sail on water as blue as air,
And you'd see me here in the fields and say:
"Doesn't the sky look green today?"

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
"It's awful fun to be born at all."
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
"We do have beautiful things to do."

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You'd say to the wind when it took you away:
"That's where I wanted to go today!"

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

No Fixed Land

As you can see (assuming you've visited before), I have renamed and to some degree redesigned my blog. Why, you may ask? Mostly because I see this recent move across the country as opening the next epoch of my life, and I wanted my blog (the place wherein I narcissistically muse about said life) to reflect that sense of newness. That, and I've been dying to re-create the header anyway, because I thought the old one was rather ugly.

So, the new name. No Fixed Land.

The name is part of a quote from Perelandra, the second book in C.S. Lewis' excellent space trilogy:

"He gave me no assurance. No fixed land. Always one must throw oneself into the wave."

This is one of my favorite images in literature.* With the context of the book around it, this statement is a beautiful expression of faith. It is not saying that God does not offer us assurance, but that the assurance is Him, Himself; not the land we stand upon, or the securities we create for ourselves. It is our frightening, glorious privilege to plunge ourselves into each wave as He brings it to us.

Life is nothing if not an adventure. I am not where I expected to be right now. I have no idea "what I'm doing with my life," or what next month or next year will look like. The last few years have included a lot of confusion and even disappointment about what I'm being called to do. I still wonder all the time why I'm who I am, when I am, where I am.

But that's okay. No fear. By the grace of God, I know I can confidently throw myself into this next wave, wherever it takes me. I mean, it's His wave, hey? So it's good. Sweetly exhilarating sometimes, swift and buffeting sometimes, seeming to languish in a dead calm sometimes, but always His. So always Good.

Bring it on.

---
*So, I highly recommend that you read this book and encounter this image in its full context. But in brief: The protagonist finds himself in an unfallen world where the "land" is essentially matted vegetation resting on top of the sea, which conforms to the movement and ever-changing contours of the water. There is only one "fixed land"--one solid land of rock--and it is used throughout the book to represent our human desire to have things in life "fixed": certain and secure and predictable. Among other things, the story presents a picture of our need to let that prideful, fearful, self-insurance go and to throw ourselves into the unpredictability (yet ultimate goodness and security) of God's will. Really, you should read it. It's that good.

Day 4

I'm sitting in Newton, IA, at the moment. An even more happening place than Rock Springs was.

We spent Sunday night in North Platte, NE, but had no internet access (hence no blog update). Nebraska was flat and snowy. As was Wyoming. As is Iowa. However, I still stand by my earlier assertion that this whole flat and snowy thing is actually quite beautiful in its own way. Beautiful to drive through, at least; I guess it hasn't really tempted me to stop and settle down forever. But it's so cold that the snow on the plains sparkles with ice crystals, and the trees and grass are covered in a thick layer of ice that gives the landscape a surreal sort of glassiness. When the amber afternoon sun shines through it, man. It's gorgeous.

Anyway, we're having fun and slowly but surely making it to the east coast! Good times.

Day 2

We're in the extremely happening town of Rock Springs, Wyoming. Woot woot. No exciting weather or mishaps to report.

I've decided, for the record, that this part of the country is much more beautiful in the winter than in the summer. The white dusting the reddish brown rocks provides a nice contrast, mist hovers on hilltops and rises from fences, and scrub bushes look less scraggly and dead when they are peeking out of the snow. It's actually quite breathtaking, at times.

Tomorrow, it's on towards Nebraska.

Day 1 of the Nation-Crossing Adventure

We're here safely in Boise. The scenery was beautiful and the roads were clear. So far, adventure without disaster. Tomorrow, off to Utah...