Snow Dance..

The professor of Anthropology, John McNeil, recommended reading Lewis as an influence for writing good papers. I find this to be true. When I read Lewis, or any good writer like Diana, for example, I am inspired to write. Writing becomes an art form, and not a mandatory paper writing function or way of recording factual events.
The Narnian Chronicles are some books that the more I live the more I get out of them. I have been reading through them this summer, and have just finished The silver Chair. This used to be my least favourite of the books but I have been pleasantly surprised to find that my appreciation of this book has grown and now I have no least favourite of this series.
There is one passage in particular that painted a lovely picture in my mind:


...then she saw that they were really doing a dance-- a snow dance with so many complicated steps and figures that it took you some time to understand it....Jill felt like she could have fainted with delight; and the music-- the wild music, intensely sweet and yet just the least bit eerie too, and full of good magic as the Witch’s thrumming had been full of bad magic--made her feel it all the more.
...circling round and round the dancers was a ring of Dwarfs, all dressed in their finest clothes; mostly scarlet with fur-lined hoods and golden tassels and big furry top-boots. As they circles round they were all diligently throwing snow balls. ...They weren’t throwing them at the dancers as silly boys might be doing in England. They were throwing them through the dance in such perfect time with the music and with such perfect aim that if all the dancers were in exactly the right places at exactly the right moments, no one would be hit. This is called the Great Snow Dance and it is done every year in Narnia on the first moonlit night when there is snow in the ground. Of course it is a kind of game as well as a dance, because every now and then some dancer will be the least little bit wrong and get a snow ball in the face, and then everyone laughs. But a good team of dancers, Dwarfs, and musicians will keep it up for hours without a single hit. On fine nights when the cold and the drum-taps, and the hooting of the owls, and the moonlight, have got into their wild, woodland blood and made it even wilder, they will dance till day break. I wish you could see it for yourselves.

My new goal is to find a few musicians, dancers and snow ball throwers and make up a Snow Dance. Of course I can not make up the Great Snow Dance, but I would like to choreograph and write something called a snow dance and inspired and guided by this. The music and drums would resemble a really good wild Irish reel, and the dance would be none other than the best to dance to this type, that is, steps sharp and quick as Irish with leaps and kicks from ballet. And also some flamenco arms and passion here and there.

An Enchanting Afternoon..

I had the most enchanting afternoon! The whole day was overcast and rainy until my last few minutes at work. Then all the sudden the Sun gave his first greeting. I was planning on meeting my new little friend, Moren, that afternoon at 4:30 to go over some performance details.
I leisurely walked over towards her house. I had just come from the library and had a book on contemplative prayer. Because I was early I decided to pick some flowers for her, and then the afternoon’s loveliness began. Having just finished selecting a bouquet of purple flowers and thinking about adding some honey suckle to them, a group of little children turned around the road into the forest. Who should it be but Moren and a few others! To my great delight she came running up with arms wide open for a hug. Then I was surrounded by the others all chattering. I was asked by Chris Marchand, who was leading the group (or being led?), whether I had seen the mother turkey? no...
So off we went down a path to a burn pile, and there, in plain eyesight, but so well coloured it took a bit of looking to see, was a mother turkey frozen, or so it seemed, because she never moved an inch. And underneath her breast were about five little turkey heads all looking around at the new world they were seeing. It was the most delightful, surprising sight I have seen for a long time.
And as I walked home I took the time to balance along the railing of the bridge crossing the river. There was a fresh breeze and looking up I found I was surrounded by hundreds of little seed pods blown off the trees by the wind, which, when the sun light hit them, looked like little golden petals all being thrown here in celebration for the day.
Finishing my bridge pass I found I was looking at a Camelot Sky. What is the quality of such? It is when the sun is in full light and there is a very deep blue in the centre of the sky which variegates to lighter shades as it draws closer to the horizon. There must also be lots of little clouds on their way to nowhere in particular. They are as big as ships in reality, but looking uncommonly like little sheep because of the distance. I am convinced that if I were able to get just past the visible horizon I would find myself in Camelot, hence the name. A very good picture of what one would find is depicted in the very last scene of Snow White, whith the castle in the clouds. There is a half hope of arriving, but really I would never actually find it as the Manitoba horizon is very large and I would not reach it before sun set. And in England it is over the hill, but there is always another hill to climb. Camelot Skys appear only in the afternoon until Sunset.
This is probably my favourite time of day, even over sunrises and the freshness of morning. It has to do with the colors being very deep and the whole creation seeming to be moving into its final stage almost at its glory.

Thoughts from a musician

Some time last February we had a violinist, Karl Stobbe, play for us in chapel. It was the best violining I have ever heard, even with the cds I have listened to. I was not only moved by the music but also by what he said. I wanted to write it down, but another idea came to me: why not just ask him for a copy of his lecture? So here is the paper he gave me.

I am a person who has always had difficulty with language. I often loose interest in lectures, and even sometimes in conversations. I have incredible trouble remembering names, remembering poetry, scripture, and have always struggled with “writer’s block”. It’s one of the reasons that i write (and read) word for word any public speaking that i have to do. I enjoy reading and poetry, but get absolutely distracted listening to somebody read. This is one reasons I don’t enjoy church music, or pop music. It always relies on lyrics to convey meaning, and for me, lyrics interfere with the real emotional content, which is in the harmonies and melodies. For me, music is a way of reflecting and listening to the world from a great distance, because it is removed from the ways we relate to each other in everyday life.

I have picked 4 pieces today that have been important to me, because they have helped me to define and understand my own faith.

1. Adagio from the Unaccompanied G-Sonata. Bach

One of the most powerful “spiritual” experiences I have ever had was with this piece. I was a student at UBC and was practising late one night in the chapel of the residence i was living at. I played this piece through and thought to myself that in this music I could feel God communicating with me. Maybe that is what music is to me--it’s a way of listening to God, and although I don’t understand anything in a direct fashion, there are no words that could describe what is being said. To this day, whenever I have extra need to feel that my faith is real, I play this piece.

2. Nigun from Baal Shem Suit--Bloch

I have always been impressed by the drama of this piece. I see life in it--the ups and downs, the climaxes and the desolation, and the peace and tranquility that eventually bring it to an end.

3. “Spring” Sonata-- Beethoven

This piece represents childlike purity for me. It is a beautiful, simple piece written with the confidence of somebody who see that he has the ability to communicate with the world, but hasn’t yet started questioning his own role in music. It is written just before Beethoven begins to understand he is losing his hearing, and the huge and profound changes in his personality and in his music that evolve with his illness. THis is one of Beethoven’s last pieces where I still think he has a childlike faith. Faith in his ability as a composer, untouched by the questions that will soon drive him almost to the point of suicide. It has four separate movements, each with its own mood and character.

4. Corrigliano--Red violin Caprices

When I first learned to play the violin, I would practice my scales and arpeggios, listen to my teachers and try things until I got them. I didn’t really understand the technical demands that were being thrust on me, I just did them, and they usually ended up being fine. When I was about 17, I started to want to understand how these technical aspects of playing the violin worked. I started to question that I could even do them, because I didn’t know how I did them-- and I started having trouble doing many of them. I am not unique in this situation, and I think that the large majority of violinists go through these stages, and it is important that we do. I needed to relearn how to play the violin, and eventually after a lot of studying and questioning, I was able to do all those things with confidence again. Life is like that, faith is like that. .... From the whole hearted acceptance of a child, to the consistent questioning and studying, and then to a more mature understanding and acceptance of faith--something I’ve only begun to understand in the past few years. This piece is like that, it has incredible technical demands that must be rehearsed, prepared and prepared, but eventually, you must simply have the faith that it will work.

Hurray!

Today is the day that Natanja and Mark have been married (at 3pm in Germany). Does one say "Congratulations" for weddings? It seems not enough... her is my atempt to celebrate the event with words:

Who is she that looketh forth as the
morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun,
and terrible as an army with banners?

Return, return, O Shulamite;
return, return, that we may look upon thee.
What will ye see in the Shulamite?
As it were the company of two armies.

In honor of your wedding I have made a chocolate swirl cake (I was not sure what you would be having so I made both..)

...

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.
...

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near;'
And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;'
The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;'
And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

This gem of a poem ( Maud by Mr. Tennyson) is full of the anticipation and beauty of this mysterious relationship that God has given. I think it fits because marriage seems to be the final fulfilment of these hopes. How exciting for you Natanja. God bless you today and forever!

How to read a Pome: lesson 1

First of all, pomes can be small and confusing. nya. And so, you see, don’t stand on your head because this might not help you very much.
And then there are lots of words, so don’t read them all in one sitting. Lick your toes inbetween. (the pomes. And the toes. )
ooh, yea, and there might be some small [cat] words that are black, so don’t worry: just wait till you find your zipper, and then you will understand.

Thank you Tig. I will take it from here.



nya. Stoo-pid

I have always considered myself someone who loves poetry, but not someone who enjoys reading it. How is that? Well, it comes when, as Tiglath mentioned, when you try to read it all at once and care too much for understanding every particular and worry about taking down the whole thing like prose.
I am learning to enjoy poetry. I think I can say that Hopkins is the first poet i have discovered. What I mean is that I have heard these big names thrown out: Elliot, Tennessean, Pound, Shakespeare... While I believe that they are great poets, no doubt, yet I do not enjoy most of their work yet.

I intend to explore some poetry this summer, and by the by (how is that spelled, and what does it mean?) I shall post one or two little “pomes” here.

To start here is one that has gone in my head as I am weeding. (Not the whole thing, just little bits. ) I shall not put down the whole thing, because it is long, but if the reader is interested, that is, if they find they enjoy it, not because I have said it is good, but because the words and sounds have some meaning to them, I shall put the address on the end.



The Jumblies


Edward Lear 1812-1888

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And everyone cried, "You'll all be drowned!"
They cried aloud, "Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!"

Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

II
They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband, by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And everyone said, who saw them go,
"O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!"
Far and few, etc

III
The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, "How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!"
Far and few, etc




Despite what Tiglath has said, which may apply to small words, if one does not understand what a “Sieve” is then they will miss the whole picture of this little poem.


http://ingeb.org/songs/theywent.html

Sarah Smith

“The ordinary man is the extraordinary man.”

Brennan Manning


" First came bright Spirits, not the spirits of men, who danced and scattered flowers--soundlessly falling... Then, on the left and right, at each side of the forest avenue, came youthful shapes, boys upon one hand and girls upon the other. If I could remember their singing and write down the notes, no man who read that score would ever grow sick or old. Between them went musicians: and after these a lady in whose honour all this was being done.
I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed. If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produced in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass. If she were clothed, then the illusion of her nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her inmost spirit shone though the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much as one of the wearer’s features as a lip or an eye.
But I have forgotten. And only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face.
'Is it?... Is it?’ I whispered to my guide.
‘Not at all,’ said he. ‘It’s someone ye’ll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders green.’
‘She seems to be ... well, a person of particular importance?’
Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on earth are two quite different things.’
‘And who are these gigantic people... look! They’re like emeralds... who are dancing and throwing flowers before her?’
‘Haven’t you read Milton? A thousand liveried angels lackey her.’
‘And who are all these young men and women on each side?’
They are her sons and daughters.’
‘She must have had a very large family, Sir.’
‘Every young man or boy that met her became her son--even if it is was only the boy that brought meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.
‘Isn’t that a bit hard on their own parents?’
‘No. There are those that steal other people’s children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.’
‘And how... But Hullo! What are all these animals? A cat--two cats--dozens of cats. And all those dogs... why, I can’t count them. And the birds. And the Horses.
They are her beasts.
‘Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean this is a bit too much.’
‘Every beast or bird that came near her had a place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.’"

"The Great Divorce" Lewis




What if we all aspired this kind of life?

When I woke up this morning I asked:

What is Gratitude?

And what happens when it is non-existent in a human?

My Friend My Sister is Alive!!!!

I can not relay in black and white how much emotion is coursing through my little body at having just received my first email from Kim!!!!!




(Yes, another Christmas banquet picture, but these are the ones I have: be happy)

Hey all of you!!!!
I hope you are all doing well!! I just wanted you guys to know that me and Jonno (my bro) are doing really well out here in the bush. Jonno has a bit of a cold, but he is getting over it. Tree planting is going well this year, i had my first $300 day last week so that was quite exciting (i almost beat the fastest tree-planter on the crew i was 90 trees away, but hopefully i will beat him soon). Of course my body hurts everywhere and i have the most ackward tan right now, but it kinda goes along with the job. Of course please continue to keep us in your prayers sometimes life in the bush gets rough, and stressful and emotional.....but God is working and stretching me for his glory.
Also continue to pray for health and high energy while we are out here, and that we don't go to crazy!!!
And i will say that i probably think about you guys way more than you think about me (all i get to do all day is think anyways) so don't worry all of you have been on my heart and i have definatley been praying!
Thanks for being such a support!
Kim

Well, that was the general, but she also gave a personal one, which I will keep to myself. (It is because I love you: I might have to shoot you, you see.)

The thought of not having her here all summer made me commit to writing her a letter everyday. While I do not have a flawless record, I have kept up. I can tell you all that it is the most wonderful experience to know your letters have been received and appriciated after long weeks of silence.

deeeeee!

Scotland

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer -
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Robert Burns

When I was about nine years old I found a book called Secret Codes and Hidden messages It was my most precious book, but I don't know what happened to it. It disappeared when we moved to Costa Rica. Inside it there was tips for being a spy, how to make different kinds of invisible ink, various codes, including Morse, radio and number. Also how to decipher. ahhh so many long hours planning my secrete club and ways to transmit messages! One day, overwhelmed with love for codes, riddles and solving problems I asked God to make my life a riddle to solve. The prayer was "answered", but it might just be that I began to see life as a riddle. Perhaps that is part of prayer: it is shaping us to see aright. We pray because God provides and so we learn to look to him.

Part of this riddle has been an obsession with Scotland since I was thirteen. I am happy to say that I think I have found the answer to it. And rightfully this should be in my journal, but so many people know me as "the girl who was obsessed with Scotland" that I thought the public should have access to my thoughts. This will not be a small post. ...I suppose that it is because it is a subject that I have shaped about half my (short lived yet) life.

History
No warning could prepare for the longing that developed. One day I was looking for a costume for my 13th birthday party. I saw a picture of a Highland dancer from the set of 1960's Land's and Peoples book and I felt like I wanted to know her. After that I did the most I could trying to learn about Scotland. At that age, 100$ is like 10,000$ now, so the thought of an 800$ plane ticket was impossible. I had to content myself with pen pals and web pages. Most the web pages had gotten Scotland wrong in my opinion. In fact I still think that. They give me a mass produced feeling, in short, they make Scotland into a consumer item. So I mainly looked at historical articles and pictures.

Moving to Costa Rica had a huge effect on my value system. In short, anything vaguely Latin American became the standard for what should be avoided. The closer one got to "Celtic" culture became the standard for what was Goodness, Beauty and Truth. (I really am not kidding, even though it is almost embarrassing: there was almost a moral quality to my aesthetics).

I had the opportunity to go to Scotland when I was 15 instead of have a quinceanos party. I stayed my pen-pals family and was treated like royalty. However, it would be dishonest to say Scotland was everything I dreamed it would be. I probably would not have come home if it was. I found that the girls there wore tight jeans, talked about shoes hair and clothes, and liked living in cities. I found that the boys were interested in video games, girls and lighting fires illegally. The "grown ups" did not wear kilts and none spoke Gaelic. In fact the one boy I met who could (apparently ) speak Gaelic could only say "fuck!" after seeing a machete that I brought for Andrew and Gordon from Costa Rica.

But I did not despair. I had not visited the Highlands, I was in fact in the Lowlands the whole time. And so I just passed off any disappointment in saying I had not seen the "real" Scotland. Still, I enjoyed my trip and gave my host family a huge kick when I whipped out my pocket knife and cut away some turf from Bannockburn (where Scotland won independence in 1314). I took it back to Costa Rica and planted by a tree where I would visit if I was particularly sad or happy and wanted to think. Our Gardner was very understanding and let it grow and did not poison it for bugs. Am I odd? yes. I also took back a rock from the Brig 'o Doon where the Tam 'o Shanter ran across from Robert Burn's poem. It was loose so I slipped it in my pocket and made the mistake of saying that my pants were falling down. The boys found this an amusing comment. Eunice giggled in a self-conscious-motherly way. I still have some very dead sprigs of heather. It doesn't really count because I got them from a garden and not a hill side I had hacked up. I am sure my readers will understand.

After this I encountered the writings of George MacDonald. Looking back, these next years from age 15-18 are very dark years which I withdrew from the world in general and spent mass quantities of time by myself in painful longing for "Scotland". I would spend long times outside in forests, dancing, trying to learn Gaelic, and reading what I could of any story or poem which was Celtic or Scottish. The feeling I felt of longing I called "Truth" and it was always Scotland which I felt it most poignantly.

I did not read much and the books that I did read I read over and over. This is the list that I read:

The Princess and the Goblin
The Highlander’s last Song
Phantasties
Lilith
Taliesin

Eventually I lived life for that day when I would be in the Highlands in a cottage with my highlander and never speak anything but Gaelic again. Oh, what does the world do with idealist Romantics? What did my family do? I am not really sure. They might have been worried...

Somewhere in Costa Rica is my dream of "The Highlander". It is a dream that has haunted me with every person I am ever vaguely interested in: But is he Scottish?? Basically, I am getting married to a bright person. But as soon as I have given my vow an overwhelming spirit of dispair comes over me and I see a highlander watching me, heart broken. And in his arms and by his sides are the children we were supposed to have had. Ugh. I had married the wrong person. What a nightmarish thought. Yes, it still haunts me.

But MacDonald did not just fill my head with images of a Scotland and highlanders from the past, he also awoke a hunger for this "truth". I developed a spirituality of a very distinct nature, not going to church. (eventually I joined the youth group that my sisters were in and began contact with some mainstream church influence). Ian, one of the characters from The Highlander’s Last Song moved me so much that I wanted to as much as possible learn from him. A quote which sums up my spirituality runs thus:

"It was truth and a higher Truth that he was always seeking. The sadness which
colored his deepest individuality could be removed only by the presence of
the eternal."

It was MacDonald who awoke in me a very hard pursuit for God, but this quest was inseparably tied to Scotland. This was the land of God. "Higher Truth" was pounded into my mind until I became a Platonist in my thinking, and the more so as I passed off life in Costa Rica as having any real significance.

I have grown up with the story of my dad's own ventures when he was 18 over the sea to France. It was assumed by me that I would leave at 18, and of course I would go to Scotland. However, two twists which are fairly significant came into play. First was my youth leader, Dave Bender. He knew I did not want to go to college (again an assumption based on growing up in my family) so he suggested I go "to this place started by this guy named Schaeffer... My friend went there, and apparently the people who go there are really smart. A few of them serve in the US government. I can't remember the name." It was of course L'Abri, which after some spy work investigation on the internet (lucky I remembered how to get information form that book...;) I found it to be a place which sounded like exactly what I wanted. Truth! But they were booked, so I spent the summer alone in Murrayville, Georgia. During this summer of unplanned solitude (I was supposed to be driving and working, neither really went according to plan) I decided that the best thing for me to do was be a nun in Scotland. I had become a full fledged Platonist. The less contact with the world the better, and the best place in the world was Scotland. So in September I went to a little skete in Cannich. From my journal I write:

"[no date]
On a bus to Inverness
Stone buildings, old houses, new shops, bridges, towns, pubs, mountains, wild trees, streets, highways. All these things are in Scotland, all claim to be 'Scottish' but I have seen none of the real Scotland...

September 24th, 2003,
Cannich Scotland
I find now that I am presented with what I have wanted I no longer have the desire to have it. A little cottage in the highlands where I can raise sheep for wool and read and pray all day. Living in this Benedictine Skete even for these few days has been very insightful. The things I thought mattered most to me are nothing but silly thoughts and I hunger simply to walk with God and his Son without anyone telling me who he is and how to behave around him. ... All the time I had asked God for things I desired, a mentor, knowledge, Scotland, time: I find he has already granted them to me. All he has been teaching me is how a Benedictine lives: however I think therefore one can be a 'Benedictine' in truth when one is married and in society.

So off I went with my back pack to look for something, but I did not know what. It wasn't Scotland, nor God. A highlander? No, Highlanders can not bee looked for, they must look for you. Finally I broke down on my way to the Western Isles and decided that I needed to return home.

September 28th, 2003,
Fort William, Scotland
The story of the prodigal son is lived out. I shall return home... Even if I were never to come to Scotland again I would not find myself depressed. For it is not Scotland the land that holds my great pain of love... It is not by possessing a thing that makes the love satisfied. I think that for now the only satisfaction love has is to love without being fully fulfilled--and that presents faith and hope...

I don't think I have fully grasped this yet. I still love things and think that to have them is to satisfy that desire. But this is another thought for another day. (Hopefully a rainy one with a fire)

This is the part in the story where I meet Ivan before going to England to meet up with Grammy Alice and Diana. Yes, I am afraid part of my apologetic for being with him so long was because I met him in the Highlands. Take heed all you fellow Romantics. There again is that great divide between theory and practice. I might have understood intellectually what I wrote but I did not fully grasp it. Perhaps that is the difference between Knowing and understanding.

Thinking perhaps that because I met him in the Highlands, after I had given them up and was going to go home, maybe this was God giving them back? Or maybe really it is just me picking back up what I had given away, not wanting to loose it because it meant being confused for a time. In all events, after writing three letters I decided that I was in love and I told him so. Very practically he suggested that before we were to decided if we were going to marry each other we should get to know each other. I suppose that Romantics do need a balance here and there. But then, what is the difference between being practical and being sensible?

Then *Boom*.

I stayed at L'Abri.

I always say "And then everything changed, but I don't have time to tell you about it". I think that really, I am still processing what I learned at L'Abri so I can not simplify it enough to tell the main points. At any event, after being mentored by Edith, who had her PhD in Philosophy and was all about the Imagination vs Fantasy (the later being evil) and very much for college.

The first thing was Scotland fell (again.) See, it had crept back up and I got to the point of telling myself that because I could not shake it off I was called there. Edith and I talked a lot about fantasy and she suggested that "Scotland" was a fantasy of mine because it is rooted in a non-existent reality (one belonging to the past for one thing).

The second thing that she convinced me of was that going to college did not imply that you are too lazy to study for yourself, as was my main reason for not going. Why pay to be bottle fed when you could research the information yourself? I applied to go to college wherever Ivan was going (which ended up being Providence --never mind the comments I received about Canadian Mennonite Prairies and suicide weather...)



So that was Scotland for a while at Providence. And in the mean time I had learned a lot about God, people and love. I was still in hermit mode my first year. I was trying hard, but really saw no reason for people for the most part, except Ivan, of course. But God knew what he was doing putting me with Junita and Lindsay, and by the end of that first year I had deep respect for them and wanted to love people like they did.

Little more has developed. After being engaged to Ivan I thought that my future was set, and then after breaking it I found a freedom I had never known, even the possibility to leave Prov and go study in Scotland. ! But I thought it was an ideal, not real? But the feeling of love and longing remain, even if I can not justify them. It might be a dream, but it is a dream which I am constantly having. I did not go to Scotland because I wanted to finish and I had begun to form friendships. So I went back. (those first few weeks were some of the most awkward in my existence thus far.)

Interpretation

So then that takes us pretty much up to working at Prov this summer thinking about love and Scotland. (always the later, even if it is not real).

As I walked home one afternoon I had one of those moments that I had so frequently in Costa Rica. A whisp of longing because I saw earth and sky and felt a gust of wind. My mind imediately said "If only I was in Scotland." Then all the sudden that thought was checked by a very new thought: Why can't l love the wind, grass and trees of Manitoba just as much as I love those of Scotland, (assuming there is such a place)? Everywhere I go in this world I am always aware that I am not in Scotland. And therefore when my heart loves some little space I walk on it is always checked with "but this is not Scotland, and therefore you can not love it." Then it occurred to me that this loveliness of "Scotland" was potentially everywhere. If "Scotland" exists on this earth all land can be loved as much as Scotland, because wind, tree and grass are all the same. It is wrong to dismiss a beautiful landscape in Costa Rica because it is not Scottish.

Whence the pain and longing then?

If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them

(Hebrews 11:15, 16)

I know, and have known, that it is not the physical land which I long for. I have been there, have met the people. They are no different than Costa Ricans. Or Manitobans for that mater. There are two things which happen when I feel love toward "Scotland": joy and pain. The joy springs from my very natural delight in the wonder and love of Creation, which is not limited to one place, but it is everywhere. The pain, which I thought was from not being in the physical land, is rather the awareness of not being in Eden or perhaps God's Kingdom to come.

It was not until a few days later when I fitted the rest of the pieces together, which has to do with loving people. What happens when your worldview forbids you to love people, and yet you find that you do? Either, you can stop loving the people, or make them conform to your worldview, or you can update your worldview. I seem to always do the first two. But as I was sweeping, I began to wonder what would happen if I saw everyone as Scottish? All the sudden I was loving sweeping the stairs, I loved the people who had their little problems, because I love them beyond their problems: they were Scottish. "That's odd" I thought. But I did not want to start having to imagine everyone as Scottish. That would be me living in a slightly detached reality.

Nope. It won't do. I will have to change the way I have thought about things. I can no longer be racist. I must apply what I have learned last semester about infinite through finite medium. "Scotland" with its clans, Highlanders and forests is a very Personal God who reveals himself subjectively. Perhaps it has taken me nine years to finally answer and say "Speak Lord for your servant is listening", but I am finally beginning to see that He touches me through Scotland. Actually, I am not just seeing, I am knowing. The parable is very simple:

I love Scotland and The Highlander more than any other thing in life. To not be part of it feels to me like I betray my very being. But no physical country nor person has the ability to assume the place that these ideas hold in my mind. For one thing one would have to go back to the time where there were such things as clans and kilts and chieftains. I long to live in this country, surrounded by nature, and being a simple little part of it.

Christ is revealed in time and place: he is the Good Shepherd: this is a picture imbedded personally into the Hebrew and Greek culture. "The Highlander" is none other than Christ, who goes to war for his Clan. Who loves his people and is the most honored Chieftain of all clans.

To be "Scottish" is to be human. The love I have for "Scots" is the natural love I have for my neighbor. The deep blooded Celt can not but be loved, I can not help it. I can't but love my chieftain and even my Clan. No one has to ask me to "please love these people" because I am of the very blood of that same Chieftain. "God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him."

Oh, everyone. I might have been slow in interpreting the riddle, but finally I have, and I love you all and I love all this land. I love now, and I long now. I long for that heavenly country and to be finally with that Highlander, who is none other than Jesus Christ. Here is all my theory, and now, day in day out, with much joy I must work on my practicum.

Take this Naturalism!

I have always wanted to feel that nature was not just a machine. I never could be satisfied with the whole idea that stars are gas and rainbows are light and water. These are great and interesting facts, but if we have limited their substance to mater, then nature looses its wonder. And as soon as wonder is gone so is religion. (is that too far? I don't think so, but we can leave that for another time)

So, then I was walking and realized how interconnected nature, humans and God are. First of all, nature reflects the God's divine nature (Rom. 1:20). And then we are made in God's image. Therefore it must be that there is some connection between us and nature, because we are both reflections of God.




"They who believe in the influences of the stars over the fates of men, are, in feeling at least, nearer the truth than they who regard the heavenly bodies as related to them merely by a common obedience to an external law. All that man sees has to do with man. Worlds cannot be without an intermundane relationship. The community of the centre of all creation suggests an interradiating connection and dependence of the parts. Else a grander idea is conceivable than that which is already imbodied. The blank, which is only a forgotten life, lying behind the consciousness, and the misty splendour, which is an undeveloped life, lying before it, may be full of mysterious revelations of other connexions with the worlds around us, than those of science and poetry. No shining belt or gleaming moon, no red and green glory in a self-encircling twin-star, but has a relation with the hidden things of a man's soul, and, it may be, with the secret history of his body as well. They are portions of the living house wherein he abides."

A small green question

If Yoda was given a menial job to do day after day, what would his disposition at work be? And after hours of doing the same thing, what would he have to say?

PS
For more Randomness check out http://lifetheuniverseandeverything.info/node/121

Self hate, Reformed Theology and Spiritual Reality

“We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners all our life!”

Merton


I am becomming aware on how miss informed my understanding of the nature of God’s feelings towards us has been. I blame this on my adherence to Reformed Theology, however it might be my misunderstanding of it. I was first alerted by reading that idea from Benner which said

People are convinced that it is sin that frist catches God’s attention. I think they are wrong--and I think the consequecnces of such a belief are enormous...The central feature of any spiritual response to such a God will be an effort to earn his approval.

c’est moi.

Benner suggests that we spend more time with God in meditation. And while that sounds good to my mind, my little emotions which desire the experience of God’s love, can only see the big concept of Mditation as being just another form of Abstraction.

But now I have the other piece of the puzzel after reading a bit of Abba’s Child by Brennan Manning. Actually the quote is from Merton:

“The reason we never enter into the deepest reality of our relationship with God is that we so seldom acknowledge our utter nothingness before him”

But then here is the thought which balances this very vulnerable presentation of ourself, (which I suggest little reformed me seems to miss a lot):

“God calls us to stop hiding and come openly to Him. God is the father who ran to his prodigal son when he came limping home. God weeps over us when shame and self-hatred immobilize us”

It is an entirely new thought that God calls us to confess our sins not so that it makes us feel ashamed and our truely disgusting state of being, though it does do that... Until we acctually look at his response to us. God calls us out of hiding becasue only then can something be done about our nakedness.

Apparently He is graceful, I wouldn’t know, but I intend to find out. I know in theory, but not in experience, and I am tired about writting on logical possiblities: I desire to write from experience if I am going to write about God’s love.

Is it just me or does everyone hit points in their walk with God which they feel like saying “I have not been Christian until this point!” I think I feel like that right now.

Here is the really cool thing about this book, Abba’s Child. Manning suggests that we have this shadow self (I am reminded of Adonias in Phantasties by MacDonald), it is an image which can not be honest because it fears abandonment. And this inability to be honest with self and God essentially cuts us off from ... well everything: God, others and self.

This hunger for Reality which I constantly complain about, how can God be real unless I be real?

I think the thing that is most exciting is that while it is impossible for me to be instantly honest at least it is not an abstraction which I need to go through to connect with God. Exposure of self is not abstract--it might be dreadful--but it touches every inch of my being. It is Aslan’s claws digging down into me so that I might be transformed.

He quotes a very cool verse which I had not read like that before:

The things which are done in secret are things that people are ashamed even to speak of; but anything exposed by the light will be illuminated

and anything illuminated turns into light.

Ephesians 5:12-14

Happy Mothers Day

I awoke this morning knowing one of two things: either the entire world does revolve around me or I have learned to step in time with the world. This morning I had the strangest dream with my mom in it. She had burned herself (that was not strange) and I had ran to her side in full sympathy to comfort her (this was the strange part). Not that I am a person who rarely has sympathy on people, but it was the nature of it… in fact I do not think that I have ever felt so true a sorrow for another’s pain as in that moment in the dream.

Anyway, that might be meaningless to all my readers, but be patient and I will get to my point.

After living at home for Christmas break I was under so much stress and tension from being with family, and in all honesty especially my mother, that I almost did not return to Prov. I feared with that stress on top of family I would have some sort of break down. My sister suggested that I just take less courses, which enabled me to change my worldview a bit. But that is not what this is about. (see post on Jan 15)



This is about a conversation I had with Sue Screpnik after the break. I was telling her how I really needed space and never wanted to go home again
(not really, but that was how I felt)

and she, while being sympathetic, was able to see beyond my present discomfort. She said something like,

“but you will come to love her because you will come to see that you are part of her. You know there are lovely things about you that you have gotten from you mother. I look at you and I love the freedom and creativity that I see in you, which is not a normal thing, but a gift.”

I knew it then, though I really did not care, that I had received from God via my mom those gifts of creativity and freedom. At that moment those words seemed to fall concrete rather than soil. And yet they were with me all the time, whenever I thought about her. The fact that I was her daughter, something to do with inheritance.

And then after space, time and a rough lesson I have just learned about loving people without pointing and accusing them, I called her on Saturday. I had not been planning on going home for Christmas because I wanted the freedom to be able to prove to myself that I could love her and still chose to go home for Christmas. However, by the end of the conversation I was longing to be there.


Here is the odd thing, I don't know what to tell everyone, except

‘Honor your father and mother’ -- this is the first commandment with a promise. ‘so that it may be well with you and you may live long on the earth’ Ephesians 6:2-4:

There is something about finally loving my source, loving being the daughter of an artist. But mothers can’t be anything but mothers to their children, I am beginning to think. The moment they try and be peers, aunts or cousins everything becomes dark and confusing.

Anyway, it is cool thaton Mothers Day I woke up loving my mom.

Happy Mother’s day, mom.

Free to Serve

It has gotten to that point at work where one feels like one is a slave. The only thing I really want to do is finish early and have “more time to myself”. I am conscious of every half hour passing. It is not that the work is so bad, it is just the fact that I have to work.

However, I am very grateful for having to be disciplined. As I considered this I began to see the connection all through life of a simple Christian doctrine. To serve is to live. The moment I stop serving that is when there is no motivation to do anything of any significance. If I had all the time and all the comforts to myself I would eventually spoil.

“Come eat: find your hearts desire and find despair”

(This was the little inscription at the gate on the mountain that Digory got that fruit).

So as my time is eaten away with work that does not seem to matter very much for the great life I intend to lead (after school, that is, when “real life begins”…) yet my consciousness is being shaped into something more: the mentality of a servant.

*gasp*
“No, this is not a good thing!” Says the world.

One looses ambition, freedom, inspiration… All your potential will amount to nothing in life if you are content to be a slave, a servant.

One must ask a very important question when one is faced with all the pressure to become as much as one can: what is freedom?

Is it
a) To do whatever one wills whenever one wills
b) To do whatever one is supposed to do


I am becoming convinced as I wake up every morning and face another day of no time for self, that if we choose “a)” we will “find our hearts desire and find despair”.

However if we choose “b)” we will find a paradox. After death, crucifixion, slavery we will find life, peace and freedom. If we are tied down to some law we will find true freedom to act within this law. At the heart of the fall there is this desire that springs from this lie that if we abandon law we will be "free". But in reality it is being bound to this law that makes us free.

I am yet unsure why, but I am finding that this is the nature I live in, regardless if I understand it or not.



Ah, and the next thing on my mind, but for another day, is being a servant with love.

The world is charged...

... with the grandeur of God
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.


And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

God's Grandeur

G. M. Hopkins

Love, Fear and the Bible: A few Answers

Intro
I am watching pets for a few days in a house on campus. Last night there was a book by the bed that intrigued me. I thought "If I can read a Narnian Chronicle in one afternoon, why not read that in the morning?" The dogs and cats here are accustomed to getting up at 5am, so by 6 I had eaten breakfast, done the pet thing and what was left to do but sleep or begin my Sunday. I started reading the book and was half done by the time I needed to leave for church. Good book, for me at least.

God of Love
The first thing that caught me was his description of the spirituality which does not know itself as deeply loved by God but sees God as a person who looks first with displeasure on the sinner. This spirituality is characterized by a life of trying to make it up to God and prove the self. If that was too confusing here is the quote: 0

"People are convinced that it is sin that first catches God’s attention. I think they are wrong--and I think the consequences of such a belief are enormous...
"The central feature of any spiritual response to such a God will be an effort to earn his approval. Far from learning to relax in his presence you will be diligent to perform as well as you possibly can. The motive for any obedience will be fear rather than love, and there will be little genuine surrender."

hmm...

You mean I am not supposed to feel like that all the time?

Apparently this Loving God can be known by experience. I know God objectively. And I know him through image: nature, story and people. But can I know Him? Can I be in his presence? According to Benner it is so,

"If God is love he can not be known apart from love. He cannot, therefore, be known objectively and that is the only way to love without fear, and the only way to be transformed."


hmm


Fear
He very much disagrees with my post a few days ago about fear. He thinks that fear will keep us from love, and that ultimately fear is just a cover for guilt. Therefore one must fully know, not just with the mind, that one is loved unconditionally by God. He points out that God is always telling people to not fear him.

This has made me reevaluate a bit and wonder... I wonder if the right reaction and proper response to God is fear, but it is not to stay there. It is all about how we react to that fear. Either the fear turns to hate or it turns to love. Lewis gives some good pictures:


Then Hwin, shaking all over, gave a strange little neigh, and trotted accross to the Lion. "Please," she said, "you’re so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I’d sooner be eaten by you than fed by anyone else"

"I’m longing to see him," said Peter, "even if I do feel frightened when it comes to the point."

For the mention of Aslan gave him a mysterious and horrible feeling, just as it gave the others a mysterious lovely feeling.

Surrender and Obedience
One of Benner's main concepts is surrender, which is a topic that I am sure is important, but I don’t really seem to have a place for in my mind yet. I think I am still trying to work out love and fear.
The only way to fully surrender so that life is lived not out of a mechanical obedience to impersonal law, but from a deep love of God. Calvin says much the same thing talking about following God and obedience not from fear but form love.

(interesting to note, however, that while Calvin’s personal religion was rooted in a personal love toward God, it has become very distorted in its being Calvinism. Dry, abstract and judgmental. Nothing of the love and grace that Calvins writing is seeped in)

Bible
Here is the intersting point:

"He is quite unlike the God we would make if we were making him in our own image. "

ah, so the bible is a revelation of God which we could never know unless he told us. I think I have heard this before... ;) It has just clicked.

Perhaps this is the bible I am missing. Is it a personal book? How personal is God? How personal is Christ? Am I reading a book that was writen like a mass govermental document that is applicable to countless thousands including me? If I read it like that, and I do, no wonder it does not impact me very much. I really really really want to believe, think and know that God is personal enough that he had me in mind when he wrote the book, that Christ did not just die for humanity, but for Sasha Smith. If the bible is a love letter to me, then I should start reading it as though it was meant for me.

Me me me. As I was thinking these thoughts it occurred to me that it was very selfish. But then I began to wonder that maybe I should go to Him with all my selfish ness because he is the only one who can do anything constructive about it. If I do not, then someone or something on this side of the door will end up with a weight they can not bear.

Conclusions...
So, my insights on this Sunday:

• God is love, and that means (according to Benner) one must experience his love to really surrender. I really hope this is possible.
  
• His Word is the means by which this love is communicated to us, and we are to sit and meditate on it. But wait. Her word, I am suspecting and hoping, is personal. More than I have ever dreamed of?

By the way, he defines meditation as a spiritual daydream. If that is true, I do not know why I have been so afraid that I will never get the hang of it: I have no problem day dreaming.

p.s. Humility
Another thought that was interesting was whether humility exists apart from fallen-ness? If we were perfect beings would we still be humble? The implications of the answer in the positive is that I am not humble if I am aware of my sin. Rather humility exists because of our awareness of who God is. My reasoning is the Christ was humble (yet seemingly being the one person who had every right not be glorified).

Here is a thought:

"Who can tell how many have been counted fools simply because they were prophets. Or how much of the Madness in this world might be the utterance of thoughts true and just but belonging to a world differing from ours in its nature and scener."

Wow o' Riven
George MacDonald

Here are three scenes from The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe that I have just been reading. I think they are scenes that every human can relate to and, for the last one, longs for.

The most pleased of the lot was the other lion who kept running about everywhere pretending to be very busy but really in order to say to everyone he met, “did you hear what he said? Us lions That meant him and me. Us lions. That’s what I like about Aslan. No side, no stand-of-ishness. Us lions. That meant him and me. At least he went on saying this until Aslan had loaded him up with three dwarfs, one dryad, two rabbits, and a hedgehog. That steadied him a bit.


Eh? What’s that? Yes, of course you’ll get back into Narnia again someday. Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia. But don’t go trying to use the same route twice. Indeed, don’t even try to get there at all. It’ll happen when you’re not looking for it. And don’t talk too much about it even among yourselves. And don’t mention it to anyone else unless you find they’ve had similar adventures of the same sort themselves. What’s that? How will you know? Oh, you’ll know alright. Odd things they say—even their looks—will let the secrete out. Keep your eyes open. Bless me, what do they teach them at these schools?


“Oh Children”, said the Lion, “I feel my strength coming back to me. Oh, children, catch me if you can!” He stood for a second, his eyes very bright, his limbs quivering, lashing himself with his tail. Then he made a leap high over their heads and landed on the otherside of the Table. Laughing, though she didn’t know why, Lucy scrambled over to reach him. Aslan leaped again. A mad chase began. Round and round the hill top he led them, now hopelessly out of reach, now letting them almost catch his tail, now diving between them, now tossing them in the air with his huge and beautifully velveted paws and catching them again, and now stopping unexpectedly so that all three of them rolled over together in a happy laughing heap of fur and arms and legs. It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia; and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind. And the funny thing was that when all three finally lay together panting in the sun, the girls no longer felt in the least tired or hungry or thirsty.