Of Pictures and Pieces

Gloaming is blue and ethereal, with fine flakes of winter shrouding my valley in quiet. The windowpanes in my little cottage are frosted 'round the edges, as I've been simmering a lentil stew and braising some cabbage for dinner later. 

Today has been rather quiet, stillness only broken by the scraping of the snow plough and some shovelling...and the occasional tramp of boots on the stone stairs outside my cosy home. I'm grateful for the quiet space to reflect and pray (and sleep in, after a week of late nights). I'm thankful for my cup of Himalayan Bouquet tea with wildflower honey as I cuddle up in my softest, long grey sweater to watch the snow fall. 

I'm grateful for the foggy, snowy weather, which calms and quiets my soul so that I can come to the Lord in prayer and meditation. And I am so very thankful that the Lord hears me when I cry out to Him. He hears my recent confusion, my aches, my joys, my fears, my hopes. He hears my confessions, my uncertainties, my desires—the ones that so often pull against one another, tearing me to pieces. 

My whole life feels like it's been one series after another of deep desires that pull me in contradictory directions. I thought everyone felt this way, but it turns out, they don't. At least, not all the time or maybe even most of the time. This constant struggle being unique to me and people like me was revealed when I learned my mindstyle: being equally task-oriented and people-oriented. Most people tend to be more one or the other, but not me. It makes work a challenge at times—especially working with other people. And when I'm with people, I can multitask (do the dishes, play games, etc.), but I can't both work on a project with them and also give them my undivided attention. The reality is that what I want most is to sit side-by-side and listen deeply, to share intimately.

While it was immensely frustrating to discover these equal and opposite mindstyles were at war within me, it made sense of many situations and seasons in life—and explained why I get burnt out on work or people. It's been four or five years since this revelation and I feel like I'm still not good at figuring out my balance, at walking with both the left foot (people) and the right foot (tasks), one after the other in rhythm.

The issue is further complicated with God. I love learning about the bigger picture of the Bible and the themes God has woven into His world and His works from the beginning of time. I love it when I finally make a big picture connection myself. But I find myself doing one thing or the other, not both at once: I either read Scripture slowly and methodically, gleaning details or I don't read it at all and listen to others who help me see the big picture. I've done the detail-gleaning most of my growing up life, even into my twenties. I've only begun the big picture learning since entering my thirties.  

In hindsight, I wish these processes had been reversed. I wish I'd known the big picture of God and His story when I was little, filling in the details as I grew and matured. Because when you've been digging up little artefacts for your formative years and you don't know where they go or how they fit together, you do some weird cobbling together of those pieces. You may make a beautiful mosaic or a grotesque image of God, but you will have to take it all apart to put things together in the way they are supposed to go, not how you decided they should go. And how do we (I) do that if we don't know the nature, character, and love of God?

No one person can see God, His world, or everything in Scripture rightly and thoroughly at once. That is one of the many reasons God put us together in a body, in community—both with Himself and with others. This is why we need to read Scripture communally, but also individually (where we can read and absorb at our own speed). 

I've been in a rather long season now of studying the Word in community (both at church and in Bible studies), but now comes the point where I need to jump back in to also reading daily to re-familiarise myself with the words, phrases, and details. They go hand-in-hand. While I love both the details and the big picture, I need a lot of help from intuitive and perceiving people to see the big picture. I don't naturally have that vision. I see the trees, not the forest. And that has SO many positive outlets and uses, but I need to see the forest, too. Just like I need to learn to balance tasks and developing relationships, not at the exclusion of one or the other.

It's easier to learn photography basics in black and white, learning about shadows, shapes, and composition. But when you add colour, it's a whole new field. Both mediums are beautiful. But you can use either and fail in composition, clarity, or depth. You can fail to tell a story—you have to have an informed, intuitive eye for that.

Dichotomies are hard for me. I understand black, I understand white. Where gradations and colours fit in is where I need God and other people to help me imagine. To see truly. When I can't see beyond my own confusions, conclusions, and projected outcomes there is God, holding out truth, light for the path, and hope. Colours. Stories. Pieces of the whole...and the whole story, too.

The Liturgy of Home: Place and Practise

Fog diffuses light and shadow, shrouds the world around me in unfamiliar shapes, bringing with it the damp smells of earth and balsam. Raucous calls emanate from the rook perched amongst the pines. Watching, listening, I sit still—allowing the morning’s wild silence to feed my soul. I revel in weekends and mornings; their hours hold out strong fingers of life and help to me. A cheery kettle often whistles its tea-song as I poach an egg or wipe the table. Benedictine’s chant a Psalm whilst I wash the dishes, my own prayers rising with their strains and the water’s steam.

Morning rhythms thrum through my day, setting the tone for the day’s song. If I begin with a Psalm and moments for prayer, the first melody is strong. If I add to that the kitchen tidying and sweeping, a chord of harmony twines into the day. Weaving in reading or writing—if I have given myself enough time for leisure—the chorus grows more substantial by the time I greet my fellow workmates. This is home—this practise of cultivating habits and routines which chart the course of days and weeks.

I grew up in a home that was less focussed on punctuality and more concerned with ‘life together.’ My mother set routines both around the morning meal and reading Scripture aloud to me and my sisters. My father would engage us all in conversation over dinner, leaving time to read together after the table was cleared or just before bed. Sometimes we would shift our evening routine, having friends over for dinner or coffee. We would hold hands and pray together. There we were, gathered around the table, listening to stories and laughing over the trifling events of the day—glad for friends with whom we could share both words and meals.

Time swirls on as ever—I cannot believe how many years ago I grew up in my parents’ home. I have since moved to my own cottage, a tiny cabin peering out at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Here I have scrubbed, dusted, and decorated. I have laughed and cried, both with friends and alone. I have acquired and organised books and bookshelves. Here I have stocked cabinets with tea and food to serve at the whim of a knock. And here I have learned that being still is a practise—not an intrinsic right that comes with living solo.

It seems safe to say that home is a place of comfort and cheer, of peace and pleasure. If you do not believe me, think of the households where there is chaos, violence, stony silence, instability, or abuse. Out of these dens come hurting individuals, hungry for peace, yearning for safety and love. Acceptance and care, feeling like they belong, is the home-feeling they are looking for—whether it comes from a gang or a healthy family.

Indeed, home is a place, not a nebulous placeholder, like your internet browser’s so-called ‘homepage.’ Yet home is much more than a tactile frame of timber and glass. Home is a practise—the practical application of routines and daily liturgy. Home is private—a place to rest and a bulwark from the buffeting tempests of life-storms. Home is public—an open-door-hospitality sort of shelter for friends and family in times both of laughter and tears.

We live in a culture that is anything but home-like. It separates, drawing individuals off into solitary pursuits, or keeping families so busy that a meal together is an anomaly. Busy-ness and individualism are the antitheses to home life, community, and sanity. Keeping a frenetic schedule allows precious little time for reflection, an act of both soul and spirit that is needed to balance reality and dreams.

Knowing that reflection is an essential need, I make space for it in my mornings and weekends. Sometimes this means setting aside books and screens, simply looking out the window as I enjoy a meal, or sitting on my porch watching the rain drip from the pine needles. Other times, this means going for a solitary walk. As I was reflecting recently, I realised that the way my parents raised me and my sisters was not perfect, but it was good. The ‘life together’ aspect of the dinner table, of evening recreation, of opening our home or going to friends’ homes, of working together in the garden or to make dinner set a theme for my life. These things painted a robust and rich picture of home for me.

We need flourishing homes in our lonely, fragmented culture. Are our homes the sort that cast a beam of warm, golden light out into the dark of night? Do the weary, worn, busy travellers along the road of life find us—and our dwellings—places of solace? May the habits we practise—order, hospitality, togetherness, and reflection—shine out into the inky night as a beam of hope for all who see it and choose to come inside.

A Shell Dishabited

The rumble of thunder reverberates off the foothills. Damp pine-scent laces the air. A trio of squirrels seek refuge in the spruce that touches the sky with its tip-top branches. This is the stillness of the very first Summer Saturday–my day of solitude and sleep, of caramel-filled chocolate and endless mugs of PG Tips. It is a fairy sort of daylight, ripe for reading Fantasties or Lord of the Rings. I can see sunlight slanting through the clouds, glancing off the whiskers of one of those squirrels. His dew-bright eyes are full of curiosity and mischief. 

O me! That I get to live in this world, to see with my two green iris-eyes the wonders of this day. To sniff up the fresh sweetness of the earthy pines. To hear the chirrup of birds, the clash between thunder and lightning, and the drip, drip, drop of the rain-song. I am given the gift of a cool breath of air, kissing my neck, swirling my honey-red hair. It is all balm for my soul after this labour-intensive week at work, after hard news. How can anything post-Fall still ring of Truth and Beauty? But it does. How can the creation still shout of God's glory when lives are sticky, shattered, crumpled messes? Yet it does!

My aching limbs are full of tired. My soul is searing-hot with pain of a different sort, for a loved one, and another, and still more. My prayers climb to the heavens, fly beyond the clouds to the ever-listening ears of the Father. No longer is weariness confined to muscles, it sinks its shaft far into my very being. Prayer presses deeper the helpless feeling, the weakness I walk daily. I feel emptier still... And then the rain comes. Splattering on the shingles, splashing on the glossy green leaves. The rain flows down to the thirsty earth, giving itself with joy. The droplets sink lower and lower still, into the dark red earth, into the deep fir roots. Those pines reach higher to brush the skies. The higher cannot stand without the lower,* whispers each drop. The higher cannot stand without the lower!,* sings the spicy fragrance of pine needles, wafting upward. The dark clouds empty themselves of rain, that the dusty earth might be refreshed again.

Is that it, Lord? my heart queries. Must You empty me of all of me so that I might be full of only You? And once I am full of You, will You pour Yourself out on others? Empty. Full. Cracked and broken to spill out the kindness of God, lavishly gifted to me. I cannot hold it in, like the rainclouds cannot hold the rain. I cannot keep it to myself, like a stagnant pool. God's loving-kindness is poured out on undeserving me. To keep it from stagnation, it must flow out from me to others. It is not earned, it is given with joy. It cannot be kept, it cascades down in delight.

A poem comes to mind about this emptying and filling. It reminds me that if I am replete with myself there is no room for God to fill me, no place for Him to overflow in my life: 

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self, 

Like to a shell dishabited, 

Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf, 

And say, 'This is not dead', And fill thee with Himself instead.
But thou art all replete with very thou

And hast such shrewd activity, 
That when He comes, He says, 'This is enow
Unto itself - 'twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for me.' **

What if the thunder, full of itself, did not roar the echo of power from the Creator? What if birds decided to sing their own dissonant song and could not communicate with others of their kind? What if squirrels ceased being squirrelly? And what if the ground decided it was too full of tree roots and the firs came crashing down? If nature began to do as it pleased, rather than living by God-given instincts, chaos would ensue. So what do I expect to happen if I am replete with very me? Can God fill me with His loving-kindness if I am already full of self? Will I be able to shower others with His goodness if I cannot receive it? Certainly not! I must be empty so He can fill me. God pays me–pays all of His children–the great compliment of accomplishing His will and work through me–through us–if we will let Him. 

I want to be like the rain falling deep into earth's heart; to be a shell dishabited. Going low to make others tall. Overflowing. Empty. Ready to be filled, to let my life be the sweet aroma of Christ in me, the Hope of glory.***

~ Johanna

______________________

 * Thomas á Kempis, The Imitation of Christ: Being Thankful for God's Grace
** Sir Thomas Browne, If Thou Could'st Empty All Thyself of Self
*** Colossians 1:27 (NKJV)

Life!

I found cheerfulness to be like life itself—not to be created by any argument. Afterwards I learned, that the best way to manage some kinds of painful thoughts, is to dare them to do their worst; to let them lie and gnaw at your heart till they are tired; and you find you still have a residue of life they cannot kill.

~ George MacDonald, Phantastes (Chapter VIII)

Kneading Rhythm

Sticky potato water and yeast. Mashed potatoes, flour, and butter. This past weekend found me combining these ingredients in a large earthenware bowl. My arms, jeans, and fingers were dusted in flour, or sticky with dough; the perfect picture of a bread-maker. If there is one thing I have learnt about bread-making these past four or five months, it is that you must knead the dough. Otherwise, you will have dense, flat, or crumbly bread. Kneading takes patience, knowing when to let the dough rest, and strength in one's wrists and forearms.

 

Kneading has a rhythm to it, pushing the dough away from you with the heels of your hands. Not too hard, or you will break the gluten strands. Not too softly, or you will not stretch the gluten strands enough, resulting in a flat or crumbly loaf.

Life has a rhythm as well. Over the past few years I have discovered the Church calendar, it keeps me stretched, but not broken. Though I grew up with Christian parents and siblings, we have been more evangelical than liturgical believers. Discovering the cadence of Advent, the twelve days of Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, the Transfiguration, Eastertide, Ascension Day, and so on continues to teach me to walk in the pattern of God's ways, to the glory of His Name. One strand upon another, like the kneading and resting of bread dough, these Church seasons make me stronger. Lent and Advent are like the heels of the Father's hands upon my heart, preparing me to make room for His Son. Christmas and Eastertide are the moments of resting in a comfy, warm (but not hot) oven.

The bread analogy breaks down at some point, of course. Still, I wonder how many times God prepares, kneads, and rests our hearts, allowing us to be baked in the fire of trials. I know that I 'knead' rhythm in my life: seasons; circadian rhythm; sleep cycles; hours in the day; days in the week - some for work, some for rest; night and day; pain and joy; work and play. You need routine and new experiences, too. We all do, whether we realise it or not. 

This post is my first in the Twelve Days of Christmas. I plan to wrap up on January 5th, the eve of Epiphany. I still have a lot to learn about the metre of life, in the Church calendar and otherwise. Over these twelve days I want to share something I'm thankful for, because one strand of life is gratitude. Over and again Scripture speaks of those who had great calamity fall upon them, yet their response was to praise God. Such was Job, when he had everything taken from him he said, "The LORD gives and the LORD takes away, blesséd be the Name of the LORD." And the Apostle Paul reminds us to give thanks in all things, for thanksgiving is God's will for us in Christ Jesus (I Thes 5.18).

“The greatest honour we can give Almighty God is to live gladly because of the knowledge of His love.” ~ Julian of Norwich

Today I am thankful for many, many things. However, I will choose to name the greatest gift ever given which makes even good health, family, freedom, food, unexpected calls from good friends, a job, a community of friends, and a home pale in comparison: I am thankful that God is not 'out there'.  I am humbled, blessed, and grateful beyond words that God is Emmanuel - God [here] with us.

~ Johanna

You Are My Hiding Place

Some days one is so frazzled that they need more than a pot of tea to soothe their soul.

Today was one of those days. From work projects taking longer than planned, to miscommunication about work, to not sitting down until about 6.15pm (missing lunch entirely), to cancelling last minute on a friend, and bursting into tears over the phone to another friend... It was a very long day. At one point the LORD graciously reminded me that our light and transitory trials are preparing us for an eternal weight of glory. I did not deal with things admirably, but this reminder helped me to see that in light of eternity one frustrating day is fleeting.

Rather than brooding over a pot of tea this evening, I was delighted instead to have dinner with the director of our Summit Oxford Programme, Kevin Bywater. The dinner was delicious (beef tips with Swiss cheese), the conversation was excellent, and all in all, it was truly a good day. Much work was done, the LORD reminded me of this morning's Psalm (32) throughout the day, conversations were encouraging, and now I am working on that pot of tea along with some Nutella and evensong music (which I did not give up for Lent).

[LORD,] You are my hiding place;
You shall preserve me from trouble;
You shall surround me with songs of deliverance.
~ Psalm 32.7 ~

~ Johanna

The True Labour of Love

"To ask that God's love should be content with us as we are is to ask that God should cease to be God: because He is what He is, His love must, in the nature of things, be impeded and repelled by certain stains in our present character, and because He already loves us He must labour to make us lovable."

~ C. S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

One thing I have desired this year is to gain a greater capacity to receive God's love. In turn, I want my love for God and others to increase.

Sometimes I forget that love is not simply a good feeling toward someone, it is giving a cup of water to a stranger; feeding or clothing my enemy; spending time with that person that no one else wants to hang out with; or looking the homeless in the eye and acknowledging their humanity.

Yet love is more. It is the willingness to tell my friends when they are wrong, or where they need to grow. At other times is it love that I hold my tongue from sarcasm or a witty remark at another's expense. And there are times when it is love to simply cry with a friend, or to laugh at their ludicrous antics.

The hard part of love is that I see what my acquaintance, friend, or family member could be, and I desire to challenge them to become better. Often this is a slow process, or downright exasperating when I lack the courage to tell them a fault I see. Yet it is because I see what they could be that I am able to speak the truth to them. It is because God cannot tolerate the stains in my character that I can show love to others. It is a severe mercy to love others thus. Yet it is love's nature to call out the best, the excellent, in another.

"Open rebuke is better than love carefully concealed. Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful."

~ Proverbs 27:5-6

O that I would love others more! And O that I would love You more, Lord Jesus! O Love that will not let me go, teach me more of the depth, breadth, and height of Your love.

~ Johanna

Stepping Stones

Have you ever tried to cross a creek by jumping from stone to stone? I often go about this task rather gingerly (and not just because I am red-headed). Stones in a creek can be slippy, moss-covered, treacherous, and wobbly. Sometimes it is no easy task picking your way across such hazards; especially when you do not know which (if any) you will meet on your trek.

Life is rather like crossing an immense stream by stepping from rock to rock. It is hard to tell if you will have sure footing, if the shallow water rushing over a stone is perilous, or if you will find a solid place to pause. Sometimes one puts their foot out onto a stone, trusting their weight to it, only to find that it is weak and wriggling. When this happens to me I usually make a mad dash to find the next rock in the chain of stones. If the next stone is solid it is a good halting place to recover balance and nerve; but when the next step is also shaky, it can be a disastrous course. Sometimes I get wet.

Reality is like that... I trust my heart to something inordinately more than God (people, intellect, work, and on it goes) and I find that thing too weak to support me. Not because the thing is bad of itself, but because I rely on it disproportionately to trusting God. If I do not change my course and seek the solid rock of obedience to Jesus I end up getting wet. Sometimes just my 'shoes' are sopping and soggy; other times I am completely submerged in the rushing river coursing between the stones.

"I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping stones
Of their dead selves to higher things."
~ Tennyson

My friend Andrew shared the above lines on his blog recently and it struck a chord inside of me. There are times when our course lies across a part of the stream where there are no stones we can reach. Unless the Creator Himself lays a path before us (which He does surprisingly often), He often gives us things to sacrifice to become the next step.

As the Israelites built altars of memorial stones when God did something great, we too, at times build memorials to God out of things offered or sacrificed to Him. We offer Him the root of bitterness, lust, lies, or some other brokenness needing to be consumed from our lives. We sacrifice the good things in our lives, seeking the best things. We offer praise and thanksgiving at all times, even in sorrow and suffering. These things are memorial stones to the testimony of the power, kindness, and goodness of God. It is with these stones that the Father paves our way before us. We step upon our dead selves, our dead past, to step closer to Him.

What stepping stones does the LORD desire to lay before you? What sacrifices can be made into altars of memorial? Will you let the Shepherd take your weakness, brokenness, and sin and turn them into a place of surrender and hope [confident expectation]? What part of you needs to be crucified and stepped upon to reach the next step in life?

Would you be so bold as to comment below with your answer to one (or all) of these questions? I will go first... Right now the LORD is working in me to be better disciplined with my time, especially in giving Him the first fruits/portion of the day... And He is reminding me not to fall into old habits where I waste mornings by sleeping in - which reminds me that I need to go to bed so I can rise to spend tomorrow with my dear friends from out of town. Goodnight all!

~ Johanna

Bearing the Cost

Recently I have been re-reading the classic Hinds' Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard. My dad first read the book to me when I was quite young, and then again around high school. I have read it myself a couple of times also. I learn something new (or in a deeper way) every time I read it.

Hinds' Feet is an allegory of sorts, with the main character, Much Afraid, allowing the Shepherd to plant the seed (thorn) of love in her heart and lead her on a journey to the High Places. Her first check comes when the Shepherd begins to lead her directly away from the mountains and through a vast desert. Here she learns the first lesson in love, Acceptance with Joy. In the desert sand where a few drops of water happen to splash from a spring, there is a single golden flower persevering; its name is Acceptance with Joy.

As Much Afraid continues her journey through the desert she does not turn toward the high places, but is led toward the Sea of Loneliness. There are many lessons to be learned here and in the next part of the journey, but finally the Shepherd leads her toward the mountains again. Now she has circuited the range and finds herself at a sheer, seemingly impassable precipice. The Shepherd tells her that to make her lame feet like hinds' feet she has to come this harder way. He promises her that she will learn the next lesson of love as she climbs the Precipice of Injury (not to be confused with Mt. Reviling or Persecution) with her strong companions, Sorrow and Suffering.

On the second day of her journey, in a lonely cleft in the sheer rock, Much Afraid meets a blood-red flower, glowing in the sunrise. The flower is named 'Bearing the Cost' (though some call it 'Forgiveness'). At one point it says,

"I was separated from all my companions, exiled from home, carried here and imprisoned in this rock. It was not my choice, but the work of others who, when they had dropped me here, went away and left me to bear the results of what they had done..."

In spite of ill treatment, the little flower continues that in this lonely and desolate place there is nothing to distract it from its Love, the sun.

"He shines upon me and makes me to rejoice, and has atoned for me all that was taken from me and done against me. There is no flower in all the world more blessed or more satisfied than I, for I look up to [my Love] as a weaned child and say, 'Whom have I in heaven but Thee, and there is none upon earth that I desire but Thee'."

I just loved the little flower's response to adversity and loneliness: Now there is no distraction from my Love. There is no flower in all the world more blessed or more satisfied than I.

What an attitude to have! Rather than seeing our circumstances as hard, impossible, and solitary, we can both accept them with joy and bear the cost. We find that in the isolated places there is nothing to distract us from our Love: Jesus.

The passage that Bearing the Cost quotes from is Psalm 73. I have expanded it below for the sake of having some context. At the beginning of Psalm 73 the psalmist objects that the wicked prosper and do not seem to experience pain or poverty. However, like a sonnet there is a volta, a turning point; the writer thinks these things until he goes in to the Sanctuary of God. Then he realises his error and misunderstanding. He finishes with these thoughts (vv 23-28):

Nevertheless I am continually with You;
You hold me by my right hand.
You will guide me with Your counsel,
And afterward receive me to glory.

Whom have I in heaven but You?
And there is none upon earth that I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart fail;
But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

For indeed, those who are far from You shall perish;
You have destroyed all those who desert You for harlotry.
But it is good for me to draw near to God;
I have put my trust in the Lord GOD,
That I may declare all Your works.

Indeed, may I declare in trials and loneliness that there is now nothing to distract me from my Love. May I discover that there is no person in all the world as blessed and satisfied as me. And may I truly be able to declare that there is none that I desire besides Jesus.

~ Johanna

The Fruit Itself

“Education is only a ladder to gather fruit from the tree of knowledge, not the fruit itself.” ~ Attributed to Einstein

What is education? Does it differ from 'schooling' and 'learning'? Is education itself an end or a means to the end?

There are many questions that come up in the discussion and dissection of education. To set up a definition of this word, let us look at its etymology. Educate: circa mid 15th century. From the Latin pp educare 'bring up, rear, educate,' which is related to educere 'bring out, lead forth'...

"To bring out or lead forth from what exactly?" one might ask. Good question. It has been presented to me by Hillsdale College professor, Michael Bauman, that to educate means 'to bring one out of ignorance'.

Educate has changed in meaning over the course of time. While in one sense it still means 'to lead one out of ignorance', it now also means 'formal learning at a college or university'. This could also be called 'information gathering'. Due to this more modern idea of education it is little wonder that statements like the following have been made:

“I've never let my school interfere with my education.” ~ Mark Twain

“The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.” ~ Einstein

“My education was interrupted only by my schooling” ~ Winston Churchill

Though different words are used, the same idea is conveyed - formal teaching or 'information gathering' can actually get in the way of being led out of ignorance. Often it is the character of a teacher, mentor, family member, or friend that really changes the way we view life, the way we live.

Do not misunderstand me. There is much to be said for learning one-on-one with a tutor and writing one or two papers a week for eight weeks. There is something to be said for the American style of learning through lectures and classroom discussions. However, there is also much to be said for reading, pondering, and thinking things through at one's own desk or kitchen table. There is something great to be said for learning lessons by observing a person's character; from conversations; from looking into the eyes of the homeless; from being still and letting the words of the Magnificat, Nunc Dimittis, Lord's prayer, Confession, and Creed pour over your soul during evensong.

Life is so much bigger and richer than merely the classroom, or books by themselves, or even the inside of a chapel. If we allow God to be our Tutor and all the facets of life to be the books, classroom, and hands-on 'lab-work' as-it-were, we could have no better education - full stop.

When we are thus educated we will find that education itself is not the goal, but it is the process by which we become more fully alive, truly human. It leads us to be able to glorify God -because He has allowed us to know Him- and to enjoy Him forever, which is the fruit of life itself.

~ Johanna

You Come Too: Lessons from Poetry

To the Cuckoo

O blithe newcomer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice:
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off and near.

Though babbling only to the vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my schoolboy days
I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen!

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed birth! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place,
That is fit home for Thee!

~ William Wordsworth

"Thou bringest unto me a tale / Of visionary hours." Wordsworth writes this of the cuckoo's call, yet he is doing the very same thing through his poem.

The whole poem is a tale of vision, bringing the reader's mind up and into the light. Wordsworth's poem gives one's mind the wings to flit through the air and momentarily forget any troubles that might be weighing him to the ground. "And I can listen to thee yet; / Can lie upon the plain / And listen, till I do beget / That golden time again."

This aspect of 'transportation' in poetry is precisely why one should read it. Poetry - indeed, good literature as well - has the ability to bring one out of one's self to think and feel things that ordinary life may not have yet taught him. I find that I learn much about the wide world, about good character, about hope, about sorrow, about love, about death, about Life woven through the lines of poetry and prose. You may do the same, 'You come too.' *

~ Johanna

*The Pasture, by Robert Frost

Rid Me of Myself

Today has been "one of those days". It began as a chill Saturday with my roommate and I trying to discover the source of a very unpleasant smell in our kitchen (we've been noticing it for a few days). Unable to find the location, we went our separate ways to avoid being in the flat. I chose the New College Library - one of my favourite places in Oxford.

This is where the day began to become less than I wanted... My concentration dropped off the face of the planet. None of my books were useful. I read one Encyclopedia Britannica article, a few pages of my books, and got annoyed enough to head home. I went to the grocery (a wretched idea on a Saturday - just so you are aware) to grab a few ingredients for guacamole. The first store was out of corn crisps, so I had to go to a second grocery. Finally I made it home with the crisps (chips) and sour cream/yogurt. Jacqueline made yummy guac that we shared with the guys over a few laughs and free-for-all conversation.

Jake, being the fabulous neighbour that he is, offered to help us find the source of that smell in our flat. He and Stephen spent about half an hour trying to locate it last night, as well. Between Jake and Kasey, the offending odor was discovered in the overflow of our fridge: rotten milk. Let's just say it smelled like death. The fridge still needs some extra cleaning, but we are all happy to have the smell eliminated for the most part.

I still haven't been able to study and comprehend anything today... I'm going to hope that tomorrow is better for that when Rose and I have our study date. We are also having the girls from the flat below come up for tea and scones in the afternoon tomorrow. So, it promises to be a good day in a few regards.

But that is all tomorrow; this is today. The day I have felt cranky and easily offended. The day I have run on my own strength and found it sorely lacking. The day I've tried to be witty and live up to others' standards and failed. The day I left the flat without having quiet time... There is no substitute for not spending time in the word. No replacement for conversing with The Word.

Depending on my flesh rather than God's Spirit has certainly made today frustrating. Oh, there are days when I do have time in prayer and Scripture and still get cranky or run on my own strength. Yet it seems much harder to throw off my bad attitude and arrogance when I haven't spent any time hearing from the LORD. When I haven't committed my steps, my day, and myself to Him I run amok. Life is His to begin with, why do I think I get to use it as I see fit? Isn't that like stealing from God?

Thanks to my flatmates I started listening to some Hillsong music this week. One is a song I learned at Summit this summer; I found these lyrics quite fitting to the attitude I want to have:

Saviour I come
Quiet my soul remember
Redemption's hill
Where Your blood was spilled
For my ransom
Everything I once held dear
I count it all as lost

Lead me to the cross
Where Your love poured out
Bring me to my knees
Lord I lay me down
Rid me of myself
I belong to You
Lead me, lead me to the cross

I'm making this my prayer for the upcoming week... And my remaining time here in Oxford.
What prayers are you praying now? Are you expecting God to answer them?

That's it for this night.
I remain, ever under The Mercy...

...Johanna

The best things in life...

...Are learned, not bought.

New spark plugs (1st change in 104,000 mi), new oil and filtre = less than $50.

Being able to change the spark plugs and oil = priceless. Thanks Dad!

New windshield wipers and a replacement headlight for the cracked one, then TN and CO here I come!