Miserere Mei, Deus {Have Mercy on Me, O God}

 

I remember exactly where I first heard the piercing note at the 2:00 minute mark in the above song. Surrounded by chilly stone and tile, and later by rich warm wood and angels overhead. That first moment I was just outside the chapel, overhearing the New College Choir practise for Ash Wednesday evensong.

The piece was even more stunning when I was sitting in the pew a few hours later and those notes rang out from every stone and surface, as if the angels high above were giving voice to the Creator. . .

. . .Let me explain that when I say there were angels overhead, I mean there were really angels above me.

Ever since that day, I love to listen to the haunting Miserere Mei, Deus on Ash Wednesday (and throughout Lent). Though I had been attending an Anglican church for a while before spending four months in Oxford, I don't think I knew then that Psalm 51 was specifically associated with Ash Wednesday. 

Have mercy on me, O God,

    according to Your steadfast love;

according to Your abundant mercy

    blot out my transgressions.

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,

    and cleanse me from my sin!

For I know my transgressions,

    and my sin is ever before me.

Against You, You only, have I sinned

    and done what is evil in Your sight

. . . 

Behold, You delight in truth in the inward being,

    and You teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

    wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

. . .

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

    and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from Your presence,

    and take not Your Holy Spirit from me.

(Psalm 51.1-4a, 6-7, 10-11 ESV UK)

This Ash Wednesday has been grey with great white flakes of snow sifting o'er the valley like powdered sugar. They came more and more rapidly, until a fluffy almost-four-inches of snow crunched underfoot and buried the roads. My sweet boyfriend offered to come pick me up for evensong in his four-wheel-drive truck, but it was not to be. After quite a harrowing afternoon that ended with his work truck being towed, we both decided that staying home was best. 

In the gathering dusk I put the kettle on, lit three candles, and streamed our Ash Wednesday service. I even crushed my blackened match so I could join in the receiving the sign of death on my forehead whilst saying, "Remember that thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return." And though I couldn't receive the physical Eucharist with the congregation, I prayed the Prayer of Spiritual Communion, receiving the sign of death that leads to Eternal Life. 

It was not the way I would prefer to step into Lent—separated from my physical church family—but there was still a sacred space, a sacred time that I was able to step into, perhaps in a deeper way than if I had been physically present with other believers. Still, I look forward to gathering in person as we continue this Lenten journey.

I also look forward to removing some noise in my life (the car radio, shows, certain foods) in order to listen to the call of the Father. I can only say I sense that He is moving, that He wants to speak something to me that I have not had the quiet or space to hear before this season. So I ask for an open, hearing, obedient heart. I ask for eyes to see. And I give thanks for all the ways I have experienced His kindness today—from beautiful, much-needed snow and Nick's safety, to the quiet darkness, lit by a trio of beeswax candles and warmed by a mug of tea. 

O Lord our God, grant us grace 

to desire You with our whole heart,
that desiring You we may seek You;

and that seeking You we may find You,
and that finding You we may love You;
and loving You we may hate those sins
from which You have redeemed us;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

—St Anselm

Created for a Place I've Never Known

"I've got my memories

Always inside of me

But I can't go back

Back to how it was...

...Created for a place 

I've never known"

Memories—I have those, too. But they are intangible. A stack of letters, smooth under my fingers, they are tangible. They hold your ruminations, a hundred quotations, illustrations, and aspirations. But letters cannot give me a bear hug. So I have your blue plaid flannel shirt wrapped around me. But where are your strong arms, my friend?

I can't wander back to the Lodge and find you there. Can't find you perched atop a woodpile at my parents' house...or at your parents' house, either. Believe me, I've looked. I've seen your bookshelf, the beautiful things you crafted, your writing desk, the footprints you left in the closet, your handwriting on the mirror. But you have gone on without me—beyond the veil to a place I've never known. A place I yearn for in the beautiful, aching moments. You've run ahead to a place I long for more earnestly now than I ever have.

Looking back over your letters has become something of a yearly tradition around our almost-shared birthdays. Ever since the day I first met you, I have known you were different than other people. Sometimes that difference was frustrating, as I just wanted an answer about your favourite food or your week's adventures. But more often, your different-ness was perceptive and inspiring. You once sent me a heart-full poem, asking for my advice, only to have me mutilate it—blind until years later to the depth of sorrow and beauty commingled therein.

I should have known that the soul of an artisan-poet, so well-versed in the language and habits of the King's world, wasn't long for this fragmented, still-fallen one. Perhaps part of your restless wanderlust stemmed from never quite feeling like you belonged here. There seemed no corner of the earth that could quite be your very own, my elven-friend. So you chose to step out of this world to find the place you had never known, but longed for all your life.

"This is home

Now I'm finally where I belong

Where I Belong

Yeah, this is home

I've been searching for a place of my own

Now I've found it

Maybe this is home

This is home"

Like Jewel says in The Last Battle, 'I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now.' But there you are; you've gone further up and further in, without me. I envy you. So. Much. And I look forward to the day when I will get into Narnia and you can teach me the ways and words of the Kingdom. Who knows how long that will be, life is too dear to leave it without Aslan deliberately calling me away. But when He does—O friend!—come meet me. Show me sylvan glades where the dryads play. Teach me all the colours I haven't seen before. Tutor me in the names of the trees and the contours of the Kingdom. And help my trembling, tied tongue to learn to lisp the language of Heaven, until it becomes familiar to taste the words.

You have always shown me the world through different eyes. You have shown me beauty and wonder—ever my guide into Faerie Land. You have asked the questions I didn't even think to question. You have valiantly lived, trying to reconcile confusion and the constant hurricane of thoughts and fears. 

"And now after all my searching

After all my questions

I'm gonna call it home

I've got a brand new mindset

I can finally see the sunset

I'm gonna call it home"

Do you remember the time that you told me that your family went to the beach on or around Christmas, and that you saw a wall of water rising up and the sun behind it? Those lines from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader  sounded so naturally like something that would actually happen to you. And now you're in Aslan's own Country, the Utter East. Perhaps you sailed so far West from the Grey Havens as to arrive in the East. But you left me here without you, friend. In many ways, you left me for another world years ago. I always hoped you would find your way back far enough to reach out your hand to me once again. But we can't go back to how it was. And maybe that is for the best. I don't know if I could have borne the changes in you since that last visit. They were already apparent then...and they hurt to see. But know that I never stopped loving you and being your friend, even from a distance.

Perhaps it is better that what I do remember is you running to ring the unringable church bell in Pagosa. You, sitting on the floor, reading The Silmarillion aloud to me. The vast amount of ham you could eat! 'Phoners' and enthusiastic letters. The artistry of your hands and the music you played. The enthusiasm you had for music and lyrics and poetry. 

You were hard for me to understand, my friend. But not hard to love. You were hard for me to know how to help in fits of depression. But it seemed to be a joy for you to help me—even when I didn't always know it was your hand reaching out to me. You visited me when I was lonely. You gave me one of the greatest adventures I've ever taken, and were an integral part of my other grand adventure. You gave me the gift of your friendship, even though it cost you dearly to be open to loving another living thing. When you withdrew that gift, I felt abandoned, betrayed, unwanted. But now I know it was not because you didn't care, you cared more than you knew how. A part of me ceased all those years ago, and now part of me has died with you, friend. There are things that will never heal this side of Aslan's Country.

Missing you hurts like Hell, Aaron. Because it is Hell that stole you from me, from your dear family, and from a world that needs to see through your eyes. 

'This is worse than Mordor!' said Sam. 'Much worse in a way. It comes home to you, as they say; because it is home and you remember it before it was all ruined.' I remember you before the enemy set about to ruin you, to try to take you. But though you have gone further up and in, while I am left in the Shadowlands, neither has the enemy succeeded. You are now safe forever from confusion and heartache. You get to know how fully loved you are. You belong. 

Your seed has fallen into the ground in order to bear much fruit. In so many ways, the Lord has already borne good fruit through you, my friend, but the harvest continues. I can't thank you enough for being you. I love you. So. Much.

"A truer, nobler, trustier heart 

never beat within a human breast" 

—Lord Byron

“But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.” 

—C S Lewis, The Last Battle

___________

Song lyrics: This is Home by Switchfoot
Quotation 1: The Last Battle, by C S Lewis

Quotation 2: The Return of the the King, by J R R Tolkien

Edges

Five years ago, I walked the grey streets of Oxford, my mind gnawing on something that one of my tutors had said to me over coffee. Being away from home and all you know will make you feel the edges of yourself. He meant that I need not cling to my conservative moral beliefs while I was out from under the eyes of people who knew me. I think he was worried that I was naive and easily led, rather than a tenacious soul who poked at ideas to make sure I knew what they really were before—or even after—believing them. Thankfully, I had spent many months and years thinking over the things I believed and why. I may have appeared fresh-faced and over-trusting, but underneath, I had at least a bit of perspicacity.

My tutor was right about something, however—Oxford did make me feel the edges of myself. I knew where I stopped and the ancient stones began. I knew—perhaps more intimately than ever before—how small I was. I knew I was nothing special, yet simultaneously unique and necessary, because God had chosen to form me and bring me to life at a given point in His story. 

Since my term in the City of Dreaming Spires, various events and seasons in life have made me feel the edges of myself. In Oxford, it was both the unfamiliarity of the city and the suddenness of the adventure given to me. The city was established and bold, ever busy and meandering like the Thames. It made me feel young and small, but adventurous and curious—much like a child who is afraid of the dark, but unafraid to ask 'embarrassing' questions or play make-believe as if it were real. I felt solid, at home, present in Oxford.

Other experiences have made my edges known in precisely the opposite way. I have felt like the proverbial fish out of water, disoriented and unable to think clearly, let alone ponder slowly and deeply. Sensory overload and all-things-new have made me cling to God, knowing my best defence was to take a deep breath. Inhale. Lord have mercy. Exhale. Christ have mercy. 

In the midst of feeling uprooted I pray frantically, I don't know anything, I have nothing solid under me... Jesus, anchor my soul, keep me from drifting. I don't know, but I trust You. His steadying hand isn't always tangible. Sometimes I flail while He holds me, until I tire out enough to hear His whispered, Peace. Be still. It's His call to stop thrashing and know that I am held. I am loved more than I can understand with my questioning mind. When I don't know, I feel that my edges are dull—yet discernible. The Father's lithe hands grasp my slippery self and He holds me secure, bringing me to a place of quiet rest in the middle of uncertainty. 

When I feel most like myself, when I feel at home, my edges are distinct and crisp. When I feel least like myself, adrift in the scary ocean, my edges are still known, but blunted or warped. In both cases I am being shaped by the Maker. He helps me to grow deeper, healthier, and more like Himself. He shaves off my warty tendencies and calloused feelings to reveal that He is pruning me—from the edges inward—into His image. Christ have mercy.

Planned Obsolescence and a Culture of Death

"Oh, I know how to use that mixer, my grandma's is just like it!" I said to my hostess as she pulled out her mother's mixer. She looked pleased and then sighed, "Yes, this one is still plugging away, unlike the things they make now. Planned obsolescence they call it. So your products have a life-span of only a few years." The term was not new to me, nor the concept—but that didn't stop the conversation from bothering me. Manufacturers don't want to make a sturdy product, they want to make a cheap product that has you coming back to them every few years. They mismanage our resources—plastic, metal, glass, labour—in order to make a profit.

Far from being a mere economic tactic, planned obsolescence makes its way into other areas as well. The trend of building ugly-but-functional buildings has been the rage for quite a while, with the added 'luxury' of being able to demolish the building at will if it gets outmoded, overcrowded, underused, or any number of other reasons. When I lived in Oxford for a term, I felt at peace even on the fast-paced sidewalks, because I could always duck into an ancient alleyway, or take the next block up. Even if I stayed on George Street, the buildings were far older than anything Colorado can boast, the churches beautiful and unambiguously churches, and one could hear bells chime the quarter hours from anywhere in the city.

Oxford was not built to be replaced one building at a time—as evidenced by a building from the 1500s on a main thoroughfare. Granted, that house was being used as a mobile phone store, but they hadn't torn it down to build a disposable storefront. The English built things to last far into time. Architects like Christopher Wren built beautiful libraries, chapels, cathedrals, and colleges to last—sometimes dying before the work was finished because of the precision and enormity of the building process. It was no light matter to build a cathedral or a school. They would be a place of teaching and refuge for generations to come, they must be built well, they must be beautiful and inspiring in their construction.

This same mindset of building things to last was brought by the English who settled the American Colonies. The earliest cities in America have some lovely architecture, buildings that have withstood the elements and fads. However, in the early 1900s came this ploy of obsolescence. From buildings and cars to mixers and light bulbs, manufacturers began the process of making things disposable. Now we are deluged with plastic containers, glass bottles, and ubiquitous grocery bags made merely to be thrown away. I am two generations down from the 'Greatest Generation' who lived through the Great Depression and the recycling drives of World War II. In two short generations, we have gone from conserving to consuming-with-abandon. The shift began with things like planned obsolescence and it has grown into a killing field.

The industrial revolution turned the whole of humanity into two groups: consumers and producers. Distinctions made by man to obfuscate our calling as human beings, imaging God. Human beings began to be redefined under man's terms, a slippery position for anyone. When persons are defined as either consumers or producers, immediately they are given different values. Rather than the intrinsic worth of being human—made in God's image—humans are given arbitrary values based on their production or use in society. People become what they do, rather than who they are.

When a person too weak and small to fight for themselves is considered a hindrance, it's okay, they are disposable. A quick 'procedure' and presto! the unwanted 'problem' is gone. Snuffed out by 'progress' and a woman's 'right' to kill another person. But if you call a person a 'problem' and say 'remove tissue' rather than 'kill' it sounds less like murder—it's much more sanitary that way. What happens when a person is old and unable to contribute to society? They are shuffled off into homes; separated from families who need to be reminded that everyone deserves compassion, that they themselves are not immortal, that death comes for us all. But we shove aside death and thoughts of our mortality, rushing on in the consumer-producer wheel. Worse still, many elderly are shuffled off this mortal coil by doctors, nursing home workers, or other 'aides' when there isn't enough money or room to pour into a 'useless' person. But human beings are not machines, they are not their ability to produce. They are not animals. They are image bearers, beings—full of worth because they are made in the likeness of God, unlike any other creature.

Manufacturers are not really to blame for abortion and euthanasia—their planned obsolescence is only a symptom of a shift in thinking and beliefs. The philosophies of eighteenth, nineteenth, and following centuries have come to fruition in this culture of disposable stuff and disposable humans. If it breaks, buy a new one. If it's old, throw it away. The jump from stuff to humans isn't far when you base human value on what one does, rather than upon who one is. No wonder God calls us to be stewards, caretakers of resources (oil, plastic, glass, plants, time, money), as well as one another. We are to steward—guard and care for—human beings even more than we are to till the ground or cultivate our imaginations or repair our cars and mixers. We are to cultivate our hearts and minds and culture into thriving grounds for life.

Looking Back

This is the time of year that I miss England most of all. I love America, and I am thankful beyond expression that I live here. But there are days when I yearn for England. On this very day four years ago, I flew across a dark ocean to an island shaped like a rabbit. 

That day I also met my best friend, and was reunited with a friend who has since become a brother to me. I was soon to meet another one of my dearest friends, to be challenged and shaped in ways I did not know...I was about to feel the edges of myself and see the face of Christ in unlikely places: from street vendors to homeless folk, in the wrinkles and behind the glasses of my tutors, in the humble and pretentious alike whom I met at college. Little did I know any of this four years ago to the day. All I knew was that I had barely made my flight and that I was grateful to have an empty seat next to me. 

The intervening years have seen much change, regression, and growth in myself and my peers. Who has not fallen back three steps in the taking of one at times? None of us knew the pain and loss these last years would bring—parents divorced, loved ones dying at young ages, cancer, disappointed hopes, and dark nights of the soul. Not one of us quite knew the joys these last years would bring—marriages, children, grad school, world travel, opportunities that refined our skills, reunions, spiritual freedom and progress, and Hope—always Hope—to anchor our souls. 

At this time last year I was looking forward in hope to a better year. I was excited to read over my previous goal letter and witness very specific answered prayers. However, it took very few weeks for me to realise that 2014 would be much more difficult than the preceding year. Some of most cherished hopes were dashed to shards, others blossomed in ways I never expected. 

Hindsight is always bittersweet in this fallen world, and I often pin my hopes on the unwritten days ahead. Learn from the past, live in the now, hope the future will be better. That seems to be my motto. Yet I have been challenged by the writings of G. K. Chesterton not to expect the Fall to come undone in future days and weeks, simply because they are as-of-yet unwritten. 

"The last few decades have been marked by a special cultivation of the romance of the future. We seem to have made up our minds to misunderstand what has happened; and we turn, with a sort of relief, to stating what will happen—which is (apparently) much easier."*

Alas! I am lazy, looking for the easy way out of trials, ache, and loss. I just want all the bad to go away so I can live a beautiful life, where everyone looks out for the interests of others—rather than poking their noses in, unwanted. It is easier to look ahead than to remember the past, because the past is laced with both joy and pain. No one wants to focus on the bitter, unless they are infected with that poison. Still, it is hard to pursue joy—not happiness, but joy. It can be unspeakably difficult to accept with joy loneliness, abandonment, death, or some other loss. Why must we bear the cost of someone else's poor choices? Yet we often do. When we look back at what has gone before, in our lives, in history, we see that turning our face to the Maker in praise—especially in the midst of pain—is where we grow and are made whole.

So, I look back upon this year, glad that is over—and yes, I am hoping and praying that the New Year will be full of good things without any major loss or pain... But I also know that I must accept with joy whatever comes, and I know that is not easy. Easy is not where I struggle for life, it is not where my spiritual muscles are strained and strengthened. I do not ask for hardship to make me grow, but I ask for the grace and humility to walk with Jesus through all hard things with joy. 

Let me be Christ haunted in the coming year—Amen.

_______________

* Chesterton, G. K., "The Fear of the Past" in What's Wrong with the World (Public domain)

New Arrival: The Conciliar Post

I am very pleased to announce the launch of a website called the Conciliar Post. This blog is comprised of persons from various church traditions who have come together to discuss life, death, worship, art, books, personhood, education, work, orthodoxy, and their beliefs about various social and church issues. Several of the authors are personal friends from my Oxford experience. The articles–by and large–are well written, witty, and thoughtful. 

My favourite article to date is a piece by Stephen Sutherland about current trends in worship. He begins his post thus: "Certain modern expressions of Christianity exhibit a knack for appropriating, or producing cheap knockoffs of, current cultural trends. There’s money to be made from “Christian” music, movies, novels, comic books, mints, and others I likely have not heard of yet. Less materialistically (and less cynically) there is an opportunity to redeem various parts of their culture, although how abstract concepts of “art” or “entertainment” can be redeemed, and how fallen man, incapable of redeeming himself, could redeem something else, remains murky."

You may also note on the authors page that I have graciously been included in the council of writers for this venture. Though I feel a bit out of my league, I am grateful to be given the opportunity to write for a wider audience, to share the gift God has given me in a new venue. It is a challenge already for me to stick with a writing schedule, and I fear that writing may begin to feel like work rather than a creative outlet... But writing is work. When I sit down to type, I often look up three paragraphs later and find that an hour has disappeared. By the time the final sentence is in place, two or three hours may have run their course. Then comes the hard part: editing and hunting through the thesaurus to find just the right word for this or that sentence. The challenge is good and will help hone my ability to write–or so I fervently hope!

Back to the CP blog. If you are a word addict like I am, you may be wondering about the definition and etymology of the word 'conciliar'. Well, if you are truly a word addict, you already know these things. I am still a novice addict, so I had to do some research. Here is how founder, Ben Cabe, explains the name of the blog on the about page: 

Conciliar comes from the English word “council” (persons convened for deliberation) and Latin “consilium” (assembly, consultation). Historically, “conciliar” has been used in reference to the great ecumenical councils of the Christian tradition. In everyday language it designates a gathering of Christians for the purpose of serious reflection upon matters of theological importance. The name Conciliar Post designates this site as a place for serious and faithful dialogue about significant issues in our world.

Interested? Please head over the Conciliar Post website to read an article or two. I think you will be pleasantly surprised by the variety of topics, scholarship, and adroit writing presented.

~ Johanna

A Golden Jubilee

Fifty years is a long time for many things, including having a solid marriage and running a successful business where the president himself is not above fixing sewer lines.

Tonight, Summit folks spent the evening talking about how much Doc and Mrs. Noebel mean to us, and the un-imagined impact their service, wisdom, grace, knowledge, and kindness have had on thousands and thousands of persons. Just today I heard at least two people say that they came to know Jesus because of Summit, and dozens more met their spouses somehow through Summit. I think several thousand persons can easily say that Summit has helped them learn how to be a thinking Christian, one who can reason through why they believe and behave the way they do. 

God could have used anyone to accomplish this purpose, if that 'anyone' were willing, humble, and self-sacrificing.  The truth is, the LORD knew that Doc needed a dedicated, disciplined, servant-hearted, kind, gracious wife to support him. God knew that the right man to begin Summit was one who was witty, intelligent, humble, soft-hearted and tough-minded, and who was willing to do every job at a 100 year old hotel in quirky Manitou Springs. 

When I think how many hundreds of people would gladly come clean toilets here just to be in and around the Summit community, my perspective about my job shifts. I am incredibly blessed to work for Summit. I would not be who I am today if I had not attended the two-week course, Summit Semester, and Summit Oxford. Nor would I have daily lessons in humility if I did not  labour alongside persons who really care about one another -- both at work and personally. 

Due to my time at Summit I am a better thinker, a more well-rounded reader, and I have known the love and discipline of Christ in ways I had no capacity to experience before. I have been stretched out of my comfort zone, been challenged to do hard things,  and been given opportunities to study, travel, and know more that I thought possible. I have met my best friends and kindred spirits through Summit. In fact, I have had more than just three or four very close friends in my very brief lifetime, all because of Summit.

Doc and Mrs. Noebel, Rich and Sherry Honken, Jeff and Danielle Myers, and the whole group of staff (past and present) continually show me what servant-hearted leadership is.  Because of Summit I know Jesus more - and I love Jesus more. I am who I am because God led me to Summit Ministries. I am one of so many who can say that... Because Summit is not about whoever is at the helm; it is, at its core, about knowing Jesus (with both our head and our heart), and sharing His love with others.

Tonight's jubilee was golden not only because Summit is fifty years old, but because there is a golden richness to all that God has done through Summit. When most of our culture is not thinking beyond tomorrow, those whom God has called to lead the Summit are thinking about the next fifty years and  impacting multiple generations after that.

 

May the LORD be glorified and His name be lifted high because of what is done here. "The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with JOY."

~ Johanna

 

  

(Special thanks to Lauren and Nicole for doing my hair, to Lyndi for the mascara loan, and to Stacia for lending me lip gloss for the evening gala. It was a full roommate collaboration - success!)

Twenty-Six Memories

Today is my golden birthday.

At 7.19pm EST I will officially be twenty-seven on 27 January 2012.

I thought it would be fun to look back at twenty-six memories from my life. My memory is not sharp enough to remember the exact chronology, but I will begin with the older things and work my way forward... There may be photos if you are diligent to read to the end. :)

1) Family vacation to Colorado (Estes Park, Mesa Verde), Four Corners, and the Grand Canyon. I lost my blanket on that trip, which was pretty sad, but the trip itself was good (minus the cantaloupe).

2) I was maybe 3 when I remember playing and singing on our front deck and asking Jesus to "come into my heart and never come out".

3) Hannibal, Missouri - Samuel Clemens home -and- Herman, Missouri - winery visit. I mostly remember this from a family photo, but I do remember the winery, it was cool to see the wine barrels, and the playground "dirt" was made of shaved corks.

4) I was a sheep in the Christmas play at one of the many churches we attended when I was young. Yeah, sheep don't get lines. (And I doubt that sheep are redheaded, either.)

5) When I was 7 I learned how to ride a two wheel bicycle (thanks to my older sister, Megan). I also met our new neighbours that day... Brittany and Jessica were my best friends growing up! We played settlers, office, sailors, clowns, detectives, and every other imaginable game we could think of. We also washed cars, sold vegetables, sold whatever Jessica had to sell for her choir group, etc. Yay for enterprise and pocket cash! (Okay, mine went to the bank... So I could pay my taxes. Yes, I thought that way when I was a kid.)

6) AWANA - I liked Sparks the best as an attendee, but Jr. High the most when I was a leader-in-training. Probably because my dad was the teacher and we talked about real stuff.

7) Summer Bible School at Walnut Grove Chapel. Two weeks every summer of memorising chapters of Scripture, catechisms, and daily verses. Plus songs, games, and new friends. How could you go wrong there?

8) Art lessons from a variety of teachers, though Mrs. Oberting and Mrs. Adams were my favourites.

9) Waking up on Christmas morning to a BLUE bicycle! I don't even know if I got other presents that year, but I didn't care. And for some reason, I really remember that Sarah got an Acapella tape that same Christmas.

10) This one is in bold because it is perhaps the highlight of my entire childhood, and even now is one of my favourite things: Reading stories with Dad. My earliest memory of reading with Dad is of him reading the Bible to us after dinner each night. Dad would also read bed-time stories to me and my sisters most nights. I remember reading all of the Narnia books, To Kill a Mockingbird, Ivanhoe, Puddinhead Wilson, The Prince and the Pauper, Penrod, Penrod and Sam, Seventeen, several Louis L'Amour westerns, Waking the Dead, Farmer Boy, Fairy tales, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and Tidings of Comfort and Joy (which Dad and I re-read this past Christmas when I was home). I know we read other books, and we re-read Narnia all the time. Plus, Dad is the best story-teller for Jack and the Beanstalk bar none.

11) Not to be left out, I did also read with my Mom for school. We read the Little House on the Prairie books, Otto of the Silver Hand, and other fiction books that went with what we were studying. But mostly, I am thankful for my Mom reading a Psalm or Proverb with me and my sisters every morning and praying with us. This has to be a big part of helping to establish a daily quiet time in my life.

12) Working to clean Redbrush Camp and turn it into InPursuit, a SpringHill camp (I never officially worked for SpringHill, however). Taught me a lot about how much I complain, and was the place where I began to desire to make my faith my own, not just my parents' beliefs.

13) Spanish and art class with a bunch of homeschool friends... I actually do not remember much about either class - what I gained most from those semesters were my two best friends in high school: Britt and Beka. Britt is still my best friend to this day and I am so thankful for her continued friendship, even though I am not always good about keeping up with her. We have gone from talking about bands and boys and God, to talking about school, work, heartache, God's faithfulness and goodness in spite of our circumstances, and life habits. Similar topics, but there is much more depth now!

14) Homeschool National Conventions: These experiences from 2001-2007 gave me the chance to travel, make lots of awesome friends, helped me to begin to think and reason more, and inspired me to learn about new things (like photography, debate, government, etc.)

15) TeenPact: I learned a whole lot about state government, living with other people, leading other people, how to present myself better, and ultimate frisbee. I began to gain more confidence after becoming filed staff for two Indiana classes in 2005. Oh, and TeenPact GA is where I first drove on the Interstate - unbeknownst to anyone who was in the car with me. I grew up a lot because of my time around TeenPact events and people.

16) Homeschool state conferences helped me take responsibility and learn to converse well with adults (well, to converse more with them - I have always enjoyed talking with 'grown-ups' who were cool).

17) Summer 2003: I graduated high school, read Lord of the Rings for the first time, my grandfather passed away, and my parents drove me out to Colorado to attend a two-week worldview class called Summit. This was indeed a life-changing year.

18) Working at Summit on Summer staff 2005-2010: I learned a lot about acting my age, leading a small group, Creation, Fall, Redemption, family/marriage, loving people - even when they are hard to love, books, various theological topics, taking responsibility, trying new things, and much more. I specifically remember 'The Upstairs Girls' (Lexy, Savannah, and Jessi) from 2007 who restored the idea of being friends with girls in my head and heart. I am forever grateful to God for that summer and fall.

Furthermore, I have made my closest friends at Summit (ahem - Sarah Beth Vosburg! Reese! Chels! Kasey! Andréa! Noelle! And many, many more of you wonderful folks - so many I shouldn't even try to list you!) and have been challenged, encouraged, strengthened, and loved in a way I didn't know was possible.

19) Summit Semester 2006 and 2007: I learned a lot in class in 2006, but the 2007 S2 class will always be my family. Even though I was on staff I learned much in and out of class, made a lot of mistakes, was given a lot of grace, deepened my understanding of a good life, love, death, and more through poetry, stories, and real life community.

20) In 2009 I worked two jobs at once (a first for me), one of which was at a public school, the other was a cleaning job. I learned a LOT about loving other people where they are, speaking the truth when it was hard, and loving kiddos.

21) 2009 was a big year: My grandmother passed away in January, and I moved to Colorado that autumn. I cannot express how glorious it is to have my own home!

22) November 2010 will always be memorable for me. The week of awesomeness started with finding a lovely hardcover set of Lord of the Rings for $9 at the the Thrift Store. It progressed to a good conversation with Kevin Bywater about Summit Oxford, and then the unbelievable happened: I was offered a chance to go to Oxford by an anonymous donor (my eternal thanks to you, friend!). Within 4 days I had gone from normal life to receiving funding, applying, getting my lack of college credit waived, getting references from two Semester professors, and getting an acceptance e-mail. Soli Deo Gloria!

23) Everything about Oxford: walking to tutorials - and the library, Tesco, church, evensong, the open market, through historic passageways and up bell towers - and really anywhere else I need to go. Riding the bus to Kevin's and class there. My flatmates, hallmates, and the Summit gals downstairs. My friends at the kebab stand. The C. S. Lewis Society and walks home with Jake.

Tea and Cranford with Kasey. Watching films, wearing scarves (on one's head), working out, and ridiculous antics with Andréa, Kasey, and sometimes even Jacqueline. Group dinners. Chelsea visiting over my birthday. Trips to London and Cambridge with the OSAP group. My favourite trip: Portsmouth and Master and Commander afterwards. Walking around Magdalen College and Addison's Walk. The New College Cloisters.

Hours spent researching and writing in the library. The book exposition in the spring. Visit to the Kilns (Lewis's home) when my sister came to England. My parents visiting! Walks through Port Meadow and around Oxford at night with the Summit girls.

24) Baptism, Confirmation, and first Anglican Communion: 10 April, 2012 - St. Mary Magdalene's Church, Oxford, England.

25) Getting my writing published on the Summit Blog; getting good marks from my tutors; and learning a lot about Islam that I never knew before (both from reading, and first hand from my Muslim friends).

26) My birthday morning in Oxford last year: sleeping in and a surprise breakfast with all of the Summit girls. They made crepes with fresh fruit (blueberries, strawberries, pomegranate, and bananas), and even had Nutella, and of course, a bunch of tea. They also gave me my Eynsham mug, which I drink from almost every day.

The afternoon was also wonderful, with tea at The Rose on High Street. Everyone came and Rose and Jordan even paid for my tea and scones. It was a wonderful day!

Those are my 26 memories - if I had been extremely clever I would have started each with a successive letter of the alphabet. But I am not extremely clever. I am just an ordinary girl who has been blessed with extra-ordinary blessings all of my life. I am thankful for God's goodness in all things, and His magnificent kindness to me.

Truly, 'The LORD has done GREAT things for us, and we are filled with JOY!'

~ Johanna

Post Script: I would be remiss if I didn't say that my sister Sarah's wedding and the birth of my Nephew (JJ) were also life altering events. :)

New Year: Discipleship At Any Cost

Lord, I give up all my own plans and purposes, all my own desires and hopes, and accept Thy will for my life. I give myself, my life, my all utterly to Thee, to be Thine forever. Fill me and seal me with Thy Holy Spirit. Use me as Thou wilt. Send me where Thou wilt, and work out Thy whole will in my life at any cost, now and forever.

~ Betty Scott Stam

Last year on this day I arrived in Heathrow International Airport, London, England. I met two of my very best friends. I saw the lights of London from an aeroplane. I caught my first brief glimpse of Oxford. I rode in a bus and a minivan on the left side of the road. I made my first trip to Sainsbury's. In short, I commenced four of the most stretching, rewarding, challenging, gruelling, wonderful, and inspiring months of my life.

This year I look forward into a mist of uncertainty. I have a few goals regarding classes and a job that I would like to apply for. There is the ever growing list of books that I want to tackle. Much Scripture that I want to read broadly then study in-depth awaits my eager eyes and heart.

There is no England, no promise of 6 or 8 hour days in the library, or the gloaming hour reverently passed in evensong. This year, if growth will come it must be at the tutelage of the Holy Spirit, my own bank account, books at my fingertips, good conversations, asking better questions, and perseverance in daily study. If I seek a deeper relationship with God then I must be willing to invest more hours in prayer, seek good commentaries, and read, read, and re-read Scripture. I must be willing to let God change my selfish, arrogant, wretched self into a woman clothed in humility, authority, strength, and holiness.

Already I feel the tug between my flesh and the Spirit. So far the flesh is winning the battle... But I know and am confident that the Spirit will win the war. It is a matter of seeking His strength daily and saying 'no' to the temptations of sloth, gossip, idleness, anger, lust, pride, and smug self-righteousness. Discipline is about to become a word I cannot ignore or set aside. Indeed, Discipline and Surrender are about to become my closest companions.

Father God, I submit to You 2012. It is Yours, and so am I. Rid me of myself. Cause me to decrease, that You may increase. Teach me holiness and love as I have never known them. Let me know You. Let me see even the train of Your glory, that I may understand how great You are. Let me see more and more of YOU.

May I, too, pray with sincerity: Fill me and seal me with Thy Holy Spirit. Use me as Thou wilt. Send me where Thou wilt, and work out Thy whole will in my life at any cost, now and forever.

~ Johanna