Of Balloons and Birthdays. . .

Last week I turned a number a little shy of forty. Hard to realise my thirties are more behind me than ahead. I've enjoyed my thirties as a much more stable (though less spontaneous) place than my twenties. I might dream fewer dreams, but the ones I do dream feel attainable rather than wild and impossible. Not to say that some wild and impossible dreams haven't become realities (studying and living in Oxford twelve years ago, for example!).


Many of my dreams (though not all) lie in being in a good community of believers at work, at church, and in my small group... They lie in being safe and seen and loved. In knowing that God is God and I am not...and when I'm afraid He is present and capable and in control.


Rather than telling you 38 things I loved about the last year (which I could do!) or 38 things I want to do this coming year (which I'm not sure I could do yet), let me show you some of what I'm thankful for (relationships that are anywhere from brand-new to twenty years in the making).



 

The hostess trio (Brenna, Lyndi, & Carrie)     +     Grace, Jeremy, and Brenna again ;)



 

The whole crew and the A-mazing fruit tart made by the more amazing Lyndi!

Me and my man =]

_____

A couple of days later, Nick turned a number much closer to thirty than I did... We celebrated together with his mum at Cheddars. Yum! (Not pictured: four amazing cookies from Crumbl Cookie: Key Lime Pie, Cookies n'Cream, Churro, and Blueberry Muffin)


 

This is the man I feel safe with. The man who makes my heart sing. The man who I don't have to be 'on' around. The man who holds me close and I fit there perfectly. The man who still gives me butterflies. The man I pray for. The man who calls me darling and makes my heart melt. . . The man who is home.

Fall into me and I'll catch you, darlin'

We'll dance in the street like nobody's watching

It's just you and me and the song on repeat in my head

Playing over and over

I'm drunk on your voice high on the moment

I'd fall for you twice if that's what you wanted

I'd give you my life from now till forever

I'm falling in love with you

Over and over again

Until I had met you

There was no sun in my sky

No mirrors for monsters

And no love in sight

Then you walked down those stairs

And I knew my heart wasn't mine

On the day that I met you

My whole world came alive

—Forest Blakk, Fall into Me

The Price of Loving Fiercely

“I’d believed—fool that I was—that because I knew this end was coming, I was prepared, that I would not grieve as hard. As if one can pre-grieve and get it out of the way. It’s not true. Grief is the price I paid for loving fiercely, and that was okay, because there was no other choice but to love fiercely and fully.”

― Patti Callahan, Once Upon a Wardrobe 

Dear Aaron,

The fog of a freezing frost is settling in my valley this evening, friend. I hope to wake to a glittering world of beauty and delight—a sort of Eden splashed over all I can see. Sometimes I think other people want that for grief. . . For some joy to splash over one's world and cover over the grief, leaving only shimmering Beauty where once there was pain. But like hoarfrost, those moments are just that: moments. The pain leaks back through like mud beneath the snow. The ever-present stain of grief is the price paid for loving fiercely and fully.

A while back I had someone whom I consider a close friend tell me that perhaps there was something wrong with me for still grieving you stepping out of life—not just out of mine, but out of your life. To this day that comment still rankles in my soul, because the loss of you will not go away while I'm still living. You will always be gone now. Oh, one day I will cross the Great Gulf and join you in the Kingdom, but who can say when? And until then, we are separated. That doesn't quit or stop or go away. Just like your birthday is always your birthday, even if you're not here to celebrate it. It's your birthday just the same. . .the day before mine, every year. 

It was a full day with an appointment, work, small group, and exhaustion. But I thought of you, of course I did. Each time I had to write the date on every page of the chiropractor forms. When I was running a mailing and setting the stamp date. When I texted your parents and sister. Of course I knew it was your day. And of course I missed you, even if I spent the evening with dear friends. None of them were you.

I miss getting to know you. I have pieces of your thoughts and heart penned in about twenty letters spanning about five years. I have three months (plus a week) of shaky memories of the time we spent in the same place, often together. But I've forgotten too much of those weeks, days, and hours. My mind and my life are full, always edging out memory unless I sit with it, stoke it, tend to it. And yet... There is a hole where you should be. Where I should still be able to write or receive a letter, where we should still be able to talk on the phone or visit one another. We should still be getting to know each other. And we aren't. I miss what we had; but perhaps even more, I miss what we never got to have. 

Lately the pain has been something like a branch beneath the hoarfrost of dating someone I truly love. He's very different from you, but also he reminds me of you in some ways. But even the wonder of a sweet relationship doesn't cover the pain of loss forever. Perhaps the mud seeps through the snow a little less often right now, but I still think about you every day. I still miss writing real letters to you—letters I can drop in the mail and have you receive at the other end of the line. I still raised a mug of tea (caramel-coconut-sesame) in a toast to you on your birthday. And I still believe that if the Lord allows you to see through the veil—to know the love of those who miss you—then you know that already.

Here's to the twilight
Here's to the memories
These are my souvenirs
My mental pictures of everything
Here's to the late nights
Here's to the firelight
These are my souvenirs
My souvenirs

I close my eyes and go back in time
I can see you're smiling, you're so alive
We were so young, we had no fear
We were so young, we had no idea
That life was just happening
Life was just happening

Here's to your bright eyes
Shining like fireflies
These are my souvenirs
The memory of a lifetime. . .

—Switchfoot, Souvenirs 

Though I'm a little later than the day of, happy birthday, friend. I miss you. The mud and blood beneath the snow still surface. But one day the glittering frost will melt into Spring and I will see you again. We can get to know each other more then, my friend. Until the Kingdom comes, I will pay the price of loving fiercely and fully. Until then, here's hail! to the rest of the road.

Love,
Johanna

Proof That We have Loved

"How can we say that God has cheated us, 

when this crush of grief is proof that we have loved?”

—Steve Bell We Believe in Love

Part of me wants to just leave it at this lyric and not say anything. Isn't that enough? 

But the other part of me, the part that cries until I'm sick, wants to work it out in all the words.

____

Dear Aaron,

Today is your birthday. 

Why do we say someone "would have been" a certain age if they have passed from this life into the next? Perhaps people quit counting in the 'normal' way because years don't matter or add up or work at all in the Eternal Kingdom? Still, you were born in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and eighty-eight, and you will go on forever in His Kingdom, so you are thirty-four today from where I stand. 

Today I'm tried... Tired from being up late and early while visiting Kasey the last few days and tired from travel. But I'm 'other' tired, too. Tired of the world being broken. Tired of loving and losing. Tired of missing so many people because of distance, physical and metaphysical, emotional and spiritual. 

But I'm not tired of missing you, because missing you means I remember you. Missing you is a habit. It is a daily thing. I've been missing you since before you died; but I've only felt really free to give that feeling full expression since you died. The longing and the grief mingle painfully, even still. The love that I can't seem to send across the veil or through the thin spaces to you feels restless in my heart. It wants out. It wants to go to you. But it's like a bird with a broken wing, thudding back to earth after pitiful attempts to fly. 

Today is your birthday. . . 

. . . But I don't want to be sad. I am thankful you were born. You have taught me so many things, in life and after death. In a way, you connected me with Kasey—with Oxford—with poetry—with music—with myself. Not wholly, but in ways no one else could or did. Thank you! Thank you for being born. For living life. For being my friend. For sending me on a grand adventure. For helping me see I was capable. For giving me the chance to meet my best friend. For being faithful while you could be. For knowing wisdom came from outside of us when we were both confused about life. For introducing me to your sweet family (though I really wish you would have done that differently...). For ringing bells—not in steeples, but inside of me. For being you... Aaron E Hennig. 

Today is your birthday, and the crush of grief is still there, the proof of love. 

God has not cheated you nor me, He gave us gifts: friendship, camaraderie, hope, love. And through you, He has given me so many more of those gifts in other people. Some other days my heart will spill open in grief for some of them, too. I pray those days are so far away I can't imagine how far they are. But I know I can't outrun grief, because I can't outrun love. And I don't want to. 

Today is your birthday, my friend, and you are basking in the Father's love. The love that you can't outrun, even by death. So, I'm sending my love for you to Him...along with a bear hug.

Love always,

Johanna

Once upon a time it was my birthday...

And for my birthday, I got a Max-friend! There were a lot of dinosaurs involved in the making of this fabulous week...

The dinosaur is the one on the left

Look what I found to get me to work!

I made a friend named Cera

She posed better with Max better, however

Look out Max, there's an incoming carnotaurus!
And also a Lyndi-friend, but she's safe...
...in spite of that look she's giving the camera. ;)

What? We are perfectly normal...

See...normal!

All dressed up for the Cliff House!

Dinner was delectable and the classical
guitarist (Wayne) made the evening 'specially lovely!

Magical snow!
I believe I was dusting Max with a snowball here...

And then I got 'eated' by a great white shark,

in the land-locked state of Colorado. ;)

The end!

Mum's Birthday!

Over Memorial Day weekend, I flew home to celebrate Mum's birthday. I believe a good time was had by all—as evidenced by these photos.

This was the beautiful cake (it was yummy, too)!

The birthday girl!

Dad and Mum

The birthday girl and the grandlings

Mother and daughters

Not the best-quality photo, but I liked my new dress in this one.

Thirty-Two

Today I turn thirty-two. Thirty-two years hold a lot of memories, some good, some bad; some incredibly hard and sad. The years hold memories full of laugh-until-you-cry hilarity, of wonder that humbles and hushes one. Some memories are rich with tender sweetness, with glory unspeakable and beauty that can only be felt deep inside.

I marvel at the pressed-down, shaken-together, overflowing gifts I have been given in thirty-two years. They come in a variety of persons and a myriad of heart shapes. They come in funny little packages, wriggling and red all over, crying their first cry. They come in meals and conversations around tables of all sorts and sizes; on dorm-room floors and grassy bowls, under stars and up rocky paths. They come in sacred moments of stillness, in loud hullos and hugs in airports, and in all the vows I've heard spoken before God's altar. They come in overwhelming swells of music that raise one's heart to God, and in unexpected finances taking one across the Ocean. I have been given the gift of two ears and a lot of time to listen to story after story, sigh after sigh, laugh upon laugh, and so many words of truth and encouragement.

To enumerate the gifts, sheer gifts, I have been given would take many trees and all the books they would make. If I look at just one of my family members or friends, I could write pages about all that we have shared, experienced, or thought through together. Each person God has put in my life is a story of their own, and I love that our stories intertwine—even when some of our together-story has had rough parts. God has used even those sharp, painful, unkind things to shape me—and often a repaired relationship is even stronger because we had to work together (under God) to bring about that healing and repair.

Thirty-two has dawned bright with Colorado blue skies. It has dawned with hope—hope that whatever steps God has for me to take this year, they will bring me closer to Him. Whether I stay right where I am and seek to change, or whether the road takes me on a new adventure, change inside is necessary. Ever since my dad had cancer and other unexpected, devastating things have happened in our family, I have been different. But it hasn't been a good different. I have, in fact, been indifferent. Unconcerned. Uncaring. As if all of my joy got eaten up by a different kind of cancer and betrayal.

For a year or two I had friends tell me I was different, not myself, etc. I felt it—felt like I had turned into someone else, someone I didn't like. Someone who didn't have time or energy to be filled with joy, to simply revel in each day. I miss being that person. I miss being full of vivacity. In the process of recovery, I got sidetracked by a couple of relationships that inhibited my healing. I have prolonged my indifference. Because of that, I told a friend the other day how excited I was to turn thirty-two and put the past three or four years behind me. He didn't ask me why, he instead asked me what I loved about the last year. I began jotting down a short list of highlights, which burgeoned into a hefty paragraph or two. Thirty-one was filled with wonderful people, new experiences (cross-country skiing, for one), beautiful views, the weddings of my very best friends, a lot of prayer, growth inside and professionally, lessons learned at great expense, and some really honest moments.

One of those honest times birthed some some healing that is ongoing. It opened my eyes to a truth I didn't know was true about myself—I feel like everyone thinks I am inadequate because I think I'm inadequate. I spent a lot of thirty-one focussing on myself and my needs, because I've been in recovery mode. I still am, but recovery mode doesn't mean focussing on myself. Healing doesn't come from myself. It comes from God. I want to know God and pursue Him single-heartedly, single-mindedly. I have felt warped and drained by passive aggressive people and by work many times in the last year—my mind divided and scattered. I have felt crushed by the mound of paid and unpaid work I had on my plate. I even felt exhausted by my dear friends, when it seemed like every evening was full and I had nothing left to give. My thoughts have been flighty and undisciplined. I have been living without purposefully sought, well-invested margin for far too long. I have been unstructured in my down time because I think I deserve a break.

Freedom doesn't mean a lack of structure or boundaries, however. Freedom means utilising the boundaries I have been given to become more fully who I am. I am created in God's image. How can I be fully myself, or myself well, if I don't know God well? Not knowing more about Him by reading books, per se, but knowing HIM, like I know my family's inside jokes and habits and moods... I want to know God like that, and so much more than that. Socrates said, "Know thyself," and he was right, it is important that we know ourselves. But we cannot possibly know ourselves if we don't know the One whom we image. We image. To say that make the noun a verb. We image. By being, existing, we image God. And yet we image Him even more clearly in certain ways—caring unselfishly, loving what is good, true, and beautiful—and sharing it with others in a variety of ways; by being single-minded, by being truthful and kind.

Thirty-one wasn't horrible. In fact, it wrapped up more perfectly than I could have asked. The week began with dancing, I got to host a couple of dinners with friends, there was a helpful breakfast conversation with my supervisor and co-worker, I caught up all my looming projects, editing is full-but-doable, and I spent last evening in earnest thought and conversation with a friend whose zeal for the Lord and for life breathed fresh insight and life into me. And much tea was drunk yesterday. So. Much. Tea! And all manner of things are well...

And all manner of things shall be made well. Thirty-two is just a number. But I hope and pray it is a number that reminds me of the year in which I became single-minded. The year I began to know God more deeply than I could have dared to ask or dream...and that I get to live the dream.

Thirty

It is getting late, as I tuck in a full day, the wind wrestling its way 'round my cabin. Snuggled under the blankets, I think back on the day... I awoke in the golden arms of the sunrise, a day older. A year older. A decade older. It is not often that these round milestones are placed in our palms, slipped into the pockets of our lives. They are a gift, marking a still moment to pause and reflect on the many hours and days that have built the last ten-year span. 

I wonder if I have used my first day in my thirties well. I question if I invested the days of my twenties wisely. Things did not go according to my plans this day, but they rarely do. Still, there were sweet gifts, surprise phone calls, dinner and ice cream with friends... There were cards, full of life-giving words, penned by some of my dearest friends. Words of hope and kindness. Inspiration to live worthy of my calling to display the Beauty of the Lord and His holiness. One note, with bold, black ink-words proclaimed—approximately—"Don’t be impatient. Wait for the Lord, and he will come and save you! Be brave, stouthearted, and courageous. Yes, wait and he will help you."*

Brave. I taste this word on my palate as if it has never escaped my lips before. As one who comes knowing that God is my Light and Salvation, I need not fear, I have only to be brave in His strength. Stouthearted. This reminds me of wholehearted, a word I have been meditating upon in the last few weeks. Yet stouthearted is nuanced differently. It implies one who will not falter in battle, who will bear up under trials. Yes, this is something I desire.

The last triplet-word rises before me: Courageous. I think of the many persons I know who have the courage to get up every morning, to live a life they did not—would not—choose. They bear the marks, the cost, of another's choices. It must take whole oceans of courage in their veins to to stand firm each day, I think. My life is not shaped by such trials. Do I, too, need courage? New Covenant words flit into my mind: For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.* Yes, I need courage! Though I live under this present darkness, I take courage in the words, The LORD is my light and my Salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the Stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?*

Who knows what the upcoming days of my thirties will hold? I do not know the mile-marking joys and sorrows to come, and I am glad. I would become impatient or burdened knowing that such things were ahead still. What I do know, as I listen to the wind howl and pull my quilt closer, is that every day will bring its 'dailyness'. There will be dishes to wash, laundry to fold, books to mail at work, food to be made and enjoyed, friends to hug, smiles to give and receive, and prayers shot like arrows toward Heaven throughout the day. There will be songs to sing, children to hold, hands to hold, sorrows to bear. There will be sharp words when I lose sight of Kindness. There will be life-giving words from the Spirit of God to breathe into souls. There will be the daily, walking hand-in-hand with the Eternal. In short, there will be the every day I already know, and the every day life that comes with ageing bones and bodies.

Daily dishes, rote words of liturgy, or our own stale thoughts can seem dull, mindless, and lifeless. But when Christ, Who is our life, breathes daily into us, we surge with liquid life. Much like Aslan in the Narnia stories breathes upon creatures turned to stone, restoring their life, Christ restores meaning and joy in our quotidian moments. Folding laundry becomes built-in prayer time. Liturgy becomes the rhythm of life, keeping us in step in the Great Dance. God infuses our listless, rutted thoughts with new perspective—gained from friends, new-to-us books, a song, or by simply opening our eyes to Scriptures we have seen a thousand times, but have not known until now.

Annie Dillard once penned, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."* If I am aware of God in the midst of soapsuds and repeatedly sliding discs into plastic sleeves, in the writing of words and the sharing a smile; if I breathe out "Lord have mercy" and inhale His mercy, then I am learning life-rich liturgy rooted in Christ. That seems a good way to live a day, a year, a decade...and a life.


_____________

* Psalm 27.14 (TLB)
* Ephesians 6:12 (ESVUK)
* Psalm 27:1 (NKJV)
* Dillard, Annie, The Writing Life (New York: Harper Collins, 2009)

O Frabjous Day!

Happy 110th birthday to my childhood heroine, Gladys Aylward!!

I have always admired her trust in the LORD, her willingness to serve Him in spite of obstacles and everyone she knew saying 'You can't do that!', and not knowing what she was walking into when she bought her ticket for China.

Miss Aylward is also a testament that a little cleaning girl can do seemingly impossible things when she trusts God and submits herself wholly to Him. That is pretty inspiring to this cleaning girl over 100 years later.

The name 'Gladys' means 'lame or disabled' - this certainly was how many persons viewed Gladys in regards to being a missionary. They always told her she was unfit for the work she believed God had called her to do. But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak [and lame] things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty. (1 Cor. 1:27)

Thank You, Jesus, for Gladys Aylward and her obedience and submission to You.

~ Johanna

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. :)

Final Day to be 25

Tonight in Oxford I am aware of the smells. Between Cornmarket Street and the theatre, scents of old smoke and grease hang like nearly forgotten memories in the air. Closer to the Thames the smell of wet wood being burnt mixes with spicy Asian food. On street after street persons young and old light cigarettes, laugh with one another, duck into restaurants, or jog to catch the evening bus. Near the train station the smell of damp earth and Spring coalesce with a woodsmoke.

This evening I notice the sights in Oxford. How could one miss them? Spire after spire rise in the evening skyline. I step into the quadrangle of Christ Church College and see stars breaking through a patch of sky overhead. I see the fountain, the globed lights, and a small group of persons milling in the entryway to the cathedral. Inside my eyes land upon vaulted stone ceilings. On the floor a slab tells me that John Locke was a student at Christ Church. Robes, candles, and ecclesiastical icons greet my eager eyes. I close my eyelids to drink in nothing but the sound of the choir.

Today I hear the sounds of Oxford. There are shouts in the open market. Men and women are calling out the prices of their wares. I hear the rustle of pages in the library. Birds chirp at all hours or the day and night (which is a bit unnerving in the dark). I listen to rain on the wood shingles of the Cloisters. The Thames gurgles along, lapping at its muddy banks. Homeless men are heard on nearly every street corner, "Big Issue, miss?" they ask.

Now I am home. Time to read and catch some sleep before tea tomorrow with my Summit Oxford friends. The final day of being 25 is drawing to a close. It has been a good day, a good year. Here is to all that 26 holds!

~ Johanna