to end '08

Question 11.
Which of the religions of the world gives to its followers the greatest happiness?

C.S. Lewis:
Which of the religions of the world gives to its followers the greatest happiness? While it lasts, the religion of worshipping oneself is the best.

I have an elderly acquaintance of about eighty, who has lived a life of unbroken selfishness and self-admiration from the earliest years, and is, more or less, I regret to say, one of the happiest men I know. From the moral point of view it is very difficult! I am not approaching the question from that angle. As you perhaps know, I haven't always been a Christian. I didn't go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don't recommend Christianity. I am certain there must be a patent American article on the market which will suit you far better, but I can't give any advice on it.

(God in the Dock)

isn't she lovely

congratulations patrick and sarah!

             

***a must read***

hope for the wounded

By Patrick Lafferty

And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.” Luke 2:10

Early in his quest to return the ring of power to the place where it was forged and there destroy it, Frodo is deeply wounded by one of the minions of evil who seeks to return the ring to its original owner, Sauron, the Dark Lord of Middle-earth.

Frodo, a diminutive and unassuming creature of the hobbit race, nearly succumbs to that wound but is saved by the medical wisdom of the race called the elves. He lives to continue his and his fellowship’s quest.

Yet even after he completes the momentous task appointed for him, he often feels pain from the blow he took a year earlier. “There are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,” he is told by his wise, avuncular friend, Gandalf. He longs for a rest his wound will not permit. The elves invite him to a place where he can find enduring rest, from the burdens of his wound and his wearisome way in the world of Middle-Earth. And so he departs from those he loves, to find rest in the Blessed Realm.

In The Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien wove a majestic fantasy that resonated with humanity’s unfading hope of a rest for those wearied by this world. Our hearts lift whenever peace and rest are rumored, yet they also steel themselves against disappointment, should those rumors be unfounded.

Every Christmas we find ourselves in a similar setting where those “rumors” of peace and hope are rehearsed.

The angels who appeared to the shepherds when Jesus was born assert many buoyant promises that, just like Tolkien’s work, evoke our seemingly innate interest in a joy that cannot be quenched. Yet, such promises also evoke inquisitive and incredulous questions from a world drained of the sacred and supernatural:

Why are the tidings the angels bring gladdening? Why is such news destined to bring “great joy”? Why shall “peace” come to those who hear the news of a Savior born in Bethlehem?

Gladness, joy, and peace attend to this news because whatever wounds this life inflicts, whatever losses we take which cannot be replaced, His coming meant a new, bright, and more bounteous hope than had ever been disclosed before. Now, a rest really does await those who trust in Him ― a healing balm for those who take refuge in His unparalleled work that began in a manger and was fulfilled on a tree.

Hudson Taylor, a missionary of 51 years to China, and a father who’d lost three children of his own, once wrote: “Love gave the blow which for a while makes the desert more dreary, but Heaven more home-like.” He believed that “there is a homecoming awaiting me which no parting shall break into, no tears mar.”

The hope of Christmas is too easily buried beneath the trappings of Christmas. Yet the wounds we bear, or the wounds we shall bear, require us to dig down deep for where the true hope of Christmas is found.

As the “rumors” of peace, joy, and eternal life are rehearsed for you this Advent, may you pause and ask for the grace to unearth the hope designed to sustain you on your sojourn.

* * * * * *

thanks to Marshall Brown for passing this along!

the restaurant.5

LS: Do you know what the guy at table 61 said? He asked me where I'm from and I knew where he was going with that, so I said, 'Seattle.' And then he said, 'No, but where are you from? Because I have a friend who's Vietnamese and she smiles a lot; so you remind me of her when you smile.'

NL: (as LEXIE) 'I have a friend who's racist and he makes a lot of racist comments; so you remind me of him when you talk.'


Lexie Scott
Niki LeVoy

intermission

As I was driving from brunch this afternoon, I witnessed a spectacular scene. Leaves everywhere, provoked by the wind, dancing and tumbling jovially through the air. Creation was at full play, truly a thing at which to marvel. I have a few hours before I set about my work for the evening - at the restaurant – donning my most hospitable face and hoping that I will take seriously the image of God in even the most insufferable guest.

I am revisiting The Weight of Glory and considering the significance of what Lewis suggests is part of such a glory: being “noticed by God.” I often don’t think much of how my soul’s vitality is to be found in being noticed and known by Him…until I entertain the idea of the Creator of the Universe, the most perfect of Loves turning His face away, saying He never knew me and ignoring me with unspeakable finality. Then my eyes get wide and with great effortlessness, I meditate upon Christ’s work on my behalf. Jesus’ gospel is the Story supreme. The most relevant and most true.

We will soon celebrate Christmas. God breaking into history. 

I will soon be in Alabama celebrating Patrick and Sarah's wedding. 

l'arbre de Noël

hebrew. espresso. art.

today i...

perused a psalm in hebrew with the help of my smart friend...

sipped starbucks espresso (questionable), mixed with danesi chocolate (delicious) and the (laughable) alternative to soy almond milk.

painted (acrylic on canvas) - for the first time ever.

a most unordinary wednesday afternoon. 

when i least expect it

Makato Fujimura, Still Point

you are brand new to me

i lay my head on the cafe' bar top
and with fixed attention search out this splendid,
everlasting child of the living God.

I 

listen,

               listen

listen...


to the story of a broken vessel arrested by time and flight,
rescued through sacrificial love.

you resonate - 

and i, a forgetful wanderer
passing through a drowsy afternoon

am assured;

strangers are indeed turned intimate when we are known by God,
found in Christ.

i hear an echo of paul to the church at ephesis: so then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone...

imagined life party

for the first time in five years, i attended the Christmas party at the theatre where i take acting classes. 

a gift for the offender

"Any moderately perceptive and reasonably honest observer of humanity has to acknowledge that we are remarkably prone to doing bad things - and, more disturbingly, things we acknowledge to be wrong. And when we add to this calculus the deeds we insist are justified even when the unanimous testimony of our friends and neighbors condemns us - well, the picture is anything but pretty."*

*   *   *   *   *   *

Last night at work I intentionally punished my friend over and over again because I was in a sore mood. I coldly snubbed any attempt at communication and stormed out the door without offering an apology to the offended (my friend and God).  

Before I went to sleep, I acknowledged like a stubborn child that I was in the wrong but layered justification upon justification, crossed my arms and refused to repent. I went to sleep angry and full of grief. 

It wasn't until this late morning that I came to my senses - by the grace of God - and decided to ask for forgiveness from my friend...and make it up via dark chocolate. I later discovered that prior to receiving my gift and apology, he had come bearing a gift for me, the hardened offender. 

It was a sweet reminder of the gospel of Jesus. He reached out to me in my wickedness. His love, like my friend's melts my heart of stone. 

*Alan Jacobs, Original Sin

to live is...

Christ.

when all created streams are dry,

thy fullness is the same.*

*john ryland

the restaurant.4

(JOHN, KENNY and NIKI are standing in the back hallway after the shift.)

JG: Kenny, did that girl come back and give you her number?
KM: Yeah.
JG: Wasn't she with a guy?
KM: Yeah, they went to prom together, so-
NL: Uh...recently?
KM: No, awhile ago. But, they were having dinner together again as friends, so she's not dating him.
NL: Is it that asian girl you were talking to?
KM: Yeah.
NL: She's really pretty.
KM: The girl I was dating before was prettier.
NL: But... you're not going to tell her that if you start dating her.
JG: (as KENNY) 'The girl I was dating before you is prettier.'


John Gardner
Kenny Miles
Niki LeVoy

below 14th street

K. is out in search of boots. I am fixed on a bench next to a large window that opens onto 9th St., refreshed by the aroma of a newly cleansed east village. we have been kissed by an afternoon rain. 

two women relax on the other side of the window, steam swirling from their bright orange mugs. A dance of chatter pours from their mouths.

I read and pray, acutely aware that these favorable moments are undeserved. 

I pray for the persons i am tempted to bitterly disregard, reminded of my tendency to curse through a smile. 

K. returns bootless and joins me in the window. we talk of Christ, of intimacy with a sweet savior verses a cultural christianity where the goal seemingly is to be a good person...where Christ is used as a means. 

...

we make our way back uptown. 

L-O-V-E-2-1-2

                          

                              

  

                                 

apropos

daydreaming

oh, what to do, what to do? i will soon be in nyc! K. said he is up for anything NOT touristy. *sigh of relief* 

i am thinking...

#1: obscure jazz club. 

#2: mud coffee.

#3: park bench, roasted peanuts and poetry.

#4: august: osage county.

#5: future brownstone considerations. 

afternoon

i am delayed, fixated. still. 

filled with wonder.
the drive home can wait.
i choose to nestle in my car,
gazing out the window.

leaves stained with autumn-orange

depart from elderly branches on high,
soar to the ground
and tumble along courtesy of the breeze.

i read poetry out loud to my imaginary comrades.

A man turns hostage for his friend's release:

It is a far, far better rest that I go to...

Abandon without return. Gratuity of sacrifice.

It is a far, far better thing that I do...

that cadenza of Dickens's Tale of Two Cities

and a child bursts in tears. Must it be so?

One story will haunt him all his living days.

The wartime girl with her German soldier flees

over the frontiers. Or tell him, now as he greys,

of an African spirit between one world and another

who stays around as a child just to make happy

the bruised face of a woman who'd become his mother.

My name is made illustrious in the light of his.

To break and enter another's brokenness and glory.

This is the story I'll touch in every caress.*

a classmate passes by. i smile, but he too is in his own world with a furrowed brow, uttering words i cannot make out. is he too addressing his comrades?

*Micheal O'Siadhail, Story

autumn is here!

...for a day at least.

it drizzled last night. the early morn greeted me with damp streets, crisp fall air and a delicious pumpkin spice soy latte - first one of the season.

i closed my eyes and pretended i was in new york, walking in the park, kicking up vibrant imaginary leaves all bundled up in my coat and scarf, latte in hand.

according to my trusty mac dashboard, the temp starting on monday will rise again to the mid 80's and i'll hit the beach in shorts and short sleeves. oh, los angeles...so typical of you in october.



one month left, new york, until we are at last reunited.

ridiculously brilliant

Is that marionette
real enough yet to step off of that set
to decide what her dance might be doing?
Ruining the play to, in the ensuing melee, escape?

Okkervil River - Lost Coastlines

chapter four

somewhat expected news dealt me a harsh blow yesterday. the facts are not important...(no wonder i'm not a journalist)...

it is clear that when i am devastated, panicked with grief, completely rent and no strength of my own will allow me to stand...

all i can do is praise and pray.

all i can do is sing.

i am lifted by your love to sing...

i find a faithfulness that throws disappointment into relief, a wisdom simplified to reveal one thing:

it seems like everywhere i go

the more i see the less i know.

but i know one thing

that i love you.

i love you. i love you. i love you.

in other news...

my pre-1965 copyright, hopefully not "like new" bonhoeffer books will soon be arriving. hurry up!

27-21 and tears

toward the end of the shift tonight, K. approached me and noticed the sullen look on my face and my eyes filling with tears. appearing to be deeply concerned he inquired as to what was wrong. after a few moments of my speechlessness, he figured it out and rolled his eyes...

yes, i was terribly disturbed by the game.

thank you to everyone who expressed their condolences. 

cozy!

thoughts before the wedding

(mike and rebecca's wedding)

'tis both frightening and liberating to imagine walking toward the one who knows you so well, beyond silence, who hears all that is impossible for you to say and delights in you still.

'tis both a moment to sink into and a foretaste of an event to come. on that great day you will know in full how he knows and sees all - nothing has ever escaped his sight...

before the foundations of the world he knew this quite well and made provisions at great cost, with great love.

'tis a wondrous miracle to be seen clearly and loved truly. 

good to hear

this afternoon when i started to tell M. a story, i felt i needed to throw in a slight preface. he laughed a little and responded, "you forget that i know you." i've thought about this statement all day long and how i sense God telling me the same thing.

i forget that He knows me.

when i remember and dwell in this truth, it seems that i am less of a stranger than i thought, more of His child and thus my soul is assured and quieted.

it was, like, 7th grade

okay, so call me a dork, but i REALLY enjoyed High School Musical tonight!



I want you to know

I've never had someone that knows me like you do
The way you do
I've never had somone as good for me as you
No one like you so lonely before i finally found
What i've been looking for

So good to be seen
So good to be heard

Don't have to say a word

For so long I was lost
So good to be found

I'm loving having you around

This feeling's like no other

welcome, my friends

my library welcomes this fine day the following works:


No Man is an Island
The Oedipus Cycle
Plays of Henrik Ibsen
Jane Eyre


to the newcomers: i hope you will be content on the shelf i assign to you until i can pay you proper attention over a cup of tea.

sweet love

My soul longs, yes, faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God. Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your alters, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God. Blessed are those who dwell in your house, ever singing your praise!*

His care is above all grief. His presence is sufficient for all absence. His song is the home for which I long. 

*Psalm 84

even so, he is

when friends go their own way and my heart cannot find poetry and I have forgotten the glory of former days and my senses can no longer perceive texture, color, harmony or the journey of wine...

...and plans are no longer frustrated but dead and no experience is overwhelmingly grand and when I am invisible and counted as weightless and of no benefit by the world, what will remain, what will stand?

And do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not, for behold I will bring adversity on all flesh. But I will give your life to you as a prize in all places, wherever you go.* 

what will stand is that he endured the dark for me. my life is given to me as a prize because he lost his. i am well and sustained by what he has done, not how i feel. what a relief this is! 

*Jeremiah 45

untitled

MERRIK. Sometimes I think my head is so big because it is so full of dreams. Because it is. Do you know what happens when dreams cannot get out?

MRS. KENDAL. Why no.

MERRIK. I don't either. Something must. 

i've been adopting dreams lately. all my dreams have fallen asleep. i suppose they weren't so grand in the first place. today it occurred to me that the qualities about people that take my breath away are abundant in God. 

unexpected and lovely

fun, fun day! rode the big blue bus to the doctor. four stitches later i hopped in my car and drove for two hours in normal, stop and go LA traffic, listening to sermons for the first half of the journey and singing the rest of the way. destination: a big mall with no bookstore. boo. i felt like i was in high school. i once endured places like this because shopping didn't nauseate me. the exciting part was that i got to catch up with an old friend. i haven't seen R. in three years. good conversation, good prayer. much appreciated and enjoyed. a big thanks to God for this day. it's back to work tomorrow!

to sid and his kind

if this was the movies...

i would be standing in the doorway crying because the times were overwhelming and you chose to leave instead of fight.  i would sing, 

i do want the sun on my face, 

though i'd take the shadow if you were beside me. 

i'd also take the park with you, 

if only for the winter.  

then you would return to me with many roses, a song, a dance and a kept promise. 

...if this was the movies.

autumn-ish in new york!

my dearest city, 

i will be visiting you soon and i look forward to seeing your high autumn beauty. save a red leaf for me. maybe two if you feel so inclined, for i am bringing a friend! 

yours always,

me

autumn in new york?

so exciting!

after work tonight K. and i discussed traveling to nyc in the fall to see our friend in a show. i've always wanted to see the city in autumn up close and personal. this possibility makes me happy. coupled with the alabama trip in december i am nearly ecstatic. oh, how i love to travel. esp with friends. 

roller coaster theology

M. preached today and this is what I took home:

a conversation between a dad and his fearful daughter concerning space mountain. daughter tries to get out of riding the roller coaster when they get to the front of the line. 

dad: have i ever hurt you?

daughter: no, sir.

dad: do you know that i love you?

daughter: yes, sir.

dad: then it's okay to be afraid, but it's not okay not to trust me. now...get in the car. ;-)

everyday his love saves me

Last night it was not my wish that I fall asleep ungrateful and overwhelmed. Exhausted as I was, I resisted my bed and hit the couch with my most recent literary gift: Bonhoeffer's Letters and Papers from Prison. Reading B. destroys any misconceptions regarding that which is fundamental and glorious: The fact that there is such a thing as eternity and that Christ is my eternal hope. Who He is and what He has done are more real than the things that overwhelm me. 

To whom or what does my peace and hope truly belong? Lately, I have been challenged by this question (more than usual) and the answer has not been a very pleasant one. Usually it is something like "My peace...is having my own way." 

I've spent the majority of today plugging along letter by letter. I am particularly fond of the letters B. wrote to his friend. 

November 18, 1943

...And if it should be decided that we never meet again, let us remember one another to the end with thoughts of gratitude and forgiveness - and may God grant that we may stand together before his throne one day, praying for one another and joining together in praise and thanksgiving.

I feel a little guilty for my attitude of preferring not to talk with anyone, but it seems no one else's words have held the weight of his, thereby continually leaving me a frustrated conversationalist. A couple of people do come to mind when I think of conversation that is likely to be enjoyable on a day like this. But...

I'm choosing not to call. 

        *  *  *  *  *  *  

I am reminded of grace as I sit stubbornly...

Never doubt My love for you. Be not overwhelmed by grief. It has been my joy to save you. In My love stand complete. 

        *  *  *  *  *  *

Each day tells the other

my life is but a journey

to great and endless life.

O sweetness of eternity

may my heart grow to love thee:

my home is not in time's strife. 

(Tersteegen)

i want one

possible bike

mine will have a basket, of course. 

with him

On my mind...

Am I spending time loving the Lord because I feel it is my duty as a Christian? Because I feel I owe Him due to some guilt-driven obligation? Or am I spending time loving the Lord because I delight in Him and know that who we are together is unique and who we are to each other, no one else or nothing else can be?

Only in Him am I set apart. Therefore, we are united and set apart - together. 

He prays for me and with me. 

He loves me because He loves me because He loves me. 

to God, regarding my brethren

forgive my complaint against my brethren.

forgive the harm i have caused, known and unbeknownst to them.

forgive my using them for the sake of myself, rather than in service to your glory and their glory in you.

forgive my demand for perfect brethren, for i am guilty of the same grievances i lament in others. 

when i chose you not, you chose me at the cost of what is most precious to you.

when they choose me not, i pray that by the testimony of the Spirit to the grace of you, my brother, my captain, my king that i may choose to love them at the cost of my pen-ultimate loves; for you, my ultimate and most precious love, will never forsake me. 

happenings

pleasant find of the day: the 18th Street Cafe'. spacious, cool and in bike-riding distance from my apartment! 

that being the case, i started bicycle browsing this afternoon. i figure with gas at $80 a gallon, mini cooper can take a hiatus and baby blue beach cruiser with big basket to hold my many books can get me to and fro in the mean time. 

last night a guest in the restaurant asked me where i was from. before i could finish my reply of "washington state," he chimed, "you are vietnamese. i have a friend who smiles a lot - like you do - and she is vietnamese."  hilarious! my half answer wasn't to his satisfaction so he found it necessary to answer for me - and on top of that, answer a question other than the one he had originally asked.  

i need a vacation. 

riches

Across the room, beside the glass door, the plant Rebecca has kept alive for i think two plus years bids more sunlight. It's leaves are like big open hands with palms skyward, eager to receive. Hmmm.  Right now that plant is getting a dose of muted light. But it seems calm, grounded and still. It seems thankful, even though it is inside, on a counter top in the company of shallots and "berries of blue" (as kevin would say).

This afternoon i read, "If we do not give thanks daily for the Christian fellowship in which we have been placed, even when there is no great experience, no discoverable riches, but much weakness, small faith and difficulty; if on the contrary, we keep complaining to God that everything is so paltry and petty, so far from what we expected, then we hinder God from letting our fellowship grow according to the measure and riches which there are for us all in Jesus Christ." *

Too often I am frustrated by a lack of excitement. I want the blazing sun and even more than that, I want new rays falling novelly for my intrigue and enjoyment. I want to sit in an antique cafe', tossing new and old poetry back and forth with good company; an aged, rusty, red bicycle propped against the railing next to me. 

Life is not about my ideals. 

There was more than enough joy today in coming home to my roommate, rushing to the computer to play her a darn good song and dancing like crazy all around the living room. 

*Dietrich Bonhoeffer (Life Together)

at last

a nice way to end the evening: cakebread chardonnay.

musings

i appreciate my new bed and my tire air pressure gauge. 

imovie is a black hole. 

there is a guy who frequently visits the restaurant. he visited tonight, in fact.  i joke that i have a crush on him. of course, i am far from serious. i've realized though why i even take it as far as joking.  put simply, it is because he always smiles and says, "hello, it is nice to see you again." and instead of hearing an obligatory, disingenuous greeting, i believe he means what he says. 

the mystery of togetherness

There is a line from a play I really enjoy: "You never know what couples are like when they're alone."

This is what I feel like with God and me. I attempt to report as accurately as I can what goes on between us - as a testimony. But there are also many happenings that are meant only for us. I'm starting to enjoy such an idea instead of being frustrated when someone may not get what I am trying to communicate. Here's a thought: if I were married would I really care if the reports of love were received and comprehended well? I'm sure I would care a bit, but not to the point of the comprehension outweighing the enjoyment of the relationship itself. All that said, it is good to praise and to testify. So...

the kind word driving home this morning: 

you are not his, but you are Mine.

Hallelujah, i am His.

a song for me

yes, this night has been exceptionally enjoyable. before going to charles' recital at USC, dave and i managed to gain access to one of the rooms in PED...perfect for putting to use our tap shoes that have been buried in the closet for the last five years. we succeeded in making a lot of disorderly noise and not caring one bit. i remember being in those rooms - dancing, acting, playing - for hours.

charles jones is incredible. as i listened to him sing, i kept looking upward, winking at God, silently whispering "what a marvelous creation! if he is able to do this in a broken world, what will he be like, what will this be like in a world made new?" 

i love the moments when anxieties are put in their place and overwhelmed by truth and glory. great music brings this about effortlessly for the listener and i am thankful. i have not learned to make music, but i receive it whenever i can, with the eagerness of a child, surrendering to it as a lover does to her beloved; it nourishes my life. 

untitled sketch of a response to an unexpected event

thirty seven years from now in a room cast with the beauty and assurance of a radiant muse, you will discover astonishingly the threshold of flight; a clamped spirit will be lifted beyond cowardice to eager ears.

there is one other than i, 

masterfully fashioned 

to sing you the story of shadow and light. 

try as i might, 

my voice cannot stand. 

she will quiet the cries 

that have long been ignored,

melting away masks you have dawned.

to lifeless places she will attend,

restoring a spirit empty and worn.

with breath that is true,

this language of music - all that is her

will surely love well

all that is you. 

one. a.m. story time

lamp-lit porch on a warm night.

stories illuminate the Great Story. 

a grandfather palm tree stands

stoic across the street. alone. 

together, wide-eyed children delight 

to know more of Him, whom they love.

cradled by the night, i 

surrender my head

to the back of my chair,

cup of hot chocolate in hand.

light from the street lamp washes

the dirt from my face.

listening peacefully to my friend,  i 

forget altogether that i 

have been sad. 

confession

for lunch, i ordered a bruin bagel at a coffee shop called brew n' beans. i was served by a charming man wearing a bruin cap, who i later found out is a ucla undergrad. then i met with a friend who is a proud alum of the same rival institution of higher learning. 

I am SC!

I am a Trojan!

i stumbled upon belonging

Part of the Visual Prayer Series by Steven Williams, New York City.

(i'm top row, second picture)

from my napkin

how lovely of you, Sunlight, to filter through the window and rest on my shoulders. they roll forward, inviting the cloak of warmth that is you. 

your gentleness soothes the jagged edges of my frame, fiercely sculpted throughout the day by an ignorant and careless would-be artist. 

communist card game

point of order...

there is a most hysterical card game that i rediscovered last night called MAO. it is a game where you figure out the rules by being penalized for breaking them; or witnessing someone else break them. there are set rules that never change... and then each round there is a new rule added by the previous winner, but no one is allowed to discuss which rules are set and which rules are temporary. 

but...wikipedia...talked.

end point of order.

endlessly on my lips

a good song...

I delight myself in the Richest of Fair,

Trading all that I've had for all that's better. 

A garment of praise for my heaviness;

You are the greatest taste. 

(Beauty for Ashes, Shane Barnard)

against slander

a good word...

CHRIST.   My son, do not take it to heart if others think ill of you, and say unpleasant things about you. Consider yourself to be even worse than they imagine, and regard yourself as the weakest of men. If your inner life is strong, you will not pay much heed to passing words. A wise man remains silent when beset by evil; he turns to Me in his heart, and is untroubled by man's judgments.

Do not let your peace depend on what people say of you, for whether they speak good or ill of you makes no difference to what you are. True peace and joy is to be found in Me alone. He who is neither anxious to please nor afraid to displease men enjoys true peace. All unrest of heart and distraction of mind spring from disorderly affections and groundless fears. 

- Thomas a Kempis (the Inner Life)

decided not to work tonight

the past few nights have been warm, lovely, huggable. when i step outside, i cannot help but fling my arms wide in an attempt to embrace the sky. 

i had some quality time this evening with a friend i've known for years, but rarely see. we told stories, read poetry, looked up words in the dictionary, unpacked scripture and most importantly, drank hot chocolate. 

sarah responded to the previous post; when i read her response i felt more loved and known than i have in a long time. (then patrick wrote something cool in response to her response.)  she is my fluent companion in a foreign society; an overwhelming gift from my father who reminds me that he too is keenly aware of my need to travel with Cinderella and Confessions in my backpack. 

white dresses

my feet are sore. i danced a lot tonight. weddings these days, i'm noticing, are more enjoyable. maybe it is because i am slowly becoming less embarrassed of my heart and the fact that it is deeply moved by romance. i've thought recently about giving the book Captivating another shot. i was too much of a snob when a friend first gave me the book. i don't have time for all this romantic, dating, heart of a woman, princess @*^%...i mean with all of the works of lewis and edwards i still have yet to read.  funny, i am noticing more and more similarities between the girl i used to turn my nose up at (and still sometimes do) and err...myself.

i am in the habit of assuming my desires to be of a nobler sort if i feel them to be unconventional. there exists a yearning to be set apart and found uncommon and consequently desired all the more. and i must admit that even in this confession there is the wish to be set apart due to my...daring honesty. 

so. maybe i am not able to find the words and make them dance and burn as rilke did. maybe i don't have the diligence of michelangelo or the vibrant imagination of tolkien. maybe i do tend to think about a kiss on the beach at sunset as much as i think about belief an age of skepticism or if there could be a second fall in the new heavens and new earth. 

maybe what people think of me is not so important. 

damn jar

The first tears of today were in response to a story about a polyphemus moth and a damn, ubiquitous mason jar.

Annie Dillard recalls this story from her childhood in her book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. She remembers when her friend brought to class a Polyphemus moth cocoon she found in a pile of leaves. Each curious classmate took turns holding the cocoon. The warmth of their hands soon prompted the detainee to vigorously fight for its freedom. When the teacher noticed, she retrieved the restless, scrambling object, dropped it in a mason jar and left it on display, museum-style for the class to observe.

“I don’t remember anything but that thing’s struggle to be a moth or die trying. It emerged at last, a sodden crumple….He stood still, but he breathed.

He couldn’t spread his wings. There was no room. The chemical that coated his wings like varnish, stiffening them permanently, dried, and hardened his wings as they were. He was a monster in a Mason jar. Those huge wings stuck on his back in a torture of random pleats and folds, wrinkled as a dirty tissue, rigid as leather. They made a single nightmare clump still wracked with useless, frantic convulsions.

The next thing I remember, it was recess. Everyone was playing dodgeball in the fenced playground or racing around the concrete schoolyard by the swings. Next to the playground a long delivery drive sloped downhill to the sidewalk and street. Someone – it must have been the teacher – had let the moth out. I was standing in the driveway, alone, stock-still, but shivering. Someone had given the Polyphemus moth his freedom, and he was walking away.

He heaved himself down the asphalt driveway by infinite degrees, unwavering. His hideous crumpled wings lay glued and rucked on his back, perfectly still now, like a collapsed tent. The bell rang twice; I had to go. The moth was receding down the driveway, dragging on. I went; I ran inside.”

There have been many times where I've had the instinct to shatter glass on concrete. One time I followed through. I wish Annie would have smashed that mason jar to pieces in the middle of the classroom. 

half-blind

i dreamt last night that i went blind in my left eye. i fell to the ground begging God to restore the big, black, half-world i could no longer see. even crying seemed inhuman. the left-eye tears seemed to be coming out of a void. i felt like half of my life had been cast into darkness. when i awoke and was able to see with both eyes, i immediately found myself more than just relieved. my joy in seeing had been enhanced by the nightmare.

i am thankful God is patient with me. 

muted

this morning i had an experience where i felt disregarded by someone i admire.  i panicked. when did i suddenly become commonplace? insignificant? 

i remember now what was said on sunday and it quiets me: there is not a person who dares to wake the king at 3 am.  nobody except the king's kid that is. and i am the daughter of the king. i am in my nightgown in the middle of the night, running barefoot down the hall of the palace. i charge through the door and take a flying leap onto the bed of my father and yell, "wake up, i need to talk to you!" 

and here, i am not ignored. i experience that i am loved and such a love affirms me. there is nothing i can do to make myself less wanted by him. in this moment, my livelihood is not at the mercy of my record. 

soon to be roommates

Strand

Burchett

Scott

Markwalder

(...)

this day was stacked. 

(surprise, excitement) 

i will soon be moving. maybe this time i will feel a sense of semi-permanence. 

(confession)

it is so always better to be honest, despite fear.

(examination)

images can rape. we must be careful. divorce is brutal. i think God grieves more than we do concerning these things. 

(prayer)

i surrender.

(confirmation)

after reading this blog, i know i belong at PCC.

(anticipation)

only for T. will i arise way too early in order to have coffee and wonderful conversation. 

exhale

darkness is as light with You.

the restaurant.3

NL: That guy at 115 is hot. That bald guy at the end of the bar.
BA: The guy with the glasses at 125?
NL: No, the bald guy.
BA: Oh! I thought you said 'The tall guy.'
NL: No. I have a thing for bald guys, though. I know, it's weird. I used to watch Mr. Clean commercials as a kid over and over again just for fun.
BA: That's really awkward.
NL: I'm totally kidding.
BA: He was pretty masculine, though. And you could tell he had a sensitive side because he cared about things being clean.

Bryn Abbot

Niki LeVoy

the restaurant.2

NL: For today's game, we're all going to be our favorite Disney character. I'm going to be Belle from 'Beauty and the Beast.' Who are you going to be?

BB: The hunter that shot Bambi's mom.


Brendan Bonner

Niki LeVoy

why i'm a slow reader

i call my attention to a collection of words. 

a sentence. sometimes two. 

then...

the earth familiar splits and i tumble into...

a song wraps its arms around me,

picks me up 

and whirls me 'round 'til

i am dizzy with wonder.

i become the girl that circumstance

does not normally call forth. 

i am jealous of her...

the one who courageously says,

"i need you" 

with the last puff of air in her lungs -

unsure if new life will be merciful

enough 

to fill her again and cover her nakedness. 

i smile

thank you God for the Sunday Cupcake:

the Old Fashion.

as i lay down

Dear God,

Tonight in my sleep, I would like to be reminded that I am loved in a way that matters. I would like to feel cradle-safe and warm, tucked in a fat blanket. I would like to know that there will be beauty on the other side of disappointment. And if it's not to much to ask (and why would it be? - I am your child!) I would like to awaken to a red velvet cupcake from the Vanilla cupcake store. 

Goodnight.

open night

9:10

Much was possible to a man in solitude, but some things were possible only to a man in companionship, and of these the most important was balance. No mind was so good that it did not need another mind to counter and equal it, and to save it from conceit and bigotry and folly. *

9:30

Where is Rebecca?

10:00

Somedays...I want to climb up the blank blue dome as a man would storm the inside of a circus tent, wildly, dangling, and with a steel knife claw a rent in the top, peep, and, if I must, fall. **

10:35

I do not recognize you, O heart.
Why have you betrayed me,
exposing me as a man of contradictions and confusion?
"Certainty, certainty, confidence!," I thought -
And I thought that you agreed!
You lead me down a mysterious road.
And I cannot discern if the unfamiliar signposts
in their foreign languages shout

"Danger! Foolishness!..."

or

"Haven, Wisdom..."

..."THIS WAY."

10:55

We too have myths, symbols, a world of our own,

A universe of tangled memories, hopes and schemes;

Counterpoised within that dovetailed zone,

We share our chosen take-for-granted dreams.***

11:10

And then, like before, i will come to a place where i taste even more deliciously the sweetness of my God.

11:20

I once journeyed to a foreign land. Upon digging my hands into the new earth and taking in all that I could as rapidly as I could, I concluded that I very much enjoyed this new world. The soil was moist and the air was sweet. But more importantly, it was new. And most importantly, it was not where I’d been living. I decided to stay and make this new place my home. What of the old world? Nothing! It is a new time and a new time warrants a new world. Maybe I would discover that I was indeed made for this place!

But as the adventurous world became more familiar, the anticipated intimacy was intercepted by a chasm. And there over the chasm loomed the hint that I would always, to some degree be a foreigner. Oh, to return Home.

11:48

Shouldn't have had the iced mocha. Wide awake. Time for a movie, I guess. Iris?

11:59

Nihil amori christi praeponere. 

(prefer nothing to the love of Christ.)

* Charles Williams (The Place of the Lion)

** Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)

*** Micheal O'Siadhail (Absence)

remember

You have loved us first, O God, alas! We speak of it in terms of history as if You have only loved us first but a single time, rather than that without ceasing You have loved us first many times and every day and our whole life through. When we wake up in the morning and turn our soul toward You - You are the first - You have loved us first; if I rise at dawn and at the same second turn my soul toward You in prayer, You are there ahead of me, You have loved me first. When I withdraw from the distractions of the day and turn my soul toward You, You are the first and thus forever.

- Soren Kierkegaard

a glorious day!

more Easter pictures here

the resurrection

when He sees my face turned towards Him,

He remembers no longer the anguish. 

the abandonment

the wrath

the emptiness

His sorrow is turned into joy.

He is the weight and beauty of all my days.

for lack of sleep

my sleep has been interrupted the past couple of nights. two nights ago i dreamt that matt was arranged to be married to a princess. another friend and i were the only ones who knew it was something he did not want. we were determined to get him out of it. but if the marriage didn't go through it was treason or something so all of our lives were on the line. it was an adventurous dream. and frightening. 

i can't remember the details of my dream last night, but it wasn't pleasant. i contemplated not sleeping at all tonight - since i have to be up earlier than usual. but it probably isn't the smartest thing to do. i will end up cranky. i will take the risk of being disturbed instead. 

this afternoon the coffee shop was my haven. God was kind to me there. He assured me that when it feels as though i am being twisted and engulfed, i am not being tormented for sport - i am being molded and refined. 

i discovered i am messier than i thought. not as put together. more bruised, broken, paradoxical, tumultuous...

i have no disposition that merits favor. all wholeness, holiness, radiance, beauty, excellence and sober-mindedness is from Him and in Him and through Him. 

a lovely and accurate poem found me and i was grateful.  

kevin read to me some words about Jesus written by someone who is now dead (i think). i smiled incredibly big and exclaimed loudly "delicious! delicious!" with an ecstatic heart. i needed that. 

i want sunday (easter) to be simple. not busy. full of prayer and family. kindness. service. hope. thanksgiving. laughing. dancing. 

chillin'

unexpected

as we drove, we marveled at the painted sky. patches of orange in the far distance. fire illuminating the battle of clouds. 

He is a wonderful artist.

we missed the planned dinner and ended up in a restaurant with bailey's hot chocolate and a jazz trio. we talked and listened and danced in our chairs. 

He turns frustration into delight.

invisible bruises

it amazes me how certain statements can have the impact they do. i've been hearing one particular statement over and over in my mind and each time it feels as though my heart is being assaulted. 

i keep thinking about the bird that died in mid-flight. 

it jerked, died, dropped, and smashed on the ground.*

i'm doing better at not saying "like", "um" and "whatever". 

i have more to say. but my eyes will not cooperate with my spirit. exhaustion has overtaken me. 

*from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (Annie Dillard)

nyc.4

surprised by interruption,

i stand in awe

of the children

You invited 

to dance

unexpectedly

on ground

elevated above

our plans

and infinitely small

expectations.

nyc.3 sunday in the city without my friend

The plan was to take the train from the upper west side to the upper east side. I was feeling lazy this particular early morning. On my way to the train I decided to walk across the park. 

As I walked,
I thought of you. 

(I notice more with you, I find)

One of my favorite coffee shops closed down. I didn't know where to go and eat after church. I asked for a recommendation and instead i received an invitation! Lunch followed by an afternoon of adventure with new people...I love how God interrupts my plans. (sometimes) 

As I enjoyed the company

of new friends,

doing life with them,

laughing,

I thought it would be nice

for you to be the familiar

part of the experience.

I was invited to a prayer group before the Redeemer open forum. The forum was exhilarating. My hero is Tim Keller. 

As I listened to the music,
I sensed the Spirit
dancing,
swirling
around and in
the bodies of
the sons and daughters of our King.

I wanted the skeptical to know Him. 

I imagined you 

would cry
with me
for
the flailing ones
who don't yet know
the One who loves
sacrificially.

i missed you today.

that's all.

nyc.2 people

There is no mountain
with majestic view

that compares

    

to the faces

on the bus 

traveling downtown

with me

this afternoon.

nyc.1

since i've been in nyc i've recorded on many scraps of paper and napkins various notes and ideas...musings, desires, frustrations. some of them i'm sure will get here. but for now this is the pressing thing on my mind:
prayer.
B. and i were suppose to pray tonight and it didn't happen. i am sad. being here in this exhilarating city has brought forth a fervent desire to pray with others, namely my friends...but right now i would take about anyone who was willing to kneel before the throne of God with me and cry out.
i am amidst kindred spirits - artists of faith that inspire me to the sky. yet i feel desperately alone. estranged.

i love Him.



i've been watching people listen. interested people are lovely to watch.

out for blood

enthusiasm: watch this

impetus

i write

because i feel that 

i must

to express 

what burns from within.

i act

because i feel that 

i must

to fight 

like a king for the crown.

i sing 

because i feel that 

i must

to engage

with the life that surrounds me.

i dance 

because i feel that 

i must

to laugh 

in the face of the sensible.

i rest

because i feel that

i must

to be satisfied 

in Him alone.

addendum:

i work 

because i feel that 

i must

to pay the bills.

my favorite picture of kevin

on my birthday i

got a latte from my favorite cafe.

read the 24th chapter of Job in my favorite library:

had a successful afternoon of improv with my junior high drama class.

went to dinner with my mom.

read more of orthodoxy.

took a nap.

a response to monday

last night a group of us gathered to celebrate God. to worship Him. in song, in poetry, in prayer. poetry has become the way of prayer for me lately. instead of searching for words to match my thoughts, i prefer instead to go to macdonald and agree with the prayers he penned over a hundred years ago. 

i could have sung the doxology over a hundred times last night with my friends. i settled for two times. 

yesterday i found a fun cafe with over sized portions and a table in front of a big window. while i ate i listened to "tolkien, tea and tim" - a lecture i downloaded. in new york there was an event where people gathered to drink tea and listen to tim keller lecture on the significance and relevance of the tolkien and the lord of the rings. 

tolkien believed that words shape feelings and world views. i agree with him. change the idiom and you change the thinking. maybe that is why i prefer to pray words that are not my original words - and then discover they are indeed my words in the deeper recesses of my modern mind.

oh! i remember what i was going to write. someone prayed last night that we want be more like Jesus. i remember thinking, do i really? Jesus laid down his life for his friends. He became weak. His life was not about finding his true self or positioning himself for greatness or making the most of his gifts and abilities. He lost his life for my sake. Am i willing to lose my life for the sake of others? Frodo did. he lost the Shire. the shire was beautiful. 

it is 71 degrees and sunny on this california winter day. still, i have to turn on my space heater and sit in front of it. i can't get warm. N. says it's iron deficiency. 

little heaven

today, a new song

this day was a violent storm

full of sweetness.

we prayed. the four of us.

M. prayed for me and spoke truth into my life 

as i was crumbling 

in the bathroom

because of the ugliness. 

(in the secret of Your presence 

i know there i am restored)

i slowly felt my spirit agreeing

and surrendering. and hoping.

He is the only one. 

He has the victory. 

i am His.

(in the chaos, in confusion
i know You’re sovereign still)

K. and i shared a fuji apple with personality tonight at work. delicious.

a friend gave me a story he wrote. it will be my bedtime story tonight.

(in the moment of my weakness
You give me grace to do Your will)

surprised by love

i am tired. my room is cluttered. i refuse to open my mail.

i am torn. it has now been three days away from the creative bar and i feel as though i am starting all over.* i feel guilty for not being diligent and also for feeling guilty concerning diligence. i want to read more of chesterton's orthodoxy, but i know i will get through a mere one paragraph before i fall fast asleep. i am continually this exhausted. but my intention in writing tonight is not to tell about drowsiness in the midst of chestertonian brilliance - it is to tell about the wedding i attended this afternoon.

i did not want to go. weddings do not excite me. but i know they are important to people who are important to me, so i go. God decided to surprise me today. what i witnessed this afternoon was the most beautiful wedding celebration i've ever experienced. the bride and the groom are truly authentic people and the ceremony served only to illuminate their authentic love. they were vulnerable, intimate, unfettered, free. it was a beautiful act of worship.

gracious,
rejoicing hearts
eyes
gazing heavenward
eyes
closed in prayer
dancing souls
like leaves caught in an adventurous breeze.

radiant,

jovial,

colorful love
altogether
mysterious and familiar.

i think of my bridegroom,
jesus.
i am too weak to be embarrassed
by the fact that
i need Him
desperately.
truly, nothing else with suffice
for my restless spirit.

i am going to put on some music, close my eyes and fall asleep with Him beside me. peace. 

*from the baryshnikov quote

barefoot

i stand

barefoot on stone ground

imagining that

one day i could stand again
like this-
only in chains

with a soul freed 

by sacrificial love

knowing that

when the lights go out,
He will be the only one.

"you don't want it"

I was accused today of not wanting something I indeed want very badly. 

The unsettling part is that the accusation was true. In fact, I have not wanted this thing in such a clever way that I was fooled into thinking I actually wanted it. Furthermore, in responding (inwardly) that it wasn't so, I confused the wanting of the thing itself with the wanting of the accusation to be false.

What has been going on is - I wanted to want to know. 

Which is different than wanting to know. 

This is my creative response:

Violent winds, 

deceivingly calm

in appearance.

Shattered glass,

stained wall.

A reminder of

the fierce desire 

to be washed, spotless,

made whole.

A reminder that I

cannot stand the fact that 

i am flawed,

distracted,

asleep with listless rage. 

a loft in manhattan

*

Outwardly disheveled,
warm within.
A haven for the wandering
the awkward
the rent
the speechless
the suffocating
the shamed
the questioned
the misunderstood.

There is room for all
though God has given this place to us.
Seekers of unity,
of similar essence,
who relish communion
confirmed through silence,
And mystery.

We labor and strive for excellence, 
we grow weary and return for rest.
Ink on the page, fingers to the keys.
Even in our triumphs,
inadequate recipients of beauty are we,
In company.

*written for s. wells jan '07

alone in manhattan

*
Night.
Just in off the street.
Rain.
Chill.
I sit
Nestled in my coat.
Sipping a hot latte.
I watch
I let the night invite me in

to a place 

where I don’t want anyone to see 

me.
where I am just one of the masses.
so alive, alert,

engaged...
I can be what I am not 

usually.

I release the fascinations of my common life.

Strange and foreign things become lovely.
Many wait for many others.
I expect no one.
There are no lifelines tonight.
I am alone and in communion
with the rest of Manhattan’s isolated.

* from jan '07