It seems like coming home

I said I would be gone for a year, but recently, this little corner of cyberspace has been calling me. Tonight, I finally gave in and asked Joel to set up a server in the States so I could read my friend's blogs and see white stone, some plaintive little voice whispered inside. I rarely post... even when China's Great Firewall isn't there to stop me, but I so enjoy this little outlet of creativity when I do. I dearly love to write, and I am very cozy with my little audience that may or may not be reading... because you see, I've discovered that it really doesn't matter. And imagining no one is listening gives me a cricket-like courage to sing as loud as I can until someone hears and I retreat in timidity.

I'm afraid that my time in the spotlight on the other blog has made my cricket legs feel faint. There are too many people reading... too many people to think of, to many people to write to, too many people with so many needs, too many people wanting to know about my odd little life here in the middle of China. He so often reminds me... "let no one despise your age but be ye an example..." "be not dismayed before their faces" "fear God... not man." But I'm afraid my heart is too weak still... so I've hopped home for a quick moment... to post my thoughts about this place that we will soon leave, and hopefully show you, my cricket's audience, what I see in this huge strange world. And maybe you'll forgive my timidity, as He's still working on me.

(This picture was before we knew junior was here with us...I think I was about 5 weeks along :) 

You know what breaks my heart about China? The women. The reams and reams of women that know nothing of God. Yes, I suppose I always pitied them, but now, having been here for a while, it breaks my heart. Do you realize how much knowing God gives us? Not just a fire escape from Hell, not just relief in knowing your destination, not just purpose in life, but depth. "In Thy presence is the fullness of joy." He brings fullness to life that we don't understand fully until we see lives... thousands of them, millions of them... that have no fullness. They have dreams, yes... for a rich (hopefully American) husband, for money, for belongings, for a "Western" life, but never any peace. The women here are beautiful, but empty. They long only for money... for a good marriage, and as the saying goes, "I would rather cry in the back of a BMW than smile on the back of a bike." How thankful I am for my little group of precious kindred spirits, who look to God for their hope. Who, yes, are plagued by their own fears... fears of not "going anywhere in life", of facing of loneliness, or of mundane life filled with house cleaning, children and errands. But these women let their fears be tempered by Him. These are women that constantly look up to Him. Who know beauty, joy and fullness right where they are because of the presence of a Friend and Father that they love. China's poverty is spiritual, not physical. It breaks my heart every day to see it.

China is not physically poor though... not parts of it. This country has cities and skyscrapers and transportation and wealth that we know nothing of in the States. This materialistic world, this mammoth of a nation I have no doubt that they will overtake the US in the future, at the rate they are growing and improving that I have witnessed in my short stay here... and sooner than I ever thought possible. And we, back home, sip our coffee and go on our vacations completely unaware of what is happening just around the globe. Why should this bother me? Since when has economics and politics ever caused me to lose sleep? Not because I think we should be richer or that our country is better, but because... of a simple question that haunts me. What will the world be when its leading power is completely without God as a society? I shudder to think, but I will leave this in His hands, because He sets up nations and brings them down, for they are only dust on the scales. It is very easy for me to feel fear for my little haven of home when I see this huge nation, but one thing I have learned while I am here is that my life, my family, my assembly, are in His hands. My home is in Heaven, no matter what happens to the place I call home on earth. That this nation, and mine are "dust on the scales"... nothing to Him. I've learned to place this fear in His hands, knowing that no matter what comes in my lifetime, He is in complete control and that He has plans for me, "for good and for harm...to give me hope and a future." me and all those who are "called according to His purposes.

If anything, now that I've written a bit of my heart out for you, I would ask you to remember to thank God for your life... for every choosing you, saving you, for giving you hope and future, for showing Himself to you, for giving you a home, family, warmth, love and security... and yes, even for your fears and trials, because without them you would never know what security, peace and His strength really are.  Because there are millions of girls and women over here who know nothing of the beauty of life that He has given you so lavishly.

I've moved for the year

Hi all,
Sorry for not posting this sooner...but now that we'e in China, Joel and I will be blogging together at booksandnoodles.com. Keep reading over there!

Rachel

A sower went out to sow

 We just got back from Toronto three days ago. It was a... how does one describe handling God's things? For one month, God handed us His "to do" list and we busied ourselves with this "important work" for four weeks, only to look back and realize that God was doing the work the whole time and our "work" was only a carefully designed lesson He made just for us. It was a humbling, busy, exhausting, joyful time. So... people inquire, "How was Toronto?" and I smile and say, "Good."

Yesterday, I helped my Mom weed the garden in front of her house. It was a gorgeous day - sunshine, cool breeze, big billowy clouds and moist dark dirt to sink your fingers into. As I sat or knelt over the dark earth, I pondered the weeds I was so ruthlessly uprooting. I watched the crab grass' milky white roots come snaking out of the ground with every harsh pull of my hands, each plant bringing up three others that were secretly connected through a labyrinth of thin delicate white trails a mere inch under the ground. I pulled at the stubborn dandelion stems and listened to their thick strong roots suck and pop in protest when they broke; then they emerged, oozing and bleeding white filmy blood - evidence of more roots beneath that are now marooned in the soil. One sapling was in my path, a young oak tree. The shoot grew bravely erect while the roots grew down from a gently cracked nut still resting near the surface - opened by the fingers of God. The nut and root held on when I yanked out the shoot, stubbornly choosing to die together rather than face separation. There were delicate purple flowers and soft yellow blooms, red stalked ground cover with waxy green leaves - yanked up and left to wilt. How bright the piles of carnage were, all heaped on the sidewalk. Greens, browns, reds, yellows and reds. Which weeds would the chickens eat? Which would be left to decompose only to feed the next generation next year? What made these dear dead plants "weeds"? Why would we not let them grow here too?

I looked over the now naked gardens strewn with the elect - flowers bought in flats and carefully planted, evenly spaced and fed and watered. There they were gasping and small, relieved to be left, to survive. Did I see them stretch? Reaching their tiny leaves up and out, marveling at all the sunshine they could greedily soak in without any choking weeds to stop them. Yes, they would have died soon had I not battled the weeds for them, but were they especially beautiful? Were they a choice plant that we must kill all others to let live? They didn't look particular in any way. Ugly, even, next to the wild beauty of the blooms that I had left dead and dying on the walkway. I watched my Mom sweep up their remains and I went inside, my dirty deed done.

Then the still small voice, the gentle hand that opened the seeds put His finger on my heart; what was God sweeping up in my heart? Suddenly, this garden was my soul. With every yank of my hand, I saw the wound in the soil of my heart. With every heartless pull of my fingers, I felt the fingers of God pulling, ripping, wordlessly destroying the weeds in my life. "Why are they weeds?" I begged. "Why must that one go? Look at it, Lord! I grew it because it was pleasing. It appeased my fears and dulled my senses to Your incessant call. No, Lord not this one - its roots are strong. It defends me from being honest to my husband. No, Lord, look at the blooms, spare the flowers!" I looked over my garden - my soul - heartbroken, for it was almost naked before God. Nothing was left but little shoots of love, reaching thirstily to the Son. Tiny buds of joy, too afraid to bloom for fear of the thorns and thistles - cares of this world. Tendrils of peace, seeking to soothe and cover the soil of my soul but hampered by the strong vines and moss of doubt that choked them out. Other plants were also spared - patience with its strong roots and sure Foundation. The heady aroma of goodness that draws sinners to God. The milky roots of kindness that are for all people. Faithfulness, needed in every garden seeking to please God. Sprays of gentleness, tiny saplings of self-control. These things God spared, and I saw how small and weak they were. How sickly and needy of the Son's rays.

Then I was ashamed at my tears for the weeds. I was ashamed at my lack of faith in knowing what what God was doing - and letting Him do it. I wiped my eyes and saw that God had chosen what was to be in my garden of life, the choice was not mine. I saw my lack of humility, the fertilizer for my soil. Nurturing privately what I thought was good, what I thought was needed and pleasing, I was killing the things that were truly God honoring in my life. As my Maker ripped the weeds from my heart, I screamed and wept for what was lost, for what I needed and what He was failing to provide. Even my prayers were prayed in error because I begged for my "needs" when they were nothing by weeds. It was the storm and trial of His hand, yielding the peaceable fruit of righteousness that my garden was void of. He came with the storm to weed my heart.

"What? shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?" 

Job 2:10

"For land that has drunk the rain that often falls on it, and produces a crop useful to those for whose sake it is cultivated, receives a blessing from God. But if it bears thorns and thistles, it is worthless and near to being cursed, and its end is to be burned." 

Hebrews 6:7-8

~~~~~~~~~~

We were accepted to Huazhong University of Science and Technology in Wuhan, China last week. We had all but given up, then we finally heard that not just one, but both of us were accepted. We'll be leaving Aug 26, and we'll be staying until next July. We applied for one term, but were accepted for almost a year. Thank God, the wait is over -- now we have to go half way around the world.

Summer Happenings

Well, I've barely had time to read blogs much less post on mine (which by the way needs a face lift -- I wonder if I know any web designers that can help me... maybe I'm married to one... :P). But here are some pictures of my summer so far:

 Isabel at my birthday

 Me at my birthday

 Abbie graduated :)

 

We said goodbye to good old 4331-Apt A 

And spent a day at Georgian Bay with all the Turner Cousins

Hannah, Isabel and Jacob in the water... we had our own section of beach :)

 Joel pouring over his kindle... go figure <3

 There were several streams coming out of the hills behind us and pouring into the bay, each a little world of its own

 Naomi discovered the "Quick Sand", or so called by little Jacob (behind Naomi)

 There were many lighthouses to built -- all more for aesthetics than safety of travelers ;)

 

  And several mini edifices left from little hands gone by.

 While the present little hands left their mark on the landscape

 Jacob the Great Explorer

 The next week, Auntie Esther and Uncle Paul took us (Dad, Mom, Nathaniel, Isabel, Joel and I) on a dinner cruise on the oldest operating steam ship in Canada - Lady Segwen. As you can imagine, Nathaniel was in his glory:

 I love this picture of Mom and Dad

Auntie Esther and Uncle Paul

 

And us

 And Isabel

Hopefully I'll have another afternoon soon to post about being here in Toronto... and our one year anniversary. :) We'll see.

~Rachel

The Homeless Holmes are Two Compatible Personalities

I like saying we're the homeless Holmes... not because I like being homeless, but because I like how corny it is. I rather like having the name "Holmes". But really, if I' honest it could have been "Winterbottom" for all I care... I just love Joel. :)

We're living at Mom's right now... and since I last posted, it has been one of the most exhausting weeks of my life. We moved out on Thursday, finished moving on Friday, then headed up north to visit my Turner relations for the long weekend. It was so much fun... and I even tried a bit of photography! (I can hear Ashley crowing) But I'll post that later for you. Maybe if I say I'll post it, I actually will :p Since then, I've been working 9 hour days making up for lost time last week. Up early (I won't say when), on the bus at 7:15, at work at 8, back again at 5:30. Anywho... enough about my busy life, because honestly... I'm bored typing about it.

On to something more interesting: I had to take a personality test for work because I'm often their test subject for experiments. This one is about emotion while driving and how music affects that. Pretty cool, huh? Anyway, I am an ENFJ, or an Idealistic Teacher. You can click the link to see what that means, but this is the kicker: I took this test when Joel and I started going out back in 2008... and my personality has shifted! I used to be an INFJ, but am now 50% more extroverted. How's that? Marry an introvert and become an extrovert!


Me in 2008:
Your Type is: INFJ
Strength of the preferences: Introverted 11%, Intuitive 88%, Feeling 25%, Judging 44%

Me in 2011:
Your Type is: ENFJ
Strength of the preferences: Extroverted 44%, Intuitive 25%, Feeling 38%, Judging 44%
If you are interested, Joel is an INTP, or an Architect. We're both rare (go figure) him less than 1% of the population and me less than 2%. Both thankfully, we're still compatible according to Dr. Keirsey :p I will rest easy knowing that my husband and I are compatible! hehe... I guess God knew what He was doing :) I'll have to post Joel and I's love story some day... its a good one, but I'm biased. :)

Two last things:

One, the pictures were taken by Colleen, obviously :)

And two, I really love my hubby. And he's very handsome. See?

Just so you know. :D

Waiting while Moving

 

"Waiting on God isn’t about the suspension of meaning and purpose. It’s part of the meaning and purpose that God has brought into my life. Waiting on God isn’t to be viewed as an obstruction in the way of the plan. Waiting is an essential part of the plan. For the child of God, waiting isn’t simply about what I’ll receive at the end of my wait. No, waiting is much more purposeful, efficient, and practical than that. Waiting is fundamentally about what I’ll become as I wait. God is using the wait to do in and through me exactly what He’s promised. Through the wait He’s changing me. By means of the wait He’s altering the fabric of my thoughts and desires. Through the wait He’s causing me to see and experience new things about Him and His kingdom. And all of this sharpens me, enabling me to be a more useful tool in His redemptive hands”
 

~Paul Tripp

(Re-posted from Courtney on WLW) 

O LORD God of hosts,

Who is mighty like You, O LORD? 

Your faithfulness also surrounds You.

You rule the raging of the sea; 

When its waves rise, You still them.  

~Psalm 89:8-9

  Lord, You have been our dwelling place in all generations.
 Before the mountains were brought forth,

Or ever You had formed the earth and the world, 

Even from everlasting to everlasting, 

You are God.

 ~Psalm 90:1-2

        

No word from China yet, and today is move out day. Praying that everything goes smoothly.

What is a home?

We're moving. Where? I don't know! We'll move our things to Mom's basement until we hear if we're accepted for the scholarship for the fall term in China. We don't want to pay the rent on an empty apartment if we go. So... everything will stay in Mom's basement until we return. In the mean time, we'll either be in Toronto (for July helping with tent work) or at my mom's (for August). Box by cardboard box, I am neatly and efficiently packing away my newlywed life. I hardly knew there was so much of it! Every wedding card, picture, book and spoon seems to have a memory attached to it. "This was from so and so," "that was what we bought that one day at ___," "What is this, dear?" Most are together, some are memories from our single days, but they are all precious. Joel found my first driver's license and laughed -- "You look so nice now, Rachel." I'm so glad my 15 and-some-odd-month self couldn't hear him.

Almost one year ago I walked (or rather was carried) through that front door and deposited into my very first, very own living room. I was terrified. The city scared me, the neighbors scared me, my car still scares me, and for goodness sake, my husband scared me. Well, no really. Just the fact that this crazy, fun, carefree boyfriend now had "husband" labeled on his left hand -- that's what scared me. There I was, a closet full of fine china and new towels and a heart full of fear. The wedding was over, and I  was supposed to be "coming home". Home??

One evening, not too long afterward, I was complaining to Eleo over skype... and she was patiently listening to all my woes, when I finally slowed down long enough to let her talk, (she says she's practices her English speaking with me, but I say the only thing she practices is her English listening) she said something that my heart reached out and grabbed like a hungry sparrow: "It may not seem like home now, but one morning you'll wake up and without knowing why it will suddenly be home to you." And somewhere in the middle of my classes and job, my cooking and shopping, and my cleaning (things I never knew needed cleaning), I did. I woke up or walked in or looked around, and it was home. I don't remember when it happened, but it did, and I loved it. I felt like little Basil reaching my roots into my little pot and stretching my arms with joy. Home. The place just breathed it.

Maybe the Lord knew I need pictures, but I would always get this image in my mind of love and home seeping from my heart throughout the house. With ever hour spent at His feet, the aroma of love was spread all over the house like the steam comes out of a hot just-showered-in bathroom. It would hang on the walls and drape over the ceiling, breathe with the windows and be mixed over the floors and down the stairs with the shuffling feet of two young newlyweds and their company. It would warm and surround hands and hearts the kitchen with the cutting, cooking, baking and sauteing; and laugh in the bedroom or over bowls of ice cream on the couch. It was lit in little dollar store candles and given in neat little Christmas presents. It was offered to the passer-byers on notes of piano and violin music. Yes, here is where I first felt "our home".

But I found there is a battle for this "home". Yes, there is always a "house," but you have to fight for a "home". It is not a loud one (well not always), not an obvious one, but there is one that is waged every day. With every sun that goes down on our anger, the home slips away a little more.With every careless word, cranky thoughtless waking, or sullen posture, it slips away and leaves the house behind. It was as if I would look around, and suddenly I saw what was left - only my (our) things. When the invisible left, the visible stood starkly naked. The fridge was sparse, the wallets empty, the dust was piling and the tissues crumpled. "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is than a fattened ox and hatred with it." Prov 15:17 It was only after the riches of Gods love were left folded away with each closed Bible did I notice the sparsity of my physical life. It was then that I got on my knees beside my bed and asked for His pardon and went to seek His fullness. How many tears were shed in the battle for home? He knows -- He has them in a bottle. I was weeping for home, for love, for the surrounding embrace of a Father when my dad was no long there to stand in the gap.

And now, I am surrounded by boxes. My house is being packed away, but where is my home? It is here still for a little while, clinging to the walls and hiding in the corners. Elusively peaking out of books, Bibles and the pages of scribble filled journals. We're moving, but will home come with us? Will home be with us at my parent's house? Will our home and theirs match and mix together? Or stand resolutely separate like olive oil on a frying pan? I don't know, but the verse Joel read this morning reverberated in my heart:

"By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, 

not knowing where he was going." 

Hebrews 11:8

How on earth did he explain that to his family and friends? "So where are you moving Abram?" "Don't know yet. Just following God." "Oh. That's nice..."

I know exactly how he feels. But on we go and only He knows where. Goodbye my dear little newlywed house and life.

I know these verses are about heaven, but they have been running through my head all day. So I'll post them here. If a house on earth can feel like home, how much more will heaven actually be home?

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me...

In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you.

I go to prepare a place for you. 

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; 

that where I am, there you may be also. 

And where I go you know, and the way you know.” 

John 14:1-4

Oh Joel....

Profundity lost:

me: (contented sigh) You know, Joel, the older I get, the more I enjoy hymns.
Joel: You know Rachel, the older you get, the older I get.

"Your gentleness made me great" Psalm 18:35

Do ants have beds? The little girl pondered this as she sat on the dust doorstep leading onto a busy street. She was poking thoughtfully at a little trail of ants marching to a crack in the packed dirt of the street. Only 5 or 6, she small for her age, wiry and thin. Her hair fell in dusty ringlets around her face, arms and knees as squatted under the lintel of the the doorway of her sun bleached home. Her skin was olive brown and her eyes were a solemn deep green as they slowly followed the busy little insects. Suddenly, she was kicked from behind as her mother tripped over her in her haste to leave the house.

"Agh! Get out of here! You are always in the way! Can't you play somewhere else?" The tall woman reached down the swat at the little urchin that she was burdened with.

The little girl jumped up and ran down the street losing herself in the crowds in her haste to avoid the strong merciless hand that she saw raised out of her the corner of her eye. She had become very good at dodging such blows, though they were usually worse coming from her father -- a shrewd dishonest shop keeper that lamented his wife ever becoming pregnant with a girl, especially after she gave birth to a large healthy male baby 5 years previous. Her brother was 10 now and followed his father to the market every day, learning the tricks of his father's dishonest trade eagerly. Her father didn't want or need any more children, especially not girls with solemn green eyes that unnerved him and made his temper flare with discomfort and anger. She had born the brunt of his anger many times.

She ducked and clambered over and under people's feet, mules, market wears and rubbish, expertly weaving through the crowd. She knew which feet to jump over or go around and when an opening in a crowd would be open long enough for her to slip through. Her world was a world of calves and knees, sandals and hooves, because that is all she saw as she made her way through the city. She was headed for the gate in the hopes that the fields surrounding the walled city would be free of feet and full of things to watch and ponder in solitude.

Presently she arrived at the gate, and slipping behind the guard as he haggled over an old man pulling a cart much to large for him, she was in the open countryside on a packed dirt road. There were still people here, though, so she tripped and ran along the edge of the road, hoping to leave it as soon as something interesting caught her eye. Her small and weathered bare feet pounding the sand and pebbles that shifted under her toes. Presently she was joined by two boys, one slightly older, one slightly younger, but both bigger than her. They were often her playmates and she was pleased to see them.

"Are you going to thee the teather?" One lisped over the din of the crowd.

"No, what is that?" she answered.

"He means 'teacher'. We're going to see him with everyone else. He is beside the sea today." Explained the older of her companions.

"Oh," She said, pretending to understand. It dawned on her that most of the crowd was also moving away from the city. "Can I come too?"

"Uh'tourse! Tum on!" cried the younger, as he sped away down the road. She tossed her curls and She laughed at his nearly unintelligible speech and darted after him, the other boy at her heels. How good it was to have found an adventure!

On they ran until the people started to slow and stop, but they took no notice, having started a game of tag on the way and slowing would mean being "it". Several other children had joined them by that point and they were all very hot and dirty as they screamed and laughed darting through the forest of legs that was growing denser and denser as they ran. The little girl was at the head of the group, being the smallest and nimblest, and she was the first the burst through the crowd. She tried to slow herself to see why the crowd had suddenly vanished, but she was going too quickly and ran headlong into the legs of a man that was standing at the center of the crowd of onlookers. He had been talking, but he stopped when he felt a thud on his leg and looked down.

There, in a heap of dusty curls, arms and legs, was a little girl. She looked up, grabbing her curls violently to clear them from her face. Her eyes were huge with terror and she started to shrink away, like a caged animal waiting for a blow.

"Oh Tabissssa!! Tum back! That'ssss Him!!" A little boy hissed from the edge of the crowd. Then another, "Tabitha! Come back!!"

She was abound to dart away, when against all reason and the behavior of every adult she had ever known, the stranger's look of surprise turned to amusement and he smiled at her. Before she could help herself, she smiled -- no -- beamed at the face looking down at her. She had hardly dared meet an adult's eyes before, much less a man's, but this man was different. He... He loved her.

Suddenly she was grabbed from behind by a strong arm and she felt her feet leave the ground and a distinct growl of an irritated man sound in her ears, "Get out of here, what do you think you're doing? You little..." She immediately started struggling and bit the arm that held her as hard as she could. She tasted blood. The man yelped and she saw his other arm raise.

Before the blow came, the teacher spoke, His voice indignant, "Judas! Stop! Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God." He moved towards her then, and instinctively she reached for His arms. He took her from the angry man's hands and she clung to Him. He held her close, murmuring comfort to her while he smoothed her unruly curls. He then knelt down and beaconed to the other children standing wide eyed at the edge of the crowd. 


He went on teaching, beaconing to the mothers also who had brought their children to be blessed. But all the while he held Tabitha in His strong arms, occasionally stroking her curls while her enraptured eyes never left his face. "Truly, I say to you," He continued, "whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it." 


She drank it in and never forgot. 

-----

 Now there was in Joppa a disciple named Tabitha,

 which, translated, means Dorcas. 

She was full of good works and acts of charity.

Acts 9:36

My Birthday

In Brief:

• My friends posted on my facebook wall (and I didn't post when my birthday was! :D) and sent me e-cards, 
• my little sisters wished me happy birthday (one by just sayin it... and the other by making me a card and specially asking my hubby how old I was turning -- you can guess which is which)
• my mums both called me and my 
• hubby took me out for Thai food and sushi.... and.... gave me a CAMERA! :D
• I gave myself a shopping spree at Dollar Tree (7 dollars!!! :-o) and here is the loot: (plus a glue gun from Target) Taken with my NEW camera, of course. 

 

I don't feel like turning it right-side up, so just turn your laptop... and if you have a desktop ...turn your silly head!

Obviously, I'm excited. I'm making headbands and I laid out all the stuff and a arranged it pretty and took a picture just like a real-live-and-obsessed blogger! hehe... this is great.There are beads, flowers, buttons (you can't see them) ribbon and plastic headbands. Here I go... I'm makin stuff and its my birthday. :)

Oh, and hubby has another surprise on Saturday... I think its the beach, but he's not sayin... even though I've been bugging him...

The Bride and Groom

So I guess its about time to post. :)

As I referenced before, I have a seeking suspicion that my basil plant has gotten all of its odd habits from jealousy the trees across the street. (By the way, though... I found him today on the ground... yes, on the ground. He must have jumped. I vacuumed up the dirt and put him back on the window sill. Oh dear... from having an identity crisis to being a thrill seeker... :s poor basil). Anyway, I can't blame him his silly antics. For the trees across the street have the most beautiful love story. I'm going to take my time and savor the details of it. :)

So, every morning, or most of them, I make coffee, eat breakfast with my hubby and curl up on the loveseat in my living room. The living room is across the street from a huge old catholic church:

 
And right next to the church, on the left is a large tree, see? I have no idea what kind of tree it is, but there are two of them. The same kind, but male and female. (Yes, trees have genders.) They stand guard over the priest's home, which is a stately old Victorian house.

In summer, right after we got married and I was still getting over the shock of it all and desperately missing any signs of nature around me in this huge, old, (often ugly) city. (I've found my havens of beauty now though, don't worry). I would curl up with my coffee and watch the leaves rustle in the wind, almost clapping their hands for joy at being alive and together in the middle of a concrete jungle with no other trees around them. Just grass across the street (by the way.. that is all the grass there is on that corner hehe... you can't tell from the picture though) with some fuddy-duddy looking little shoe boxes turned on their sides into 3 story apartment/town homes... which is where we live:

Anyway, these trees were SUCH comfort to me. I was a newlywed wife in a big intimidating city that I was too proud to admit scared me. I would drink my coffee and watch the trees, getting lost in their branches and leaves and the old-tree whispers until all the traffic sounds and people walking on the sidewalk faded out. Once, Joel woke me from my revelry asking if I was counting people, "Oh look there's another one... and another one!" But I wasn't. I was watching the Bride and Groom. But they didn't had those names yet. I was just watching two trees, wondering what they would look like in the fall with their red leaves blowing around them, or in the winter laden with snow. At the same time, I wondered what my life would look like in the fall... then the winter... then the spring... then the summer...then... My future seemed so big and uncharted. But I didn't really think that to myself... I only pondered the trees; letting my subconscious ponder my own life in its parallel year of seasons.

Slowly I began to respect these huge old trees, whispering to each other over the old Victorian home. I loved watching them courting each other through the fall, happily flinging leaves at each other and out to the wind in joyful praise to the God who made them and let them stand together through life. Their leaves grew a brilliant red and began to fall, swirling around them.

Then winter came with its icy grip of snow, wind and rain that battered the poor trees left without a covering to the world. This was their testing, for they had pledged themselves to each other, and all sacred pledges will be tested. They both met the realities of life together and bend and swayed and shivered together in the onslaught of that violent season. Sure there were times of peace and crisp sunshine, but these periods would end in the fury of a new winter storm that grid locked the city several times through the frozen months. And there they stood as winter fought to maintain its grip through January, February, March, and yes, even into April. They stood together, tired and cold, but resolute waiting for the coming of spring as they reached their helpless, barren fingers up to the sky; asking their Maker for the strength to endure.

Then, finally, the snow turned to rain and the Lord let blizzards become life-giving thunderstorms. The rain fell in blessing from the heavens from the God who loved them both. Slowly, timidly, they thawed and reached their roots in His abiding grace, and finding water and life-giving nutrients in the soil that they drank heartily and gratefully. They started to grow small leaves and buds again, plaintively seeking the sun. Then, one weekend, they suddenly exploded with joy and life. This, you see, was their wedding week. God, I and little Basil were the only guests. One tree, covered in delicate white bouquets of white blossoms, was the bride. The other, in a elegant green suit tailored for him by his Father, met his bride with the dignity and joy that befit the occasion. They had a week, you see, because only humans abbreviate the joy to a day that should be savored. They were married there, at the end of the week as the sun set behind them and the old Victorian home under their boughs. And God saw it, and said that it was good.

I did not see them for a time, you see... because I was away, but that is just as well, for every couple should have privacy on their honeymoon. When I returned, the white blossoms of the wedding day were gone and the bride was a newlywed wife, ready to live out the rest of her days next to the grand old tree she loved so much.

And there they stand. I move away in a month, but I know they will stand there much longer together. They will quietly face the seasons and their trials together, never complaining or asking for pity from the passer-by, but simply looking unto their Maker and Father.

Identity Crisis

I am here to stoutly inform you all that my basil has an identity crisis. Yes, an identity crisis.

You see, for a long time, it sat on my kitchen counter weakly growing and slouching miserably towards the kitchen window. It was rather pathetic and like Isabel with her dolls, I have a great affinity for those things (living or not) that are under my care. So I went to the dollar store, (yes Colleen,  Dollar Tree, have no fear) and bought a cute little pot and some potting soil. Joel, the dear, was worried it wasn't fertilized enough, but I figured my lazy sprawling basil wouldn't mind. I then replanted it and put it in the back window where I hoped there would be more sun. There, away from my snipping scissors, it has having its identity crisis. You see, it thinks its a tree. Every time I park my car and walk inside, there it is on the second floor balcony window reaching, sprouting, growing, like a regular little tree. It seems to laugh at me... and wave as it giggles, "I'm a tree! I'm a tree" while the silly little thing grows like a weed.

There you are. People don't have the corner of the market on identity crisises. (spl?)

:) cheers

How did he live?

So he died for his faith. That is fine,
More than most of us do.
But stay, can you add to that line

That he lived for it, too?
In death he bore witness at last
As a martyr to truth.
Did his life do the same in the past
From the days of his youth?

It is easy to die. Men have died
For a wish or a whim-
From bravado or passion or pride.
Was it harder for him?

But to live: every day to live out
All the truth that he dreamt,
While his friends met his conduct with doubt,
And the world with contempt.

Was it thus that he plodded ahead,
Never turning aside?
Then we’ll talk of the life that he led-
Never mind how he died.

-Ernest Crosby

Dear God

I know you promised me that You will use me. I remember You saying something about having plans for me and my hopeful future or something like that. But I just wanted to let you know, I don't think I can.

Can what?

Can do any of this. You see, I get angry at my husband and forget to pray for my friends. I don't care enough about the lost and I never have enough time to read. I just think... maybe I ruined everything. What about that time with so-and-so that I didn't tell them about Your truth -- and I could have? And how about the Christians? They take one look at me and think I'm inept! No, Lord... I think I'm pretty much hopeless.

I see. 

You do? ... Somehow that makes it worse. What do You see?

I see you thinking you know more than Me. 

No, no, Lord. You've got it all wrong. You know much more than me, but I'm just saying the I don't think I'm cut out for this. See, people who make a difference for eternity actually have time to read their Bibles.

Oh, I see. 

What?

I see you thinking you know more than Me. 

No, Lord.... listen....

No, child, you listen:

I am God.
Also henceforth I am he; there is none who can deliver from my hand; 

I work, and who can turn it back?

 I am the first and I am the last;

besides me there is no god.

Who is like me? Let him proclaim it. 

Let him declare and set it before me,

Fear not, nor be afraid;
   have I not told you from of old and declared it?

And you are my witnesses! 

Is there a God besides me?
   There is no Rock; I know not any.

...


Oh.
I see.



(reference: Isaiah 43:12-13, 44:6-8)

O Love That Will Not Let Me Go

O Love that will not let me go,

I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O light that followest all my way,

I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.

I love this hymn... I'm still not sure about the music it was put to, but the poetry is beautiful. It's been running through my head all day long. There may be earthquakes, tornadoes, so called "Judgement Days", wars, rumors of wars, and all such terrible things that fill the world today; and (they could be called worse) the internal storms that rage -- my failure, faults, fears and discouragements; I know that His love will not let me go. What a wonderfully and divinely (dare I say it) cozy thought. 

We had a wonderful weekend, my hubby and I. He turned the ripe old age of 26, and we went to the park with a picnic lunch. Since the lunch was of particular interest to me, I'll explain -- I went to the market and bought fresh lemons, cherries and peaches; pecorino romano cheese; and a big bag of fresh pita bread. Then I set to work. First, I made tiny little lemon cookies and sandwiched them with tangy lemon curd filling. Then I sauteed some chicken breast with Italian seasoning, salt, garlic and rosemary. Then I shaved off big chunks of the pecorino romano. (which is a salty, briny cousin of Parmesan -- and tastes even better, if you ask me!) I then added the chicken, cheese and some crumbled bacon to two pitas with lettuce and garlic Caesar on the side. Add some kettle chips, peaches, cherries, water bottles and "sparking clementine juice"... with a homemade card and a poem I wrote tucked in the side of the cooler-bag,  and we had a picnic! 

This we took to Metro Beach Park, spread a Mexican blanket on the grass between the water and a grove of willow trees... and promptly fell asleep listening to the water and feeling the sun tingle our faces with a hint of color. :) It sounds so romantic, doesn't it? Well... it was, until 5 screaming children came to "fish" with Daddy and Uncle so-and-so right next to us. But we laughed and realized we were hungry and the picnic was calling. So we ate and thoroughly enjoyed most of it. The peaches were really hard and I have this aversion to bacon recently for some reason... but Joel loved it all and since it was his birthday, I made the best of it (while he made the best of the rest of my wrap). The cookies really were incredible though, if I do say so myself -- just enough sweet buttery crunch laced with lemon to warrant eating as much as we could of them!

We then set off into the woods on a nature trail. The ground was a bit muddy, but nothing daunted, we walked the whole thing and came out on the other side happy, tired, a little dirt streaked and slightly sampled by mosquitoes. The sun was setting then so we left the park, and on our way home found a hole in the wall ice cream shop to finish a happy birthday. 

And I must say, if you'll allow me some Louisa May Alcott description, (and at the risk of my husband reading this) At moments during the day he looked only 6 of all his 26 years-- with dirt streaks and little red bites up his legs, a bit of ice cream on his nose and his hair in a frightful disheveled state, he was the picture of the happy little boy I never met. But other times, he looked very much like the handsome (and still happy) young man I married almost a year ago this summer. 

And all this -- the fear abroad and the happiness within -- is what made me think of the love that will not let me go, thus the song stuck in my head. The love that loves me -- incredibly -- more than my husband. The Love that gave everything for my soul, and will never, ever let me go. 

  

Behold, the Lord GOD shall come with a strong hand... 

He will feed His flock like a shepherd; 

He will gather the lambs with His arm

 And carry them in His bosom,

 And gently lead those who are with young.

Isaiah 40:10-11

:) no, I won't say sorry for my sap. 

Happy Birthday, my love!

Light that is Sown

As promised, the meditation on light:

Gene Higgins mentioned this when he was visiting for ministry last week. 

Light is sown for the righteous,

And gladness for the upright in heart.

Psalm 97: 11

I love this thought... that light and guidance will be sown at the time of my prayer and spring up later just when I need it. And joy too! Imagine, the Lord sowing joy -- not to be seen or felt until further on down the path. I look back and see that  this is true -- He has sown joy and light for me and I found it later, beautiful and full grown further on down the path. 

When we pray, our prayers are like a seed planted further down the path of life, out of our sight. If He responds to my prayer today, and plants it, and I find it tomorrow, it would just be a shoot or a bud or a little flower of light (guidance) or gladness (joy). But  think-- if He sowed when I prayed today, but planted the seed far far down my path, it would grow and made roots and reached up to the sky like a huge brilliant tree. I would then find it later after a long walk in the dark sadness of my trials... the huge beautiful tree of light or joy, full grown and offering sweet peace, shelter and relief. A seed that was planted long, long ago on my knees with tears and fear amid darkness and confusion. Don't ever think He doesn't hear your prayer, my friends.

Weeping may endure for a night, 

But joy comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:5

Breaking the Silence

Hello readers,

I haven't been posting for the past month, mostly because I was busy at first, but then because I grew discouraged about my lack of readers. Why could I not just email Ashley -- because she is the only one reading? (Thank you, Ashley) But recently I've been come aware of several others who are privately reading my posts, and in that I take heart! So here I am, breaking the silence.

I don't have any cute pictures for you... and after look in wonder (because you will!) at my dear friend's blog, this is a decidedly a disappointment for me. You see, I would love to take pictures of my homemade pretzels and my experiments with growing cilantro and basil that I got at the Eastern Market I love to go to on foggy Saturday mornings to buy fresh fruit, flowers and herbs. But I can't because my camera was stolen when our apartment was broken into last fall, and of everything we lost, I lament that the most. So there you have it... my silly troubles with blogging. So you'll have to be happy just imaging my wonderful works of photographic genius :P of all my house-wifey endeavors. And I'm sure... they will be better in your minds than in reality!

Here is what I do have for you though -- a small meditation on earthen vessels and light that is sown (I'll put that in another post because it is a separate thought).

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us. We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed— 

...Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory" 

II Corinthians 4:7-9, 16,17

I know these verses by heart and have read them so many many times. But their reality never hit home with me until I was pouring my troubles and fears out to a long time friend and "kindred spirit" last night and she reminded me of these verses. I think she only meant to show me the first one... but the Spirit of God brought me to the second section as well. 

I -- my body -- is merely an earthen vessel. One full of weakening fear, heartbreaking failure and fierce pride. I don't think I ever knew this so much as I know it now after ten months of marriage and coming face to face with -- not my husband -- but with myself. Every. single. day. And now, as I wait for word from an application that could determine the next year (if not the rest of our lives), I feel the fearful selfish little girl in me rising up in defiance to what God is doing in my life. I've seen a lot of my ugly self in the past few weeks, sticking its head up to taunt me at the most inconvenient times! And... besides having a huge amount of pity and gratefulness to my patient husband, am sad to see the "old man" (Eph 4:22) rising up so often in the face of trouble in spite of trying so hard to push his ugly face down. 

But this verse has come as such a comfort to me... I am an earthen vessel, but I have a treasure inside -- the excellent power of God. And even if I am overwhelmed and afraid and failing, He is in me with all the power of an Almighty God. I do not have to be perfect in the face of trials. I do not have to bear it alone and muscle my way through life. I realized, as verse 16 says so beautifully -- my affliction is light. No matter what I face, my affliction is light compared to what He has planned for me. "looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." (Heb 12:2)

My new desktop background... what a pleasant surprise

This nosy fellow greeted me when I turned on my computer...

Complements of my husband, of course.

The story of Jesus

Tell of the cross where they nailed Him,
Writhing in anguish and pain;
Tell of the grave where they laid Him,
Tell how He liveth again.
Love in that story so tender,
Clearer than ever I see;
Stay, let me weep while you whisper,
“Love paid the ransom for me.”

Consider the lilies; how they grow. They neither toil, nor spin.

When teaching us about worry, the Lord directs us to the lilies. I think this is such a beautiful image of a simple faith on God constant care in our lives. The world tells us to work hard, try hard and push harder, but the Lord simply says, "Consider the lilies..." and teaches a valuable lesson on faith through them. I confess that I cannot describe my life as a lily, and at times, I may have to describe it as I-75 freeway instead.

So... consider the lilies. When I was a little girl, there was a tiny little patch of orange tiger lilies in my front lawn. Every year, they would pop up, happy as ever, nestled in the roots of a huge maple tree. When I heard the song, "He is the Lily of the Valley," I thought they must be talking about the little valley between the roots of the maple where my lilies grew. In my simple child-like understanding of that song, I loved to imagine Jesus as being like one of my bright little lilies. Every time I saw them as I was playing outside, I would start singing "He's the Lily of the Valley," until I ran out of the words and started humming it while I played. Because of this, I've always loved lilies. I had lilies at my wedding, stargazers, actually, because I loved the deep burgundy they hid at the base of the petals. I always wondered if the deep burgundy got deeper after it disappeared into the stem of the flower. They were the first flowers that my husband, (then my boyfriend,) gave me. He didn't actually give me real flowers, he bought me a beautiful painting of a single stargazer.

And to think... Jesus is the Lily of the Valley. In this article, the writer considers the fact that He is the source and the subject of all beauty. When we consider the delicate orange of the tiger lily, or the deep burgundy of the startgazer, we must look back to the One who spoke such vibrancy into existence. And in considering Him, the loud intrusive details of our lives, the "toiling and spinning", fades away in the presence of such radiance contained in One. 

Joel found that article for me, and also these links to an artist's project called The Four Holy Gospels, a project where he is using modern art to illustrate the four Gospels in celebration of the 400th Anniversary of the KJV. I admit, I was fascinated. And though I am not an art connoisseur, I was stunned by the beauty of his (yes, modern) art. Here is a link to actually flip through some of the pages of it. Let me know what you think.

Photo credit to Makoto Fujimura