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
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 25, 2011
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
Friday, July 8, 2011
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
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%
Two last things:
One, the pictures were taken by Colleen, obviously :)
And two, I really love my hubby. And he's very handsome. See?
Thursday, June 30, 2011
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,
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.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
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:
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?
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
Thursday, June 16, 2011
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.
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.
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