Papa and Mutti's House

There are many things I love about my grandparents' house.

I've been to their lovely little home in the countryside of Biarritz, France, more times than I can remember. The biggest difference now is the absence of Mutti, my mom's mother, who passed away last February. The second biggest difference is that the old, always-out--of-tune piano in the back corner of the living room has been replaced by an electronic piano. Other than that, everything seems about the same. Yesterday I was helping Rebekah prepare dinner in the tiny kitchen, and I had to use a paper towel to clean something up. When I was finished, I tossed it in the trash can by the door without thinking twice about it. I didn't need to look for it; it was right there, in its place, like it has been all these years.

My grandparents' house is full of memories; it has been a recurring stage on which I spent parts of my growing-up. I remember being much younger, playing games with my much younger cousins. I remember feeling shy around my family here, because I would only see them every once in a while. I remember climbing the tree in my grandparents' front yard, sometimes with cousins, sometimes by myself. I would climb as high as I could, and sit and look out over the field across the street, watching the world. Among the business of family visits, those moments of solitude stand out in my mind. Right now, I'm sitting on the mustard-yellow couch in my grandparents' living room; David is on his laptop next to me, Jordan and Hannah are playing gameboy games, Papa is reading the paper, Rebekah is dozing across the room. In a way, this house is a home for me; that sense of familiarity and comfort is, I think, an intrinsic part of what makes a home, a home.

This house contains not only memories for me, but tangible, physical memories as well. I wandered upstairs yesterday to look around, and in every room there are faded photographs, papers, yellow newspaper clippings, and other remnants of the past. In one room, a room that I don't think I've ever actually been in before in all the years, there was a homemade paperweight on a desk - a rock that had been decorated by my mom and one of her brothers as a birthday present for my grandfather who knows how long ago. My grandparents started a Christian radio station thirty-three years ago, and it's still broadcast from their house. In one room upstairs, the chief radio hub of the house, there are large monitors, audio equipment, and walls lined with casette tapes.

I know that over time, change is inevitable, and that things morph and fade into other things, but sitting here, in my grandparents' house, it's hard to believe that change can effect, and has already effected, a place as stable and as engrained into my memory and childhood as this house is.

Where Is God?

A poem I wrote last semester, partially inspired by a piano piece I had been working on (from Mendelssohn's Songs Without Words) and a book I had been reading (On God and Christ by St. Gregory of Nazianzus). Originally published on Facebook, March 10, 2009.
*****
Where is God?
In the wind that laces through my fingers
And whispers in the trees -
Their furtive murmurings that speak
Of subtle mysteries.

Where is God?
With the sun that gently warms my skin
And floods the earth with light -
And by His word, relents its heat
For coolness of the night.

Where is God?
In the harmonies of well-tuned strings
And hymnals of the birds -
The choirs of creation praise
With songs that have no words.

Where is God?
Within the fibers of my heart
From whence He urges me -
'Tis better to remember Him
Than 'tis for me to breathe.

©
*****
Reading it through again, I can see in my memory, quite clearly, the different things that inspired various parts of the poem. I was sitting under two tall trees, watching and listening to birds singing. I was walking to class from my dorm, in the bright afternoon sunlight, gently moving my arm, hand and fingers in the breeze. I still have that piano piece memorized; I love it. And I love learning, reading and thinking about God, and how He is present in every part of my life in very deep, very real ways.

The Heights, and The Depths

I'm glad today got gray. As the sun went down, the clouds gathered a bit more, hiding the blue sky behind their wintry blanket. I meandered across campus, going from office to office getting signatures for my leave of absence form. The air was cool, the leaves were golden, and as I walked past the library, I mused about how the delicate white flowers in the bushes looked, at first glance, like bits of tissue paper strewn among the leaves.

I had lunch with my mentor, Dr. Vincent today. It was nothing short of wonderful. She treated me to In-N-Out, a fitting farewell meal, as she put it, since we don't have In-N-Outs in New Mexico. We talked about marriage, and Paul, and school, and theatre, and "The Dining Room".

Dr. Vincent began talking about how things in this life, while tainted by sin, can still be "tastes of heaven"; I think it stemmed from our discussion on marriage. Marriage, we agreed, is a sanctifying tool given to us by God. As Paul encourages his churches to do in his letters, spouses in marriage are not to simply endure trials, or each other's faults, but they are to actively pursue righteousness. As a wife, I am not to think, "I must suffer through my husband's faults and failures." Rather, I am to think, "How can I work with and around those things in order to serve him and purify us both?"

This life is not all about just getting to the next life. We can still have good things now, we can still be good people, friends, spouses, servants, now. I think, in a way, that's what Paul means when he says that marriage is to be an example of Christ's love for the church; we are still sinful, yes, and not fully perfect as we one day will be, but as Christ became our servant in order to make us righteous, we are to serve each other and help sanctify each other. We are saved by faith, not by works, but faith without works is dead. Faith in Christ justifies us; works in Christ sanctify us. In these ways, marriage is a taste of God's perfect love.

We talked about heaven. Dr. Vincent said that the times she most often wants Christ to come back is when she is feasting with friends. There is something about gathering together, around a huge, delicious meal, surrounded by people that you love, that tastes like heaven. She said she often wishes that all of her friends were there, and her whole family, too. She longs for everyone she's ever known and liked, and even those she hasn't liked because there were differences between them. She would love to have the time to see past those differences and to really get to know them. Time to sit, and be together, and shoot the breeze; to talk about things that are important, and things that aren't; to, as she put it, "sit in a corner with them, and eat nuts and berries."

I told her about our Gregory of Nyssa Christmas party, last Saturday at Laura's house. We didn't really think about it at the time, but looking back I think most of us have realized that it was likely one of the last times we'll all be together as our original group; the last time for a long time, at least. It's that same feeling she described; there is something about gathering together with loved ones around a feast that seems so heavenly. Those spaces and times in which we can enjoy each other's company, eat, laugh, or just sit together, content; in some small, shadowy way, that must be what heaven feels like.

Except, in heaven, there will be no need for goodbyes, and we will never feel rushed. We will never run out of time to get to know each other, or to say everything we want to say. As Sheldon Vanauken says in his painfully beautiful A Severe Mercy,

"Golden streets and compulsory harp lessons may lack appeal - but timelessness? And total persons? Heaven is, indeed, home."

I've said a lot of goodbyes lately. I said what will probably be my final goodbyes to some people in my group last Saturday. I cried.

After our long lunch, I decided on a whim to see if Mayers Auditorium was empty. It was. Devoid of people, but full of memories. I sat on the stage for a good half hour, the stage on which me and the rest of "The Dining Room" built characters, confidence, and friendships. I soon realized that I wasn't just sitting, I was waiting; I kept looking toward the door, expecting cast or crew members to walk in at any moment. It felt unnatural to be in there alone.

And I cried. But it wasn't a bad thing; in fact, I think it was a good thing. All the talk about life and marriage and the show had gotten a little emotionally overwhelming, and I just needed to let it out. I began to realize how much I'll miss my friends here, and how the love I have for them makes these goodbyes all the harder. It's painful, but it's a joyful pain, and I think that kind of pain is the sharpest. It reminds me that we're not home yet.

Thinking of everything Dr. Vincent and I had talked about, I couldn't help but remember Megan's final monologue in the play:

"Lately, I've been having this recurrent dream. We're giving the perfect party. We have our dining room back, and grandmother's silver, before it was stolen, and Charlie's mother's royal blue dinner plates, before the movers dropped them, and even the fingerbowls, if I knew where they were. And I've invited all of our favorite people. Oh, I don't just mean our old friends, but everyone we've ever known and liked. We would have the man who fixes our toyota, and the intelligent young couple who just bought the Peyton place; the receptionist at the doctor's office, and the new teller at the bank. And our children would be invited, too, and they'd all come back from wherever they are. And we've have two cocktails, and hot hors d'ovueres, and a first rate cook in the kitchen and two maids to serve, and everyone would get along famously.

My husband laughs when I tell him this dream. 'Do you realize,' he says, 'how hard it would be to throw a party like that? Do you realize how much a party like that would cost?' Well, I know. I know all of that. But sometimes, I think it just might be worth it."

I am not afraid like I used to be; afraid of the unknown, afraid of failure. God has blessed me incredibly, and I'm excited for how he is going to use me and Jordan to exemplify his love, sanctifying us through our marriage. He has also given me many friends, whom I love deeply; and so there is some pain in our parting, but it is a joyful pain.

Someday, these tastes of heaven will give way to the real thing, the complete, timeless perfection. And then, there will be no more bittersweet goodbyes, and the pain of homesickness will have been worth it. And we will all come back, from wherever we are.

All in a day's work

I think I've had a fairly productive evening.

I say "evening" because I didn't actually start any of my work until after the sun had gone down. I woke up late, showered, met a friend for lunch, said goodbye to said friend because today was his last day on campus, got coffee, bumped into another friend at the coffee shop, shot the breeze with second friend, went back to my dorm, proofread my fiance's paper for him, talked through my proofreading with fiance, AND THEN got my stuff together and drove to Starbucks to study.

Like I've mentioned before, my music theory final is in the morning, at 8:00. Yuck. If there's anything this class has taught me, it's that anything that happens before 9:00 in the morning might as well not happen at all.

Perhaps that's an unfair statement. Perhaps play rehearsals that run until midnight or later don't mix well with 8AM classes. Regardless, I think I would have learned a lot more about theory if the class had simply been held an hour later in the day. Oh well. The play was worth it.

I spent a good hour 1/2 or more reviewing theory, and I think I'm in pretty good standing for tomorrow. The stuff from the beginning of the term is basic, stuff I already knew; the stuff we just learned is still fresh in my mind; I went back and brushed up on the newer concepts from the middle, and all in all I feel fairly solid. I hope. After this I've got just one more final to go!

After studying, I went to Target and got some supplies for Christmas gifts I'm working on. Usually I'm pretty bad at gift-giving, but this year everything seems like it's falling nicely into place.

Just a little something

I'd like to post more pictures in my blog. After all, I am a visual-learner type of person. I sort of think everyone is, really.

What an unexpected semester this has been. I know I keep talking about it, but it's because I can't stop thinking about it.

Music theory final Tuesday. Sight-singing final Thursday. Hopefully lots of talks and hugs and goodbyes with friends in between. Tomorrow morning I'm going to Target to get some stuff for Christmas gifts I'm putting together for the cast and crew of "The Dining Room" and for my lovely Torrey group, Gregory of Nyssa. I usually feel really bad at stuff like this; planning, gift-giving. But these might actually turn out nice. We'll see. I'm still bad at planning, though.

Seasons

I need another accordion file. Probably a couple, actually. I just spent some time cleaning up my desk space, which was covered in papers and mail and books. I am not a naturally organized person, and sometimes I don't know how my (more tidy) room mates put up with me. Clothing is the worst; when I get lazy, I don't bother to fold or put away clothes when I take them off. Especially if I'm just stumbling in after a long day; all I want to do is get in bed ASAP.

Another thing I need: to write something, even just a little something, every day. I think I'll set a goal for myself - maybe to spend fifteen to twenty minutes writing, either in my journal or on here, every day. The past few days I've been thinking to myself, I need to write, I need to organize my thoughts; but I haven't made the time, and if I put it off, those thoughts slowly fade away.

I think I could be a writer someday, in some form. I enjoy it, and my mentor says I've "got the chops" for it. But I am learning that, like almost everything in life, it is definitely a craft that needs to be practiced and perfected. One does not become a brilliant writer with charming syntax and a polished voice in a day, or a week, or a year. Life is all about the process. Life is, itself, one continuous process of continuous change and growth. As is writing, I think. As are most things.

This semester. Sheesh. So much has happened, most of it unexpected. I was in the play, which was one of the most formative experiences of my life; I made friendships I never knew I would make; I read a TON of theology; I got engaged. I feel like a totally different person now than the scared, insecure girl who began this semester. I'd almost forgotten about that girl entirely.

This semester, this crazy, wonderful, life-changing semester, finally feels like it's really coming to a close. Today, my good friends Anna and Christine threw me a bridal shower. It was so much fun, with lots of laughing and food and games. God has blessed me beyond words with the people, and the friends, that are here. In all of the heights and depths this semester has brought, they have rallied around me with encouragement and tender, genuine love. I think it's rare to find that in a group of people.

When the shower was over, it was a little bittersweet as I realized that it might be the last time for a long time that I see some of those friends. When the term's officially over next week and everyone has scattered in the wind, there will be some people I won't see until, perhaps, the day before our wedding - if then. It's really ending, I've realized. It's caught me a little off-guard; mostly, I think, because this semester has been jam packed with business and change. So much has happened, it's hard to believe it's almost over. This adventure is finally ending, and a new one is about to begin.

But, I do know that while it is more sad to leave this place because of the deep friendships I have gained, there is comfort for that very same reason. Although this is an end, it's not the end, and there are few people I'm saying goodbye to now whom I doubt will remain a part of my life, in some (if only small) shape or form for a very long time.

But even if not. Even if after a couple of years I lose touch with people, even if this is the last time I see some of them (I pray that's not the case), it will be okay. Because it has been good. It has been painful, and hard, and unbearably scary at times, but it has been good. I have tried, I have learned, I have grown, I have loved. And that will only continue in the future, whatever happens.

I have regrets. But this time, this season in my life - it has not been a waste.

Fall in Winter and Free Hot Chocolate

Today is a beautiful day. It's December 1, but it feels more like Albuquerque in October.

I got a free hot chocolate at Common Grounds, the Biola coffee shop; I came in here to procrastinate before my next class, and I guess the barista accidentally made an extra hot chocolate. Score.