New blog location: https://englandscalling.blogspot.com/

Iris' Speech

"I've found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said, "Journeys end in lovers meeting." What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said "love is blind". Now that is something I know to be true. For some quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space!

I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn't know you had inside you. And it doesn't matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends... you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he'll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you'll go somewhere new. And you'll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade."

Letter on Book-Banning by Author Pat Conroy

To the Editor of the Charleston Gazette:

I received an urgent e-mail from a high school student named Makenzie Hatfield of Charleston, West Virginia. She informed me of a group of parents who were attempting to suppress the teaching of two of my novels, The Prince of Tides and Beach Music. I heard rumors of this controversy as I was completing my latest work. These controversies are so commonplace in my life that I no longer get involved. But my knowledge of mountain lore is strong enough to know the dangers of refusing to help a Hatfield of West Virginia. I also do not mess with McCoys.

I've enjoyed a lifetime love affair with English teachers. My English teachers pushed me to be smart and inquisitive, and they taught me the great books of the world with passion and cunning and love. Like your English teachers, they didn't have any money either, but they lived in the bright fires of their imaginations, and they taught because they were born to teach the prettiest language in the world. I have yet to meet an English teacher who assigned a book to damage a kid. They take an unutterable joy in opening up the known world to their students, but they are dishonored and unpraised because of the scandalous paychecks they receive. In my travels around this country, I have discovered that America hates its teachers, and I could not tell you why. Charleston, West Virginia, is showing clear signs of really hurting theirs, and I would be cautious about the word getting out.

In 1961, I entered the classroom of the great Eugene Norris, who set about in a thousand ways to change my life. It was the year I read The Catcher in the Rye, under Gene's careful tutelage, and I adore that book to this very day. Later, a parent complained to the school board, and Gene Norris was called before the board to defend his teaching of this book. He asked me to write an essay describing the book's galvanic effect on me, which I did. But Gene's defense of The Catcher in the Ryewas so brilliant and convincing in its sheer power that it carried the day. I stayed close to Gene Norris till the day he died. I delivered a eulogy at his memorial service and was one of the executors of his will. Few in the world have ever loved English teachers as I have.

About the novels your county just censored: The Prince of Tides and Beach Music are two of my darlings which I would place before the altar of God and say, "Lord, this is how I found the world you made." They contain scenes of violence, but I was the son of a Marine Corps fighter pilot who killed hundreds of men in Korea, beat my mother and his seven kids whenever he felt like it, and fought in three wars. My youngest brother, Tom, committed suicide by jumping off a fourteen-story building; my French teacher ended her life with a pistol; my aunt was brutally raped in Atlanta; eight of my classmates at The Citadel were killed in Vietnam; and my best friend was killed in a car wreck in Mississippi last summer. Violence has always been a part of my world. I write about it in my books and make no apology to anyone. In Beach Music, I wrote about the Holocaust and lack the literary powers to make that historical event anything other than grotesque.

People cuss in my books. People cuss in my real life. I cuss, especially at Citadel basketball games. I'm perfectly sure that Steve Shamblin and other teachers prepared their students well for any encounters with violence or profanity in my books just as Gene Norris prepared me for the profane language in The Catcher in the Rye forty-eight years ago.

The world of literature has everything in it, and it refuses to leave anything out. I have read like a man on fire my whole life because the genius of English teachers touched me with the dazzling beauty of language. Because of them I rode with Don Quixote and danced with Anna Karenina at a ball in St. Petersburg and lassoed a steer inLonesome Dove and had nightmares about slavery in Beloved and walked the streets of Dublin in Ulysses and made up a hundred stories in The Arabian Nights and saw my mother killed by a baseball in A Prayer for Owen Meany. I've been in ten thousand cities and have introduced myself to a hundred thousand strangers in my exuberant reading career, all because I listened to my fabulous English teachers and soaked up every single thing those magnificent men and women had to give. I cherish and praise them and thank them for finding me when I was a boy and presenting me with the precious gift of the English language.

The school board of Charleston, West Virginia, has sullied that gift and shamed themselves and their community. You've now entered the ranks of censors, book-banners, and teacher-haters, and the word will spread. Good teachers will avoid you as though you had cholera. But here is my favorite thing: Because you banned my books, every kid in that county will read them, every single one of them. Because book-banners are invariably idiots, they don't know how the world works—but writers and English teachers do.

I salute the English teachers of Charleston, West Virginia, and send my affection to their students. West Virginians, you've just done what history warned you against—you've riled a Hatfield.

Sincerely,

Pat Conroy

From "Four Loves" by C.S. Lewis

“The event of falling in love is of such a nature that we are right to reject as intolerable the idea that it

should be transitory. In one high bound it has overleaped the massive of our selfhood; it has made appetite itself altruistic, tossed personal happiness aside as a triviality and planted the interests of another in the centre of our being. Spontaneously and without effort we have fulfilled the law (towards one person) by loving our neighbour as ourselves. It is an image, a foretaste, of what we must become to all if Love Himself rules in us without a rival. It is even (well used) a preparation for that.”

* * *
“You can’t go on “seeing through” things forever. The whole point of seeing through something is to see something through it. To “see through” all things is the same as not to see.”

* * *
"In God there is no hunger that needs to be filled, only plenteousness that desires to give.”

Norah Jones - Forever Young (live)

Loved this cover of such a good Dylan song. Makes me think of dancing with my dad in the living room, and of growing up, and of giggling with my sisters, and of sitting around a table with good food and with my family. If I get married one day, I'd like to dance with my dad to this song.

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young

Prayer of the Summer

"Lord, hear my prayer, listen to my cry for mercy; in your faithfulness and righteousness  come to my relief. Do not bring your servant into judgment, for no one living is righteous before you.The enemy pursues me, he crushes me to the ground; he makes me dwell in the darkness like those long dead. So my spirit grows faint within me; my heart within me is dismayed. I remember the days of long ago;  I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done. I spread out my hands to you; I thirst for you like a parched land. Answer me quickly, Lord; my spirit fails. Do not hide your face from me or I will be like those who go down to the pit. Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life. Rescue me from my enemies, Lord,  for I hide myself in you. Teach me to do your will,  for you are my God;  may your good Spirit  lead me on level ground." Psalm 143

Normalcy

Before leaving for my year in England, I thought a lot about the fact that I am getting older, and yet still don't quite know how to prepare myself for the unexpected, the unknowable. In some ways, I hold on to a childish idea of normalcy; I cling to what is comfortable. But as I continue to grow up (despite my efforts to find Neverland), I am slowly and surely realizing that there is no "normal" to return to. Life in its seasons changes everything. There is no longer a status quo. For so many years, we have set paths to follow–– you play the role of student from elementary through college. You have set notions of how to be a good daughter, sister, friend (mostly formed from watching adults and sometimes sitcoms). And you have set dreams –– the same ones you've been dreaming since childhood. For me, it's the quaint picket fence and babies and gardening on Saturday afternoons. But when you move into adulthood, there are setbacks, failures, pain and complexities. You find yourself thinking "I just want to get back to normal." But, the thing is, you're never the same once you get through that move, that fight, that difficult class, that heart break. And in many ways, you're glad you're not the same. Yes, some of the childish optimism might be gone, but in its place, perhaps you'll find strength or perspective or richer faith.  But what was "normal" previously sometimes won't fit as comfortably as it once did. And that new reality is difficult for me to come to terms with. I like my set ideas, my set dreams, my set paths. I don't enjoy being uncomfortable, and who isn't scared a little of the unknown? But because life in its seasons, in its complexities, in its failures & triumphs has changed me, I am forced to move on –– to become more and more comfortable with having no control, no set role or view of reality, and to accept a shifting definition of what is"normal."

Thank goodness for a God who is the one unchanging and constant force in life.

Being Miss Miller

I absolutely loved my summer classes. Being a teacher never ceases to catch you off guard and make you smile. Here are some of my favorite moments from this summer:

Kaitlyn (2nd grader with big, blue earnest eyes): Miss Miller, would you like to know where fairies come from? They are butterflies! Butterflies are fairies dressed up. But guess what? You can't catch them and leave them in your room overnight. That's a bad idea.
Me: Really? How come?
Kaitlyn: They will turn into trolls and make your room all messy. (She was dead serious.)

* * *

Me (directed at two boys who started wrestling on the grass at break time): Boys, that's not the best idea to be wrestling right now. Someone will get hurt.
Daevey (3rd grader): But Miss Miller, I'm teaching Diego some ninja moves. I'm going to be a ninja in a few years, but unfortunately, there is not a training facility near my house. So I haveta practice and I need to practice with Diego right now, okay? (He was dead serious.)

* * *

Nick (1st grader, during break): Would you like to eat a snack too, Miss Callie?
Me: Oh don't worry, I will eat lunch after class. Thank you, Nick.
Nick: But you might get hungry! *brings me 2 Dorito chips from his bag and lays them on my desk*
Me: Wow, thank you for sharing, that's so sweet of you!
I then proceeded to get 3 purple skittles from Corrine, a licorice piece from Ben and a handful of fishy crackers from Tanya, all spread out on my desk. Every week after that, the kids who brought snacks for break time shared bits with me. It was the cutest thing ever.

* * *
Elyse (pre-K, with delicate pink cheeks, a tiny upturned nose, and brown pixie haircut): You are my most favorite teacher ever! *threads her little arms through my legs and hugs tight.*
Granted, she was only 4 years old and had never had a real teacher,  but I still like that I get to be the favorite:)

Henry V

Earlier this summer, I drove up to Oregon for the renowned Ashland Shakespeare Festival. I went to help out at Biola's Shakespeare summer class. We stayed at an organic resort, up among trees and meadows and a river known all over the state for it's "healing powers." The couple who runs the resort are organic farmers who mill their own wood, raise their own chickens, and wear flannel with boots almost year round. This is the type of place that makes you feel one with nature, always want to recycle, sit in a pasture under effortless blue sky, eat healthy, be slow to speak, climb mountains with a walking stick, appreciate simplicities, listen for frogs, and drink lemon water all day long.

My job was to hang out with Professor Kleist's kids, who are smart and creative beyond belief. We danced in our socks in the prayer chapel, pretended we were dragons (mostly Hydras), built bridges across the river, tossed sticks for the 2 huge dogs living at the resort, explored trails, made forts in the bedroom, read books, made up stories (about dragons, of course) and popped popcorn with M&Ms every night.

And on my afternoons or nights off, I went to town for the Shakespeare plays. The town of Ashland is everything a quaint Oregon town should be. Hills of pines act as backdrop to brick buildings, vintage stores, white picket fences, and funky coffee shops. In the heart of town, there are a series of theaters where from April to November you can catch a variety of Shakespeare plays.

One night, I went with the students to the showing of Henry V. The play was in the outdoor Elizabethan theater, modeled after the original Globe theater –– a beautiful two-story stage out under the stars. (You wouldn't believe how bundled up we got. It gets cold in Oregon at night, even in June. We brought the quilts and comforters from our beds. No, I'm not kidding. It looked like we'd set up permanent camp in our row, especially considering how many packs of gummy bears we snuck in.) Now, I've never been the hugest fan of the Henry plays. Yes, it's an interesting and classic concept ––  a boy becoming a man –– but I have to say, Hal never impressed me. I thought he was a whiny, spoiled prince who got lucky when he became king and won the war against the French. Until I saw this version of Henry V.

This company of actors have been playing these characters for the last 3 years, when they started with Henry IV, Part I.  The stage design set the tone so perfectly –– mostly grays and metallics, with colors of fire (English) and ice (French) laced throughout. The overall effect was sparse, hard, with clean lines. During one scene, it actually rained on stage, drumming real water in soft patterns. The whole production was so well crafted, a full work of art. The lilt of the old English became kind of intoxicating. There was something amazing about hearing the lovely cadence of the speeches, experiencing written words coming alive, watching characters develop right in front of your eyes.

The actor who played Henry was unbelievably talented (it helped that the next day we got to sit down with him and ask questions, seeing how deeply he researched and resonated with the character). He took all the passion and impulsiveness of Prince Hal and channeled it into a strong and rugged king, a man who uses the pressure of kingship to learn honor and integrity.  Henry, a scarred man (literally and figuratively) who has lost every loved one close to him, does not think too highly of himself, but treats kingship only as humanity with ceremony. His costuming was nothing special; in fact, he looked like a common soldier. Through him, as well as through the other actors in the play, I was forced to think deeply, to explore themes found in the play that I am learning in life.

I saw the heavy responsibility of leadership –– the passion and compassion needed to lead well. I saw the strength that must be summoned, along with understanding, in order to make difficult decisions. I saw the beauty of striving to be respectful, honorable and upright –– not to prove anything, but because it's how a good man, a good king acts. I saw how kindness and compassion can be co-mingled with integrity and strength. I saw the constancy of justice, and also the effect of mercy.

I also saw God in the play. I believe you can find God in anything good. But in this story, you get to see a miracle. Before a big battle, which the English will surely lose, Henry gives a simple speech to his men, his brothers (read St. Crispin's Day speech), which manages to be simultaneously understanding and demanding. His men proceed to win a completely miraculous victory against the French (a true story, by the way). After they learn the results of the battle, Henry and his men fall to their knees in prayer. After all the confusion and the fighting and the noise, this act had stunning power (as prayer should).

And then, came my absolute favorite part of the play. Okay, wait for it.

At the Shakespeare bookshop after the play, I bought the book copy of the company's version of the play. I loved what they chose to edit, and how clean, authentic and meaningful the result was. But I mostly bought it for this one quotation, which hit me hard. When I heard Henry say it on stage, I wanted him to repeat it six more times. After a harsh play, full of fighting and pain and exhaustion and difficult decisions, peace finally comes to the characters. Though the play gives a wonderful portrayal of the "fog of war," it also manages to show the beauty to be found in our humanity. And I think this particular part sums up the full character of King Henry very well. At the end of the play, Henry has a chance to forge the two nations by marrying the French princess, Kate. Now, I'm a through-and-through romantic. But I loved this quotation for its realism just as much as its sweetness. It rings true and kind, for even though Henry is the victor and could take the princess' hand forcibly, he approaches her humbly, as both a plain soldier and an honorable king. If I wasn't already totally in love with Henry, I was after this speech. I think this is the way love should be:

"And while thou liv'st, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy, for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places. For these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What, a speaker is but a prater, a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a black beard will turn white, a curled pate will grow bald, a fair face will wither, full eye will wax hollow. But a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon, or rather the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would take such a one, take me; and take me a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayst thou then to my love?"

She says, yes, of course. There's nothing quite like a hard-earned happy ending.

Rules of Life

This year, Aubrey and I created this list, and I want to immortalize it. We had a few contributors, and each rule has a story. This list makes me laugh every time I read it.

Here are our rules of life: 

• Always have a tutu on hand
• If you have a ladder up the back of your vehicle, you don't belong in the fast lane
• Always upgrade to the better alcohol
• $.76 hot dogs are not a good idea
• Everyone has a soft spot for trashy reality TV
• Don't mess with Russians
• Ziplock bags are universally handy
• Pizookis and beach volleyball don't mix, even in small doses 
• No real business should have a sign that's held up by plastic hooks 
• Never trust a man in a wife-beater tank top
• Rite Aid surprises
• Four things that can fix any situation: duct tape, coconut oil, hydrogen peroxide, baking soda
• If I see alcohol and people shooting off firearms, I leave immediately
• Candles and flowers make everything pretty 

A Dream of Heaven

I dreamed of heaven. In this place that is always light, in this place where there are no chains, in this place of laughter and praise, I dreamed of sitting in peace. I looked down and there across my palms were stained the words "sin" and "pain." From the words scrolled tattoos of leaves and plants tangling 'round my wrists. The pain and sin of life on earth marked me, but did not scar me. I remembered it, but I did not feel it. And from the pain and sin, beauty had grown around it, from it.

To get to Paradise, Dante had to walk through the Inferno.

Before sailing to the Haven, Frodo had to climb Mt. Doom.

To be redeemed, Sydney Carton had to go to the guillotine.

For our relationship to be right with God, Jesus hung on a cross.

For us to truly understand perfection, perhaps we had to know imperfection. For us to appreciate true beauty, perhaps we had to first know suffering and ugliness.

In my dreams, I dreamed of heaven. The vines tattooed on my wrist did not bind me, but reminded me. They told the story of the depths of pain, but also the riches of forgiveness, beauty, redemption and the perfection of being made whole.

The Hollywood Hills were brown when Jordan came to stay with us. You could have fried an egg on the asphalt as my family stood at the bus stop, waiting for a brown-haired stranger. The fumes came off the Greyhound in waves, causing Cameron to hide behind us, his tiny towhead not even reaching to Dad's knees. Mom promised him ice cream when we got home, and he happily scuffed his white sneakers.

That was the summer I cut my hair short, yellow wheat bobbing just above my knobby shoulders. I wore overalls that day, and a twine friendship bracelet Mara had given me as an early birthday present. We were still young enough for that sort of thing then. Before Jordan came, I was young enough for a lot of things.

When he walked off the bus, Dad knew him right away.  Jordan wore army boots and a black backpack. Dad stuck his hand out to him, unwavering. Mom balanced Cameron on one hip and smiled a wide cherry smile while she introduced herself. That was back when my dad still looked at her like she could spin the world on one small pinkie finger. I squinted a little against the sun, then looked down again, anxious to get out of the heat.

I am a walking cliché that my first love was a summer one. But it was not the kind you see in the movies, with a salty sea breeze in my hair and long sunset kisses. We lived nowhere near the sea and there was nothing breezy about it.

Jordan was not what I expected. But then again, when a strange teenage boy comes to stay with your family, what expectations are normal? I guess I thought he would be tall with soulful eyes, broad shoulders and a scruffy chin. I guess I thought we'd flirt over the breakfast table or something. But he was quiet the whole way home, gazing out the window with a stare as wide and blank as the plains of Montana.  The air conditioning was broken in the minivan, so we drove with the windows down, ears filled with the rush of hot air instead of conversation. Mom and Dad held hands in the front seat and Cameron dozed, his cheeks flushed sweetly pink. Soon, we were home.

Looking back, I wonder what Jordan thought of our square suburban life –– our patty-cake house with the red door, complete with swing set and almond tree. Maybe it felt overwhelming, maybe it felt boring, maybe it felt safe, maybe it felt uncomfortable. Maybe it didn't feel like anything except a strange, small interlude in his life.

He settled in quietly, quickly, putting his backpack upright on the futon in his basement room, following Mom and Dad around as they gave him the tour of the house. He nodded when appropriate and said "thank you" with a kind of half smile, and then asked if he could go to bed even though it was only 6:15.

Over the next weeks, I mostly just saw Jordan at meals. He kept to his room, or to the backyard, where he sat under the oak tree and read. He read big books with bland-looking covers, and seemed to be lost into that world more than a part of ours. I was too busy to really notice, though; I had a birthday party to plan, and the cute new lifeguard down at the community pool to spy on, and soccer practice, and bi-weekly sleepovers with Mara. Even Mara stopped asking gossipy questions about our house guest after she finally grasped that he really was boring, and that he wouldn't even glance in her direction.  Cameron adored him, though. The first few nights at dinner, he would babble away in his nonsense baby voice and slam his spoon on the tray of his highchair, smiling his gappy smile at Jordan as if banging his silverware was some awesome accomplishment. He set up his Tonka trucks out by Jordan's reading tree, and anywhere Jordan was, Cameron was two steps behind. I liked watching them together –– the way Jordan would tussle Cam's blonde curls, or build dirt hills for his trucks, or teach him to turn on and off the TV, which drove Mom nuts. Overall, Jordan was so quiet and faded into the background so well that it became easier to forget we had a stranger living in our house. It never occurred to me to really press why Jordan was here, or to wonder how long he'd stay. I just assumed he'd go right along eating my favorite cereal and keeping to himself until school started in the fall. And then, someone else would take him. I knew from snippets of caught conversation that his mom, who'd been a college friend of my dad's, had died –– cancer or something –– and that his dad ran off before Jordan was born, but that my parents, and lawyers or cops too, were trying to find him. I wondered if Jordan had been close to his mom. What had she been like? Was her cooking better than my mom's? Did she do her laundry on Sundays too? I figured Jordan kept her picture in his sock drawer and cried before he went to sleep, but he never showed any signs of grief that I recognized. I hadn't had much experience with death before –– only what I'd seen in the movies, where there was lots of crying and hugging. I thought about these things only briefly, in passing, between painting my nails or running out the door to soccer camp or begging my dad to take me out in his truck to practice driving.

One night, I was lying in bed listening to my iPod in the dark. It was late, and I was close to falling asleep when I heard a thud outside my window. The thump was loud enough for me to hear over the country music I was pumping into my ears, so I yanked out my headphones and hopped out of bed. I poked my head out of my open window, looking for a fallen tree limb or a burglar or Santa. Jordan was sitting on the roof, his back pressed against the siding to the left my window.

Read the rest at: http://www.callielarin.com/stories/

“Man is more himself, man is more manlike, when joy is the fundamental thing in him, and grief the superficial. Melancholy should be an innocent interlude, a tender and fugitive frame of mind; praise should be the permanent pulsation of the soul. Pessimism is at best an emotional half-holiday; joy is the uproarious labour by which all things live.” -GK Chesterton

It's always darkest before the dawn...

Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn

It's always darkest before the dawn

And I've been a fool and I've been blind

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I'm always dragging that horse around

And our love is past is such a mournful sound

Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground

So I like to keep my issues drawn

But it's always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off

I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

Cause I like to keep my issues drawn

It's always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off

And given half the chance would I take any of it back

It's a fine romance but its left me so undone

It's always darkest before the dawn

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat

Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Well, what the hell, I'm gonna let it happen to me

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off

Lately, I have been mad. Angry at life and at my own shortcomings. Irritated at how no matter how hard I try, nothing seems to go smoothly. Mainly, I've realized how much I hate my human nature. I hate that I am so prone to selfishness, pettiness, bitterness and weakness. I hate that I struggle and strive to be a woman of character, of virtue, but somehow always stumble around. I want to delight God, make Him smile, but I think I break His heart more often then not. So, I've spent some time thinking about the woman I want to be. These are the characteristics I came up with --- the ones I hold closest to my heart, the ones I see God refining in me over these last years. I wanted to write them down, to remember them, so that when I am acting out of pain or bitterness, or being selfish, or forgetful of the promised fruit of the righteous man, I can think about the fact that I am made new every day by Jesus.

And then, maybe I can be a woman who loves fiercely, who gives freely, who forgives loyally, who surrenders easily, and who trusts patiently.

With all that said, I pray that if nothing else, I'll be a woman of....

Radical compassion (When I was in Africa for that month in high school, one of my friends coined this term, and it has stuck with me all these years. Radical compassion means not just human sympathy, but a deep understanding that has the ability to change your life, as well as the life of those around you.) 

A gentle spirit (1 Peter 3:4. Like the godly women of old, may I have the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit.)

Steadfast strength (Life is really difficult. It's downright painful and confusing sometimes. But I don't want to crumble. I hope that I'll be a woman who chooses to keep going, finding a refuge under great and mighty wings, in the shadow of a rock shelter. I want to trust God's existence and his faithfulness to me, and I want to mirror His steadfast lovingkindness.) 

A tranquil heart (Proverbs 14:30. I want to be at peace with myself, with others during my whole life. A heart at peace gives life to the body. I can bask in the fact that I have a God to whom I can pour out the angst in my heart, and that He'll refill me again and again.) 

Wise discernment (I hope I'll learn from every mistake, always have a teachable attitude, never be afraid to ask forgiveness, take responsibility for my actions, and change for the better as I grow older. I hope that I'll never stop seeking wisdom and learning to hear God's voice.) 

Joyous nature (I want to always find things to be happy about. Because if I've learned anything  in the last few years, it's that true joy has to be worked for, but you can manage to find it in any circumstance. Because God is good.)

Thoughtful words (James 1:19. I want to speak kindly and honestly, with integrity and with encouragement. I want to be slow to anger, quick to listen, gracious in speech.) 

And I know that I have and will consistently fall short of these things. So why even try? I've had that thought a lot lately. I'm ridiculously human, and it makes me mad. But, I guess the fact is that while I'm here on earth, I'm going to fall short. The beauty of loving God is that He loves me regardless, so it's not about the actions. I've come to realize that the closest I get to heaven on earth is by pursuing Him, right? And He is faithful to find me, protect me, save me, guide me, change me. And that's what I want. So, by seeking God, hopefully I'll start to look more and more like Him.  Psalms says, "Even in darkness light dawns for the upright, for those who are gracious and compassionate and righteous.  Good will come to those who are generous and lend freely, who conduct their affairs with justice.  Surely the righteous will never be shaken; they will be remembered forever. They will have no fear of bad news; their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord. Their hearts are secure, they will have no fear." 

mellifluous |məˈlifloōəs|
adjective
(of a voice or words) sweet or musical; pleasant to hear: "the voice was mellifluous and smooth."
sweet-sounding, dulcet, honeyed, mellow, soft, liquid, silvery, soothing, rich, smooth, euphonious, harmonious

The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.
- Audrey Hepburn

Things that make me happy tonight...

Tonight I'm thankful. I'm thankful for the Les Miserables Broadway music that gets stuck in my head. I'm happy because of all the good movies coming out in December (The Hobbit, Anna Karenina, Great Gatsby, Les Mis, Ender's Game), and because I have a sister who gets just as excited to watch the trailers as I do. I'm thankful for biographies telling the true stories of those who changed the world-- like Steve Jobs with his intersection between aesthetics and technology. I'm thankful that I have happy childhood memories, and that simply watching an old Cary Grant movie brings it all back. I grateful there are so many stories from history to learn from, and new ones to tell. I'm happy that there are superhero movies, canoes and sailboats, dogs that snore, small towns, churches, and small kids who wear glasses.  I am happy because such a thing as libraries exist. I'm thankful for long conversations around the dinner table, and for friends who make me feel utterly comfortable in my own skin. I'm happy for the cool breeze on a summer evening, and having all the doors and windows open. Tonight, I'm happy for these things.

Psalm 121

"The Lord will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;

the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore"

Ruth 3:10-11... Love Ruth

“The Lord bless you, my daughter,” he replied. “This kindness is greater than that which you showed earlier: You have not run after the younger men, whether rich or poor. And now, my daughter, don’t be afraid. I will do for you all you ask. All the people of my town know that you are a woman of noble character."