A Rather Blustery Day

I love days like today - blustery days. It has to be one of the best types of weather... I wouldn't call in windy.... I associate 'windy' with 'cold', but today isn't cold! It's warm... although the wind can make it seem cold.

I'm sitting inside writing a paper (the longest I've ever written, actually) with a cup of tea and the heater set to a tropical 80 degrees. I'm snug as a bug in a rug, you could say. And I'm watching the wind play in the trees outside, buffeting them to and fro, and making that delightful whooshing sounds that only a fierce wind in tree tops can make. Those long-awaited spring flowers who had finally dared to poke their delicate heads above ground are taking a beating. They just weren't cautious enough, I suppose. The birds had all started coming out from spring as well, flitting about the backyard and chattering madly... but not today. Today they are all huddled down together somewhere warm and sheltered, waiting for the winds coming up off the Pacific to pass.

But not me! It can stay as long as it likes, as far as I'm concerned. Somehow the fact that the weather outside is less than ideal, makes my being warm and comfy inside that much more enjoyable. And the wind astonishes me! Some of those gusts are worrisomely powerful. They come so suddenly, and I actually fear for the trees - they are bent so tremendously from side to side... it's amazing how they can endure such violence.

But did you know it makes them stronger? It does! The bending back and forth of the tree's trunk forces it to adapt and grow to be stronger the next time. It's even possible to see the stress lines in the rings of a tree... it's very fibers.

The same is true with human bones... I learned that last semester. The more exercise you get, or the more stress and pressure you exert on your bones, the more tough and durable the become!

Perhaps the same is true with believers. James 1 famously states: "My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trails, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing."

It makes me wonder... if trees could talk, would they tell us they are thankful for the wind?

In honor of this blustery day, I present you all with this YouTube clip. I will forever associate the word 'blustery' with my old friend Winnie The Pooh... enjoy!

Poem Sunday - Mar 28th '10

I remember having to read this poem in grade 11 English class... some things do stick with you past high school!

If - Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which say to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Without the gospel everything is useless and vain

"Without the gospel everything is useless and vain; without the gospel we are not Christians; without the gospel all riches is poverty, all wisdom folly before God; strength is weakness, and all the justice of man is under the condemnation of God.

But by the knowledge of the gospel we are made children of God, brothers of Jesus Christ, fellow townsmen with the saints, citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven, heirs of God with Jesus Christ, by whom the poor are made rich, the weak strong, the fools wise, the sinner justified, the desolate comforted, the doubting sure, and slaves free. It is the power of God for the salvation of all those who believe."

- John Calvin, preface for Pierre Robert Olivetan's 1534 French translation of the New Testament.

It's so hard... but may we each remember what is truly important, and turn from fleshly desires. May we each grow in sanctification, away from what is useless and vain, away from relying on our own plans and wants and pitifully limited knowledge of what is true and good. May we desire, above anything else, to glorify the Lord in the way we live our lives.

A Strange Comparison

Today I had seven hours of Biology class - a lecture in the morning and a lab in the afternoon. In between these two classes, there's an hour break... for lunch. During this break I walked down the hill to a local coffee shop I love and got a bowl of soup.

Now, you have to understand how great a victory this was. This coffee shop is always out of soup by the time I get there, and yet somehow today when I arrived the sign read 'Wicked Thai soup' instead of the usual 'Sold Out' that I'm used to. I snatched up my cherished bowl, shielding it from the greedy eyes of the other patrons, and took it outside to enjoy in the sunshine.

I chose a bright table-for-two directly in a particularly large patch of sun, and thoughtfully munched my soup while people watching (a past time I've always enjoyed, and find quite fulfilling).

Picture this: There are three table on the patio. One is all on it's own, off the side... probably 20 feet from the others - that's where I was sitting. The other two are quite close (maybe 6 feet apart?) and it was at those two tables I saw a peculiar sight...

First, a tiny wisp of a girl slipped into a chair at one of the tables. As far as I could tell, she was wearing 3 t-shirts and 2 skirts layered on top of one another, and yet she still was so thin I could barely see her when she turned sideways. I was afraid that with a particularly strong gust of wind, she would just flutter away into the sky, her colorful skirts whirling around her weightless body into the distance. She pulled a salad out of her bag and started nibbling at it. Now, I'm being very generous using the term 'salad'. Is there was anything besides lettuce in that container, I didn't see it. Maybe a cherry tomato or two... maybe.

Second, a woman I can only describe as 'hefty' waddled into view. Not to be insensitive, but I'm fairly sure I could have used the shirt she was wearing (identifying her as an A & W employee) as a tent... for me and several other people. She carried with her the tell-tale McDonalds bag - Brown paper emblazoned with a golden 'M'. She plopped down in her chair (at the table next to the lettuce-eater) with a thud, the thin metal legs groaning worryingly under her weight. She pulled not one, but two burgers out of the paper bag, along with two super-sized fries and and extra-large pop. Then she lit up a smoke.

I sat and watched these two ladies from afar, and found their differences so striking. There they sat, right next to each other... completely unaware of the strange pair they made. A leaf-nibbler and a fried-food-guzzler. They seemed so unalike, but the more I thought about it, the more similar they seemed - One so healthy she was killing herself, the other so unhealthy she was doing the same.

I thought about it, I smiled, and then I finished my soup.

Poem Sunday - Mar 21st '10

So, yes, I know it's been a week since I last posted... I'm at a point with school where things are extremely stressful and busy. It will be for about another month, I guess. I'd appreciate your prayers as I'm finishing off this semester.... meaning that I'll be done first year nursing VERY soon!

I Remember, I Remember - Thomas Hood

I remember, I remember,

The house where I was born,

The little window where the sun

Came peeping in at morn;

He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day,

But now, I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,

The roses, red and white,

The violets, and the lily-cups,

Those flowers made of light!

The lilacs where the robin built,

And where my brother set

The laburnum on his birthday, -

The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,

The fir trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops

Were close against the sky:

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.

Light Shining Out of Darkness - William Cowper

God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never failing skill

He treasures up his bright designs,

And words his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust him for his grace;

Behind a frowning providence,

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

Poem Sunday - Mar 14th '10

The Castaway - William Cowper

Obcurest night involved the sky,

The Atlantic billows roared,

When such a destined wretch as I,

Washed headlong from on board,

Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,

His floating home for ever left.

No braver chief could Albion boast

Than he with whom he went,

Nor ever ship left Albion's coast,

With warmer wishes sent.

He loved them both, but both in vain,

Nor him beheld, nor her again.

Not long beneath the whelming brine,

Expert to swim, he lay;

Nor soon he felt his strength decline,

Or courage die away;

But waged with death a lasting strife,

Supported by despair of life.

He shouted: nor his friends had failed

To check the vessel's course,

But so the furious blast prevailed,

That, pitiless perforce,

They left their outcast mate behind,

And scudded still before the wind.

Some succour yet they could afford;

And, such as storms allow,

The cask, the coop, the floated cord,

Delayed not to bestow.

But h (they knew) nor ship, nor shore,

Whate'er they gave, should visit more.

Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he

Their haste himself condemn,

Aware that flight, in such a sea,

Alone could rescue them;

Yet bitter felt it still to die

Deserted, and his friends so nigh.

He long survives, who lives an hour

In ocean, self-upheld;

And so long he, with unspent power,

His destiny repelled;

And ever, as the minutes flew,

Entreated help, or cried - Adieu!

At length, his transient respite past,

His comrades, who before

Had heard his voice in every blast,

Could catch the sound no more.

For then, by toil subdued, he drank

The stifling wave, and then he sank.

No poet wept him: but the page

Of narrative sincere,

That tells his name, his worth, his age,

Is wet with Anson's tear.

And tears by bards or heroes shed

Alike immortalize the dead.

I therefore purpose not, or dream,

Descanting on his fate,

To give the melancholy theme

A more enduring date:

But misery still delights to trace

Its semblance in another's case.

No voice divine the storm allayed,

No light propitious shone;

When, snatched from all effectual aid,

We perished, each alone:

But I beneath a rougher sea,

And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he.

Success is Counted Sweetest - Emily Dickinson

Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne'er succeed.

To comprehend a nectar

Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition

So clear of Victory.

As he defeated - dying -

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph

Burst agonized and clear!

From my Journal - March

"I have been thinking about existence lately. In fact, I have been so full of admiration for existence that I have hardly been able to enjoy it properly. As I was walking home from school this morning, I passed that row of big oaks by the playground and I thought of another morning, fall a year or two ago, when they were dropping their acorns thick as hail almost.

There was all sorts of thrashing in the leaves and there were acorns hitting the pavement so hard they'd fly past my head. All this in the dark, of course. I remember a slice of moon, no more than that. It was a very clear night, or morning, very still, and then there was such energy in the things transpiring among those tree, like a storm, like travail.

I stood there a little out of range, and I thought, It is all still new to me. I have lived my life on an island and a line of oak trees can still astonish me.

I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty behind it.

And I can't believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the world to us.

In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don't imagine any reality putting this one in the shade entirely, and I think piety forbids me to try. "