The Doings of a Young Woman

Today (tonight), I am…

Seeing: Blue darkness falling over the sky. The darkly etched forms of tree-tops struggling to make themselves seen above each other. Cloudless indigo.

Listening: Spoons clattering in the kitchen, cars down the street pulling into steep driveways. Something whispered in my ear.

Thinking: About this season. Advent. Waiting. Waiting.

Reading: Nothing else new since last time I told you.

Imagining: That one day I will drop all school and hard reading for a week and read nothing but Narnia, Cranford, Jane Austen, Cheaper By The Dozen, Jeeves and Wooster (and other delightful fluffy books like unto it), and anything that doesn’t require getting a headache. I.e., something that doesn’t taste like burnt pie-crust (winks at Catherine).

Creating: Christmas cards. Bruises on my fingers from playing a glissando on the piano that is supposed to be played by harp .

Writing: Christmas cards. (Yes, I’m being redundant).

Praying: P.A.T.I.E.N.C.E.

~Meg

The Doings of A Young Lady

Today, I am…

Seeing: The Apple Dumpling Gang. Cheesy, but every so often one needs a dose of clean western humor. Especially with Don Knotts. And I quote: “Amos, the good Lord poured your brains in with a teaspoon, and somebody joggled his arm!” J

Listening: “Love Came Down at Christmas” as interpreted by Jars of Clay.

Thinking: Am I thinking? I’m not sure.

Reading:  Christiana’s Journey. Does it strike anyone else as strange that Christiana is travelling along with her grown up friend and her little boys and then suddenly one of the little boys gets married to the grown up friend?

Imagining: Myself as the heroine of a western movie. Demure, feminine, and with one heck of a gun hidden in my dress pocket.

Creating: A warm cozy sweater for my own precious self. Lovely thick wool in brown and cream hues.

Writing: Schola response paragraph.

Praying: That God’s will be done. I feel like I can’t pray for any one thing specifically too hard in case I’m praying against the Holy Spirit, so I am forced back on this simple prayer by necessity. And praying this simple prayer is not a bad place to be.

Namárië,

Lizbelle

It would be funnier if it wasn’t true

Enjoy! (Or rather, don’t enjoy)

Imagination

from Lolly’s Oom,

When I first read “The Lord of the Rings” I was completely caught up in the world of elves, orcs, and hobbits. I lived through the book with the characters. I went into mourning for Boromir (even though he was a jerk) and I rejoiced…um…well I was going to say that I rejoiced when they finally won but I didn’t, I just kept right on crying. When I was finished I came back to earth with a resounding thud. I was very discontent with my world and I let everybody know about it. This happened again as I read “Narnia”, “The Chronicles of Predain” and many other fantasies. I just got less and less content with my whole world in general.

And then something struck me a few days ago. What struck me was this: while I was reading through Zechariah (which is really an Old Testament Revelation) I read this passage, Zechariah 1: 7-11:

“I saw in the night, and behold, a man riding on a red horse! He was standing among the myrtle trees in the glen, and behind him were red, sorrel, and white horses. Then I said, ‘what are these, my Lord?’ The angel who talked with me said to me, ‘I will show you what they are’. So the man who was standing among the myrtle trees answered, ‘these are they who the Lord has sent to patrol the earth’. And they answered the angel of the Lord and said ‘we have patrolled the earth, and behold all the earth remains at rest”

and also Zechariah 6: 1-8

“Again I lifted up my eyes and saw, and behold, four chariots came out from between two mountains. And the mountains were made of bronze. The first chariot had red horses, the second black horses, the third white horses, and the fourth chariot dappled horses – all of them strong. Then I answered and said to the angel who talked with me, ’what are these, my Lord?’.  And the angel answered ‘these are going out to the four winds of heaven, after presenting themselves to the Lord of all the earth. The chariot with the black horses goes toward the North Country, the white ones go after them, and the dappled ones go toward the South Country’. When the strong horses came out, they were impatient to patrol the earth. And he said ‘go patrol the earth’.  So they patrolled the earth. Then he cried out to me, ’behold, those who go out to the North Country set my spirit at rest in the North Country”.

I think that these verses are beautiful because those riders and horses are just as awesome as any of the magical characters that Tolkien made up only so much better because they are part of the REAL battle between REAL good and REAL evil. God is never surpassed by others; His World that He created goes far, far past anything that we could create with our imaginations. God gave these authors their imaginations and they cannot do anything with these gifts that God cannot do with that which has been His since before the beginning of time.  I’m not saying it’s wrong to read these books, though I do think that one should exercise a little discernment between books that give a more accurate description of good and evil (like “The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe”) and books that kind of make them the same thing (like “Harry Potter”). I love “The Hobbit” and so on and I will continue to read them because I love the imagination and the ability that God has given mankind to imitate Him who has the greatest imagination of all.

Lolly

another dose of Ravenhill

from Pa’s oom,

“There is today a pale, pathetic, and unflinching interpretation of the blessed gospel, which guarantees salvation as a financially and socially upgrading experience; then it finalizes the offer by a superlative bonus in eternity and comfort world without end.  How different was Paul’s concept of a disciple of Christ!  Look at his vivid interpretation: “I think God has exhibited us apostles as the lowest of the low – like gallows birds; for we have become a spectacle to the universe, both angels and men.  We are fools for Christ’s sake, while you are most prudent Christians; we are feeble while you are strong; we are in disgrace while you are honored.  To this very moment we are starving, thirsty, ragged, battered tramps; we are like the dregs and scum of society.” (C.H. Dobb’s translation of I Corinthians 4:19-23).  What an angry outburst this is at the Christianity of Paul’s day (and the Christianity of our day too), with vain effort to be acceptable to a Christ-hating world!”

Leonard Ravenhill, Meat for Men, 1961

Ode to the Library

Oh! The joys of a library. You never realize how much you need it until you’re separated from it. I mean, FOREVER. There is NO ENGLISH LIBRARY within even an hour of where I live. I’m not even sure there’s a German one, for Pete’s sake. Just soak that in, please. Consider the seriousness of what I’m trying to tell you. Have you ever enjoyed bringing back stacks of picture-filled wonderlands with which fussy siblings can be appeased and satisfied? Or experienced the odd delight in a torn plastic cover, underneath which lies unknown beauty and joy, or pain and sorrow; life, death, and words? Do you know the smell of books? Well, until you’re distanced, you’ll probably never know that it’s even worth missing. And yet we devour words, thoughts, ideas, and pictures… we live on what is true and lovely. Not that all books are true and lovely– you still have to pick your books wisely, being very careful to “chew the meat and spit out the bones”, and not accepting every word that any book says simply because it’s a book.

There are lots of different sorts of books, too… There are the kind that you can read in an hour, for no other reason than that it is fun and delightful. There are those that require tools; you have to turn your brain on its highest gear, and work through everything you read to gain the wisdom (or to throw away the lack thereof, depending). And then there are those books that just scream truth at you, that you don’t need to say anything except “Amen!” about. And then there are books that are just not worthy of the name, and deserve to be used for kindling. I have read some of all, but I think my favorite kind is the third.

And of course, people read books differently. I’m the sort of person who reads quite slowly, and if I don’t understand something I read it over and over till I do. I try to savour my books and mull over them, unless in a particularly adventurous or impatient mood. I remember the books I read better this way, but I read less of them unfortunately. Other people can just open their brains and start pouring books in, four of five in a week, and thereby spanning a wider range of subjects. Lizbelle is one of those people.

All this was written merely to mourn the loss of a library, and to rejoice over the fact that for two whole weeks, whilst we vacationed, we were within three minutes walk of an English library. Person on the other side of the screen, please share in the comments what sort of books you like reading and in what way you best like to read. I’m in the mood for a literary discussion of sorts.

I’m ready to come home now.

~Meg,  in mourning

a dose of Ravenhill

from Pa’s Oom,

“The great need of the hour is the Holy Spirit’s unveiling of the human heart both to believers and unbelievers.  The Spirit of God is the Spirit of Truth, who convicts of error;  the Spirit of Fire, who convicts of coldness;  the Spirit of Love, who convicts of hatred;  the Spirit of Freedom, who convicts of bondage;  the Spirit of God, who convicts of human depravity;  the Holy Spirit who makes bare human sin.  Sin is not just a defect, but a disease; not a mistake, but madness; not error, but enmity; not infirmity, but iniquity.”

Leonard Ravenhill, Meat for Men, 1961

Tolkienesque Poetry: The Fourth

I have decided to institute a semi-regular (which means whenever I feel like it/get around to it) series of Tolkienesque Poetry.

Today I give you Gimli’s rembrance of the Dwarrowdelf, before it was cast into darkness.

Namárië,

Lizbelle

 

The world was young, the mountains green,

No stain yet on the Moon was seen,

No words were laid on stream or stone

When Durin woke and walked alone.

He named the nameless hills and dells;

He drank from yet untasted wells;

He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear,

As gems upon a silver thread,

Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Eldery Days before the fall

Of mighty kings in Nargothrond

And Gondolin, who now beyond

The Western Seas have passed away:

The world was fair in Durin’s Day.

A king he was on carven throne

In many-pillared halls of stone

With golden roof and silver floor,

And runes of power upon the door.

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

There shone for ever fair and bright.

There hammer on the anvil smote,

There chisel clove, and graver wrote;

There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;

The delver mined, the mason built.

There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,

And metal wrought like fishes’ mail,

Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,

And shining spears were laid in hoar.

Unwearied then were Durin’s folk;

Beneath the mountains music woke:

The harpers harped, the minstrils sang,

And at the gates the trumpet rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge’s fire is ashen-cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:

The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.

But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere;

There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

 

 

The Doings of a Young Woman

Today, I am…

Seeing: The clouds going by at an incredible rate. It must be windy (I wouldn’t know, being curled up in a gray wool shawl).

Listening: To the clip of hooves on the street, since we often have horses going up to the trail behind our house. I rather think it is entirely too wet to be riding a horse, but there you are. Listening to strains of music running through my head, and trying to catch them before they vanish.

Thinking: about nothing. I’ve reached an interesting stage in my life in which I am trying my very hardest not to think, because thinking is too dangerous.  (I thought very hard last week, though.)

Reading: Too many things at once, again. I’m in the beginning of “The Problem of Pain” by C.S. Lewis, as well as “Real Learning” by Elizabeth Foss (no, I’m not Roman Catholic; but I do enjoy her thoughts on education very much).

Imagining: as with thinking, I’m trying hard not to. I could very easily write pages about what I might be imagining just now…

Creating: I am waiting until Christmas break to sew myself Susan’s coronation gown. I’m also working on crocheting a red shawl of some delicious wool, and of course thinking of Christmas presents for siblings.

Writing: I’m actually trying to write a non-fiction book (yes- I’ve gone off my rocker). Also some bookish blog posts. And letters.

Praying: that I will keep my feet planted on the Rock where they belong, instead of wading through the sand. For God’s will to be done in my life, not mine.

~Meg

Another Song

Sorry, this song, Real , has gone on vacation for a little while.

My other song, Dug Down Deep,  is still playing about three posts down below.

Meg