Happiness

From my notes today:

I heard a song today called "Happily Ever After." It felt so right for what I've been mulling over recently. As my future looms ahead, my future as a student away from home, as an adult, as a woman, I keep wondering what my life will look like in the next five years. So much promises to change. What will my story be?

I ask with the singer, "Will I be happy?"

But what has consumed my thoughts so much recently is the "what if" that hovers in the corner of the room -- what if I'm not? What if my little jar of hopes and dreams shatters before me and none of my dreams come true? I'll never be happy, right?

Wrong. My happiness is up to me. Why would I limit myself to happiness only if this? Only if I get this and that?

I will be happy, because happiness is a choice, one that I alone can make.

Awake and Arise

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. 

::    Edmund Burke    ::

"for at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light (for the fruit of light is found in all that is good and right and true), and try to discern what is pleasing to the Lord. Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. For it i shameful even to speak of the thins that they do in secret. But when anything is exposed by the light, it becomes visible, for anything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says,

"'Awake, O sleeper,

and arise from the dead,

and Christ will shine upon you.' "

"Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil."

Ephesians 5:8-16

Home

From my Journal
23 March 2012
1:22 am

I am constantly thinking to myself how much I want to go home. Nearly every other journal entry begins or ends with that confession. But the more I consider, the more I recognize that home is not there anymore. This home that I long for is a childhood memory with all the rosy hues of its kind. It's a place and a time forever enshrined in memory when hardship was a foreigner and tragedy restricted to the theater. My eyes and ears were young and innocent, unpolluted by cynicism, callousness, and pain.

Once a soul lives long enough he or she finds that a true home cannot exist on this earth, in this world -- not that I have resigned myself to some kind of chaotic, depressive world. No. This earth is still green, there is still beauty in the broken, and the Lamb is still on the throne, worthy of glory and honor and adoration and praise.

There is so much goodness in this land, and yet there is not enough to truly tie me to it, for I have tasted -- only just tasted -- true, unspoilt, desperately deep love. I tasted it at the cross and daily my mouth waters for more. It is only natural that I feel not at home here. I am evermore a foreigner in a strange place, a sojourner in a broken land. I'm an ambassador from a world I've never been to, but a city I'm a citizen of,  a home I will always be homesick for.

Dance in the Streetlight

I sat outside on the front porch this evening, swaddled like a babe 'against the chilled night air. Trying to imagine away the rushing current of cars driving past, I looked up at the stars in all their flaming glory and at a solitary wisp of cloud sailing along the black sea. Distant chimney smoke wafts across the lawn, and a lonely airplane, naught but a starry light, creeps across the sky. I know that up there in that aerial transport people, as large and living and breathing as I, eat, speak, and sleep. But somehow, from earthbound perspective, I just can't fathom that.

 The night is perfectly beautiful, marred by only two things: the traffic noise and a streetlight. Traffic noise can, with willpower and an imagination, be willed away. Yet that orangey hue cannot. It slashes it's way through my picturesque scene like a paper cut through my finger.

Suddenly I am struck by how terrified I have been of those horrid street lights the past few years. They're not the pleasant lamposts one reads of in Narnia; they're the spine-chilling, heart-gripping sort just waiting for action heroes to race through or their nemeses to cower just beyond, gun loaded and cocked. I'd rather trust my (admittedly over-active) imagination to the pitch black than to those menacing lights. But then as I pondered such dismal thoughts -- and, I confess, felt the slightest tremblings within my gut -- a beautiful memory flooded my mind.

I was back in my hometown, in the heart of it, just off Palm Blvd., and I was young. A kindred spirit and I flitted about her front lawn. We were girls one minute and fairies the next. Of course Chloe was a dark fairy; nothing else would do. I was a mixed breed: earth fairy, to suit my infatuation with all things green; water fairy, to excuse my midnight swims; and light fairy, to appease Chloe's insistence that blond hair made it a foregone conclusion. And you now what I did? I danced in a streetlight.

One sat sentinel in the farthest corner of their property, and in my girlhood innocence, I filtered it into our game. I was a queen of the fairies with light exuding from every pore of my elven skin, as the moon in George Bailey's dream. And so the light fell on me and I danced like Tinuviel or Titania. Of course there was an enemy lurking in the shadows; Chloe always was in our fantasies.

As I relived that sliver of childhood with vim and vigor, I stared down that beaming pillar. I stared it down, and slowly all its Bourne-esque ambiance melted, and am eleven year old fairy queen danced before me. I cannot speak for all of humankind, but if one must let loose one's imagination on a lamplight, isn't it nicer to dance in its rays rather than dread its gaze?

Take Them Captive

Bam!

A sudden pain bolted its way through my head, burning and searing whatever's in there as it went. Pained and angered and exhausted all at the same time, I threw down the vacuum handle and rushed out of the room, glaring icily at the assailant, a sharp shelf's corner. Holding my head in my hand, I dove into the coolness of my pillows and heaved a huge sigh. Then, down flooded the tears.

But it wasn't just the pain of a bruised brow that let loose the floodgates. As quickly as I ran retreated across the hallway to my bedroom, my mind ran over all the grievances it could possibly find, not just reaching back through the past day or week, but months and even years. No small injustice, no minor sorrow stayed behind from the conference called inside. They all flocked to the forefront of my mind, each shouting its pitiful sob story.

As the clamorous rampage in my mind continued, my weeping's volume increased. Soon, I was loudly sobbing and nearly convulsing from the anger and resentment, from the grief and the heartache, from the sharp and shooting pain.

From the other room, the vacuum cleaner and my little cleaning companion, Emmy Xiang, sat deserted. I heard her call, confused, to me, "Uh, did someone die in your game, or something?" Even one so enthralled in a pity party could smile at that, but I said nothing. Knowing that someone was listening, I only let loose greater sobs, holding nothing back as is my normal practice.

Finally I heard the pad-pad-pad of her feet coming toward me. She leaned against the bed, not sure whether touching me would invite an embrace or a shove. Finally, I rolled over to her, and she looked at me quizzically. We remained thus for a while, I piteously allowing tears to roll down my cheeks and she wondering what had caused and how to fix the mourning. At last she spoke:

"Why did you put them in there?"

"Um, what," was my confused reply?

"The sad thoughts -- why did you put them in your mind?"

I stared. She stared.

"Oh."

She was right. A simple clumsy knock on the head and I lay prostrate upon my bed weeping as if I had "married an unloveable man," as Emmy Xiang described me. That seven year old saw right into the depths of my heart. You look ridiculous. You hit your head on the shelf, and now you are replaying every sad or angering episode you've experienced in the past year. What is your problem?

"Finally, brothers and sisters,

whatever is true,

whatever is noble,

whatever is right,

whatever is pure,

whatever is lovely,

whatever is admirable,

if anything is excellent

or praiseworthy,

think about such things."

Philippians 4:8

Choice

(Lazy Days, Margaret Collyer)

"The history of free men is never really written by chance but by choice -- their choice." - Dwight D. Eisenhower

I discovered this quotation in an Uncle Eric book, Ancient Rome: How It Affects You Today, by Richard J. Maybury (whose books I highly recommend, by the way). As you probably surmised from the title of his book, Mr. Maybury uses this single sentence with regards to the broad scope of history. However as I read it and the rest of the chapter, I couldn't help but reflect on the consistency of that idea on a smaller scale.

To use an example from my own life, this statement holds true when the alarm clock sounds or mealtime approaches. (Recently, I have been pulling weeds from the discipline bed in my garden, especially when it comes being disciplined with my body, the earthen-jar-turned-holy-temple, so such things have been on my mind.) Jolted from slumber, do I switch off the alarm and fall back into sleep, or do I rise up and begin my day? Craving all the "wrong things," do I fill myself with fleeting fancies, or do I nourish my body with necessities for functioning? Perhaps it seems a simple choice in the moment, but sleeping in and slipping treats will affect the rest of my day, if not my week, month, year, and life!

Almost everything I read is analyzed through the lenses of a girl hoping to be a wife and mother. Consequently, I considered the implications of Eisenhower's statement in just one generation. Even last night, my family conversed with another Pastor's College student about his conversion. In one evening he went from a drug addict destroying his own life to a gospel addict burning with a fiery passion for Jesus. Just one small choice reversed the course his life was taking. Actually, and here come my reformed roots, just one small choice of God's reversed the course his life was taking, the course my life was taking.

Thank God for the "small" choices He makes. May he impart the sobriety of the small choices to His children, for indeed, life is a never ending decision waiting to be made.

Many Partings

Isn't it amazing how changing a medium can coax thoughts into logical sentences. I spent long minutes sitting with this blank "compose" box glaring back at me. All I needed was a late night, a blank journal, and a new ink pen to pin my thoughts down. Finally, I sigh with relief, and copy the entry onto this blog.

I will never cease to understand the constant nudge I feel to publicly post on this very public blog my personal struggles and feelings. Perhaps it is rooted in a desire to help others. No, I'm far too sinful for so pure a desire. It probably has more to do with a strange sort of self-righteousness and false humility. Whatever the case, I post this journal excerpt here, mildly altered to avoid exposing identities and excruciating grammar errors.

6/13/11

I have never been a good journaler, and I don't expect that will change now. However, sometimes I need a thought dump, so I begin a new memoir. Here goes.

The past five weeks or so have been titled by myself, "Many Partings." Actually, the allusion to Tolkien will probably be extended to the whole summer. Why? Well, the obvious (and obscure all at the same time) answer is this: I am moving from my beloved home for 10 months to a new state, where I will live in a big city, attend a large church, and meet numerous people. For an introverted homebody, this is quite a traumatic prospect. Nonetheless, this is not my only reason.

This weekend I have been filled with a melancholy, half-mournful mood, and I think all these "many partings" are the source of my feelings. First, we have numerous literal partings: leaving my family for a trip abroad, "farewelling" new friends and places in Europe, ending relationships from ensembles after a year of hard work, sending off a happy bride and groom, enduring the annual goodbyes with old friends who visit yearly, etc. These experiences crammed into so short a period without having a good, therapeutic cry would be reason enough for a girl to be overwhelmed after a while. Yet, there is more.

I often feel that I am a 60 year old woman trapped in a 16 year old's body. Well, if that has been the case in the past, then my 90th birthday came and went this month. I feel so much more grown up, if that is possible, for not all of my goodbyes have been so straightforward. Some are more allegorical, philosophical, and symbolic, yet no less painful.

I've said goodbye to a beloved friend, who will never be the same after being touched by cancer. Yes, she is still her faith-driven, cheerful, gorgeous self, yet neither her life nor mine will ever be the same again. I've watched and witnessed the first of my childhood chums pledge her troth to her new husband. And even before Hannah walked up the aisle, radiant and glowing with excitement, I shed tears as my dearest friends -- no, my darling sisters -- Ruthie and Elizabee moved toward the alter as bridesmaids. In that split second, I realized how quickly time passes. As a wise woman I know has said many times recently, "In the next ten years, our lives will be filled with the weddings of you children." Life is happening.

And then I confess another parting -- the parting with a dream. My habits of pinning fictitious vignettes and Byronic scenes onto every person I meet is such a painful one. * (See my Dreamer post.) * Even though I know that God has not planned it, I watched a match disintegrate into the mist. Oh! the complications of silly crushes. I am ashamed to admit it, to even use such an inane word, yet I write it down, if for no other reason than my own humbling and the benefit of my own dear daughters one day.

Then I am reminded yet again of how little time I have left in this dear home of mine, and I fall into this horrid sadness. Lord, get me out!

I feel like time is like sand, constantly slipping through my fingers as a friend expressed through an email yesterday. I feel like Frodo, naked and groping in the dark, searching for protection, for something to cling to. All of my relationships, dreams, and normalcy has been kicked from under my feet. I feel like a man being hung at the gallows -- the prop has been moved; now I suffocate.

Look at this. Even as I write the words, I wonder how a girl can claim Christ as Redeemer and Friend and yet write such shallow words. I feel this, and I search for that. Who cares how I feel, and why do I search? There is truth that transcends each circumstance and emotion; there is hope which I have already received. I know that I know that I know. Then why is it so difficult? Why do I not understand His will, much less my own thoughts?

{Being a hormonal girl can be ever so frustrating.}

God, you are my Fast Anchor amidst the swelling seas of uncertainty, confusion, and downright misery. You are my Loving Father who smothers me with constant gifts to grow and mature me. You are the Beloved Bridegroom, enough to satisfy every thirst for intimacy, protection, and love. Grow me into a grateful girl -- not merely content, "gutting out" the godly response -- but wholly and completely dripping with thanksgiving for every painful circumstance and confusing situation.

* Note: I am not suicidal nor in the depths of despair right now. I share the thoughts that came to mind as ink flowed onto paper, and I tend to exaggerate in my constant journey to heights of literary genius. I'm fine, and God is faithful! (But isn't that so sad? My mind is so bothersome. I can't vent my own thoughts without the authoress inside watching for parallelism and pointing out potential phrases just begging for alliteration. Argh. It's kind of like when I cry. The actress inside yanks me over to a mirror, so that I can see what a sorrowful girl ought to look like. I hate feeling so base, fake, and shallow.) Anyways... I forgot what I was saying. ;-) *

Foolish or Wise?

(Abbey Altson, On the Balcony)

A thought provoking quotation I read yesterday afternoon. Hopefully it will encourage some other young ladies out there:

"We have so few years as young women to cultivate and embrace the character of the Wise woman of Proverbs. The Foolish woman is so ready to step into our shoes, it's such a natural fit, but the Wise woman takes work and investment.

"I have two (very) handsome eligible brothers, and my sisters and I warn them of this foolish woman. While they may laugh and joke with this girl because they share the social circle, they will never marry her."

- Christa Taylor (empoweredtraditionalist.com)

Which am I -- the foolish, flirtatious woman or the godly, contented woman?

Dreamer

(George Dunlop Leslie, Roses)

Unashamedly, I admit to being a hopeless dreamer. I enjoy creating worlds and friends in spare moments. I am often found gazing out windows or at the ground, for I've flittered off to a different time and place. Sometimes, I'll even dream up conversations, surroundings, and histories for my own, real life acquaintances. Few people I meet travel through my mind without me inventing some silly or serious fantasy about them. (Have I scared anyone yet? ;-) ). I love being a dreamer... most of the time.

Then there are days, like today, when my dreams are shattered. Perhaps shattered is too strong a word -- scratched, marred. Actually, the accurate description is that I recognize what my dreams truly are: dreams, nothing more.

*Before going on, at the risk of implying too much, I want to make this clear: I do not currently have or desire a romantic attachment to the subject I here describe. In the flirtatious and presumptuous society we live in, women describing men in admirable lights or their admiration for them is highly flammable.*

I know a young man who is charming, witty, and down-to-earth, yet at the same time he is thoughtful, deep, and intimidating. All who know him respect and adore him. When my thoughts strayed to him, I didn't need to create admirable qualities for him. Granted, plenty of enhancing and assuming occurred, something along the lines of, "Well, he's so this, so he must be that. And he associates with them, so he probably thinks that." I fitted him out and plopped him up on a white charger then stood by to admire my picture. My world seemed a more beautiful and nobler place because he dwelt in it.

But, armor rusts and knights fall. I overheard some gossip about him today, and the stories that issued from one clucking mouth to the other did not line up with my dreams. A principle I dreamed he had and a practice I dreamed he hadn't were, according to the latest, totally reversed. He didn't grossly sin or commit an inconsistency that could justify my abhorrence, but his real lifestyle failed to match my golden creation. Down he plunged.

After consideration, I recognize that his actions were far less surprising than my response to their discovery. I felt disappointed, frightened, and even betrayed. Why? Is he not allowed to be who he is? Why must he fit my mould? He doesn't have to. That is the answer. We all know that humans are sinful and will never live up to the holy standard. Indeed, my personal standards are far from perfect, so fantasizing that others hold the same ones and then feeling scandalized when I find that they do not only brings about harm.

My dreams are nothing more. They are not reality, but sometimes I wish they were.

Sometimes it really hurts to be a dreamer.

Lest We Forget

We may look on in awe at the beauty and serenity of North Florida,

but did they as the boom of cannon and stench of smoke invaded its tranquility?

We may halt and smile for spectators' cameras,

but how could he smile when every moment might be his last?

She may lark about and climb oaks to her heart's content,

but would she feel so young bearing burdens no child should bear?

This is why we don the blue and the grey. This is why we reenact -- "Lest We Forget."

The Fight

Warning: this post has to do with politics, a subject which I readily admit I am far from informed upon, so I'm in way over my head. I welcome random thoughts and diverse opinions, but be forewarned that spiteful and slanderous comments don't get you very far up on my cool-people list (not that my list matters in the grand scheme of things).

Currently, I am enrolled in an online American Government course for college credit. Thus far, I have thoroughly enjoyed myself as I see both historical and practical significance in the subject material. Granted, I have been pleasantly surprised by the fairly unbiased opinion offered by the book; indeed, when I do sense partiality, the authors seem to take a more conservative stance than I anticipated. Nonetheless, portions of the text trouble me, especially when means and ends don't line up.

In a chapter discussing civil liberties ("freedoms protected by constitutional provisions, laws, and practices from certain types of government interference"), the authors narrowed their discussion on religious freedom to religion within public schools. As an example of a commonly debated area, the authors shared that many "committed believers" have made attempts to either "exclude Darwinian evolutionary biology from the school curriculum or to balance it with alternative interpretations such as 'creationism' . . . or 'intelligent design'".

Before I continue, I ask you, gentle reader, to answer this question: what is the point of science? Why do people devote their lives to this discipline? Why is science a strict component of both fundamental and further educations? As I understand it, science has been studied throughout the centuries in an effort to explain the world we live in, to further humans' understanding of themselves and their habitat, to answer the ever-looming questions: where did this come from, how does it work, and why does it exist?

Now that we have that point settled, I'll continue.

After listing various experiments with the proposals of Christian circles, the authors shared the Supreme Court's conclusion that including intelligent design as an alternative to Darwinian evolution was found too religious: "'. . . we conclude that the religious nature of ID [intelligent design] would be readily apparent to an objective observer, adult, or child. . . . The overwhelming evidence at trial established that ID is a religious view, a mere relabeling of creationism, and not a scientific theory.'"

My point of dissension lies in the underlying assumption of the Supreme Court. Obviously, they are concerned with the law of the land and not directly with education. Nonetheless, I sense a shortsightedness in their statement: because intelligent design could be perceived as a religious theory, it is for the birds. Whether you, reader, are a believer or not, this does not make logical sense. If, as I said before, science's purpose is to find the truth about our world, then we cannot discount hypotheses and theories merely on the grounds that they include God. Many issues result from this thinking, issues that I could expound upon, but one specifically burdens my heart.

In the past, I have often wondered why people are so offended by God being included in the science classroom, but now I think I understand. If we concede that God created the earth, then humans have purpose and responsibility. It means that we cannot rightly do whatever we wish -- One exists who will require an account of every minute used or not, a fact that makes even the most righteous man shudder. Teachers and students alike take offense at this, so they shut up and shut out any person or assembly that suggest its possibility -- no -- its probability.

This is the true debate. It sinks far deeper than religious freedoms or impartial curriculum. No, the debate is but a minute piece of an immense puzzle, a mere battle in a monumental war.

It is the fight for a literate, intelligent generation.

It is the fight for Christianity.

There may be more rants regarding my textbook in the future. I don't really care whether anyone reads this or not. I needed a place to vent, and this seemed a perfect outlet. Thanks for being my sounding board. ~JE

Penance or Dependence

Throughout my youth, I have been taught biblical, sound, plain-and-simple truth. For too long, however, I was the sword drill queen, the goody goody, the know-it-all. All the Bible verses, all the answers -- Sunday School teachers counted on me. So, "harsh words stir up anger?" No problem. Another verse crossed off the list.

Don't misconstrue my words: I've benefited beyond comprehension from my parents' and authorities' careful moulding. Years later, internalized verses come to mind for rebuke, correction, and training in righteousness. Yet for a time, memorization was just what Jane Ellen did.

Back to the harsh words. To be honest, the watch tower of my lips was vacant for many, many years. Cobwebs and dust settled over its surfaces. Poisonous darts and slanderous missives sprung through the opening, eager to sting. Occasional self sufficient efforts to "do better tomorrow" usually ended in the rotten floor giving way under my feet. Feeble attempts to control my words failed more miserably than ever. So, the guard tower remained desolate, and my speech continued to pierce, deadly as arrows.

Years went by. Finally, I had a heart-to-heart with this passage, and the veil fell. Penance, that self-sufficient salvation, helped not a bit. To assume so is despicably selfish. As John Calvin affirmed, "Nothing good proceeds from a man, however perfect he be, that is not defiled by some spot." No matter how often we tug on a sapling, it will grow no faster into a tree. Similarly, expecting growth in return for independent attempts will never satisfy.

Readers, as the Father tends the orchard, so also He tends our hearts. Without the Gardener, we wilt, fade, die. Call out to the One who has food that nurtures, water that satisfies, and authority that empowers. He will not -- no -- cannot fail, for it's foreign to His formidable nature. Stooping to our level, only He can bring about growth. Are we willing to humble ourselves, fall at His feet, and beg for aid?

Loyalty

(Thomas Sully, Gossip)

"Loyalty to personal ties, relationships, friendships, dependents, is a due recognised by most people. . . We know that the character and conduct of our friend is sacred from adverse criticism even in our private thoughts; that what we think and have to say of censure must be said to him and him only; that our time, our society, our sympathy and our service are at his disposal, so far as we can determine." -Charlotte Mason

Miss Mason's interesting twist on gossip was one I had never heard before. She holds that the opposite of gossip is loyalty. If I truly value and love my friend, then I will be devoted enough to her to refrain from marring her character. More food for thought!

Surprises

There are two great surprises in this world: that God has loved us so much, and that we in return continue to love him and trust him so little. -Iain M. Duguid

Convicting, eh?

The Old Testament

What is the significance of the Old Testament? If we look at the Old Testament, we see there [are] all kinds of information in the Old Testament about creation, about people, about history, about human conflict. Wars, migration, slavery, sin, all kinds of things are taking place in this dramatic history.

But the Old Testament is not simply a history book because, above all things, what the Old Testament accomplishes, beloved, is the self-disclosure of God. The chief character in the Old Testament is God, and it is in the pages of the Old Testament, as God reveals his law, as He reveals his promises, as He interacts with his covenant people, in everything that he says, in everything that he does, every event that is recorded in the Old Testament serves in some degree to remove the veil from the face of God and disclose his pure character to us.

So how in the world could a Christian ever come to think that the Old Testament was irrelevant? To be irrelevant would mean that the character of God is irrelevant, and He is the chief character. In a very real sense, the Old Testament is the autobiography of God, God as He relates to the world that he makes and the world that is fallen.

Dust to Glory by R.C. Sproul

A Woman's Influence

(Mother's Darling, Frederick Morgan)

Have you ever thrown a stone into the water and watched the circles about it spread? As a matter of fact, they spread to the very shores of the pond or lake or sea into which you have thrown the stone; more, they affect the land on the further side. But those distant circles become so faint that they are imperceptible, while those nearest the point where you have throw in the stone are clearly marked. So it is with our Love. It is as if, in the first place, our home where the stone was thrown in to move our being; and from that central point the circle of our love widens until it embraces all men.

~ Charlotte Mason ~

As I read Miss Mason's words this morning, I thought of the incalculable impact women have within their homes. Something as simple as a mother's, sister's, daughter's love can melt hearts of ice and stone. After all, a biblical woman can win "without a word" her husband for Christ only by her "respectful and pure conduct" (1 Peter 3:1-2). Just think of the many women who have influenced their families and, consequently, affected the course of redemptive history. How true that statement is -- the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.

And feminists think our job is inferior?!

Science Today

"In the word scientist we have one of the most revered titles of our day, because the word denotes one of the most respected professions of modern times. It might even be argued that modern times have themselves been created by the phenomena denoted in the phrase the advance of science. Science and the scientist have taken to themselves credentials deemed unassailable in our culture. . . . Our society has come to assume that the source of all knowledge is science; once a thing is established as being scientific, it moves beyond debate and becomes and article of faith." - Dave Breese

Huh. I completely agree with this quote. Science has become the elite profession in the modern age, and -- dare I say it? -- the primary religion.

Quiet Hand of God

Only with the benefit of hindsight is it possible to see all the intricate details of God's plan working together for the good of his people. So also in our own lives, we may well have no idea what God is doing. He may seem hidden and remote, refusing to answer our prayers and to give us what we so earnestly ask of him. Wait! The end of our story has not yet been told, and who knows how the pieces of the jigsaw that at present seem to have no logical connection with one another will ultimately come together . . . sometimes [God's work] is a quiet faithfulness to his promises in the seemingly ordinary providences of life, bring about in the hearts of his people what he has purposed.

~Iain M. Duguid~

Approbation

"We cannot live and be happy without Approbation, but some boys and girls, men and women, choose to have the approval of the worthless and silly rather than of the wise and good. Some boys would rather talk and show off in a way to make the stable-yard laugh, than work and play in a way to win the approval of their betters. People can be vain and can show off about almost anything -- their rich relations, the parties they go to, their clothes, their pocket-knife, their cleverness. But when people show off, like a peacock spreading his tail, it is always in order that somebody whose good opinion is not worth having may think the better of them. Nice boys and girls, nice men and women, think well of us just for doing our best; we know that, and do not think of showing of before them. He is stupid who wants nobody's approval; he is vain who wants the approval of the unworthy." -Charlotte Mason, Ourselves

There is much to mull over and chew on in this passage, I think. Rightfully, many people, Christians especially, run from approbation of any kind. Any hint of approval or esteem is quickly avoided, for fear that we will become vain, proud man-fearers. Nevertheless, as Miss Mason points out, not all approbation is evil. To be commended and praised by good men for doing right is not a bad thing. Indeed, we often see Paul admiring the churches to whom he sends epistles. However, when we live for the approval of others, especially the wrong others, we go astray. When all is said and done with self in mind, rather than the glory of God, that is when we become vain.

Let us strive diligently for right, humbly lifting all praise to our Father.

Breathe into Me

Here I sit, a young woman in a pastel nightgown with whole grain toast on a crystal plate perched on my lap. My English Breakfast tea in a Victoria and Albert reproduction mug rests upon a homemade Jane Austen coaster at my elbow. Even my pen has a Victorian floral print upon it. The only thing out of place is the music sailing along the wire channels from my iPod to my ears: RED, Breathe into Me.

I won't pretend that I don't like RED, 'cause I do. Some of their songs are so poignant and illustrative and -- what can I say? -- this Chopin, Debussy, Mozart loving music major likes their hard rock style. Nonetheless, it's not the music genre that hits me today as I eat breakfast: it's the words. They so accurately fit my feelings and lifestyle right now. I've been "ignoring [His] words" and "running away from [Him]" to the point that "I don't know myself."

Breathe into Me

And this is how it feels when I ignore the words you spoke to me,

And this is where I lose myself when I keep running away from you,

And this is who I am when, when I don't know myself anymore,

And this is what I choose when it's all left up to me.

Breathe your life into me, I can feel you

I'm falling, falling faster

Breathe your life into me, I still need you

I'm falling, falling

Breathe into me, breathe into me

And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge

And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground

And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain

And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away

Breathe your life into me, I can feel you

I'm falling, falling faster

Breathe your life into me, I still need you

I'm falling, falling

Breathe into me, breathe into me!

"I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches." Revelation 3:15-22