the end of the semester.

I had a beautiful morning. I stood in a gallery with the three girls I spent the majority of my last three weeks with (five all-nighters, midnight coffee runs to Trappeze, finishing our night at the studio with the sun rising over downtown) and for about an hour and a half we presented our final project to two of the Interior Design faculty. Both of the men taught us in our earliest studio classes as ID majors, and we were finally able to receive feedback on the project we invested the last three months in. We filled all the wall space in the gallery with our project boards. Sixteen total and twelve material boards. 

As I walked out to my car after our presentation I stopped in the parking lot and realized, I think for the first time, how much time and how much of my heart I put into that project this semester. And it wasn't even because I love design or I love my major (although this morning I really did). But being in the studio this semester became a place where I am safe. It is a place where I can do something well. A place I know I should be, at least right now. And there is safety in knowing that work is pleasing to the Lord, and that by doing it I know that at least one thing in my life is in place.

That project was miserable and it was beautiful. And I'm really not sure why because I'm absolutely not passionate about designing fictional 5-star hotels in Tokyo. But when one of the teacher's critiquing our project today looked me in the eyes and told me one of our spaces was beautifully designed and beautifully rendered I almost cried. Really. Which yes, is kind of funny. And yes, it had a lot to do with sleep deprivation (12 hours in the last 4 days). But also - it was proof that it was over. We had finished. And we hadn't wasted our time making something meaningless. Because in that one moment something I spent hundreds of hours creating was beautiful in someone else's eyes.

And also...a couple weeks ago I didn't think I was going to make it. I haven't woken up in the last two months without my joints and muscles aching deeply, and no doctor can figure out why. And honestly, it crushed my spirit. I cannot handle that I'm not the person the Lord wants me to be right now. I wish I could take a deep breathe and believe with all of me that even if this physical pain never goes away, the pain in my heart that it is causing will. I owe it to Him to believe that. But I don't know how. And when I lose any amount of hope I also lose my desire to create, which for me includes designing, painting, drawing, and writing. The last three I have completely cut out of my life in the last two months, but I couldn't cut out designing even though everything inside of me has been screaming that it just doesn't matter. 

I forgot about the beauty.

When people get sick, all their dreams turn to smoke and drift away. And I wonder if they ever come back to how they were before. I wonder if I will ever be the girl I was before I started giving up so easily. I miss her courage. Her bravery. Her stubborn willfulness to believe that despite what we see, there is more to this world. 

I saw hope this morning as I walked out of the ID building for the last time this semester. There were times lately that I have been in so much pain I didn't think I could finish out the semester with anywhere near the amount of work completed that was expected of me. But He helped. He helped. And that means He was there. The whole time. Fighting for me when I had nearly given up.

I wish I was stronger. Like Matt Chandler, I wish I could stand in front of you and say that even though everything is uncertain I am not afraid. But I can't. I don't even know if I ever will. 

But I do know is good. He is here. He is sovereign and He is loving. He is listening. I am his beloved even when I don't deserve it and even when the physical pain I am in doesn't make any sense. But dang...I wish I wasn't so afraid. 

We are so human. I am so glad He is not.

how i spent my vacation

Check it. click here for something totally awesome.

It's time to believe in what we know.

Sorting

I have been trying to publish this post for almost two weeks. My mind has been all over the place I have had trouble sorting out what it is I am actually thinking about, and what it is I need to say.

I wrote my grandmother a letter today. She won't be able to read it, and even if she could read it she would not know who sent it. My grandmother forgot my face when I was in high school. She forgot my name shortly after that. I wish I could remember the last time she looked me in the eyes and knew who I was. I wish a lot of things. I think wishing is okay- it reminds me of how much love there used to be.

My love can't heal people. I didn't realize I was trying to make it heal people until recently. And now I feel so small.

I can't love my friend into believing there is grace. I can't love him out of his depression. I can't love my sister out of the darkness she feels while working with patients who die everyday. I can't love away the fact that many of those patients won't be with her in paradise. I can't love my friend into accepting that her dad's depression is not her own fate. I can't love her into accepting God's forgiveness. I can't love my grandmother into remembering my father's touch when he holds her hand. I can't love her into recalling my face or my name. I can't love her mind out of its deep exhaustion and the pressure of disease. I can't love my friend's broken family into full restoration. My love can't heal. My hopes can't erase deep pain. My advice can't save, no matter how well-rooted in truth it is.

This isn't really an entry on the power of prayer. It could be... because, yeah, that's the point. But the other point is that its not me. Because if my love could heal those people, it still wouldn't be me. My love isn't that strong. But sometimes, more than anything in the world, I wish my love could change something. Because if it could, my grandmother wouldn't be sick. And the Lord's love doesn't seem to be doing the job.

I am small but prayer feels big. And I owe it to God, for all He has done to save me, to trust that I can't heal for a reason. That things are broken for a reason. And that he has come and will continue coming down into time and space to put all the broken things back together. (yeaaah Christ Church)

I wish I could talk to her right now. I want to know what she'd think of my summer. Of my roommates. Of the fact that I stopped running like my dad, that I didn't go to Auburn, that I don't know what to do next year.

My grandmother prayed for me every morning for the majority of my life. She woke up at 4am to do exercises, prepare breakfast, and cover our family in prayer. It's funny to me that I am just now understanding how necessary prayer is, years after one of the most God-fearing women I will ever know has forgotten my name. She taught me about prayer from the beginning, but I am just now getting it.

I should pray because it is the best way to love. Encouragement is helpful. Gifts are comforting. Compliments, hugs, all those things - the five love languages - they are all good. But praying for someone is the best I can do for them.

The only thing that really matters is sitting at the feet of Jesus.

I will pray huge things for my friends and won't doubt that they can be done.

On the shoulders of giants

These are quotes that made me think this summer. They are in order of awesome, and yet....not. Because words hit everyone differently.


Eustace- "In our world, a star is a huge ball of flaming gas."
Ramadu- "Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of."
Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C.S. Lewis

“We must look at reality – look at it hard – ‘til at last we realize that there is no way out; ‘til we realize that we are children, that we are fools, that we are at heart conceited, stiff-necked rebels, who will get everything wrong, unless we are prepared to give up telling God what he should be like and what he should do; ‘til we realize that we can know only what God is pleased to tell us. We must listen and try to understand.”
The Goodness of God, John Wenham

"Not solidarity but fragmentation is the most visible quality of the way people relate to each other."
In the House of the Lord, Henri Nouwen

“When I see myself as a creature and a sinner in the presence of my incarnate creator crucified, I know that I can neither understand nor doubt."
ohh shoot, I forgot to write it down.

“In society and church alike we are heirs of the liberal over-emphasis on individualism.”
The Goodness of God, John Wenham

“When God endowed us with freedom of choice it involved the possibility of sin in all its horror – but even so, no converted man would wish to change his status to that of either an animal or a machine.”
The Goodness of God, John Wenham

"To participate in the real is to engage in something which inspires poetic awe."
Andrew Fellows

"Perfectionism is the hatred of the reality of being a limited person in an uncertain world."
lecture by Richard Winter

“To question is not to be unfaithful.”
T. S. Eliot

“Discipline is the gradual process of coming home to where we belong and listening there to the voice which desires our attention.”
In the House of the Lord, Henri Nouwen

Home is the place you left

I'm home.

As I boarded my plane two days ago, climbing the steps off of the runway with the sun rising behind me in a pink sky - I said goodbye to Venice and remembered a quote from my favorite play, Our Town, when the main character asks the narrator if "human beings ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?" He answers, "No. Saints and poets, maybe. They do some." And I stepped onto the plane thinking that for the first time that I can remember, I was realizing life while living it. And now there is no other way worth living.

On the airplane home I watched the movie American Beauty. I am not recommending it. But there is quote at the very end that perfectly described my last three months. Here it is.
"I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me. But it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain, and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."

There is so much beauty in the world. I wish I had seen it sooner.

I have seen things this summer that are great proof of God's goodness, and things that instill great doubt within me. Silly prayers have been answered and heavy prayers have been left untouched.
This summer was a rough battle. A wrestling match. Me face down in the dirt calling out in anger, feeling unheard. Seeing everyone around me hear the Lord's voice and feel his direction. Doubting whether I actually believed anything good about the Lord. Asking questions buried so deep inside of me that I didn't even know they were there until Edith and Chris told me so. Learning to pray when I felt like I was surrounded by stone walls that only echoed back the sound of my own cries.

And at the same time, it was a summer of praises escaping from my heart more often than they ever have before because my body can't contain the beauty of England, Cortona, or Cinque Terre without throwing the praise back at the Creator. Thankful for the black-on-white contrast between the depths of last summer and the heights of this one.

There are a million moments I could share. Stories I could tell. But the point is this - I think we all need to realize how much beauty there is in the world. And if we can't see it where we are, we need to move. Because it is a waste of everybody's time to live blind to it all

adding to the conversation

Living in a community of artists is far more demanding than I expected. It puts a pressure on me to achieve something, to "add to the conversation" as my jewelry teacher says. To not just learn the craft of interior design or jewelry making but to create something that matters. I think I have had that pressure on myself for awhile now, but Italy makes it tangible.

All that to say, this summer makes me think I shouldn't be an Interior Design major. It doesn't seem to have any lasting meaning. This is probably my attitude because we are designing a high fashion boutique in the heart of Italy. Ehhh. But I am aching to make something that matters. I don't know exactly what I mean by "matters." I don't think it needs to be something that adds to the conversation on a national or global scale, or even just in the art world. It is the idea of creating something meaningful that can make a stranger feel something within himself. It is about saying something that isn't necessarily about God, and being able to express for a stranger a feeling that he or she has had but hasn't known how to externalize.

So the final exhibition went up this weekend. The school rented out this sweet old bulding in Cortona and every student chose one work from the summer to display in the show. The faculty did the same. The show went up Friday and came down this morning. A short run. I was so impressed by the work we had all did. This was my favorite weekend in Cortona by far.

Instead of showing my final interior design project, I entered my jewelery piece into the show. I felt like I needed to but honestly it was mildly terrifying. I haven't created a work of art...maybe...ever. I have completed some paintings and drawings during college that I am proud of, but none of them had a concept behind them. I wasn't saying anything- I wasn't adding to the conversation. But I did with my jewelry piece.

I cast the lids to my seven-day pill box in sterling silver. I kept the plastic base the way it was. And in each of the seven containers I placed objects that have been an escape from taking pills. From being sick. From being scared. There is a tiny camera that I made out of wax and cast in bronze. It represents photography and also the decision to continue creating even when it feels insignificant. There are stones that represent my need to keep everything simple. To not worry or be anxious. There is the silhouette of a tennis shoe cut from the rubber of my own running shoes that represents... running...my most tangible form of therapy. There is a magnifying glass that represents my need to continuing thinking, learning, researching, and figuring everything out. To not stop caring. There is a tiny book, within which I have pasted a couple sentences from a letter that Paige wrote me this summer. Words assuring me that "PSC won't win," and that she is there to fight for me when I can't fight for myself. I cried when I read this part of note, realizing how much I had already let it win, and knowing for the first time that I am not going to have to fight alone. There are two tiny ceramic bowls that Britney made for me which represent communion with people. The community of friendship and the importance of not pulling away from people. And the seventh item is a silver ring, molded out of wax only to fit my finger, which represents the promises of God, that he is good, that he is loving. Promises I easily forget and doubt but the the main truth that gets me though.

I made the piece because I wanted to follow through with what I said I would do - to share. And even if I am the only one that benefits from it, I think I needed to be open. My friend Chris from L'abri is the most transparent person I have ever met. And Heather is a close second. And I don't think I will ever be that way. But I can be honest.

Creating that piece was hard, but I loved it. Britney and I had more than a few brainstorming sessions. The title alone took a whole morning. But...I wish it was possible to care about everything I make as much as I care about that piece. Studio artists are living the dream.

Maybe I'm just ready to be out of college and working with people instead of with my computer screen.

A good friend of mine told me once that he thinks every artist should create a masterpiece. I thought that was interesting, but I didn't know that I agreed. I do though. I don't know if I will ever make one but I understand the longing now.

Feeling whole.

I have yet to say much about Italy. I need to. As I watch Britney and Heather and Joe and everybody around me on this study abroad, I can see Italy making impressions on them. Joe gets all worked up about Bernini. Britney covers herself in stone shavings and clay every single day, finding a sort of comfort in working on something deeply enough that she no longer cares about how dirty or uncomfortable she may be. Heather seems like sometimes she is barely scraping by, but she handles it such grace that I can't help but love watching everything fall apart on her. Haha. Sorry Heather....

Italy is...moments....all strung together into a tapestry more ornate than any I have ever seen. It is bright morning light streaming through pale blue shutters. Hundreds of swallows circling freely overhead in deep blue dusk. Cobblestones. Terra cotta. The crunch of gravel underneath leather sandals. The stone city wall as the sun sets over cypress trees. Italy is the music of guitars and accordions drifting up the hill through our open bedroom windows. Katy flitting around my room singing old jazz and Portuguese lullabies. Three course meals and late night roommate snacks of Nutella and toast. Clotheslines. Baggy jeans. One euro cappuccino. Getting to smile at the same old man and his dog during each morning run through the park. Italy is...comparing sketches instead of photographs. Voices blending flawlessly in the studio early Sunday morning. Plastic chairs grouped together on the fifth terrace. Italy is linen dresses twirling in the wind outside shop windows. Ancient Italian architecture. Layers of stone plaster, and marble. Fifteen hours of sunlight. Concerts in the piazza with gelato and a long journey home uphill. Italy is....mostly moments, which can't be captured in photos even though we desperately try.

Cortona may be the most beautiful place I ever visit. But I still miss home, and I love that (and hate it...). There is something about home that I have been trying to figure out -why is there "no place like home?" What is so desirable about finding a place of home?

I think that home is a feeling of security. And I don't have to be home to feel it - I need only feel safe. But there is a intricate depth to that safety. Maybe home for me is the last place I felt wholly loved. It is kind of like when a girl feels beautiful. Every girl can remember the last time she felt beautiful, if you ask her. And if she hasn't felt it recently enough it is almost like something is missing in her. Not something she can't live without, but something. That's like home.

I think we need the feeling of home at constant intervals or else we get drained. And no matter how wonderful a place it is, or how happy we are there, we still need the home fix. Home is a comfortable simplicity. Simplicity! That's it. And rest. And can you really rest unless you feel wholly loved? Well dang. That right there has been a major theme of my summer- finding a place of rest, and finding out what I need to believe about God, the world, and myself in order to find that rest. Feeling whole. Maybe not even being whole...because as Paige pointed out to me today, maybe we will never be whole here. But I think we can feel it...I think.

Shenanigans

Let’s talk about cute old men. Oh but wait, we can’t. Because old men are on longer cute. They are creepy. And they have weird intentions.

So here’s a good story.
Britney, Elaina and I spent our first two afternoons in Cortona in the Carabinieri (the local police station). No, we did not get arrested. Yes, we did go Nancy Drew on this old man in the piazza.

Let’s start at the beginning. During half time of the Italy-USA soccer game, Britney and I leave the pub where we are all watching the game and go for a walk to the city gate. We see Elaina there walking alone and decide to take the long way back together to the dorm, up through the quieter streets of the city. It is beautiful. When we reach the top of one of the big hills (Brit’s calves are looking good) we see this cute 70-year-old man with his dog. Since Cortona is only a town of 1200 people, it is custom to say hello to anyone and everyone on the street. So of course we greet the man with “Buona serra” (good evening) and we stop to talk. He speaks absolutely no English, so Elaina takes over since she knows about 12 words of Italian. He keeps saying “belle”, which means beautiful. So of course we thank him. While Elaina is talking with him she is suddenly startled and looks at me with a strange expression. I ask her what he said and she only looks at me with that same shocked expression. I look to Brit for help on what I missed and that’s when it all goes down. The old man reaches over and grabs Brit’s chest. Yeah. You weren’t expecting that were you? Brit of course steps back and out of shock all three of us lose it. It is a weird mixture of laughter and confusion. During the mayhem Mr. Creeper reaches out towards me. I throw my hands up and he grabs my arm and isn’t letting go. So that is slightly scary for a few seconds. But I pull away and Brit grabs my arm and the three of us book it down the hill. We find out on our way back that did the same thing to Elaina that he did to Brit – thus her shocked expression that I couldn’t decipher.

We mention the incident to one of our teachers later that night, and the next morning sweet old Rick, the program director, tells us we have to go fill out a police report with the Carabinieri. And that is when the real fun begins.

Imagine us three girls, our translator Enza, and six Italian policemen all in one room. They all crowd around the desk because our case is the most exciting thing to hit Cortona since Rome conquered the Etruscans. None of the Carabinieri speak any English. There are many moments when five of them are loudly speaking over each other in rapid Italian, with Enza translating as much as she can, and me cracking up from time to time because the whole situation is just ridiculous.

The police in Italy dress sharp. But don’t be fooled by the fancy leather purse they wear around their chest that looks like it holds ammunition. When I asked the police chief what it was for, he opened his up and pulled out a pack of tissues. Yep. It is only for looks. He then proceeded to show me that the ammunition is kept in the gun.

After a long day of making official statements and signing my name on a sheet of paper typed only in Italian, we have to come back the next day to officially identify the man. Since Cortona is so small, it doesn’t take long for them to find a picture of someone we think is him.

So you are probably imagining the typical criminal identification that is on TV, with the men who stand in a line, and the victim is behind a two-way mirror where the bad guys can’t see them. And the victim looks at all the options and points to the bad guy. Welp, in Cortona it is a little different. Instead of a two-way mirror they give us a bathroom window. Yep. The three of us, along with two officers, cram into a bathroom on the second floor of the Carabinieri building and take turns peering through a crack in the window down into the courtyard below. They bring our little Italian man out into the open and pretend to have a routine conversation with him while we size him up. Who needs all the fancy CSI stuff?

Sadly we still aren’t one hundred percent it is Mr Creeper. It might have to do with the fact that is was 30 feet away from where we stood in the bathroom…but who knows. Enza wants the whole thing over with, so she has us follow him. She leads us out of the station and down the street and we search through the main areas of town to see if he is hanging around. He is— chillin with his old friends having gelato. We get a closer look at him (we pretend to buy gelato and lurk around inside the store, weaving an elaborate tale about how we are waiting on a friend who is meeting us for ice cream but hasn’t shown). The old man catches on. I see it in his eyes as he connects his random meeting at the police station with our awkward lurking around the gelato shop. But it is too late for him. He is done-zo.

We return to the Carabinieri; sign a statement. Make friends with even more officers. There is one lady, Ramona, who is not much older than us and knows English pretty well. We make plans to meet with her for cappuccino later so she can practice her English and we can practice our Italian. One of the officers (who looks shockingly like the weird older brother on Everyone Loves Raymond) makes the whole experience really enjoyable. He jokes around with us and makes funny faces a lot because he knows very little English. He gives me a hard time because I keep laughing when I am supposed to be serious. But they are all glad we are light hearted about the whole situation. They want us to still feel safe in Cortona. And I do.

But we still see the old man everywhere; He usually whistles when we pass by.

life's not a paragraph

This is the view from my bedroom at dusk...
Last night, Heather read a bunch of poems by e.e. cummings as we sketched on the wall overlooking the valley. Thought I'd share my favorite.

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all the flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelid's flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis

e.e. cummings

Carpe Diem

They served us french fries for dinner last night. That was epic. I realize more and more at each meal how many choices we have available to us in the states. In Italy, they have pasta with every meal. Then a meat, a potato. Salad. Done. At home, pasta is only a genre of food. We have tacos, burritos, huge meal-sized salad, burgers, chicken, tons of veggies, barbecue, pie, dip-n-dots, shish-kabobs, funnel cake. It's overwhelming. I plan to not eat any form of noodle for August and September. And if I have to, it has to be in a thick meat sauce like the Italians have never seen.

On a totally different note...I have been thinking a lot about the choice side of friendships, and the choice side in all of life, really. I have thought for a good while that as Christians we put too much emphasis on protecting ourselves. But we cover it sneakily by saying that we are protecting each other, when really we are simply scared. Matt Adair, my pastor in Athens, has asked our congregation a couple times how different would our lives be if we really believed the gospel. That's not a new thought at all, but every time I hear it I have to stop for a minute to think about it.

I think that if Christians believed in the gospel, the entire element of protection would fall away from relationships. (I'm not talking "guard your heart" here, if that's what it sounds like.) There wouldn't be hesitancy in loving each other. Not just in dating relationships, but in friendships and families. You never see Paul holding any love or honesty back from the churches in his letters because he is afraid that when he leaves they will crumble. He knows they won't. I think that is how friendships should be. Because if we don't love now, and seek each other out now to encourage, and really know each other deeply, when will it happen? It won't. So forget the whole idea that we should only tell a few people what we are deeply struggling with or deeply in love with. Because if our lives are really about other people and not about ourselves, then there is no need to keep quiet. To be reserved.

Share. That is what I am saying. Not deep dark secrets. But if I admit to someone once a week the reality of my doubt, chances are that person will be encouraged. And I'll feel a sort of relief. And that is a church. Everything I have learned lately that has meant something to me has either been out of Romans, or out of the mouth of someone around me. And if those people weren't willing to risk exposure and share their thoughts with me I would be...I don't know. Less. I would be less.

This all stems from my fear of not having enough time. There. I said it. But I think I'm more because of it. For the first 2-ish years of college I was the queen of putting a guard up. But I can't do that now. Because there is some reason I am where I am. There is a reason I have PSC. There is a reason I am in Italy. And my time is not my own. I learned that this year when I finally understood that my anger over being sick isn't really justified. Some people say it is when they are trying to encourage me. But I know that it is a lot better than what I really deserve. My time is not my own. But more than that, my story is not my own. I lost the rights to it when I became a Christian. How great is that?

I have to give back. That is the only way I can justify the incredible gift of being....here. Alive. Healthy.

Oh and the picture above is our fifth roommate, Jacopo. Brit and I adorned him with eyes and a bowtie. But he supplied the personality. Katie and Liza are slightly frightened by him, which makes it that much better.

I snapshot of Cortona

Well hello. This video was made by a UGA student last semester in Cortona for his Italian Culture class. It is about Marco, the good-looking Italian teacher. Just so ya know, the chorus is something like, "all the pretty girls say, Ciao Marco"

I uploaded it so you can see a little of what Cortona looks like. It's beautiful. And small. And so Italian. And yes, there is an outdoor escalator. In the last shot in the piazza, notice the guy in red in the background. The best.

transition

Well. I left L'abri about 10 days ago. I think it is likely that I should have stayed. But, my last two days there answered some important questions that I didn't know I had but that I needed to figure out.

Going from L'abri to the UGA madness in Italy is the hardest transition I've had. It was rough. Thank God for Britney.

On one of my last days in England I sat down with Jim, who was a doctor for people with terminal diseases before he left the medical field to work at L'abri, and was able to ask him what he says to people with serious diseases. The conversation was quiet, if that makes sense. Jim asked me questions, and he sat, and he thought. He was wearing a straw sunhat. I told him that sometimes I feel like I'm running out of time. And sometimes I feel like God is expecting me to do something huge with my life. But I don't know what He is expecting and I wish He would give me specific instructions so that I don't mess up - because I want His will. When I said all this Jim paused, looked at me, and said, "Anna, what do you want me to say that would make this conversation bring you peace?" And I thought for a second and told him I wanted to know it was okay to be ordinary. That I didn't have to do something huge with my life. That being ordinary is pleasing to God. Jim just smiled and said, "Anna, in all honesty I can tell you that being ordinary is pleasing to God." He encouraged me to live in the present moment. To hold on to the hope of eternity but not to yearn for it in a way that takes me away from my life here and now.

Jim told me I seem like I am always carrying around a burden. I think that simple conversation may have lifted it.

So I am in Italy now. Naples, Rome, now Cortona. I would add some pictures put my mac crashed so I'll get to that later. Everyone says that this study abroad changes your life. Heather and I laughed about that a couple days ago, but after seeing four Bernini sculptures and a room of Caravaggio's I think Rick may be right - I came as an art student, but I might just leave this country as an artist.

"To question is not to be unfaithful." -T.S. Eliot

This is most likely my last post from the manor. I have a few more days here but I expect them to fly by. Sometimes I wish I could stay here all term because I would learn so much, but other times I can’t wait to get a rest from the discussions. I want to jot down a few of the things I have learned/noticed/grown to love while I have been here. This is mostly for my sake but maybe you will find it interesting. They are in no particular order.

1. Evangelism may not be about saving people. It may simply be about (1) bringing glory to God, and (2) bringing light where there was darkness. I’m still trying to figure out what all I think about that. But the more I think the more I agree.

2.The story of Noah and the flood, to me, is one of the saddest, most devastating stories in the Bible. It isn’t about the cute animals walking two by two into the ark. It is a story about an all-loving creator destroying his beautiful gift because it was trampled and perverted beyond repair by his own creation. We wrecked the most beautiful gift, an offering of love, and He watched as it filled with water and faded away, all because of our disregard. But he cleansed it and made it new again. I am an artist and I would never have the courage to recreate something that had been so misused and misunderstood. But God doesn’t need our approval. He doesn’t need our praise. I guess the whole idea of the flood makes me ache because I am looking at it as an artist. I wish I wasn’t so human sometimes.

3. We have turned relationship with God into consumerism. We expect back from him exactly what we put into it. And most the time we expect much more.

4. Christianity has become unappealing in the world today because people think they have morally outgrown the Christian God. We are beginning to see God as primitive. He seems egotistical, misogynistic, homophobic. Many feel that He is creating in us a need for himself and then hiding from us. We constantly find ourselves thinking, “I wouldn’t hide myself from a friend in need, so why are you?” We no longer see him as superior. What is the cure for this?

5. Introspection is a disease. It causes us to become locked into self. It crashes our ability to be – to participate outwardly. There are three functions of the human heart that connect us to reality:  thinking, being, and doing. Introspection puts thinking over being and doing. It causes us to only live in the past and future and never the present. (Andrew Fellows lecture in introspection is fantastic. I'll try to swipe a copy before I leave.)

6. The miracles that Jesus and disciples perform in the New Testament have little to do with the actual miracle and everything to do with the character of God. I miss the point when I focus on the miracle’s outcome. I plan to unpack all of this during the remainder of my summer.

7. But...what rocked me yesterday: Jesus knows exactly what its like to feel like you don’t have enough time on earth. When I get crazy about being sick I give myself 10-15 years of health before my liver transplant. And then I usually forget to think about the possibility of life after the transplant. But when I add that time to how old I was when I was diagnosed, I get around the same lifespan that Jesus had on earth.              

He knows what is like to feel like you don’t have enough time. He knows what it is like to be tired and want to retreat to an isolated place. He knows what it is like to be exhausted by missing the point – that it isn’t about healing or miracles. It is about the ultimate miracle of redemption. Alongside the magnitude of the redemption which Jesus brought, what is a weak liver?  

Except with me, I was the one missing the point. The point is the incarnation. Any act of healing is just a minute reflection of the ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate act of love.  

God is so other. I find myself ultimately frustrated my own misunderstanding of his character. Of his magnitude.  

I need to believe that God is enough before I can ask for any type of healing. I have been constantly encouraged by people who love me to have faith like a child and ask for healing. But children don’t doubt that their father is strong enough or loving enough or concerned enough. In their pure, innocent belief they can ask anything they wish of their king. I am starting to see and feel the crushing magnitude of Jesus’ love. Only then will I be able to ask.

rehab

We all went to a pub in Liss last night, It was about a 20 minute walk. We left around dusk so the walk was beautiful, and on the way home around 11pm the sky was clear and stars were perfect. I thought of you, Rae.

I went for a walk with Edith on Friday. She is my tutor so I meet with her once week to go over what I’m learning and get her insight, etc. We walked down Church Lane and I had to tell her about my last year, and being sick, and all the different thoughts that go with it. I told her that I am worn out with the talk of healing because that isn’t the point. Chris and I talked about that on our walk to Liss two days ago too. (Chris is 31. He’s traveling the world. His girlfriend Samantha is supposed to come stay next week as well.) He agreed and asked me what the point was. I couldn’t answer him. And that’s weird to me because I know the answer is relationship. God and me. People and me. But why couldn’t I think of that?

Edith asked all the right questions. I ended up telling her all the layers of the things I have been thinking and she didn’t make me feel ignorant or messed up. She told me to keep asking questions because there was no point of pretending like I didn’t have them. God knows I do. And I am not fooling him by trying to believe the facts I know about his character when I really don’t trust his character.

I have been thinking about that a lot the last two days. Especially as I have talked to Chris more about learning to feel and controlling introspection.

I think rehab must be a lot like this.

I need to admit my disbelief instead of force it away with biblical answers. Biblical truth. Even if I know the truth I may not believe it. L’abri is all about questions, and its good because I didn’t realize until being here how scared I am to ask them. I feel like I’m betraying God by doubting. But I guess it is more of a betrayal to pretend.

Edith said, in friendships, we often ask each other the same questions a number of times to get the full truth, because people don’t explain everything fully the first time. And sometimes you learn something new about a friend that doesn’t correlate with what you previously knew, and it seems like a contradiction. So you have to re-ask a previous question to figure out who they really are and how all the pieces go together. And it would be crazy not to do that with God. If something he has done doesn’t seem good it is okay to re-ask him if he really is good.

I wasn’t as tired after I talked to her. Last night after walking back from Liss, Chris and I sat on the stairs and talked— Kendra joined a little later. And he mentioned how thinking is exhausting. And its true. I feel tired, especially after this year, of trying to force myself into thinking and believing in parts of God’s character that confuse me. But forcing myself doesn’t work and then I’m lost in thought and I’m exhausted. Andrew and Jim (workers at L’abri) told Chris to stop and listen to the birds. I think we all need more of that advice.

“L'abri is somewhere between fantastic and rubbish.” - Jim.

Every day I understand that a little more.

tea-mania

So yesterday as I'm on my knees pulling weeds from between the cobblestones outside the chapel, I realized that I really am in the English countryside. Daang. It is all that Jane Austen said it would be.

Here is yesterday's schedule, to better explain what the days will be like here:
Breakfast at 8am which consists of Wheat-a-somethings and toast. And of course hot tea.
At 9:30 it is morning chores. Kendra (from Canada) and I cleaned all five bathrooms in the manor yesterday and I leanred the mind-blowing fact that newspaper can be used as papertowels to wash down mirrors. Crazy I know. I got excited when it actually worked, and I don't think I will ever use paper towels again. Recycling can be fun, Abby.
At 11am there is tea time which Kendra and I prepared. Tea time is when everyone in the house congregates in the kitchen for thirty minutes to take a break from chores/studying.
Then it is back to chores and lunch at 1:30. Lunch is formal. We are split up into two groups, so it is about 12 people. We have lunch in one of the workers' apartments and there is always a lunch discussion. Anyone at the table can ask a question and then the whole table discusses what they think. Ryan, one of the workers who is my age, from Memphis, asked yesterday - What does it mean to be awed, and what awes you? I wish I could say more about that but I only have the internet for 15 more minutes.
I had a 30 minute break after lunch and Ryan and I played soccer, or football here, with Andrew Fellow's son whose name I still can't remember. The USA won the world cup.
Study time from 3-6pm. Tea time no. 2 in between. I listened to two lectures from the library during my study time. Dinner at 6:30 in Marta's apartment on the top floor of the manor. Cheese and brocolli soup. Then a lecture at 8 by Andrew which was really just a discussion of community and what it really is - since it is such a buzzword right now in churches. Then hangout. Then bed.

It is freezing here. Of course most people here think it is warm and they are wearing sandals. But I am all about the scarves and socks and layers. I seem to have forgotten that they don't have central heating in England. We did light a fire last night in the living room though, and Chris and I hovered around it - he's from Southern California so he is equally cold.

When I walked in the door for the first time Tuesday I met 5 people before I made it to the staircase. And within an hour we were all sitting together laughing and talking like we have always known each other. Which is crazy because it is never like that for me. There is so much tea I think I might go crazy. Tea with every meal and two tea breaks...and they conder why the British have bad teeth. But anyway, I think I was made for this place. Conversations here are...wonderful. I sat across the table from Kat yesterday (we both had a mug of tea in out hands) and she told me about her life and the struggle she has had in the last year. And L'abri is really going to be a shelter for her this summer. I wish I could stay and watch her. After telling me this horrible story about a disease she has been struggling with and how she will be on medication all of her life, she looked at me and said, "But it is good because I wouldn't talk to God otherwise." And that is it - it has only been a day and I'm already in love with the people around me. This is still going to be really hard. Especially if it stays this cold. But this place is rich. That's the only way I can describe it. I know it sounds weird. But it is rich with conversation. Rich with interesting, beautiful people- many of which aren't Christians, which to me is much better. Rich with questions. No question is not worth asking. I was made for this place.

2.5 days...

I leave on Monday night for big adventures. For the first eighteen days I will be in this awesome place studying who knows what. And after that I'll be galavanting all over Italy with Britney... and you never know what all we will get into.

This week has been weird. I have been home getting everything together for the trip. My mom and I have been to every mall in the Atlanta area gathering things, which makes me wish I loved shopping. But I hate it. So it has been slightly overwhelming. 

But, I don't think it is the shopping or packing that has been so weird. It is kind of crazy being here because my home has become a reminder of last summer. And don't get me wrong, last summer had some great memories. I was able to be near my parents when I needed them most. My sister lived in the room next door for a couple weeks and it hadn't been that way for five years. I was able to attend the church I grew up in. I took a theology class. I went to Boston and Nova Scotia. I bought my first camera. But last summer was long and lonely too. When I smelled the shampoo in my bathroom a couple days ago it took me straight back to the week after surgery when mom had to tape plastic wrap over my scar so it wouldn't get wet. It is always crazy to me how smells can bring back the most vivid memories. 

There is so much I could write about all of that. About the people at my church I had never met who stopped me in the hall and told me they had prayed for me everyday since I got sick. About the conversation with my parents the day after I turned twenty-one and how angry I was for the week or two afterwards. About the nurses who I still miss sometimes and the bridge at Emory that I thought I would only ever enter when I was worried about my mom's health. But the point of writing any of this is to say - its changing. I'm leaving. And I know I am supposed to because I am not running from anything. This strikes me because if you asked last summer I'd have said that was why I was going. But I don't have anything to escape. That makes it harder to leave but better. I am not running from my disease. I think turning down wine at every meal in Italy will be enough of a reminder that I'm not like the other kids. :) I am not running from any sort of unhappiness or discontent at school or at home. So bring it on L'abri. I don't know what I'll study since there are so many things I am interested in and so many things I don't know. But whatever it is, it will be what I am supposed to learn.

So yeah, that's it: what is supposed to happen, happens. I was supposed to be home last summer when the only place I wanted to be was far, far away. But He flipped everything upside down instead. Now I year later, I am supposed to be gone when a part of me wants to stay and rest and explore the non-UGA places in Athens with Rae. But I have learned that when things seem hard, and when I ache because I am going to miss my friends, it is a good thing. Because they are a gift. Loving them is a gift. Missing them is too.

I'm ready to go.