Please picture me peeking my head out from behind something large with the intention of speaking to you. Then picture me seeing you, becoming embarrassed and hiding behind said large structure again. That's basically what I have been up to for the last month. Every few days I realize that I have not written a blog in quite a long time. I will log on to my blog, open up a new file and think to myself, "I haven't written in so long, I'm sure my readers are disenchanted. I'll have to write something truly superb to make it up to them." And then I realize I have nothing to say that is superb enough to win you back, so I run away again. And here we are, one month since my last real blog.
I suppose you may be wondering what I have been up to that has so distracted me from you for the last thirty days. And for once, I have an answer: I finished my first semester of college. The last month was somewhat of a trying one. In everything it was a period of simultaneously feeling that I had altogether too much time on my hands and altogether not nearly enough time. Which I suppose probably meant that I had just the right amount.
This was a month of finals; final papers to write, final projects to create, final exams to study for, but through it all I baked. You might think this was an unwise use of my time. If so, you would probably be right. Most days went about the same; I would look at my homework, and decide my room needed cleaning. Once my room was clean, it would probably be a mealtime. Once I had eaten, I would look at my homework once again. I might do a little work on it, but more likely I would just become overwhelmed and run to the kitchen to bake something.
Baking is such a lovely thing. If ever you are feeling insecure, I highly recommend it. It starts out fairly simple, and it stays that way. You stir a list of ingredients together in one large bowl. Then you transfer them to a tin or pan of some sort, pop them in the oven, and when you pull them back out there is something beautiful and edible and sweet. It is a perfect reassurance: you can accomplish something great in only an hour. Because I live in a dorm this is followed by the further assurance of everyone swarming to eat the baking. This month I made many many batches of cookies, assortments of brownies, muddy buddies/puppy chow (not technically baking but still delicious), and of course lovely, lovely cupcakes. My compulsive baking has earned me something of a reputation in my dorm; every now and then as I pass someone in the hall they will squint at me as though trying to call to mind why they recognized me and finally remember, "Oh yeah, you're that cookie girl."
Baking is so easy to love because for so little effort I get so much reward. And it is so like the love that God has for us, because with no work on my part, no acts of greatness, he still loves me. Romans 5:8 assures us, "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." God demonstrated his love in the greatest way before ever we looked toward him. This love is so beautiful, and so sweet, I cannot help but crave it.
Truly His,
Caroline
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Wait
Hello Dear readers, I must apologize for my absence, but the semester is nearing its end which means I am simply not articulate enough to grace you with my presence.
Please enjoy this cupcake in my absence, know that I miss you dearly, and remember that it doesn't take a ton of words to glorify God. All Psalm 117 says is "Praise the LORD, all you nations; extol him, all you peoples. For great is his love toward us, and the faithfulness of the LORD endures forever. Praise the LORD."
Truly His,
Caroline
Friday, November 27, 2009
Airport to Airport
Hello darling readers. Once again I have failed in my attempt to write for you at least once a week. I hope you can forgive me. One of these days perhaps I will make it up to you by writing quite a few blogs at once. Maybe.
Yesterday was Thanksgiving here in good ol' America, which means no school and I got to go home! So Tuesday evening I had a flight back to Chicago, and I was more than excited to get there. My roommate volunteered to drive me to the airport, so that morning I finished packing and was ready to go. Two and a half hours before I needed to leave I found out that a friend of mine also needed to go to the airport, much earlier than I, and her ride was stuck in traffic miles away. So my roommate agreed to drive her as well and we were off.
We arrived at the airport in perfect time for her flight, I waited at the gate with her for maybe ten minutes before her plane started boarding and she was gone. I checked the time. I had two hours and forty minutes in the airport before my flight. I wandered over to my gate and read while I watched several airplanes come and go. Just as I was beginning to feel antsy about sitting in that airport forever, a plane pulled up to our gate, and it was ours! Hooray! I fished out my boarding pass and waited for them to call for boarding. Ten minutes later, they did not call for boarding, but instead informed us that our flight was delayed by at least 20 minutes because our pilot wasn't here yet. Because I am an odd person, this was somewhat exciting to me. "Why, we already have a plane and our flight is delayed! How interesting!" And just as the novelty of waiting even longer for our flight started to wear off, our pilot arrived and we were called for boarding.
If any of you were on a plane Tuesday night and were mildly horrified as you watched a short little college student stand on the seat and tug a suitcase only slightly smaller than herself up to the overhead compartment while repeatedly refusing help from the taller and stronger flight attendants by insisting, "I've got it! It's so light!" Yep, that was me. For those of you who weren't there I assure you everyone was a tad bit horrified. Something about not wanting suitcases and little girls to fall on their heads.
The plane took off and I whipped out my crocheting and diligently worked on a new scarf for the entire flight (new you ask? Why, yes, dear reader, I finished the first scarf and have begun a new one! If you aren't sure I assure you this is an accomplishment of epic proportions), and pressed my face against the window as the pilot announced our descent into Chicago. We were home! As I stepped off the plane I nearly fainted with joy at the sight of Midway airport. It was so familiar, the seats, the tiles, the woman's voice over the intercom intoning a warning to all that the moving walkway is ending. That airport felt so strongly of home I had to fight the urge to simply sit down on the floor and soak up the Midway-ness of it all.
When I think about it, it of course seems a little odd that an airport would feel so strongly of home, but as a follower of Christ it definitely makes sense. In Hebrews 11, the writer talks about the amazing faith of some biblical persons, like Noah and Abraham. He goes on to say of them in Hebrews 11:15-16 "If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them." We, like Abraham, are on our way to a better city, we are not called to find a true home in this world. In a way, an airport is my truest home because it embodies transition, the willingness to leave one place for another. I want to be ready to pack my bags at the call of God, and to call transition my home.
Truly His,
Caroline
Yesterday was Thanksgiving here in good ol' America, which means no school and I got to go home! So Tuesday evening I had a flight back to Chicago, and I was more than excited to get there. My roommate volunteered to drive me to the airport, so that morning I finished packing and was ready to go. Two and a half hours before I needed to leave I found out that a friend of mine also needed to go to the airport, much earlier than I, and her ride was stuck in traffic miles away. So my roommate agreed to drive her as well and we were off.
We arrived at the airport in perfect time for her flight, I waited at the gate with her for maybe ten minutes before her plane started boarding and she was gone. I checked the time. I had two hours and forty minutes in the airport before my flight. I wandered over to my gate and read while I watched several airplanes come and go. Just as I was beginning to feel antsy about sitting in that airport forever, a plane pulled up to our gate, and it was ours! Hooray! I fished out my boarding pass and waited for them to call for boarding. Ten minutes later, they did not call for boarding, but instead informed us that our flight was delayed by at least 20 minutes because our pilot wasn't here yet. Because I am an odd person, this was somewhat exciting to me. "Why, we already have a plane and our flight is delayed! How interesting!" And just as the novelty of waiting even longer for our flight started to wear off, our pilot arrived and we were called for boarding.
If any of you were on a plane Tuesday night and were mildly horrified as you watched a short little college student stand on the seat and tug a suitcase only slightly smaller than herself up to the overhead compartment while repeatedly refusing help from the taller and stronger flight attendants by insisting, "I've got it! It's so light!" Yep, that was me. For those of you who weren't there I assure you everyone was a tad bit horrified. Something about not wanting suitcases and little girls to fall on their heads.
The plane took off and I whipped out my crocheting and diligently worked on a new scarf for the entire flight (new you ask? Why, yes, dear reader, I finished the first scarf and have begun a new one! If you aren't sure I assure you this is an accomplishment of epic proportions), and pressed my face against the window as the pilot announced our descent into Chicago. We were home! As I stepped off the plane I nearly fainted with joy at the sight of Midway airport. It was so familiar, the seats, the tiles, the woman's voice over the intercom intoning a warning to all that the moving walkway is ending. That airport felt so strongly of home I had to fight the urge to simply sit down on the floor and soak up the Midway-ness of it all.
When I think about it, it of course seems a little odd that an airport would feel so strongly of home, but as a follower of Christ it definitely makes sense. In Hebrews 11, the writer talks about the amazing faith of some biblical persons, like Noah and Abraham. He goes on to say of them in Hebrews 11:15-16 "If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them." We, like Abraham, are on our way to a better city, we are not called to find a true home in this world. In a way, an airport is my truest home because it embodies transition, the willingness to leave one place for another. I want to be ready to pack my bags at the call of God, and to call transition my home.
Truly His,
Caroline
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Hooked on Him
Which do you feel less threatened by: a needle, or a hook? I personally am beginning to embrace the hook. For those of you wondering why Caroline is so interested in pointed objects, I will clarify: I have officially traded in my knitting needles for a crocheting hook. Now, I know, you are all asking, "But Caroline, what will become of your ridiculously wide scarf?" Don't worry, dear readers, but allow me to explain.
When last you heard of the plot of my scarf, it was coming along very slowly, but had a great hope for its future. Well, since then I have become increasingly busy with other housewife-type activities like baking, and the knitting was banished to the far corner of my bookshelf. Every now and then I would consider retrieving it, but then I would remember that it was so very ridiculously wide, and any motivation to work on it would fade. You see, the scarf had grown to a point where it had lost all hope of every becoming a scarf. It was well on its way to becoming a blanket, but certainly not a scarf. So yesterday I pulled it off the shelf and gazed at it for a long while. I came to the conclusion the best thing to do would be to just start over, and with a sigh I began to unravel it, reducing my large knitted swatch into a ball of yarn. As I was doing so my dear friend, who is quite gifted in the area of crocheting, suggested to me that if I had such difficultly knitting, perhaps crocheting would be an easier alternative. She offered my a crocheting hook and a quick lesson and soon my new and improved scarf was underway!
I will tell you, my darling readers, that I was amazed at how very right she was. Crocheting was so simple! So quick! Why, with my new and reasonable width, I was well on my way to a completed scarf in no time! So after a few rows I stopped asking her to check and make sure I was doing it right, confident that I had mastered my new skill. In fact, just to show how much I had mastered my new skill, I counted the stitches. I was about to prove that I was no longer making this scarf wider with every row.
I counted.
I counted again.
I sighed.
Well, the scarf was not getting any wider. However, in the five rows since I had stopped asking for help I had lost precisely five stitches. At this point I contemplated giving up and just offering the yarn to someone more gifted. If all of my knitting was doomed to grow far too wide, it seemed my crocheting was doomed to fade into nothingness. I soon realized my problem, overconfident, I had stopped paying attention to one step she had assured me was tricky but essential, the final stitch in each row. My heart leaped! I knew what the problem was! That meant I could fix it! So armed with this new awareness of the dangers of missing the last stitch I dove back into my crocheting and watched as the scarf, now remaining a consistent width, continued to develop. I am fairly pleased to inform you that it is now coming along rather well, in my humble opinion.
As I was looking through the Bible for what God might have to say about this little scarf-making adventure, I came across this passage in Jeremiah 18:3-6, "So I went down to the potter's house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the LORD came to me: "O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter does?" declares the LORD. "Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel." For this new scarf to be made, I had to pull the old one apart; the shape it had taken was wrong. But through the act of unraveling it, something much better was able to be formed. This is much like how God deals with our mistakes. When there are parts of us that are not right, he can pull them out and make something so much more beautiful than what would have been. I know he can do amazing things when we choose to let him unravel the imperfections in our lives, and so I can't help but trust him to do it. He is God, after all.
Truly His,
Caroline
When last you heard of the plot of my scarf, it was coming along very slowly, but had a great hope for its future. Well, since then I have become increasingly busy with other housewife-type activities like baking, and the knitting was banished to the far corner of my bookshelf. Every now and then I would consider retrieving it, but then I would remember that it was so very ridiculously wide, and any motivation to work on it would fade. You see, the scarf had grown to a point where it had lost all hope of every becoming a scarf. It was well on its way to becoming a blanket, but certainly not a scarf. So yesterday I pulled it off the shelf and gazed at it for a long while. I came to the conclusion the best thing to do would be to just start over, and with a sigh I began to unravel it, reducing my large knitted swatch into a ball of yarn. As I was doing so my dear friend, who is quite gifted in the area of crocheting, suggested to me that if I had such difficultly knitting, perhaps crocheting would be an easier alternative. She offered my a crocheting hook and a quick lesson and soon my new and improved scarf was underway!
I will tell you, my darling readers, that I was amazed at how very right she was. Crocheting was so simple! So quick! Why, with my new and reasonable width, I was well on my way to a completed scarf in no time! So after a few rows I stopped asking her to check and make sure I was doing it right, confident that I had mastered my new skill. In fact, just to show how much I had mastered my new skill, I counted the stitches. I was about to prove that I was no longer making this scarf wider with every row.
I counted.
I counted again.
I sighed.
Well, the scarf was not getting any wider. However, in the five rows since I had stopped asking for help I had lost precisely five stitches. At this point I contemplated giving up and just offering the yarn to someone more gifted. If all of my knitting was doomed to grow far too wide, it seemed my crocheting was doomed to fade into nothingness. I soon realized my problem, overconfident, I had stopped paying attention to one step she had assured me was tricky but essential, the final stitch in each row. My heart leaped! I knew what the problem was! That meant I could fix it! So armed with this new awareness of the dangers of missing the last stitch I dove back into my crocheting and watched as the scarf, now remaining a consistent width, continued to develop. I am fairly pleased to inform you that it is now coming along rather well, in my humble opinion.
As I was looking through the Bible for what God might have to say about this little scarf-making adventure, I came across this passage in Jeremiah 18:3-6, "So I went down to the potter's house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the LORD came to me: "O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter does?" declares the LORD. "Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel." For this new scarf to be made, I had to pull the old one apart; the shape it had taken was wrong. But through the act of unraveling it, something much better was able to be formed. This is much like how God deals with our mistakes. When there are parts of us that are not right, he can pull them out and make something so much more beautiful than what would have been. I know he can do amazing things when we choose to let him unravel the imperfections in our lives, and so I can't help but trust him to do it. He is God, after all.
Truly His,
Caroline
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Coloring
Hello friends. Once again, I must begin by apologizing to you for neglecting you. I had resolved in my mind to blog here at least once a week. And then I watched a week roll by and thought to myself, "I have nothing interesting to write about," and left it unwritten. Another week, and every time the blog would enter my mind, I would say once again, "But I have nothing interesting to write about" and go back to reading other people's blogs about nothing in particular. I have finally realized that none of my entries have been about particularly interesting subjects, and I ought to simply sit down and write. So here am I, to talk about crayons.
Yesterday, I checked my mailbox, also known as the Box of Joy or Despair. Yesterday it was indeed a box of joy. Upon opening my box I found a very large envelope, folded in half, with my name on the front. Not only did it have my name on it, in the corner it had my brother's name on it! This was not just any old letter, this was a letter from my older brother! As you may be able to tell, this is precisely the kind of letter that makes any day better.
So, heading back to my dorm I opened up the envelope to find not only a letter but a generous stack of Disney coloring pages, labeled with a post-it note informing me that I should go and get some crayons. If any of you have not recently had the privilege of coloring with crayons I highly encourage you to do as I did, that is, run out immediately and find some crayons.
Crayons are some of the best things in the world. I would argue that in their very nature they have made the world a better place. Let me examine three of their more wonderful attributes. First, they come in scores of jubilantly-named colors (mine came in a 64 pack including colors such as "Macaroni & Cheese" and "Purple Mountains' Majesty"). Second, they are simply the best possible material for their job; their wax is just flexible enough to be comfortable to hold and just sturdy enough to color purposeful. Finally, they are completely useful; the entire crayon is made of the same colorful substance, there is not one tiny bit of it that cannot be used to color. It is wrapped in paper and when the paper must be torn off, it can be used to color on, or as a swatch! Not to mention that coloring in itself is simply one of the most fun and relaxing activities I can possibly imagine.
Filling in my coloring books, I have been left to ponder the simple goodness of crayons. That's exactly what I so love about them, everything about them is simply good. And I am drawn to the verse in Psalm 145 where David writes, "The LORD is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made." I know it's a simple and a silly thing to compare God to crayons, but if I am so drawn to these little sticks of wax because of their goodness, how much more should I be drawn to the God who is good to all? In Hosea 2:19 the Lord says to his people, "I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion." God is after our hearts, and his goodness is simply irresistible.
Truly His,
Caroline
Yesterday, I checked my mailbox, also known as the Box of Joy or Despair. Yesterday it was indeed a box of joy. Upon opening my box I found a very large envelope, folded in half, with my name on the front. Not only did it have my name on it, in the corner it had my brother's name on it! This was not just any old letter, this was a letter from my older brother! As you may be able to tell, this is precisely the kind of letter that makes any day better.
So, heading back to my dorm I opened up the envelope to find not only a letter but a generous stack of Disney coloring pages, labeled with a post-it note informing me that I should go and get some crayons. If any of you have not recently had the privilege of coloring with crayons I highly encourage you to do as I did, that is, run out immediately and find some crayons.
Crayons are some of the best things in the world. I would argue that in their very nature they have made the world a better place. Let me examine three of their more wonderful attributes. First, they come in scores of jubilantly-named colors (mine came in a 64 pack including colors such as "Macaroni & Cheese" and "Purple Mountains' Majesty"). Second, they are simply the best possible material for their job; their wax is just flexible enough to be comfortable to hold and just sturdy enough to color purposeful. Finally, they are completely useful; the entire crayon is made of the same colorful substance, there is not one tiny bit of it that cannot be used to color. It is wrapped in paper and when the paper must be torn off, it can be used to color on, or as a swatch! Not to mention that coloring in itself is simply one of the most fun and relaxing activities I can possibly imagine.
Filling in my coloring books, I have been left to ponder the simple goodness of crayons. That's exactly what I so love about them, everything about them is simply good. And I am drawn to the verse in Psalm 145 where David writes, "The LORD is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made." I know it's a simple and a silly thing to compare God to crayons, but if I am so drawn to these little sticks of wax because of their goodness, how much more should I be drawn to the God who is good to all? In Hosea 2:19 the Lord says to his people, "I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion." God is after our hearts, and his goodness is simply irresistible.
Truly His,
Caroline
Thursday, October 29, 2009
True Magic
Last April my family and I boarded a plane back from Nigeria. As we got settled for the eight-hour flight, my little brother and I scanned the list of available in-flight movies. There were little icons next to each movie to show why it might not be appropriate for children. Rather than scanning the movies by their titles, I scanned through the list by counting those icons. It went something like this: "violence, mature themes, language; violence, language; language, mature themes; violence; language; excessive violence; excessive language; nothing; violence." Wait, what was that? A nothing! My heart soared. There was one movie on this flight that was appropriate for all audiences! I investigated further and found this one and only innocent movie to be the TinkerBell movie. I will admit to you, dear readers, that I was a bit skeptical about this. A straight-to-DVD movie made for kids, starring that fairy who was always so incredibly rude to Wendy in Peter Pan? How good could it possibly be?
I will further admit to you, my friends, that this straight-to-DVD movie, made for kids, turned out to be one of my very favorite movies of all time. It was wonderful, it was fun, it was innocent. I fell in love. Back at home, I watched it again with a friend of mine, and we laughed and sighed and marveled at the beauty of it. Oh TinkerBell, how you have enriched my life.
Naturally, coming to college, I could not hide this great love for TinkerBell and her straight-to-DVD greatness for long, especially with a sequel coming out in the near future. Many of my conversations went something like this:
Friend: Did you see Zombieland?
Me: No, thank you.
Friend: It was like the best movie ever! So funny!
Me: Not like TinkerBell, though. That's the best movie ever.
Friend: Haha, good one.
.... (silence)....
Friend: Oh, you're serious.
Me: The sequel comes out October 27th.
Friend: Yeah...
After many similar interactions, one brave friend of mine decided that he needed to see this movie that had apparently so greatly impacted my life. I went home for a weekend and assured him that I would retrieve the movie and soon he would share in the greatness that comes from knowing this lovely and innocent TinkerBell.
When finally time and homework allowed us to watch it, I must confess I was terribly nervous. What if he hated it? What if everyone mocked my flitterific fairy friends forever? It was a risk I would have to take. They had to know the joys of TinkerBell. So we recruited a few more people and began the movie, and some of my dreams were realized as everyone laughed, sighed, and marveled at the beauty of it along with me. My friend Gavin even began planning to compose a Broadway musical version of the movie.
Pondering all this, I am drawn to the conclusion that I have some wonderful friends. I was first amazed by their willingness to watch my movies which to anyone would sound like a painful way to spend an hour, and then ecstatic as they accepted and enjoyed it. And I am drawn back to the passage in Romans 15:5-7 where Paul writes, "May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Christ Jesus, so that with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God." I am attracted by the idea of unity in Christ, an innate acceptance of each other, something that ought to come naturally to us because we have the greatest things in common. And I am compelled again by the idea that even as we try to live out this life of accepting each other in love, Christ has already given us the perfect example, and already allowed us to be truly accepted, and loved. It's just magical.
Truly His,
Caroline
I will further admit to you, my friends, that this straight-to-DVD movie, made for kids, turned out to be one of my very favorite movies of all time. It was wonderful, it was fun, it was innocent. I fell in love. Back at home, I watched it again with a friend of mine, and we laughed and sighed and marveled at the beauty of it. Oh TinkerBell, how you have enriched my life.
Naturally, coming to college, I could not hide this great love for TinkerBell and her straight-to-DVD greatness for long, especially with a sequel coming out in the near future. Many of my conversations went something like this:
Friend: Did you see Zombieland?
Me: No, thank you.
Friend: It was like the best movie ever! So funny!
Me: Not like TinkerBell, though. That's the best movie ever.
Friend: Haha, good one.
.... (silence)....
Friend: Oh, you're serious.
Me: The sequel comes out October 27th.
Friend: Yeah...
After many similar interactions, one brave friend of mine decided that he needed to see this movie that had apparently so greatly impacted my life. I went home for a weekend and assured him that I would retrieve the movie and soon he would share in the greatness that comes from knowing this lovely and innocent TinkerBell.
When finally time and homework allowed us to watch it, I must confess I was terribly nervous. What if he hated it? What if everyone mocked my flitterific fairy friends forever? It was a risk I would have to take. They had to know the joys of TinkerBell. So we recruited a few more people and began the movie, and some of my dreams were realized as everyone laughed, sighed, and marveled at the beauty of it along with me. My friend Gavin even began planning to compose a Broadway musical version of the movie.
Pondering all this, I am drawn to the conclusion that I have some wonderful friends. I was first amazed by their willingness to watch my movies which to anyone would sound like a painful way to spend an hour, and then ecstatic as they accepted and enjoyed it. And I am drawn back to the passage in Romans 15:5-7 where Paul writes, "May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Christ Jesus, so that with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God." I am attracted by the idea of unity in Christ, an innate acceptance of each other, something that ought to come naturally to us because we have the greatest things in common. And I am compelled again by the idea that even as we try to live out this life of accepting each other in love, Christ has already given us the perfect example, and already allowed us to be truly accepted, and loved. It's just magical.
Truly His,
Caroline
Friday, October 23, 2009
Waldo, where art thou?
Dearest Readers, I must apologize once again for the infrequency of my blogs. I do hope your week went well even without my ramblings. While I haven't been writing here, I have been researching what to wear for a Halloween costume. The girls on my floor at Biola are all celebrating Halloween together for what is called a GYRAD (Get Your Roommate A Date). This means that every girl is expected to come to this event with a guy, wearing matching costumes.
A friend of mine altruistically agreed to come with me, and then the true adventure began: figuring out what to wear. Seeing as it was my floor's GYRAD, the responsibility of making a decision and finding a costume fell to me. After much deliberation, a drop of inspiration came to me! My friend has a red and white striped shirt, and whenever he wears it, everyone points out how very much he looks like Waldo from the ever-popular Where's Waldo? books. It was perfect! He would be Waldo, and I would be... well, I didn't know who I would be, but at least now we had somewhere to start.
In the interest of finding a match for his costume I decided to do a little research. I went to my school's library catalog and searched for Where's Waldo? books, to no avail. Luckily for me, our library has access to many, many other libraries in the state, so if a student needs a book that another library has, she can order it and within a few days it will be available for her in our library. A very nifty tool. So I looked in the wider catalog and ordered one of the many Waldo books from another library. A few days later it arrived, and as I was checking it out the librarian observed, "You know, you didn't have to order this from another library, we have a few of these books here. They're just not in the catalog."
Waldo had evaded me again. How very fitting that he would be there, but inconveniently difficult to find. Searching through my newfound Waldo book, I had to wonder about the nature of searching. Why are so many great things hidden? In Jeremiah 29:13-14a God told Jeremiah, "You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you." I cannot say that I understand why some great things, like Waldo, and like God himself, are hidden from us. But I can see that the fact that they are hidden does not at all mean that they are not here, or that we cannot find them. We were made to seek the things that matter, to chase after the heart of God. And when we truly do so, he promises to let us find him. I don't know about you, but I'm going to start searching.
Truly His,
Caroline
A friend of mine altruistically agreed to come with me, and then the true adventure began: figuring out what to wear. Seeing as it was my floor's GYRAD, the responsibility of making a decision and finding a costume fell to me. After much deliberation, a drop of inspiration came to me! My friend has a red and white striped shirt, and whenever he wears it, everyone points out how very much he looks like Waldo from the ever-popular Where's Waldo? books. It was perfect! He would be Waldo, and I would be... well, I didn't know who I would be, but at least now we had somewhere to start.
In the interest of finding a match for his costume I decided to do a little research. I went to my school's library catalog and searched for Where's Waldo? books, to no avail. Luckily for me, our library has access to many, many other libraries in the state, so if a student needs a book that another library has, she can order it and within a few days it will be available for her in our library. A very nifty tool. So I looked in the wider catalog and ordered one of the many Waldo books from another library. A few days later it arrived, and as I was checking it out the librarian observed, "You know, you didn't have to order this from another library, we have a few of these books here. They're just not in the catalog."
Waldo had evaded me again. How very fitting that he would be there, but inconveniently difficult to find. Searching through my newfound Waldo book, I had to wonder about the nature of searching. Why are so many great things hidden? In Jeremiah 29:13-14a God told Jeremiah, "You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you." I cannot say that I understand why some great things, like Waldo, and like God himself, are hidden from us. But I can see that the fact that they are hidden does not at all mean that they are not here, or that we cannot find them. We were made to seek the things that matter, to chase after the heart of God. And when we truly do so, he promises to let us find him. I don't know about you, but I'm going to start searching.
Truly His,
Caroline
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Arm in Arm
Disneyland again. I am truly sorry if you tire of hearing about Disneyland, but it seems to be where all the interesting events in my life find their meaning. This last weekend was Parents & Family weekend here at Biola, also known as one of the best weekends of my college career. My parents and my little brother (and by little I mean age, not stature; he's almost a foot taller than me) flew out to hang out with me, catch up on life, and explore my world. Sunday afternoon I spent a lovely time with my family in Disneyland, wandering back and forth between the two parks, eating ice cream, riding rides, sighing when rides were down for maintenance, and just generally enjoying being with my family.
At 7:20 that evening we had made plans to meet a group of my friends from Biola for dinner. This turned out to be a very interesting event to plan, because we could not figure out how many people were coming. In the span of two days the total went from 3 to 6 to 8 to 10 to 14 to finally 13. This all worked out great, the Disney people were more than gracious about accommodating us. After dinner my parents and I said our good-byes and we headed off in separate directions. After many of my friends went in turns assuring me that I have the best parents ever (they were right, by the way), we all headed off toward a ride called California Screamin'. On the way, someone decided it would be a good idea to link arms, so many of us formed a long chain as we frolicked toward the ride. This turned out to be an exceptionally dangerous endeavor. We nearly ran someone into every lamppost we saw, and we had to break our chain several times for many a terrified family.
Thinking on this little walk we took, I cannot help but marvel at how distinctly dangerous it is to walk with people, to trust them. In the case of our journey towards California Screamin', it was particularly dangerous to trust everyone else to lead us, or pull us along, without harm. So many times I almost ran into posts, and so many more times I nearly fell on my face. But that's the thing: scary as it was to almost do those things, I never actually ran into anything or fell over. When faced with the fear of running into something, I still had power to steer the group away from it, or to let go momentarily. And every time I lost my balance, I found that those people who were holding on to me inadvertently held me up. In Romans 15:7 Paul writes, "Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God." As dangerous as it may sometimes be to accept and to trust others, it is so worth it, because it brings praise to God. I encourage you to face the danger and accept each other.
Truly His,
Caroline
At 7:20 that evening we had made plans to meet a group of my friends from Biola for dinner. This turned out to be a very interesting event to plan, because we could not figure out how many people were coming. In the span of two days the total went from 3 to 6 to 8 to 10 to 14 to finally 13. This all worked out great, the Disney people were more than gracious about accommodating us. After dinner my parents and I said our good-byes and we headed off in separate directions. After many of my friends went in turns assuring me that I have the best parents ever (they were right, by the way), we all headed off toward a ride called California Screamin'. On the way, someone decided it would be a good idea to link arms, so many of us formed a long chain as we frolicked toward the ride. This turned out to be an exceptionally dangerous endeavor. We nearly ran someone into every lamppost we saw, and we had to break our chain several times for many a terrified family.
Thinking on this little walk we took, I cannot help but marvel at how distinctly dangerous it is to walk with people, to trust them. In the case of our journey towards California Screamin', it was particularly dangerous to trust everyone else to lead us, or pull us along, without harm. So many times I almost ran into posts, and so many more times I nearly fell on my face. But that's the thing: scary as it was to almost do those things, I never actually ran into anything or fell over. When faced with the fear of running into something, I still had power to steer the group away from it, or to let go momentarily. And every time I lost my balance, I found that those people who were holding on to me inadvertently held me up. In Romans 15:7 Paul writes, "Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God." As dangerous as it may sometimes be to accept and to trust others, it is so worth it, because it brings praise to God. I encourage you to face the danger and accept each other.
Truly His,
Caroline
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
I wear many hats. Oh wait, maybe it was none at all.
For those of you who have been reading my blog, you know much about the two excursions I have had to Disneyland during my college career. Oh what merry times they were. On both occasions I spent a considerable amount of time trying on hats. The first time I wandered around a store with hats in many sizes, shapes, and colors, alternating wearing them and making faces in the mirrors. There seemed to be a hat for every style, and I debated with myself, switching hats over and over again, which one I should buy. But of course, on that first visit I had not brought enough money for a hat, so I was left with the excuse of waiting until my roommate's birthday to decide. In the meantime I would simply dream of all those hats and which one was best suited to my life.
Next time rolled around, and this time I was sure I would be able to find the perfect hat. The situation was similar, same store, same mirror, same hats; actually there were even more hats this time, along with the previous suspects. I ran back and forth across the store, holding armfuls of hats and wondering if the employees would be bothered if I just took every hat in the store and sat in front of the mirror until I had decided.
I narrowed it down to three. There was a green one, a sparkly gray one, and a multi-colored, semi-shimmery one. These hats danced on and off my head, chasing each other in circles as I debated. And finally, after an extended period of musical hats, I put them all back and left the store. Because, you see, I have no hats. You may be confused. I expect some of you are saying to your computer screen, "But Caroline, of course you have no hats, that's why you need to buy one!" This is, and always has been, my dilemma in shopping. I have a secret fear that if I wear something that I do not usually wear, people will look at me disapprovingly and say, "Caroline, who do you think you are?" This is why, if you spend enough time with me, within a few weeks you will have memorized most of my wardrobe(not all of it, mind you, because I have a collection of things that I don't wear for the same reason that I don't buy hats).
As I ponder this event, and most of my other shopping experiences, I have to conclude, as I'm sure you already have, that I am being ridiculous. I make my wardrobe choices out of fear of what some extremely bold, critical and angry people(whom I have never met but I still suspect is out there) might say. Psalm 56:4 says "In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me?" This verse is so simple, and in everyday life should be so easy to obey, and yet so often I have ignored its uncomplicated wisdom. Realizing this, I can only conclude, as I am sure you already have, that the only proper response would be to alter my ways of thinking, and to buy the hat. Look out, world.
Truly His,
Caroline
Next time rolled around, and this time I was sure I would be able to find the perfect hat. The situation was similar, same store, same mirror, same hats; actually there were even more hats this time, along with the previous suspects. I ran back and forth across the store, holding armfuls of hats and wondering if the employees would be bothered if I just took every hat in the store and sat in front of the mirror until I had decided.
I narrowed it down to three. There was a green one, a sparkly gray one, and a multi-colored, semi-shimmery one. These hats danced on and off my head, chasing each other in circles as I debated. And finally, after an extended period of musical hats, I put them all back and left the store. Because, you see, I have no hats. You may be confused. I expect some of you are saying to your computer screen, "But Caroline, of course you have no hats, that's why you need to buy one!" This is, and always has been, my dilemma in shopping. I have a secret fear that if I wear something that I do not usually wear, people will look at me disapprovingly and say, "Caroline, who do you think you are?" This is why, if you spend enough time with me, within a few weeks you will have memorized most of my wardrobe(not all of it, mind you, because I have a collection of things that I don't wear for the same reason that I don't buy hats).
As I ponder this event, and most of my other shopping experiences, I have to conclude, as I'm sure you already have, that I am being ridiculous. I make my wardrobe choices out of fear of what some extremely bold, critical and angry people(whom I have never met but I still suspect is out there) might say. Psalm 56:4 says "In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me?" This verse is so simple, and in everyday life should be so easy to obey, and yet so often I have ignored its uncomplicated wisdom. Realizing this, I can only conclude, as I am sure you already have, that the only proper response would be to alter my ways of thinking, and to buy the hat. Look out, world.
Truly His,
Caroline
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Lessons Learned
Dearest Readers, I am so very sorry for not writing this past week. I hope you were not too distressed by my absence. I have entered into what I will call "college." I have thought on several occasions this past month that I was already immersed in college, but I think I was mistaken. This week I met real college, the one where tests and quizzes and papers happen and no one sleeps before 2 a.m., and when the tests and quizzes and papers are over still no one sleeps because they have become so used to staying up until 2 a.m..
I will admit to you that as frightful as it may sound I am enjoying my new college life. I am learning from my classes and from my friends truths both big and small, I am learning how to study, and I am learning the perfect levels of caffeine to consume at any given time of day. Through every situation I am learning more and more that I have so much to learn. I always knew I didn't know it all, but I didn't begin to realize how far I was from it.
Yesterday was my roommate's birthday, and oh what a lovely day it was. She had class in the morning and then we were going to head over to Disneyland. We hopped into her car, gasped for air a little(it was, as usual, a billion degrees here), and she turned the key.
...nothing. Nothing at all. Here is something I did know: that particular nothing meant that her battery was dead. We quickly established that we needed to jump-start it, that we had jumper cables, and that we were girls and didn't know what we were doing. Five phone calls later we decided to just let her dad come and save the day. He fixed the car while I watched from a safe distance.
We finally got into a working car and headed off to Disneyland, where the road was blocked and a lot of signs told us that the parking structure was closed, and that we should stay to the right. This was, of course, no problem at all. There would be many more signs along the way that would guide us into a different parking lot. Or so I thought. In reality, the signs were on their coffee break, so we were left to drive around in complete confusion for a while before finally being guided to a parking lot. But after all this strife and much sighing, we finally were in Disneyland and all was well.
So what did I learn from this? I will tell you. I learned that anxiety does not solve anything. As frustrating as a dead car, a two hour delay, and very inhospitable placement of signs can be, rather than freaking out(as I have been known to do) I found myself unfazed, and actually smiling through it all. Somehow, I found myself completely at-ease. And a verse came to sit in my mind. In Matthew 6:27, Jesus, quite wisely, asks his followers, "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" He's certainly right. Being peaceful despite everything was not only freeing, it was just fun. I encourage you to try it out. If you aren't sure how, don't worry, God thought of that, and he left you instructions in Philippians 4:6-7. "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Don't worry, just let Jesus give you peace. It's what he does.
Truly His,
Caroline
I will admit to you that as frightful as it may sound I am enjoying my new college life. I am learning from my classes and from my friends truths both big and small, I am learning how to study, and I am learning the perfect levels of caffeine to consume at any given time of day. Through every situation I am learning more and more that I have so much to learn. I always knew I didn't know it all, but I didn't begin to realize how far I was from it.
Yesterday was my roommate's birthday, and oh what a lovely day it was. She had class in the morning and then we were going to head over to Disneyland. We hopped into her car, gasped for air a little(it was, as usual, a billion degrees here), and she turned the key.
...nothing. Nothing at all. Here is something I did know: that particular nothing meant that her battery was dead. We quickly established that we needed to jump-start it, that we had jumper cables, and that we were girls and didn't know what we were doing. Five phone calls later we decided to just let her dad come and save the day. He fixed the car while I watched from a safe distance.
We finally got into a working car and headed off to Disneyland, where the road was blocked and a lot of signs told us that the parking structure was closed, and that we should stay to the right. This was, of course, no problem at all. There would be many more signs along the way that would guide us into a different parking lot. Or so I thought. In reality, the signs were on their coffee break, so we were left to drive around in complete confusion for a while before finally being guided to a parking lot. But after all this strife and much sighing, we finally were in Disneyland and all was well.
So what did I learn from this? I will tell you. I learned that anxiety does not solve anything. As frustrating as a dead car, a two hour delay, and very inhospitable placement of signs can be, rather than freaking out(as I have been known to do) I found myself unfazed, and actually smiling through it all. Somehow, I found myself completely at-ease. And a verse came to sit in my mind. In Matthew 6:27, Jesus, quite wisely, asks his followers, "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" He's certainly right. Being peaceful despite everything was not only freeing, it was just fun. I encourage you to try it out. If you aren't sure how, don't worry, God thought of that, and he left you instructions in Philippians 4:6-7. "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Don't worry, just let Jesus give you peace. It's what he does.
Truly His,
Caroline
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Discoveries
Yesterday a group of girls from my floor planned to drive to a museum called The Getty for a day of fun. Upon revealing this information to a friend of mine, he informed me that I had to search out the Van Gogh painting that takes up residence there. So, obsessive person that I evidently am, as we set off for the museum I had one singular mission: find the Van Gogh. A few things got in the way of this mission, the greatest of which being when one of our cars broke down. By the grace of God we were off of the freeway when it happened and managed to pull over to the side of the road, where we asked a lot of questions as to what had happened ("What did it feel like?" "What sound did it make?" "Can it start?" "Can the lights turn on?") examined the engine, and finally determined that we were a bunch of girls and had no idea what happened or what we were doing. Luckily we were only about a block from the museum, so after a little under an hour, a lot of phone calls, and extended discussions with a somewhat impatient tow-truck driver, a ride was arranged and we were on our way into the museum.
We took a tram from the parking structure to the actual museum, and while marveling at the scenery and enjoying how being on a tram can remind one of Disneyland, I was reminding myself of my mission: find the Van Gogh. As a step toward accomplishing this I systematically informed everyone in our group that our day would not be complete until I had found this painting. So off we went. The museum itself was stunning, the view was breath-taking, the sculptures were splendid, the paintings were jaw-dropping. And as I was admiring each step, sculpture, and brushstroke I was quietly calling, "Van Gogh, where are you?"
After much searching, we found it. I will admit to you, dear readers, that I was a little disappointed, not by the painting itself, but by the fact that it was one I had seen pictures of many times before. I realized I had been hoping for a great discovery--a new revelation--in this painting, and finding that it was one that I had seen before I felt this hope was lost. But as I stepped closer and tried to take in every part of that painting, my disappointment started to melt. Hope was not lost. For there, in those brushstrokes was color, beauty, and life, all wrapped up in paint and stuck to a canvas. I found myself smiling at the way the figures in the painting seemed to dance, and laughing at the mistakes the artist has painted over but not fully erased. In Proverbs 25:2 Solomon tells us, "It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings." I don't know if Van Gogh meant to conceal joy in his painting, but it seems to me that God did. And finding it there I couldn't help but feel ever so slightly like royalty.
Truly His,
Caroline
We took a tram from the parking structure to the actual museum, and while marveling at the scenery and enjoying how being on a tram can remind one of Disneyland, I was reminding myself of my mission: find the Van Gogh. As a step toward accomplishing this I systematically informed everyone in our group that our day would not be complete until I had found this painting. So off we went. The museum itself was stunning, the view was breath-taking, the sculptures were splendid, the paintings were jaw-dropping. And as I was admiring each step, sculpture, and brushstroke I was quietly calling, "Van Gogh, where are you?"
After much searching, we found it. I will admit to you, dear readers, that I was a little disappointed, not by the painting itself, but by the fact that it was one I had seen pictures of many times before. I realized I had been hoping for a great discovery--a new revelation--in this painting, and finding that it was one that I had seen before I felt this hope was lost. But as I stepped closer and tried to take in every part of that painting, my disappointment started to melt. Hope was not lost. For there, in those brushstrokes was color, beauty, and life, all wrapped up in paint and stuck to a canvas. I found myself smiling at the way the figures in the painting seemed to dance, and laughing at the mistakes the artist has painted over but not fully erased. In Proverbs 25:2 Solomon tells us, "It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings." I don't know if Van Gogh meant to conceal joy in his painting, but it seems to me that God did. And finding it there I couldn't help but feel ever so slightly like royalty.
Truly His,
Caroline
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Charcoal and Light
For those of you who don't know, I am in the art program at Biola. This is because I wanted to take one drawing class, and that drawing class happened to be at the same time as a required class for those who don't know what they want to do with their lives, Undeclared Seminar. So I was forced to drop Undeclared--or, as would better describe my situation, Indecisive--Seminar and take Art Seminar. Consequently, when people ask me my major I have no idea what to tell them.
Being in a drawing class and Art Seminar with a bunch of art majors means being around innately artistic people for four hours every Thursday. All this to say, it is very hard to decide what to wear on Thursdays. When you are going to spend much of your time with people who understand color and shape a lot better than you do, picking out an outfit can be a little intimidating. So this morning I found myself staring into my clothes and wondering whether I could wear my striped black shirt again without anyone noticing. "No," I thought, "They're art majors. They notice everything." So I finally settled on a red shirt that I will describe to you as "nice." Nice enough that I feel compelled to wear a fancy necklace with it.
I made my way to drawing class, feeling rather put-together with my nice red shirt and my long fancy necklace. And after an enthralling lesson on negative space (I'm not being sarcastic; this lesson came with pictures and everyone knows pictures always keep an audience captivated) we were instructed to start drawing. And then my art teacher added one little instruction, "Oh, when you've finished the outline, shade in the negative space with charcoal."
If you thought charcoal was a great drawing tool, let me assure you otherwise. Charcoal is a cruel, cruel thing. It is a deep black substance that can come in pencil shape but usually just comes in sticks of unadulterated darkness. Charcoal breaks into tiny bits when it gets near a sheet of paper: instead of leaving a mark where you touch it to the page it leaves tiny explosions of black all over the drawing. It fights with every fiber of its being to cover the spaces you don't want it to touch, but then, after all that battle to get onto the page, it refuses to stay there. It leaps back off the paper and onto the hands, arms, face, and nice red shirt of anyone who dares to attempt to control it. The only way to get it to stay is to spray glue all over it (Once again, no exaggeration, we were all required to purchase "spray fixative" in the interest of having something to show for our charcoal battles).
I'm forced to conclude that charcoal is an accurate portrayal of the nature of darkness. It is messy and uncontrollable. But fortunately for me, as stated in Psalm 18:28, "My God turns my darkness into light." He washes off the charcoal, and he restores us to even greater beauty than before. His light is more powerful than any darkness, no matter how messy.
Truly His,
Caroline
Being in a drawing class and Art Seminar with a bunch of art majors means being around innately artistic people for four hours every Thursday. All this to say, it is very hard to decide what to wear on Thursdays. When you are going to spend much of your time with people who understand color and shape a lot better than you do, picking out an outfit can be a little intimidating. So this morning I found myself staring into my clothes and wondering whether I could wear my striped black shirt again without anyone noticing. "No," I thought, "They're art majors. They notice everything." So I finally settled on a red shirt that I will describe to you as "nice." Nice enough that I feel compelled to wear a fancy necklace with it.
I made my way to drawing class, feeling rather put-together with my nice red shirt and my long fancy necklace. And after an enthralling lesson on negative space (I'm not being sarcastic; this lesson came with pictures and everyone knows pictures always keep an audience captivated) we were instructed to start drawing. And then my art teacher added one little instruction, "Oh, when you've finished the outline, shade in the negative space with charcoal."
If you thought charcoal was a great drawing tool, let me assure you otherwise. Charcoal is a cruel, cruel thing. It is a deep black substance that can come in pencil shape but usually just comes in sticks of unadulterated darkness. Charcoal breaks into tiny bits when it gets near a sheet of paper: instead of leaving a mark where you touch it to the page it leaves tiny explosions of black all over the drawing. It fights with every fiber of its being to cover the spaces you don't want it to touch, but then, after all that battle to get onto the page, it refuses to stay there. It leaps back off the paper and onto the hands, arms, face, and nice red shirt of anyone who dares to attempt to control it. The only way to get it to stay is to spray glue all over it (Once again, no exaggeration, we were all required to purchase "spray fixative" in the interest of having something to show for our charcoal battles).
I'm forced to conclude that charcoal is an accurate portrayal of the nature of darkness. It is messy and uncontrollable. But fortunately for me, as stated in Psalm 18:28, "My God turns my darkness into light." He washes off the charcoal, and he restores us to even greater beauty than before. His light is more powerful than any darkness, no matter how messy.
Truly His,
Caroline
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Knitting Trust
Huzzah! My knitting stuff arrived today! And by knitting stuff I mean two balls of yarn, one of which has a set of knitting needles and probably a quarter of a scarf attached to it. I started this scarf at least half a year ago, and it has spent the majority of its short life sitting on a shelf wishing someone dedicated would come and complete it.
It's not that I don't like knitting. I like it fine, on occasion. On quite a few occasions I have thought about knitting for long hours, painting a picture in my head of me sitting in a comfy chair knitting, perhaps with a fire dancing in the hearth, some classical music playing, with a warm mug of tea nearby. It's a lovely picture. I think to myself, "I love knitting; I am just the type of person who would sit down for hours and have a complete scarf done before bedtime." I am wrong about this. I will set up my quaint little scene, make myself some tea, turn on some classical music, and curl up on the sofa with my knitting. But often after a few rows of stitches the fun evaporates and I start to question everything. "Is my yarn unraveling?" "How long should this be?" "Did I drop a stitch?" This concern always poses the greatest problems. For those of you who are sensible enough to have never attempted knitting, dropping a stitch is when you forget to follow through on one tiny loop in one row and it affects your entire piece, be it scarf, sock, or halter top. After two or three rows, every stitch looks like a dropped stitch to me, so I will add in stitch after stitch in an attempt to fix this imaginary mishap. This is why my scarf-to-be has gotten an inch wider since its beginnings.
With all these imaginary dropped stitches looming, I am always inclined to simply give up and throw my scarf into a drawer so I can pretend it doesn't exist for a while. But my dear friend Cecily (the one responsible for teaching me to knit in the first place) always assures me that "It will all work itself out in the end." She assures me of this over and over again, "With knitting, it always works itself out in the end."
Looking at my knitting stuff, and at everything else in my life, I am struck by the wisdom of this sentiment, to just calm down and trust that it will all work itself out in the end. I am not sure this is true for knitting, because I am the one doing the knitting and I am confident that I could somehow ruin it. But it is so comforting in the midst of the dropped stitches in life to realize that God is in control, and that he will work it all out. Romans 8:28 says "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." It will not come out a ruin. God is working it all out for the good of you. Trust in that.
Truly His,
Caroline
It's not that I don't like knitting. I like it fine, on occasion. On quite a few occasions I have thought about knitting for long hours, painting a picture in my head of me sitting in a comfy chair knitting, perhaps with a fire dancing in the hearth, some classical music playing, with a warm mug of tea nearby. It's a lovely picture. I think to myself, "I love knitting; I am just the type of person who would sit down for hours and have a complete scarf done before bedtime." I am wrong about this. I will set up my quaint little scene, make myself some tea, turn on some classical music, and curl up on the sofa with my knitting. But often after a few rows of stitches the fun evaporates and I start to question everything. "Is my yarn unraveling?" "How long should this be?" "Did I drop a stitch?" This concern always poses the greatest problems. For those of you who are sensible enough to have never attempted knitting, dropping a stitch is when you forget to follow through on one tiny loop in one row and it affects your entire piece, be it scarf, sock, or halter top. After two or three rows, every stitch looks like a dropped stitch to me, so I will add in stitch after stitch in an attempt to fix this imaginary mishap. This is why my scarf-to-be has gotten an inch wider since its beginnings.
With all these imaginary dropped stitches looming, I am always inclined to simply give up and throw my scarf into a drawer so I can pretend it doesn't exist for a while. But my dear friend Cecily (the one responsible for teaching me to knit in the first place) always assures me that "It will all work itself out in the end." She assures me of this over and over again, "With knitting, it always works itself out in the end."
Looking at my knitting stuff, and at everything else in my life, I am struck by the wisdom of this sentiment, to just calm down and trust that it will all work itself out in the end. I am not sure this is true for knitting, because I am the one doing the knitting and I am confident that I could somehow ruin it. But it is so comforting in the midst of the dropped stitches in life to realize that God is in control, and that he will work it all out. Romans 8:28 says "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." It will not come out a ruin. God is working it all out for the good of you. Trust in that.
Truly His,
Caroline
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Toast Heroes
Early this afternoon (about seven minutes after noon, to be precise) my dear friend Carol and I decided to journey to the cafeteria for Sunday brunch. After circling the cafeteria, we decided our best option would be a made-to-order omelet. To order an omelet, one has to fill out a little card by writing their name and then checking all the ingredients they want in their omelet. For the chronically indecisive, this in itself was a challenge. But finally I handed in my little card and began the long wait for my breakfast.
Wondering how long omelets take, I decided I had time to make some toast. I selected two rather large pieces of bread and put them in the toaster (one of those box kinds with the conveyor belt inside). After watching the toasts that had been right before mine pop out and waiting a few long moments, I began to wonder what had happened to mine. Looking inside, I found that my toasts were too large for the toaster and had securely jammed themselves into the back corner. I found a pair of tongs and attempted to wrestle them out, growing desperate when I couldn't, more desperate when I had to stop for fear of burning my hand, and downright fearful when the toaster started to smoke. A man walked up next to me to start some toast of his own, and in answer to his questioning look I wailed, "My toast is trapped!"
This brave and valiant individual took the tongs from my scorched hand, glanced into the toaster, and with a few quick gestures extracted my toast, perfectly golden brown. His only remark was, "They should get some bigger toasters."
It was probably another twenty minutes before my omelet was ready(My roommate and I suspect it got stuck on the skillet and that same valiant individual had to go back into the kitchen and save it), and I spent many of those minutes wondering how it is that a total stranger decided to help me out when I failed to fix things myself. Think about it. This man had no reason to care about my plight. I was just the girl taking up the toaster for too long. But instead of standing back to watch me figure things out, he stepped in to help. And it's comforting to think that, just like this valiant toast-hero, God often reaches out to help me when by all logical reasoning I ought to be left to my own devices. 1 Peter 5:6-7 says "Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." How amazing that despite all my failures, he cares for me. He cares for you. So come, let's cast our anxieties on him, and let him rescue us from our burned breakfasts.
Truly His,
Caroline
Wondering how long omelets take, I decided I had time to make some toast. I selected two rather large pieces of bread and put them in the toaster (one of those box kinds with the conveyor belt inside). After watching the toasts that had been right before mine pop out and waiting a few long moments, I began to wonder what had happened to mine. Looking inside, I found that my toasts were too large for the toaster and had securely jammed themselves into the back corner. I found a pair of tongs and attempted to wrestle them out, growing desperate when I couldn't, more desperate when I had to stop for fear of burning my hand, and downright fearful when the toaster started to smoke. A man walked up next to me to start some toast of his own, and in answer to his questioning look I wailed, "My toast is trapped!"
This brave and valiant individual took the tongs from my scorched hand, glanced into the toaster, and with a few quick gestures extracted my toast, perfectly golden brown. His only remark was, "They should get some bigger toasters."
It was probably another twenty minutes before my omelet was ready(My roommate and I suspect it got stuck on the skillet and that same valiant individual had to go back into the kitchen and save it), and I spent many of those minutes wondering how it is that a total stranger decided to help me out when I failed to fix things myself. Think about it. This man had no reason to care about my plight. I was just the girl taking up the toaster for too long. But instead of standing back to watch me figure things out, he stepped in to help. And it's comforting to think that, just like this valiant toast-hero, God often reaches out to help me when by all logical reasoning I ought to be left to my own devices. 1 Peter 5:6-7 says "Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." How amazing that despite all my failures, he cares for me. He cares for you. So come, let's cast our anxieties on him, and let him rescue us from our burned breakfasts.
Truly His,
Caroline
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Ferris wheel love
I am officially a college student. How do I know this, you ask? Well, after a week of staying up late doing homework, watching my roommate do homework, or writing these blogs, yesterday morning I slept in until noon. I am not usually one to sleep in. In fact, for most of this month I have woken up before my alarm even goes off. I find it nearly impossible to ever sleep past 9. So yesterday was a big deal, a rite of passage, so to speak.
When I finally did awaken, my roommate, my neighbor Lis, and I all went to the LA County Fair. If you have never been to a County Fair in one of the largest counties in the country let me express its size to you: they have a ski lift just to get across the fairgrounds.
So, after much of the usual fair festivities, we made our way to the enormous Ferris wheel. After surrendering five dollars worth of tickets, being forced to give up my coffee(a true tragedy; why wouldn't coffee be allowed in an open box so high in the air?) and standing in line for quite a little while, we made it into our own little box of the Ferris wheel. It was a lovely journey, I must say. When we were nearing the top, Lis mentioned that she was afraid of heights, and, determined to show that I, unlike so much of the world, was distinctly not afraid of heights, I stuck my head out and looked straight down.
I don't think I have ever had so instantaneous a reaction. I will admit to you that it seems I very well may be subconsciously afraid of heights, because looking down like that was simply overwhelming, it was literally very dizzying. And pondering these great heights, a verse comes to mind. Romans 8:39 says "neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Now think about this for a second. The height of a Ferris wheel overwhelms me. The height from a plane is hard to comprehend. I cannot comprehend the greatest heights of creation, they overwhelm me. And even so I know that God is greater than that distance, and his love remains near to us no matter what.
Truly His,
Caroline
When I finally did awaken, my roommate, my neighbor Lis, and I all went to the LA County Fair. If you have never been to a County Fair in one of the largest counties in the country let me express its size to you: they have a ski lift just to get across the fairgrounds.
So, after much of the usual fair festivities, we made our way to the enormous Ferris wheel. After surrendering five dollars worth of tickets, being forced to give up my coffee(a true tragedy; why wouldn't coffee be allowed in an open box so high in the air?) and standing in line for quite a little while, we made it into our own little box of the Ferris wheel. It was a lovely journey, I must say. When we were nearing the top, Lis mentioned that she was afraid of heights, and, determined to show that I, unlike so much of the world, was distinctly not afraid of heights, I stuck my head out and looked straight down.
I don't think I have ever had so instantaneous a reaction. I will admit to you that it seems I very well may be subconsciously afraid of heights, because looking down like that was simply overwhelming, it was literally very dizzying. And pondering these great heights, a verse comes to mind. Romans 8:39 says "neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Now think about this for a second. The height of a Ferris wheel overwhelms me. The height from a plane is hard to comprehend. I cannot comprehend the greatest heights of creation, they overwhelm me. And even so I know that God is greater than that distance, and his love remains near to us no matter what.
Truly His,
Caroline
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Blades of Grace
A few months back, I thought to myself, "Caroline, remember when you used to Rollerblade around the parking lot as a child? Wouldn't it be fun to Rollerblade again? You should get some Rollerblades." To which I replied, "My, what a brilliant idea!" So I went out to buy Rollerblades. Upon finding them, I discovered that Rollerblades are extremely expensive things. So naturally, I called my mother and asked her to help me pay for them, to which my mother replied, "I will pay for half of your Rollerblades only if you also buy wrist guards." The very first time I tried out my new Rollerblades these same wrist guards ended up with some very painful looking scratches in their plastic covering. Note that these painful scratches were not on my wrists, but on the chunks of plastic my mother insisted that I wear on my wrists. Thanks, Mom. I eventually learned (with the help of Google) that the little square of rubber on the back of one boot is called a brake, and can theoretically be used for slowing down or stopping in times of peril.
Fast forward to the time when I live in California. My dear friend Julia and I went out for a leisurely exercise session in which I attempted Rollerblading for the first time since moving out here, and learned that I have never seen a hill before in my life. California has hills. Lots of hills. Big hills, little hills, long hills, short hills. I was on those skates for probably an hour; I spent probably fifty minutes of that hour yelling, "Julia, I am going to die!" There was no single spot of sidewalk that did not have some measure of incline. And while I spent the majority of my journey across those hills praying that all the cars in the city would be immobile, I did not die. In fact, I did not even procure any injuries. I learned to trust that tiny rubber brake, and the one time I fell I somehow managed to, as Julia put it, "fall gracefully."
I can't help but be captivated by that phrase. What does it mean to fall gracefully? James 1:2-4 says, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." I believe that falling gracefully is a picture of the first step towards being "mature and complete." I know I am incomplete. I am not perfect, and nor do I suppose I will be any time soon. But in the meantime, I am learning. I am using my tiny rubber brake, I am falling in ways that don't hurt me. And I can't help but smile, consider it pure joy, that after my little "trials," my many falls, my careening out in front of bicycles shouting apologies while still not able to stop, my screams of terror as I realize this hill ends only in another sloping street, I am learning, I am growing, I am persevering. I am talking not only about Rollerblading but about life, about faith. I am not perfect, but I am falling gracefully, and I have a great God to pick me up.
Truly His,
Caroline
Fast forward to the time when I live in California. My dear friend Julia and I went out for a leisurely exercise session in which I attempted Rollerblading for the first time since moving out here, and learned that I have never seen a hill before in my life. California has hills. Lots of hills. Big hills, little hills, long hills, short hills. I was on those skates for probably an hour; I spent probably fifty minutes of that hour yelling, "Julia, I am going to die!" There was no single spot of sidewalk that did not have some measure of incline. And while I spent the majority of my journey across those hills praying that all the cars in the city would be immobile, I did not die. In fact, I did not even procure any injuries. I learned to trust that tiny rubber brake, and the one time I fell I somehow managed to, as Julia put it, "fall gracefully."
I can't help but be captivated by that phrase. What does it mean to fall gracefully? James 1:2-4 says, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." I believe that falling gracefully is a picture of the first step towards being "mature and complete." I know I am incomplete. I am not perfect, and nor do I suppose I will be any time soon. But in the meantime, I am learning. I am using my tiny rubber brake, I am falling in ways that don't hurt me. And I can't help but smile, consider it pure joy, that after my little "trials," my many falls, my careening out in front of bicycles shouting apologies while still not able to stop, my screams of terror as I realize this hill ends only in another sloping street, I am learning, I am growing, I am persevering. I am talking not only about Rollerblading but about life, about faith. I am not perfect, but I am falling gracefully, and I have a great God to pick me up.
Truly His,
Caroline
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Crazy Love
I must confess, I spend a whole lot of time thinking about food. It's a beautiful thing. I am deeply in love with it. Recently I have started passing the time by looking through cooking websites, reading recipes, gazing at the pictures. Maybe it's just the house-mom hiding within all women, but I dream of being a highly talented chef, able to look at a pile of ingredients and spontaneously whip up something delicious, always knowing exactly what to do, what to add, a pinch here, a tablespoon there. In my mind, I have a perfect internal clock; I never have to set the oven timer, I just instinctively know when my extravagant dishes are at their best. (Have I thought about this a lot more since seeing the movie Julie & Julia? Absolutely.)
In reality, I am not a horrible cook. If I have a very specific recipe to follow, I can make things well. Sometimes I can add teensy variations and pretend to myself that I am brilliant and spontaneous because my "extra-touch" did not make the food explode. But on the occasions when the recipe is not specific enough and I have to answer for myself questions like, "How long should I bake this?" "How much of such and such ingredient should I add?" my creations illicit responses like, "See? It only needed more sauce," or "You know what's REALLY good? The cookies you made last week." On occasions when the recipe is specific enough, I can often still manage to mess it up. For example, I have learned through experience that if you forget both the sugar and the brown sugar in oatmeal cookies, the results are not pretty. I have also scraped many a charred cookie into the trash because of my own forgetfulness.
Despite my best attempts, I am just not consistently competent. I cannot create beautiful masterpieces every time without fail. In fact, so often I fall on my face. I forget the sugar; I burn the cookies. And sometimes it can be so intimidating to know that the God who I serve IS perfect. But luckily for me, his word says (in Romans 5:8) "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." God loves us. While we were still sinners, while we were scraping burnt cookies off the tray, he demonstrated his love in the most powerful way he could, because (and here's the crazy part) we are worth it to him. I hope that you know that.
Truly His,
Caroline
In reality, I am not a horrible cook. If I have a very specific recipe to follow, I can make things well. Sometimes I can add teensy variations and pretend to myself that I am brilliant and spontaneous because my "extra-touch" did not make the food explode. But on the occasions when the recipe is not specific enough and I have to answer for myself questions like, "How long should I bake this?" "How much of such and such ingredient should I add?" my creations illicit responses like, "See? It only needed more sauce," or "You know what's REALLY good? The cookies you made last week." On occasions when the recipe is specific enough, I can often still manage to mess it up. For example, I have learned through experience that if you forget both the sugar and the brown sugar in oatmeal cookies, the results are not pretty. I have also scraped many a charred cookie into the trash because of my own forgetfulness.
Despite my best attempts, I am just not consistently competent. I cannot create beautiful masterpieces every time without fail. In fact, so often I fall on my face. I forget the sugar; I burn the cookies. And sometimes it can be so intimidating to know that the God who I serve IS perfect. But luckily for me, his word says (in Romans 5:8) "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." God loves us. While we were still sinners, while we were scraping burnt cookies off the tray, he demonstrated his love in the most powerful way he could, because (and here's the crazy part) we are worth it to him. I hope that you know that.
Truly His,
Caroline
Monday, September 14, 2009
Beatitudes and Bagels
I have a class on Mondays and Wednesdays at 8 am. It is one of my favorite classes, Foundations of Christian Thought. My professor for that class, Jason Oakes, is an amazing man who has a very real passion for God and for students. He is a really great professor. The only oddity (so far) in Oakes is that he has expressed to us that there are two things that irk him in general for no obvious reasons: the first is that he hates seeing bare feet, and so as an extension he really does not appreciate flip-flops on anyone. The second is that it bothers him when students eat during his class.
This Monday morning I set my alarm for the excruciating time of 6:30 a.m.. One of those little optimistic efforts where I think, "look at all the things I could do with my mornings!" So when I turned my alarm off at 6:30 this morning, I immediately climbed back up (three cheers for lofts!) to make my bed, and, as you might expect, fell right back asleep. Fortuitously I awoke again at 7:15, which meant if I threw on some clothes ran out the door I would have time to grab some breakfast before class. So I attempted this, throwing on some jeans and a favorite t-shirt (my California t-shirt, courtesy of Robyn and Shelby :D ). Strangely, this ensemble did not work(very long t-shirt plus jeans that are a foot too long = "look, Caroline is even shorter than we had previously realized!"), so I had to switch jeans. I threw on some flip-flops and ran out the door, but turned around and came back in. My professor hates flip-flops. So I had to change shoes. Anyway, running a tad bit lower on time than I had hoped, I made the long trek across campus to class.
In the same building as my class is a little cafe called The Talon (go Biola eagles and all that). I had just enough time to grab some coffee. I determined to myself that I would not buy breakfast because I could not eat it in class. Eating bothers my professor. I was perfectly happy with this decision until I got in line at the Talon, and there, on the counter, was the most beautiful display of bagel sandwiches I had ever seen. They were everything bagels filled with egg and ham anointed with cheese. At this point a battle was waged. The very small, very reasonable part of my brain said, "Now, Caroline, you decided that you would just wait. You're not even that hungry, and you don't want to eat during class. Just buy your coffee and get to class." All the while the very large, very unreasonable side of my brain chorused, "LOOK AT THE SANDWICH! IT IS BEAUTIFUL! IT IS WARM! IT IS ALL YOU COULD EVER WANT IN A BREAKFAST! BUY IT NOW OR SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE REGRETTING THE JOY YOU HAVE MISSED!" So naturally I caved and bought the sandwich. Again fortuitously, when I got to class, Professor Oakes had not yet arrived, so I started in on my sandwich, nearly crying with delight. It was a wonderful sandwich. About three bites in I heard something behind me about an attendance sheet and realized the professor had arrived, so I hastily wrapped up my everything bagel sandwich and stuffed it is my purse, and spent the next two hours wondering every few minutes "Does something smell like onions? Oh yeah, me."
Now in light of my experience with the power of even slight hunger on my actions, a verse comes to mind. (This verse is in a section of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount called the Beatitudes. I have never really understood what a "beatitude" is. I always thought something like "beautiful attitude." I looked it up in the dictionary, and the definition it gave me was "supreme blessedness." So I was way off. Anyway.) The verse is Matthew 5:6, and it says, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled." What would it look like if I could hunger for righteousness more intensely than I do for any meal? And how amazing would it be to be filled up with righteousness--goodness, pure and just--more satisfying than even a bagel sandwich? The answer to this second question is, I'm sure, very very amazing indeed. And the answer to the first question? Well, I intend to find out by becoming that person. Wanna join me?
Truly His,
Caroline
This Monday morning I set my alarm for the excruciating time of 6:30 a.m.. One of those little optimistic efforts where I think, "look at all the things I could do with my mornings!" So when I turned my alarm off at 6:30 this morning, I immediately climbed back up (three cheers for lofts!) to make my bed, and, as you might expect, fell right back asleep. Fortuitously I awoke again at 7:15, which meant if I threw on some clothes ran out the door I would have time to grab some breakfast before class. So I attempted this, throwing on some jeans and a favorite t-shirt (my California t-shirt, courtesy of Robyn and Shelby :D ). Strangely, this ensemble did not work(very long t-shirt plus jeans that are a foot too long = "look, Caroline is even shorter than we had previously realized!"), so I had to switch jeans. I threw on some flip-flops and ran out the door, but turned around and came back in. My professor hates flip-flops. So I had to change shoes. Anyway, running a tad bit lower on time than I had hoped, I made the long trek across campus to class.
In the same building as my class is a little cafe called The Talon (go Biola eagles and all that). I had just enough time to grab some coffee. I determined to myself that I would not buy breakfast because I could not eat it in class. Eating bothers my professor. I was perfectly happy with this decision until I got in line at the Talon, and there, on the counter, was the most beautiful display of bagel sandwiches I had ever seen. They were everything bagels filled with egg and ham anointed with cheese. At this point a battle was waged. The very small, very reasonable part of my brain said, "Now, Caroline, you decided that you would just wait. You're not even that hungry, and you don't want to eat during class. Just buy your coffee and get to class." All the while the very large, very unreasonable side of my brain chorused, "LOOK AT THE SANDWICH! IT IS BEAUTIFUL! IT IS WARM! IT IS ALL YOU COULD EVER WANT IN A BREAKFAST! BUY IT NOW OR SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE REGRETTING THE JOY YOU HAVE MISSED!" So naturally I caved and bought the sandwich. Again fortuitously, when I got to class, Professor Oakes had not yet arrived, so I started in on my sandwich, nearly crying with delight. It was a wonderful sandwich. About three bites in I heard something behind me about an attendance sheet and realized the professor had arrived, so I hastily wrapped up my everything bagel sandwich and stuffed it is my purse, and spent the next two hours wondering every few minutes "Does something smell like onions? Oh yeah, me."
Now in light of my experience with the power of even slight hunger on my actions, a verse comes to mind. (This verse is in a section of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount called the Beatitudes. I have never really understood what a "beatitude" is. I always thought something like "beautiful attitude." I looked it up in the dictionary, and the definition it gave me was "supreme blessedness." So I was way off. Anyway.) The verse is Matthew 5:6, and it says, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled." What would it look like if I could hunger for righteousness more intensely than I do for any meal? And how amazing would it be to be filled up with righteousness--goodness, pure and just--more satisfying than even a bagel sandwich? The answer to this second question is, I'm sure, very very amazing indeed. And the answer to the first question? Well, I intend to find out by becoming that person. Wanna join me?
Truly His,
Caroline
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Questions from the Magic Lamp
For those of you who don't know, I moved to California almost a month ago for college. "Where in California?" you may ask. Why, in the very best part of California! And that best part is 15 minutes from Disneyland. Upon our arrival in California, my parents bestowed upon me the priceless gift of a premium annual passport. What does this mean? It means I can go to Disneyland any time I can find a ride. Huzzah!
Now, besides my annual passport, I have two distinct advantages:
On our way to follow Indiana Jones into a temple of doom, we stopped in a little shop to try on fedoras and make faces in the mirrors, and in this shop we found the magic lamp! This magic lamp informed us that if we only inserted two quarters into it, it would reveal our futures! We quickly complied, and it informed my roommate that she would answer the greatest mystery of the universe, namely, "Why do hot dogs come in packs of eight and hot dog buns in packs of six?"
Today, on an adventure to dinner with a hallmate, Lis, some similarly mysterious questions came up, one of those being, "Do invisible rocks have shadows?" This questions arose from an interaction that went like this:
Caroline: (trips over her own feet)
Lis: Uh, there was a rock there, right? I saw it.
Caroline: Yeah, an invisible rock.
Lis: Then how did I see it?
Caroline: You saw its shadow.
Lis: Do invisible rocks have shadows? (At this point Lis breaks out laughing at the absurdity of this conversation.)
This all somehow led me to a similarly bizarre question (which caused a similar laughing fit from Lis). There's this verse in the bible (Matthew 18:3 to be exact) where Jesus tells his disciples (who had just asked him who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven) "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."
So as I was blowing bubbles in my coffee and pondering this, I asked this question aloud, "Does blowing bubbles in my coffee make me childlike enough to get into the kingdom of heaven?"
Of course, the truth of the matter is that becoming like a child is simply having faith like a child, faith to believe the things you can't see with your eyes, just because someone you trust told you so. I know one person who was, is, and always will be worth trusting. That would be of course the one person who never did anything wrong, because wrong-doing simply makes you not completely trust-worthy. And I am still trying to dedicate everything to him. Brother Lawrence (I don't actually know who this is, evidently someone who loved Jesus) once said, "I turn my little omelet in the pan for the love of God."
If I may paraphrase: "I blow bubbles in my coffee for the love of God."
With that, my consciousness has failed, so I must sign off and head toward sleep. Good night.
Truly His,
Caroline
Now, besides my annual passport, I have two distinct advantages:
- My roommate has the same kind of Disney pass as I do.
- My roommate has a car.
On our way to follow Indiana Jones into a temple of doom, we stopped in a little shop to try on fedoras and make faces in the mirrors, and in this shop we found the magic lamp! This magic lamp informed us that if we only inserted two quarters into it, it would reveal our futures! We quickly complied, and it informed my roommate that she would answer the greatest mystery of the universe, namely, "Why do hot dogs come in packs of eight and hot dog buns in packs of six?"
Today, on an adventure to dinner with a hallmate, Lis, some similarly mysterious questions came up, one of those being, "Do invisible rocks have shadows?" This questions arose from an interaction that went like this:
Caroline: (trips over her own feet)
Lis: Uh, there was a rock there, right? I saw it.
Caroline: Yeah, an invisible rock.
Lis: Then how did I see it?
Caroline: You saw its shadow.
Lis: Do invisible rocks have shadows? (At this point Lis breaks out laughing at the absurdity of this conversation.)
This all somehow led me to a similarly bizarre question (which caused a similar laughing fit from Lis). There's this verse in the bible (Matthew 18:3 to be exact) where Jesus tells his disciples (who had just asked him who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven) "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."
So as I was blowing bubbles in my coffee and pondering this, I asked this question aloud, "Does blowing bubbles in my coffee make me childlike enough to get into the kingdom of heaven?"
Of course, the truth of the matter is that becoming like a child is simply having faith like a child, faith to believe the things you can't see with your eyes, just because someone you trust told you so. I know one person who was, is, and always will be worth trusting. That would be of course the one person who never did anything wrong, because wrong-doing simply makes you not completely trust-worthy. And I am still trying to dedicate everything to him. Brother Lawrence (I don't actually know who this is, evidently someone who loved Jesus) once said, "I turn my little omelet in the pan for the love of God."
If I may paraphrase: "I blow bubbles in my coffee for the love of God."
With that, my consciousness has failed, so I must sign off and head toward sleep. Good night.
Truly His,
Caroline
Saturday, September 12, 2009
I have fallen to blogging
Hello World!
My name is Caroline Davoust, and I have decided to start a blog. I must tell you that I had many hesitations about doing this, the greatest of which being that I never read anyone else's blog, so writing one is probably outrageously hypocritical. You may be asking, "If you never read blogs then why are you writing one?" Actually, I seriously doubt that you are asking that, because I seriously doubt that you are reading this. I secretly think that everyone in the world is like me and does not read any blog but their own.
Nevertheless, here I am, and I will answer this question that you did not ask. I am starting a blog because:
Jesus showed me this weekend the power of simply talking to Him. Zephaniah 3:17 says "The Lord your God is with you; he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing." God's delight is in you, he loves you, he rejoices over you. And if God is so delighted with you that he rejoices over you with singing, I'm sure he wants to hear from you.
Truly His,
Caroline
My name is Caroline Davoust, and I have decided to start a blog. I must tell you that I had many hesitations about doing this, the greatest of which being that I never read anyone else's blog, so writing one is probably outrageously hypocritical. You may be asking, "If you never read blogs then why are you writing one?" Actually, I seriously doubt that you are asking that, because I seriously doubt that you are reading this. I secretly think that everyone in the world is like me and does not read any blog but their own.
Nevertheless, here I am, and I will answer this question that you did not ask. I am starting a blog because:
- I have a plethora of possibly humorous anecdotes sitting in my head begging to be shared. If I document them in a blog, I can convince myself that they are being shared, and that they may even have made someone laugh.
- Upon sharing some of these anecdotes with my dad, he laughed and said, "This is great stuff; you should write a blog." Obviously I listen to my parents.
- I have not seen many blogs that mention Jesus in every entry, and I am sure that it is possible, so I am endeavoring to write a blog that very intentionally glorifies God, and that I truly hope even makes Him laugh from time to time.
Jesus showed me this weekend the power of simply talking to Him. Zephaniah 3:17 says "The Lord your God is with you; he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing." God's delight is in you, he loves you, he rejoices over you. And if God is so delighted with you that he rejoices over you with singing, I'm sure he wants to hear from you.
Truly His,
Caroline
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)