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
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
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
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