Vacuum of Terror

Sophisticated people in the realm of psychology have done quite a few studies, and one of the things they found is that children, in general, are born with only two innate fears. One of them is the fear of heights, and the other is a fear of loud noises. I have never known myself to be extremely terrified of heights, but I can certainly relate to the loud noises fear. Suffice to say, I abhor the vacuum cleaner.

This morning, I was tidying up the house a little, and found myself downstairs. After organizing the movies, folding the blankets, and picking up a few bits of trash, I looked over at our large popcorn machine and noticed it to be full of week-old popcorn. So, naturally I thought to myself, "Better vacuum out the popcorn machine." For those of you who find this statement odd, let me assure you, it is completely reasonable. You see, when we moved into our new house, we ended up with two unexpected appliances: one, a house-warming present, was the delightful popcorn machine. The other was an industrial vacuum cleaner. We already had a perfectly functional home vacuum cleaner, so what to do with the new one was a bit of a quandary, until we stumbled upon the realization that it is the perfect tool for quickly cleaning out the popcorn machine. So it found a home next to the popcorn machine, and there it lives to this day.

So this morning, feeling industrious myself, I decided to vacuum out the popcorn machine. I opened up the machine, flipped the switch on the vacuum, and jumped in fear when it made a very loud noise. Yes, I am aware that vacuums always make a very loud noise. No, there was nothing unusual about the noise. Yes, I was the one who turned on the vacuum in the first place. Still, I found myself frightened. But I fought my fears for the sake of the popcorn machine. Unfortunately, halfway through the popcorn, the vacuum ceased to be effective. "Jingles!" I thought to myself, "It's full!" So I turned off the vacuum, relishing the quiet, and opened it up. I hadn't quite expected it to be as full as it was, and the moment I unlatched the lid a wave of crushed, stale popcorn shot out of the vacuum and onto the floor. So after I had scooped most of the popcorn into a trash bag I had to once again turn on the vacuum to get the rest out of the carpet, and once again was completely unnerved by the noise.

Pondering my responses to the wailings of vacuum cleaners, I have to realize how very silly my fears were. I was completely in control of the situation. My fears were entirely irrational. And when I study the Bible, I have to realize that every fear is just as irrational as that. Isaiah 41:13 says, "For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.” " When any fear rises in me, I have to realize it is just as irrational as fear of the vacuum cleaner, because God, who is fully in control, promises to be with me, just as he promises to be with you. So fear not.

Truly His,

Caroline

What did he say?

Since I so often refer to you as Readers, I am going to assume that you like reading just fine, and I'm right with you. I love reading. A long while ago I was reading at least two books a week, but what with the all of the business that life provides, finding books to read on my own is one of those things that faded away. A friend and I were discussing this a few months back and decided that we should get a few people together and choose a book to read every month or so; a book club, if you will.

The first book selected for our book club was Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner. I had never heard of this book before, but was excited to be reading anything that wasn't required for a class. So I ordered my copy of the book online, and before it had shipped I headed down to the library to take a look at this piece of literature. After reading a few pages, I went back to my computer and ordered a dictionary as well.

You see, Faulkner is an interesting individual. I now believe that he was one of those men who tried very hard to seem mysterious, because his whole book seems to have one central purpose: to keep me from understanding it. First, the story. Our dear friend Willy likes to start the story in weird places in the chronology and then spend hundreds of pages spinning around it in mysterious ways so by the end you may or may not have actually figured out what happened. But he has to put the story in there somewhere, so just in case he was becoming too coherent he fills each chapter with something I can only describe as thesaurus vomit. He uses a few huge and obscure words on practically every page. So for each chapter of Faulkner I end up spending a lot more time reading the dictionary than reading the book.

Every now and then Faulkner will offer me a page or two that are mostly comprehensible, but then I think he realizes what he has done and so he shakes out his thesaurus over the rest of the chapter. The most frustrating thing about this is that I am incapable of remembering any of the words I have learned in the hours I spend perusing dictionaries over Faulkner. Whenever a large word arises, I think to myself, "Oh, I saw that word two pages ago! It means... um... oh dear..." and then have to look it up all over again. 330 pages into the book, I have resigned myself to the fact that I will not understand these long sentences and so I have given up looking up every word.

I know that if I devoted more time to this book, studying it, defining terms, rereading, I could certainly master it, but luckily for me, I don't have to; this book is not in any way essential to my life. But just as lucky, there is a book that does matter, that I should devote my time and energy to, and it has a whole lot more to offer. James 1:25 says, "But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it—he will be blessed in what he does." While I don't plan on spending too much of my time poring over Absalom, Absalom! I will be studying God's word, because it is worth it, because it gives freedom.

Truly His,
Caroline

Oh, Hello Again.

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

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

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

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

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