Still seeking

the God who forgives

2012-01-24T21:24:00.000-08:00

A dear friend emailed me last week asking for the Hebrew of "The God-Who-Forgives." She found it in Psalm 99:8, which says,

You answered them, O LORD our God;
You were to them God-Who-Forgives,
Though You took vengeance on their deeds.

Thanks to Logos Bible Software, a handy Bible study tool I would never have bought unless I'd been required to by Intro to Biblical Languages class (thanks, Abner!), I looked up the verse and found that the God-Who-Forgives is, in Hebrew, אֵל נֹשֵׂא; transliterated, El Noseh.

But that's not the real point.

For curiousity's sake, I searched the root of noseh, or "forgives." It's used 65 times in the Old Testament, for such words as bear, carry, lift, forgive, pardon, bear, wear, bring, exalt, carry, lofty, pardoning, honorable (man), forgive, and (believe it or not) armor-bearer and shield-bearer. This list is not in order of most- to least-used.

This was quite a range of meanings, so I narrowed the word search to the specific word used. The only time it was used in the Old Testament was in Psalm 99:8, in the God-Who-Forgives.

A word search is only as helpful as the conclusions you can draw from it. And since this specific word is only used once, we won't get much out of a word study of that word. But a quick study of the root may yield interesting results. So without using too much sanctified imagination (as Dad calls it), here's what I got:

Forgiveness as God gives it is a bearing and a carrying, even a shielding. From the context of Psalm 99, we can see that it was Israel's sins that God shielded them from, even though He punished them for them. So forgiveness does not necessarily give a complete freedom from deserved punishment, but is a shielding from and even a carrying of most of it. It may even be a lifting above it.

So add El Noseh to your list of the "Names of God," and thank Him it belongs there!

marriage at ages 79 and 64

2012-01-12T20:20:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, I attended the wedding of Chuck and Esther Cox.

Yes, the groom is using a walker. He is still recovering from knee surgery. He is 79 years old, and his bride is 64. She had been a widow for 11 years before they were joined in holy matrimony, and he had been a widower 7 months. His first wife, Gladys, with whom he served the Lord for many years, several of them as missionaries in the Philippines, passed away last April when I was in Israel.

The match was made by a mutual friend to whom Chuck, in his own words, "mentioned his desire to marry again," and who was also aware that Esther was "a lively, spunky Filipina widow who is open to marrying again." This friend and his sister put them in phone contact. They met face-to-face in October 2011, and were married on January 7, 2012.

The wedding was packed-full of their children, grandchildren, and maybe a few great-grandchildren. The ceremony was scrupulously traditional until the bride walked in. The groom and bride seemed to be enjoying the process and taking their time. I'm pretty sure that at their first weddings forty years ago, there was a lot more nervousness -- and a lot fewer family members.

Their honeymoon, they hope, will be a trip to the Philippines so Mr. Cox can meet Mrs. Cox's aged mother, and so Mrs. Cox can showcase her aged husband (also in his words).

Sweet, isn't it?

My friends, for however many complaints we post publicly on Facebook or privately in our hearts over whatever trials the Lord sends us, let us never forget that if we are in Christ, every trial is a blessing because it is a means to make us more like Him. It must be a conscious, everyday choice to let it be so, since bitterness constantly tells us that God is unjust to allow what He does.

But He is good -- as the joy on the faces of these two saints testifies.

letter from a sailor

2011-11-30T11:56:00.000-08:00

When Michael jokingly asked a fellow sailor if he wanted to write to me, too, this was the result:

Dear Pillitiere's sister,

Heyo/hi/shalom/salutations; greetings from Recruit Training Command. Just a complete stranger, but hopefully I won't freak you out too much. There's quite a bit to do here, but helping a brother out.

Not quite sure what to write about, so I'll write about him. SR Pillitiere seems to be a very solemn and reserved person. There is a number of fellow shipmates who are disrespectful and profane in this division, but to find someone who is self-aware and aware of their surroundings. It is also great to know he actively tries to learn (and ask many questions). At times when it gets rough for us all, he always has his head up and high.

I pray everything is alright with you as well. Keep working hard towards school and never give up. Also, if you may, keep in contact with family and your brother, I am willing to wager that they miss you and/or would love to hear from you too.

From

SR Yang(eebtshee) [Chinese signature]

This was probably written around the time Michael contracted a mild case of pneumonia. He passed his physical notwithstanding, and the rest of his tests, and graduates from boot camp this Friday. We were already proud of him, but it was encouraging to hear from a fellow sailor that he has earned his respect, too.

November news

2011-11-06T09:05:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I took the final section of my senior comprehensive exams. 12 essays in 2 hours -- the most intense exam I've ever taken, but it was quite doable and I'm confident about it. I'm looking forward to graduation in May more than ever now.

*Edit* I did pass.

While I was taking the exam, my roommate Sarah was running the 5 kilometer at the GSAC (Golden State Athletic Conference) championships. She's been doing very well all semester, but yesterday was her best race yet, and she made it to Nationals. Her last college race is in two weeks, and she's determined to go out with a bang. I'm quite proud of her.

After the exam was over, I was exhausted and decided to do something crazy. So I helped with a movie shoot. I know a few film majors at Master's, and this is the second project I've been roped into. But who wouldn't mind wearing a cool cape and being an elf for a few hours? Afterwards, some good friends and I watched V for Vendetta to unwind. We did see it on the 5th of November. I didn't do quite as much unwinding as I'd hoped, but it was still worth the time.

The next film project I get to help with is a silent film my up-and-coming film-making friend Shanalyse is directing, set in the 1920's. I've got the costume and she's got most of the other actors and some of the locations lined up. We're planning on shooting the weekend before Thanksgiving. I'm pretty excited about it, since I've only acted on stage, and never with a major role before.

Michael is having an interesting time at bootcamp. He got two wisdom teeth out fairly soon after he got there, and had medication issues for a while afterwards, in addition to getting sick. He is unimpressed by the other "nukes" or sailors going into the nuclear power program with him. He says they look smart on paper, but take forever to learn stuff. He asked for prayer, and letters are appreciated.

Finally, it's raining. In Southern California. And I might get a little chilly today. I've missed this.

Russia, Nigeria, and the US

2011-10-17T20:18:00.000-07:00

Last week, Russia passed a law outlawing any "small" unregistered churches. This effectively means any non-Orthodox churches. The state now has the authority to sensor teaching materials used by churches, and jail the pastor if the law is not complied with.

I learned about this through a Russian girl who lives in the International House with me.

Recently more Christians were burnt alive by Sunni Muslims in Nigeria as part of a general uprising as a result of a Christian being elected president of Nigeria. Violence has been going on against Christians for some time, and this is just the latest episode. I'd post a link, but the picture is horrific.

I learned about this on Facebook.

Christians will always experience persecution. Jesus said that if they persecuted Him, they'll persecute us, too, and a disciple is no greater than his Master.

I learned about this in John 15:20.

Christians in the United States are not immune. Persecution is going to come, likely within my generation's lifetime. Is the American church ready to be jailed and even physically assaulted for the sake of Christ? It's a question worth considering. How much is your faith worth to you?

I'm learning this now.

He restores His sheep.

2011-09-04T21:04:00.000-07:00

"He restores my soul." Psalm 23:3a

Apparently sheep, like cows, are subject to tipping. However, sheep don't need any help tipping themselves. When sheep's lower halves are uppermost, they can struggle until they are completely exhausted, but they are stuck that way until some beneficent person comes along and rights them.

Not only is this position most undignified, it is dangerous. A sheep left in this position will die unless it is rescued -- from itself. A shepherd needs to be constantly watchful to make sure that he doesn't lose any of his flock through this strange method. Restoration of a sheep is an important matter indeed.

Uncomplimentary though it may be, our souls need restoring, too. Ever feel like your soul's legs are waving helplessly in the air, and feelings of foolishness give way to desperation as time goes on? Don't worry, sheep. The Good Shepherd can put you back on your feet again, if you are His. And if you're not, He wants you, waving legs and all.

For the inspiration for this post, listen to Pastor John Richard's sermon on Psalm 23 on the date of this post: http://www.placeritachurch.org/site/audiodownloads.asp?sec_id=140005082

my tassel

2011-08-10T15:02:00.000-07:00

I'm moving back to southern California this Saturday, so I've been packing little by little every day this week. The blue-and-gold tassel with the gold 2008 charm went into a box without my even thinking about it. Then I thought of how odd it was that I still hang onto it and make sure it follows me wherever I move.

When I graduated from high school on June 7th , 2008 I was tempted to think -- and no doubt others did -- that I was crazy to graduate a year early from high school with no specific purpose for all that effort. But I knew the Lord had a plan, so when the speech had been given, the diploma awarded, and the party over, I hung my tassel on my photo board on the wall in my room. I needed a reminder that the Lord wasn't going to abandon me in the middle of my story.

When I moved out to go to Master's a year later, I brought my tassel with me. It's hung on the wall of my dorm room, the various rooms that have been mine in the House, and back on my wall at my family's home this summer. The only room I've stayed in which hasn't been adorned by it was my room in Israel -- but the truth it represented hadn't changed.

Lord willing, in May my high school tassel will be joined by another blue-and-gold tassel, this one with 2012 on it. They'll probably hang together on my board. And though I may move to a part of the world where unnecessary objects are a liability, I won't need them to remind me of how faithful God is.

the pieces are moving

2011-07-27T16:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I contacted the first agency about teaching English overseas, starting next summer! The application-and-prayer process is beginning.

Three weeks ago, the Lord came through yet again, and I am going back to Master's for my senior year! Not only that, but I don't have to work even one job all semester. That, my friends, is a miracle.

School doesn't start at Master's until August 29th, but I'll be driving down on the 13th to attend two friends' weddings and take my last CLEP test ever.

I say -- it's awfully nice to be almost done with college.

things to come

2011-06-20T17:01:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, I've spent a few hours reading the book Planting and Growing Urban Churches (edited by Harvey Conn) for my Cross-Cultural Church Planting class, an upper-division missions class I'm taking by directed studies from Master's. I came across this quote that I found fascinating:

Poverty and injustice are realities for the urban strategy planner. But they are not overpowering realities. Not ideology, but eschatology, expects new things to happen. Not utopia, but hope in the coming "God of hope" (Rom. 15:13), gives our planning a socio-political preview of change to come." (page 76, bold emphasis mine)

I've spent a lot of time thinking through different views of biblical eschatology (the study of last things), and measuring them against Scripture. There's terms like pre-Tribulation, post-Tribulation, mid-Tribulation, and pan-Tribulation, and corresponding terms with "Millenium" tacked on the end, that get thrown around in the evangelical church and colleges today, and Master's has made sure I've had a thorough run-down of each one.

Besides that, I'm not quite sure which view I think is most Scriptural, though I'm convinced it's not a hill to die on. But though the doctrines of eschatology may not be as important as that of the diety of Christ, for example, the Holy Spirit gave it a lot of space in Scripture, so it must be worthwhile to study it and have an opinion on it.

But if I'm going to spend all that time studying the various views and opinions on the subject of the end times, I ought to have an idea of what use it all is. Which begs a specific question: Should our opinion on when Christ will return for His people have any difference in how we live our life in the here and now?

Since I'm a missions major, with the prospect of arriving on the mission field in the near future, and over-analyze things anyway, I expected to have a field day with this one. But besides brief comments that assume the truth of the pre-Tribulation and pre-Millenial point of view, my missions readings haven't said that much on the subject.

The author of the chapter I was reading, Harvey M. Conn, was writing in the context that strategy for church-planting-centered evangelism must be founded on hope, because of the power of the God who commanded the Church to bring the gospel to the ends of the earth (Matthew 28:19-20).

The quote about poverty, injustice, and eschatology caught my attention. Not only does one rarely find those three words in the same sentence, but I've wrestled with that when I experienced a four-day poverty simulation in inner city Los Angeles. In my mind, issues like that need an answer from a viable theory of eschatology, because they can't continue forever.

Conn was not advocating a certain interpretation of Scripture with a prefix and a doctrine connected by a hyphen. He was showing that we can endure hardships, and watch others endure hardships, in hope because we know that that's not all there is. And we can share the gospel in hope because we know that one day, our hope will become a reality. Romans 8:23-25 says,

Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance.

From an eschatological point of view, whatever your view of the end times and the Rapture should include a redemption of the physical body, as well as spiritual perfection in the likeness of Christ (1 John 3:2). The consequences of sin that have been evident in society from time immemorial will also be done away with. Even creation itself will share in the glorious liberty of the sons of God (Romans 8:21).

This is just another rabbit trail in the long process of understanding an important doctrine of my faith. But I find the connection between the gospel and the end times fascinating. Because what did Christ say in His Olivet discourse in the midst of His description of the tribulatiosn of the end times?

And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in all the world as a witness to all the nations, and then the end will come." (Matthew 24:14)

Whatever "the end" is, the accomplishment of the Great Commission has a part in bringing it about!

All Scripture is New King James Version. By the way, if you haven't read Romans 8 in a while, you should -- after you read Romans 7. Who says we have nothing but gloom and doom to share?

family news

2011-06-13T18:11:00.000-07:00

My brother Michael graduated from high school on Saturday, June 11th, 2011!

I am immensely proud of him. School is not his favorite thing, but he kept whaling away at it until the last wretched lesson of physics was behind him. He was sworn into the Navy in February, and wears his title of Future Sailor "Pillie" proudly (and enjoys his discounted movie tickets). He'll be shipped off to boot camp in Michigan in October. When he graduates, he'll be off to A-school in South Carolina, where he'll be initiated into all the mysteries of the Navy's nuclear power program. Ironically, he'll be reunited with physics.

Michael's friend Josiah also graduated. He's the younger brother of two of my best friends, but he's become a friend in the last few years, too. Our families have been like cousins since I was seven, and it's so neat to see our siblings getting close and graduating together!

Esther graduated from 8th grade. Many people (including her big sister, at times) are amazed that she's only in junior high. No more! I'm excited to see what the Lord will be doing in her life in the next four years.

So Mom has officially graduated half her students, and her youngest is on the home stretch. Knock me over with a feather, why don't you?

Michael's graduation party was a blast. Aunts, uncles, and cousins from both sides of the family came up for both graduation and party, and we had a blast hanging out. Our second cousin on Mom's side and her two kids (our second cousins once removed) surprised Michael and showed up. We hadn't seen them in two years, and we were surprised that the kids seemed to remember us.

Esther, Gabriel, 4-year-old Joanna, and I

Thanks to Jayme Ross for the pictures!

In other news, the day after Michael's graduation, June 12th, was Dad and Mom's 29th wedding anniversary. Can you imagine? Twenty-nine years and still going strong. One more year and they'll have been married for three decades.

Pinnacles

2011-06-01T17:27:00.000-07:00

The last two years in general, and the last five months in particular, have taught me the rare value of having faithful Christian friends who love you no matter your disagreements or personality differences.

I have many friends in many different parts of the state, country, and the world. But there are a few precious jewels who have always been available. Some of them I've known since I was born. Some of them I met just two years ago. They are from all over the world. But all of them share the characteristic that if we get too busy to stay in touch, we know we'll make a point to see each other again and pick up right where we left off.

This last weekend was the third annual California reunion of Homeschool Alumni (see link under Sites I Frequent). We've held it at Pinnacles National Monument because of the camping, hiking, and rockclimbing and rappelling opportunities.

To be honest, the HSA campout was a major thing that kept me going this semester. At times, my most oft-repeated thought was, "If I can just make it to the last weekend in May..." These people are what I would classify as true friends. Though I haven't had the time to keep up with all of them through the year (many of us are working and/or in college), I know that when we're all together again for those three days in May, it will almost be as if we'd never left.

Almost because there's always trips, semesters, jobs, marriages, couples, babies, and families to be caught up on. I had a very satisfying half hour just sitting with my friend The Tall Princess (as she's known in the HSA chatroom) and getting caught up on all our mutual friends. And as so often seems to happen with out-of-the-box homeschool graduates who don't consider a career the be-all and end-all, life goals have changed and new plans are made, and we're all eager to hear about them.

But above all, God was there. He seemed to be in every conversation, looking down from every cloud, and shouting at us from every spire of rock. It is very rare that a conversation around a dying campfire until 2am repeatedly turns to the Lord and His wishes. It is also very rare that people from this many different backgrounds, interests, and abilities who only had their homeschool education in common should keep coming back year after year to do it all again. The Spirit was clearly working, as testimonies around the campfire Sunday morning showed.

I was expecting a wonderful weekend, but fearing an awful one. One small price I've had to pay for the Israel trip -- and going to Master's -- has been the nearly perfect health I've had until now. By April, I wasn't able to finish all the hikes in Israel. But the Lord used the difficulty that camping was to show me the love of the Lord's people. And on the third day, I actually felt good enough to rock climb, one of the things I'd been most hoping to do. And I was reminded how much fun rappelling is -- once you get yourself over the edge.

The Pinnacles campout has been aptly named.

home again

2011-05-20T22:24:00.000-07:00

I've been home for almost a week now. It feels so good to be part of a family again, even if I can't participate and help as much as I would like. They're so glad to have me back again that I can just feel the little holes in my heart starting to heal.

I'm still in the process of seeing all my friends again, and I'm enjoying every minute of it. I don't miss Israel yet. I'm still rediscovering the freedom of walking around my hometown on my own, eating meat and cheese together whenever I like, and calling friends on my cell phone (in the same time zone, too!).

But I'm listening to my Hebrew worship music to keep what little Hebrew I have still intact.

And my current location on Facebook is still listed as "Jerusalem, Israel." I think it'll stay that way for a while.

Endings and beginnings

2011-05-14T15:49:00.000-07:00

Exactly one week ago, I was in a plane over the Atlantic Ocean. IBEX finals week was last week, and Saturday, May 7, we had our last bus ride to Ben Gurion International airport and boarded a plane at midnight Israeli time. Twenty-one hours later, we landed at LAX.

To say I was exhausted would be an understatement. To say I was glad to be back would also be an understatement. As soon as I saw the friends who were there to pick me up (thanks, Andrew and Sarah!), I felt like I could relax. It felt slightly wrong to be so overjoyed to be done with a trip which was a once-in-a-lifetime dream come true, and where I learned things most people only wish they could.

But everything has its own season, and the season of IBEX is over. For me, the week after a trip or an event is still a part of the event because it is still vivid in my mind, and still close. Two weeks after, it begins to fade. The fading period is beginning. I'll be going home tomorrow, and turning to life at home again.

This week that I've spent at Master's has been one of the best I can remember. The physical, emotional, and mental rest I've gotten this week has been just what I needed. All I had to do was eat, sleep, rest, hang out with friends, and recover from jet lag. My friends were all delighted to see me, and I've been constantly showered with love until I don't know what to do with it all.

For example, they've kept me so well-supplied with meals from their own meal plans that several times I could have eaten lunch twice if I wanted to, for free. I've been caught up on who's doing what and dating who and engaged to who and going where. I've had so many people asking to eat or hang out that I haven't had to eat one meal alone. I should go to IBEX more often, since everyone is so happy to see me when I get back.

The crowning joy of this week was attending TMC graduation last night. IBEX friends, house friends, roommates, coworkers, and a multitude of classmates walked across the stage and shook hands with John MacArthur (or JMac, as we call him). Last year, I was sad to say goodbye to my graduating friends, but this year, I was too happy for them.

I understand now more than I did when I watched last year's graduation what a college diploma means. Sometimes the cost is far more than just financial. But my friends also gained more than they could have expected when they were freshmen in college. Some fiancées were graduating together. I've seen my friends learn to trust the Lord when they don't want to, and keep going when they can't.

I felt like I was graduating along with them. And in one year, I really will be walking across that stage.

My wonderful IBEX roommate Emilie and I

the Muddle East

2011-05-03T10:35:00.000-07:00

A few people have been asking me if anything has changed in Israel since Osama bin Laden was killed by US Special Forces a few days ago, and if the general state of unrest in the Middle East is any cause for concern here.

The short answer is, not right now. Since bin Laden's death, the US government is beefing up security on Americans abroad, but so far nothing has happened to justify concern. As far as the terrorist attack in West Jerusalem last month, we IBEXers are still banned by our professors from using public transportation to and from Jerusalem. As far as the unrest in the neighboring countries, we IBEXers have not been affected by any of this, besides being prevented from visiting Egypt on travel/study break. The inconvenience is considerable, but the danger is negligible. Rest assured, we are well taken care of!

As far as the political situation, it is likely things could heat up here in September. That is when the Egyptian elections will be held, and if a conservative Muslim group is voted into power, they probably won't respect the peace agreement with Israel. The instability in the surrounding Arab nations poses a similar threat, since the Muslim Brotherhood has been gaining more power, especially in Egypt.

The Israeli government has been warning that this situation is not good for Israel. We IBEXers visited the home of a former advisor to the mayor of Jerusalem, who explained that it is a different culture in the Middle East, and that includes their ideal government. The Egyptians want a benevolent dictator. What they'll get may or may not meet their expectations, but he probably won't be benevolent toward Israel.

Meanwhile, the Palestinian Authority has declared a state and is trying to get the United Nations to recognize it. A few South American nations have, but the big boys on the Security Council (like the United States) seem to be stalling. Demonstrations are expected to start as early as mid-May.

Being in Israel has helped me understand how truly messy this situation is. The Israelis call the disputed areas "the territories", because they have reclaimed them from the Arabs. The Arabs consider themselves occupied by a foreign power, and call the territories the West Bank (of Lebanon). Some areas have their own Palestinian police, but some are closely guarded by the IDF. The current borders of the territories are marked by high walls, complete with concrete, barbed wire, and guard towers manned by the IDF, but are indefensible if they became the borders of the proposed Palestinian state.

I am currently working on a research report about Israel/US relations during the 1970's, and how this influenced the Yom Kippur War. It amazes me how similar the situation was then to now.

We're leaving on Saturday, so we're not worried. :) But it would seem that the timing of our arrival -- and our departure -- is perfect.

Yom HaShoah

2011-05-02T05:50:00.000-07:00

Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel, or Yom HaShoah. According to Wikipedia, this day is the 27th of the Jewish month Nisan, and was chosen because it is eight days before Israel's Independence Day.

This morning, I and seven other students in Modern Hebrew class met at our prof Benj's house. His wife Yael served us tea and coffee, and his two-year-old son Yair kept us entertained with his attempts at sentences that mixed Hebrew and English. We finished our review for the final, and were finishing our tea and passing the chocolate bowl around. In explaining the observance of the day, Benj reminded us that at 10 AM sharp, the siren would sound and everyone should stand silently in remembrance of the Holocaust victims. Even on the roads, he said, Israelis would stop their cars wherever they were, get out, and stand until the siren had finished. Arabs do not follow this custom.

We were talking about the Holocaust and its effects, and how normal, educated people with meals on the table and appointments to keep were uprooted from their lives. Then at 10:00, the siren deafened us for a minute or two. It was an odd anomaly in keeping with our conversation. We were nine normal, educated people standing in the comfortable home of a happy family, listening to the hellish sound of a siren.

Who would have thought that a tragedy that murdered victims so obscure would interrupt the lives of their descendants?

Easter

2011-04-24T13:15:00.001-07:00

Today is Easter. And I'm in the Holy Land. Who gets to spend Easter in the Holy Land?

Not many.

There was a sunrise service at the Garden Tomb this morning, and free transportation available. Who gets the opportunity to celebrate Jesus' resurrection in Jerusalem at a 1st century tomb on Easter morning for free?

Not many.

Who passes up said opportunity?

I did.

I do have my excuses: it's not the tomb (for archaeological and geographical reasons I could expound upon), 4:30am is too early to wake up, I had homework, I didn't want to miss breakfast, I don't like crowds of tourists, and I don't like emotional appeals to worship.

The first and last excuses are the main ones. If I'm not going to praise the Lord for His resurrection anywhere else, than tearing up at a garden tomb is not real worship. And if it's not the real tomb, that throws me off, too.

But there's really one big excuse struggling to break through all the others and my pride.

I'm okay with missing out on things.... 'cause I'm ready to go home!

Happy Resurrection Day. :)

Remember

2011-04-13T11:28:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, we had a field trip to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust memorial and museum in Jerusalem. Yad VaShem in Hebrew means "Remembrance and a name," and is taken from Isaiah 56:3-5, which speaks of the eunuchs who fear the Lord.

3 Nor let the eunuch say,

“ Here I am, a dry tree.”
4 For thus says the LORD:

“ To the eunuchs who keep My Sabbaths,
And choose what pleases Me,
And hold fast My covenant,
5 Even to them I will give in My house
And within My walls a place and a name
Better than that of sons and daughters;
I will give them an everlasting name
That shall not be cut off."

The victims of the Holocaust must have felt so wasted as they were marched to the gas chambers, or left to starve as they were worked to death. The children would never have children of their own. But it is the goal of the Jewish people in general, and the nation of Israel especially, not to let their lives and deaths be in vain. Neither will they let the "righteous Gentiles," who did their duty in protecting the Jews, be forgotten. There are many ways the museum did this.

The museum is shaped like a long, triangular prism. You zig-zag back and forth and progress from the early stages of European anti-Semitism, supported by the Church, to the Nazi's rise to power, the increasing persecution, the labor camps, then death camps, liberation, and aftermath. The sloping roof on the sides at first felt like they were closing in, but then I became too engrossed in the displays and reading everything possible.

We had three hours to wander through at our own pace, and it took me exactly that amount of time to make it 75% of the way through. I was fascinated. I've had a pretty thorough background in WW2 and the Holocaust, combined with the classes in modern history and Jewish thought and culture that I've taken here in Israel, but it was different to read the whole story from beginning to end.

I realized as I read the descriptions of Nazi Germany how understandable it was that the Nazis gained so much power so quickly. They came to power legally, promised hope and the renewal of national honor, and told people that they were better than anybody else -- which is exactly what everyone wants to hear. Not all Germans agreed with the persecution of the Jews, but the benefits of the situation outweighed the problems. We look at Germany in the 1930's and 40's, shake our head, and say thank God we'll never become that. Don't say that so quickly. There are plenty of people in our country and anywhere else in the world who would love to believe a religion like that, though it may take a different form.

One of the things that made the museum so effective was the video interviews with survivors. There were people who had lived through the concentration camps and the ghettos. One elderly woman told the story of when, as a seven-year-old girl, she was taken with her grandmother and aunt and many others to the edge of a pit in the woods, and shot. She stayed alive and managed to crawl out and escape. Though they were all clean and well-dressed, and told about such horrors so matter-of-factly, sometime even with a smile of irony on their faces, they could not hide the way it had irreversibly changed them.

At the end, there is the "Hall of Names," where the name of every Holocaust victim is collected. There is a circular walkway, with a giant cone-shaped screen above it showing hundreds of pictures. Around the walkway, both up and down, are panels where the names are stored.

I had been told by IBEXers from former semesters to make sure to see Children's memorial, if I did nothing else in Israel. We had about five minutes before the bus left, but my friend Lina and I searched it out among the beautiful walks of the park that surrounded the museum. We finally found it, a path down into a dark grotto underground.

As we walked down the pitch-black walkway, we heard a voice ahead of us. There is a huge room underground, with a circular walkway through it. There are mirrors all around you which reach higher than you can tell, reflecting candles behind them a million times. The voice is a repeating recording which reads the names, ages, and countries of origin of every child that was killed in the Holocaust. Sometimes there were not records available to provide all three pieces of information on each child.

This song kept running through my head that night.

Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me in your memory

Remember, when your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
Just remember me

I am the one star that keeps burning, so brightly,
It is the last light to fade into the rising sun

I'm with you
Whenever you tell, my story
For I am all I've done

Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me, in your memory
Remember me

I am the one voice in the cold wind, that whispers
And if you listen, you'll hear me call across the sky

As long as I still can reach out, and touch you
Then I will never die

Remember, I'll never leave you
If you will only
Remember me

Remember me...

Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me
In your memory

Remember, when your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
I live forever
Remember me

Remember me
Remember... me...

rafting on the Sea of Galilee

2011-04-10T04:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, we got back to the moshav after an eight-day long field study in Galilee. The trip was an absolute blast, though it was the most intense period of the semester yet: physically, academically, and perhaps spiritually, too. I wish I could write an entry about each day, but for now I'll tell about what I did yesterday morning before we left: rafted across the Sea of Galilee.

We'd been hearing the waves crash for the five nights we'd stayed here, and watch the rain fall on the sea, but that was as close as we'd gotten. It was our last morning at the En Gev resort, and there was nothing scheduled until a baptism at 11:30am. (If you know anything about IBEX, this much free time doesn't happen often.)

Our professors had mentioned casually that some students had rafted across the Sea of Galilee in past semesters, and it took them four hours.

Friday night at chapel, I overheard some of the more daring students discussing using their free morning to take the two tiny rafts across the lake, starting at Tiberius and ending on our own beach at the En Gev resort. It wasn't the widest part of the lake, and the weather didn't look too bad for the next morning. I asked them about it, partly because it sounded like fun, and partly because I was wondering how deep their insanity reached.

Next thing I knew, I was going, too.

Breakfast saw us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 6:30am, scarfing our breakfast with all the jet-lagged old ladies. Our bus driver, Israel, met us at 7am and drove us to Tiberius. He didn't seem too thrilled with our idea, but humored us.

That morning, the sky was covered in thick, grey clouds, though it wasn't too cold. When we got to the beach where we would start, the other side was completely covered in fog. There was only one land-mark we know, the cone-shaped hill of Hippus which was directly behind our resort. Just as we were about to put our rafts in the water, a single sunbeam pierced the clouds and touched Hippus.

One raft had a leak, and the pump we had brought didn't work. Israel used the big one on the bus to fill us up, and then watched us sail away from the beach. We waved to him, he waved back, and then climbed up the bank and drove way.

The trip was a blast. (I seem to be using that word quite a bit these days, but all my usages are fitting.) We had two rubber rafts, with two guys and one girl per raft. We girls perched in the back and kept water bottles, sandles, and food supplies under control while the guys paddled. Natalie even had a blown up inner tube just in case someone fell in. We had been concerned that the Sabbath water traffic would pick up and swamp us with all their motor-boat wakes. We needn't have worried; we had the sea to ourselves.

We girls offered to paddle, but the gentlemen wouldn't hear of it - which is probably just as well. We would have gone in circles, and it really would have taken us four hours to get back. In my raft, I was honorary swatter of bugs, reminder to drink water, singer of inspirational songs, and source of inspiring conversation. In other words, I didn't do much good. But it was still fun!

The two rafts chose different ways of passing the time. Natalie, Nathan, and Nate told jokes and stories. Jon, Aaron, and I sang: mostly worship, with a few pirate songs to fit the nautical theme. As we got closer to En Gev and realized we didn't need to hurry, the tempo of our songs slowed. When we sang It is Well With My Soul, we realized just how fitting it was. The sea was as calm as a lake (probably because it really is), and we were the only ones out there. But it was easy to imagine the damage a few real sea billows rolling could do.

I never realized that at any point on the sea, you can always see the shore. The poor disciples stuck in that storm. They knew that shore like the back of their hands, and knew exactly where they wanted to go, but they were stuck in the middle with no hope of going anywhere but down. How maddening that must have been.

Thankfully we didn't have to pray for deliverance like they did. We beat the 4-hour record by 1.5 hours. We had envisioned making a grand entrance just before the baptism while everyone was on the beach, with video cameras out and everyone cheering. As it happened, we arrived at 9:40am, while some people were still at breakfast. However, Bill and several others were out enjoying the rare rays, and Bill actually had his video camera out.

I think this will be one of my favorite memories of IBEX.

left to right: Aaron, Jon, me, Natalie, Nate, and Nathan

Sonnet 29

2011-03-30T10:44:00.000-07:00

Shakespeare got it right.

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least:
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee,--and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings'.

"of herbs and stewed [cow tongue]"

2011-03-08T12:08:00.001-08:00

A lot of people have asked me about the food here, so I thought I'd break down and write a note. Courtesy of today's lunch.

My culinary experience has been limited to the moshav dining hall and anything for sale in both the Old and New Cities in Jerusalem. In Jerusalem, pretty much everything is available, though the price is directly related to how kosher it is: in other words, most real pizza is not affordable.

The New City caters to the un-kosher goyim (Gentiles) like us, the Old City not quite as much. In the New City (aka West Jerusalem), we Hebrew students were delighted to read this sign on a building: ספגתי which is "Spaghetti" transliterated into Hebrew. We investigated, and our nice American spaghetti joint was actually a upper-scale restaurant. The only other place we saw it for sale was in a nice hotel restaurant, also in West Jerusalem. Discrimination, I tell you!

In the Old City, there are falafel, and shawormas, which are small slices of unidentified meat with fries, hummus, cucumbers, pickles, pink cabbage, and other acoutrements in pita. They're delicious. Also for sale by the street vendors are wonderfully cheap and delicious pastries from many different countries, all kinds of candy, and Pringles. Lots of Pringles.

And as other IBEXers and Choralers know, our friend Sheban the moneychanger is always hospitable and willing to "holler at his boy" the Tea Man (as we call him) to bring us some delicious fresh-brewed tea.

The moshav, however, is rather a different dining experience entirely.

The Arab Muslims who cook and serve know the IBEXers, and make sure we know who we are, too. We don't usually eat with the tourists, but usually in a smaller back dining room to ourselves, or to one side in the main dining hall. When the Prime Minister of Israel, Rosh HaMemshala, was here for a conference two weeks ago, the IBEX eyesore (as one guy in our group said) was banished to our corner even more promptly than usual. That tipped us off that someone more important than American tourists was visiting. (We had no idea that Mike Huckabee was here last month until after the fact.) That and all the security guards that glared at us as we innocently walked to class through the crowd.

But about the cooking. First of all, the moshav only serves kosher food. There's even a rabbi whose job it is to make sure the kitchen meets kosher standards. We only have dairy (and salad) for breakfast, and only meat products (and more salad) for lunch and dinner. It takes some getting used to to eat salad and veggies for breakfast, but it's nice not to start my day with as much carbs in my stomach as I'm used to at home. Though I do understand why former IBEXers come back saying they never want to see a cucumber again in their lives.

Sometimes, breakfast includes a flaky pastry with cheese filling, or chocolate cake sans frosting, or a cross between a souffle and cheesecake. And there's always granola, and this strange peanutbutter/crunchy/melty substance somewhat like the inside of a Butterfinger bar that goes with everything. I was happily shaving off a serving one day, and an Asian tourist asked me very carefully, "what that is?" I had no more idea than she did, but I heartily recommended it.

We get bread for every meal, usually nice, fluffy rolls. For Shabbat dinner, there's challah bread. We actually made our own today at Bill and Stephanie's house. I'm officially hooked. There's usually hummus for our veggies and bread at lunch and dinner, which I haven't gotten tired of yet.

Israel has amazing desserts, usually of the baked/layered/cream or else mousse varieties, which are my favorite. When we are allowed to partake, it makes my day.

So much for breakfast, vegetables, carbs, and dessert. Now for protein; I saved the best for last.

The fish, which we get often, is usually whacked into enough pieces to limit its locomotion, and served in a state not far removed from that of nature, with bones, skin, scales, and fins still very much intact. I keep expecting to see one looking back at me, but so far the heads seem to have been claimed by the cats which abound in this part of the world.

There is also a thin, breaded entity which had us arguing for the first two weeks about whether it was fish or chicken. It looked like fish, but behaved like chicken. The appearance of cow tongue laid that subject to rest.

There appears to be a weekly glut on the market of this interesting article, since nearly that often we'll have it for both lunch and dinner. It doesn't taste bad, though it is as chewy as a tongue can be expected to be, and the prominent taste buds make its identity all too undeniable.

And kosher hot-dogs...well, they're hot dogs. But kosher ones. I can't describe them well because I've only eaten one.

Well, you asked for a description. I'm just a reporter. :)

I think my favorite memory of the "caf" to date is when we visited Sub'hi, the manager. We only said hello in passing at mealtimes, and we couldn't remember his name for the life of us (his nametag is in Arabic and the transliteration wasn't much help, anyway).

After we'd been here for a few weeks, seven of us decided to go for a walk to Abu Ghosh, an Arab village just up the road from us, and check out an old British fortress that had been abandoned since the 40's, when Israel gained its independence.

We were exploring the labyrinth of rooms, the empty courtyard, climbing ladders, poking our heads into basements, and generally doing harmless things that get you kidnapped in cheesy teen novels. We have decided that Murder in the Dark would be a good game to play at night in a place like this.

Just when we were straggling out of the gates and wondering what to do with ourselves in the hour we had left for dinner, we ran into Subhi, who was walking with his five-year-old daughter Meela to his sister's house. He invited us to come along and drink tea with him. At first we were a little hesitant, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. "You are welcome," he insisted.

I've heard a lot about the hospitality of Muslims, and I believed it, but old habits learned in inhospitable America die hard. I wasn't too comfortable with blithely following a stranger off to a strange place, in a village where we'd been told to be wise. But there were seven of us, and he did have his daughter with him.

It was a lovely visit. We sat and chatted with him and his thirteen-year-old nephew, Ali, who was learning English in school. Whenever Subhi said a wrong word or used incorrect grammar, Ali would cover his face, shake his head, and chuckle quietly to himself, while he spoke to us with all the self-assurance of one with much experience. It was quite entertaining. We never did meet the sister whose house we had descended upon.

The tea was home-made, made with plants grown in the area. We think it's the same kind Sheban serves. It is made with "special leaves that are good for you," as Subhi explained. It was delicious.

We learned all about Subhi's family, his different jobs, where he was from, the local school system, the moshav, and many other subjects. It was fascinating. As we left, we learned what Subhi's name means: sunrise.

We had to leave to be back in time for dinner, though we would rather have stayed. Subhi told us that this was our house, too, and to come visit them sometime.

We all remember his name now, and greet him by name when we reappear at the dining hall for our quota of rolls, hummus, and cow tongue.

My day Friday

2011-02-25T07:23:00.000-08:00

It's Shabbat again, our fifth out of the fourteen we'll spend in the land of Israel, or Eretz Ysrael in Hebrew. The music and the sirens must have played a few minutes ago at the orthodox community just down the road to remind everyone (including their Arab neighbors) that the Shabbat had just started. But I've been in the library most of the afternoon trying to get ahead on reading for the week.

Fridays are my favorite day of the week, a good balance between the busy weekdays full of assignments, field studies, and quizzes, and the quiet weekend of study when even I sometimes feel lonely. Fridays start with a quiz over the all-day field studies we have on Wednesdays. The field studies cover a different region in Israel, along with the Biblical and extra-Biblical history involved.

This week we've been studying approaches to Jerusalem, which are mostly major routes through otherwise impassable mountains. The study is actually fascinating because it shows why some of the Bible stories happened the way they did. For example, David was able to oust the Philistines from the Judean Hill country because he cornered them and there was only one way out -- back to their own territory along the coast.

Friday morning starts about 7am, or 6 if you don't want to wait in line for a shower. The moshav workers must think us all very rude when we stumble into the dining hall at 7:30, some in sweat pants and wild hair, grab some food, sit down together, pull out our notes, and start quizzing each other. Then at 7:59 there's a mass exodus to the classroom for the quiz.

8am quizzes are unpleasant for any subject, but Land and Bible quizzes are especially so. But after every quiz so far, we've all found home-baked treats in our mailboxes from Becky, the librarian, lunch-organizer, and general servant at IBEX. You don't know how much a few cookies or a peanut-butter-and-chocolate bar help when you're plowing through a quiz while even the sun seems to be still waking up!

But no one complains much about the time, because for most people, that's the end of their school day. Not for us Hebrew students. After an hour break, we dive into conversational Hebrew. We're all enjoying it, and though the professor, Benj, could expect more of us, it's still not an easy class. He teaches and explains only in Hebrew, though he'll throw in some English now and then if we really don't understand him. It's how he learned Hebrew, and it's how we'll learn it.

For a prospective ESL (English as a Second Langauge) teacher like me, this is immeasurably helpful, whether or not I'll ever use Hebrew again. I'm able to experience what it's like to learn a second language in a classroom, and also observe the professor's methods and teaching philosophy. After the six units of TESOL classes I took last semester, I have a framework to understand what theories and orientations he's using, and why.

After Hebrew, we have a two-hour break -- or for me, nap -- until lunch. All those late nights and early mornings build up until taking notes in Hebrew class seems like a Herculean chore. After lunch, I usually watch the volleyball game some of the other IBEX students and staff set up, sometimes with the children of the moshav members. Or I spend my afternoon like I have today, doing some slow, ruminative reading with some good friends in the library.

Shabbat dinner is later than most days, at 6:30, shortly before my friends still at Master's are going off to chapel -- or deciding they'd rather sleep in and take a chapel miss. Shabbat dinner is nicer than other dinners; there's different meat and more of it, several kinds of salads and sides, and Hala bread and hummus in abundance. Sometimes we even get dessert! The IBEX faculty and their children come too, and it's fun to chat with them about extra-curricular subjects while their toddlers provide entertainment and their older children chat like college students, which isn't surprising, considering that they've grown up with IBEXers around.

There are other families that are visiting the moshav that have Shabbat dinner in the dining hall at the same time we do, and the dining hall is full of groups with the men wearing their kippahs and the mothers with their headcoverings and the candles fulfill the same Shabbat ritual that Jews have exercised weekly for millenia. Sometimes there's whole clans together, and frequently there's lots of singing and clapping during dinner.

IBEX has our own Shabbat dinner traditions. Bill, the director, will usually read a passage of Scripture, mostly Sabbath psalms, and use them to explain more of the meaning of Shabbat. It helps to finish the week and begin the weekend of worship and rest, but it also has so much more of a family feel than our weekends do. I think we'll all miss it when we go back home.

At IBEX, we have chapel once a week on Friday nights, instead of three times a week in the morning as at Master's. Chapel is a main reason why Friday is my favorite day of the week. IBEX has their own chapel tent, but because of the rain, we've been crowding into the miklat, or bomb shelter, which serves as our lounge. There's just enough of us to fill both top and bottom levels of the bunk beds that line the walls. The worship is student-led, and frequently there's a nice three- or four-part harmony going.

Friday usually ends with a late-night Skype date with a friend back home, a movie, or just going to bed and enjoying the prospect of sleeping in the next morning before assembly in Jerusalem the next morning.

And now I'd better finish and try to convince my hair to not look like it's Friday and it could care less, because it's almost time for Shabbat dinner.

Shabbat Shalom!
שבת שלום

of Dome and Church

2011-02-09T10:02:00.001-08:00

Last week, the IBEX group visited the Dome of the Rock and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (among other things) on our all-day New Testament walk. It was fascinating to visit holy sites from two different religions in the same day. Jerusalem's just that kind of a place.

By the way, it was really difficult for me to just walk through different holy sites as a tourist and take pictures. Yes, I am a student, I'm showing respect for the sites by learning about them, and it's not wrong to take pictures. And to a Christian, these sites are just like any other place on earth, they just have more history -- and more security.

But to the Muslims, the Dome of the Rock is where their prophet ascended to heaven to speak with Allah. (His horse went, too, but I didn't see anything dedicated to him.) And to the Orthodox Christians and Catholics, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is where their Lord died and was buried (no one seems to think about the ascension). For their sake, I feel uncomfortable marching through and snapping pictures -- rather like one of those Gentiles who trample the Holy City as Jesus mentioned in Luke 21:23-25. It's difficult to explain because I can't think of a place that we Christians hold in reverence that highly. Our citizenship is in heaven, and thank God for it!

However, true to my American heritage, I overcame my aversion and snapped plenty of pictures as the representative of all my friends and relations who would if they could.

The first place we visited was the temple mount, where the Dome of the Rock has dominated the landscape for the last four hundred years. According to most scholars, the Holy of Holies was right over the bedrock where it forms the topmost peak of Mount Moriah, the same peak where Mohammed and his horse are said to have been taken up into heaven, and which is in the exact center of the Dome of the Rock.

Benj, our professor, told us that there is even an incision in this rock, which has the exact measurements of the ark of the covenant. In fact, tradition has it that when the Temple stood, the Holy of Holies was directly over this peak of rock. Non-Muslims have not been allowed into the Dome since an uprising in 2000.

The Dome was lead until the 1990's, when the Muslims raised enough money to have it gold-plated. Until the 90's, it used to look like the little dome in front, which is called the Dome of the Chain. It was said that if two men had an argument that could not be resolved, they could go to this dome and try to grab the chain hanging from the center of the dome. The chain would lift itself out of the liar's reach, but the truthful man would be able to grasp it.

We also visited recent excavations from Christ's time of improvements Herod made to the temple mount. This picture is of an old marketplace and the remains of an overpass to the temple mount. The sun came out while I was taking the last picture, so one-third is brighter than the rest.

On our way to the church, we passed the Western Wall of the temple mount, or the Wailing Wall. I was hoping the wind would catch the flag and hold it out more. We had just come from the temple mount, which used to hold the pride and glory of Israel, the temple, but which now is an open insult to the Jewish people, however well it glorifies Mohammed.

Now all the Jewish people have is a few big stones with tumbleweeds sticking out unceremoniously. No wonder they long for their Messiah.

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is beautiful, especially the outside. The Byzantine architecture had me stunned. Here's just a few examples. This was the courtyard before the entrance.

When we got inside, however, I stopped taking as many pictures, partly because the light was horrendous, partly out of respect for the worshipers, and partly because I really wasn't all that excited about it.

This shrine is built over where the bedrock rises up inside the church, and where Christ may have been crucified. There's a hole in the dark little niche for people to reach down and touch the rock.

Talking with another IBEXer as we walked back through the Old City on our way home, I realized why all the shrines and glitter disturbed me so much. For Christians to worship the place Christ might have been crucified and buried is no different than people of other religions venerating the burial places of their founding fathers. There is no acknowledgement that Christ's body is no longer here, dead. He is very much alive and well, sitting at the right hand of the Father, the place of highest honor in the universe. Veneration of His burial place degrades the gospel and Christ Himself because it places Him on a level with any fraudulent guru who ever claimed to be greater than a man. The gospel is only true because Christ proved Himself to be divine. As Paul said in 1 Corinthians 15:17,

And if Christ is not risen, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins!

Because after all, our reality is not God's. The weathered and beaten rocks we visit now and imagine how Christ walked by them on His way to cleanse the temple are not what last. Even the temple itself was just a little piece of His plan to bring salvation to the nations: to the Jews first, but then to the Gentiles as well. We need not kowtow to rocks of questionable antiquity and location. We have so much more to look forward to! Abraham knew this, too.

By faith he dwelt in the land of promise as in a foreign country, dwelling in tents with Isaac and Jacob, the heirs with him of the same promise; for he waited for the city which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God. -- Hebrews 11:9-10

Ben

2011-02-07T06:39:00.001-08:00

I never met Ben. He's one of the many online acquaintances I've formed on HSA. But he's one of the few whose blog I follow (a sewerrat's tale). He was an ex-ALERT man from Texas. It was through him that I learned about state of the churches in Spain and the extreme worldliness they have to fight. He got me praying for them and for his little cousins, that they wouldn't succumb to the pressure of the world. Last month he was beginning to talk to the Navy about joining. He was an expert with guns. Recently, I've been seeing him online a lot. I kind of wondered how he was doing, and almost said hi. I wish I had.

Ben died a few days ago. His gun went off when he was cleaning it and shot him in the heart right in front of his brother. He was with the Lord instantly, after twenty-four years on this earth.

A close friend of his told me that he didn't leave without telling his friends that he missed them and appreciated them. Every week he told his friends what they meant to him. Although we'd lost touch in the last year, I remember that about him. Though he didn't know me and most of the other HSAers well, we could count on a note from him every now and then asking about what was going on in our lives.

Ben was certainly not perfect, but he knew where he belonged: not in Texas, or in Spain, or in the Navy, but in heaven. And the Lord knew, too.

post courtesy of Word 2007

2011-02-06T10:26:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to write a blog post in the time it takes Word 2007 to respond. Think I can do it?

Today was Sunday -- that's Israel's Monday. Yesterday we went to the Jerusalem Assembly for Shabbat, and spent the afternoon in the Old City. It was cloudy and drizzly, so we spent our time indoors at the coffee shop at Christ Church doing some reading...or chatting with our books open in front of us. I've got a great IBEX group, I can tell you.

Today the Regional Explorations class had an all-day hike, and for once I was grateful I was not required to attend. I spent most of today in a quiet corner of the library studying, except when I popped into a prof's office to get some help with Hebrew homework. I got to bury myself in the mysteries of Hebrew, the tragedies of the early Zionist movement in Europe, and answer some messages, in between looking out the open window in front of me at the sunny Judean hillside in the peace and quiet of a deserted library. It was an introvert's dream day.

I've given up. Word on my laptop simply can't handle changing a page size from 8.5/11" to A4, the paper size they use here. But at least I got a blog entry written!

Israel: first three days

2011-01-25T11:16:00.000-08:00

Twenty-nine college students, most of whom have never been out of the country, fly across a continent and then an ocean in more than twenty-four hours, see the sunset twice in one day, load up on cheeseburgers and pizza for the last time, and then try to convince the Israelis to let them into their country.

Sound like a disaster?

It could have been. But the flights went well. On the first flight to Newark, they played a documentary on puppies which I only watched because there was a puppy of a different kind shrieking and kicking my seat from behind. That was the worst disturbance we had to deal with.

In Newark, the waiting area was crowded with all kinds of people, mostly Israelis going home or Jews visiting relatives. Since our flight was delayed for 2 hours, until about 12:30am New Jersey time, I had plenty of time to talk to a Jewish man and his wife who were flying to visit their three kids in Israel. He is an observing Jew, though not as observing as the Orthodox or Hasidic Jews, and was quite happy to answer all my questions about Judaism and his own observance of it. I learned two very important things. To him, and I would assume, to others, observance is not a matter of the heart, it is a matter of culture. He hedged a few of my questions with, "that's not the stance we take," instead of his own opinion. Very enlightening.

He sought my seatmates and I out on the plane before we landed in Tel Aviv, and we had a chat about places of interest in Jerusalem, and the divinity of Christ. Apparently the Jews don't consider the Messiah to be God. Also very interesting.

We parted on amiable terms, which was a relief. Pray for Glen and his wife!

Getting into Israel was somewhat nervewracking. We had been told that if we just told them we were tourists and that we would leave the country to renew our visas, they'd let us in with no trouble. But we all got grilled for much longer than we anticipated. When asked if I was studying there, I said yes, which prompted the customs agent (who was a girl my age) to ask why I didn't have a student visa -- perhaps I had some trouble getting a visa at all? Sigh.

In the end, we all got through with about the same amount of hassle, except one African American guy from Detroit, who was held up for about half an hour. We couldn't think of any possible reason that he'd run into trouble, unless he was trying to convince the customs agent that Jesus is the Messiah. And knowing E for the evangelist he is, it wouldn't have surprised us.

But it turned out that his dad was Muslim and had blessed E with an unfortunate middle name -- unfortunate in Israel because it's derived from Arabic.

But the Lord was gracious, and the IBEX staff was very relieved to see us.

The moshav Yad Hashemona, where we're staying, is a conference ground. It reminds me of an Israeli Koinonia. The dining hall has lovely decorations and food to match. The diet isn't much different from what I'm used to, eggs and dairy in the morning and meat at night -- bread for every meal. Good thing we do a lot of walking.

Our first full day we spent in orientation, and today, our second day, was spent touring the Old City in Jerusalem. We walked all the way around it, visited all seven gates, learned about them, their history, and the origins of their names, visited the Wailing Wall, saw the Mount of Olives, the pool of Bethesda, the Hill of the Skull and saw too many other things to list here. Suffice it to say, it was a very long day, as most of my days will be from now on.

My next challenge is memorizing the Hebrew alphabet, both block and cursive, in one day and acing the quiz on it.

Mark

2011-01-08T23:38:00.000-08:00

In 1977, the aircraft carrier USS Coral Sea was underway in the Pacific. It was a "Tiger Cruise," when the younger brothers of the sailors could come aboard and spend a week with their older brothers, a wise marketing strategy on the part of the Navy.

Fourteen-year-old Mark was one of the younger brothers. After a miserable bout of seasickness, which his older brother John could never understand, considering how big the aircraft carrier was and how little it moved, Mark was on the flight deck enjoying the wind. It was so strong that, if he used his jacket as a sail, it could hold him up! John snapped a couple pictures.

He kept himself busy to make up for the three days he was sick. He got to steer the ship, ran up and down ladders, and did everything a fellow his age could conceive when on a ship that size which the sailors would let him do, and probably a few things they wouldn't have if they had known about them.

Time went by, and Mark grew up. He did not enter the Navy, but became an elevator man instead. He had the dangerous job of building elevators for tall buildings, which meant that he spent most of his time on flimsy scaffolding working in thin air, since elevators were the first thing to go up. It was a good job, but very dangerous, and after several years in the business, he switched to escalator work. He wanted to watch his little daughter Samantha, then six years old, grow up.

A few months after he transferred, in 2001, Mark was killed in a tragic accident. He was doing maintenance inside an escalator, and it was accidentally turned on. His family was grief-stricken. However, John found in his journal that he had given his life to Christ a few months before his death.

Ten years later, Mark's niece, John's daughter, was sifting through old family pictures. She came upon one of a good-looking boy grinning (or grimacing) at the camera, with his jacket flying out behind.

"Mom, is this Dad?" she asked. John's wife came and looked at it.

"No," she said. "That's Uncle Mark."

Since Mark's visit was a favorite story with John (especially the part about the seasickness and the unceremonious way the Navy had of curing it), no more explanation was required.

"Wow," said the girl, "he was one good-lookin' guy."

"He was a lot of fun," said her brother. "He liked kids."

"Yeah..." she answered, still looking at the picture. "He liked to do stuff with us, like take us for rides in his Jeep with the top down."

The kid in the picture looked so much like his daughter, who by now was a few years older than he had been when it was taken.

The niece scanned the two snapshots, posted them on Facebook, and tagged her cousin Samantha. Within a few minutes, Samantha commented on the close-up:

"This is really nice to see! (: Thank you so much."

The niece (being of a philosophizing turn of mind) considered how far it was from Mark's mind what a blessing that shot of him would be to a girl thirty-four years from then. He had no thought of getting married and having kids. He probably wasn't even thinking about girls at all. From the look on his face, not getting blown into the Pacific seems to have been uppermost in his thoughts.

But what stuck with the girl was how much closer Mark seemed, how much more of a person he was from that little matter of a kid playing and his brother taking a picture. And how one day, she would get to sit down with him and talk to him about whatever she liked.

Mark was my uncle, and John is my dad.

"They also serve who only stand and wait"

2011-01-04T19:19:00.000-08:00

In studying for the English literature CLEP, I came across this sonnet by John Milton. I got a kick out of it, considering that my twentieth birthday is coming up soon. I understand how he felt.

Sonnet II
On His Having Arrived at the Age of Twenty-Three

How soon Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth
That I to manhood am arrived so near;
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strict measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

Near the end of his life, the aging Milton wrote this sonnet. The last line is famous beyond the rest in the sonnet, but its true meaning cannot be understood without the rest of the poem. Milton's philosophy on life hadn't changed much, though his emotions were stronger as his life grew longer.

Sonnet XIX
On His Blindness

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

"Well, I'm back."

2010-12-25T13:52:00.000-08:00

"But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire witin; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected...

He drew a deep breath.

'Well, I'm back,' he said."

-Return of the King, by JRR Tolkien

As with Samwise Gambgee, this could be considered the beginning and not the end. Finals ended last Thursday, and I am exactly half-way through my projected three years at Master's. I moved home last week, and was warmly received by my family, and even the basket of my old friends, the stuffed animals, had carefully arranged themselves and exhibited a sign welcoming me home. A Christmas tree was quickly forthcoming, and my fifteen-year-old brother and I went shopping for a knife for him. (He came too, to make sure I got the right one. The result was a machete-like camping knife with a 10-inch blade.)

Still, it was a bitter-sweet ending to the semester. I won't be at Master's next semester. There are friends I left at Master's that I will see only briefly once or twice before they graduate, and then probably not cross paths with again. I said goodbye to all the cafeteria staff, and was surprised to discover that I will actually miss the caf -- the staff, not the hamburgers. ;)

Nor will I be living in the International House, which has been such a blessing and such a surprise rolled into one. My roommate moved out on Thursday, to the exciting world of the college graduate, and I moved out on Friday. The last night was a happy mix of teaching one girl cursive handwriting, and sampling another girl's Russian family recipes, and introducing my mom to every girl in the house.

On Friday morning, I left my room dark and empty, ready to receive two new Japanese undergraduate girls who desperately need an affordable place to stay. All is as it should be.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Because next semester, my only dream comes true! I'll be living in Israel, all semester long, along with all the excitement of living halfway across the world, trying to learn another language (and remember the bit of yet another that I'd picked up two years ago), eating different food, and running around the country with twenty-nine other college students as clueless as myself - under the supervision of knowledgeable professors, of course.

The program is called IBEX, Israel Biblical Extension. It's an extension of Master's in Israel, based on the Yad Hashmonah moshav, which is like a kibbutz. It was started by Finnish Jews in memory of ten Finnish Jews who were turned over to the Nazis by the Finnish government during the Halocaust. It's the only moshav in Israel where there are Messianic believers.

I'll be taking four classes, but a lot of the time will be spent actually visiting the places we're learning about. I've already been innundated with requests for pictures and stories. The stories part shouldn't be too hard, since I don't have much trouble writing when I have the time. The pictures part will be a bit more challenging, since I have an ingrained horror of looking like a tourist, growing up as I have near one of the biggest tourist hotspots in the world. Maybe I'll just buy a bunch of postcards for everyone.

I've been wanting to go to IBEX since I first applied to Master's two years ago, but trying to squeeze four years' worth of on-campus classes into three years and lack of funds made it impossible. I actually had them remove me from the list to go -- twice. But something always happened to get me hoping again, and I managed to jump back on the list before it filled up.

Ironically, there's still a few empty spots for next semester, and we're leaving in twenty-eight days.

Not only did the Lord provide the (to me) astronomically impossible amount of money I needed, but He also provided one of the two jobs available to students at IBEX.

God's provision is amazing -- of finances, professors graciously rearranging classes so I could be free for a semester, and friends who very kindly listened to my frustration and distress, all along knowing that the Lord would work everything out (so they tell me).

I must cut short my Christmas reflections because the rest of the family is leaving the house to spend Christmas dinner at some friends' house. Merry Christmas, everyone! My next post will probably be from Israel.

Hallelujah!

rain and rap

2010-10-22T22:08:00.000-07:00

These last three weeks were some of the most painful I've experienced in a long time. But I was looking forward to this weekend; some dear friends of mine and I were planning to get together on a weekend camping trip to surprise a friend for her 21st birthday. I love Master's, but I must confess that part of the reason I was so excited was that these were online friends and I'd be able to get away from the Master's bubble (or the holy huddle, as it is sometimes called) and relax with my crazy homeschool group.

But the Lord's plans were different than mine. My ride didn't work out. And even if it had, it wouldn't have been wise for me to go anyway. The weather forcast predicted rain, and at this point in the semester, I'm barely warding off the impending flu with gallons of green tea, truckloads of vitamins, a diligent workout regimen, and making sleep a priority over grades. A camping trip in the rain would have set me back way too far.

I was so disappointed. I miss my friends.

The only slight comfort was that I'd be able to attend the free concert Shai Linne was giving at Master's. Shai Linne is one of the most well-known Christian rap artists around. His songs jamm-packed with theology -- he's been compared to John MacArthur set to a beat. He even recommends JMac's commentaries in some of his songs. He's famous at Master's, mostly with the inner-city LA crowd, but with kids from all backgrounds, too.

I hadn't even heard of him until last year. His girlfriend, Blair Wingo, was on my wing when I lived in the dorms. She writes and performs poetry, and the Lord used her talent mightily to build up a church in inner city LA called Passion for Christ Movement, or PCM. Here's one of my favorites of her poems:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNJ5oi1cw2I&feature=channel

She told me about this guy who was courting her, and I looked him up -- and stumbled upon a whole new genre of Christian music. Even my parents liked his songs...my dad made up a rap to tell me how much he liked it. I was relieved.

Blair was part of my incoming class at Master's. This time last year, she would never have guessed that she and Shai would get married and be serving the Lord together all over the country. I got to know her pretty well, without knowing her reputation among believers all over the country, particularly the black church. We had late-night talks in the hallway and breakfast in the cafeteria, and it wasn't until I looked her up on Youtube and saw her Facebook that I saw how widely known she was for using her talent to serve the Lord.

I hadn't seen her since she left after last spring. She and Shai were married this summer, and I was there in spirit while looking at pictures on Facebook. The church was packed with joyful fans who were much more than fans -- loving brothers and sisters in Christ who rejoiced with them.

Tonight I went to the concert with mixed feelings. Last semester, I went to a concert of another well-known Christian artist (at least among my generation), and was looking forward to seeing God get the glory for his talent. It was just another show, though all the lyrics and what the artist said were God-honoring. The flashing multicolored lights, the large band, and special effects drew attention to the stage even while the man in the limelight was singing about the Lord. I was hoping that Shai Linne's concert wouldn't be like that.

The Master's College Gym was packed, and noisy for us, though I'm sure we were much tamer than most of Shai's audiences. (Though I heard him say later that he was encouraged at how much of a singing college we were.) I was sitting with good friends, so the two hours or so wouldn't be wasted whether or not he disappointed. It sounds like I was judging performance, but I wasn't. I was hoping to forget why we were there in the first place: not to hear a famous rap artist and make all our friends envious, but to worship the Lord.

It wasn't a show. The stage was uncluttered, and Shai and Blair "ministered," as she calls it, in jeans and hoodies. The audience didn't scream or jump up and down, and there was no mosh pit. It was actually kind of funny; it was a very Master's appropriate concert. But Shai was up there worshiping, and after the rest of us warmed up, most of us did, too. He rapped the book of Romans, which was one of my favorite songs of his, among other things. He also led us all in corporate worship in some commonly-known songs. It was strangely inclusive, combining several different cultures.

That's what heaven is going to be like. My parents always tried to reinforce a living idea of heaven. We listened to Keith Green growing up, and my mom would say, "He's probably singing that song in heaven right now." Well, right next to him will be Shai Linne and Michael the archangel and Asaph and Dr. Plew and everyone else who brings glory to the Lord through music.

I let my sanctified imagination go a little. To return...

After the concert, four of us girls sneaked backstage to see Blair. It was a good thing we did. She and Shai left as soon as we had finished our quick hellos and I missed you's. It was so good to see her, even for a little, and I got to meet her new husband.

It was a blessing. But the weekend's just getting started. I get to be temporarily adopted by my roommate's family this weekend and all those harvest things I've never done before, like carve a pumpkin.

The Lord knows better what I need. I wouldn't mind line dancing in the rain on the beach, but I think I'll get over it. :)

I'm a dryad!

2010-09-11T22:40:00.001-07:00

One of my house mates told me today that I reminded her of one of those perfect ladies in the books. And also the willow over the bridge between the Math and Science center and the cafeteria. I was pretty sure she was making fun of me, but she was sincere.

It made my day. :)

Sunset's breaking of the day

2010-09-06T00:34:00.001-07:00

a poem in blank verse
by Esther

Once upon a time in a place far away
With a sun by night and a moon by day
Where the peasant did rule and the king did bow,
The lake in the sky and they swam in a cloud --
There dwelt a man in a little-big house
Where he lived in a hole and was caught by a mouse.
And the mouse was disgusted by the man
And chased him about with a great-small pan.
At last it caught him and threw him out
And he landed in a cloud with a painful shout.
A bird saw him and took him in his teeth
And thinking him pretty, made him a wreath.
Then along came the king with a sack on his back
And seeing the poor man, pity he had.
So he helped him to the ground
And he went on his way without any sound.
Then the bird saw that the man was free
And chased him up a steep gully.
They flew down a mountain and then up again
And faster they raced the stronger they became.
Till at least the bird grew tired of chase
And letting him go he slackened his pace.
The man was free and danced he away
In the sunset's breaking of the day.

with limited editing for meter and rhythm by her big sister

moralizing on ants

2010-08-28T18:11:00.000-07:00

The bathroom I share with my roommate, Kirsten, is directly on top of a very large anthill. We don't know precisely how big it is, but we have a pretty good guess because of the pure volume of the inhabitants which have been pouring forth these days.

Anita mixed peanut butter, honey, and ant poison, and put generous dollops of the concoction around our counter and two sinks. Within half an hour, the sink was almost black with ants who were out to party.

That was earlier this week, on Monday or so. On Thursday, I noticed that though the torrent of greediness had not abated, there were some ants which weren't carrying their findings back to the nest.

That was because they had gotten stuck in the sweet goop, had been buried, and had died where they stuck.

Yesterday the number was down dramatically, and now the corpses are rarely visited by their fellow gluttons. I had to smile a little smugly that their diligence, lauded by King Solomon himself, had gone a little too far, killing some right away and the rest later once the poison takes effect.

That was before the job fair.

Yesterday was the job fair on campus. It was also the first day returning students were allowed on campus. It was a day of great excitement and anxiety, with old friends meeting and greeting after a summer of separation, and scrambling around to get paperwork together and get a work-study job before all the good ones were taken.

I was feeling pretty satisfied with my prospects, as I already had a spot guaranteed me in the library since last spring. But after doing a little quick arithmetic, I realized this week that even after a summer of work, I won't be able to afford to eat next spring after tuition is paid unless more money springs from somewhere. I knew the cafeteria was still hiring for cash, so that was why I was at the job fair.

By the way, there were two things I told myself last year I would never do: live off-campus, and work in the cafeteria. Unbeknownst to me, the Lord said, "Oh yeah? Do you want to come back?" Now I'm delighted to be off-campus; we'll see about the cafeteria.

I had already emailed the man in charge of the cafeteria, so he already had me on the schedule for the shifts I had said I was available for. He also had another shift open he needed filled, so before I knew it, I was scribbling my name at the bottom of the page as fast as I could for more hours than I expected. I thanked Leo, and carried my prize paper off to hand it into student employment and celebrate my prize. I had swiped a much-in-demand cash job before anyone else.

Once I stopped to think, I wasn't quite as delighted. Sure, I was blessed to have two jobs, let alone one, but I had loaded up on classes I need to take this semester before I knew I'd be working two jobs. What made me think I could handle the load I couldn't handle last year?

Count in the fact that I'm serving in AWANA, the evangelism club on-campus, and am now an officer in the debate club, and plan on actually spending some time with friends besides keeping my academic scholarship and sleeping, eating, and exercising reasonably.

I, and the rest of my friends who live this sort of life regularly, reminded me of those ants on my bathroom sink. We were so excited about what we got to do, our jobs, the income (however little), our friends, and being at college, that we were all planning very unhealthy schedules for ourselves. It's not considered strange to lose weight and not sleep for several nights. The choices some of us make this semester will still be hurting us in mid-life.

I'm blessed to have the option to drop a class if I can't handle the load and still graduate, but many can't do that. Some kids have college completely paid for, and some have to pay for it themselves by working and academic scholarships. How is this lifestyle and this level of stress a good thing? Is it really a blessing from the Lord to be put in this position?

First of all, I think we have a choice, unlike the ants, whether or not there will be poison in the treat. God is not trying to exterminate us like vermin. We may not be able to offer Him anything (even after we've graduated from The Master's College or even the Seminary), but He can still include us in His plans. He likes to see what we can do when He helps us, like a dad helping a little kid, not like an evil doctor conducting experiments on harmless, defenseless insects.

Second, wisdom is needed when we're planning and then carrying our our plans, especially when there's no direct oversight about every choice we make (like our parents). Our academic advisors can tell us what classes we need to take, and our friends can point out when we're being idiots (or as they say at Master's, confront and restore us), but we're the ones who make or break our "college experience."

I'm afraid I'm going to be tempted to think of those wretched ants many times this semester, but there's a lot more to the picture. I don't have to be an ant if I don't want to be.

thoughts at 1am

2010-07-31T01:10:00.000-07:00

Things of note at the present moment:

Reese's pieces are very filling indeed.

I begin moving my stuff sometime tomorrow afternoon, once I roll out of bed.

Windows Media player informs me that Aragorn is floating down the Isen.

Two textbooks bought, several more to go.

All my friends are back from their missions trips!

And I don't feel too left out!

My body is wondering why in the world I've gone into emergency early-morning-writing-and-Reese's-eating mode when it's all of four weeks until school starts.

Hercule Poirot is NOT French.

Toby Mac music videos are...Toby Mac.

Doctor Who was actually entertaining.

The library will still be under construction 6 weeks into the school year. Oh joy.

Aragorn is STILL floating down that river!

Small animals are scampering around outside my window.

I got to hang with two of my heroes today! If I gave their names along with their occupations, they'd get in deep trouble. I've wanted to be just like them since I was seven.

God is amazing. His grace is new every morning, especially when we're too dense to see it.

Is Aslan really a lion?

2010-07-24T01:35:00.001-07:00

This evening the library was slow so I was devouring The Horse and His Boy again for the first time in several years. I was thoroughly enjoying myself, and laughing at odd parts, until I ran into a nugget I hadn't noticed before.

Bree the Talking Narnian warhorse was trying to explain to Aravis, a Calormen girl who'd never been to Narnia, what he meant when he swore by Aslan using the words "By the Lion!" or "By the Lion's mane!" From his wealth of superior knowledge of all things Narnian, he explained that it was disrespectful to assume that Aslan was really a lion. It was merely a figure of speech to show that He was strong as a lion, swift as a lion, and fierce as a lion (only to their enemies, of course).

As Bree was setting Aravis straight, the great lion Aslan Himself was sneaking up behind him in full view of Aravis. "Why," said Bree, almost laughing, "if He were a lion, He's have paws, and a tail, and WHISKERS!"

Just when Bree said WHISKERS, one of Aslan's brushed him on the cheek.

I wonder how many of us stuck-up Narnians are telling the pagan Calormens that we know more about God than they do, when all the time His Spirit is graciously choosing to reveal Himself to them through His Word.

I'm not ragging on spoken evangelism; I'm a missions major. But there is an unspoken assumption in certain circles that those of us who have grown up in a Christian family and perhaps been saved for several years can understand God better and have at least most of the answers. So often we feel ourselves superior to genuine seekers of less spiritually priviledged backgrounds, and our reaction to them can be patronizing. They may grasp the simple truths that Jesus delivered, with the faith of children, while we'd rather debate secondary issues.

Their Messiah has yet to come...again!

2010-06-19T01:42:00.000-07:00

Jews for Jesus is an international organization of Jewish believers, in their words, "to make the messiahship of Jesus an unavoidable issue to our Jewish people worldwide." Jewish missionaries came from their branches all over the world to meet in a four-story Victorian in San Francisco to discuss how to best proclaim their Messiah's name to their people.

While I was with my family in the Bay Area for a short visit, my mom, Michael, Esther and I volunteered at a council meeting at headquarters of Jews for Jesus in San Francisco. We served breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and were there from 7am to about 8pm. In case you haven't tried it, there's not many things more fun than serving God's people (twice over) for thirteen hours.

My mom had been secretary at headquarters before I was born, and there were still many missionaries who were delighted to see her, and us kids too. Many times when I had been volunteering for the organization in the past, I had total strangers walk up to me, delighted to see me, and ask if my mom was somewhere around, because I so closely resemble my mom at my age. It was amazing to me how interested and glad to see us these veteran servants of the Lord were to see the (Gentile!) kids of a former employee of twenty years ago. We are the wild olive branch which has been grafted in to the cultivated olive tree, which is happy to receive us! As said a t-shirt they made for Gentile volunteer broadsiders, we're "Goyim for Jesus."

I have been blessed to grow up knowing some of these people as friends of the family. Most of them have been rejected as dead by their unsaved relatives. They have been told that they are as good as the Nazis who murdered their close relatives. They have watched their children fall away from the faith under the pressure of being from a Messianic Jewish family. But they are still full of the joy of the Lord and chutzpah!

They also make me want to go to Israel more than ever.

We spent most of our time in the huge kitchen, under the direction of the volunteer Israeli chef, Galit, and her brother and assistant, Tsachi. She was the calmest chef we had ever seen at board or council meetings. We set tables, arranged salads, chopped vegetables, mixed tahini, rolled lox, arranged garneshes, cleaned up messes, and devoured leftovers at her direction. I got to make baklava for the first time! That is one skill it will be worth-while to perfect, even if I forget the proper way to roll falafel balls so they won't crumble when you fry them.

While we learned some skills from the Israelis, we taught them a few ourselves. Michael had brought along his deck of cards, a permanent fixture on his person whenever he leaves the house, along with some matches, a sharp object of some sort, and a comb, all conveniently packed in his Army-issue jacket, just in case. In a lull between meals, Michael asked Tsachi if he knew how to play Spades. Tsachi didn't, but was willing to learn.

So us three siblings and the big Israeli cook's assistant commandeered the corner of a long dining table in the elegant Victorian dining room and set to work. Some of the missionaries, bored of a long dissertation on finances or something, wandered downstairs, saw our card-playing, and laughed. No matter where we go, people always assume we're gambling when they see cards in our hands. Do we really look that seedy? The last game was girls against guys, and the guys pasted us. Some people catch on fast.

One thing I don't think I'll forget about that day was the worship time. I and a lady who'd served with the ministry for many years were rolling falafel balls, and heard that the singing was about to start. Still in our big white aprons, we went in one of the back doors to worship with the rest.

This meeting was the day after the memorial service of the founder of Jews for Jesus, Moishe Rosen. He was a friend of most, if not all, of the people in that room, and his loss was felt deeply by everyone. Yet even while they grieved, God's people were still worshipping Him with joy. When it was time for prayer requests, a staff member announced that his daughter-in-law was in labor. A healthy baby girl was born that afternoon.

At the end of the time of worship, everyone sang a song I had never heard before. The tune was so hauntingly Jewish that I almost expected to be hearing Hebrew words instead of English. It so accurately expressed what these men and women of God live for that I had to repeat it here. This is part of the song they sang:

Oh Y'shua
by Marc Chopinsky

Oh Y'shua, how long must we wait
Longing for the day when you return
Oh Y'shua, in Zion whall be
Your people of praise when you return.

Oh Y'shua, faithful and true
Our righteousness our hope and our salvation
Oh Y'shua, to see you appear
Fulfill the word you spoke long ago.

Upon the clouds of Heaven
You are coming in great glory
With power and mighty angels
Coming with you to the earth

Oh Y'shua, how long must we wait,
Longing for teh day when you return
Oh Y'shua, in Zion shall be
Your people of praise when you return.

realities contrast

2010-05-15T20:35:00.000-07:00

Note: if violence to your brothers and sisters in Christ disturbs you, don't read this post.

I am discovering that my summer is not going to be "wasted" after all. "Coincidence? I think not!"

First of all, I have a corner in the International House all to myself. It's a cute little house just down the canyon from Master's, and it takes me five minutes to walk to work. I am the only American in the house. A lady from Namibia runs the house, under the Master's professor who owns it. My roommate is from Uganda, and the other two girls in the house are from China and India. There's another Japanese girl coming soon, and several more freshmen coming in the fall, all international students.

I am still exploring the joys of having a refridgerator at my disposal, as well as a washer and drier for which I don't have to beg, borrow, and steal quarters when I want clean laundry, and being able to keep my stuff in the bathroom! Such luxury. Everyone has her own well-defined space, and privacy is religiously respected.

Living in the International House is turning out to be a mismash of apparent contradictions. Even my roommate, in personality as well as in appearance, is almost my complete opposite. She's loud, funny, and doesn't mind a bit being foolish. "I have built up being stupid so much that now I can be stupid and nobody notices. It's a great gift. But it has to be earned," she moralized to me one night. Then she proceeded to give an account of her reactions when she had to operate an elevator, navigate an escalator, and fly internationally with great quantities of luggage -- all for the first time, around age eighteen. She's very sweet, and a great example to me. The first night, she gave me a lecture on what people who want to be missionaries need to do to prepare. It was very insightful and helpful.

The atmosphere of the house is completely different than being at Master's, even though all of the girls are or have been Master's students. I don't feel that I'm in an American house. Just being here is stretching me in ways I wouldn't have been able to guess before coming here. For example:

The very first evening, I was on my laptop in the kitchen and heard Alice, the Indian girl, watching a video over and over on her laptop in the livingroom. It involved a lot of commotion and shouting, and some screaming, too.

"Lydia," she called, "can you remember the reference to the verse where Jesus said that if they persecuted Him, they will persecute us, too?"

I pointed her to Matthew chapter 5 (thanks, Doc Halstead!) which was as close to the wording as I could get, and went back to my safe social networking. I had a suspicion of what she was doing, and I didn't want to see it. As it turned out later, she was editing a video on the recent persecution of Christians in the Indian province of Orissa for a Sunday School group her dad would be teaching the next day. She invited Anita, the lady in charge of the house, and I to see what she had already done.

First the video showed the unvarnished aftermath of one particular mob's wrath. Dead bodies of men, women, and children lay in the streets, while cars and bicycles rode around them and people stepped over them on their way. Blood was pooled on the ground under their feet.

Then the video cut to how it actually happened. The mob was kicking, punching, and beating the Christians with clubs. Some were already lying on the ground, helpless, probably with several bones broken, but some were still trying to get away. One young boy, probably the age of my youngest brother, was being systematically disabled before our eyes. The Indian media, who had covered and endorsed the event, had filmed and documented it thoroughly, and at one point, a cameraman himself walked up to a victim and slammed him across the back with a club.

Anita stopped watching after the beating began, but to my own amazement, I kept watching. Had it been simulated violence, I wouldn't have chosen to put my mind through that. But since it was real life, somehow there seemed to be a reason to force myself to watch it, and even to feel it, too.

Alice was watching it with me just as sadly, though she had been seeing it over and over again all afternoon. "This is the good part," she told Anita, who had moved to the other end of the room. "If you had seen what I took out, you would not have been able to bear it."

She paused it in the middle, and explained the situation to us. These victims were of a caste better known to us as the Untouchables, the lowest and most degraded caste in Hindism. In this area, many of them had become Christians. They sent their children to school, worked harder, and began to improve their lives. Educated and respectable Untouchables were not acceptable to the ruling castes. Out of jealousy, they staged a coordinated murder of several top Hindu officials, and blamed the Christians.

The accusation was blatantly absurd, but any excuse was welcome to persecute Christians. These particular Christians we were watching were all working at a tea garden when they were dragged into the streets and beaten to death. Many pastors were given the option of converting back to Hinduism or seeing their wives and children murdered. Some refused. Some converted. Seeing the videos of the consequences of refusal, I almost couldn't blame them.

We talked about persecution for a long time. Anita, a white woman from Afria, and Alice, a native Indian, had a different side to the situation than I did. Alice especially was personally grieved by what her countrymen were doing to her brothers and sisters. I would have been much more emotionally disturbed by the vulerability of believers before evil men, if I had not already witnessed for myself God's protection and answer to earnest prayers on skid row in Los Angeles.

Anita convinced Alice to go on a walk with her and me, "to clear her mind a little and get a fresh perspective" before she finished her depressing task. It was an odd feeling to leave the livingroom, only lighted by the lamp and the luminous laptop screen which showed such horrors, for a light-hearted tour of Placerita Canyon Road. This is an abrupt transition, but it was exactly like this.

Placerita Canyon is an odd hodge-podge of settings. A trailer park and a multi-million-dollar mansion are right across the road from one another. Horses graze beside castle-like homes that would look more at home at Disneyland (turrets and all). People drove by in their gas-guzzling trucks and suburbans, waving and smiling. We smiled and waved back, then said to each other, "Do you know that guy?" or "My, those kids are friendly..." We criticized the style of one big monstrosity-in-the-making that looked like a mix of a firehouse, a monestary, a jail, and a castle. Anita and Alice are so much fun to be around. They have both experienced a lot, and they exhibit the joy of the Lord.

Later that night, Alice and I had a long chat over our second dinners. She was telling me her perception of Hinduism, and how the West is suffering from its total ignorance of its true nature, especially of the nature of yoga. My parents had told me something to this effect growing up, but the idea was so much fuller coming from someone who truly understood "from the inside."

I found it especially interesting because I was used to working with middle-aged and older women at Curves, the demographic who was most susceptible to the lie that yoga was spiritually neutral. I had heard much about the benefits of yoga from the ladies, but was now hearing about the real dangers. The most potent form of it (I forget the name) is now becoming increasingly popular in the United States. It is impossible to practice this without being damaged by it. Here the spirituality is barely masked. In India, some of the most experienced gurus would not practice it, because they knew its power. But here, ignorant housewives walk into it blindly and flippantly, hoping to lose weight!

Alice's disgust of Hinduism is plain. "India is calling the judgment of God down on us," Alice told me. "India more than any other nation deserves it, because of what Hinduism is -- worship of the devil."

The next day I went to Placerita Baptist, just like I had nearly all school year. The 9:30 service was so empty! The few Master's faces I saw seemed like old friends, even though I really don't know them all that well. It felt odd not to sit in the Dixon/Sweazy section, just behind the Slight/Waldock section. It's just as well; I'll be able to get to know even more people now, besides Awana people.

Monday was my first day of full-time work at the TMC library. Next Monday will be my boss's first day back from vacation. Library life under her rule ought to be drastically different from library life under Ben's rule, my friend and student supervisor. With or without Ben "in charge," library work during the summer looks to be much more fun than work during the school year. I finished the Library Use Survey project(Stalker Survey) on Friday, of which I was the manager and merciless advocate all school year long. I'm so glad it's out of my hair...until August rolls around again.

The library is getting a makeover and facelift, and Mr. Stone, the head libarian, has seriously advised me to start lifting weights in preparation for moving the reference section. Greek-Hebrew-English dictionaries, here we come. I am taking his advice.

I am currently studying for two CLEP tests, one easy one and one brutal one. It's a nice balance. I'm also voraciously devouring Lewis, Peretti, and Chesterton this weekend, and applying for scholarships like there's no - if not tomorrow, then no "next year." Thankfully, it looks like the Lord may be coming through again with finances, but I still need to talk to some more people, crunch some more numbers, and maybe buy a few less bon-bons. Ha.

Life really is a contrast between delightfully carefree and desperately studious, between friendly chats and heart-to-hearts on life and death. I wouldn't be anywhere else, doing anything else, for anything.

"My Mom Chose Death"

2010-04-30T16:36:00.000-07:00

The novel I edited is finally available for purchase! Seeing it for sale on Amazon made my day.

The author, Chad Stembridge, is a fellow homeschool graduate, Christian filmmaker, musician, and now published author from Illinios. He's not much older than I am, but he's already building a reputation in the Christian film world. I met him through HomeschoolAlumni.org and saw a post of his asking for editors for the novel he wrote for National Novel Writing Month in 2008. This is the first novel he's finished, with more to come, I hope. He did a great job on it, and I was privileged to have the chance to have a small part in My Mom Chose Death.

www.amazon.com/dp/1451599463/ref=cm_sw_su_dp

Here's his website:
www.stembridgemill.com

this beautiful life

2010-03-26T22:58:00.000-07:00

Tonight I am in a thinking mood. I could do my reading....but I don't want to think someone else's thoughts. I could go to bed (it is 11pm), but I'm thinking too much to sleep. I just got back from a music production. Then I looked at pictures of a lovely girl my age on Facebook. My mind is full of pretty faces and wild tunes. And I want to think. I shall think on my laptop keyboard; a different kind of writing comes out when I think like this.

I used to want to be a story-girl, you know, the kind of girl that movies are made about, who always looks lovely even when she's crying, or is having a rotten attitude. The kind of girl whom everyone loves, and who is the heroine of her very own story. But now I'm old enough to know that that kind of lovely girl has her own problems by virtue of her loveliness, and her problems are not solved in two-hour's length of time.

I used to want to be a shield-maiden, like Eowyn, and be beautiful but also strong. (It also would be nice to be able to wield a sword and live on a mountain like she did.) But even Eowyn was foolish in her own way, and she needed humbling.

I used to want to be a wise lady, like Galadriel. But her problems dragged on for centuries, and when they ended, she lost everything she'd tried to save. She had respect, but we never find out if that consoled her or not.

It's taken me a few years to learn that this beautiful life is its own story. If you look at it in detail, there are parts you don't want to know the ending to. I don't think I want to know the ending to the part I'm in right now. But if you pull back, and look at it as a whole, there are certainly redeeming qualities that make it worth while.

When I was ten, my whole family got the flu (except my Dad), but my mom got pneumonia and went to the hospital. Dad didn't tell us until she was better that he really thought we would lose her. I almost suspected as much, when I looked at my Dad laughing and talking to our friends when his children were around, to hide how scared he was. I thought he was suppressing something, but I didn't think Mom could be that sick. Afterwards, I was terrified at how close we had come to losing Mom.

But when I think of that time, I think of our friends who took all four of us kids in (in addition to their original six) and fed us, housed us, made sure we continued with school, and even spanked us when necessary. (I managed to keep a clean record.) My best friends and I would stay up late talking, and we would all have riotous fun when we could. When I think of when Mom was sick, those are the first things that come to my head, that we were taken care of and loved when we most needed it. And thank God, He spared us our mom.

The point is, one doesn't need to be perfectly lovely and lovable to have a lovely life. In fact, it appears to be a general rule that it's better not to be lovely if you want to be happy. I haven't wanted that for a while. But do you know, it's also better not to be a heroine if you want to be happy. Because a heroine is put into the worst situations to win the sympathy of the audience, and she doesn't always come out on top.

I've always liked the supporting characters best, you know, the ones who stand in the background but come in with a line or two to give the hero a contrast to shine against. I watch their faces for their emotions and try to read their own story behind the main one. I was a supporting actress for six years, and I learned to tell a story in my own movements, always knowing that my story supported the real story of the hero and heroine.

I like the security of the background. If I ever had to lead onstage, I might become too used to the front and spotlight and not want to leave. But if I begin to lead in the story I'm living, I become used to it and rarely realize it. That's when the story begins to get boring. Because I'm not really the heroine, and I can't really act. And the Hero becomes the supporting actor.

The man is supposed to lead, in prayer, social life, and dancing. There's only one Man in my life, and He's a gentleman. I have to let Him lead; He won't barge off in front.

That's what a drunk bum on skid row said about me once. He said, "I like this one, because she's quiet, and doesn't shoot off her mouth like other white folk. She's a good one. Bring her again next time." The "white" fellow-student whom he'd just been insulting decided it was time to beat a retreat.

But it would be nice if the Hero thought so, too, not just some drunk fellow on the streets of LA. A real supporting actress doesn't "shoot off her mouth" when the Hero is delivering His most emotional monologue.

Some would say that being willing to be the silent supporting actress is true beauty, strength, and wisdom. Don't tell me! Keep it a secret! Because once I find out, it will turn to vanity, weakness, and foolishness -- like the girl I am and am terrified of remaining.

So, I guess, I'm okay with being in the background. I'm safer there. And if the Storywriter puts me in a cubicle or a back room for the whole lovely summer, when I'd rather be on a missions trip to Mexico and counseling at camp, that's His affair. I'm better suited to a backroom anyway. And when I'm there, the Hero's in front. And He shines.

spring break

2010-03-11T16:54:00.000-08:00

Spring break is here! and now the externals of life are no longer

dorm,

library circulation desk,

library shelving room,

library deliquents talking on cell phones,

cafeteria,

classroom,

chapel,

homework,

church,

AWANA,

and figuring out just how much information I can cram on a page to save on printing money without making it obvious.

Now the externals of life, for one week at least, are

hours of reading from great thick commentaries,

yet more Halstead outlines,

Biblical Method of Missions papers,

more missions reading,

shopping,

watching 24 and Combat! with my family,

eating great quantities of Mom's cooking,

working it all off at Curves,

fielding emails about shifts no one wants at work,

and trying not to plan my life.

There are so many things I want to do with my next year of college, but not enough money with which to do them. At this point, I just want to relinquish all preconceived ideas of what I think I need, and leave it to the Lord to decide what I actually do need. I just might be surprised at His ideas.

headcoverings

2010-02-21T01:27:00.000-08:00

I am posting this here because I have gotten several questions since coming to Master's about why I cover my head during worship and prayer. This and the post before it are parts of the outline project for Dr. Halstead's New Testament Survey 2 class. Every paragraph in Romans and 1 Corinthians was summarized and commented on. This was only one of three such assignments this semester. As you can see, I had a field day with the assignment, though the project easily took me 60 hours and the finished project was 56 pages.

The pecking order of authority
1 Corinthians 11:2-16

Analysis:
Paul praised the Corinthians for keeping the traditions he had given them and for remembering him. Now he would give them his reasons for those traditions.

The order of authority went like this: God was Christ’s head, Christ was man’s head, and man was woman’s head. Men who prayed or prophesied with their heads covered dishonored their heads, because they were the image of God, and His glory. Woman was man’s glory; she was created for man, not man for her. Because of this, a woman ought to have a sign of authority on her head, because of the angels. Men and women were dependent on one another in the Lord; both came from each other, in different senses. The first woman was made from man’s rib, and men are born from women.

Women who prayed and prophesied with bare heads dishonored their heads, because it was as if their heads were shaved; indeed, Paul said that if a woman did so, her head ought to be shaved, which would have been shameful. Paul appealed to the Corinthians: was it proper for a woman to pray bare-headed? Even nature, he said, taught them that long hair was a dishonor to men, but a glory to women, because it covered them.

But, said Paul, if anyone wanted to argue the point, “we have no such custom, nor do the churches of God.”

Response:
The custom which neither the apostles nor the churches of God practiced could have been that of contention. The reference would seem to refer to women’s long hair as a covering, but the context does not allow that to be the practice referred to.

It is interesting that God should choose the truth that man is woman’s head to be represented by physical symbols: length of hair and whether or not the head is covered during prayer. Obviously, it is very important to Him, partly because it symbolizes the authority of Christ over man, and perhaps by association and the cultural mandate, authority over creation.

This may be a reason the phrase “because of the angels” is given as a reason for a woman to wear a sign that she is submissive to the man. Perhaps the angels need to be reminded that Christ has received all authority in heaven and on earth. As the world “angel” is used in Scripture to mean demon as well as angel (Jude 6), it may not be a great stretch to assume that this verse could mean that the demons who are there to tempt the Church need a reminder that the Lord Jesus has authority in His Church still.

I have never read the passage this deeply before, and I hope I am not assuming too much. Having been taught to read this passage a certain way, it is difficult for me to step back and read it objectively. I am still far from certain about the interpretation Paul intended when he wrote to the Corinthians of a few thousand years ago.

I have done a cursory study of the different forms of “covering” used in this passage. The word for the covering a woman ought to have while praying is a verb that means “to cover or veil oneself.” The noun for a woman’s covering of long hair is a noun meaning “wrapper, mantle, or veil.” Both the word for hair as a covering and the word for the covering used during prayer are different words, but used to describe nearly the same thing, the covering of oneself as with a mantle or veil. However, it is very likely that my brief study has been insufficient.

It certainly seems as if Paul is calling woman’s long hair the covering without which it would have been improper for her to pray. However, according to this view, his specification that if she would not be covered, then she ought to be shaved seems unnecessary. In that case, the only way a woman could be uncovered would be if she were shaved.

I tend to believe that command to be covered still applies today, though it is not surprising that most Christians interpret it differently. I can’t blame them. The passage can easily be interpreted differently than I interpret it. The practice of wearing a headcovering during prayer certainly is a difficult habit to acquire, and a very distracting one if it takes a few tries to get it to stay on!

don't judge the Amish

2010-02-21T01:23:00.000-08:00

This is a short section from the outlines I wrote for Dr. Halstead's New Testament Survey 2 at Master's. This is part of the analysis of 1 Corinthians 10:14-11:1 on eating meat offered to idols, and most of my response.

Analysis:
...if the host told them that a dish had been offered to idols, they were to refuse it, for the sake of the unbelieving host’s conscience, and also because everything was made by God and was His. The importance was placed on the unbelievers’ conscience, not the believer’s conscience, so that the believer would not be judged by him. But if Paul ate with thankfulness, he said, he should not be criticized because he ate a certain food.

The believers were not to be offensive to anyone, Jew or Greek or the Church, as Paul was their example in pleasing all to influence them for the gospel, not for his own gain. The church was to make him their example in this, as he had made Christ his.

Response:
There is an interesting emphasis on the consciences of unbelievers in this section. Paul laid stress on this for a reason, though it may have seemed to the Corinthian believers that the unsaved in their decadent and corrupt city could not have any consciences worth troubling about. But we are all made in the image of God, whether or not it may be readily apparent. The refusal of a Christian to eat what the idolater knew to be offensive to him would have an effect.

I have noticed that this principle applies in other areas, too. A few years ago, when my family and I were visiting Amish country in Ohio, we kept a sharp eye out to see “if they were really as old-fashioned as they say.” We enjoyed the sights of all the neat white houses, home-made clothing and cheese, draft animals grazing, and one-room schoolhouses. We were quite satisfied with the horse-drawn carriages -- although the reflectors on the back did cause us to stumble a bit. We pounced on the sight of a girl applying a weed-wacker to a patch of weeds around her old-fashioned mailbox. The crowning shocker came when the waitress who served us at an Amish restaurant told us that she had gotten her deep tan sun-bathing, as opposed to working in the fields, as we had supposed.

On further reflection, we realized that our scrutiny and criticism of the Amish people’s lifestyle was similar to that of unsaved people of Christians’ lives, and that it was unjust for us to judge what we considered to be inconsistencies in their lives when there were far more important spiritual inconsistencies in our own.

It seems to me that this may be the kind of attention those on the outside pay to our lives: extremely observant and critical, and maybe sometimes half-indifferent and partly amused. We ought to do our best to keep their consciences clear, as well as our own. One less dish at dinner then may have meant one more soul in heaven. Now, one less ethical short-cut may mean the same.

Justified, we stand

2010-01-22T20:52:00.000-08:00

This morning in Theology 2 class, we were studying the doctrine of justification. This is a quote from the notes:

"It is significant that condemnation is not the opposite of pardon or sanctification. To condemn is to pronounce guilty; to justify is to pronounce not guilty. To condemn a person does not mean to make him sinful; to justify does not mean to make him righteous. Both are a declaration."

While trying to cram it into my head, I turned it around to help myself understand it, and scribbled this in the margin of my notes while the prof went on to proof texts:

"It's possible to justify a man who is unjustly accused. He is made innocent before men, when he was always innocent in actuality." In other words, he is simply DECLARED to be innocent; he always was, but now everyone knows it.

Apply it to sinners after we're covered in Christ's blood, and what do you get?

Mind-blowing grace.

That's one thing I'll never be able to cram into my head, even if the prof would slow down to let me digest it to make it fit.

"a cup o' kindness"

2010-01-01T17:24:00.000-08:00

It was midnight on New Year's Eve. The four siblings were watching Spiderman 2, as I hadn't seen it yet and we wanted to watch something mindless and exciting. Dad had bailed an hour ago and was snoring soundly in bed. Mom was pouring sparkling cider in the kitchen. I was quilting sporadically, and trying not to think that a new year was just starting, and it wasn't likely to be an improvement on the old one.

Then, over the melodramatically ominous music of Harry Osbourne discovering that his father was really the Green Goblin, we heard another kind of music. Some bagpipes somewhere outside were competing with all the fireworks, firecrackers, and din of a new year.

Gabriel paused the movie, I wrapped up in a blanket, and we all ran outside. Down the street, in front of one house we all knew well, was the dark silouette of a man in a kilt, blowing away at his bagpipes. "Auld Lang Syne" was the tune he played, and we all stood and listened while the boom of minor explosives made a suiable bass for his soundtrack.

When the song was over, we clapped enthusiastically. We didn't know until then that more neighbors than just us had come out to listen to the concert. Our next-door neighbors, and their next-door neighbors, and a few people across the street were clapping, too. My brothers yelled "Thank you!" to the lone musician, and Esther says that before he turned to go in, he waved.

Mom brought out sparkling cider, and we toasted the new year and the player of the bagpipes indiscriminately.

I thought it sad that the fellow who got some of his neighbors out of their own little houses and parties to hear a song all together should to back to his dark house alone, since it didn't look like he was having his own party and he isn't the sort that usually has parties anyway.

We went back into our lighted house, finished our movie, and took turns at the bathroom to get ready for bed. I had the prospect of a birthday coming up soon, friends coming over, two more weeks at home, more friends at school, good grades from last semester, intellectually stimulating classes coming up this semester, to cheer me --

in short, the general blessings of a well-beloved child of God.

Does Mr. Bagpipes?

the original Tolkien

2009-12-14T21:09:00.000-08:00

Finals were looming, and harried students were taking out their stress on the library computer's keyboards. I plopped down in one of the old desk chairs behind the library circulation desk in front of the broken computer and made myself comfortable.

I planned to be here a while; sure, I was at work for six-and-a-half hours, but I had also planned to meet with an old friend. With a coworking friend on one side in the other chair clacking way at the only working computer and a whole host of friends on the other side of the counter clacking away at final papers and Facebook, I was finally reacquainted with an old friend from whom I had regretfully parted for several years.

J. R. R. Tolkien was still telling stories, but there was a new one for me to hear tonight: The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrun. But this one still had dwarvish smiths and a forest named Mirkwood and a classic hoarding dragon and a shattered sword to be reforged and a forgotten throne to be reclaimed.

But the story wasn't the real treat -- the language was. Tolkien had translated the different snippets of the legend and spliced them all together with a few of his own creative additions, while still keeping the flow and cadence of the original Norse and Icelandic poetry as much as possible. It read like Beowulf, only you could hear Tolkien in it. Or rather, you can hear it in Tolkien. Here's a few snippets:

Of old was an age
when was emptiness,
there was sand nor sea
nor surging waves;
unwrought was Earth,
unroofed was Heaven-
an abyss yawning,
and no blade of grass.

..............................

Ever Grimnir's gift
gleamed in warfare;
at Sigmund's side
Sinfjotli strode.
Hard, handlinked,
helm and corslet
glasswhite glittered
with grey silver.

................................

Ever wide and wild
the wandring path;
long lay the shadow
of lone rider.
Ever high and high
stood Hindarfell,
mountain mighty
from mist rising.

...............................

Brynhild:(a lady)
'A beaker I bring thee,
O battle-wielder,
mighty-blended
mead of glory,
brimmed with bounty,
blessed with healing,
and rimmed with runes
of running laughter.'

Sigurd: (her knight)
'I drink, all daring:
doom or glory;
drink of splendour
dear the bearer!'

Brynhild:'Dear the drinker!
Doom and glory
both me bodeth,
thou bright and fair!'

Unfortunately, the story doesn't end well. I haven't finished it yet, but already he's killed off one of the title roles halfway through the story. But he leaves the remaining one in twice the trouble, so all's fair - 'cause it's a story of both love and war.

Obviously Tolkien thought he could do a better job of the returning exiled king with the reforged heirloom sword and made up Aragorn, then thought he could give him a sweeter and less invasive (and dangerous!) love life and gave him Arwen Evenstar.

He also improved the changeling Fafnir the dragon by doing away with his Helm of Horror and invented Ancalagon the Black and Smaug, neither of whom need superfluous headgear to properly scare intruders witless. By the way, the lack can't have been anything but a great benefit, as the Helm of Horror must have been comically too small for a dragon. It fit a man nicely.

I also heard a few mutters of Tolkien's old friend Lewis in there. The legend implied that greed for gold turns men into dragons. Poor Eustace Clarence Scrubb ought to have brushed up on his Norse legends before visiting Narnia.

The shift was almost over, and I had to close the book and come back to the real world. The story was almost enough to make me want to be a great lady with flowing golden hair, courage to fight anything, but wisdom not to. Almost, but not quite. Somehow there is something rather attractive about the real world - something it's taken me almost nineteen years to realize exists. I have a feeling it will take me a lot longer than that to figure out what exactly it is.

first semester finals week

2009-12-07T22:55:00.000-08:00

Two more weeks of the semester to go. This week will be insane; finals week will not be. I'm already thinking of which book I'll start first. My list of books to read has gotten way too long, and since we're allowed to study at work during finals week, then will be a perfect time to start.

The only other things left on my finals week to-do list will be sleep in, work out, eat (more), answer messages, answer letters, answer phone calls, wish I could take my harried coworkers' hours, listen sympathetically to their woes, glare at people who make noise in the library, and throw out the evildoers who talk on their cell phones.

All I have is one easy final. Finals week this year will be so much easier than it was at College of Alameda. So ironic.

So far the lowest class grade I have is an A-. It would be nice to work up to an A, but not necessary. I'm whaling away at Economics and stuffing the Sermon on the Mount in my head as fast as it will go (when I do study it), so I should do pretty well. All I have is one easy final.

I finally found a church...and it was right under my nose all along. It's known to those who have cars and can actually go away to church as the "Bedside Baptist," since it's right next door to the school and all you have to do is roll out of bed and you're there. Those of us who don't have cars and end up there call it by its proper name, Placerita Baptist, or PBC for short.

They have an AWANA, of which the head librarian, my boss, is the commander, and he says they need T&T girls' leaders. That just happens to be what I've been doing for the past two years. I really like the church. It's big, but it still feels like a family. I think I'll enjoy getting to know the people and the kids in AWANA. Plus a lot of my friends go there.

I'm glad I've found a church I can serve in and that I can get to every Sunday. There are a lot of other churches I would have liked to have gone to, where I had friends or liked the service, but I think PBC is where the Lord wants me, until I intern in LA with 1st EV Free or go to Israel for a semester (Lord willing). There are so many opportunities open, I don't know what I would do first, IF...

"...I were a rich man..."

Tevya's song keeps going through my head, as well as a few other songs from Fiddler on the Roof. I think I've been thinking too much for too long. I'm ready for a nice long winter break.

a day in the life...

2009-11-19T20:35:00.000-08:00

You know you've slept in when you greet your friends with a "Good morning!" and they look at you funny.

Last night was too full of homework...and chatting. And since breakfast closes at 9, I missed it. I barely made it to self-defense class on time.

Self-defense is always physical and intense, but today was even more so. We moved from the physical to the psychological aspect of the whole thing. The instructor had us practicing stare-downs without breaking face and also how to handle someone saying something completely invasive. Needless to say, I did MUCH better with the staredowns than with the suggestiveness. Somehow suggestive phrases just don't come easily to me...but I had the big tough guys stared down in no time.

I don't usually do so well with the physical drills, especially when we do them with the guys. An athlete going for a chokehold doesn't intimidate me exactly; I just think about how impossible it would be to get away if he really was a mugger, and then I forget everything. But when the drill involves real-life scenarios, like the guys walking up to us and saying suggestive things and following us around while we yell at them to stay away, and then blocking them when they try to grab us...inspiration comes much more quickly then.

Poor guys. To do them justice, very few of them were creative (or bold) enough to be really shocking.

After that class, I was hungrier than usual. But I was excited about my to-go box full of burger and fries. But when I got to Astronomy class, no lunch was forthcoming. Apparently I had dropped off my card after my friend had left work instead of before she got there. So I was doomed to starve, since I didn't have much food left in my room, and there wasn't much chance of food at work, where I would be from 2:30pm to 6:30pm.

Don't worry, this is not a meaningless recitation of my schedule because that's the only thing going on with me right now. There is a purpose for all this.

I checked my mail to distract me; maybe there would be food in there. And lo and behold, there was a package from some friends back home. And once I had wrestled the packing-tape off (no homeschooled guy friends were in sight to bum a knife off of), there was such quantities of food! And all delicious things, like a chocolate muffin, and pastries galore. And real silverware! No more trying not to break my few plastic forks.

I was as delighted as a child at Christmas. It's a cliche, but I was. The Father's care for me was there in my hands, in a cardboard box. He knew I would have to go hungry today, and since I would be going nonstop until about 9 tonight, today would have been a more than usually bad day to go hungry. I felt so loved and special, not only that my friends would think to send me so much stuff so nicely packed and so useful, but that it should come just at the right time.

Bless the LORD, O my soul;
And all that is within me, bless His holy name!
Bless the LORD, O my soul,
And forget not all His benefits:
Who forgives all your iniquities,
Who heals all your diseases,
Who redeems your life from destruction,
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and tender mercies,
Who satisfies your mouth with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

Psalm 103:1-5

The bold verse stuck in my head at work. And would you believe it, there was an abundance of snacks at work to "fill in the cracks." Instead of being a Stoic today, I was a hobbit.

I finished the school day lying on the baseball field looking at the stars in Astronomy lab, looking for meteors. I saw two, which was more than anyone else saw.

Soon I'll go to the fitness center to work out with my roommate, then maybe do some Acts outlines and work some more on memorizing Matthew chapters 5-7. Tomorrow is work, chapel and worship, going to class with friends, and going to a friend's house for the weekend. A week from today is Thanksgiving, and the few days after that I'll be at home. At last.

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

"You smile and say hi"

2009-10-23T23:32:00.001-07:00

It's a common theme, but it bears repeating: people remember your smile.

There is a cleaning lady named Rosa whom I see every day when I come back to my dorm between classes. There's hardly anyone around in the mornings, so that's when she does her cleaning. She's a tiny, elderly, wrinkled lady, probably from South America.

I feel badly that she has to clean for a living for college students who are so privileged and can have lots of fun without working for our food. So I smile at her and say hi whenever I see her. Sometimes I hold the door for her when she needs it. She always smiles back at me and says hi.

After lunch today I came back to the dorm to take a shower before work. I was in a kind of a hurry, but I said hello to Rosa in the hall as I always did. I was rather surprised that she came up to me and asked me a question. Her accent was so thick that it took me a while to understand that she was asking if I had an older sister that went to the college.

She asked because she remembered a girl from last year that would smile and greet her every time she saw her just like I did. She thought that girl looked like me, too.

Rosa couldn't remember her name, but she said that most people don't say anything to her, and if they do, whenever she looks up, they're looking away or not smiling. But, she said, "You smile. I like that."

I said I felt badly that I never helped clean around there. She seemed pleasantly surprised that I was troubled by such scruples. So I told her my name, and we parted friends.

Now wasn't that sweet?

But I wonder who that other girl is.

my 3 days as a bum

2009-10-18T23:03:00.000-07:00

These are two emails I sent about Outreach Week; the first one before when I wasn't sure what to expect, and the second after. It's kind of long, but read what you like.

_________________________________
For those of you who don't know what Outreach Week is, Master's cancels classes for most of one week once a year and gives all the students the option of choosing an outreach team. There are dozens of churches who ask for teams from Master's, and we do what they need: youth ministry, door-to-door, painting, cleaning, organizing, cooking, leading worship, whatever they need. There are some small, struggling churches that get help, and some bigger churches trying to branch out and get more done. I'm going to 1st EV Free in inner city LA, where I knew I would more of an opportunity to witness. There are about twenty of us going, and several of us are freshmen.

Please pray for my team and I that we would be bold and safe! The ratio of guys to girls is good, and we have some good people who want to serve on our team, so I am excited! The plan seems to be to get us introduced to the life of a homeless person; it is highly unlikely that they will let us have showers. We'll also be doing teen ministry as well; broomball with the youth group is part of the plan. Also some of us will be leading worship for the different youth groups, and we'll also be tutoring kids after school.

I was sick all of last week, and I'm just getting over it, and several of the others haven't been looking their best, either. I want to be a support and not a drag, and to be able to think clearly...after all, this is what I am thinking of doing for the rest of my life.

Thanks for reading my newsletter. :)

Love,
Lydia

__________________________________________________________________

I had my cell with me for the first night. Then it was confiscated, along with everything I brought, including the clothes I was wearing. How's that for an attention-grabber?

The first night we slept on the church floor. I was nearly disappointed with the situation, since I had thought they would make us into homeless so we could experience it for ourselves -- "hard core" and "intense" is how it had been described to me by people who knew. Nevertheless, I was not particularly pleased at being woken up at 3:50am by a blinding light and the church staff telling us to get up -- never mind getting dressed -- and come with them. Oh, and leave your stuff.

I bid my earthy possessions farewell, but got dressed anyway. And scoured my teeth.

That morning began before dawn with a driving tour of inner city LA while the staff told us about things they had seen and people they knew. Rooms in the local hospital crawling with vermin, young men unjustly condemned because of their race or because they were there when the crime was committed. I didn't realize the sheer numbers of illegal aliens or how many rights they just don't have because they're here illegally. Of course I think that laws should be followed, but it is sad that people who left awful conditions should come here to awful conditions.

We ended up at the Nehemiah house, a house a block or so away from the church owned by the church and staffed by church members and a few Master's students who intern there. They tutor school children thorough the S.A.Y. Yes! program (Saving America's Youth), go to their parent/teacher meetings, serve as counselors to anyone who comes to them, help people find jobs and housing, and whatever other practical ways they can show God's love.

To help us understand practically what it means to them, the Nehemiah house staff told us that for the next three days, we were going to be poor. We couldn't have any of the stuff we brought except for our shoes, socks, underwear, and three personal items, one of which could be our sleeping bag if we wanted it. We would get the same daily income the average worker in their neighborhood would get. Then they asked for two volunteers to be "homeless people", who wouldn't get any personal items and no daily income. The room was still for a second, then my hand went up, and I wondered what had gotten into it.

So I had to beg money for my dinner off my teammates, and some more to buy clothes, and then more for the mandatory school tax and transportation. We couldn't wear our own clothes; we had to buy old cast-offs to wear for the next three days. Showers and sleeping inside on beds were allowed, but the prices were so exorbitant that we all chose eating over showering.

The first day we helped clean up and fix up around the Nehemiah house and a new house the church had just bought that needed a lot of work. I only ate dinner that night, but did more manual labor that day than I had done in months together. I discovered, to my surprise, that I really didn't need that much food. It was the pure habit of eating that made me SAY I was dying to eat, though I really wasn't suffering that much.

That day I helped give assessment tests junior-high boys at the SAY Yes! center. It was sad to me to see how sub-level most of them were in reading. A couple were very good. All of them were fairly easy to work with.

That night, we had dinner with different families from the church. I and four others went to the house of some (legal) immegrants from El Salvador. We were fascinated to hear about their lives and how they had adjusted to living in the States, while a little yappy dog bounced around, begging for attention and food. The cooking was wonderful. It was similar to Mexican food, but different, of course. I remember thinking, as I dove in, that Dad might be envious at the wonderful foreign meal I was having.

I'm going to have to cut this short since I've made this too long already! The next two days I got two meals a day, thanks to the Communism faithfully practiced every morning. I observed something very interesting: when I had to actually ask people for money, it was much more valuable when I did get it. But when we all divided up what we had and the poor people got some, it wasn't as valuable. It was my due.

The next day we went on a survival hunt. We split into groups of four and wandered around the surrounding area of LA, with lists of things to do such as ride the bus, eat lunch, find at least 20 cans and sell them, learn what different terms for low-income housing and other inner city lingo meant, and give something away to a homeless person. We didn't have anything on us but our clothes and what few belongs we were allowed. So we had to beg for the bus fare.

The middle-class people acted like we weren't there and avoided eye contact. The poor people helped us quite generously with the bus fare and with advice. One middle-aged man who looked nearly as bad as we did told us, "This is not a cool area. You need to get out as soon as possible. Do you have a place to stay?" My group was four blond-haired white kids, and three of us were girls. Quite obviously, we belonged nowhere: we weren't from the area, we hadn't always been poor, and we didn't have money, either. We had no "class" or caste.

We ate lunch at a Catholic mission. The two other girls and I were the only women. The group of us were the only white people eating there. It surprised me that this didn't bother me. By then I was getting dizzy, and I was too hungry to care. And the young Mexican men who ate there weren't a problem. This rather surprised me, too.

The last day, Saturday, we went to MacArthur Park, near the middle of the "poor people's" section of town, and split into groups of twos or threes and looked for people to talk to. The groups with students who spoke Spanish had much better success. Some of us were able to share the gospel, and many people were very receptive. The guy I was with spoke no more Spanish than I do (though it wasn't too hard to understand "I don't speak English" or "I don't want to talk to you.") So we spent a lot of time praying for the people we saw.

All day we had been looking forward to the "International Meal" the staff had been planning for us. Our team leader Daniel warned us to eat what we could get that day, and not to rely on the dinner. So we speculated all day on how nasty the international food would be, that hungry as we were, we wouldn't want to eat. Fish eyes? Kimchee? Blood sausage?

We were all divided up among different countries and people groups in proportion to their populations. North America had two people at their table, and China had about fourteen. There were also Africa, India, Europe, and South America; we were all served food from that area by people from that area who went to the church. All the food was delicious.

I sat at the China table. We all received small bowls with steamed rice, a little tofu, and some steamed greens. Even those of us who couldn't use chopsticks to save our lives, learned. And learned fast.

And waited for more. But no more came.

Meanwhile, North America was being royally feasted on steak, veggies, wine (or grape juice), pie, salad, and ice cream.

At the end of the meal, we learned that we had been fed in proportion to the actual relative amounts of money that our areas spent yearly. North America couldn't eat all theirs, and China, Africa, India, and South America were still hungry.

But for us, hunger did not last forever. As we washed the dishes, my friends and I discussed where we should go when the simulation was officially ended. Ben and Jerry's? In-n-Out? The dollar store? The possibilites were boundless. Because in a few moments, we would be college students with wallets and cars again. And clothes, and showers...

It did indeed end that night, but to my surprise, I wasn't all that hungry. I did pig out on cookies later that night, but it was from the pure desire to eat something out of habit, and not because I was so hungry I was in pain, as I had felt earlier that night when confronted with food I couldn't eat.

That night we all shared what we had learned. And I was thankful all over again that everyone on the team was serious about God and willing to hear what He had to say.

I found I have a new heart for those who don't have it much better off than when they lived in third-world countries. I got back to my dorm room, and, as I told my coworker at my work-study job (that's helping pay for college and is giving me valuable work experience), "I am so filthy-rich."

A common thing to say. But much different to experience than to hear.

I still can't eat as much as I could before Outreach Week -- not that I ate much before. Somehow my stomach just can't consume three full meals a day anymore. And to be able to walk into a store or restaurant and bring something edible or useful away is something special...still. I hope it stays that way for a long time.

In the meantime, I'm not sure how I'm going to use that experience. I hope to go to skid row with some other students who go regularly and see how the Lord uses me.

As I told some friends while overlooking the city of LA last night, I can't enjoy a night-time cityscape like this anymore. I see all the lights as souls.

Who really needs a 4.0?

2009-10-03T14:13:00.000-07:00

Last night as I was reading my Astronomy textbook and really getting into it, it suddenly occured to me from nowhere that I'd better come up with a better reason for going to college than to get a good education that interests me. The eagerness to learn exactly how our earth and moon work together won't last forever; and after all the concepts have been learned, my curiosity (on some subjects) satisfied, the tests taken, and my GPA bumped up a financial aid notch or two, what's left?

A 4.0 on a transcript?

What's left is what's always been there: human souls.

If my education can't equip me to go more places to reach more souls for Christ, then there's no use for it beyond selfish personal gratification.

The trick is keeping this in my mind all the time, even when summaries are due and economics is being a pain, both of which are bound to happen sometime.

my new home

2009-09-02T19:17:00.000-07:00

So this is it--my new home.

The first time I saw it, every walkway was a literal stream, and all the staff was in suits and ties and skirts covered with huge umbrellas.

Now the sun beats down, smoke wafts through the air, ashes sift down if the wind is right, and board shorts, flip-flops, and t-shirts abound.

But the cafeteria is just as crowded and noisy, the lines just as long, the worship music just as loud, people are just as friendly.

And I love it.

Or, I'm prepared to love it. I'm still not sure if I feel at home, or am bordering on homesickness, or enjoy the crowds, or wish I had more alone time.

What I do know is, looking for a church is tiring. And I can't believe I'm ending up with only 14 units. I feel like a slacker. And working 15 hours a week doesn't help me feel any better, for some reason.

But I think I'm going to love working at the library. I was a little nervous about it, especially since all the employees from last year seem to be one big happy family, but it seems it's not too hard to join this happy family. Everyone is happy to answer whatever dumb questions I have such as,

"Can you remind me how to get the book-cart elevator door open?"

"Oh, the elevator is on the top floor, that's why it's not opening."

Sigh...

But a job where the off-duty employees come just to hang out and help out with whatever doesn't seem that bad.

Plus data entry at a library is awfully educational. And when I check books in and out and help people, I get to know them.

My problem is, I finish my (limited) homework, then stay up until 11 answering messages, hanging out in a certain chatroom, and catching up with friends and family so they won't think I've forgotten them.

Then I try to get up early to be at work at 7, and that gets more difficult as the week progresses. But I'll go to bed on time and read Piercing the Darkness by Frank Peretti until my roommate goes to bed.

Megan is great. It's God's provision how well we were matched. She's a missionary kid from China, and doesn't mind imparting the wisdom such a position entails. But almost better than that, she stays up late (like me) and doesn't get up too terribly early (unlike me). We agree on most secondary issues like the joys of being single, modesty, and such.

And she has a great sense of humor.

My classes seem too easy, but I'm hoping they'll get more "intense." I've been informed by a couple of upperclassmen that my demise draweth nigh in my Economics class. So far I have not sensed any personal forbodings on that score.

My New Testament class promises to be more grueling. I chose to memorize the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew chapters 5-7) instead of writing an outline of the book of Matthew in addition to outlining John and Acts. I'm excited about all that. I've only gotten as far as the John 3, and I've learned so much already!

This is a ridiculously long blog entry, but I had to put it down somewhere. If you've gotten this far, please leave a post so I know people still read this thing and I didn't lose you. Thanks. :)

Homeschool Alumni National Reunion

2009-08-18T14:38:00.001-07:00

I made it! there and back again.

And it was an amazing blessing.

It certainly isn't normal for me to run off to Colorado to meet 208 homeschool graduates like me who are unlike me in most particulars.

It certainly isn't normal for me to find myself perfectly at home with total strangers, sit for five hours at an airport without losing my temper or getting too impatient, run up and down roads at 7000 ft when I've lived at sea level all my live, dance for four-and-a-half hours at said altitude, learn to waltz, ask total strangers if they're missionary kids, drive a 15-passenger van with working AC, are WBE (Wet Behind the Ears), or have read all 28 Elsie Dinsmore books.

Nor is it normal for me to stay up until midnight just because a couple of brainiacs decided to debate end times and what really happens in hell. Though I suspect that's because I've never had the chance.

Nor is it normal for me to worship like that, sing like that, meet friends like those, laugh like that, watch skits like those, or stay up until midnight like that.

But I did. And I loved most every minute of it.

Do you know what homeschool alumni ladies do when they've had enough chocolate to stun a man and have no curfew?

They sing four-part harmony.

On the last night, a large group of girls in my dorm had a "chocolate party," which means they played games for chocolate cookies, bars, truffles, potato chips, other snack foods, and a dip into a communal chocolate pudding bowl (with a different spoon each time, of course) and then ate their winnings. By 12am, the party was in full swing. By 1am, those of us sensible people who had only had one or two cookies wanted to go to bed.

But "Cletus take the Reel" was being...performed...in a most unpolished manner, and the rest of us began to despair of getting any sleep at all.

But then they began to sing hymns. "How Great Thou Art" sounded like angels were soothing men's wicked hearts. Our sleepy and grumpy hearts were somewhat soothed...until the song ended with a great laugh and "The Twelve Days of Christmas" were recounted with great skill and gusto.

Then they went back to hymns again, and I fell asleep.

Later, my friend told me they were out there until 2:30am. Apparently they had lost track of the time.

One thing I found highly entertaining was the rivalry between the alumni of the Northern and Southern states. But, to paraphrase Confederate General Longstreet in the movie Gettysburg, "Mm-mm, those boys can sang!"

The talent show was one of the best parts. I was in a skit with three other people more talented than I (not to be confused with three demons more evil than I), but I enjoyed watching the other contestants much more.

First place went to a girl who played the harp and sang in Irish-Gaelic, and then Confederate President Jefferson Davis' favorite song; it could have been "The Minstrel Boy." It was saluted with cheers, of course, and not just because she is very talented. I bet all the Southerners voted for her.

There was also a mime, a quartet, several skits, stand-up comedy, and lots of other stuff. The HSA tour was hilarious. It brought out all the inside jokes that could possibly be crammed into one play.

The last night (before I went to my dorm to discover the chocolate party) I was sitting with my friend's laptop in the lobby with one half of my brain involved in a discussion of what a homeschooling man ought to be and the other half trying to check in for my flight the next day, when I found an email from the library director at Master's. She was offering me a job and wanted to set up a phone interview. I answered and apologized for taking so long to answer, and set a date and time for this afternoon at 2:00.

Not until I talked to her did I realize that she was also an HSAer who I'd been talking to about her experience at Master's. And I got the email while at the HSA National Reunion. How ironic.

I did get the job.

To return to the reunion, I'm glad I went. And I wish I had more time online to keep up with all the friends I made.

The Road of Life

2009-08-18T14:32:00.000-07:00

by my 12-year-old sister Esther

Ahead it winds through stony path,
Through glades of green and luscious grass,
To shadows deep, rimmed with your tears,
To light and joy, far from the fears.

The Road of Life lies straight before
Whereon it spreads, unwinding more
Of memories, stories, and happenings in
A life of love, or a life of sin.

It is your choice, which life to lead,
To tend to words, to wisdom heed,
Or carelessly flick up your head
And go on to the Paths of Dead.

However, I do quite agree,
That you have chose to follow He
Who'll lead your life on paths so stragiht
To lead you to a better fate.

Dedicated with sisterly love to Lydia Ruth on the occasion of her departure for her first week to college.

my ready defense?

2009-07-22T23:52:00.000-07:00

10:30 at night, I check my messages on a literature network website. Awaiting is a large chunk of critical commentary on my beliefs. Here's only a slice:

Psychology and philosphy student in Greece: I don' t agree that a christian should give the right to be his own master - and I dont' agree on your evaluation of its difficulty: I see all the time people obbeying sth else except theirselves (even if they fail to understand it). I think the difficult task is to be your own master, because only then your moral substance is meaningfull. Most religious people have not sucrificied their free will, because they never had it. (emphasis mine)

I sat back and frowned. Calling me an automaton, is he?

Me: I do agree that freedom of will is an achievement. But for the sake of argument, suppose that the Creator made the created with his own strengths and weaknesses, his own preferences, his own beauty. The Creator knows the created better than he could know himself, because He made him. The Created made him with a free will, so he can choose to do what he likes, but he can only be MORE himself and really know himself if he allows the Creator to direct him to find it, if that makes any sense.

Your "freedom of will" is ability to choose preferences (music, clothes, style, attitude, beliefs, etc.) and not to give them up because that's what you want. Am I right? I think a well-balanced person can have both your freedom of will and my surrender of lordship.

I finished my answer (which far exceeded the capacity of the website to post all at once, being more than 1000 characters) and re-read it several times. Every time I answer this person, I scour his post for errors in logic and mine for accuracy. Every time I answer I ask myself, what have I got myself into?

But every time I poise my cursor over the "post" button and pray,

"Lord, should I post this or start all over tomorrow when I can think again?"

The answer is,

"Post it."

And then my intelligent friend comes back with another haymaker. He seems to have all the answers. He even tells me that he has peace and joy...most of the time...as much as is humanly possible.

And yet he let slip that he struggles with depression and constantly wonders what's the use in being here, anyway.

And I wonder why I'm talking to him.

A few months ago, I had to step back and give it a rest. My faith hung by such a slender thread that I couldn't reach out to help pull someone else up. But now I'm back at it. He was actually the one who started it up again by asking me what exactly I believe. He seemed to miss showing me where I'm wrong.

God's Word will not return void. Here is someone who desperately needs it even while he reviles it, and God's grace is waiting to bring him to repentance. And God is graciously using my stumbling words and numbed, tired brain to do His Work.

I expect to greet Josef in heaven as a brother.

Porcelain heart

2009-07-08T15:21:00.000-07:00

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Broken heart one more time
Pick yourself up, why even cry
Broken pieces in your hands
Wonder how you'll make it whole.

[Chorus:]
You know
you pray
This can't be the way
You cry,
you say
Something's gotta change
And mend this porcelain heart of mine

Someone said "A broken heart
Would sting at first then make you stronger"
You wonder why this pain remains
Were hearts made whole just to break?

Creator only You take brokenness
And create it into beauty once again.

I heard this song for the first time a week ago at camp. Twin sisters were practicing it during free time. I'm not a huge fan of Barlowgirl, but the music was lovely.

The next day they played it in chapel. I am not usually prone to great emotional displays during songs I like, but I found myself with tears rolling down my face.

A heart doesn't have to be broken to hurt. Sometimes little nicks cause the most pain. And even then it doesn't have to be something someone else did to us, it can be a mistake we made or sin we committed, or just something we couldn't handle because we weren't ready.

Our God is truly amazing. He not only forgives our sins when we ask it, but He knew all of our sins and failures 2000 years ago at the cross. And He forgave them anyway.

Why suffer over what we could have done differently six months ago, when we can have forgiveness now? Even the abundant blessings our Fathers lavishes on us won't be appreciated and enjoyed as they should be if we focus on what we can't change about the past. Our hope for the future has too precious to ruin knowingly.

The rest of camp was great. It was my fifth and last year, and there were 26 other graduates besides me. I liked being one of the oldest kids there, and having clout (finally!). This year was odd in that people seemed to seek me out to make friends, instead of the other way around.

My cabin was full of girls I already knew, and it was nice to get to know them a little better. That is, when they weren't discussing how cute the lifeguards were or how adorable my little brother was. Poor Gabriel.

It is so true that if you really want to know someone, you have to get to know them one-on-one. People show so many different faces, and I am just now developing the discernment to know when someone is just blending in or setting the tone. College would be interesting merely as a people-watching exercise.

I never thought I'd want this, but I'm hoping to come back next year as staff, and do such things as inspect cabins, set-up and take-down for games, hang out with a supersoaker and a scary costume in the woods during night games, be able to go to town a few times, and generally help out, serve God's people, and enjoy myself at the same time.

"Till We Have Faces"

2009-06-16T16:08:00.000-07:00

How truly selfless is what we call selfless love? How can we accuse God of not answering us and of being unfair when we have no idea of His true nature?

So C.S. Lewis's adaption of a Greek myth forces the protagonist and the reader to consider.

I don't remember what I expected Till We Have Faces to be like. But it certainly wasn't what I expected. His writing style is completely different in this book. If I didn't know better, I would never have guessed that the author was not a bitter, lonely queen of a mythical country of ancient times, but a kindly, dryly humorous, but brilliant and serious middle-aged professor at Oxford.

Orual's railing against the gods may well have been Lewis' own feelings as he struggled from the athiesm of his earlier years to the faith that has blessed millions.

The original myth smacked of the earthly and sensual, and so does this. One reason I didn't read this much-loved work of one of my favorite authors was that it was on the "family banned works" list. It is unfortunate, though from the nature of the original myth itself, it seems impossible that he could have left it out. As my dad always says, "eat the fish and spit out the bones." There is value in this book apart from the question of how realistic it really needs to be.

The two questions mentioned earlier are some of the most fundamental questions every person should ask. I wish Lewis had given the answer: Jesus! His love, when compared to the best love we can offer, shows the our dirt so shamefully that all we can do is beg for forgiveness. And to know God's true nature, all we need do is know His Son, God who came in flesh. Then we will be made like Him, "when we see Him as He is."

But Lewis only went so far as to deliver, when Orual was face-to-face with Zeus himself, the most memorable lines of the whole book: "I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice? Only words, words; to be led out to battle against other words. Long did I hate you, long did I fear you..."

So the book ends, with the death of Queen Orual as she writes her submission.

(from my book review on Goodreads.com)

touching the Infinite

2009-06-14T16:27:00.000-07:00

Now when the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram; and behold, horror and great darkness fell upon him.

Then He said to Abram: "Know certainly that your descendants will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, and will serve them, and they will afflict them four hundred years. And also the nation whom they serve I will judge; afterward they shall come out with great possessions. Now as for you, you shall go to your fathers in peace; you shall be buried at a good old age."

Horror before the Source of all comfort? Great darkness in the presence of the leading, guiding, providing Light!

He is God.

"Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!" (Psalm 46:10)

Yet He is a shepherd.

"He will feed His flock like a shepherd; He will gather the lambs with His arms, and carry them in His bosom, and gently lead those who are with young." (Isaiah 40:11)

He is "a consuming fire, a jealous God."

Yet He is the still, small voice.

"And after the wind an earthquake...and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in [either]; and after the fire a still small voice. So it was, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle..." (1 Kings 19:11-13)

my first vote!

2009-05-20T21:26:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I voted for the first time!

NO on 1-A through F. I did research the pros and cons of each proposal, with my dad's help. But for the record, I DID vote differently than my dad!

He voted yes on 1-F.

I'd been imagining how special I'd feel walking up to that booth and making marks on the paper which dictate how my government will be run and who will run it. I'd been thinking about women's suffrage and how priviledged I am to live in a country not only where women are allowed to have a say in government, but where the people are allowed to have a say in government at all.

That said, it was rather alarming how easy it was to walk in, sign my name and address, take a paper in a sleeve and a pen, and start drawing arrows. No ID requested.

It is rather distressing, to my female mind at least, that when a child fantasizes about what's it's like to be grown up, she forgets that "growing up" means growing out of fantasies. I didn't feel one shiver as I solemnly completed the arrows next to six bold NOs. Just like I didn't feel a shiver when I walked out of the DMV with my driver's permit, or when....sigh.

Still, I refuse to believe that being an adult completely precludes any shivers and fantasies at all. One just has to be in just the right mood at just the right time.

When I was done, Dad, Mom and I approached one of the poll workers. She took my pen from me (being a first-time voter, I couldn't have known to hand it to her myself), along with my ballot, and stuck it in the--counter, I guess it was. The red digital numbers on it said 0086.

"Only eighty-six people voted today?" I asked, rather mortified at the apparent lack of patriotism, however misguided.

"Oh, no, we've had lots of people in here today, they just voted differently."

Dad gave an "I bet they did" kind of a chuckle. After all, who in the liberal Bay Area wouldn't want big government and even bigger taxes?

But the "different" way most people voted was by mail and such, not YES on everything. All six of the proposed measures failed miserably, except for F, which was a smashing success. So the CA legislature will just get money from the Federal government to fund their spending craze, instead of from the tax-payers. For now, anyway.

In all, I must say it was very encouraging outcome for a first-time voter.

"Around the World in 80 Days"

2009-05-08T21:10:00.000-07:00

Finals went well; I found out last week I officially have a 4.0 for both this semester and college altogether! Thank You, Lord. "College GPA" sounds grand. I've only taken 17 units of it, that is; that calculus class didn't ruin my life, after all!

The 1st of May was the deadline for accepting financial aid from both Master's and Biola. I was worrying that the Cal Grant and Pell Grant people wouldn't make up their minds in time for the deadline, but I needn't have worried. The Lord directs the heart of the king, and everyone else's, too, like a watercourse, and it all came through weeks before I really needed it.

And not only that, the Pell Grant took care of my living expences abundantly more than I could ever hope to spend in one year. There is still a gap in my tuition that needs to be filled, but we know where the money is going to come from.

My freshman year will be paid for with no debt! Praise God! I still can't believe it. May I always remember this when I am in need of a foundation for my faith and a floorless pit for my fears.

Now we're driving to Castro Valley for drama practice every day. "Around the World in 80 Days" is coming along splendidly, much better than I could have guessed when we started to ramp it up last week. It's a good thing, too, because the first performance is a week from tomorrow.

After six years, I think I finally figured out how to give acting everything I've got and come offstage sweating and tired. And all I have are two small parts! After what Esther calls "your happy hamster hop part," I was all shiny and a little shaky. Yuck.

Problem is, I only know if I was any good until the plays are over and I watch myself on video. Year after year I am mortified at my own performance. I do hope I do better this year.

Even if I don't, this last year is a wonderful blessing. The B's were so kind to let me stay on a year after graduation. Just going to their beautiful home in those lovely rolling hills with the tiny white petals of some fairy tree floating through the air on the cool breeze under the warm sun is a rest...until Mr. B. says, "Everyone take your spots for the intro," and then it's work again. :)

Plans for the summer are still developing: one last year at High Sierra Scholarship Camp, this time as an august 13th grader, a reunion with Mom's family on Whidbey Island in Washington, a quilt to finish, and (I hope), the HSA National Reunion in Larkspur, Colorado! I won't be going to Mexico again this year. Dad asked me not to because of how violent it is, and I agreed. But the consolation is that I'll have money to go to the reunion.

But behind all these hopes and plans and pleasures, the undercurrent of that future new life at Master's flows. It seems to get into everything I do; especially chores. ;) It's so odd to be older than 17 and moving out. If only my siblings wouldn't keep predicting an engagement ring within my first year...erg.

first post

2009-03-18T15:06:00.000-07:00

This, my friends, is the first of many brilliant posts. I am sick with a cold and sore throat and though the thermometer tells me I have no fever, it can't fool me.

So instead of studying for two exams, I am starting a blog.