A new year, a new entry :)

Yay! I'm so excited for this year! I have so many great expectations for it, though it's getting harder to find an excuse to stay focused on the present, rather than staring off into space thinking about what I want to do in Europe!!! I now have orientation classes every week for it and I'm reading Our Mutual Friend to prepare for the Senior Seminar class. The gap between now and then has been reduced to 2 and a half months! Oh my word, these months are going to FLY by! This week has already lifted off as it is.

I think it's funny how my quarters end up being organized. My requirement classes always end up pairing really well with at least one other class at the time. Last quarter I had my theology class and along with it a Discipleship class that ended up discussing some very similar things at times. This quarter, I have a required philosophy class (which I'm intensely excited about) and one called the Origins of Western Science, which, contrary to the suggestion of its title, is a history class! But so far, the arguments we've discussed in regard to philosophy have their foundations set in a lot of former natural philosophers (which we now call scientists) such as Aristotle, and also in modern science, i.e. these arguments against God take a lot of their premises from modern science and astronomy, the latter of which is mostly what we'll be studying in the History class. I'm growing steadily amazed at how much I love physics, or at least, due to the absence of any real study in it, how much I am fascinated by it.

Last night during our British Isles orientation, my prof. asked us what we most feared. The first thing that popped into my head, before losing my passport and running out of money due to the dollar's value really sucking right now, was constantly being divided between two things, having to choose one because of time constraints, and then regret having chosen the one and not the other, and regret it all the way through the activity I chose--because that's a pretty common activity for me. I want to be the person, like Lottie in Enchanted April  who comes back to lunch every day with the exclamation, "I've had another wonderful day!" (And if you haven't seen that movie, yet, you should because it's an absolutely beautiful story). Yes, I'm concerned about money and belongings, etc, but Lord, please show me how to use my time effectively while I'm there.

And more importantly (for the moment), show me how to use my time effectively while I'm here!!

Speaking of this new year, my fast is over!!! My fantasy fast, that is. I'm beginning to loath the word "fantasy," though. It's such a pansy word, describing a whole genre of thinking that is so fake and so... empty. I prefer escapist, which, though more accurate describes more realistically what fantasy generally is. "Fantasy" is just a more romantic way of saying it. It's a rather strange experience, for example, not having my roommates need to change their itunes when the shuffle hits the Lord of the Rings soundtrack. But it's much stranger the way that I think about it when I listen to it. Everything's changed. I now see the futility of longing for something that isn't there and can never be, but I still enjoy the possibility and... well, no, ACTUALITY of what it represents, something so much deeper and sweeter, which is the promise of heaven. And do you know what the promise of heaven really is? Not just eternity, but eternity with Jesus and the intimacy we will share with Him, that we now only have shadows of. I got to experience the shadow of a shadow this last year and am excited to grow to know a deeper (and yet more substantial) shadow of it as I continue to live--to live in a temporal world for which these stories and characters and pieces of music make it more grand and glorious a shadow of what I will one day experience in its fullness.

And PRAISE GOD I wasn't fasting this year when I went to England! Can you imagine trying to stay away from anything involving fairies and elves in the lands that spread the tales of them? Can you imagine me living in the same frame of mind before the fast took place while I was there, and then fasting and realizing how much deeper and richer an experience I could have had?! God's timing has been SO perfect in all of this. I had no idea that I would be going to England when I agreed to fast or how it would affect the time I would have there (actually I still won't until I actually do go). Oh, the glory of His plan for my life is just beginning to unfold. I am so excited!

A Thanksgiving Story for you all...

My favorite Thanksgiving Story :)

Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus' honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, "Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year's wages." He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.

 "Leave her alone," Jesus replied. " It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me."

(John 12:1-8)

Let us lavish our praises on the Lord, despite the troubles of the world around us. For He is the Lord and worthy of praise! And He has blessed us richly by the promise of His son, Jesus Christ, with our sonship.

As the quarter is winding down, I'm winding up. It's interesting how everything got piled up this year. It feels like there are more projects than normal, but then again, maybe it's just the stress talking. The end of the quarter always signals the last few mile of two and a half months of endurance running, when time and energy become even more precious than when you started out. And it's funny how as my strength fails, I start sprinting faster, and God has to tap me on the shoulder to say, "Whoa, breathe." As things get busier, the more time I need to take out for God. What a concept. John, who said that again?

Busyness can be seen as a big swirling mass that just gets bigger and destroys more. In the middle of my busyness, I have a big fat hole, like a wormhole, that eats all of the energy pushing the busyness forward. That hole is my imaginative writing piece. Why did I allow God to challenge me? I just HAD to let Him start mentally poking me about writing fiction and He took an ell. After challenging me about fiction, he starts talking to me about people of all things! Goodness...

So these are the revelations I have been provided about writing: stories are about people. They are not about themes. If anything, they are about how the people are affected by the themes, but they are not about themes, where my abstract, homiletic mind would like to focus. My whole life these past couple of years has been largely spent in contemplation by myself. I went to class by myself. I went to church (when I was at school on the weekends) by myself. I went to group, chapel and most forums by myself. I went to Queen Anne by myself. I went home by myself. I did homework by myself, listened to music by myself, generally worshiped by myself when I couldn't find anyone to do it with, prayed by myself, took walks by myself, exercised by myself, and on and on. Some of this was my fault, some of it was good, some of it was bad, some of it was uncontrollable. But altogether, though I had several close friends and numerous acquaintances, my thoughts were my own. Even when I shared them, there was still a piece of them that I maintained as mine, remaining to a degree unattached. It's been a season of being alone. It's been a season of healing--people have poured out their lives into mine, and though I pray and know evidence of God helping me to do the same for others, my focus has largely been on myself.

Now it's time to come out of the refining fire, not that I won't continue to be tested and tempered, but I'm on my way to a time of being used. And guess what medium the Lord is using?

Ha! Writing of all things.. humbug.

Leave it to God to use the very thing I long to do to absolutely frustrate and irritate me, but also to strengthen and stretch me in ways I hadn't considered.

Fiction is a very self-giving and servant-oriented art. Being a medium in art, it is a creative gift, one expressive of God Himself who is The Creator. Because of this, as a reflection of His own character, it enables the creator to have a great deal of power, but if one is sensitive to it, it is also requires the creator to serve the characters by investing in them as real people. This power can be abused by those who are foolish, who have the potential to create good for their characters, but this all the more emphasizes the fact that, while I say that the power requires the sensitive creator to serve them, the choice to do so is even more powerful when made.

I think this is really beautiful in terms of God's character altogether, that He chooses to serve us, even though He has the power to play with our free will and create awful senarios for us to live out. But He doesn't. He creates good for us, invests in us by continually seeking a relationship with us, but allows us our own personality.

I like how Brett Lott put it at an informal interview at school when he visited. He said that Fiction can be tricky because as an author, you can't just do whatever you want with the character, especially if it is out of line with who they are. They can have what... erm.. Mary Oliver (?) calls "consistent inconsistencies" because none of us are consistent with our character all of the time, and because our inconsistencies make us not only human, but interesting. But even so, we are created in a certain way with characteristics designated to us by God in order that we use them in our free will to give Him glory. Basically, it just fascinates me.

Altogether, what I'm learning is that the same investment God is asking me to make in people is the investment He's asking me to make in the characters of a story. It's crossed my mind that maybe I wasn't born to write fiction because it's such a struggle for me, but even if it's not my specific vocational calling, it's still important. Just because it doesn't come naturally doesn't mean that it's not something I shouldn't cultivate. It's a part of me that needs to be stretched so that it can be used in the area of ministry, even if that ministry is one that happens on the page to the reader. I think it was Mary Oliver that also said that the more specific we get, the more universal the relationship to the reader, because that specificity is what brings about identification, rather than in spite of the specificity.

That being said, I have a story! Ha,.... well, it's not fiction, but I promised Tamara a story about what happened at Fall Retreat between me and God.

On Sunday morning, I was the first one out and walking about, not to mention the first one on the beach. Ok, there were a few people walking about the beach from farther up or down who didn't belong to the camp, but we'll ignore these people because they soon passed me. The point was, I was there first! Oh, and there was a seagull. A lone seagull, out there for the same purpose I was--to have the whoooooole beach to himself.

I went down to the surf, to look out as far as I could see, the gray mist rolling in from nothing in the distance. I looked up the beach as far as I could see, and I looked down it as far as I could see. My hope was that in seeing such vastness, I would come to a great realization of how GREAT God was and how small I was in the midst of such vastness. I was waiting for it, bracing for impact in the sand, still staring with expectation at the gray robe of fog. I genuinely felt like I needed to kneel. So I did, in the sand letting it sink along with me in adoration. And I read Psalm 98. Out loud. Absolutely magnificent.

Still expectant, and really, experiencing a beautiful moment of worship, I felt the Lord interrupt, laughing. And He said this to me,

"Elyse, you are so funny. You want so badly to experience all of my greatness. And I love that about you, and am so glad that you desire it. At the same time, it's kind of silly," and He gave me this picture of this little girl trying to crawl all over her daddy, trying to hold all of him because she wants to have all of him. She wants to grasp him. But she can't. She's too small, he is too large. It's physically impossible. Then, He gave me another picture of a little girl holding on to the very tip of her daddy's pinky finger, and said, "Even if this is all you grasp, you still have all of me. You HAVE me."

It was just... so simplistic. I came this time to the retreat, expecting God to move mightily, but not with any lofty demands upon a specific action--like normal. It was just good to be with Him and it was enough.

Relentless Hummingbirds

For this, I will have to share a relatively long story for those who haven't heard.

I was terrified of not having enough money to be at SPU, but so grateful to be here nonetheless. Every sermon or prayer at the beginning of class was an occasion to cry. I would walk down the hill from Ashton and see the Cascades in crystal clarity across I-5 and cry. I would pray with my floor and cry. My professor would start waxing about God's grace in the middle of lecture and I would cry. I mean, it was ridiculous, but really, just so beautiful. This school was one of the greatest gifts I'd ever been given and I was so afraid of having to leave or not get money to pay for it or have to take out a loan and go into debt (which is what I ended up doing, but God is good).

With that in mind, picture me walking to class by Alexander Hall, the most beautiful part of campus. It is the University's original building, and therefore kept up the best. The copse between that and McKinley hall, our almost equally gorgeous theater building, is graced with four or five scattered white birch trees. Encircling Alexander are full, lush tropical plants of all color, shape and height, mostly deep green leaves against the backdrop of aging red brick. It's beautiful. It's also at the bottom of the hill of a procession of small maple trees, whose leaves turn firey every fall and paint the road bright. Because it's at the bottom of a hill, golden light from the southeast on an early fall morning fills the area like a bowl and makes it glow. Like I said, it's one of my favorite parts of campus.

It's early morning, "while the dew is still on the roses," as I meander towards class through the copse, literally thanking God for the opportunity of being there. Out of nowhere, as is usually the case, in flies a hummingbird, who flits here and there, and hovers over one of those long, high tropical plants with long stems and a big leaf that looks like two cupped hands that come to a point. And off he goes.

"I love you," said the Lord. Simply, sweetly, tenderly, with pleasure written all over his sunrise.

Stasi Eldredge, in her book, Captivating tells of an important moment when she is away on the beach with the Lord, just praying. Earlier, she had been talking about how her husband John had been away on a similar beach, just praying when suddenly a humpback whale surfaced. And not just surfaced, but lept into the air like David himself, the water stripping from his body in spray like David's robes as he danced to meet the Ark of the Lord. It was worship, majestic and strong. In that moment, John knew that it was a kiss from the Lord for him, a sign of His love (well, Stasi says 'kiss' for her. I don't know about for John). Stasi goes on to tell how her she had the desire burning in her heart to see such a tangible manifestation of the Lord's favor toward her, so she sat on the beach and asked God for a whale. After a while, she got antsy and started to walk the beach. Soon she came upon a very large, very bright starfish, thinking, "Wow, Lord, that's beautiful." She continued walking. When she turned the corner, there on the shore were hundreds of these starfish. The Lord whispered to her, "I love you. I showed John a symbol of strength, but I've given you an image of beauty."

So my hummingbird was from God, my own little sign of beauty.

On a dismal, discouraging day in February, I saw another one. The day of our prayer rally in April, feeling so much peace and excitement in expectation of the Lord's move for our campus, I looked up and saw another hummingbird hovering over one of the trees in Martin Square. Sophomore year, I can't count the hundreds of times I saw them, both when I asked and when I didn't (and when I asked, the Lord was faithful to show me one).

But this entry isn't about those stories, important as they are. It is about a particular story.

At Thursday night prayer this week, I told my friends about my story while we were all sharing the miraculous and unique ways that the Lord speaks to us. At the end of the night, one of the girls, Liz, said to me, "Have a good night! I hope you see a hummingbird tomorrow!" with all sincerity and expectation. Somehow, I didn't receive it. I thought, "Meh,  I guess. I haven't seen one for a while and I've asked for one, but it's been a while. And just because it's mentioned doesn't mean that God's going to do it 'cause I've definitely hoped for things for the next day and He usually doesn't do it 'cause He likes to surprise us or He has His  own timing," blah blah blah. I've tried to show you how I justified my hideously faithless train of thought. I'm not sure how well I've done in showing you how it ACTUALLY sounded like reason, unless truly, regardless of how it was phrased, it's just grossly foolish thinking. To sum up, I had no expectations. At all. I didn't even ask or hope or have faith that this symbol was just as meaningful to me as it was the first time it was used. I've even felt guilty for asking for it again because I feel like God would want to do something new because I feel like I'm putting God in a box, not allowing for His creativity to be made manifest and still be special.

But isn't God still faithful? Doesn't God know our desires?  Doesn't God continue to use the same people in our lives consistently? God loves routine, too. How dare I choose God's will or anticipate Him. Now that is called putting God in a box. After all: "...You do not have because you do not ask... every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation of shifting shadow" (James 4:2b, 1:17).

The next morning, I was walking to class with Monica and Kathy along Demaray, down the hill to the door where the hedge grows along the outer wall. Suddenly, ostentatiously, even, with a flamboyant flare in its deviations, a humming bird cuts me off from Monica and settles a few feet down at the hedge, looking for nectar, having flown a mere foot between her and I. It makes its way up the hedge in my direction, hovers a second, flies farther up, hovers momentarily not even a foot from my grasp, and zips off. I literally could have reached out my hand and grabbed it had I been faster, and not frozen from phasar stun.

It was like God flew right in front of my face and went, "Booyah, in yo face! That's what you get for doubting me! I LOVE YOU!" I've never seen a more obvious sign of His affection.

Kathy stepped back a moment as it zipped in front of her and exclaimed, "Ooh! A hummingbird."

I started to cry.

We are once again a family of four.

After a decade and more of affectionate licks, impatiently fussy barks, and the consistent sense of another  presence, even when home "alone," Hopi has gone to be with the Lord.

There are so many avenues I could take from this, philosophical, reminiscent, but truly what most stands out in my mind is what my stuffed cow Tillamook cannot replace, regardless of how much he feels like her fur--I can't hold her. I miss her.

People say you know a person the best when you can just sit in their presence and not talk... and be content. Ha, I guess I knew Hopi really well, 'cause we never talked, haha! Ok, I guess she wasn't a person,... though  there were countless times it felt like she was, which my family can attest to. She wasn't really a dog. And no, she wasn't a  human either, but regardless of the biological species classification, she was a part of our family, a connection made far deeper than biology, praise God.

I just miss her. And I always will.

I was thinking about heaven, as people are wont to do during these times. And there's the idea that pets won't be in heaven because this world must be redeemed and animals don't have souls to save or the option of a choice like humans do. I'm not sure what I believe. So for right now, since I don't know, I will have hope that the interpretation is just missing an element that hasn't been explained yet. And the Bible says that we don't mourn like those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Because of Jesus Christ, we have the ASSURANCE of the resurrection from the dead because He Himself rose. And it'ss a certain kind of hope. The world only has a certain kind of "-ful" hope, as in the adjective, not a believed hope. It's more of a wish  that one grips excessively with claws than a belief or trust. My concordance has the synonym "expectation." We have this belief, this assurance that the resurrection of the dead will take place.

So, I will believe for now. If I'm contrary, than I will get to heaven and Jesus will correct me and weep with me. Ok, so maybe I won't be so adament... but I was thinking about hope and... then I realized that Hopi was very hopeful... even her NAME! was hopeful, though that's probably not what it meant (we didn't name her), so I will hope for her.