tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67819580191881826092024-03-05T08:19:27.819-08:00Solum in SomniisOnly in dreams can we really cross the tollbooth.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-67935886827908644692011-05-17T06:47:00.000-07:002011-05-17T07:35:19.843-07:002011 kicked off with what seemed to appear as landmines everywhere my family turned. These past five months have been nothing short of exhausting, in both good ways and bad. I could rattle off the long list of events in order to show my life as a dizzying array of chaos strung together haphazardly. But I'm scared to do so, for that will only make me dread the next seven months.<br /><br />Rather than looking back and wincing at the painful process of arriving at May 17th, I'd prefer to acknowledge the ways God has slowly, but surely, led me on the path through those seemingly horrible landmines in order to prevent me from wandering off a cliff.<br /><br />I've been at home through student teaching, leaving all peers on campus leading normal, senior-in-college lives. But teaching was truly magnificent. God put me at home, and I have no doubt that is where He wanted me to be. I have watched God work miracles in my heart as He provided every companion and confidant along the way.<br /><br />Yes, this year has been difficult, but as I look at the ways God has forced growth upon me, I must remember that He has led me to where I so needed to be. Rich Mullins, in one of my favorites, sings "Let mercy lead; let love be the strength in your legs, and in every footprint that you leave, there will be a drop of grace." This philosophy has become the driving force of the way I live and work.<br /><br />Through my teaching, I have witnessed the depravity of mankind in my little microcosm of learning. Trying to teach my students in the midst of their jibing remarks and scathing judgements of one another, I have come to realize my role at their teacher. Never before has Matthew 5:16 rung so true to me: "Let your light shine before men that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." My life is a constant witness to my kids, and I have never desired a more upright spirit than when I teach. Showing my girls what a true Woman of God looks and acts like is just as much part of my job as teaching my kids gerunds from participles.<br /><br />These thoughts are far from finished...teaching preoccupied the majority of my time in the past four months, which was good, because most of the world seemed to be crumbling everywhere else. But I've learned not to hope for "normalcy," because more often than not, in a broken world, things never work out how we picture it. These past five months have taught me not to hope for anything in this life, for "my life if hid with Christ on high." Any blessings God pours out on my life add to the abundant life I did nothing to earn, but that God in His goodness grants to those He loves. Each landmine was, more or less, offering me the choice to glorify God for his steadfast love in the midst of an ever changing world.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-52745818016548117082010-12-28T13:12:00.000-08:002010-12-28T13:29:38.561-08:00Year Long Gift Giving.It's commonly accepted in my family that I'm the Christmas-monger and present-hoarder. This usually results in jokes and banter and most recently a shirt proclaiming "tis the season... to give me presents!" I take these all in stride, because I know it's in good fun, and I'll be long dead before those jokes let up. I just try to roll with the punches on this one. <div><br /><div>I do freely admit that gifts and gift-giving is my love language. I won't try to justify why it means so much when someone gives me something; it just does. But as I pulled on my new Christmas shirt, thinking about how I would never actually wear it outside the house (where people wouldn't know to laugh), I started to wonder how God would use something that appears as pure selfishness to further His kingdom. These thoughts birthed this post. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>I haven't talked through this blog much about my desire to start a homeless ministry, but I truly believe that my love language matches perfectly with the passion God has given me to minister to the homeless. Everything that I do through this ministry will be an offering of my time, services and material goods to meet the needs of those who lack the means to provide for themselves. Essentially, my ministry is like giving gifts, material, tangible gifts. Books, hot coffee, a blanket... all these things are meaningful and essential to what I hope to offer the homeless. And because I can't get enough of showing love through giving, I am more than happy to give God's love as the ultimate offering of compassion and care. </div><div><br /></div><div>While I may get pestered about my love of giving and receiving, I can't actually complain, for it is God who allows me so much joy through expressing love that way. Also, I don't think in a ministry for the homeless a lack of joy towards giving is ever a bad thing. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-32784528176416470872010-07-21T10:50:00.000-07:002010-07-21T11:03:05.759-07:00"How firm a foundation..."Throughout the Old and New Testament, Christians are told to "stand firm." Whether we are withstanding attacks from the Enemy or remaining strong within the bonds of Christian unity and love, we are constantly reminded that "standing firm" is something we're supposed to be good at.<br /><br />I've never wondered <span style="font-style: italic;">how</span> I'm supposed to stand firm; the power and strength to do so never crossed my mind. I've just always recognized the blessing of God battling Satan for me (while I'm attempting to stand firm). I always acknowledge the true blessing this is to the weak and weary saints. While reading Isaiah this morning, I finally discovered where and how we're to do all this standing.<br /><br />"Unless your faith is firm, I [God] cannot make you stand firm." -Isaiah 7:9b. What a realization this is! My faith is to be the foundation for withstanding Satan's attacks, my foundation for love and the unity of believers, but best of all, God is <span style="font-style: italic;">allowing</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">making </span>me stand firm. The faith required of us is enough to simultaneously soften our hearts and strengthen our stance.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-60968216732731984222010-07-09T07:44:00.000-07:002010-07-09T07:54:02.965-07:00Interesting Thought...While last summer I took New Testament Literature online through Bryan, I hardly read all that I should have and passed with flying colors. This summer I'm working as a receptionist for a moving company; in my spare time I take out my Bible and read (who is seriously going to tell you to NOT read your Bible when you live and work in the South?). God has blessed me in a way I would've never imagined; while I was blessed with a job to work with fun, enjoyable people in a relaxed atmosphere, He has also provided large amounts of time for me to sit and rest in His Word. I've probably read more of the New Testament in the month I've been at work that I have on my own time in a while.<br /><br />Also, whenever I go to the gym (which is basically everyday), I am always reminded to use the time on the treadmill to be praying. Everything else just quiets down; it's just the air I'm breathing and my prayers to God. I count myself honored to have God provide these times for me to use to draw closer to Him.<br /><br />God is growing and teaching me what it really means to use the time He gives us wisely. More than ever this summer, I am really starting to see how He orchestrates the way we live in order to give us the choice to draw near to Him in love and faithfulness or to toss aside those opportunities He gives.<br /><br />Just pray that I'll wisely use time for my thesis, too!Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-67285757601545349092010-06-06T18:08:00.000-07:002010-06-06T19:05:52.354-07:00A Better Explanation...So I have given weak and pitiful reasoning for my general disdain for contemporary Christian music (ccm). Here's my attempt:<br /><br />Much of the time, I feel like an emotion-based approach to worship is adopted for CCM; I would much rather sings psalms or songs of scripture (for example, Jon Foreman's "House of God, Forever" or "Instead of a Show") because there is nothing to compare with using Scripture to worship God. As John Rippon's 1787 hymn says:<br /><br />"How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,<br />Is laid for your faith in His excellent word!<br />What more can He say than to you He hath said,<br />To you who for refuge to Jesus have fled?"<br /><br />I don't want my passions to be the seat from which my worship rises, for the heart is full of deceit. Also, I desire the music I listen to provoke in me a conviction to live a more godly, holy life. If I am not praising God in my worship, I want the song I hear to be encouraging and challenging me to live a life that praises Him. I don't want some stupid, flighty song about how good I feel when I worship God.<br /><br />Lastly, I'd just really like for it to be good music. I know there are plenty of exceptions to a lot of these things, but mostly (along with the majority of my generation) I desire honesty, truth, and sincerity that goes beyond upbeat tempos and cheery lyrics. I do believe that is why much of my generation longs for the depth and beauty of hymns rather than the emotional experience we often find in CCM today.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-30118316950533247362010-04-17T04:46:00.000-07:002010-04-17T04:50:41.318-07:00"Death in His Grave" by John Mark McMillan"Though the Earth Cried out for blood<br />Satisfied her hunger was<br />Her billows calmed on raging seas<br />for the souls on men she craved<br /><br />Sun and moon from balcony<br />Turned their head in disbelief<br />Their precious Love would taste the sting<br />disfigured and disdained<br /><br />On Friday a thief<br />On Sunday a King<br />Laid down in grief<br />But awoke with keys<br />Of Hell on that day<br />The first born of the slain<br />The Man Jesus Christ<br />Laid death in his grave<br /><br />So three days in darkness slept<br />The Morning Sun of righteousness<br />But rose to shame the throes of death<br />And over turn his rule<br /><br />Now daughters and the sons of men<br />Would pay not their dues again<br />The debt of blood they owed was rent<br />When the day rolled a new<br /><br />On Friday a thief<br />On Sunday a King<br />Laid down in grief<br />But awoke holding keys<br />To Hell on that day<br />The first born of the slain<br />The Man Jesus Christ<br />Laid death in his grave<br /><br />He has cheated<br />Hell and seated<br />Us above the fall<br />In desperate places<br />He paid our wages<br />One time once and for all"Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-29019631914208665912010-04-10T18:35:00.000-07:002010-04-10T18:50:27.182-07:00Musing on deathWhat they can see<br />in my final moments:<br />Strangers, doctors, friends, family<br />turned away<br />for a brief moment<br />to steal a glance at a screen.<br />The once-steady beeping<br />gradually slows and wears out.<br />They believe this screen<br />will show them what their<br />minds yearn to believe:<br />That my heart still beats with<br />the rhythm of life.<br /><br />What they cannot see<br />in my final moments:<br />I behold<br />what my eyes longed<br />to confirm<br />my heart knew all along.<br />My heart no longer beat<br />for the life this world<br />could offer me.<br />My heart beats to the eternal<br />song of heaven --<br />A song my heart<br />continues to sing.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-90555400548747272292010-04-10T18:27:00.001-07:002010-04-10T18:35:23.494-07:00Written almost one year prior to this day.You do all things<br />in seasons:<br />sowing, growth,<br />pruning, reaping.<br />Toil hard, You who<br />eternally cuts away<br />the dead in<br />me.<br /><br />Let my life be<br />as a garden.<br />Annual sin covered<br />With perennial mercy,<br />Perennial goodness --<br />Returning year after year.<br /><br />You replace the hard soil<br />of my soul<br />with that which<br />longs<br />to blossom<br />into a fragrance<br />pleasing to you,<br />My Gardener.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-47213889205502788342010-04-06T18:52:00.001-07:002010-04-06T18:55:26.300-07:00EnjoymentTonight in my evening class, my friend Joseph and I wrote some haiku. I would be delighted to share them with you, because they're just down right funny.<br /><br />Crazy crazy snakes<br />Tangled 'round my sweaty feet --<br />No . . . just your fingers.<br /><br />They stepped into what?<br />God! Too many lima beans!<br />The ones I threw up.<br /><br />Specifically fruit<br />of the loom -- it is the best.<br />Chafe free yet so snug!<br /><br />So, these are just a few of the enjoyable quips and quibbles that entertained us during class. I promise I did learn quite a bit. You could quiz me, and I'd pass!Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-54773806266238305102010-04-01T05:07:00.000-07:002010-04-06T18:52:03.192-07:00Yesterday morning, while attempting to pray and actually just voicing a bunch of worries, the clause "be still, oh my heart" came to mind. I could not place where the clause was originally from, but I figured that five semesters of literature survey courses gave me ample excuse to justify my forgetfulness. Surely it had been in some great poem that I had merely misplaced my mind! While I should have been answering daily homework questions for Brit Lit, I instead typed "be still, oh my heart" into Google.<br /><br />Numerous options to satiate my desire for context sprung to the top of the results list: a song by The Postal Service, one by Sting, and a few vague and unliterary references to Victorian poetry. None of these sounded quite right. But, because I like The Postal Service, I was satisfied to consider my quest done. I walked away from the computer (still worrying), but humming the tune to a good song.<br /><br />Later the same day, chapel was a worshipful celebration of the Ressurection. After singing a few songs, I notice that the following song is "Be Still My Soul." Suddenly it made sense that God didn't want me to worry about the condition of my heart; rather, God desires a peaceful and still soul, and the heart and its flighty emotions should then follow suit. I am not called to worry about the condition of my heart, for God cares immanently more for the care of my soul -- the eternal part of me that is to mirror my Lord. <br /><br />My prayer must be a cry for the stillness and peace of my soul rather than the stillness of the passion-driven heart.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-40866863285868256742010-03-26T06:13:00.000-07:002010-03-26T06:36:50.063-07:00The Glutton of GraceGluttony and self-control. How often we hear those two paired, but I always seem to think that self-control is a way to regain ground lost to the inner glutton. <em>Oh! I just ate an entire chocolate cake! I must regain self-control and go run 10 miles! </em>But I think there is a better way to prevent that deadly sin to make a mockery of the work God is performing in and through us. Gluttony is, as its root, a willingness to replace all desire and want with the pleasure derived from a certain thing.<br /><br />But God gave us a world full of pleasures! Are we not to enjoy the cocophony of wonders He happily bestows? Of course we are, and we are to enjoy them to the fullest. But the Psalmist writes in the 44th psalm we are to "boast in God continuously, [ . . . ] and give thanks to [His] name forever." If we are truly living with a thankful heart, the desire for anything more than God gives will be completely unnecessary. The thankful heart continuously praising our good God will be in rapturous joy for the things already given and the promises for the blessings to come.<br /><br />Such a heart only desires to feast itself on the grace and goodness of a loving God. Rather than worry about how to regain the already lost self-control, temper the hedonistic passions on the goodness and love from our pleasure-loving Lord.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-88549419606170114942010-03-16T20:04:00.000-07:002010-03-16T20:07:01.659-07:00Written for my good friend, the writer.<br /><br />Turning slowly, the blade gently grinds<br />Cutting an edge that could easily kill.<br />Lead obeys fingers causing friction at will,<br />Forcing thought from frantic minds.<br /><br />Turning rapidly, the pages we spew.<br />Clearing the mind in attempt to convey,<br />But it all comes out jumbled, and to our dismay<br />The eraser removes marks but never the rue.<br /><br />Turning wearily, as others think us daft<br />We write like hell to regain control<br />My skill since departed, the piece lost its soul.<br />Inspiration seems naught, we have only craft.<br /><br />Turning gracefully, my thoughts to you<br />Whisper a prayer for the writer within;<br />Knowing our struggles are closely akin.<br />Espouse courage for the sake of virtue.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-7737234575132010442010-02-27T07:55:00.000-08:002010-06-06T18:00:26.101-07:00Low Pain ToleranceThe past few times I've listened to Dr. Impson teach, the theme of suffering has come up. Whether lecturing on Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "In Memorium" or talking in CLF about her own struggle with pain, it has brought me to tears every time. Suffering is something that everyone naturally hates to experience, but for some reason, it really -- I mean <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> -- shakes me up.<br /><br />For the past few years, I've struggled with the tension between being one who's heart breaks for the things God's heart breaks for and one who is able to do something about it. It's been hammered in my head that crying doesn't solve anything; then why do I do it?! Why does my heart break so easily for the widow in the orphan, when we were called to "look after the widow and the orphan in their distress," but James never offers crying for them a viable option.<br /><br />Maybe we need criers to soften the hearts of others, to make them aware of the pain they blindly walk past. I mourn the pain of the widow and orphan; my heart aches for their suffering. I just need a way to not feel so helpless. I need a partner in my quest for change, one who holds the stature to make the dominoes fall. Maybe tears help weaken the hard heart of the first domino. But I place my confidence in the hope that I have the ultimate Domino-Pusher upholding me.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-4828935905364979802010-02-24T18:08:00.000-08:002010-02-24T18:27:11.817-08:00Wrote this a while ago...A light held fast to the corner of a cabin illuminating everything in its small world. Many creatures were in awe of this light, and some even tried to go close to the source. Insects buzzed and flew straight up to the lighted glass. What audacity to go poke and prod in order to find the source! Trying to overcome a substance they knew nothing of, their bodies continued to press hard against the glass. These bugs could very easily spend their lifetimes searching for a way through the glass veil and never find the source of the bright warmth. About a yard away on the cabin wall, a leaf-bug simply sat. He sat and enjoyed the light; he did not struggle with the complex issues other insects were wrestling with. He sat in the light, in its warmth and stayed there. He was content not knowing all of the answers the other bugs wanted; the leaf-bug knew that from where it rested in the light, others could look upon its beautifully crafted legs, head, and wings. They could marvel at the power of the light to illuminate such intricacies. It would not be long before others were drawn to sit and rest with him beneath the warm-lit world of the light.<br /><br />Sit and enjoy; cease striving and know that even in resting in Him glory is still brought to the Light.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-17841418253635399822009-10-24T06:11:00.000-07:002009-10-24T06:26:31.326-07:00Christmas is Coming; The Goose is Getting FatCan you believe it's almost November?! I can hardly stand it. The entire month of October, I've been looking forward to the 23th because of the costume party Taylor and I hosted. It was a huge success: 50 luminaries lit up the long driveway to the house, 30 hotdogs were consumed, and 27 friends showed up. We had Mario and Peach, Paul Bunyan and Babe, the Blue Ox, an Electrical Outlet, Barbie and Ken, Barbie's Horse, a Building Block, G.I. Joe and many others proudly sporting costumes. It was a very good (and very exhausting) night.<br /><br />But now it's over, and the house it all cleaned up. My feet hurt, and it's back to looking forward to Day of Prayer and then Thanksgiving. It's amazing how fast time goes . . . even when it feel to be going as slowly as the drip from an IV. But is still presses on, and we get carried away with it even if we're not looking. So, I intend to look. A little prayer card that I got on the Emmaus Walk had an incredibly sobering prayer on it. I will now misquote the entire thing and try to give a brief summary:<br /><br /><div align="justify">"God, thank you for this day you have given me. Please help me see how valuable this day is. I want to use it for good and not evil, for love and not hate. Whatever I do with this day is important, because at the end of it, I will have traded a day of my life for it."</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Rather sobering, isn't it? Even if it's just going to Costco or doing homework, by the end of it, that day will be gone, and we can never get it back. So that prayer is mine for you today. As Annie Dillard writes, "There is no shortage of good days. It is good lives that are hard to come by. A life of good days lived in the senses is not enough. The life of sensation is a life of greed; it requires more and more. The life of the spirit requires less and less; time is ample and its passage sweet."</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Choose the life of the spirit. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"></div>Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-75486156006941648052009-10-03T05:55:00.000-07:002010-06-06T18:33:28.777-07:00I Can't Believe It.I made a pact at the beginning of the semester that when I'm driving somewhere, I'd only listen to 90.5 -- the Classical Station. I created this pact because I was disgusted with a song I heard (I really don't even know what it was) when driving back into Dayton after I arrived home. So, whenever I'm in the car, I listen to classical. And I love it.<br /><br />So in the car yesterday to go have dinner, and a song was playing on the popular rap channel that I do like. So I listened to it until it ended and paused to see what the next song was. Naturally, I had no idea what the song was, for it's been for months since I've really listened to any popular music channels (I just recently figured out that the "Party in the USA" song was by Miley Cirus). But there was one line that the rapper "sang" that caught my attention: <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">"Her love is so WIFI."<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I decided the song is not worth three minutes of my time and changed it in time to listen to the last half of a concerto by an artist I'd never listened to. </span></span>But that line stayed in my head. It made me sad for a generation of people who believe that love can be something without commitment, come-and-go, and no-strings-attached. When I think of love, I think of my parents. Theirs is a love of complete commitment, staying-for-a-lifetime, and everything-comes-with-it-(including-the-junk). I would never in my wildest dreams have constructed a simile of that stripe.<br /><br />It makes me sad, oh it makes me so sad.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-61352889747534830542009-09-09T14:19:00.000-07:002009-09-17T11:52:18.277-07:00Back in the SwingI'm back at Bryan. Students are in the fourth week of classes, and most of us are already swamped. I had lunch with a good friend, Anna, last week; it's strange to see how people change and grow after only three months of being gone. She had a hard, yet invaluable, summer back home. We talked of our summers and memories that were made, and then we talked about freshman year. It seems like so long ago that I was assigned to a hall with girls I would eventually come to cherish. Time flies so quickly; and suddenly, as I type this, I feel like the narrator from "Our Town." But when we push past good memories, we can see how God so gently gives us example after example of his goodness.<br /><br />I've got class in a few minutes, and I don't want my umbrella in the hallway stolen. ;) I'll check back later.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-77866168790120446782009-08-15T02:55:00.000-07:002009-08-15T12:58:33.158-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://mw2.google.com/mw-panoramio/photos/medium/10057645.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 332px;" src="http://mw2.google.com/mw-panoramio/photos/medium/10057645.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />I'm moving from Romania tomorrow; I'll be in Budapest for three or four days until I fly westward. It's strange feeling attached to a place I may never return to. I felt attached to Rome for its timeless beauty, but Romania only hangs on to hints of a beautiful past. In shabby building that need a good sandblasting, you can see remnants of the city that once was the Second Paris. I didn't think there would be too much sadness in leaving this city, but I was wrong. Because I have fallen so in love with all of the wonderfully godly people here, I have also seen the charm this city holds.<br /><br />A friend of mine wrote a poem about the beauty he saw in the city of New Orleans; it was reminiscent of Sandburg's "Chicago." After living and thriving in a place, it is hard to let go of it. Even if the beauty is extremely hard to find, it is still there. I was wrong when I told my mother that "I am allergic to this city which places no value in beauty." This city does value beauty, and if you don't believe me, just research the Rose Park in Timisoara.<br /><br /><br /><br />One lesson I have learned that I will pass along: don't think that you can understand the effects of communism until you listen to the stories of those who stood in the square when the Revolution started. The changes happened for them. Their prayers were answered that day in 1989.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-19341013007072030602009-08-08T01:00:00.000-07:002009-08-08T01:19:14.478-07:00This is a story that I haven't told as much as I should have; therefore, I feel like this is a pretty decent place to practice telling it. Whether or not you've heard it before, bear with me. It's really the only story I have worth telling.<br /><br />All my life, I've lived with the tension of wanting to hear from God and sense His presence and being petrified of what might happen once He does. I would thirst for God's voice but was afraid that once He spoke, I would have to listen. I was afraid that if He did show up, I would somehow end up an old maid in China taking care of orphans. No offense to Chinese orphans, but I had other plans. <br /><br />Eventually, the thirst and the longing started to overtake the uncertainty. I so longed for God's direction, that the fear eventually subsided once I realized the peace that comes from resting in Him. There is a song by Jennifer Knapp that I have known for a long time; I have a few favorite lines that always stay with me: "So turn on the light and reveal all the glory/I am not afraid /To bare all my weakness knowing in meekness/I have a kingdom to gain." Those lyrics sum up all of the anxiety that I felt as well as the peace the comes when our weakness is made perfect in Christ.<br /><br />Since then, I have struggled with various areas in my life, but I know that God promised His unfailing love to me. I always take comfort in the fact that God knows and answers the prayers in my heart that I am too ashamed to utter aloud. The same tension still rears its ugly head, but I know that with God holding my right hand, He will lead me in triumphal procession [even if it leads me to China].Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-83536608298036351392009-07-30T05:59:00.000-07:002009-07-30T06:35:18.696-07:00There are two things that I truly look forward to doing once I am west of the Atlantic.<br /><br />The first is driving a car. It has been well over two months since I sat in the driver's seat of a vehicle. That seems so strange to me, but when I think about the driving tactics of most Romanians, I get the urge to yell "shot gun!" and run to the passenger's side of the car. Anyone who thinks that Americans need driving lessons should learn how to drive in Romania. I'm almost certain that we could hold a nationwide NASCAR race featuring every licensed driver. A person must not have any fear of death in order to merge into traffic here.<br /><br />The second thing that I anticipate is honest-to-goodness people watching. It's hard to enjoy this leisurely activity if you're wondering what people are talking about. Maybe they're discussing the weather . . . or a futbol game . . . or a kidnapping on the news . . . or the plot to kidnap that girl who's listening to our conversation. See what I mean? Speculation can only go so far.<br /><br />Once back home, Taylor and I will need to head to our favorite people watching spot for dinner. The food is amazing, and how often do you get to listen to truckers talk about what highway they were on during 9/11?! Not often, therefore I'm game.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-48814705307082042162009-07-20T08:06:00.000-07:002009-07-20T08:21:33.707-07:00Do you ever put something off for so long that you begin to dread it for no apparent reason? Something that is unworthy of putting us ill at ease seems to take on the awful, shadowy form of the unknown simply because you've waiting so long to get around to doing it. That's how I feel about camp this week. It's an English camp, for Pete's sake! I <span style="font-style: italic;">already</span> speak English, and to top it off, I will be taking care of the only people that can't even speak intelligibly! Why am I dreading this?!<br /><br />I think it's because we are so off schedule, and my brain must be reverting back to survival mode . . . <span style="font-style: italic;">If she's waiting so long to go, there must be some danger in it! Maybe whatever is at that camp will try to harm her! I should make her worry so that she can prolong the trip even more!</span> Yes, that was Kendall's Brain speaking (but Kendall's fingers still type no matter who is speaking). Maybe my body will force itself to become sick, like those men who became paralyzed shortly after their numbers were called in the draft.<br /><br />Or maybe I'm just a dofuss who overreacts to things. We'll soon find out, for we're leaving tonight at 8 o'clock to drive to the camp.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-46910537558024314712009-07-18T11:51:00.000-07:002009-07-18T12:17:50.171-07:00In the Heat of TimisoaraAll day today my mom and I have been taking care of my dad; he's suffered from heat exhaustion all day long (and came dangerously close to a heat stroke). He probably should have been hospitalized, but none of us trust the hospitals in Romania. It's been a struggle all day praying that his skin will cool down, but most of the day he's just been in a lot of pain that we can't help in any way. Thankfully, my mom's mom was a nurse (they say all of that medical expertise just got passed on to her).... :)<br /><br />We had planned on leaving for an English camp tomorrow morning, but that's not going to happen. We'll be staying in our apartment giving my dad fluids until he is able to fully recover. A huge wrench in our plan, but maybe God knew better than to allow us to arrive on time. My parents were going to be presenting a seminar on using business English and teaching the DISC profile test . . . all we can do is remain thankful that the other folks working the camp are incredibly flexible.<br /><br />This post doesn't hold any great musing on deep topics, but I can admit to being incredibly thankful for all of the prayers spoken on behalf of my father. It's been a long day, but please continue to pray.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-81110971207373247572009-07-15T14:51:00.000-07:002010-04-06T19:02:08.806-07:00I don't know why I didn't actually publish this in the summer....A place that simply lacks beauty. For some reason, I imaged that a God who thought up the wide smile of the sun-flower would make it impossible for a part of His creation to lose beauty. Now, I'm no seasoned aesthete, but post-communist Timisoara is pretty lacking in the aesthetics.<br /><br />Even as I type this, I realize that from my limited, finite mind, there is roughly one billion holes in my logic. Yes, man can destroy the Earth, and he can neglect it and refuse to nurture the creation, but that does not take away from the worth of his children. Because we are bearing the image of the ultimate Creator, this place is not completely barren of beauty. So, my quips about being allergic to a place with no beauty is moot. Yes, these buildings need a good sand-blasting and white washing, but the majesty of each person's Creator shines through these dingy streets.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-30096818624384025062009-07-11T12:03:00.000-07:002009-07-11T12:24:10.529-07:00My Olfactory Senses Were Assualted by Communism<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.artofthestate.co.uk/photos/obey_new_world_odor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 391px; height: 294px;" src="http://www.artofthestate.co.uk/photos/obey_new_world_odor.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />While I was in the shower today, a cool breeze was coming through the punched-out window. Usually whenever I hear the phrase "cool breeze," I think of a tropical island, a comfortable hammock, or a shady spot to read a good book. The same could not be possible for the breeze I encountered, for with this breeze came the scent of Romania.<br /><br />Some people have extremely fine tuned olfactory senses. Wine connoisseurs are somehow able to find earthly, nutty, or berry flavors in their drink, so I should be able to figure out the scent I've grown so accustomed to. Would you like to know what Romania smells like? I'll tell you the recipe: lots and lots of cigarette smoke, grits (the Romanians call it mamaliga) and roughly 42 years of Communist oppression. The grime that builds up when people don't care about beauty, the anger, confusion and addiction brought about by a government unworthy of your trust, and a classic form of Romanian sustenance.<br /><br />That is the odor that pervades my life in Romania. But every now and then some fresh air comes wafting in; let us pray the fresh air isn't just a breeze, but the constant rush of a Mighty Wind.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781958019188182609.post-66006918508589507922009-07-10T13:25:00.001-07:002009-07-10T13:41:15.662-07:00Speaking Their LanguageAfter a grueling week of day camp at The Potter's House, the most rewarding thing seemed to be when any of the adults finally started speaking a given child's language. That doesn't mean I now understand Romanian, or that my new Irish and Northern Irish friends picked it up in two days, but at certain times, you could tell that we understood the child, and they understood us.<br /><br />Yesterday my mom roped me into teaching some of the kids the Hustle; I never thought the things I learned at a high school dance would come in handy. After lunch, I eased my way to the open cement slab and started dancing to "Oh, Ancient of Days" with my mom and the other ladies working the camp. They quickly caught on and some of the kids did, too. It was fun, but I didn't really think it stuck, so we moved on to the next idea to keep the kids occupied for at least one more hour.<br /><br />But when we walked into the Potter's House this morning, a little girl named Loredonna (pronounced Laura-Donna) ran up to me asking me in choppy fragments of English if we would dance soon. We quickly nodded our heads, and in the back of my mind I was rather surprised she thought to ask about it. After breakfast had ended, we found the CD that had the appropriate song, and soon we were hustling like nobody's business. I was speaking her language. She couldn't help but have an extremely proud smile on her face as I continued to give her two thumbs-up and say "Bravo!" in a pitiful attempt at an Eastern European accent.<br /><br /> She was such a natural when it came to dancing that she wanted to teach me a dance, as well. We were able to share the experience of being teacher and student. I couldn't help but think that Mr. Harle would be proud of my feminist pedagogy. We each messed up, but we both encouraged the other that our dance-moves were worth not pooping out on.<br /><br />She was the hardest child I had to part ways with. I know I won't soon forget the moves to her dance, and I hope that every time either of us hears the classic tune about the Ancient of Days, that our instant urge will be to Hustle. I know my first thought will to be to take three steps to the right.Princess of Dictionopolishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00953950112479779639noreply@blogger.com0