My Lord

There is something incredibly comforting about devotional poetry. For something thousands of years old, I'm amazed that it's still fresh. That is, it's still relevant. The contempt, passion, anger, fear, hurt, joy etc. directed towards God in the 17th century is still expressed. By me. Today. First of all, this demands some respect. God has been putting up with the same old 'stuff' since Eve ate the fruit. There is nothing new under the sun when it comes to human depravity. But He listens.

Second, it's incredibly comforting to know that people in the past share my experience when it comes to God. To feel His outpouring love, followed by 'nothingness'- making you question if you ever really felt that close to Him in the first place. But He's there, a constant pillar. Sometimes I wonder if the pillar analogy works for me. Right now it makes me think of a God of stone: cold, distant, deaf and mute.
Is He? Maybe. There's got to be a reason why we all go through this. It's bloody frustrating. George Herbert, pastor of a country church in 1630, knows exactly what I'm talking about,

When my devotions could not pierce Thy silent ears
Then was my heart broken, as was my verse
My breast was full of fears and disorder;

Oh that thou shouldst give dust a tongue to cry to Thee
And then not hear it crying! All day long
My heart was in my knee, but no hearing.

As pitiful a sight it is to see someone broken, crying and on the verge of giving up- when I read this stuff it's comforting. I don't doubt God. I doubt myself. I covet His stability, or at least ask that He give me some of it. And this is where the leap is made between normal poetry to that of devotional poetry.
What's written down is not intended for an audience, it's intended for God. The direct pleadings, rantings, and praises we express are extensions of what resides in our very soul. What an incredible outlet, a remarkable method, a beautiful gift.
And there it is: I resort to language, this gift of God's, to express God's distance. Thank you God, for the gentle reminder.

Last night was weird. I couldn't sleep because every time I closed my eyes, crazy images flashed in my mind, like monsters chewing off my limbs. I think Ryan put something in my coffee. Man, he's sneaky.

But anyways, it's like a nightmare when you are still awake. The worst kind- because you can't snap out of it. And so I spent a good chunk of time staring at the ceiling, which made me sleepy, which made my eyes close, which created a monster, which made me not so sleepy.. until I finally got up at around 12am, and folded my laundry.
Eventually I got back into bed, the cycle continued, until Danielle and Trine, either feeling sorry for me, or sick of hearing the creak of the bunk bed every time I tossed around, sang me the Care Bear Count Down
Priceless.

Of course this created Beastly and Nohart... and so the fun had to stop.

So weird. But really, what we got out of this was a great discussion on what Danielle should do with her future. It involved a bakery with apple turnovers, frosted cupcakes, christmas cookies-- and then a very detailed menu of what to bake at every season. The conclusion was to simply use a pile of pink frosting. That made me happy, then hungry, then happy---
I fell asleep around 2.

Dodgeball Warriors

The past week has been wonderful. I nailed my philosophy presentation and got excited about the prospect of someday teaching highschool kids about life. I have a pile of papers to get working on, which always kind of gets to me because it comes with this sneaky little genius- procrastination- which makes me avoid the library, tidy my room, go out for dessert, and dress like a hippy for some seriously competitive dodgeball. All in all, he makes the memories happen, so I think I'll keep him around for a while.

I don't want to make this long, because it's getting close to 2a.m. and I am asking myself what the heck I'm still doing up... but for the record I thought I should also put it on here that I finally made the decision. It was a sucky week of indecision and endless conversations with different people I love and trust, but I'm finally at peace with it. Enough of the intro-- I'm going to England baby. Four months in the UK to study my major and live as a local in the quaint little village of Charlsebury. Timot and I are hoping to fly together- and I'm really glad he'll be around. Four months seems like an awefully long time...so I'm going to sign off before I let myself dwell on that for too long.

Tata.

Time at home has been delightful. I worked a full day on Thursday with my good buddy Kristina, thoroughly pulled my hamstrings, blistered my fingers, and laughed a lot. She is a very funny girl. After work Cheryl, Vanessa, Sarah, Kristina and I went to visit my friend Jocelyn who got a new apartment, which is pretty classy. The six of us have been friends since gradeschool, and I'm amazed at how similar we still are to the children we once were. Not to say a pile of things haven't changed, but if I were given a sketchpad in grade one, and was told to map out my idea of Jocelyn's future apartment, I really don't think I would have been that far off. She has a nice place. She cooked us up a tasty stir fry, we talked about Vanessa's upcoming wedding over a glass of wine, and I realized that we are definitely well into another chapter of our young adult lives. Does this excite me? Heck ya. But whenever you get together with old friends, the past is what gets relived- and I don't mean to brag, but I had a fantastic childhood with these girls. Now to pull out the typical sigh and statement- 'where does time go?' Who cares, it just goes.

Then I came home, did a lot of nothing, and then heard my mom give a bit of a scream. I didnt' realize she was the only one watching "disturbia" and she's not very good with thrillers. So I watched it with her, as a very poor source of comfort because I get more freaked out then she does! But really, a boy walking alone through a murderer's house, then falling through the basement floor into a pile of dead bodies?! SCARY!

I woke up the next morning after having a nightmare about a math exam. One of the questions was " if all the sums were to fall off the earth, what would the sum of all the numbers be?"

Ok- here's why I hate math

1) My mind thinks that that makes sense

2) The question says sum twice

3) It haunts me in my sleep

What's even more ridiculous is that everyone knew the answer, which was 'zero to the tenth' actually spelled out like that! And the class instructor was my philosophy teacher. Oy. Disgusting.

So, I woke up with pulled muscles from the day before, and a pulled brain, and decided to skip work on the farm and be very productive in my school work. I think I was, although I made time to go to Hamilton, pick up Katrina, hang out there, and then drive back home in traffic. Those were some quality hours. We came home just on time for some Chinese food, and sat at the table for over an hour. Man, if any of you know my dad, he can be pretty fun to have a discussion with. Now don't take fun to mean lighthearted and cheery-- oh no. This is an intense, be on your toes, don't let him corner you kind of intense. I love it.

The best thing about my dad is that I can let my mouth fly (respectfully) and he never gets personal. He doesn't ever attack the person- it's always the argument. This is something that I've noticed simply CANNOT happen in a girls house. And so you see, these weekends at home become weekends of respite and mental sharpening against my dad's ruthless wit. It's enjoyable.

After dinner and fortune cookies, we thought we'd rent a movie off the TV to watch with the fam. The first attempt had about six scenes within six minutes that are just awkward to watch with your parents, and then just awkward in general. SO we turned it off, and got another one. To sum it up in a word. Aweful. I'm not sure if you've heard of Georgia Rule. If you haven't, excellent. If you have. Shoooot. If you have SEEN it- well, hopefully it wasn't with your parents and little brother.

Trine, my mom and I were the only ones who endured it to the end, then went to bed. Of course there was pillow talk, but now this is just getting too personal.

This morning it's chilly, and windy, and I like it. Mom is making breakfast. Ooh da lolly

Friends

Today I started a grease fire.
I put it out with salt.

I love the weather. I don't want snow and I don't want humidity. I want exactly what I have right now, and that is deliciously chilly weather. I am happy to be wearing socks again, I am happy to put on a baggy hoody, I am happy to make two cups of tea, wrap myself in blankets, wear a scarf and read outside on the front lawn for three hours straight. That's what this weather does to me. It just makes me happy.

The colours also do it for me. Not bright, not ugly and dull- but 'earthy'. Relaxed and aging- like it should be. The sky is not just open blue, but it's not dreary grey either. It's patchy. Blue sky behind bundles of white and grey clouds, and yet the sun is still there, keeping up appearances. Absolutely lovely. October 13, 2007. What a day.

It's Saturday, about 5pm, and I should be working on my Commentary Review. Instead I'm sitting in the kitchen staring out the window. It's a very big window, and so it's not really my fault that I'm always caught staring out of it. Once I get past the deck, white railing, struggling geranium basket,and freshly cut lawn, my eyes hit no man's land. An open field, recently plowed under, pretty sad looking, but it always draws my attention anyway. It's probobly because it just sits there, idly, like myself, but has this incredible backdrop of a dark cloudy sky. What is this obsession I have with the sky? I really don't know. I just like it.

Language blows my mind. The very fact that you can understand that first sentence shows how incredible language is. We create it, use it, manipulate it, and depend on it. What's more, we trust it. We speak literally, metaphorically, analogously, poetically- it's all encompassing, it's how we express ourselves. How could we function in society without it?

But where does it come from? I know God initially gave Adam the ability to speak, and name creatures, but no doubt our vocabulary has grown since the garden. As we develop new ideas, experiment, discover new creatures- do we just slap letters together and trust that the meaning of those letters will in time make itself clear to everyone? And what about abstracts? The concept of justice, truth, and love have been generally understood- at least in my own limited experience in my own specific culture. But how does it work cross culturally? I just don't know. I can't get in the mind of another person, and so I just don't know if my notion of justice can equate with that of oh, let's say a Russian. Words. Language. We put a faith in it, because we trust the meaning in the letters. But what happens when we start to doubt language?

It's a scary thought- to strip away this foundation of language- the way we articulate and express ourselves. It just seems like the next logical progression of living in a postmodern relativistic society. We tolerate everything, and believe nothing. That is, capital T truth has gone out the window, and been replaced by some lukewarm pablem that just doesn't suffice. And yet, words still hold their meaning. But how long until that too is thrown out the window? The same mentality that says " you can believe that, but don't force it on me" can be used to say, " your words might mean that, but they mean something different for me". When that starts to happen ( and I'm going to take back what I said before, and say it IS already happening) we are headed into some pretty dangerous territory.

But I'm going to veer away from this philosophical direction, and head back to wear I wanted this post to originally go- and the only connection I can make here is that I have been reading a heck of a lot for the past two days, which has made me think a fair bit about language. But it has also made me think about what it means to be a student. So moving on..

I am a student, which means I have to study. But for what purpose? Bacon nails it.
"Studies serve for pastimes, for ornaments, and for abilities" that is, for private pleasure, to be equipped to engage in discussions, and to sharpen your judgment.
This bit was great- " To spend too much time in them is sloth"
It's interesting, because we need balance when it comes to our studies, yet it is our studies that balance us. Bacon puts a lot of emphasis on the reading, writing, and discourse as the main components of "study". Language is fundamental in all three( Interesting how that never seems to change, even though language does) But he says,
"Reading makes a full man, conversation a ready man, and writing an exact man." So, if you don't write a lot, you better have a good memory, and if you don't talk a lot, you better have quick wit, and if you don't read, you had better be cunning, so as to seem to know what you really don't.

For Bacon, some reading requires just a tasting, others a bit of chewing, still others must be swallowed and digested- that is, read wholly. Reading works on varying levels, but it still remains central to study.

After all the reading I've been doing- I must admit, I am comforted. Thank you Sir Francis Bacon.