Oh, Why Can't A Woman Be Like That?

After three weeks of fencing lessons, I've come to a rather startling realization.

If there's going to be a fight, I'll fight a man rather than a woman any day.
Women are crazy. They have no predictability, no method. They swing their foils wildly, madly, eager to poke you. (There are a few female students who fence coolly and calmly, but not many) They confuse your mind, disorient you, then jab. Your mind goes wild and your steady discipline vanishes. Before you can get it back under control enough to consider your task at hand, the maniacal female gets in another jab.
It's so different with the guys. They play by the rules. Their moves are ordered, structured, cool in execution even if driven by adrenaline. They are "semi" predictable. Yes, they have advantage in height and strength, but when I fence a male, my mind isn't driven mad. I can fence with complimentary coolness, organization, and ordered maneuvers. Yes, I'll fight a man any day. Be he much more skilled than I, at least he has a steady method and is slightly predictable. I don't mind being stabbed as long as I can see it coming or recognize fair play.

Is there a lesson in this beyond fencing? I mean, do these characteristics extend to the ways men and women act in life, toward life, and toward each other too?
Sometimes it can seem like it. I'd be interested to hear from both sides.

At least in my experience, females seem to leave the boundaries of emotional "fair play" with greater regularity than males. The female mind can be bewildering to understand and dizzying to watch. I'm sure that all girls have felt those unexplainable bursts of rage, hurt, and frustrated glee propelling them into a fury of metaphorical stabs and jabs into anything and everything withing reach.
But must this be the case? Can a woman overcome - at least outwardly - this wild manner and train herself to a steady hand and cool purpose?
And is the masculine calm more than skin deep or is it but a veneer? Is the (sometimes irrationally infuriating) male logic part and parcel to masculinity, or is it cultivated and entrained?
And why should the calm, the solid, the purposefulness of man evoke a strong longing and feeling of security in a female, then irritate her an hour later?

I'd be glad for any illuminating thoughts, insights, comments, etc.

Recent Impressions

Over the course of the past few weeks, I've read and watched several interesting things. Perhaps not an enormous quantity, but definitely more valuable literature than I read while at Hope. I am, most definitely, unqualified to comment with authority on these works as I have only just been introduced to them and have not had time to give each more than a single, brief examination. However, I feel an undeniable urge to reflect on a few impressions.

Lilith by George MacDonald:
This is an intense work of fiction. Reading this tale, one can easily understand why MacDonald has been called, "the Father of Fantasy." Because the book is so highly allegorical, metaphorical, and otherwise laden with hidden meaning, it is somewhat difficult to speak of the "storyline," because how the story develops is so inextricably bound up with what the story is about. It's a tale that's not so much about what happens in the story as what happens behind the story and is represented by the story. Like the multiple dimensions that Mr. Vane, the main character, wanders into, Lilith unfolds both on the page, in the imagination, and in one's metaphysical experience of thought.
Mr. Vane, unattached, unconcerned about any pursuit other than his horses and his books of science, ignorant of his own history and manor house, finds himself walking through a closet door in his attic into...the outdoors. Only he is told by a mysterious Raven/man, whose form he can't quite pin down, that he has not come out, but has come in, and that he must continue in, until he finds his home - the place where he can freely go out and in. For the first few chapters, the reader is just as confused and disoriented as Mr. Vane while the character in question stumbles in and out of what he considers his "home" "dimension" - but not at his own will. After he refuses to fall asleep under kind care of Raven and his wife in the cold hall of the "dead" Vane finds that his misguided stubbornness has cost him this rest for the present and ends up wandering a strange world where the moon protects him from grotesque monsters,where phantoms walk, fight, and dance in the woods, where he is made slave to idiotic giants who can't even observe the merry miniscule "children" who gambol around and provide for their captive with an inocence and love endearing to the hapless Vane. Forced at last to flee the giants, Vane meets with Mara the "woman of sorrow" who directs him to the city of Bulika despite the fact that an evil princess dwells therein. Unwittingly, Vane meets the princess on the way, dying, and spends over a month nursing her back to health. She then despises and turns on him, though he then follows her unable to psychologically let her go for a time. Eventually he learns her evil and determines to thwart her, despite her strange spotted leopardess manifestations and the Shadow that walks with her and whom she serves. But she takes him in, deceives him once more and he suddenly "wakes" in his own house. But she is there too as a cat, and so also is Raven, now fully distinguishable as a man. Lilith, for that is the princess' name, is revealed by Adam (the erstwhile Raven) through words of a poetic prophecy, and she must obey him, for he was her husband and has been - in his now perfected state - given power over her. Yet she swears to drink the blood of Adam's children so that the prophetic child who will destroy her may not be revealed. As the narrative develops, Vane once more rebels against the instruction of Adam to the death of the woman/child he loves best - Adam and Lilith's daughter whom Lilith kills. But finally, Lilith is brought to her knees, and overcome by Mara who has constantly opposed the spotted leopardess in the form of a white leopardess. Lilith's "conversion" takes awhile, and even at the last, she cannot open her hand. Adam must cut it off for her before she can sleep in peace. Vane too longs to sleep with the dead who are more alive than those who walk the earth, but for him another task is appointed in order to release the waters which Lilith had stolen from the earth and which will bring life. Eventually he too sleep, resurrects, and finds himself in, well, we would call it heaven. But as he enters heaven with his dear love who has also awakened from her sleep, he finds that he has walked into his own familiar home again.
Now the above disjointed narrative isn't particularly coherent, but then, neither is the book itself. It's a rough portrayal of several narrative themes: yes themes, for there are many.

I would highly recommend Lilith to any literature lover who has any taste for metaphor and symbolism. As in any work of fantasy, the theology is perhaps not quite orthodox and chances are the theology of the writer was not completely either, but imperfection finds its home in all of us.
A few key points that that stand out in my memory are:
(1)Vane's fear and trust only in himself prevents him from heeding wise instruction and receiving blessing. As a consequence, he usually ends up orchestrating the exact opposite of what he intends. His intentions are good, but fail when he relies on his own reason and impetuosity.
(2) Lilith is a slave to her own appearance, power and majesty to the point where she sacrifices all others to gain her own ends. For this reason she serves the Shadow, though she herself imagines herself independent and all powerful in herself. She fears and hates whatever may end her beauty and power - particularly her daughter. Lilith's live is sustained by gorging herself on the lives of others. The most explicit examples of this are her "white leech" manifestation which sucked the life from Vane and the "spotted leopard" manifestation which devoured the infants of Bulika.
(3) Evil is opposed to children and the family. It's pretty obvious. Lilith wants conception prevented and kills the children who are born. In contrast, Adam and Eve are fruitful, and the little "Lover" children are the most obvious mortal "good" in the story.
(4) Water. Water gives life, and Evil takes water. But Evil cannot steal all water - some will be saved.
(5) Mara the Woman of Sorrow. She constantly opposes Lilith, not to harm her but to bring her to repentence. Mara is the voice which calls all she comes in contact with to contrition and repentence. Her scarred, concealingly wrapped face contrasts Lilith's flaunted gorgeousness. In her house, children may rest safe and bread may be given them - one day at a time. In her house also, Lilith is wracked by light and truth, hammered as it were by the Law, until she is broken to the point where she can be healed.
(6) Lilith's hand. In her painful inner torment, Lilith refuses to repent. In the same breath, she also refuses to open her clenched hand. Even when broken by revelation of who she truly is, and ready to repent and seek the mercy and aid of Adam, she cannot open her hand. She strives with all her might and cries out in anguish, but for all her exertion, she cannot cause her hand to open and release what it held within. Until her hand is opened however, she cannot "sleep" the blessed sleep of Adam and Eve's chill chamber; she cannot enter life. She pleads with Adam to open her hand for her. At the last, the hand must be cut off. But that is not the end of the hand. Vane is charged to carry the hand following the slightest noise of the underground water to the stream's very source. There he must dig down to the water and bury the hand in it.

I suppose that's enough rambling reflection on Lilith.


Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis.
This book was also very moving for me. I didn't know Lewis could write like this. As the plot proceeded, I found myself more and more convicted. As Orual began to realize that she was Ungol, I began to realize I was Orual. The same Orual who was made to see that all her life she had been draining the life from others who loved her. (Somehow, I think Lewis meant it to be that way) The rest of the story overwhelmed me. Especially the point where Orual brings her complaint against the gods before the Judge. When she opens her mouth to read the scroll upon which she has written her accusation, what spews forth is but an indictment of herself, a true exposition of her true self in it's selfishness. Orual realizes that to hear herself was the answer of the gods to her accusation. All that she had written against them before was but a facade over her real self. Without her true face, she could accuse the gods; once she had a face, she could not.
In a way she could not fathom or grasp, the ugly Orual was Psyche. And Psyche herself walked through the bitter dark places to bring back the antidote to make "Ungol" - the monstrous, the ugly - beautiful.
In the end, Orual knows why the gods give no answer. "You yourself are the answer. Before your face, questions die away."

I will admit that I was crying by the end of the book. There are just some tales that do that to a person. We weep because we realize that the story is not about some fantastic people in far off faery-land: it is about us. Honestly, I think that is at least part of what makes a good story. The stories we love help us to see and learn about ourselves in some way.


I also read G. K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday and was deeply affected by that as well, but I will not venture to reflect on it here.


As for some more superfluous stuff, last Saturday I watched two movies - one with a large group of students and friends, the other at a professor's house with only my classmates.


The first was a Russian film called Andrei Rublev.
This film was in Russian, but had some English subtitles. I won't say it was the greatest movie, or even "one of the 15 greatest films of all time" as its jacket proclaims it, but I found it worthwhile nonetheless. The theme, more or less, centered on the midievil Russian monk iconographer Andrei Rublev and if it failed somewhat in making a concise point, it succeeded in painting a graphic picture of Russia as it was - the pagan, the Christians of all stripes, treacherous, cruel princes, and murderous Tartars. Basically, these served as a backdrop to illumine the gentle character of Andrei Rublev. Perhaps the most amazing aspect of this film, what makes it impressive despite it's very outdated photography and apparent lack of focus is the fact that it was made in Soviet Russia and even funded with Soviet monies. If you have 8 minutes, watch this and wonder for yourself that it was produced in Communist Russia. According to a friend, the filmmaker went to the Soviets and asked for funding to make a film about a great Russian folk-hero. The goverment unwittingly aided him, never guessing until it was finished that the "people's" money was supporting a film about an Orthodox monk. Parts of the movie are gruesome and grotesque and I wonder why certain sections are included. Perhaps I simply do not have the cultural background necessary for all the elements to speak.

The second movie - which I saw snuggled under quilts with my class in a professor's basement, eating HUGE slices of apple pie with slabs of vanilla icecream - was Casa Blanca. Again, I don't think it would qualify as one of my very favorite films, but I enjoyed and much appreciated it.
Most importantly, I was glad to see that Hollywood could show that real love upholds fidelity, and where another love conflicted with fidelity, the most loving thing that love can do is to release the thing loved. I could just hear a whisper of "We should fear and love God so that we do not entice or force away our neighbor's wife, worker, or animals, but encourage them to stay and do their duty" as I watched. The various moments of comic relief were much welcome as well.

And I probably should (a) not post this before proofreading, and (b) go to sleep, but I think I'll disregard (a) in deference to (b) as it is almost 1am.

I realize even now that this post isn't really very coherent, but I guess it isn't really meant to be. I just needed to let my fingers ramble around the keyboard a little while on these subjects.

At Ease

What is it about affection (as opposed to friendship, eros, and charity which C.S. Lewis identifies in The Four Loves) that allows the taking of liberities and is even humored by them?

No one can deny that affection does allow a dimension of communication that is not otherwise present. Actions or statements that would irritate or anger one if proceeding from any other person are endearing, touching, humorous, or charmingly idiosyncratic in the context of the affectionate relationship. I'm considering for example, the difference between this scenario of address by a classmate and a scenario this morning where a similiar classmate referred to me as "cute." In the later case, however, his comment only elicited a laugh and a light-hearted threat on my part to throw a mug at him, provoking general genial amusement.

I wish to know why this is so. Why does affection put one so at ease that almost nothing provokes an extreme response; e.g. anger, passion, bitterness, pain? Lewis comments that real affection does not wish to wound and practices the art of joking in kindness, but this does not explain to me the mechanism. Perhaps I have simply misunderstood. I'd be interested to hear any thoughts about why there is ease in affection.

And yet there are instances where deep wounds are given in relationships of affection. Normally, the wounded party covers the hurt over for the sake of affection. But then a guard is put up. Is the relationship henceforth affection? Or is it a facade of affection? If the person is ill at ease but pretends not to be, is such not deceptive?

I know that there are those people who make me ill at ease in one sense, but whom I feel a certain affection toward. I guess I'm wondering whether that is still affection in the sense that Lewis means, and if it is affection, why am I not at ease.

An Attempt.

So, I tried. It's not really the best I've ever written, nor am I totally happy with it, but this is the closest I can come at this point according to my limited understanding in discussing the difference between Augustine and Luther's concept of the Will in "about 1 page." It doesn't necessarily help that I have to reason from limited excerpts, though it does narrow the reading considerably.

Both read the same Scripture; both came to different conclusions. Augustine claimed Freewill; Luther asserted an Enslaved Will (On Grace and Free Will, Chapter 2 and following; On the Enslaved Will, Section IX).

Augustine argues that man must have free will because God commands him to choose between certain things, which choice is a function proper to the will (On Grace and Free Will, Chapter 3, 4, 5). To keep God’s law, free will must be assisted by grace and thus the achievement of the command is also due to grace (Chapters 6,7, 8, 9). God gives a man whose merit is evil a “good will” as grace. This “good will” is free and does good works with the help of more gratuitous grace (Chapters 12, 13) . These good works done with the help of grace by the good will (which was given by grace) are for a man “good merit” which God recompenses with Eternal Life (Chapter 14). Eternal life is by grace because God renders it according to works which proceed from God’s gift of faith; it is grace because it rewards the good life possible by God’s grace (Chapters 16, 17, 18, 19, 20). Free will is not taken away but works out its salvation aided by grace which is not remission of sin only, but fulfills the law, liberates the nature, removes the mastery of sin, and allows faith and endurance (Chapters 21, 27, 28). In this life a man receives “good for evil,” that is grace not according to merit, but “let us do good that in the future world we may receive good for good,” that is the crown of life in return for the merit of works performed by grace (Chapter 44). God is able to turn the will of man whithersoever he pleases, and men who are turned to believe in God had no previous entitlement to be turned (Chapters 41, 29, 43). God chose and loved us first and can we help but choose him afterward of our free will? Yet that choice has no merit unless God choose first (Chapter 38). God’s secret counsel is always righteous; when he hardens a man’s heart and turns him to doing evil it is in judgment of his own evil deeds (Chapters 42, 43, 44). To be sure, man hardens his own heart as well (Chapter 45). God turns him, but the man wills the hardening (Chapter 42). God for knows who will be ungodly and forsakes them in judgment on their deeds, withholding his grace (Chapter 45).

Luther disagrees. God does not for know by contingency (and so does not with hold grace from one because he forsees that he will do evil) but according to His unchangeable will (On the Enslaved Will, Section IX). God’s will belongs to His nature and as God’s nature is immutable, so is His Will. God forsees as He wills and wills as He forsees (OEW, Section IX). Man’s will is mutable, impotent and depraved (OEW, Section X). Salvation is the working of God alone - without co-operation of man’s will. Without the spirit of God, man does evil “spontaneously, and with a desirous willingness...which he cannot, by his own power, leave off, restrain, or change; but it goes on still desiring and craving (OEW, Section XXV).” Though human will cannot change its inclination – as it could were it free – God can change it; not at all by compulsion but so that it “desires and acts...responsively, from pure willingness, inclination and accord; so that it cannot be turned another way by anything contrary, nor be compelled or overcome even by the gates of hell; but it still goes on to desire, crave after, and love that which is good; even as before, it desired, craved after, and loved that which was evil (OEW, Section XXV).” The will is compared to a mount which cannot run to a particular rider. Satan and God contend for the saddle and the winner directs the beast. Rather than salvation being given to man by works, however instigated, supported, and fueled by ‘grace,’ God “promised to save me, not according to my working or manner of life, but according to His own grace and mercy” which is due solely to His own will. “In this way we please God not from the merit of our works but from the favour of his mercy promised unto us; and that, if we work less, or work badly, He does not impute it unto us, but as a Father, pardons and makes us better (OEW, Section CLXIV).”

Luther and Augustine’s disagreement goes beyond the “simple” question of whether a man has free will to the core question of how a man is justified. Both Augustine and Luther maintain that man is saved by God’s grace, but by that they mean two very different things. Augustine’s salvation by Grace consists in God giving man a good will, and helping that will by grace to do good works, and at last rewarding those good works with everlasting life, even though the man himself did not originate the good works (On Grace and Free Will, Chapter 20, etc). Luther’s salvation by grace casts works entirely aside asserting that faith in the word of God alone justifies. Salvation is entirely vicarious: the merit of Christ applied to man by faith, thus fulfilling the law (On the Freedom of a Christian, Part III). “For the word of God cannot be received and honoured by any works, but by faith alone” “and since it alone justifies, it is evident that by no outward work or labour can the inward man be at all justified, made free, and saved; and that no works whatever have any relation to him. And so, on the other hand, it is solely by impiety and incredulity of heart that he becomes guilty and a slave of sin, deserving condemnation, not by any outward sin or work (On the Freedom of a Christian, Part III).” Since salvation “depends on the working of God alone” who acts “according to his immutable, eternal, and infallible will,” human free will is “knocked flat and utterly shattered” and “those...who would assert ‘Free Will’ must either deny this thunderbolt, or pretend not to see it, or find some other way of dodging it (On the Enslaved Will, Section XXV, Section IX).” Luther would likely say that Augustine has done the latter.

I'd welcome feedback on whether I've got this correct or not. Or any other commentary. I felt like I was chasing Augustine around in circles for a while. And while I loved Luther's writing - it was so beautifully worded I wanted to either laugh or cry - I'm not sure I was able to nail him down in my writing. Partly due to the fact that I was working from excerpts and had to reference those excerpts.

Gar! (Not the Fish - The Other Kind)

I can't think anymore about Luther and Augustine. They're driving me nuts! I think I finally understand where they differ on the Will, but I sure hope and pray that what I'm writing makes as much sense to my professor as it does to me. Augustine (St) is so slippery sometimes!

To make it very, very simple, I think it's like this.

Augustine: Free Will.
"Salvation by Grace" recipe: God gratuitously gives a "good will" to evil merit, then helps the "good will" with grace so that the "good will" does good works which constitute good merit which is rewarded with eternal life.

Luther: Enslaved Will.
"Salvation by Grace" recipe: God gives faith to believe Gospel of salvation. Faith justifies because Christ's works are vicariously applied, thus fulfilling the law, without any works of the man justified.

"Good" Art

http://www.goodart.org/faq.htm

This is really neat! It's the best discussion of "good" art that I've ever run across. Usually, discussions of art are relativistic and subjectivistic. It's refreshing to see someone taking it from a different angle.

A Very Brief Critique of Machiavelli

This is a very brief criticism of excerpts from Machiavelli's The Prince which I did as part of Philosophy homework for this week. We were told to identify "the problem with Machiavelli...in 1/2 to 1 page." I barely made it. No surprise there. I guess I could have left it with the first paragraph, but I figured I need to expand the idea more.

The major problem with Machiavelli is that his advice does not center around a question of hypothetical or philosophical “Good” or “Evil” but rather focuses on how to successfully gain and maintain the position of “The Prince (The Prince, Chapter 15).” Machiavelli recognizes that virtue does not necessarily secure a prince in his princedom nor gain for him political power. But the next step in his reasoning is fatal: to pursue a secure princedom above the law of God (Chapter 15). Once this break with virtue is made, the rest of his conclusions follow quite naturally and logically. Indeed, Machiavelli seems to explain with great accuracy and wisdom actions critical to retaining power, well illustrating the historical precedent of these with pertinent examples (e.g. Cesare Borgia, Chapter 17; Julius II, Chapter 25; etc).

At the crux of this handbook of power lies Machiavelli’s misunderstanding of God’s action in history. He seems to see Divinity solely as a power which sometimes directs Fortune on man’s behalf; in no sense does God direct the actions of men to his purpose, nor does he requite the breaking of His law with man’s downfall (Chapter 25,26). When the prince is thrust from his high seat, the tumble was obviously precipitated by failure to perform the balancing act of political stratagem. The Prince cites figures who have risen from obscurity to fame, wealth, and power, but attributes the elevation not to God but to the personal achievement of the individuals (Chapter 6) despite the fact that Moses didn’t ‘do diddly’ without God’s prodding and Cyrus’ rise to power was prophesied long before his birth. Even oppressed suffering Machiavelli interprets not as a chastening of God or as a means to show forth His deliverance, but only to accentuate the greatness of the leaders who arose out of it (Chapter 26). Machiavelli appeals to God’s miraculous provision (Chapter 26) but fails to understand that God does not answer to man’s demand, nor is He an instrument of war, but acts in lawful retribution or in mercy. Machiavelli commands God’s limited assistance on the grounds that “war is just which is necessary, and arms are hallowed when there is no other hope but in them.” In this way, God is reduced to an impotent spectator, “not willing to do everything and thus take away our free will and that share of glory which belongs to us (Chapter 26).”

With God restricted to mouldering in the armoury until needed, the prince is left to ride the tides of fortune guided by the “spirit of the times” (Chapter 25). To determine whether to act virtuously or not he sniffs the Zeitgeist breeze. After all, vice is not punished but rewarded when prescribed prudently in pharmaceutical doses (Chapter 8, 15). Meanness, cruelty, and faithlessness become essential political tools for “it is necessary for a prince wishing to hold his own to know how to do wrong, and to make use of it...according to necessity (Chapter 16, 17, 18, 15).” When “of evil it is lawful to speak well” it becomes clear that, to Machiavelli, the measure of right and wrong is no longer set by God but by whatever a prince thinks appropriate in to stabilize his carefully accumulated house of power cards. This is Machiavelli's most serious error: the abandoning of the objective moral standard which is God.

I Turn Eighteen

It is my Baptism Day! Yay! I actually remembered for once! Usually, I remember that my baptism day is coming a few days before, and then I remember a few days afterwards, but never on the actual day. I'm excited.

Eighteen years ago today the squirming little me got exorcised, drowned, buried with Christ, and raised with Him in resurrection, given the Holy Spirit, faith, lots of other good stuff, a name, and a candle. The last being probably the least important.

I was surprised last night to realize that the commemoration of Sarah is only one day before my baptism birthday. It's a rather neat coincidence, don't you think?

Becoming Fashionable: Last Night's Dream

Since Dreams seem to have become such a blogger fad in the last week, I'm going to join the "in" crowd with one of my own.

I can't remember all of it except that it was rather deeply emotional, and I ended up sobbing.

The two most tramatic events in the dream were as follows.

Mom somehow stole my big red cabbage from the basement refrigerator and boiled it. How could she? I mean, that cabbage was my sustenance! Whatever will I do without it! And just the thought of limp boiled cabbage makes me think, "Ick!"

Pastor Grobien was tried and convicted of heresy. The church (youth) were in a state of shock and didn't believe it. Pastor Stuckwisch was sobbing, which was most disconcerting. The Grobiens were the calmest people in the whole church. I'm not sure who exactly he was tried by, what the charges were, or what they were going to do to him, but ironically, I seem to remember that the heresy had something to do with Thomas Aquinas. This was rather odd.

I woke up trying to figure out what vegetable I was going to cook for dinner now that my cabbage had been murdered and feeling a very empty, grieving feeling, wondering how I could go back to an Emmaus without Pastor Grobien. It has not a happy awaking...until I realized that it had all been a dream.


Adendum to the Nightmare:
More just came back to me. Somehow I was in a foreign land and was somehow married, but I don't know who to. I and my mother in law were both expecting; at the same time, our village was being bombed. Daddy showed up to take me home to safety only to discover that I was married and he had to leave me. Strange things dreams are.

Aquinas and I

I'm becoming quite chummy with St. Thomas. I think the poor fellow is very misunderstood. Either that or he's misleading me, which I wouldn't put past the old chap, though I'm sure he wouldn't do that intentionally. Misleading me isn't ordered towards his last end and I'm not sure what certain good he could be pursuing that would cause him to mislead me. I'm guessing that it wasn't my "sensitive appetite" that caused us to put our heads together, though. My "rational appetite" probably had more to do with it. My "speculative intellect" is starting to put him to use. Last week, his writing provoked some of the passions of my "irascible appetite" but that is past. Somehow, I don't think Aquinas will ever directly affect my "concupiscible appetite."

More later, if Greek doesn't kill me first. φευγω. διωκει και τοξουει. If you can understand that (and if I didn't write it incorrectly) you get "full marks" for this lesson.

Superior Scribbler Award

This award seems a little bit like grace. Free to be freely recieved. Thanks Pasto'! I'm quite blown away.

This most wonderful blog of wonders flowing from the fingers of one Rev. Stuckisch has bestowed the award on the most blunderful blog of blunders.

The γενεσις of this award proceeds from aqui. (Trying to get three languages into one sentence.) The Spanish word which is underlined and colored indicating a link, is in fact a link, linking ('cause that's what links do) to the blogpost ('cause that's where this link leads) wherein the award ('cause that's what this post is about) is explained.

As I haven't really been closely following many terribly active blogs, I'm going to cast around a bit.

One fish
Two fish
Red fish
Blue fish
Uh, Green Eggs and Ham.

I was going to link to the Cat-in-the-Hat, but I figured that since I've never made the fellow's aquaintance, things might get awkward...

And I'd have several others on the list only, they've "privatized" their blogses or they don't even know that I secretly stalk their blogs so they wouldn't ever know if I linked to them.

To "uncodize" the above links, I give to you;

Four and Twenty Blackbirds (Because it really does make the top of my list)
A Matter of Small Importance (Ah! The ambiance of home!)
Where the Wild Things Abide Sometimes (Celebrating the Celebrated Author)
Sarah in Real Life (It's a real Sarah that's not me.)
OFHP (Though she really does need to blog more often.)

Read you now the rules!

Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass the award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.

Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and the name of the blog from whom he/she has received the Award.

Each Superior Scribbler must display the award on his/her blog, and link to this post, which explains the award.

Each Blogger who wins the Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List (scroll down).
That way, we’ll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives this prestigious honor!

Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Like the Simpleton I am, I Couldn't Resist

Yeah, it's too late. And I posted links already. But I just had to scribble out some of my favorite lines from A Man For All Seasons. Those interested can find relevant clips on youtube. Some of these are more light hearted than others, some must be understood in the larger context, which, unfortunately, I have not the time to present. Others can be appreciated on their own.

This story of Thomas More as I first saw it in the movie starring Paul Scofield and later as I read it in the play by Robert Bolts has always captivated me. If I were to name the three movies which had the greatest influence on my childhood character formation, this would rank. Thomas More is not only morally upright and scrupulous, but a caring husband and father, and sincere friend. In addition, he has gained that happy discipline of a truthful and guarded tongue taught by a shrewd, cautious, insightful intellect guided by earnest faith. From the moment the movie opens to the drop of the axe, we have an image of a man unwilling to relinquish his convictions, who loves truth more than life, and hides that life in law and justice which ultimately is denied him.

Wolsey: "You're a fool"
More: "Thank God there is only one fool on the council."

Wolsey: "Thomas, we're alone. I give you my word; there's no one here."
More: "I didn't suppose there was, your Grace."

Meg: "Will wants to marry me, Father."
More: "Well, he can't marry you."

More: "There's nothing wrong with your family, Will. There's not much wrong with you. Except you seem to need a clock."
Roper: "I can buy a clock, Sir."
More: "Roper, the answer is "No" and will be "No" as long as you're a heretic."
Roper: "Now that's a word I don't like, Sir Thomas!"
More: "It's not a likeable word, it's not a likeable thing."
Roper: "The church is heretical! Dr. Luther's proved that to my satisfaction!"
More: "Luther is an excomunicate."
Roper: "From a heretic church! Church! It's a shop! Salvation by the shilling, and divorces..."
Meg: "Will!"
Roper: "What I know, I'll say."
Meg: "You've no sense of the place!"
More: yawning "He's no sense of the time. Now listen, Will. Two years ago, you were a passionate churchman. Now you're a passionate Lutheran. We must just pray that when you're head's finished turning, your face is to the front again....... Go along."
Roper: "May I come again?" More gestures to Meg
Meg: "Yes. Soon."

More: "That you should put away Queen Catherine, Sire? Oh, alas, as I think of it I see so clearly that I can not come with your Grace that my endeavor is not to think of it at all."
Henry shouting: "THEN YOU HAVEN'T THOUGHT ENOUGH!"

Henry: "How is it that you cannot see. Everyone else does!"
More: "Then why does your Grace need my poor support?"

About the King's musical composition
More: "I thought it seemed... delightful."
Henry: "Thomas, I chose the right man for Chancellor!"
More: "I must in fairness add that my taste in music is reputedly deplorable."
Henry: "Your taste in music is excellent and exactly coincides with my own!"

Alice: "Arrest him!"
More: "For what?"
Alice: "He's dangerous!"
Roper: "He's a spy!"
Meg: "Father, that man's bad!"
More: "There's no law against that."
Roper: "There is God's law."
More: "Then God can arrest him."
Alice: "While you talk he's gone!"
More: "And go he should if he were the Devil himself until he broke the law!"
Roper: "So, now you'd give the Devil benefit of law!"
More: "Yes, what would you do? Cut a great road through the law to get after the devil?"
Roper: "Yes! I'd cut down every law in England to do that!"
More: "Oh. rises And when the last law was down and the devil turned round on you, where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat? This country is planted thick with laws, coast to coast - Man's laws, not God's - and if you cut them down, and you're just the man to do it, do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes! I'd give the Devil benefit of law for my own safety's sake!"

Norfolk: "Cromwell! Are you threatening me!"
Cromwell quoting Norfolk's private conversation with More: "My dear Norfolk! This isn't Spain! This is England!"

More: "I understand there are certain charges."
Cromwell: "Oh, some ambiguities of behavior I should like to clarify, hardly charges."
More: "Make a note of that, will you, Master Rich? There are no charges."

More: "Yes, I wrote a letter advising her not to meddle in the affairs of state - also witnessed."
Cromwell: "You have been cautious."
More: "I like to keep my affairs regular."

Cromwell: "Thank you! You come to the point very readily. What is that authority[of Rome]..?"
More: "You will find it very ablely set out and defended, Master Secretary, in the King's book."

More: The King knows the truth of it. And whatever he may have said to you, he will not give evidence to support this accusation."
Cromwell: "Why not?"
More: "Because evidence is given on oath, and he will not perjure himself. If you don't know that, then you don't yet know him."

More: "No my lord, you don't [know that]. You may suppose I have objections. All you know is that I will not swear to it for which you cannot lawfully harm me further.
But if you were right in supposing me to have objections, and right again in supposing my objections to be treasonable, the law would let you cut my head off. "

Norfolk: "Why can't you do as I did and come join us for fellowship?"
More: "And when we die and you are sent to heaven for doing your conscience and I am sent to hell for not doing mine, will you come with me for fellowship?"

More: "Some men think the earth is round. Others think it flat. It is a matter capable of question. But if it is flat, will the King's command make it round? And if it is round will the King's command flatten it? No, I will not sign."

Cromwell: "Oh, Justice is what you're threatened with!"
More: "Then I am not threatened."

Roper: "This is a hellish place!"
More: "Except it's keeping me from you my dears, it's not so bad."

Meg: "Then say the words of the oath and in your heart think otherwise!"
More: "What is an oath, then, but words we say to God? [Silence] Listen, Meg! When a man takes an oath, he's holding his own self in his own hands, like water. And if he opens his fingers then, he needn't hope to find himself again. Some men aren't capable of this, but I'd be loath to think your father one of them."

More: "That's very neat, but look now. If we lived in a state where virtue was profitable, common sense would make us saintly. But since we see that avarice, anger, pride, and stupidity commonly profit far beyond charity, modesty, justice, and thought, perhaps we must stand fast a little, even at the risk of being heroes."
Meg: "But in reason, haven't you done as much as God can reasonably want?"sobs
More: "Well, finally, it isn't a matter of reason. Finally, it's a matter of love."

More: "Death comes for us all, my lords. Yes, even for kings he comes."
Judge: "The death of kings is not in question, Sir Thomas."
More: "Nor mine, I trust, until I'm proven guilty."
Norfolk: "You life lies in your own hands, Thomas, as it always has!"
More: "Is that so, my lord? Then I'll keep a good grip on it."

Moore: "The world must construe according to its wits. This court must construe according to the Law."

Rich: "'Supposing there were an act of Parliament stating that I, Richard Rich, were to be King. Would not you, Master More, take me for King?'
'That I would' he said. 'For then you would be King.'...Then he said, 'But I will put you a higher case. How if there were an act of Parliament to say that God should not be God?" continues from truth into perjury

More: "Why, Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world. But for Wales?"

More: "My Lords, when I was practicing Law the custom was to ask the prisoner, before pronouncing sentence, if he had anything to say."

More: "I do none harm. I say none harm. I think none harm. And if this be not enough to keep a man alive, then, in good faith I long not to live. "

More: "I am commanded by the king to be brief. And since I am the King's obedient subject, brief I will be: I die His Majesty's good servant, but God's first."

More to executioner: "Be not afraid of your office. You send me to God."
Archbishop: "You are very sure of that, Sir Thomas?"
More: "He will not refuse one who is so blythe to go to Him." kneels, signs himself with the Cross, lays his neck on the block.

A Death Like This

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=5DpkNX2GxRw&NR=1
I want to die like this. Not in this manner, but with this confidence.

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=WMqReTJkjjg
And I this is why I am so rule-oriented. I know that I may seem very picky and obsessed with doing everything right and properly, but here's the reason.

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=cVsotWHtaks&NR=1 (first half)
And I for one think a Lutheran suitor like this quite appropriate.

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=4ocBx-0Rku4&feature=related
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=ccD8zAxXiJc&feature=related
I wish I could be so calm under pressure and quick on my feet...

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=VG7B_45Tjy0&feature=related
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=TZuc_fdMe64
...and so firm in my resolution

And I wish I had the movie here so that I could watch the whole thing!

ACHE

I hurt.

But it is a funny sort of hurt.

Always before, when I have had a workout, my whole body (or at least complementary muscles on both sides) have ached almost equally badly.

Not now.

Last night, my friend and I went to the first class of beginner's Fencing. It was really wonderful.
This morning I was surprised that I didn't ache at all and I expressed such to my friend who didn't either.

But as the day wore on, there crept an ache from neck downwards and stiffened to make walking, sitting, and rising rather painful.

I wouldn't even bother to blog about pain were it not that this pain is so unusual. For you see, it affects the right half of my body alone: the left suffers no ache. I hope this is not a portent of things to come.

It's really quite uncomfortable to hurt so terribly on only one side. It makes for an interesting climb up and down stairs.

Augustine or Wolfgang?

My art professor said this was St. Wolfgang Assisted by a Devil by Michael Pacher, from the St. Wolfgang altarpiece.
But Wikipedia says that it is St. Augustine rather than St. Wolfgang. I'm not sure. I do love the Saint's stern expression, though.

Credit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Michael_Pacher_004.jpg
and thanks to those who helped me find it.

Creativity or Luck?

Creativity = a fifteen minute walk with milk, peanut butter, jelly, oatmeal, yougurt, tea, cabbage, hamburger, syrup, and a dozen eggs in one's backpack at the end of which the milk is not spilt and the eggs are not broken.

(Or maybe it was just a coincidence that the eggs didn't crack)

Note to self: Cabbages are heavy!

Learning From Mistakes

Today has been a very educational day. And it's only half over! Imagine...

Allow me to share my new-found wisdom:

1. Never willingly sleep through your alarm if it is a Sunday morning and you have a long walk to church. You will eventually come to in a state of frantic panic in which you must dress, wash-up, eat, wrap in outdoor's garb and rush into the snow.

2. Don't assume that just because the big church door won't open when you tug on it that it is locked. Maybe you just have to jerk it really hard.

3. Never let the concerned nice seniors looking to "mother" you (or "father" you as the case may be) know that you have walked in the snow for thirty-five minutes if you have the least bit of desire to walk home. They won't let you and you'll have a spontaneous network set up to give you rides. Never mind that you need exercise - It's cold!

4. Never, ever sit close to the front of the sanctuary when you have never witnessed communion practice at that particular church before. Somehow, you will end up in the front of the line and will look stupid not knowing what to do. (In the same vein, decide beforehand how you are going to receive the elements, because if you put out your hand and open your mouth at the same time, um, more people than you will be confused. :P)

5. Don't let anyone know that you like to read if you don't want to be dragged to the library and encouraged to take out a book. And especially don't let anyone know that you enjoyed Pontius Pilate by Paul Meier if you don't want them to dig up other novels by the author for you to read.

6. Don't be caught between a half-deaf, ancient "Grandmother" (as they all call her) who wants to tell you about her life and the elderly gentleman who insists on taking you over to show you how to get hot chocolate and muffins. You just can't listen and talk to both at the same time.

7. Don't assume you know what to do with a Communion Card or that the Guest Book will be at the back of the church.

8. Wait a few moments before drinking your hot chocolate otherwise, you will have no skin left on the roof of your mouth.

9. But don't wait too long, or the nice gentleman will think you do not want it and will offer to go dump it out for you.


10. When two elderly gentlemen both take it upon themselves to find you a ride home, be sure to communicate clearly that you already have a ride to at least one of them, since you cannot ride home in two vehicles.

The Masked Man: A Poetic Draft

The Masked Man

There stands between each one of us,
At least, or so it seems,
A barrier, an armor strong,
To hide our hopes and dreams.

In steel or stone doth not consist,
Nor wooden shield nor clay,
Yet still it watches flesh and bone
Just as a sentry may.

This sentry-mask the will doth weave,
And skillfully apply,
As guard to bar the castle-keep
From each intruder eye.

When wrapped in this concealing cloak,
So natural appears,
That stranger ever fails to mark,
That shield at all he wears.

His form it molds and gracefully,
Though may at times stiff seem;
Yet oft it wearying will grow,
As shouldering a beam.

At length when all have left his side,
Relieved, he then will sigh.
The sentry-mask doth melt away
Then from his heart will cry.

Nay! Weeping is not all restrained,
By filmy guardian stout.
A tender smile, a hearty laugh
As easily could spring out.

A strong embrace, a heartening touch,
A word to lift the heart;
If but this gold doth lie in hold,
What need for sentry part?

What need? What need? The panicked Will
Puts hand, it seems, to sword.
Thrice vigilence sets 'fore the door:
Now dare to touch the hoard!

Why? What is there that cuts you so,
To 'vision your keep disclosed?
Would you display this rigid mask,
Instead of joys and woes?

This sturdy shield is fair enough,
But, Sir, it isn't you!
Do open up your golden store,
If only to a few.

Tis true not all you hide is fair,
For human yet you are.
But locked away 'twill sure decay,
In light is wrought repair.

This skulking cloak doth reek of fear,
Of what are you afraid?
It's loneliness your mask invites,
For solitude 'tis made.

The Will doth flinch: "Good Sir, tis true.
The solitude is hard.
But of unguarded treasure store,
Dare I now be the bard?

"A gift ill-used doth break the heart,
Of giver - there's the pain!
A cheer sincere when hearts are sore,
To them doth cause the same.

"What shall they think if open I,
My keep and deepest thought?
I'm then in danger of assault,
and vuln'rable be caught!

"Tis better keep my doors well barred,
The safe facade retain:
My body, words, my diplomats,
Who must not me betray."

Ah! Fearful Will, I pity Thee!
Wherefore dost lie in terror?
Look there -beyond your desperate try
To fortify in error.

See there is one who opened wide,
The keep of his own treasure.
His heart he gave, his words he sent:
To mock it was their pleasure.

Still in his love he did not hide,
Himself from hate and hurt.
The host swept in, his walls they razed;
His ravaged keep they burnt.

Yet from the wreck and flames engulfed,
He rose and raised again,
The towers and the turrets high;
His hold was filled again.

And from that treasure-keep doth give,
Full pardon for all lives,
And healing and security,
For those of these deprived.

His gates are never shut to us,
No distant mask he wears.
He ever doth speak his hearts-truth;
For man, sincerely cares.

None can his territory rob,
Nor land in conquest take.
His vassals fear no fire or sword,
No scarcity them shake.

For as they open wide their halls,
And spread abroad their wealth,
What has been lost, he fills again:
They need no mask or stealth.

Good Sir, you need no clinging mask;
Who shall your hurt employ?
Disclose the hidden face of yours,
That it may give us joy.

Your imperfections do but show,
The kindness of our Liege,
Who works through them and mends them all:
For that we would not grieve.

True, candor from your lips may wound,
But he who heals is nigh.
We're better off for tears he quench,
Than if our eyes were dry.

Mask, crack and no more crush the soul!
Oh sentry, now do flee!
I need you now no more because,
Another guardeth me.

Violating my Principles

Alas! I am breaking an unspoken contract. I was determined not to "sully" my blog with youtube, not that youtube would have a great effect on the quality of the blog. I guess I just didn't want it to be cluttered with other people's works. I wanted this to be a place for original stuff.

But I've already put other unoriginal works up, like poetry. So I might as well post this. I'd like to put the video on, but I don't have real-player which my sister tells me is necessary for such things. I can't resist, so here is the link: The Dragon

Ok, so maybe it's not worth getting worked up over. But I like the song even better with the pictures. If you choose to listen to it you absolutely MUST NOT listen to it without watching it!! The pictures are part of the reason I put it up. Some one very obviously put a lot of effort into finding these images and making them match the lyrics. I especially love the last two images before the lyrics end. They're awesome!

Just so no one is completely caught by surprise, this is a Michael Card song from his album treating the book of Revelation. As always, some of his songs I like very much, and others not at all. This is one of the liked ones. If you remember the dragon part of Revelation, you'll probably appreciate this. At any rate, here 'tis. This is a pretty lame post, so I hope that those of you who take the time to follow the link will enjoy it more than this.

Pity, Pity the Guys, Plus St. Augustine, Plus Beavertails

How would you like to live in the world's coldest capital and have your radiator explode in the night and your drains freeze?

Apparently, this is what happened to our boys last night. They came in to the main building, late, cold and a little grumpy. I hope they thawed sufficiently. :D

We had a three and 1/2 hour lecture/discussion in Philosophy today over St. Augustine's On Grace and Free Will. It was very interesting, but stretched my lazy mind.

After homework, one of the girls took me skating on the Canal and we bought and ate Beavertails. Think of a whole grain sort of non greasy, thick, narrow elephant ear covered in thick glaze (in my case, maple). Delicious, but potentially fattening.

First Resolution of the New Year

As I am notoriously inept at making and keeping New Year's resolutions, I've conived with myself and come up with a rather appealing variation of the same. Rather than various resolutions on a whim upon the New Year's Day (which, ahem, has already passed) I conceived of making a variety of resolutions to go into effect for the continuation of the New Year as of the day in which I make them.

So, now for the First Resolution of the New Year:

I, Eowyn Shieldmaiden (a.k.a. Dernhelm, etc) do hereby purpose, resolve, and determine, with due consideration, taking into account both the needs of my body and the demands of my study and fellowship, to obtain at least seven hours of sleep within every period of twenty-four hours commonly called one day, except in cases of dire need wherein to relinquish such relaxation and revitalization remains the only means of diverting certain catastrophe of academic or personal concerns, during the remainder of the Year of our Lord 2009.

With all due reverence to the Divine Power which determines such matters and due respect to the Weakness of Flesh which exerts it's will upon them also.

Philosophy Lying on the Ice: or a Post of No Consequence

Dusk deepens into night. Birds twitter softly in the quietly swaying trees which crack and shiver as the chill air grows icy. Along the wild horizon pale purple becomes blue blending to deep navy. A solitary planet lights the sky. In the deepening dark backdrop a few pin-points of light peep into visibility as though shy of intruding themselves on the inhabitants of the world; perhaps fearful of breaking their slumber, or maybe wary of the sun's rays, willing only to venture abroad when his head is hidden. In a few moments, the constellations will grow distinguishable. Three hazy specks: Orion uncloaks himself. An emerging blur of distant lights: Pleiades enters in full sisterhood. Though hidden by dense pines, the Dippers ladle up the night from within the strong arms of the Bears, Great and Small. At last, the darkness reaches a full contrast so that the arm of the Milky Way is revealed: A massive starry swath draped in folds across the immense expanse of infinity.

As if gaining confidence, each star shines more brightly in the gathered night and illumines the two mortal figures lying motionless upon the snow beneath them.They lie flat upon their backs, arms beneath and cradling their heads, gazing at the lights in the darkness and at the forlorn trees stripped of their leaves now covered and softened by the gloaming, heedless of the plummeting temperature or the melting snow seeping through their coats. Now they remain in silence, now in speech, muted and hushed as suggests the setting. An owl hoots quite near and they startle but snuggle down into the icy bed again, unwilling to break the moment.

Philosophers, they solve the great questions of the world in the light of the stars with solutions all their own. After a silence, one breaks forth, pondering;
"Why do we fear? Why?"
The other turns the matter over for a moment, considering it's angles and complexities. The prompt reply;
"Because the electric fence would hurt really bad."

It is too much to take in. Laughter rudely interrupts the quietude and ceases again. But even a bed of ice becomes burdensome after a while, no matter how pleasantly situated, and the philosophers drew themselves off and left the heavenly lights to blaze undisturbed.

Sing a Song of Sixpence

Actually, the title has nothing to do with the post. Well, almost nothing. :D

I hesitate to blog anything which relates to plans because if I do, the plans will most definitely change! Have you ever played Pin the Tail on the Donkey? Remember how they tied the blindfold around your eyes, then spun you around until you were disoriented, then pointed you in a direction completely different from your target? You swayed from side to side, trying to catch your balance. Arms out in front of you, you took one small tentative step forward, hoping to feel a bit of wall in front of you. Behind you, someone giggled. Someone cheered, "keep going! You're almost there!" Encouraged, you moved forward, reaching eagerly. Then you heard another whisper. "She's going in the wrong direction. She's going to walk into the other wall." Instantly, you halt, uncertain where to go next. From all around you advice inundates your ears:
"Right!"
"Turn left!"
"Straight forward - you've almost got it!"
"They're lying - turn around."
"No, no. Let her figure it out by herself!"
"Be quiet. We're helping her."
"No, you're not!"

You are unsure of everything but one fact: you are making a humongous fool of yourself and everybody is watching you do it.

Remember wearing the same blindfold a few minutes later as you swung a club in frustration at the pinata just beyond your reach. You knew it was there - within feet of your stick - but somehow you couldn't make contact with the silly wad of papermache! Newspaper and goo! The desire to smack that, that thing, surged through you as the frustration mounted. You searched the unvisible air for the pinata. Finally, the tip of bat encountered something hard and hollow. Winding up for your hardest stroke, your arms sliced through the air with all the force you could muster. But something was wrong. Where did it go? No! It was there, it was! Next instant you hear and feel a thud, and your dad yelps. Sorry. You turn and make another go at it, longing to the the crack of hardened newspaper splitting asunder, doubting whether you ever will. If only you could see!

Both of these scenarios have one very beneficial aspect in common: they're both games, playthings, diversions. You can end them whenever you want. How each turns out may affect a day, a week, perhaps even a month if your dad teases you about the bruise, but ultimately do not have a significant impact on the course of your life. There are more important things to living, and there will be more games.

I feel as though I am blindfolded with bat or tail between my fingers ... only to find that this is not a game.
I've been blindfolded and spun. Streams of instructions overwhelm my ears. I've pinned the donkey's tail to the ears instead of to the rump and now it's got to stick there. I've got a couple more tails, but they're a lot smaller. Someone gave me a club to swing, but I'm not sure where that blob of papermache got to. Canada? Michigan? I'm itching to smack it, but I've got to find it first.

And it's not a game. My future swings with the bat and sticks with the tail. Ouch!

I am, of course, speaking of college(s). What I look at is cost-effective nutrient-density. Most institutions charge a pretty sixpence. And it appears that pence of any amount are becoming more and more difficult to come by.

One thing for certain: I'm not going back to Hope. Dad's authority there. And there's no point: the Greek is gone, Nursing I can take here for less.

We've got some interesting developments on the horizon. Basically, two main tracks. I can go to Hillsdale for four years and come out at the end in debt with a degree in something really interesting that basically only equips me for grad school. Or I can go back to community college for two years to finish an RN and add another year at a co-operating school to achieve a BSN. Just two years to a well-paying job that is pretty secure even in economic decline. Three years to a bachelor's which would allow me to go to enter CTSFW's Deaconess Program, if God so wills.
I'm torn. Enter $. Quality four-year liberal arts colleges are expensive: that's just the way it is. Community colleges are much less. Hmmmm.
If Hillsdale now, I'll be out of sequence for freshman classes. If back to community college, I can't enter the Nursing program till fall. Either way, it can't hurt to postpone the final decision which will determine the course of the next three years till summer. (Or can it?)
But what about this coming semester? I don't want to do nothing. I need to be engaged in useful learning. For this, I have the same two institutions as options, plus a third. I may be headed to Canada.

Time is running out as I wait for pieces of the puzzle to fall into place. Yet, I'm excited too. Ok, so I'm a little scared as well. Mostly I'm just tired of uncertainty. Ah, well, this is life under the cross. At least we know that Christ is certain and will continue to be.

Merry Christmas everyone!

The Allegory of the Crucifix

The first few weeks at Hope College, I wore the crucifix everywhere - even to work out. Then, one day, I took it off. And couldn't find it. A few days later, I found and donned it again. But something strange kept happening. The tiny ring holding the cross to its chain began weakening, bending and slipping from off the chain. I kept repairing it. One evening (sometime in October), as I was preparing to take it off for the night, I noticed that the cross and corpus were no longer on the chain. I examined the floor. I traced my steps throughout the room and the bathroom. It could have fallen anywhere, and I had traveled the length and breadth of the campus in that day. It pricked me deeply to have lost it, not because I attached my faith to a piece of metal around my neck, but because it reminded me of Whose I am and what I am called and enabled to confess. The next week, I would reach up to touch it, to feel the contour and remind myself, only to remember that it was gone - perhaps forever. The thought that perhaps the likeness of our Savior might be lying in the mud on some campus pathway, trampled by the profane feet of the masses, made me ache. But I soon forgot it. It fled my mind as well as my body.

The very last week at Hope, while cleaning up the floor by my desk, I found the crucifix again. It was hidden by various debris and papers from my studies, homework and essays. The sight cheered me, yet caused me a sober moment as well. Thankful to have it returned to my keeping, it occured to me to possibly consider the treatment afforded the crucifix allegorically. It is not hard for me to see a rough parallel between the circumstances of the crucifix and the circumstances of my subjective certainty in the promises of Christ while at Hope.

I look forward to wearing my crucifix again and, God-willing, not losing it either physically or allegorically.

Of the Beloveds

The tide returns, washing over the beach as it has so many times before, caressing each grain of sand, carving gouges through antiquated deposits, leaving a new layer of sediment, changing the face of the shoreline...

The page turns; a chapter closes; the past is sealed and cannot be relived but in memory. And soon, no matter how vivid the memories be now, they too shall fade and be lost, drowned in the tides of time, unidentifiable amid the swirling silty waves.

Though Hope College has challenged and pressured me in many ways, I do not regret this semester. Though I shall soon - God willing - move on to another institution, I do not look upon the past months as wasted. The time spent here was God-given and the Master Craftsman's chisel was not idle upon my rough stone in this place.

I shall sincerely miss the blessings God has lavished upon me here. There are many here that I have come to love dearly over the course of the semester and they have become a part of me. To leave with the knowledge that I may never see them again will, I know, tear a piece of my heart from me, rend a leaf from the book of who I am. They have shaped me and how can I explain their unique personalities and what they mean to me to people who have not lived, laughed, wept, and brushed teeth with them as I have?

I have promised never to forget them. And I mean not to. But lest the image fade with time, losing color, texture, and sound till it become but a vague silhouette in some recess of my mind, I here take down a brief portrait sketch of the Beloveds of Hope; those who have filled the lonely void of family and friends with their love and care.


My room-mate, Reneé (I finally put the accent in correctly): Ah, what would life have been like without her? What will life be like without her? Without concern for each other's family, encouragement in study, understanding of each other's sleeping needs, random conversations across the dark space between the beds at 1am? What will I do when we cannot tease each other about how Reneé "takes out her eyes" every night? I will miss the laughter at my silliness, the way she drew me into her social life and surrounded me with friends, the Spanish she forced me to speak and helped me practice - the Spanish which spoke from her heart. Who will remind me in Spanish to "trust God" and "take one day at a time?" I am forever grateful for how she tried to understand me even when I broke down or couldn't explain everything. We are so much alike in a mind set that "I am right." Tonight, I will lie down and wait for the evening ritual but she will be much farther than five feet from me. She will not whisper in Spanish nor will I. Our nightly "Buenas noches" will be one sided from now on. How I will sleep without it I do not know.

Michelle: From the moment I met her she warmed my heart with her motherliness. Always the gentle teaser accusing us all of being "saucy," always ready for some silliness over the latest, be it important or just plain meaningless. My heart went out to her during her early room-mate troubles and I am glad now that she will take my place. But I ache to think that I shan't take part of her cheering presence.

Araksya: Oh, how I will miss her! She could match Snap for teasing - especially to Reneé . So gifted, yet so humble. Honest and frank is she with a piercing insight that surprised me many times as she guessed in a flash secrets I had hoped to keep hidden and simply told them to me as observations. Her way of describing the world refreshes my spirit.

Ziye, Xisen, Christina, Leonie: They have drawn me out and loosened my throat to laugh many times. They share with me both their unique personalities and tidbits of their culture. I'll never forget spending late night hours before an exam squeezing German cookie dough with all my might through a large frosting cone and tip in lieu of a cookie press. I have not words to describe their personalities accurately, but they each of them cared for me in a special way and I hope that I have in some small way returned that love.

Mikella and Rebecca: Oh, girls! How glad I was to be your partner for the research poster and presentation. Both of you brought your fun-loving attitude to the project, tempered with a serious, hard-working spirit.

My Lab Partners: I'll have to admit there were times when I was frustrated with both of them, but they cheered my heart, made me laugh, and I'm certain there was not a group in the lab that had as much fun as we three did.

Dan: From questioning theology on bus rides, to 7:30am prayer, to Bible Study he's been a friend I know I can rely on.

And Monday Night Bible Study group: You all have brought so much to my life. Though your worship and theology sometimes made me more than squirm, your child-like faith, trust, and hunger for God's Word encouraged me and challenged me to faithfully confess in a setting similar to those in which I had previously suffered and inflicted much confusion. I'll miss you all - testimonies included.

Jess: What a wonderful RD! The first to welcome me theologically and understand how important both orthodox doctrine and conservative worldview are to me. Theology Sister, she once called me. I'm so grateful that she made liturgical prayer available in the mornings. I needed both the fellowship and the rest in the Word of God. I'll miss her, her tea pot, and her dog.

The Phelps Scholars and my Hall in general: I love you guys! The community we created together was vibrant and supportive. Squeezing people around a table in the cafeteria, the life we shared, and the discussions we had stimulated my mind and afforded me the comfort of a virtual family.

My Professors
Dr. Green: Only he could have called us all the names he did and only provoke laughter in response. We took him seriously on some things, but at a certain point we knew the seriousness had vanished. I'll never forget hearing his voice shouting in the basement only to find a very pleasant conversation taking place when I turned the corner.

Dr. Brouwer: I thank God he was my advisor. He cared for me with a pastoral air, listened and advised without pressuring me. I'll forever think of him as a wise Teddy Bear.

Dr. Yelding: His perspective on many things was different and interesting. He saved our research project when the data seemed to be running amuck.

Profesor Moreau: To think that I wasn't even going to take an English class! I would have missed my (almost) all time favorite professor! Demanding but very human and caring, he made the two hours fly by and cranked the papers out of us before we ever knew we were working. Constructive criticism defined him. His wife's cookies and treats endeared the class and the professor to us even more. I'd write well just from knowing he'd receive the paper and that he believed in my writing capability.

Profesora Swain: She re-awakened the fire of Spanish in me (with the help of Reneé). She was a real teacher, instructing us with everything she had, forcing us to speak, using Spanish from the beginning of the class, giving us helpful tips and methods of remembering facts. She even investigated the differences between the words for "goat" just for me.

Professor Schmidt: I have to laugh whenever I think of her. She was more of a kid than we were. Always energetic and enthusiastic whether we were working out, or in lecture. When supervising the cardio and weight rooms she'd run up and down the stairs between the two, stopping to chat with each person or singing with the overhead music. I'd almost play sports just to have her as coach.

Dr. Richmond and College Chorus: I'm so very glad I took College Chorus even though it wasn't for credit. Dr. Richmond took us, no matter how inexperienced, and made us tick. He infused us with morale and by his very presence captured our attention and effort, focusing it to one goal. Somehow, he turned us into an vocal organism tuned entirely to the subtle motion of his hands and body. He also very deliberately explained the theological importance of certain song lines and insisted on proper "Queen's English" pronunciation.
I really grew to appreciate the warmth and friendliness that grew between the members of the Chorus as well.

My Community Placement: I enjoyed the interactions with the dear seniors there and I will miss the personal quirkiness of each one.

And finally, my dear, dear Orthodox Christian Fellowship:

Joanne: She's always been the quiet mover and organizer from the very first day. The shy, hungery one, eager to learn, warm and loving. I'd trust her with anything. Indeed she was the first person to know I was leaving Hope and she never breathed a word.

Alex: One of the non-othodox present from the beginning. Always quirky and theologically well read.

Andy: another non-orthodox friend of Alex. Quietly thinking lover of history. He always listens in silence, speaks with humility even though I'm sure he knows and thinks more than he says.

All the other students who passed through OCF on occasion: I'll miss their interesting questions, personalities, and input.

Christina: Ah, strong Othodox champion! She mothered me and I know that even if she dearly would like like me to convert to Orthodoxy, she always has open arms for me if I need to weep for a moment or just need to feel safe. She's challenged me to consider and weigh carefully history and dogma and I have taken her challenges seriously.

Father Steve: Perhaps I'll miss him most of all. A heart for his student learners and heart for the church and it's history. Not as eloquent as some, but what he had to say was always well worth listening too. Wrapped as much in kindness as in his black clerical garb, he explained theological implications of church history with an eye to his own Reformed origins as well as Orthodoxy. Gracious about my inattendance at Evening Prayer, he also used only Trinitarian prayer to close the Study portion of the evening. And the incense he lighted for Evening Prayer always brought images of Emmaus to my eyes as well as tears.

I'll miss the Othodox group and learning about Orthodoxy. Despite our disagreements, I felt ideologically safer and more relaxed with them than with the Evangelical Protestants.


I'll miss - strange as it sounds - the bathroom too. That's where most of the girls on my floor caught up on the doings of the day. I hope nobody where I am headed minds songs late at night in the shower. I'm so grateful my floor girls didn't. I'll always remember the shower head of my favorite stall that came apart and shot it's metal inside piece at me, spraying water every which way. And the Norovirus posters warning us to wash our hands. Ha!

I know I have forgotten someone somewhere. But I hope that these brief sketches will aid my memory in years to come. I would not forget the days I spent here. I must put them now to rest and pack up my possesions for the move tomorrow. Tonight I go to OCF one last time. Tomorrow I sign out and depart - perhaps for a life time, though I pray I shall be able to return to visit the friends I leave here.

Tomorrow, the tide retreats. Tomorrow the ink dries, the page turns.

What will this day be like? I wonder. What will my future be like? I wonder

This Morning

Soo... I've actually put on make-up by myself for the first time in my life. I don't think it turned out too badly, but I'm no judge of cosmetics.

We're filming for television this morning and performing Christmas Vespers all after noon. I'm actually supposed to be ready in 25 minutes. Ha!

I've just got to remember that I'm performing in a secular performance rendition of a Christian service. Somehow the poems and the crucifix don't match. I hadn't heard the poems until rehearsal last night. One made me cringe.

Got to go eat breakfast and fly out to the Chapel!

Two More Fortune Cookies

#1. "The fun side of a relationship begins to unfold."

#2. "The object of your desire comes closer."

hmmmmmmm. Declines to comment. Marvels at the ridiculousness of fortune cookies. Needs to work on ten-page-paper. Will leave. Going. Going. Gone.

Seven Random Things

Delving deep into the past here, readers....


1. My first school library book was a child's history of King Wenceslaus. I was terribly upset that his pagan brother murdered him.

2. My childhood heroine was Joan of Arc. She'd whip those nasty English! Oh, wait... I became forever disgusted with the French Dauphin for not rescuing her from the stake.

3. I liked to walk through the poultry barn at the county fair, as a child, crowing as loud as I could to the roosters. The hens would then cuckle, cuckle, cuckle, and the roosters would turn and stare at me out of one eye, puff their feathers, arch their backs and neck, slightly spread their tails and crow even louder. I'd crow back and set the chickens in an uproar.

4. My favorite movie for about a decade was the black and white "Martin Luther" film. I could quote it. I loved the part where Luther says something (to Katy) like, "Don't look at me like that! A man...under the Emperor's curse...is no man for you. We must find you another husband," and Katharina looks up and says meekly, "Yeth, Dr. Luther." The next scene, the priest pronounces them man and wife.
I also always laughed at the part where Erasmus explains why Luther cannot win his case; "First he has denied the authority of the Pope, and two, he has attacked the bellies of the monks: both very grave and unforgivable sins." :P

5. For the longest time (until I was about 8) I thought that the song Daddy sang while rocking me in the rocking chair was about breakfast cereal. "Swing low, sweet cheerios, comin' for to carry me home..." Somehow I could never figure out what the Jordan River had to do with toasted oats.

6. I've got to take a shower after exercising before I go to class. I'm weird that way. I don't mind being sweaty or filthy working out on the farm all day, but I feel disgusting mixing sweat with college classes.

7. I have no sense of timing in music - never have had. I can't clap a beat in syncrony with a room full of people. I can't read music - never have. You can definitely tell, too.

Well, that's seven. Can't wait for finals to be over!

O God, source of all abiding knowledge, through Word and Spirit You both enlighten the minds and sanctify the lives of those whom You draw to Your service. Look with favor on the seminaries and colleges of the Church, blessing those who teach and those who learn, that all the baptized may apply themselves with ready diligence to their tasks and faithfully fulfill their service according to Your will; through Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Lutheran Service Book, pg 306

An Open Hand

The eyes of all look to you, O Lord, and you give them their food in due season. You open your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing.

I had forgotten. It isn't the first time nor the last, I shouldn't wonder. But it was remembered for me and despite me and now I have been made to recall:

My Father controls all things. Yet that word, control, doesn't fully describe the way in which the Almighty works. Perhaps better to say "order." He orders all things according to His will. But contrary to what I once thought, that doesn't mean that God bends me to His will out of a sort of detached "knowing what's best for me" or that He moves me like a pawn on a chess board to be sacrificed in order to win the grand game. His good and gracious will is for my good! He does not devise ways to make me serve Him, but He serves me. How illogical is that? That God orders everything to serve and benefit man, to save me?

So if God orders all things, then nothing that passes in this life occurs "by chance." Each day, each breath, each seemingly insignificant chore, trek to classes, greeting, goodbye, homework assignment, the professor who seems to lay the axe to the neck - all are from the hand of God to serve me, to serve you. A thing which God gives, is, by definition, a 'gift' from Him. So not only life, but those people and events in life are gifts from God to me for my well-being.

To view my existence through this lens, changes my perspective dramatically. Things did not "just happen" in my life, but were meant to be. In this view, nothing is meaningless. Sitting here - typing when I should be sleeping - is not meaningless. I do not have to understand why an event happens for it to become purposeful. Nor does it have to embody a purpose of my own design. In Christ, nothing we do, nothing that happens to us is for naught, not because our actions are so weighty, but because Christ works in us and in our neighbor to accomplish His work (which is to serve and bless both us and our neighbor). In and of themselves my works profit me nothing. Christ's works profit me for salvation, justification, and righteousness. But Christ now takes my works which profit me nothing and joins them to Himself to profit my neighbor.

This had I forgotten.

When I look back at this last seven months, they don't look so worthless anymore. My actions aren't what gives worth to what has befallen. Every event, every decision made, every door closed with my fingers still in the frame, the friends, the frustration, the sickness, the professors, the acne, the assignments I relished, the homework I loathed, the arguments, the tears, the laughter, the exhaustion, even the simple fact that I dwell on the second floor of my hall, is a gift to me from my Father who opens His hand to satisfy my desire and my Brother who died for me and lives for me. For some reason, God ordered this past year in the way He did for me. Which is not to say that sin which took place over the past year was His will for me, but that even that frailty and disease of my flesh is evil which God promises to work out for good by Christ's death. Christ has redeemed me and nothing can befall me apart from His will.

God has worked through weakness and distress. He has brought me low so that I may exult in Him and not in myself. I find it ironic and hilarious that I am most at peace when I have not a clue what will happen and how things will turn out. I am given the most joy when all my best laid plans have been set aside and I can see no further than the next rise in the road. Then I must simply trust. Without vision, without plans of my own devising, with not a little apprehension - with no self-laid scheme - I fall back into the arms which were waiting all along to carry me. It is in being passive, receiving from God's hand what He gives, opening my mouth for Him to fill, that there is peace and rest. When I take to my own feet and search out a rest of my own making, a course of my own choosing to accomplish by my own strength, I find none.

His yoke is easy; his burden is light. But the one I put upon myself is not.

******************************************************

I know that my feelings are fickle and fleeting. Indeed they have rarely not proved treacherous. Yet, I dare to make an observation based on feeling and sensations of restlessness and peace.

Based on sensation, quitting [my current college] and, God-willing, heading to [a different one] is akin to returning from FOR YOU a year and a half ago.

When I left Ridgecrest I finally knew for certain that my sins were forgiven. I also knew for certain that I would not relinquish what I had learned that week from those pastors for the world. I understood that I would have to rebuild my worldview from scratch, would have to rigorously discard all preconceptions that didn't align with the new found orthodoxy. I realized that that would be painful - just how much, I didn't know. I knew it would mean confessing that I had spoken, argued, and professed wrongly for years. Facing my friends with a bran new worldview made my stomach quiver. Facing my parents made it somersault. I wasn't sure just where this whole "confessional Lutheran" thing would take me or just what I might end up disagreeing with my parents about. Until that moment, I had never staunchly disagreed with my parents ideologically. But suddenly it hit me very strongly that I might be obliged to. I felt like my life had been turned upside down, broken into tiny pieces by a giant sledge-hammer and suddenly put back together better than new, only in an unfamiliar pattern.

I had no concrete explanation to offer about what had happened to me or how. I had no clear plan of what I would do other than rejoice in forgiveness won by Christ and given me freely and pay the cost. Yet I had more joy than I have ever felt before and a peace and rest that the world had never given to me.

So now. I had planned Nursing since I was about twelve. It was part of my plan to do "great things for God." I basically did my own triage. The reasoning went like this, and it wasn't bad reasoning from a logical standpoint: The world needs the Gospel. People can't hear the Gospel if they can't understand it. Therefore Bible Translation is what is most needed. Therefore, since that is most important, I should work with Bible Translation. I like languages pretty well, so that should work out. I need to get a degree of some sort before joining a translation group. So what would I need on the mission field? Oh! Nursing! And if I end up having to stop being a translator, or if I need income, Nursing would find me a job pretty much anywhere. And if I get married and my husband dies and I have to support my children, Nursing is a good safety net. So I'll focus all my efforts now on getting a Nursing degree and then I'll decide what I want to really do. I figure I can start Nursing school at 16 and graduate at 18 and then I could go on to another college if I want to do "fun stuff."

Not a bad assessment for a twelve year old. As a result, I was going to do Nursing or perish in the attempt because it appeared to me to be "what God would want me to do." Though I loved History and Literature, I pushed those things out of my mind as possible areas of study because they didn't fit with my idea of God's plan for my life. But things didn't quite work out that way...

I pursued my course as planned with a few minor setbacks. Several factors intervened with the community college route and directed me toward a larger institution of higher education. After what seemed like endless search, we settled on [the college I am at now] because it was the only feasible option for both Classical Greek and Nursing. Unfortunately, Greek has vanished and other aspects of the institution have lost appeal. At the same time, I have come to the realization by way of much advising from mentors I trust that Nursing is not a Divine call for me. When I think of spending the next four years at my current school learning Nursing, I don't feel particularly excited or enthused. Science training at [my school] just doesn't give me a kick like History or some of the other liberal arts. While Nursing is an honorable profession which I may pursue in a shorter program later in life, I no longer see it as the road I must take or die.

Now I am standing at a fork in the road. The last year seems an exercise in facing shut doors. I guess the only door that has not definitively shut is the Nursing program at [my college], but I have a lurking suspicion that if I were thick-headed enough to insist on continuing my self-laid Nursing track that door would slam to as well.

I feel bewildered, yet strangely free and at peace. I don't have any plans for what to do with a major in History and Classics. I can't fully articulate concrete reasons for my transfer. But looking at what is unfolding before me, I know that God has an incredible sense of humor and He is giving me one of the great desires of my heart in the opportunity to pursue History and Classics at this particular place.

Nursing originally was my plan to please God. Strange how God doesn't really seem to have the same plans as I do.

I don't know what is ahead or what will happen in the next four years, but I'm excited. I've made no permanent plans and I can't wait to explore. God is satisfying the desire I had thought I shouldn't have.

So I have many things to be thankful for. Not least of all an overwhelming sense of relief to not be in charge of my life.

Happy Thanksgiving and Good Morning!

My Latest Fortune Cookie

These things are so much fun:

Your path is arduous but will be amply rewarding

I'm glad God is a little more clear in his prophecy than that.

Frightened by Wendy's

I won't bother to explain, but I found this as part of my homework.

"At Wendy's®, we're unrivaled in our passion for giving people what they want — and uncompromising in giving people what they deserve."

http://www.wendys.com/food/Menu.jsp

Aren't the implications slightly scary yet somewhat ironic and laughable? It occurred to me that perhaps a "passion for giving people what they want" and "giving people what they deserve" might be contradictory.

Closing Down

The Health Department has issued not a suggestion now, but an order: Campus must close till Tuesday Morning.

Can't say I've ever been more thankful for an epidemic.

A Campus Epidemic

All over campus students were missing from classes today. Slowly the news seeped out, grapvine borne. One student here, ill. Another student there, stricken. As the morning wore on we began to hear other news by word of mouth. A campus residence hall was, so the rumors murmured, quarintined.

By four o'clock, campus safety sent out a message, urging students to stay calm, avoid mixing if they felt ill, and come to the health center if unpleasant symptoms surfaced. The health center, so the message stated, was working with the county health department to make a diagnosis. Crates of bottled water waited in the lounge of every dorm so that the sick might remain hydrated.

As one gazed around the cafeteria, one was struck by the silence. Ordinarily full tables were now but sparsely occupied. Then they came. The grave-faced men handing out orange slips of paper to everyone in the dining hall, leaving others on tables for those who would come after.

ATTENTION, the slips demand, proceeding to explain that Norovirus is sweeping across the campus, leaving vomiting, nauseated students in its wake. All are to wash hands frequently to "minimize" the "risk of becoming ill." The issuer of this orange bulletin? [----] County Health Department.

It's convenient that this weekend is Parents Weekend. :p

Why Do the Nations Rage?

The man has been appointed to the office. We respect the office. As the scribes and Pharisees who taught from Moses seat were to be obeyed, as Caesar was to be honored, so too are we to respect, honor and obey the President of the United States. We are to pray for him both as a fellow creature and as the governing authority. I sincerely say, "God bless Barack Obama."

Remember, however, the blessing for the Czar. I shudder to think of the human beings who may never see the light of day because their government did not defend them. My shoulders slump when I think of the hours, the days, the years of sacrifice and striving to build hedges around the unborn which may be undone by the one who should protect them.

All around me the campus has erupted in hair-raising, spine-tingling chanting, and screams of delight.

O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma! O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA!........

The antiphon swells to incredible force and the building shakes. Windows everywhere quiver and rattle. I can hear the refrain carrying and spreading across campus. It seems as if the city itself is shouting. The cacaphony persists for ten to fifteen minutes and then subsides as the animated students go their separate ways pursuing homework, bunk or party. Every now and then the laughter, cries and chanting breaks forth again.

I thank God that I was not in Paris for any of the student revolts of bygone days. Merely finding myself surrounded by passionate, vocal students gathering to support a cause terrifies me. I am thankful for the "Christian" nature of this campus - otherwise I might have good reason to be frightened. Young people have an incredible tendency in their naiveness to be swayed and when moved by a common theme resemble an avalanche or a lava floe. Their impetus is irresistible.

But not forever. God thwarts all might of men with a breath. Though we may see throughout this world of sin and death events that seem to be a roadblock set before God's good and gracious will, God's will will not be deterred.

Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth take their stand and rulers gather together against the Lord and against His Anointed One.
"Let us break their chains," they say, "and throw off their fetters."
The One enthroned in heaven laughs, the Lord scoffs at them.
Then He rebukes them in His anger, and terrifies them in His wrath,
saying, "I have installed my king on Zion my holy hill."
I will proclaim the decree of the Lord: He said to me, "You are my Son. Today I have begotten you. Ask of me and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession. You will rule them with an iron scepter; you will dash them to pieces like pottery."

Therefore you kings, be wise; be warned you rulers of the earth.
Serve the Lord with fear and rejoice with trembling.
Kiss the Son lest He be angry and you be destroyed in your way,
For His wrath can flair up in a moment.
Blessed are all who take refuge in Him.

We Christians are those who take refuge in Him for He has taken us into His refuge and covered us with His feathers. No matter what the coming years may bring from fire, sword, lightning, tempest, sedition, rebellion, sin, error, evil, it shall not harm God's children. It may touch our bodies and lives and those we love, but it shall not wrench us from the hand of God who cares for us as for Himself. What scars we have and shall receive emotionally and physically Christ has taken upon Himself and born for us.

I am not by this post indicating that President Obama is a devil or is horrible person (though as a sinners all are horrible people apart from Christ's Gospel) neither do I consider Senator McCain a savior or model of perfection by any stretch of imagination. But I do take comfort that God governs the affairs of men. I rejoice that as the Proverb writer somewhere declares, the hearts of kings are in the hands of God and He directs them as a watercourse whither He chooses.

May God have mercy on our land and strengthen and protect our President in every good work. Where he sets his hand against the commands of God, may our Lord restrain him, turn him to righteousness, and perfect his ways. May the grace of God enable him to govern with competence and faithful fatherhood the people of this country. And may God bestow on us his grace to esteem and support the leader placed into office as he carries out that office according to God's will.