Showing posts with label calling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label calling. Show all posts

Friday, January 14, 2011

Seeking the King

I am getting very drawn into this story, particularly what will happen with the Highland Seer Virginia, and the Darkworld priestess Rehtse.


Imminent danger is suddenly and surprisingly gone, and the two girls just climbed up a hill after tumbling down a rocky slope.  In what felt like one of Tolkien's little eucatastrophies, the unexpected escape was followed by laughter.

The world is silent but for the wind and trees, alive and sleepy and peaceful.  The next stage of their journey to find the King beckons.

They have no map.  One is blind, the other has lived below ground all her life. 

~

Virginia cleared her throat. "Rehtse?  Are we lost?"

"Shh," Rehtse said. "I am waiting."

A moment later, Rehtse lowered her hands, gathered her skirts in one hand, and tucked her other hand into Virginia's elbow. "Come," she said.

"Do you know where we are?" Virginia asked.

"No," Rehtse answered. 

"Did the King answer you?" Virginia asked.

Rehtse hesitated. "Not - that I could hear."

"Then where are we going?" Virginia asked.

Rehtse smiled. "All paths in this world belong to the King.  If he can use the Blackness to deliver us from wicked men, then he can turn even wrong steps into right ones.  We are seeking him, so we will trust the road to lead us to him.  But he cannot guide us if we don't move."

by Rachel Starr Thomson

~
Find the book at Amazon here, or visit the series website, WorldsUnseen.com. No, Rachel's not paying me to talk about her book. I just think it's that amazing.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Andrew Peterson's "Counting Stars"

This came in the mail today.


Walked outside into the evening air to check, because I've been waiting long... and there it was, in crisp manila packaging, waiting behind the other envelopes.  For Rael.  From the Rabbit Room. CD-shaped.

And I jumped up and down like a kid at Christmas in front of our mailbox. And carried my treasure into the house, and let it sit in its cellophane packaging, and did some other stuff. Almost afraid of the first listen, because there can only ever be one.
 
Finally I did listen, headphones on and lyrics before me, to take in the stories and songs Andy had to tell.

Well told. Beautifully, sorrowfully, full of love and children and ache. Darkness that we cannot shake. Hope that lives on in the night. Stars shining forever beyond Sauron's reach.
 
Andrew Peterson's done it again. How does he keep writing this stuff that gets better and better? 

I beseech thee, good reader, if you have any love for acoustic and intimate songs that whisper of God through the beauties and sorrows, songs of this world where God waits just around the corner and watches from the blackest sky, ready to hold you up when you've almost forgotten hope - do give this a listen

And then another. 

And another.

Because Andy's music is like that. There can only be one first listen, yes, but like any good story, every song is better with each telling. There's always more to those words than can be caught right off. Listen long enough, and they start to soak into your soul's skin and tell you stuff.

May the telling go on and on until the stars we count with Abraham become breathing things we hold.  

Until faith is sight. 

Until the waiting is over and the Reckoning done.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Aslan song

Good song I just listened to on Pandora Radio! Hope it encourages someone as it did me. :-)


Aslan

-Kendall Payne-

Don't stop your crying on my account
A frightening lion, no doubt
He's not safe, no he's not safe
Are you tempted now to run away?
The King above all Kings is coming down

But He won't say the words you wish that he would
Oh, he don't do the deeds you know that He could
He won't think the thoughts you think He should
But He is good, He is good

I know you're thirsty, the water is free
But I should warn you, it costs everything
Well, He's not fair, no He's not fair
When He fixes what's beyond repair
And graces everyone that don't deserve

No one knows Him whom eyes never seen
No, I don't know Him but He knows me
He knows me, He knows me

Lay down your layers, shed off your skin
But without His incision, you can't enter in
He cuts deep, yeah He cuts deep
When the risk is great and the talk is cheap
But never leaves a wounded one behind

Monday, December 08, 2008

What Am I Up To?


Isn't this a painting by John Everett Millais lovely? I personally love seeing autumn leaves on the ground. I don't get tired of them until, oh, maybe February or March.

For those of you who might be new to my blog (dare I hope I might be attracting new readers, with my pitiful irregularity of postings?), and just 'cause for others, I thought I'd do an update on what I'm doing with my life these days.

I consider my main job to be helping my wonderful mom, artist and homemaker, who is single and teaches Latin at a small Classical Christian school. She's done more than her share of housework raising and teaching me and my five brothers over the years. Now I'm glad to be able to help out with the endless dishes, laundry, cleaning, cooking, errands, and keeping house for her and my three brothers still at home. With two brothers still not driving, I also get to take them to school, work, and church and sports stuff. I have so many hats which I'm still learning to juggle, and sometimes it turns into a humerous mess! But what better practice for being a patient wife and mother of a big family someday! ;)

As to cleaning, I should mention I don't do this nearly as much as I should - mainly enough to keep things in somewhat decent order. So I'm not in too much danger of being like Mrs. Joe (see previous post) just yet, except in attitude, as when I just cleaned the bathroom mirror to find it covered with with water splatters! Tell me, reader, if you have ever cleaned a bathroom mirror or metallic faucet, do you not sigh just a little to see the shine covered with spots?

Once a week I help out with a Bible memorization program for kids at our church, called AWANA, and have enjoyed getting to know my group of third-grade girls this year. After the Christmas break, I'll be helping with a Good News Club, which involves sharing the gospel, Bible stories, missionary stories, and songs at a public school after classes once a week. I'm excited about that!

Aside from reading and writing, I've been doing all sorts of fun and crazy things, like learning how to make a kilt when my bagpiping brother needed one (those things are tricky to make, but so expensive to buy!), sewing tea cozies, making my family cheesecake just because, and helping my youngest brother compose a limerick about Spam for his teacher. :-)

I never know what I'll be called on to do next with such an artistic mother and creative, off-the-path brothers!

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Remembering His Benefits


Bless the Lord, O my soul;
And all that is within me, bless His holy name.

Bless the Lord, O my soul,

And forget none of His benefits;

~Psalm 103:1,2~


Way back when I was a smallish child of six, I wrote my first journal entry.







Translation: “One day, me, Sam, and Mama went to a wedding.”

It was my first wedding to attend, and I was duly impressed (both with the ceremony and, of course, the cake and punch afterwards!) so I apparently thought it an event deserving of record. This morning I got out that first old journal to read, laugh over, and remember. I might share some especially funny entries later, if anyone would like to see them. :-)

I’ve been thinking – for all my years of journaling (my spelling and handwriting have improved just a little, and perhaps I'm more wordy now), how often have I deliberately written careful letters and thoughts for future generations? Am I actively seeking to record God’s providences in my life? Am I keeping a record of my life story to pass on to my children so they can see that God’s faithfulness? And am I seeking to always remember, myself?

I can look at that first journal entry now and be grateful for so much. Attending that wedding was one of many opportunities my mother took to teach me that marriage is wonderful and serious, a promise before God meant to last a lifetime. I’m sure I wore a dress, and I can be thankful that I was always provided with only modest clothes, no matter how young I was. I was six, and that made me remember that I’d already learned to read and started to write (some might look at my scribbling and phonetically-correct spelling and disagree!), and the “One day” beginning showed my early love of stories.

I’ve been reminded again just how surely thankfulness cures misery, boredom, and plain old grumpiness. Not saying a vague and hurried, “Thanks, God, for everything… now, make everything better, please.” Um, nope. Not that I would know that doesn’t work from experience. *cough*

Of course we can be brief in our prayers, and of course when we don’t know specifics of something, God does. But I think He likes us to be specific when we can. And it’s so good for us! I find this in the (to often procrastinated) joy of writing thank-you notes. To write them, to speak of specific things people have done for me, is to remember my blessings and how special people are to me.

And thanking the Lord, especially recording those blessings, is a great way to glorify and delight in Him.

Here, the shepherd-poet David remembers God’s benefits to him:

Who pardons all your iniquities;
Who heals all your diseases;
Who redeems your life from the pit;
Who crowns you with lovingkindess and compassion;
Who satisfies your years with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.
~Psalm 103:3-5~

A truly thankful heart is a delight, because it focuses on what we’ve already been given, on remembering, on pondering God’s faithfulness. Even if it’s only through the clumsy scribbles of a child, our Father is glorified. And though we’re only on earth for part the Great Story, even our frail hands can help in the telling.

(Image: Frodo writing in the Red Book, from The Return of the King)

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Thoughts on Coming Home


As I mentioned before in teeny tiny letters, I have officially graduated from college with a B.A. in English. Yay! :-)

How does it feel? Well, I'm thrilled! Ecstatic. Thankfully relieved. And terribly nervous, in a mostly good sort of way.

Ever since I was little I have wanted to follow in my dear mother's footsteps and be a homemaker. Over the years this desire has grown. Many of the decisions I have made, and hopefully many more to follow, have been practical ways of preparing for my future calling. Choosing English as a major, which is a useful area of study for anyone, any time or position in life, and not simply a degree only justified by a following career. Attending a university only 2 and 1/2 hours away from home, so I could visit frequently. Living with a close-knit, God-centered homeschooling family for my last three semesters who gave me unending encouragement, ideas, delight, and vision. Only taking small part-time summer jobs to leave room for time with family, at home or abroad. And finally, despite many confident assertions from professors that I was "graduate school material," returning home to live with and serve my mother and brothers.

I think it will be the best way to prepare for what I'll likely be doing the rest of my life once I get married (being a helpmeet and mother), but even if that never happens, I believe it will be the most sensible and fulfilling and God-honoring place for me to be.

It's going to be an adventure quite unlike my last big quest for a college diploma. Actually, it might be very similar to my old days of homeschooling! Here are some similarities:
  1. I'll be home a lot, working on self-motivation for lifelong learning.
  2. I'll have lots of chances to waste time, or redeem it amazingly.
  3. I'll be able to spend more time with my family and friends, to more freely serve the Church and the needy.
A big difference between now and my "official" homeschool days: I am done with Saxon Math! Um, that is until I have my own kids... hopefully they can get assistance from their father or a math-minded uncle. ;)

Another difference will be the new responsibilities I want to take on seriously (cooking), new habits to form (regular hours of writing each day*), and the challenge of sticking to my own schedule while still being flexible to allow for the bending wind-breath of the Still Small Voice. . .


Tomorrow will be the first day my family goes back to school, and my first official day of not being in school or working. Oh, wait, I shall be working! My job will begin around 5:15, because three days a week, Whit has basketball practice at 6:30 A.M.! I shall try to feed him, but he knows it won't be wise to eat much before a tough workout. Then I have the rest of my day divided up... I might post tomorrow on what my plan's specifics, and how things turn out. :-)

If anyone has advice, thoughts, or words of wisdom, I would more than welcome it!

*Because of course I still intend to write books. Long ones, and many, muhahahah! ;-)

Friday, July 13, 2007

Drawing from a lad



This was a gift from one of the three boys in the younger group of kids at the art camp. I was told the figure on the left is him, the larger face in the middle is me, and I think the wonderful lips floating on the right would have made Larry the Cucumber happy.

Little Diego... Didn't he do an amazing job of writing his name perfectly backwards? He was probably about seven years old, and just made my heart want to melt. Always had something to tell me, with the wide eyes of one who craves attention. The two other little boys were cute and hilarious, but I was drawn to Diego. He had a bit of a stutter, so sometimes his narrations dragged on. I loved them.

One day he had a bad case of asthma and couldn't come to art camp. I used to have trouble with asthma too. Again, my heart went out to him.

Sometimes I wonder why God gave me so much experience with brothers (all five of them dear and different). Am I going to end up with a clan of wonderfully wild lads of my own? Or will I be called to mother some young fellow who's own can't. Long ago I thought I might work at an missionary orphanage. I keep forgetting that longing, and it keeps sneaking back. The Middle East, China, and Europe especially seem to whisper.

I tend to either jump at or completely ignore my visions. I must learn patience! I don't know why the Lord seems to keep suggesting this area of ministry, but that's okay. Maybe I'll end up as a missionary's wife. Maybe I'm simply called to support missionaries from afar. Maybe some day He'll show and lead me to do something daring, like Amy Carmichael's mission to Indian girls, or maybe He wants me to open my eyes to the needy here, to the suffering families on my block, in my church.

Where is He calling me? May I never deafen my heart to His whisper, and season radical compassion with godly discernment.

Diego didn't come today, the last morning of art camp. I missed him. The hole his absence left reminds me to lift him to the Father, who knows and loves boys so much more than I.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Amazing Grace


W
hen my mom, two youngest brothers, and I arrived, we saw the theater wasn’t exactly a happenin’ place at 3:30 on a Thursday afternoon. There may have been six more folks besides us at the showing. But what a joyful experience was had by we happy few! When we walked out the doors and out into the bright sunshine, I felt none of the sadness at going back to real life that I often feel on emerging from those caves of visions. This vision was not a couple-hour’s escape to Neverland. It was a window wiped clear for me to see bravery and compassion lived out by a real man through Christ’s power.

John Newton, Wilberforce's old pastor and mentor, encouraging him to "Do it, for God's sake. (Image from www.rottentomatoes.com)

The film centers on William Wilberforce, one of those great Christians from the past whose stories need to be told to our cynical world. It shows his long fight to abolish slavery, his moments of despair, his struggle with bad health, his faithful friends, numerous pets, and a wife who supports him and his work wholeheartedly. For a great summary and review, see Plugged-In Online. I generally agree with their conclusions, and I think they hit this spot on.

It was good. Aesthetically, an authentic, well-made, historical drama. And more. It was not unpleasantly preachy, but gloriously visionary. It’s about a humble hero, who also happens to have lived in real life. It has the same feel to me as Chariots of Fire, or Luther. It makes me want to do good for Christ for the beauty of it, to live out my talents and abilities for His pleasure. And to do it despite what anyone else may think.

Wilberforce playing with his son, little William, and one of their animal friends.
(image from www.ioanonline.com)

The film was not all dreary! There were some delightfully humerous moments, such as when a married couple who are Wilberforce’s good friends conspire to “happen” to run into a young lady who is, like himself, “very much un-married.” His butler is also a delightful chap, even though he thinks his master is a bit odd. And the animals he keeps about the house provide subject matter for a few amusing remarks. We see an unexpected game of— But if I told you, it wouldn’t be anymore. ;)

Going to see this film is NOT a waste of time, money, or attention. Again, I proclaim it is good. The colors, the costumes, the acting, the story, the heroes are fascinating. Alive. They will draw you in from the first scene of a British country road in the rain, and a man acting who cares about life. What he does in the first scene seems small. But like the rest of the film, it shows his active compassion, regardless of personal health and reputation.

Wilberforce is the sort of fellow who is the best of heroes. We need more of them in movies. And we need to be them here, now.

(image from www.ioanonline.com)


Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Sister's keeper

"Younger girls tend to look up to the older ones as perfect role models—and though none of us are perfect, we need to remember to try to emulate Christ in everything we do, so that we can be a good "big sister." So please, be always ready to give advice or a comforting word to a younger "sister." For in actuality, we are all sisters in Christ... And we have the Biblical instruction in Titus 2:4 to the older women to train the younger women."

~Jennifer L. Straw, from an article at YLCF~

This is something I've been thinking about quite a lot lately. Maybe because I'm living with a family that has two girls (ages ten and six) and I finally feel a bit what it's like to have younger sisters. When Sierra sprawls on my bed to read books I bring her, when Samantha wants to drink tea from my teapot and starts liking skirts, I realize- I am being watched! It's both a burden and joy. I want to be extra careful of that my behavior is God-honoring and not leading His precious little ones astray. But I also remember the older girls who influenced me in sweet, steady humility as I was growing up, and I thrill at the big-sistering adventure the Lord has laid before me. And once I'm done with college, I hope to continue walking with whatever younger girl the Lord sets in my path.

Lion calling

“I love an Untamed Lion, He’s calling me to come

My cold heart, how it hesitates, I want to turn and run

His power is dangerous, His power is endless love”

~Michelle Tumes~

(Image from wallpaper on NarniaStory.com)


It is often surprising to look back through your life and see what kinds of things really affected you. Sometimes it is big events, but often it is a collection of small moments that can have the most impact on what we think and do.
In my life, I have been changed by a series of books called The Chronicles of Narnia, or more specifically, by a character in them, a lion named Aslan.

I was probably about eight years old when I got my first taste of Narnia, playing at my friend Sarah’s house. Remember the carefree days when you could just go play at a friend’s house for half a day, with nothing planned and nothing bigger to worry about than annoying brothers who came too? Anyway, Sarah and I had wandered inside from the swings, munching on huge pieces of homemade mint-chocolate candy (oh, that was soooo good!) and we decided to watch one of their library movies. Now none of us ever really watched TV, and movies were a big deal, so of course when Sarah’s brother and sister and my three brothers got wind of our plan, they all had to come and help us decide what to watch. I think the choice was between a girl movie like Anne of Green Gables, probably what Sarah and I would have chosen if left to ourselves, and a movie I had never heard of before called The Silver Chair. Sarah’s older brother, Aaron, tried to describe it. “It’s really neat! Two kids go to another world, and there are giants and dragons and they go underground and there are all these weird earthmen, and it’s great!” Sarah, on the other hand, kept reminding him of how scary it was and assuring us that we wouldn’t like it. But they let us decide because we were the guests. Needless to say, my brothers have never been daunted by the word “scary.” “Girly,” yes, but “scary” never! I was also curious to see something new, so when the vote came out in favor of The Silver Chair, Sarah and I stuck around to watch it, even though our movie had been taken over.

On one hand I was hooked. Any story about two children who get into another world just in time to escape school bullies is interesting, but that was just the beginning. It was a whole new and exciting world, but with many elements of the fairy tales that I loved. There were castles and giants, talking animals and dwarves, and an evil witch who stole away a prince and kept him under her spell. Pretty basic fairy-tale ingredients so far. Nevertheless, it was somehow more serious, more real, you might say, than any fairy tale I knew of. Perhaps most captivating was Aslan, the great talking lion who brought the children into Narnia, the other world, and gave them the task of finding the lost prince.


As I was saying, on one hand I thought it was quite interesting. On the other hand, I must say I did not fall in love with Narnia when I saw the movie. For one thing, it was made by BBC, whose movies tend to be low budget. It seems to me that, for some kinds of movies, the special effects or lack thereof don’t matter that much, but when it’s obvious that talking animals are people in suits and that a flying owl (person in a suit) is not really flying, it’s a bit disappointing. (That’s why I’m so excited that now they are planning to make the whole series into movies. I think the recent Lord of the Rings movies are wonderful examples of successfully taking a fantasy story from a book and making it believable on screen with the help of technology and computer graphics.) Still, when I was about eight that sort of thing didn’t bother me that much. Perhaps what made me not love it right off was the fact that, not only was the Silver Chair in the middle of the series and therefore confusing, but it was also the most dreary and depressing story, even though it has a good ending.

To get back to the story, we finished the movie and, despite what I have just said, we thought it was interesting. The Grubens told us it was part of a series of books that we should read, the first one having the funny name of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Later we went home, and that night I had an experience that implanted itself in my memory like few other things ever have.

Before I go on, let me explain a crucial scene of the Silver Chair. The two children and their Narnian friend, a creature named Puddleglum, travele for weeks over bad terrain, through miserable weather, and across dangerous lands on their search for the lost prince. The Lion, Aslan, had given Jill signs to memorize that would tell them the way to go, but gradually she ceases to repeat them. Finally she almost forgets them completely, because she’s so anxious to get somewhere warm with good food and a hot bath. Against Puddleglum’s better judgement they eventually seek lodging in the castle of some seemingly friendly giants. Everything seems fine until that night.

And then came the deadest hour of the night and nothing stirred but mice in the house of the giants. At that hour there came to Jill a dream. It seemed to her that she awoke in the same room and saw the fire, sunk low and red, and in the firelight the great wooden horse [a toy horse to giants, but huge to Jill]. And the horse came of its own will, rolling on its wheels across the carpet, and stood at her head. And now it was no longer a horse, but a lion as big as the horse. And then it was not a toy lion, but a real lion. The Real Lion, just as she had seen him on the mountain beyond the world’s end. And a smell of all sweet-smelling things there are, filled the room. But there was some trouble in Jill’s mind, though she could not think what it was, and the tears streamed down her face and wet the pillow. The Lion told her to repeat the Signs, and she found that she had forgotten them all. At that, a great horror came over her. (C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair)


Then the Lion shows her the next thing they should have been looking for and in the morning they get back to their quest. But the point I want to make is that this scene stood out to me, and we’ll see why.

At home that night, I couldn’t really get to sleep for a long time. I drifted in and out of wakefulness; it was one of those times when dreams feel just as real when you are awake as when you are asleep. I had my own room, and I was alone. Or, maybe not so alone. The Lion was there, and He would not leave. I would open my eyes and look at the light in the hallway, and He didn’t go away. Then I would scrunch my eyes shut and burrow my face in my pillow. That was worse. I saw Him then even clearer, with that huge mane and those deep golden eyes that looked and knew me. It was terrible. I would call it a nightmare, because I was so miserable, but still I knew that He wasn’t bad. So what was the problem? I don’t know that I can explain it, but He wanted something from me. I felt a bit like Jill. I was afraid, and I may have cried, but I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong. What was it He said to me? It’s funny how we remember emotions and feelings longer and easier than we remember words. But now that I think about it, I do remember, at least a little. He was probing, seeking, calling me: “What about you, Rael?” It was frightening, because then I knew that he was more that a character in a story. He was real and he would not be ignored, but I didn’t know whom in this world He was yet. Somehow I eventually got to sleep.

That was definitely not the end, though time passed and Narnia slipped to the back of our minds. Then one Christmas we found The Chronicles of Narnia in our stockings, and soon they became our favorite books. We still have that set, but it is falling apart. When I first read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, I finally realized who this mysterious Lion was. He gives his life sacrificially to save a traitor, and then shows His power over death by coming back to life. Sound familiar? I was so excited when I found out that I already knew Aslan, only by a different name. At the end of one of the books, when he tells two children they will never come back to Narnia, they express what is so special about being in Narnia, whether there in the flesh or only in imagination.

“It isn’t Narnia, you know,” sobbed Lucy. It’s you. We shan’t meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?”

“But you shall meet me, dear one,” said Aslan.

“Are ---are you there too, Sir?” said Edmund

“I am,” said Aslan. “But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.” (C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader)

And that is the very reason I have been so deeply impacted by a children’s fantasy series. By learning to love and know Aslan more in Narnia, I love and know Him in this world by another name so much more than I did before. One thing that I’ve learned about him is that He calls and teaches His children. Now I believe He was showing me that night that He would not be ignored or forgotten. When I am doing something I shouldn’t or forgetting to do something I should, He will let me suffer the consequences, because He loves me and wants me to grow, even if it hurts at first. As Mr. Beaver says about Him to the children, “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.” I am learning that He is the one who I can fear and love at the same time.

I could go on about all the many other things I have learned from Aslan, but I will not. First, it would take a long time, and second, it would leave less for you to find out on your own. This is only my story, after all. If you want to attempt to read The Chronicles of Narnia and remain unchanged, go ahead and try. I’m about ready to read them again!

Addendum: I wrote this in my first semester of college, about four years ago. Now, in my next to last semester, I actually am reading the Chronicles again, this time for a C.S. Lewis class! It’s been a pleasure, and if I have time I’d love to post insights and quotes gained this time around. My teacher, Dr Tony Ash, is wonderful. Like Lewis, he’s rather balding, though usually he wears oddly-patterned sweaters instead of shabby suits. I was anxious at first, because having a horrid professor teach one of my favorite authors would have been misery. I needn’t have feared, for he is quite the authentic Lewis enthusiast. Wise, patient, twinkle-eyed, he reads us quotes till my delighted heart laughs for joy and sighs in longing. Again, I am being drawn near the Lion. And as I have grown, I find Him still bigger.

“I love an Untame Lion, His music fills my dreams

I’m filled with longing for a place, a place I’ve never seen

He’s calling, I want Him so, He’s calling, I can’t let go”

~Michelle Tumes~