My unedited thoughts on my night.

Tonight I sat in a room designated for prayer with five of the outgoing HNGR interns. They have another 10 days or so on Wheaton's campus. Then they go home and then they will get on planes alone and go to other continents. They'll meet people and love people and feel lonely and miss Wheaton and home so much it hurts. They'll see things they couldn't imagine and won't know how to explain to people who haven't. They'll see sides of God they wouldn't have gotten to see otherwise. They'll laugh and grow and get proficient in another language and shower way less than they would have ever been okay with here. They will be surprised by how normal they feel at some points and terrified by the changes they sense in themselves at others.

I had nothing to do for the hour we were together but talk to God, which was the assignment for the evening. Mostly lately I've been talking to Him about myself. They've been really good conversations. But tonight when I started doing that, He was pretty clear there were other things for me to talk to Him about. Namely, those five people.

How do you pray for people? Really, I mean it- you, a person, not "you" like the world. How do YOU pray for people? What does that even mean? How do you know if you're doing it right? I felt like I was, tonight. I really mean "felt". I kept thinking that I wasn't, because- how do you know if you're doing it right?? But what I felt, was like I wasn't doing much of anything besides sitting with Jesus as we both gazed at each of them in turn (hope they didn't notice), and I, well, tried to think His thoughts about them. And it felt as right as any way of praying does.

I spent ten minutes on each, because we had about an hour. One of them I prayed absolutely not a word for. Oh, I prayed for him, earnestly and with joy, but don't ask me what. I have no idea. God knows. I prayed for one and just smiled at who God made him to be. That was mostly my prayer, being glad he is who he is, and asking that he becomes even more of it. I prayed for one and had situations to pray over. I prayed for what I imagined I saw in the lines of her face as she journaled a few seats away. I prayed for one and I had a LOT of words. I don't know where they came from but I asked God for a lot of very specific things about her next six months. And one I was just starting to pray for when she came over and quietly asked if she could sit with me. I got to hold her. It is easier to pray for someone when you are holding them.

That was my night.

bless the day this restoration is complete.

"Much-Afraid," said the Shepherd again,
"tell Me, what is the matter. Why were you so fearful?"

"It is the way You have chosen for me to go," she whispered.
"It looks so dreadful, Shepherd, so impossible. I turn giddy and faint whenever I look at it. The roes and hinds can go there, but they are not limping, crippled, or cowardly like me."

"But, Much-Afraid, what did I promise you in the Valley of Humiliation?" asked the Shepherd with a smile.

Much-Afraid looked startled,
and the blood rushed into her cheeks and ebbed again, leaving them white as before.
"You said," she began and broke off and then began again.
"O Shepherd, You said You would make my feet like hinds' feet and set me upon mine High Places."

"Well," He answered cheerily, "the only way to develop hinds' feet is to go by the paths which the hinds use- like this one."

Much-Afraid trembled and looked at Him shamefacedly.
"I don't think- I want- hinds' feet,
if it means I have to go on a path like that,"
she said slowly and painfully.

The Shepherd was a very surprising person. Instead of looking either disappointed or disapproving, He actually laughed again.
"Oh, yes you do," He said cheerfully.
"I know you better than you know yourself, Much-Afraid. You want it very much indeed, and I promised you these hinds' feet."

O God of peace,

Who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved,

in quietness and in confidence shall be our strength:

By the might of Thy Spirit lift us, we pray Thee,

to Thy presence,

where we may be still
and know that Thou art God;

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

-Book of Common Prayer,
"For Quiet Confidence"

Easter weekend.

From last year:

Easter weekend:
Jesus died.
Death = all things that God is not.
All things that He hates.

Death:
Cigarette burns
and knife scars
and being left on the street like trash
from the people who were supposed to take care of them.
Bodies
beautiful bodies, designed for movement and joy and being held,
bodies being sold,
being used.
Grief, and fear.
Precious girls being raped.
Death...

Easter...
Jesus died.
Jesus came back to life
because death, all that death, could not hold Him.

So, I've gotten frustrated for most years of my Christian life at Easter time.
Christmas makes sense to me (who doesn't like Christmas carols?!)
but I've never been able to work up any sort of emotional response to Easter.


...Jesus came back to life
because He overcame death.


...Yeah. This past week, leading up to Easter? This Saturday Easter vigil,
when we started the night in the church in darkness, with solemn readings,
until we got to the point where they sang it, softly at first, and then we repeated:
Christ is Risen, He is Risen, Christ is Risen, Alleluia...

And the lights turned on and we rang our bells and we sang joyful songs,
because we were marking that:
He had risen from death,
the death had ended,
His power was greater...

I don't really know what to say,
other than that
Easter means so much to me this year.

...Oh Lord, Lord who is greater than death,
You chose to enter and experience our world.
And not just Emily's world, my experience of sunflowers and happiness and friendship.
You willingly put Yourself into a world of cigarette burns and rape and fear and grief.
You experienced it to its fullest.

There is no suffering that was not borne by You,
and so You identify with those who suffer.

And though I am so confused by You, though I want to be mad at You,
though I am so sad and freaking angry the world is not how it should be...

I am so grateful and bewildered that You would ever enter this world,
that You experienced suffering.
When I think now about
what lay upon You on that Cross...
well.
And,
You are greater than death. Than all that death.
And to that we get to say,
Alleluia,
and we mean it,
in whatever way we can know how to understand it,
even the tiniest bit.

In my sad and confused and questioning but being-ever-held-by-You little heart,
I do love You, so much. Thank You for knowing that, in Your crazy, knowing-things-I-don't-know-how-to-say way.
Amen.

(back to this year):
I'm excited for Easter vigil tonight. Come, Lord Jesus.

potentially awkward post.

So, according to Google reader, 86 people subscribe to my blog.

I have NO idea who most of them (you?) are. Far far less than that comment (hint hint) and still way far less than that ever have mentioned to me that they even know I have a blog.

So... if you read my blog... would you please consider leaving me a comment and letting me know? It would be encouraging to me to know who reads whatever things make it out here :-)

love,
me

ps- this can, btw, include those people who I know DO read my blog but NEVER comment. Matthew Hiltibran. And MOM.

sore.

Tonight at church, during the sermon as my thoughts wandered (it's all in really fast Spanish, ok? I heart my Spanish, but sometimes I drift...), I realized that in the back of my mind I was mentally counting all the parts of myself that are sore at the moment.

Sore- my legs. I woke up this morning with my thighs telling me I had gone on an extra-long run yesterday. Except that, I didn't. So why are they sore? Because a beautiful group of girlfriends had a trillion fun people over to their house to drink apple cider, listen to live music, and catch up. I was thrilled to hug and laugh with a bunch of people I love and smile at their gorgeous faces and love the music. And, when it turned into a hard-core dance party? Well, was I in the MOOD. We laughed and talked and danced. A lot. So much so that today... my legs are sore. (Yowch.)

Sore- my scalp. Because all through Iglesia tonight, I got to hold one of my favorite three-year-olds on the planet. She reached for me as soon as she saw me, and wanted to be in my arms for the entire service. And during the sermon, she whispered, "I want to 'brush' your hair!". I took it down and for the next twenty minutes, she sat on my lap facing me, combing her tiny fingers through my curls and crazily looping them into my elastic, then taking it out and doing it again. Over and over. She was still hanging around my neck when I went up for Communion; the pastor grinned as he blessed her in my arms and I took the Eucharist with a huge ponytail hanging off the top of my head, a la Pebbles Flintstone. By the end of the service, my scalp was singing that it was ready to stop being pulled at. But I got to spend a whole church service holding a beaming toddler I love... what better reason to be sore?

Sore- my heart. I have truly not been able to get enough of the Word the last couple of weeks. I'm memorizing passages by accident, over how often I find myself needing to read them. "When I am afraid I put my trust in You, in God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid." "The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to comfort all who mourn, to grant to those who mourn in Zion... a beautiful headdress instead of ashes." "That they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord to display His beauty." "For God alone my soul waits in silence; from Him comes my salvation." "Trust in Him at all times, O people, pour out your heart like water before Him; God is a refuge for us." "Be... giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." I am having to anchor myself in these words, and I am drawn to them right now in a way I haven't felt in months, maybe years. It's wonderful. And it will not leave my heart alone, including parts which are tender and just wanting to hide. I am sore.

Tonight I sat in church and as I counted my sore spots, I couldn't help but smile. Sore legs, sore scalp, sore heart. And I thanked God for the great richness in which I somehow get to live.

the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit.

Loving this.

I haven't spent a ton of time in Isaiah since freshman year at Wheaton, but that immersion in it was enough that I still name it immediately as my favorite book of the Bible.

I'm remembering why.

Soaking in:

"He has anointed me...

to comfort all who mourn;

to grant to those who mourn in Zion-

to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,

the oil of gladness instead of mourning,

the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;

that they may be called oaks of righteousness,

the planting of the Lord,

that He may display His beauty."

Isaiah 61:1-3

Also loving:

Psalms 56, 62, 95.

Duh.

This week was my turn to teach the kids at Iglesia on Saturday night. The lesson for this week of Lent was on Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. We had great fun acting it out- I brought bedsheets so that we could wrap one of our eight-year-olds up as Lazarus' body (his buddies had quite a good time "burying" him, although there was a bit more "Get way back in your tomb!!! HA, YOU ARE SOOO DEAD!!" than the deep grief and mourning we were trying to convey the disciples would have felt).

In addition to acting it out, we read the story and asked the kids questions to encourage them to put themselves into it. I read to them about Jesus hearing that his very best friend who he loved was sick, of his waiting but then coming back, of seeing Martha and Mary in pain and knowing that Lazarus had died. I read to them that verse which brings me such comfort in my own times of sadness, John 11:35: "Jesus wept".

"See, guys, when Jesus saw that his friend had died, he cried. He loved Lazarus. This story brings me a lot of comfort when I feel sad, because I know that Jesus has felt sad too."

One of our guys really, really likes helping us read. This is great and sometimes slightly problematic as he chimes in pretty often. We love his enthusiasm and are working on limiting the distracting. So I had him right next to me so he could make his helpful comments to me and not to his friends as I read and asked for feedback.

After I said, "I feel better because I know that Jesus wept", he threw the full weight of his second-grade body back against the chair and let out a slight sigh that had "Let me teach you" written all over it. He tugged on my sleeve to make sure I'd seen that he'd thrown his arm in the air.

"Yeah, dude? What do you think about that?"

"Well..." he shook his head. "Well... DUHHHH."

"Duh?"

"Duhhhh, Jesus knows what it's like to feel sad. I mean... He was like, BORN here. And I mean, He was here..."

He paused.

"...Like, before us."

Oh, right. The Incarnation. And God, creator of Heaven and earth. The whole point of the story I claim to live by. So often I do live like it's news to me that I'm still trying out.

Jesus was here before me.
And He knows all things.
And He wept.

Duh.

My bath was too hot, I got soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear railroad train pajamas. I hate my railroad train pajamas.

Not gonna lie,
I felt a little bit like Alexander this week.

As a joke I said in an email that chocolate would be appreciated...

Where do friends like mine even come from??!!!

(I appreciated all of it, but it does deserve noting that the Ritter sport was mailed from Colorado. Also, you can't really see them, but the bag in the back holds CAKE POPS that Meg made from scratch... because she is an absurd baking rock star.)

.grateful grateful grateful.

"This morning, listen to the voice of the Lord Jesus speak...

'...I will help you.
It is a small thing for me, your God, to help you. Consider what I have already done.
What! Not help you! I bought you with My blood.
What! Not help you! I died for you.
Since I have done the greater, will I not do less?
Your requests are nothing compared with what I am willing to give.
You need much, but it is nothing for me to grant your needs.
Help you?
Fear not! I will help you.'"

-Spurgeon

.christine + heath.

these girls are in town.

i am over the moon.

tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

i am LOVING this blog.

it makes me want to move to montana.

and raise babies... but that's no newsflash.

tuesday.

"My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird-
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever."

-Mary Oliver, "Messenger"

small group, i am unspeakably grateful for you.

Absolutely one of the biggest and most unexpected blessings of my year:

these five precious people and our Sunday nights;
the ways we are learning to do life and prayer together.

We snuck away to Meg's grandparents' cabin in Indiana last month for a retreat- Dawson took these awesome pics on Sunday morning when we were wandering around on the frozen lake.

I love my girls!

Good men.

I love you, small group! Thank you for sharing your hearts and loving mine.

cause i think beauty is sequential.

I woke up this morning with warm sun on my face and Ryan plucking hymns on guitar in the living room.

And my plans for Saturday are a long date with God, a long walk with Mere, Iglesia, and going into the city for a double date with Steve and Tamara.

Happy Saturday.




Pics:
Wheaton morning, by Chet
A favorite of me and Mere (and her bf)

A Love Letter to the West Chicago Public Library's Children's Department

Dear West Chicago Public Library Children's Department,

How do I love thee, let me count the ways.

I won't say "let's get married and have babies", because, well, you're already taking care of my babies. My eleven beautiful babies I get to love on every week- AND their moms.

I bring them into you once a month or so, when there's time for a field trip but I need it to be easy, close, and free. And there you are... just down the road from my office... right in their neighborhood.

I've never believed in love at first sight, so I won't say that's what happened. But I can't help but admit, there was an immediate attraction. Physical appearance certainly isn't everything, but still, there it was. Your walls are lined in cheerful pictures from storybooks and fairy tales. Your carpet is bright and colorful and has letters and numbers and hopscotch squares sewed into it. There is a cage with a hamster- a HAMSTER!- for kids to peek into in one corner, and there are- oh be still my heart- BIG SOFT CHAIRS, so moms and dads and big kids and babies can all snuggle together and be comfortable as they explore a new book.

But oh-so-quickly, you proved yourself worthy way past skin deep. You are IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD, dearest Library, do you understand the significance of that? And not just because moms can come in the mornings and be guaranteed to meet their kindergartners getting off the bus at noon. Do you know how many educational resources are located close enough to even be a possibility for my families? The Children's Museum? Amazing. The zoo? Fantastic. But not if you have one barely working car, a budget stretched just to buy gas to get to the night shift at the factory and maybe one doctor's appointment, and no driver's license. Don't get me wrong, I love your cousin resources too. They offer what they can graciously and they love on my families from afar. But you, Library, your nearness has captured my heart.

And you're FREE. You're FREE. YOU ARE FREE. Do you know what that means to a low income family? Do you know how INCREDIBLE it is to be able to tell some of my parents about you, about what you OFFER, about the BOOKS and the MOVIES and the CLASSES- and then be able to tell them you are FREE?!!!! Free. You're free. You. Are. All. Free. THEY CAN AFFORD YOU. Oh, Library. The Let's Get Married and Have Babies feeling actually is making an appearance...

And you have BOOKS. You are filled with books, books, books, books, books- (AND IN ENGLISH AND SPANISH!!!!!). These families, can they afford to go on fancy vacas? Do their kids have ballet lessons and violin lessons and soccer practice and Girl Scouts? Rarely, very rarely. But they can explore ANYTHING they want because in you, they can find (free) books. And you have SO MANY. And they are SO WONDERFUL. And your amazing librarians (more on them in a minute), know exactly which ones to put out together, and how to display them. If I ask them for a book about dinosaurs, they pull out a list- A LIST- of every book about dinosaurs. Trains? Princesses? Dora?! You name it, they have it, know where it is, and are excited to point us towards them. In you, Library, my babies can read Goodnight Moon in English or Spanish. Their siblings can make friends with Anne or Jo or Sam Gribley or Maniac Magee. These sweet, sweet kids can grow their own strength of character, their love for things good and brave and true, through the books you offer. You are helping to shape and form them, Library, into who they are going to be. Thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart.

But, oh, Library, most of all, your librarians. I love your cheerful pictures. I love your accessibility. But your librarians? YOUR LIBRARIANS?!!! Who smile at even my most drooly baby? Who will use wild hand gestures and laugh at themselves in order to help a mom who only speaks Spanish, creating comfort, community and welcome even without a shared language? Who, after an hour and a half of my little ones running screaming throughout you while I frantically try to count them, pull me aside as I'm leaving to tell me again how much they love it when I bring my families in?

Library, my families love you. My sweet, sweet families who fight tooth and nail to protect their loved ones, who work low-paying jobs they are way overqualified for because it puts food on the table and they want the best life for their children, who tell me I work too hard and need more fun (!!)... these families, so often they feel like second-class citizens in the fancy, English-speaking buildings in this county. They tiptoe in and look around awed and worry to me, afterwards, about if they "did it right". But I have seen them loosen, in you. I have seen shy moms start smiling and conversing and exploring, warmed by your pictures and your books and your free-ness and your kind, kind staff. I have heard them tell me that they went back on their own, later. They learn how to get library cards. They take their children. They tell their husbands about you. They feel they belong in you as much as anyone else does.

Oh Library, oh beautiful Children's Department of the West Chicago Public Library. You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

Yours forever,
Emily

Finishing books + Me = HAPPENING

Seriously. This year. Seriously seriously seriously seriously, I am going to... START books. Then READ them straight through (STRAIGHT THROUGH!). And then I am going to FINISH THEM.

I am NOT going to keep a stack of 3 or 5 or 12 (it's happened) books on my nightstand, all of which I will pick up, peruse, get really excited about for a week and then never finish... thus losssinnggg any ability to really GLEAN whatever the book has to offer. No no no no no. Finishing finishing finishing finishing finishing.

And I am actually going to READ some of the books I have been MEANING TO READ for like... the last hundred years.

K? Great.

So my plan for 2011 was... all of that... and I was going to be all super-intentional and Read And Finish One Good Book A Month ('good' meaning, preferably not a Shopaholic novel. Although I do love them). And I was not allowed to start another one until I finished that one.

Well so it's March and I've read about half of the book I started in January. (I really like it. But non-Shopaholic books don't go as fast...). And... I cheated and started a second one anyway... but it's because Mayr sent it to me and it's on Ephesians and I'm STUDYING Ephesians right now. So... it's not REALLY cheating. (Oh yeah, and I read The Help. But I did finish that one!!!).

But I am recommitting! I am going to finish the first one! And I am going to keep reading good books! And finishing them! And learning things! And being well-read!


OK, so here's some on my list for this year.

Gilead
Til We Have Faces
One Thousand Gifts
Revelations of Divine Love
Julian of Norwich: A Contemplative Biography
Cloister Walk
Wounded Prophet: A Portrait of Henri J. M. Nouwen


Anyone have suggestions? I'd especially like fiction which still count as something I could feel impressive putting on my bookshelf I MEAN which are good literature.

"Here dies another day

during which I have had eyes, ears, hands

and the great world around me.

And with tomorrow begins another.

Why am I allowed two?"

-G.K. Chesterton

.miss meg.

My favorite 7th grader flew out by herself last month to visit me for a weekend.

I worked hard to keep my status as the coolest OLDEST sister (Al, being way cooler, prettier, and living NEAR DISNEYLAND, keeps me from just stealing the coolest OLDER sister title in any permanent way). We went downtown, got pedicures, ate out, went to a movie, and of course shopped 'til we dropped. 'Cause it's what we do.

I love this girl a lot.

Thanks for visiting, Meglets! Thanks for sending her Dad and Julie :-)

happy birthday sarah.

I am so thankful for you, my sweet farmer girl,




Teacher of tea and prayer and poetry,






A million memories,

I love learning through how you work for justice.
I love how you choose life.
You have taught me so much about being.
You are so beautiful.




Thank you for wholeheartedly rejoicing in my joys, and for choosing to carry so many of my burdens.
Thank you for letting me in to your joys and your burdens.
I love learning through your love and joy and life.
I love living life with you.

May this year be filled with even more learning and love than the one before.

I loooooove you!!!!!!

prayer for the year.

I couldn't believe when I read this.
Way to put words to my crazy little heart, Thomas Merton-
well, at least where I want my heart to be.

"My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following Your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that my desire to please You does in fact please You.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this You will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust You always
though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear,
for You are ever with me,
and You will never leave me to face my perils alone."

-Thomas Merton, from Thoughts in Solitude

.open and known.

Almighty God,

to You all hearts are open,
all desires known,
and from You no secrets are hid:

Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Your Holy Spirit,
that we may perfectly love You,
and worthily magnify Your Holy Name,
through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

Mercy.

My amazing friend and former housemate Emily and her family are in my prayers this weekend, as they hold and love on her beautiful niece, Mercy, who was born on Tuesday with encephalocele, and is expected to be in Heaven early next week.

I've never met Emily's sister (Mercy's mommy), but Emily and I did HNGR together and lived together senior year. She is one of my dearest and most encouraging friends, and her family are well-loved among our group of friends for their joyfulness, authenticity, and hospitality. I vividly remember her mom pulling me aside at church and praying over me and my family a few weeks after we got the news about Mom.

Please be praying for all of them, especially Mercy's parents Luke and Liesl.

You can read more of this awesome family and their strength and Hope here.

From Mercy's website:

"Father of Love: You come near to us in your love. Your love finds us needy and it does not flee, but satisfies our soul. Your love comes near to us on our terms in your Son. Your love comes near to us and transforms our existence in your Spirit. Your love comes near to us and allows us to abide in you freely and without fear. Cause us now, in the midst of trial, to be reminded of your love—to live and abide in your love, to live and abide in You. Cause us to trust in a wild and mysterious Father who is not defined by sadistic control of the universe, harsh displeasure with creation, nor indecision regarding human need—but a Father of Love who is for us and not against us.

Be for us this day and for your daughter Mercy..."

Megan, me, and Mercy's beautiful aunt, who is so precious to me.

what i learn.

Throughout college, almost every single prayer I heard Matt Hiltibran pray out loud started with, "God, we thank You that You are all good". He had never noticed this until I pointed it out. I know the exact inflection of how he would voice this phrase, and it was always filled with joy. I heard him pray this through times of deepest pain. Often still, when I don't know how to start praying, from habit if nothing else my voice or pen will start, "God, I thank You that You are all good...".


Mary and I prayed together on the phone a few nights ago, for a long time. She called Him Father, easily, over and over, through our time together. I hadn't realized how little I do that lately.

She painted Psalm 139 for me before I left for Bolivia. The words slant across the page, her pen and ink flying around the borders. A prayer through her friendship and her art. I find myself praying every time I look at it, instantly, in its words and images and love.


Slagg's theory is that an ideal ratio for friendship is two hours praying for someone for each hour you spend with them. He has taught me to pray deeper for other people more than almost anyone ever.

Often when this wise friend prays for me, even if I am with him, he prays silently. He prays for a long time, and when he's done, he will cock his head to one side and smile at me. I am used to people praying out loud when praying together, and this unnerved me; I asked him once, what did you pray? He grinned. Shook his head. "That's for me and Jesus." Months later I told him aching things God was teaching me, wounds that were being re-opened and healed deeper than they had been, love that was growing and pain I was getting more willing to embrace. He grinned wider. "That's what I prayed for."

I now value silent prayers over others more than spoken ones sometimes. The One who needs to hear them still does.


It takes a lot for me to let someone take care of me. I am never scared to call Mary Wolf and ask her to pray. I never feel stupid even if the prayer request seems small and if it reveals my neediness, my insecurities, my sin. She has never judged and she has never been too busy to pray. I sat at a table at Starbucks, alone, a week after my mother was diagnosed with cancer, feeling panic rise to where I wasn't sure how I would stay in my body. I called her at work. "I'm scared. Can you pray for me?" She did, on the phone, immediately, with no other explanation needed. "Thanks. I love you." We got off the phone. It lasted three minutes. I remember exactly where I was sitting, the feel of fighting the pressure in my chest, my hands digging into the phone. I remember biting my lip. I remember that after we hung up, I took a breath and went to class.


For the last year, almost every morning the first thing I hear is my phone buzzing to alert me to a text message. "Hi, Matty," I think. Matt Maloy prays for several of us lucky people almost every day. He texts me this almost every day: "I just prayed for you. Let God ____"- a wish, a Scripture verse, something I'd asked him to pray for. At first this was sweet. Then this scary year, it was a lifeline. Now I find myself willing to share prayer requests I would never have thought to even ask for prayer for before, because I know someone is committed to praying for them.


"How can we spiritually support you?", Christine and Heath asked. We had prayed together easily and often throughout our years of dorm life, apartment life. I got back from HNGR and I did not know how to pray, and I did not know how to pray with them. So that semester, twice a week, we would find our way to a couch in the reading room. We would lean our heads on each other's shoulders and compliment each other's outfits, we would laugh and talk about our weeks. Then we would open the Bible- to anything- and read it out loud. Sometimes for half an hour, sometimes for five minutes. We heard His word, which is living and active, and it fell on us together. This time was our prayer offered up; we held each other and He held us.


I hear the Mosoj Yan staff's voices when I think some realities and the theology I want cannot be held in the same cup. "Sí, Señor... sí, Señor". Their heads in their hands, their faces furrowed, their work amazing. Their faith strong.

prayer.

From an email I received today:

"...Lord, please grant Emily the ability to lean into You,
knowing that she can never push You over,
no matter how hard she leans..."


Cool.
Yes, please.

.hymn.

"if to distant lands I scatter,
if i sail to farthest seas
would You find and firm and gather
'til i only dwell in Thee?
if i flee from greenest pastures,
would You leave to look for me?
forfeit glory to come after
'til i only dwell in Thee?

if my heart has one ambition
if my soul one goal to seek
this my solitary vision,
that i only dwell in Thee."

-brooke fraser

snowy days in the life.

So, we had a BLIZZARD Tuesday night!!!

Here's how it went down for me.

So Tuesday I had plans to go into the city to hang with Tamara. There's this completely wonderful part of adult life called, "PTO". Which stands for- are you ready- PAID TIME OFF. You know what that means? Exactly what it freakin' sounds like. I got paid to go hang out with Tamara. I KNOW right?!

So, Tamara and I had decided we dearly needed some time off from our jobs to have a day in the middle of the week with absolutely no agenda... other than enjoying life and each other. We both took the day off; I took the train downtown, and we chilled. We went out to brunch at an adorable place in her neighborhood and sat and talked and laughed for hours. Then we went to Borders and found piles of books and bought coffee and sat and talked and laughed and read. It. Was. Wonderful.

THEN, we looked outside and it had (as predicted), started snowing significantly. So we cut the day off a bit short. I bought a novel I had been wanting to read and rushed to Ogilvie to get the train back. The train station was PACKED. It was insane.

And here are my blizzard days chronologically.

Tues, 4 pm: Arrive at Ogilvie, push my way onto 4:35 train. During this time chunk, my BFF from work Lisa calls and tells me that we are OFF tomorrow. (Side note, Lisa rocks and I LOVE her and her husband Michael. And their kids call me Tia (aunt in Spanish) Emily. They make me really happy and are complicating my desire to move across the country for grad school).

4:10: Train leaves early because it's already full of commuters trying to beat the storm.

4:10-5: I start The Help and devour the first fifth or so.

5 pm: I barely notice that the train has stopped at my station because I'm so immersed in the book, but I do notice and get off. I start walking towards my house (3 blocks from train station) and then remember there had been some texting about a hot chocolate snow party (yeah!!) so I stop by the improv boys' apartment (exactly between my house and the train station- so convenient!).

(I am now completely making up the times, I don't know how it all happened).

5-6 pm: I love that apartment. Hang out with all the fun people there. Make a sandwich. Eat cookie dough out of a tub (I KNOW, right?!).

6 pm: People put on a movie. I can't remember which one now? That's because...

6-8ish: I curl up in the corner of the couch and read 150 pages of The Help.

More people are arriving. We are drinking hot chocolate. Every once in awhile someone will look outside and shout about how much snow there is (at this point, maybe ten inches?). People are speculating on whether or not they'll have work tomorrow (but I already know I don't!). It is a Blizzard Party.

9 pm: They put on ZOMBIELAND! I remember this one.

9-10:30: I read another 100 pages of The Help. People start noticing and making comments. THIS BOOK IS AMAZING!!! I am immersed. But I look up occasionally to half interact with people (love yall) or watch a particularly gross Zombie-eating-people scene. Really, you don't need to watch this movie, is my recommendation...

Rest of the night: I fall asleep on the couch with about 50 pages left. Steve wakes me up around 12. Alyssa and Laura are planning on staying over and I am invited to. One guy had just left to walk to his apartment, which is 2 buildings away in the same complex, and texted that it took him 20 minutes and I should under no circumstances try to walk the two blocks home. But my bed has flannel sheets. So I borrow extra hats and scarves and gloves and brave the now good 18 inches of snow...

OK, this is officially the most middle school esque and boring blog entry I think I've written since my high school Xanga. But it was a really fun night, what can I say. (And I stayed up and finished the book!)

Next day: Ryan, Kendra and I made cinnamon rolls, shoveled our driveway (in LAYERS. Like an hour to knock off the first third of snow, then an hour to knock off the middle part...), read, I walked back over to the boys' for a bit, work got cancelled AGAIN, and I made freaking awesome black olive and white bean soup for dinner.

Basically, I love friends, movies, reading on a couch, drinking hot chocolate, being with a bunch of people I enjoy, having nothing to do, cooking, my roommates, and in conclusion:

I love snow days.

Check out pictures of the snow insanity that was Wheaton in Josh's blog.

And read this book:

sometimes

i am just absolutely overwhelmed with how filled with Joy and Love my life is.

that's all.

why.

"There is always the danger

that we may just do the work for the sake of the work.

This is where the respect and the love and the devotion come in—

that we do it to God, to Christ,

and that's why we try to do it as beautifully as possible."

-Mother Teresa

by His Love and His infinite Art.

"A tree gives glory to God by being a tree.

For in being what God means it to be it is obeying Him.
It 'consents', so to speak, to His creative love.
It is expressing an idea which is in God and which is not distinct from the essence of God,
and therefore a tree imitates God by being a tree.
The more a tree is like itself, the more it is like Him.
If it tried to be something else which it was never intended to be,
it would be less like God and therefore give Him less glory.

No two created beings are exactly alike. And their individuality is no imperfection.
On the contrary, the perfection of each created thing is not merely in its conformity to an abstract type but in its own individual identity with itself.

This particular tree will give glory to God by spreading out its roots in the earth and raising its branches into the air and the light in a way that no other tree before or after it ever did or will do...

The special clumsy beauty of this particular colt
on this April day in this field under these clouds
is a holiness consecrated to God by God's own creative wisdom
and it declares the glory of God.

The pale flowers of the dogwood outside this window are saints.
The little yellow flowers that nobody notices on the edge of that road
are saints looking up into the face of God.
This leaf has it own texture and its own pattern of veins and its own holy shape,
and the bass and trout hiding in the deep pools of the river
are canonized by their beauty and their strength.
The lakes hidden among the hills are saints,
and the sea too is a saint who praises God without interruption in her majestic dance."

-Thomas Merton,
an excerpt from "Things in Their Identity",
from New Seeds of Contemplation

there is nothing lacking.

favorite Christmas present.

and sometimes my life is game nights, chocolate fondue, wine and good friends.