I am on my way back to my summer home after a brief, somewhat impromptu trip to Saskatoon.
I had a few reasons for returning to my home home--one of them being to eat birthday cake my mom made for me (Reese's Pieces ice cream cake--yum!). However, I was on the run from the moment I returned to Saskatoon. By the time I made it in the door of my house to "stay" (11:15 pm) the ice cream cake was still not ready to be eaten so I went to bed. I was up and busy from 8 this morning until 5:30 pm when I boarded the bus back to my summer home. Now I am on the road again and realizing that I never even got to try any of my birthday cake. Hopefully the rest of my family enjoys it.
This weekend was one of those times where I went home but did not feel at home at all. After quickly unpacking my things on Saturday night I left my house feeling that I just needed to get out and away from the unsettled feelings. So I did.
I pulled on my Chuck Taylors and rain coat and drove to the river to get a dose of fresh air. Walking by yourself in the evening is interesting because it is rare to see anyone else alone. Couples are out in droves, holding hands and exchanging knowing glances and saliva. Families are out, too, some with young children with remnants of chocolate ice cream around their lips. I climbed up the train bridge with full intentions of staying to watch the supermoon rise over the water. I stood and watched the river for several minutes and allowed my mind to go where it pleased and feel what it needed to. For a moment I wondered about what it would feel like to topple over the edge of the bridge and let my body succumb to the icy gray waves. When things feel out of control I tend to crave, or at least imagine, feeling out of control in the physical sense as well. Not because I want to put myself in a place of harm, but because a physical lack of control is so much easier to understand than whatever this thing is. I close my eyes and imagine I am free falling and it feels good. I breathe a little bit easier again and let my shoulders relax.
Not only does walking alone provide you with a perfect opportunity to people watch, but it provides people with a perfect opportunity to watch you. I walk briskly and with purpose even though there really is no rhyme or reason to where I go. I just like to move fast because it makes me feel like I am getting away. As I walk I notice certain individuals noticing me. Some give me glances that make me feel that they might know why I am alone and that makes me feel a bit exposed. Twenty-two and still brutally independent. Another flower-less season for E. A girl around my age walks past me with a group of friends. She is wearing tiny white shorts and a crop top. I think to myself how ironic it is that I am likely feeling far more exposed than she, despite the fact that I am covered from the neck down.
I am glad to feel exposed, though. My soul and feelings are normally so enveloped in secrecy. Often I wonder why I am this way. I tell myself that I am not trying to be so enigmatic, yet sometimes I think I may be the most puzzling person on earth. I cannot even wrap my mind around my thoughts sometimes even though I am the one thinking them. But to bare the soul when the time is right is a wonderful thing. I have been brave enough to do this on two occasions in the past few weeks and I am glad that I have chosen to fear a little bit less.
A few days ago, I caught a glimpse of myself in a piece of glass. My eyes were navy-gray and looked like little stormclouds, as they do sometimes when I am pensive. It was a very strange feeling, but when my own eyes looked back at me I realized for the first time that I knew the girl behind those navy-gray stormclouds very well and that I liked her very much. It is an unusual but wonderful feeling to know that you know yourself. I recalled writing a journal entry for my eighth grade teacher on the topic of identity and how, at that time, I felt as though somehow I knew myself at fourteen in a way that I did not--and could not--at thirteen. I never knew at fourteen that my mind and heart would grow so greatly and that my own character would grow into them and feel at ease dwelling there. But that is where I am now, at twenty-two.
Scared and staring over the precipice of another new adventure but completely ready for it.
Hope you will come along for the ride,
E
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Sunday, June 9, 2013
On Wants and Paper
Today began with a nauseous feeling rousing me from sleep at 5:30 a.m. I grabbed my puzzle book and jammed my dilapidated headphones into my ears in an attempt to drown out the malaise with numbers and words and alternative British music.
By seven I was dreaming again and my imagination was conjuring up wonderful images. I dreamed of my future home. It was an unassuming property with lots of trees in the yard in the middle of a new city. There was an ebony baby grand in the living room and the walls were painted in my favourite colours. There were other people in my home but I only recognized some of their faces. Yet I knew that I loved them all very much and that they felt the same about me.
Later in the dream the patrons of my home went on their way and left me to myself. I thought to myself about how much I loved my home because it seemed like a place where you could be quiet or loud or whatever you wanted to be. I went to my desk which was logically organized and dimly lit (and perfectly grand, in my estimation) and began to analyze some liquid chromatography reports, which seemed to be a part of my job.
Later in the evening Mr. Loneliness came calling. Mr. Loneliness is one of those dream characters I have known since I was young. He is always dressed in an exquisite black tuxedo and impeccable top hat. His attire augments his already tall, thin frame. Naturally, he carries a pocketwatch. Ironically, I never feel lonely when I am with him. Sometimes when I am by myself in dreams he will follow me like a shadow but I do not mind because he is the only one that understands the things I am feeling. We break bread together and digest the starch and the day.
Later, Glasses--another old dream friend--knocks on my door and I let him in. I have never known his real name so I just call him Glasses because he always sports thick black frames. I am not as close to Glasses as I am to Mr. Loneliness but I like him very much. He is much more of a thinker than is Mr. Loneliness and is always eager to give me advice. The three of us spend the remainder of the evening beneath lights in the yard.
I am not sure how this is possible, but seeing those old dream friends brought a certain comfort to me after a long, lonely-ish week. There have been several times within the past week where I have been in want of particular things. Yet, at the end of the day, and again at the end of the week, I am made fully aware that I do indeed have all the things I need.
Although I could use some new socks (mine have become awfully shabby) and some journal paper.
I forgot my journal as well as an assortment of other important things at my home home because the last time I left I felt like a scatterbrained wreck. Blogging is fine but sometimes a writer craves the intimacy of real pen and paper.
So: if you are coming my way, please send socks. And paper.
Hope you enjoyed peering into my imagination. The mind truly is a weird and wonderful place, isn't it?
E
By seven I was dreaming again and my imagination was conjuring up wonderful images. I dreamed of my future home. It was an unassuming property with lots of trees in the yard in the middle of a new city. There was an ebony baby grand in the living room and the walls were painted in my favourite colours. There were other people in my home but I only recognized some of their faces. Yet I knew that I loved them all very much and that they felt the same about me.
Later in the dream the patrons of my home went on their way and left me to myself. I thought to myself about how much I loved my home because it seemed like a place where you could be quiet or loud or whatever you wanted to be. I went to my desk which was logically organized and dimly lit (and perfectly grand, in my estimation) and began to analyze some liquid chromatography reports, which seemed to be a part of my job.
Later in the evening Mr. Loneliness came calling. Mr. Loneliness is one of those dream characters I have known since I was young. He is always dressed in an exquisite black tuxedo and impeccable top hat. His attire augments his already tall, thin frame. Naturally, he carries a pocketwatch. Ironically, I never feel lonely when I am with him. Sometimes when I am by myself in dreams he will follow me like a shadow but I do not mind because he is the only one that understands the things I am feeling. We break bread together and digest the starch and the day.
Later, Glasses--another old dream friend--knocks on my door and I let him in. I have never known his real name so I just call him Glasses because he always sports thick black frames. I am not as close to Glasses as I am to Mr. Loneliness but I like him very much. He is much more of a thinker than is Mr. Loneliness and is always eager to give me advice. The three of us spend the remainder of the evening beneath lights in the yard.
I am not sure how this is possible, but seeing those old dream friends brought a certain comfort to me after a long, lonely-ish week. There have been several times within the past week where I have been in want of particular things. Yet, at the end of the day, and again at the end of the week, I am made fully aware that I do indeed have all the things I need.
Although I could use some new socks (mine have become awfully shabby) and some journal paper.
I forgot my journal as well as an assortment of other important things at my home home because the last time I left I felt like a scatterbrained wreck. Blogging is fine but sometimes a writer craves the intimacy of real pen and paper.
So: if you are coming my way, please send socks. And paper.
Hope you enjoyed peering into my imagination. The mind truly is a weird and wonderful place, isn't it?
E
Sunday, June 2, 2013
On Bones and Textualism
It feels wonderful to be home for a few days. I have always considered myself to be one to adapt well to new things, but there are certain comforts intrinsic to my "home" home that I cannot deny. The most noteworthy: being back at EBC for Sunday--to be involved in drawing others to a place of worship and to be in communion with friends and family whom I care so deeply for means so much to me. I have been missing this at my summer home even though I have met many people who have been so gracious, accommodating, and accepting toward me.
The topic of today's message was "the person and work of the Holy Spirit." So much of what was shared today resonated with me.
I was with the Lord last night before I fell asleep and I was just thinking about how amazing it is that I can be with the Lord. And that He is the Lord to me and yet He is more than Lord to me: dwelling closer than my skin and loving my soul in a fierce and everlasting way. I am so thankful for the Holy Spirit.
I was reading in Ezekiel last night as well. Chapter 37 is titled The Valley of Dry Bones and I think I have only actually read it for myself once before last night. Here's what happens: Ezekiel (E) is led by the Spirit of the Lord to a valley that happens to be full of old, dead, dry bones. The spirit asks E if he thinks the bones can live. E is a wise prophet so he answers that the Lord alone can know whether the bones are capable of living.
The spirit then uses E to prophesy to the bones. He speaks through E, saying: "Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord."
And it was as the spirit said. The spirit goes on to explain to E that the dry bones are an image of the nation of Israel. (Even though E is probably one of the wisest prophets out there he needs the spirit to reveal His purposes in order to understand). Just as it was with the dry bones, the Lord says he will restore his people. "I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it."
The surrounding text is also full of restorative language, for example: "I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws." (36:25-27)
A few things stood out to me from this:
(1) It is the Spirit that gives life and breathes life. There is so much meaning in the passage in 2 Timothy that says, "All scripture is God breathed...". The Spirit does more than simply inspire Scripture; the Spirit lives and breathes Scripture. That is, the Spirit expires as well as inspires. Furthermore, the Spirit is breathing and is bringing life in the present tense.
(2) To understand the Spirit, we must have the Spirit revealed to us. "The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man‘s spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us." (1 Cor 2:10-11)
(3) The Spirit has brought life to my life. I cannot explain how wonderful it is to know this. Last night my eyes welled up with tears as I came to understand this truth again. The spirit has moved and is moving in me and I cannot help but feel, well...moved. I even allowed some of the tears to spill and trace tiny streams down my face. The most amazing part of having the spirit to me is that my physical body, my mind, and my abilities become a vector for the Spirit to carry out the will of God. That changes everything for me: how I dress, how I speak, how I think, and how I choose to act. Not that I am doing everything right...but I am learning how to be real and how to be a suitable spirit-vehicle.
(4) It is the Spirit behind the text, not the text itself that brings life. This is a subtle but significant difference. A religion based on intellectual understanding of text will likely be disenchanting and empty. The essence of textualism is a faith that mentally "knows" but understands nothing of God because it knows nothing of Spirit. The Spirit is absolutely critical to the comprehension and implementation of the will of the Lord.
...
On another note, this month has been full of so many happy things for me. I feel like I am soaring. I feel like I am on the edge of more good things. I am ready to put some toppings on my vanilla pudding.
Hope all is well,
E.
The topic of today's message was "the person and work of the Holy Spirit." So much of what was shared today resonated with me.
I was with the Lord last night before I fell asleep and I was just thinking about how amazing it is that I can be with the Lord. And that He is the Lord to me and yet He is more than Lord to me: dwelling closer than my skin and loving my soul in a fierce and everlasting way. I am so thankful for the Holy Spirit.
I was reading in Ezekiel last night as well. Chapter 37 is titled The Valley of Dry Bones and I think I have only actually read it for myself once before last night. Here's what happens: Ezekiel (E) is led by the Spirit of the Lord to a valley that happens to be full of old, dead, dry bones. The spirit asks E if he thinks the bones can live. E is a wise prophet so he answers that the Lord alone can know whether the bones are capable of living.
The spirit then uses E to prophesy to the bones. He speaks through E, saying: "Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord."
And it was as the spirit said. The spirit goes on to explain to E that the dry bones are an image of the nation of Israel. (Even though E is probably one of the wisest prophets out there he needs the spirit to reveal His purposes in order to understand). Just as it was with the dry bones, the Lord says he will restore his people. "I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it."
The surrounding text is also full of restorative language, for example: "I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws." (36:25-27)
A few things stood out to me from this:
(1) It is the Spirit that gives life and breathes life. There is so much meaning in the passage in 2 Timothy that says, "All scripture is God breathed...". The Spirit does more than simply inspire Scripture; the Spirit lives and breathes Scripture. That is, the Spirit expires as well as inspires. Furthermore, the Spirit is breathing and is bringing life in the present tense.
(2) To understand the Spirit, we must have the Spirit revealed to us. "The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man‘s spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us." (1 Cor 2:10-11)
(3) The Spirit has brought life to my life. I cannot explain how wonderful it is to know this. Last night my eyes welled up with tears as I came to understand this truth again. The spirit has moved and is moving in me and I cannot help but feel, well...moved. I even allowed some of the tears to spill and trace tiny streams down my face. The most amazing part of having the spirit to me is that my physical body, my mind, and my abilities become a vector for the Spirit to carry out the will of God. That changes everything for me: how I dress, how I speak, how I think, and how I choose to act. Not that I am doing everything right...but I am learning how to be real and how to be a suitable spirit-vehicle.
(4) It is the Spirit behind the text, not the text itself that brings life. This is a subtle but significant difference. A religion based on intellectual understanding of text will likely be disenchanting and empty. The essence of textualism is a faith that mentally "knows" but understands nothing of God because it knows nothing of Spirit. The Spirit is absolutely critical to the comprehension and implementation of the will of the Lord.
...
On another note, this month has been full of so many happy things for me. I feel like I am soaring. I feel like I am on the edge of more good things. I am ready to put some toppings on my vanilla pudding.
Hope all is well,
E.
Erika
When I write I am free.