Can we forget finals and just go?

what I learn from Lit Finals

There are two occasions when the sacred beauty of Creation becomes dazzlingly apparent, and they occur together. One is when we feel our mortal insufficiency to the world, and the other is when we feel the world’s mortal insufficiency to us. Augustine says the Lord loves each of us as an only child, and that has to be true. “He will wipe the tears from all faces.” It takes nothing from the loveliness of the verse to say that is exactly what will be required.

Theologians talk about a prevenient grace that precedes grace itself and allows us to accept it. I think there must also be a prevenient courage that allows us to be brave—that is, to acknowledge that there is more beauty than our eyes can bear, that precious things have been put into our hands and to do nothing to honor them is to do great harm. And therefore, this courage allows us, as the old men said, to make ourselves useful. It allows us to be generous, which is another way of saying exactly the same thing. But that is the pulpit speaking. What have I to leave you but the ruins of old courage, and the lore of old gallantry and hope? Well, as I have said, it is all an ember now, and the good Lord will surely someday breathe it into flame again.

I love the prairie! So often I have seen the dawn come and the light flood over the land and everything turn radiant at once, that word “good” so profoundly affirmed in my soul that I am amazed I should be allowed to witness such a thing. There may have been a more wonderful first moment “when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy,” but for all I know to the contrary, they still do sing and shout, and they certainly might well. Here on the prairie there is nothing to distract attention from the evening and the morning, nothing on the horizon to abbreviate or to delay. Mountains would seem an impertinence from that point of view.

To me it seems rather Christlike to be as unadorned as this place is, as little regarded. I can’t help imagining that you will leave sooner or later, and it’s fine if you have done that, or you mean to do it. This whole town does look like whatever hope becomes after it begins to weary a little, then weary a little more. But hope deferred is still hope. I love this town. I think sometimes of going into the ground her as a last wild gesture of love—I too will smolder away the time until the great and general incandescence.

I’ll pray that you will grow up a brave man in a brave country. I will pray you find a way to be useful.

I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.

- Gilead, Marilynne Robinson.

What a beautiful novel. I got stung by a bee today, and I wonder how mom did it, how she plucked those stingers from my squirming little girl body when I was young. I could barely pluck it from myself, and she held me still, when I was fidgeting and crying and angry at the little bee for stinging me. So I called her, and I thanked her, and it was good.

Finals are taking over my life right now. And the funny thing about studying poetry, its that you have lonely lines wandering around your brain, like "the lion is alone, and so am I" or "a thing of beauty is a joy forever" or "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, / 'T is woman's whole existence;" and then you find yourself thinking in poetry, and you go for a bike ride and along with these lonely lines, you get new words ever popping into your brain, like promontory or uprooted, and you feel like writing a poem, "On Promontories" or something like that, and everything seems more vivid, from the crystal creek flowing ever so swiftly down past the sandy shore, or the white blossom juxtaposed against the furry green undergrowth, or the silky bark of a white oak tree, stretching upwards towards the sky, or even the scent of dead fish along the riverbank and the smell of lilacs o'erbrimmed with ripeness. You hear the annoying gnats buzzing in your ear. And this is what it must be like to be a poet, or to be a writer, you've got all of these words just hitting you like a correspondent breeze, life is more vivid, you've got all of these waves and leaves and clouds and this whole earth just singing with moments of passion, imagination, life, moral teaching, and then you just know. It hits you, and you cannot help but write.

a solitary art

The glow of the lamp circled onto the page, crisp and empty, waiting to be filled. It was a warm glow while the brisk breeze brushed gently across her back. The spirals and coils at the base of the lamp drew the eye upward past mosaic creme marble, wrought-iron curls, and a majestic lampshade housing the precious bulb out of which bloomed the most cozy light.

She grasped the mug between her hands, let the heat seep past the ceramic and onto her fingers, pressed her lips to the rim, and smelled the steam rising softly from its den. She tasted the bitter bean as it sailed down her throat, and savored the sugary raspberry which mingled against french roast. A bitter blend of promise for the long night ahead.

Nearby, two bodies strenuously reviewed their notes. Separately but united in one cause. Furthering their knowledge. Seeing them here, against the glow of light, surrounded by books and pages of wisdom, inspired her to delve into Faustus. To taste the words and make them as real as the coffee she held in her hands, as real as the glowing atmosphere in which she found herself tonight.

It's moments like these, she thought, when the world is simply lovely. Full of beauty. Darkness marked by lampposts and lampshades and tiny windows across the quad, brimming with light. Somewhere, someone else cares as much as she does. Somewhere, someone's light is brighly shining, or dimly, warmly, gently shining. She prefers the gentle for now, and sipping a tiny drop, returns to the pages.

reflect.

So here I am, buried in this snowglobe called life. The snow is way past my ankles, and it keeps drifting down without a care in the world, and I'm sitting here behind a giant icicle, dreaming.

Life. And most memorable moments. Everyone has one, but if you google it, most of these moments happen later in life. For me, it was this one day that I remember so vividly, and it was exactly what I needed.

I got on my blue bicycle and rode to the park, I sat underneath a green tree and read pages and pages of goodness. The sun was shining, and the breeze was blowing, and I was alive. It was a simple and beautiful moment, when my heart was jumping out of my chest because I loved what I was reading. It was almost as if I'd written it myself. Then when my hands closed the book, I rode through the trees with the sun on my face and the wind in my hair.

Some people say that they remember most the moment when they got married, or found love, or had a child, or experienced death firsthand. Innocence and youth have me for now, I can only hope that days will become richer as I age, and clear simple memories will find a home inside my heart. And now I'm curious, what is your most memorable moment? If we don't have one yet, are we really living or are we living so much that we can't take time to stop and reflect?

knitting is fabulous.

The Lord gives strength to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace.
ps 29:11

i love reslife, vanilla creme tea, quiet mornings, opening books and soaking in the words, really understanding, and true friends. i love sleeping in, learning about discipleship, and hoping for a new semester.

i love time, and I'm continually learning to use it well.

rainclouds in december

Some days I just want to call it a day, close my door, and climb into bed. It's especially unfortunate when this happens at 4:00 on a Wednesday afternoon.

Instead, I have ideas to read, papers to write, people to see, meetings to lead.

And I still find myself asking why?



How do intellectuals do it? Campuses this small drive me crazy sometimes. Can I just grab a PB&J without seeing someone that I know? Can I find a solitary spot to write a paper (or update my blog!)?



Today is an angry, apathetic sort of day.

Perhaps I am apathetic because I am ignorant.

In that case, lock the door, I have some learning to do.