Echoes from Charles De Gaulle

Thursday July 5th 2012-8:36am

I realized I love airports, well, love and hate them. It's a complicated relationship. I love the relaxed breath the moment after you pass through security and take a seat at your gate. I love the assurance that you've made it, you're on time. I love the pre-wrapped sandwiches and hot coffee. I even enjoy smiling at the grumpy workers. It's strange, I know, but I recognize now just how much peace I get sitting at the gate. It's my time to reflect, to watch, to inhale where I've left and exhale where I'm going. I never feel that impatient for my plane to come if it's only a couple of hours. I suppose I'm not thrilled at the thought of being in an airport for eight hours, but right now sitting in the Charles De Gaulle alone while Maggie is browsing the airport shops, I am content. I'm finally off of a sweltering, overcrowded the Metro, RER train, and airport shuttle as I was before. And even though I'm wrapped in clothes that haven't been washed more than twice over five weeks and underwear I washed in a Brussels hotel sink, I'm sad to see it end. I'm not very good at realizing where I'm going on trips, just where I am. It never truly sinks in until much too late, usually mid-sentence of someone else's words and I drift off thinking, "I'm really here." So the fact that we are on our way home hasn't truly hit me. Maybe because we aren't doing anything we haven't done to indicate the trip is over. We got up early, packed, showered, packed more, checked out of our hostel, grabbed a pastry (probably my last "Chausson Au Pomme" for a while :(), got to the airport, and are now waiting for the plane. Typical travel for us, really.

We have a connection to Dublin, then an eight hour flight, then a five hour layover in Chicago, then a flight home. Ugh. Just writing that sounds dreadful, doing it will be even more difficult. Oh well, I'm sure I'll read this paragraph later and have some "profound" thought about how quickly time moves. But it's true of course.

***

I know my weakness know my voice, but I believe in grace and choice

I think I have an unhealthy love for Saturday mornings. It's not the laziness that I love by any means, but the stillness. The calm moments between the walk from the brewing coffee pot to the toaster. No rush, no urgency, just toast. The inkling of light seeping through the dusty blinds. The possibility of farmer's market outings, coffee shop musings, lunch with a friend. Nothing is certain, there is no pressure to do anything but simply be.

I could endlessly type about the business of my weeks. The relentless work that goes into each weekday morning, the commitments made, the eyedrops I pour into my eyes to hide the hours of sleep I've missed, but I won't. For this moment, I'd rather relish in the glorious peace of God that transcends all understanding. That these moments are only due to His grace. These still mornings are attributed to His love for me.

This Saturday is made for the rootsy groans of Marcus Mumford and his sons that will serenade me into the afternoon. Babel. Can't get enough.

A Sunday of forgiveness

"Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."
-Romans 12:11-12

Just some life at Madison Place

Just a disclaimer: we call our house "Madison Place" because every house needs a name, but also Madison was the previous tenant. She isn't exactly aware her name is now solidified in three college girls' vocabulary to refer to their home, but it's catchy and I'm okay with that.

Anyway, here's some life.

It was Anna Rae's 23rd birthday yesterday! We had a few friends over to Madison Place last night to celebrate the joy that is my dear roommate. We overdosed on cupcakes and ice cream, had a few candle-lighting malfunctions, took an obscene amount of photos, and sang out our hearts out (of tune) to the Happy Birthday song.

Regardless of the disappointments and circumstances that we all know each other deals with on a daily basis, there was much joy.

I serve a God that enjoys fellowship with His people, and joyful feasts like last night.

Ephesians 5:19-20
"Addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart, giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ."

Fall Playlist

Instead of proclaiming an endless stream of over-the-top pumpkin-esque reasons why I love fall as most everyone with access to social media already has, I'll let the songwriters do it for me. This is my fall 2012 playlist. These particular songs were not specifically written for the season of changing leaves and overpriced lattes, but to me, they narrate the few months before Dean Martin's Christmas album takes over my eardrums.

Sick of Elephants-Andrew Bird
Wedding Vows (score song from "The Vow")-Rachel Portman
Birds of a Feather-The Civil Wars
Einaudi: Rose-Ludovico Einaudi
Towers-Bon Iver
Sloom-Of Monsters and Men
This is Just so Beautiful-Jenny & Tyler
Perth-Bon Iver
River Road-Nancy Wilson
Barton Hollow-The Civil Wars
Kiss Goodbye (score song from "The Holiday)
Creature Fear-Bon Iver
Holy, Holy, Holy-City Hymns
It's Only Fear-Alexi Murdoch
C'est la Mort-The Civil Wars
Blindsided-Bon Iver
Be Still-The Fray
Holy Hands-City Hymns
20 Years-The Civil Wars
How We Love-Ingrid Michaelson
I Will Follow (acoustic)-Chris Tomlin

An excerpt from my Europe journal

I spent 5 weeks backpacking through Europe with my sister, and my life was enriched through God's constant grace and provision. Yet, I was also prodded at by the enemy's stick with my own doubts and selfishness, the constant stream of "what-ifs" preventing me from living life where I was, and fear that threatened to swallow me whole.

For a large portion of my time there, my body was immersed in the iciest pool of lies and discontent, but God cannot be shaken, and He dwells within my soul. I am human. And I come with a lot of baggage and a gradual understanding of truth, and I am thankful that the Lord never gives up on my failures, my insecurities, my harsh tongue.

I kept an fairly detailed account (though at the time it never felt like enough even though my hand often wimped out due to severe cramping) of our backpacking through Europe adventure, and I wish I could let my inky words do the explaining for me when people ask how it was. At least then I could do it some sort of justice, but more than that, it describes the state of my heart and where God was moving. So I thought I'd share just a small bit. Hope that doesn't seem odd, but sometimes when you look back, the bad things stick out more than the good, and I don't want that for Maggie or for myself.

"We then hung out downstairs and before we knew it, it was 9:30pm, but the sun was still out so it looked like 4pm-ohhhh Ireland. So we headed upstairs to take showers and talk to our Canadian roommates and learn all about the Quebec government and the French schools they have there. Then Maggie and I started to get a bit hyper and just laughed and laughed. One of the Canadians responded to our apology for being so talkative with, "Oh no, I was just thinking that this is how my sister and I are together. I haven't seen her in seven weeks, so this is preparing me." So at least this is somewhat universal: no matter where you go, sisters are sisters.

The rest of the night was just a lot of girls giggling, pure joy. Then we woke up and had breakfast with Anna and said a difficult goodbye. She could easily have fit in our pocket (her big red curls and all!) and come with us, which I told her. I think we are going to miss her a lot, and I can't even fathom that Galway was only a couple of days. We needed Galway. God has restored our hopes and my confidence that I am indeed where He always intended me to be. Yes there are still little arguments, packages that cost £50 to ship (like this morning...) sweaty runs to catch the bus, and full bladders with no bathroom to relieve us, but that does not define this trip. It's the bonding over our Gilmore Girls infatuation with Anna, the way our Canadian roommates say "aye" without laughing, it's Maggie selflessly french-braiding my hair nearly every day. Thank you Father for giving me more than I could have even thought of. For teaching me raw grace, and for loving Maggie and I enough to protect our weary spirits."

A Wednesday Morning

It was quite unproductive, but sometimes, that's okay.

I've been able to relax quite a bit in the last couple of days, and for that I am grateful. I always make too-big of plans to do everything, get it all finished, cross off stuff on my to-do-list for the week (or adding to it things I've already done so I feel accomplished...which everyone is guilty of). And yet, I don't think that time was wasted in the slightest. Yesterday for example, I was at work staring at my French homework as the Future Anterior mocked me with it's unnecessary existence, and I took a break (from not a whole lot of original concentration anyway) and somehow ended up reading some of my grandmother's brilliant short stories on her website. She is an established writer and someone I cherish immensely. She has influenced me more than words can say. I made it through several pf her pieces and one even moved me to tears, so I emailed her immediately letting her know how in awe I was of her talent, and simply that she is great. Those are the moments I will remember from college. It's just the truth. Yes, right now, I seem to be called to be a student. Yes, I take school pretty seriously, but there is a time for school and a time for life, and sometimes, contrary to University officials, they are not interchangeable.

Morning omelettes and fresh flowers

I am grateful for this house. For change that induces panic attacks because without them God's glory would never be magnified. This is home. This messy, sometimes awkward, hipster-wannabe house that has already given us corners to cry in, tables to pray at, and kitchens for our laughter to echo through (and burn entire tea-kettles on).

It's only been a few weeks, but I love this place. The soundproof walls, the mini-dishwasher, the ridiculous wood paneling, the crevices of light that sneak through our dusty blinds. I love the petite bathroom, the overwhelming tree that looks like an untamed bush outside our front door. I love our porch. I love our mismatched furniture, the piles of Bibles everywhere, our shelf of coffee mugs, our board with encouraging messages left for one another at the early hours of the morning.

Today is no exception for gloriously looking at my God who surrounds me with people who value with me. Today Sunny and Matt made a lovely omelette spread complete with crisp apple slices and smoothies from mason jars (told you we are wanna-be hipsters). I am grateful to have these friends that I love and who make me breakfast. Grateful that they laugh at my jokes when they aren't funny and let me endlessly interrupt my own stories with side-notes and tangents that make no linear pathway. It has been a tiring few weeks. Both mentally, emotionally, physically (sprained foot), and spiritually. Things keep piling on. Nights are getting later. Backpacks getting heavier. Spirits threatening to plummet, but I trust my God. I trust Him. Sunny and I had a conversation about our desire to be somewhere else: what does that mean? Is it fleeing from responsibility? Fear? Truth? Yet she said something that quieted my soul. That God knows where He has us, and who are we to feel responsible for where He takes us next? It's not up to me, but to Him. It is not my thoughts anymore, but His. And I am grateful, so grateful, for this Saturday morning to simply be.