Maybe I'll See You There

July 11, 2008 - 9 pm - Workplay Theater


The third concert of a smattering of local musicians who assemble often, lay their individual artistry on the table, and collectively create music which could not be achieved alone.

www.workplay.com www.greyhavencommunity.com

Myself, in 150 words or less

"Yet another temptation goes to the other extreme. With Sartre, it says: 'L'enfer, c'est les autres!' ('Other people--that's hell!'). In that case, love itself becomes the great temptation and the great sin. Because it is an inescapable sin, it is also hell. But this too is only a disguised form of Eros--Eros in solitude. It is the love that is mortally wounded by its own incapacity to love another, and flies from others in order not to have to give itself to them. Even in its solitude this Eros is most tortured by its inescapable need of another, not for the other's sake but for its own fulfillment!"
-Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island

Obligatory "Things I Learned In Europe" Post

Things I learned in Europe...
1. Never fly United Airlines. Ever.
2. Some of the most beautiful things in Europe (and the world) lie at the top of the stairs (-Rachel)
3. The word "succor," pronounced SUH-koor, is a noun meaning aid or help. I win. (Rach and I argued about this. I think it's the first...and last...argument I've ever won with her).
4. My body is much more capable than I ever thought possible.
5. Home is grossly underappreciated. So is yellow mustard.
6. Salade Nicoise involves anchovies, just in case you were wondering.
7. Someday, someone is going to introduce Ranch dressing to Europe and rock the world. Just you wait.
8. Public transportation is a beautiful thing. I love subways systems.
9. Europeans have a much less well-developed sense of personal space than Americans. This includes visual space (i.e. staring), which we don't even consciously think of as personal space.
10. Most Europeans don't dislike Americans as much as I thought. Some do. Most don't. Most are genuinely eager to help, so don't be afraid to ask.
11. Europeans also have a brilliant sense of when to stop talking. They are okay with silence. Americans should learn from them.
12. Picnic meals are some of the best ones.
13. Rick Steves' books are very good, but his maps are slightly arbitrary. Maps are important; train schedules are more important.
14. "Get on with it." -a Kenyan resident of Bath, regarding how some people feel about travelling in the consistently dreary UK weather.
15. There is something refreshing about hanging clothes on an outside line to dry, praying that it won't rain in the mean time.

I'm sure there's more, but I can't think of anymore right now.

Fin.

Things to hold on to

Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.
-Habakkuk 3:17-18

"Here dies another day,
During which I have had eyes, ears, hands,
And the great world around me.
And tomorrow begins another.
Why am I allowed two?"
-G.K. Chesterton

time flies when you're inundated with stuff to do

So, I thought my last blog post was probably about two or three weeks ago. Turns out it was over six. Oops. Guess I haven't been doing any blog-worthy or profound thinking in the past several weeks. I have, however, been writing songs. Hmmm.

But, now that my life is once again my own, I should be back on (the writing) board again soon. That's right, I survived nursing school and I'm a college graduate. I even changed my status on facebook to alum, so it's definitely official.

Now what?

All that to say, I really have nothing to say, but I'm still here.

small, and yet so big

The Holy Spirit is the earnest of our inheritance. God's guarantee that He will finish what He started.

Neat.

(see Eph. 1:13-14)

Nothing to do but write

I'm sitting in a screened-in porch on the bayou, waiting for a projected thunderstorm to blow through. It's a strange feeling being protected in this way by mesh-wire windows, but at the same time feeling so close to it all. I can hear the wind hissing through the fine metal membrane, wrapping its fingers around the palm trees and stripping them from the bottom up, causing a stir among the gulls and pelicans, herding the water between the banks. It makes me worry about the workers on the roof next door.

And yet, from where I'm perched on this couch between screens, were I blind and deaf, I'd have to sit very still to even realize there was a slight breeze blowing through the space. Barely enough to turn the page of a book or pick playing cards up off the table. Raindrops are hung up in random patterns in holes in the screen. Tiny string-lanterns draped across the tops of windows bob as if in anticipation. On particularly heavy gusts, the edges of the table cloth might be inhaling and exhaling.

But that is the extent of the inside turmoil. The movement within does not match the chaos without. And yet my eyes and ears would seem to tell me (falsely, of course) that I could be swept away at any second. I'm not quite sure how to feel.