If I Were...

If I were an artist,

I would go into this shop every afternoon after eating my lunch. I would stare at each color and dream up my paintings then and there in this pastel color shop. Then, I would walk out the door and go home, take a new white piece of paper, and begin.

If I were a scholar,

I would sit in this bookstore that overlooks the Seine River. I would only read and write for some time before getting up again to walk down these steps

and examen the stack of books. After this would I go back up the steps and imagine myself as a famous writer in Paris, with many demands from my fans and coffee being made for me every hour. Then I would sit back down and write again.

If I were an actress

I would wear a big, red hat like this woman. I would take my scripts and sit outside--with my big red hat on--and rehearse my lines. I would stand up very tall and articulate all my consonants, and carry a small, ivory, lace hand wallet wherever I went.

And if I were a 23-year old woman

I would instead be an 8-year old girl...and be all these things tomorrow.

I have drawn you.

England is a pleasant place. I do not wish to go there too many times out of fear that I will one day cease to see it as completely perfect in every way. Right now, I am quite content with my memories. Memories that could arguably be better than the best books. Better than the best fairy tales. Better than the most adventurous tale.

This is not because my memories are all that interesting...to the common listener, that is. But because they are completely drenched with something. And this something cannot be defined. For to define it would, I believe, in some way destroy its essence. But. It is kind of like...

The 74-year-old English flutist, William Bennett, learning a new articulation technique from the kid from Egypt.

Or it's a bit like walking past the red berry tree every morning and every evening.

And it's understanding my relation to these fearful, hungry sheep...

...and how wonderful...wonderful in the way that food and drink are wonderful...it is to be with this girl from Greece, this boy from Spain, this teacher from Japan.

One day, this something will be even more clear than it already is.

"I will allure her, will bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfort to her."

Hos. 2:14

My Birthday Is:

Me, the fields, and my blue polka-dot dress.

I am happy to be 23.

When God dresses us

"Morality is indispensable; but the Divine Life, which gives itself to us and which calls us to be gods, intends for us something in which morality will be swallowed up. We are to be re-made. All the rabbit in us is to disappear--the worried, conscientious ethical rabbit as well as the cowardly and sensual rabbit. We shall bleed and squeal as the handfuls of fur come out; and then, surprisingly, we shall find underneath it all a thing we have never yet imagined: a real Man, an ageless god, a son of God, strong, radiant, wise, beautiful, and drenched in joy."

-C.S. Lewis, "Man or Rabbit" in God in the Dock

Do I dare?

What was written here...


was imagined here.

Do I dare step in? For we all know that those who step in never return the same.

After all, it's a land of mysticism. It's the world that only children and the one grown man by the name of C.S. Lewis can really know. That world with entryways made of bent trees covered in vines,

winding paths enclosed by green trees and weeds that dance as you pass them by,

and animals that speak.

And so, I ask, what is one to do after stepping back into the common world of underground trains, street vendors, and men in business suits?

I think the Inklings knew.

And so do we.

It's good we have each other. And our leaf.

And our memory.

I suppose England will never be the same in our memory, for we have secrets of a distant land. Perhaps tomorrow I'll again dare to enter.

When there will be no more good-byes.

Two days ago we said good-bye to our dear Manna who is moving to southern Norway. Our apartment will not be the same without her.

Before the final good-bye, a celebration was in order. We played our instruments...

and sang. All to the glory of God who both gives and takes.

Soon, there will be no more good-byes. Soon, there will be eternal communion. Soon, we will not miss anyone. Soon, all will be unified and made right.

And so, I am thankful that good-byes come with bitterness. For they are only a reminder that we are, in fact, not yet home.

"The only ultimate disaster that can befall us, I have come to realize, is to feel ourselves to be at home here on earth. As long as we are aliens, we cannot forget our true homeland."

-Malcolm Muggeridge, Jesus Rediscovered

My Window

My window and I go on dates. Every morning and every evening we are together. If you're lucky, I'll allow you to join our date. But know that if you do, you are very lucky.

My window is my loyal friend. But I guess I can share him...with a few.