I Will Lift My Eyes

Nevada Rockies

About three weeks ago, I was feeling highly stressed from trying to balance school, work, and people. A life consisting of school, work, sleep, and a little guilt for never quite doing enough seemed to stretch out interminably. Browsing through pictures of the western states (yet another form of procrastination when I should have been working on a paper), I wished out loud that I could spend some time traveling across our country but knew there was no way I could make anything like that happen.

Within two days of this wish, my aunt called me and invited me to help her and my uncle move out to California. I would split the driving, and all of my travel costs were to be paid by them. Work was slow, and school was portable, so no obstacles presented themselves. Essentially, God knew my heart's desire and dropped this trip into my lap. Or, as a friend pointed out, perhaps He placed the desire in my heart because He wanted to speak to me on the trip in some way.

Travel is good for the soul. I hate to over-spiritualize things, but the long days of driving really did minister to my very unquiet spirit, and God really did seem to be speaking to me through the trip. As I traveled, I regained proper prospective on life--I am small, my problems are small, and the God who created the Kansas plains, the Colorado mountains, and the Wyoming wind is awfully big.


People warned me that Kansas would bore me. I was a little bit apprehensive of the open plains, because growing up in wooded New England has given me a small case of reverse claustrophobia (Is there a term for that?). However, I thoroughly enjoyed the monotony of grass, sky (so much sky! How do people stay on the ground and not float away?), and strange-looking-irrigation-robot-things. The sameness soothed my nerves and reminded me of the Unchanging One: "I am Jehovah, I change not."

As much as I enjoyed the novelty of the prairie, the open spaces did lose a bit of their charm by the time we were well into Colorado. Just as their continuity began to wear on me, the Rockies appeared. I cried. I had no idea how majestic they would be contrasted with the prairie and high desert. "I will lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved."


Wyoming was my favorite state. The combination of mountains, sky, and wind was so beautiful it hurt. I encountered power like I never have before--we drove through fifty mph winds that knocked tractor-trailers over along the highway (The helpless trucks reminded me a bit of the helplessness of tipped cows, for some reason.) and caused the shadows of passing clouds to fly past us on the highway. When we stopped at a rest area to get a break from the wind, I could just barely move against the wind and could not breathe if I faced into it. Poor Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Lori were a bit stressed, but I have rarely enjoyed anything so much in my life. I've always enjoyed wind, and the sheer exhilaration of the speed and strength of an unseen force made me giddy with joy. The truckers huddled at the rest stop amusedly watched me, the "reserved one", run and stagger and shout and laugh out loud for pure happiness as the wind pushed me around.

After we left our shelter and headed down out of the mountains, Aunt Lori reminded us of another unseen force: "The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." Should I be expecting the same degree of spontaneity, joy, freedom,and satisfaction while being directed by the Wind? Food for thought...


Remember that Shakespeare bit about sleep knitting the 'raveled sleeve of care? I could feel travel healing up my internal unravelings. Despite pressing deadlines (two term papers and an exam due the week of the trip), as we drove for hours upon end and as I flew back, I had an almost physical sensation of something in my core moving back into place. Frazzled nerve endings shrank back into their proper places, and I felt as if God were telling me, "I knew you needed a break, I heard your desire, and I knew that the trip would help you. I created this vast country. I created you, as well, and I am taking care of you. I, Jehovah, change not, am your helper, and am working even when you can't see Me. "

Now I am home again. Still facing the challenges of juggling full-time school, full-time work, and living with a full-time family that I love dearly. The stress will pile up again, but God knew exactly what I needed this last time around. He's probably able to figure out what I need next time life gets too big.

Overheard in the S------d Household

At the dinner table:

Mother to Offspring X: Offspring Y will probably be president someday, he's so used to ridicule.
Offspring X: Mom, I'm not nearly as bad as Nancy Pelosi!
Offspring Y: Don't worry, I'll make you the Secretary of Defense.
Offspring X: Didn't JFK make his brother something?
Offspring Z, irrelevantly: Yeah, but he died, too!

Peak

Know what? God is wicked good to me. Even when I refuse to talk to Him. Even when I don't believe He knows what He's doing. Even when I'm all grumpy and whiny and depressed.

Today I'm not grumpy and whiny and depressed, and I am amazed at how much He does for me. You'd think He loves me or something!

Look at all my blessings:

~Visits with friends at the FamCon.
~True blue friends with whom to visit
~Hours in the car by myself
~Beautiful weather
~Ice cream with friends
~KATHERINE!
~Flowers and herbs and things
~Lots of work hours
~Ice cream and flowers and music in Portsmouth with my ENTIRE family!
~Lindsay
~Peace
~Joy
~The discovery that slightly cooler than boiling water makes green tea so much better
~The remembering that God wants me personally, something I often lose sight of.
~Ecclesiastes--somehow it's ministering to me this year

The clouds are breaking, and, what do you know, God has been good all along. Weird.

I love Him.

A Vacation Post

This evening Aaron took me to the NH Philharmonic's Christmas concert at the Palace Theater in Manchester as a birthday present. 'Twas great fun to sing with some good old fashioned carols, watch Gov. Lynch conduct (His conducting was comparable to his governing, but more amusing to watch.), and catch up with my old violin teacher and friends from orchestra. (It took my teacher a minute to recognize me with my glasses on. he gave me a few blank looks before it connected, to my vast amusement.)

Aaron and I were in the very tiered seats in the balcony, the ones with very little leg room, even for me. During the intermission, while the man sitting in front of me was gone, I got up and moved around before sitting down again, somehow managing to drape a whole bunch of my full skirt over his seat. I didn't notice this until it was too late. The man returned and promptly sat on my wayward clothing.

The problem of how to extricate my skirt kept Aaron and me amused for some time. We decided that I could a)yank it out really fast and just sort of look off in a different direction in case our neighbor turned around to see what I was doing, b)pull it out inch by inch and hope he wouldn't feel it, c)"accidentally" throw my program on the floor in front of him and hope he'd be kind enough to bend over and pick it up for me, leaving my skirt unoccupied, or d) just tap him on the shoulder and explain the whole thing.

I opted for b. Once the music started I started pulling. Inch by inch it slid out. The poor man twitched once or twice and shifted position, causing me worry that he would turn around causing some awkwardness, but he never did, and eventually I retrieved my hem and enjoyed the rest of the concert.

Boy, the whole thing made me miss my violin lessons so bad. Did you know that violin playing builds the triceps? I played for an hour and a half in the cold earlier today (another story for another day) and got so sore, almost as sore as I was when i started playing. Guess that means some poor room at Fairwood will soon be subjected to the scritchings of my practice.

Hallelujah! God is good.

Cowboy Pie

I made a "mystery pie" the other day. Only it wasn't a mystery because members of my family kept walking by and asking what on earth I was making. I tried to avoid detailed answers, but replying, "Oh, a pie. Just some sort of pie," to their queries didn't cut it.

As they each scanned my recipe I was delighted with different reactions.

"Don't you dare make that!" was the reaction of one brother. I think he felt I was wasting a chance to make a perfectly good dessert.

"hmmmm," accompanied by raised eyebrows was a common response.

I also heard some incredulous laughter.

Buoyed up by this encouragement I pureed the pinto beans I had been soaking, mixed them with sugar, nutmeg, milk, and egg yolks, and poured them into a pie crust. Once the pie had set (it took about twice as long as it should have for some reason and made me very nervous it wouldn't work at all!) I topped it with a meringue and served it for dessert.

Much to my own surprise, I must admit, it was quite delicious! Tasted something like pumpkin pie, a little like mincemeat, and a little like custard. It definitely didn't taste like beans. My brothers even ate it!

*Feels proud of herself and oh, so courageous and oh, so economical. After all, gas has topped three bucks here, and one must do something to conserve. What's cheaper than beans?*

Musings

It's been awhile...

~New York was good. Spent the time playing hide'n'seek in cornfields, tubing down rivers, watching fireworks, milking goats, and fellowshipping with most excellent friends.

~Cherry chocolate chip ice cream isn't nearly as bad as I had remembered. I learned this because my family ate up all the Fudge Tracks ice cream for Sabbath treat when I wasn't looking. To get my ice cream fix I was forced to try the nauseatingly pink maraschino stuff and found that the chocolate chips actually made it palatable. Live and learn.

~Speaking of learning, I've learned that it doesn't pay to look to closely at voice teachers while they demonstrate tongue stretches. It is difficult to keep from laughing hysterically and swallowing one's tongue that is stretching uvula-ward.

~I hate painting closets, especially when the color of the paint does not meet expectations (and in fact is bright red) and when one runs out of paint halfway through the job.

~I have a loverly cousin, who shall remain nameless, save that his middle name is William, who bought me a cd out of the blue, making my day.

I'm rather tired and am at the point of blogging merely for the sake of having a post, so I will be off.

A Sentimental Post, not to be quoted at me at a later time

I like Aaron. (I like all my siblings, but for certain reasons I'm focusing on him today.) He's a little hard to like when he quotes proverbs about the contentious woman at me and when he won't stop singing Gilbert and Sullivan, but generally he's a pretty nice guy, as the following anecdote illustrates.

After dinner he and I went out to the basketball hoop to play a game of Pig. It went quite quickly although I was hobbling everywhere because the gravel hurt my bare feet. As we walked back to the house I threw the ball to Aaron, but because of my poor aim it hit an obstacle and ricocheted off, ending up rather far down the driveway. I sort of hoped Aaron would get it for me, but he didn't offer, so I tiptoed after it, grumpily complaining all the way. As I retrieved the ball a shoe suddenly hit the ground next to me and was followed quickly by its twin. Did he want me to carry them for him?! I looked up irritably.

"WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!"

"So you won't hurt your feet."

oh.

"Thanks!"

I slipped my feet into the shoes, which by the way were miles too big and hot and sweaty to boot (Aaron jokingly offered me his socks, too, but I figured I was better off without them.) and painlessly tromped across all the nasty gravel to the house.

A little thing you say? Yes, but it represents a willingness Aaron has to do things for others that really blesses me.

Hooray for brothers.

(Aaron, now that I've been so nice to you, how about giving me a couple extra quarters of an hour next time its your turn for the pc? )

Night of Horror (or Blood-sucking Beetles Blunderingly Burrow into Bria's Brain)

I suppose that I should keep standard protocol and warn Claire to beware if the title hasn't already warned her off.

Now to begin the tale:

On Sunday evening Elizabeth, Katherine, and I went for a dip in our pool. We swam awhile and had great fun. So far so good.

Around nine thirty I decided it was time to rinse off in the pool shower. I happily began to wash my hair in the warm water. Suddenly, I noticed A Strange Feeling in my ear. It felt as if there were a lot of water clogging my ear. Not liking this feeling, I shook my head on one side and gingerly poked my finger in. It met something hard and crunchy with legs. The crunchy thing Wiggled and Disappeared into my Ear.

Naturally I did not take this turn of events calmly. I frantically shook my head and banged my ear, but to no avail. At this point I knew that it was time to scream.
And laugh. The whole situation seemed so ludicrous.

So screaming and laughing in a frantic way I raced out onto the pool deck, leaving the shower running. I could feel the Thing working it's way up my ear canal. My ear felt tight and hurt a little and there were odd scratchy noises. I started to panic a little. Actually a lot. What if it never came out? It seemed like such a stupid thing, to let a bug crawl up your ear. How grotesque!

Elizabeth and Katherine weren't sure of what to do, so while they deliberated I did a strange running dance up to the house. I would run a few steps and then dance on one foot, shaking my head on my side, boxing my ear. It occurred to me that maybe the bug, or whatever it was, was trying to crawl up, so I tried tipping my head the other way, but that was scary.

I could see Daddy through the kitchen window, so I frantically banged on the window and clearly signalled that there was a giant bug (or something) in my ear. He didn't seem to understand, so I raced around to the door. By this time I was crying in a strange sort of way. My ear was hurting, and I was really starting to panic. Every time I would calm down I would visualize a bug tunneling in my ear and would go off into hysterics again.

Once I was inside the family gathered around to assist. The Thing was not in sight, as every member of the fam pointed out after peering down my ear canal. Through my uncontrolled shrieks and and all the uproar I had created I dimly heard suggestions. Aaron helpfully pointed out that the Bug couldn't go past my ear drum. Daddy suggested getting a q-tip and honey to stick in my ear to get it out. I reasonably suggested calling 911 and wondered how on earth they would get a bug out and how on earth I was going to make it through my ordeal. Mama stood still and prayed out loud and subsequently had a brilliant idea.

"Light!" She said. I wondered if this was part of her prayer, but it wasn't. Get me a lamp, she said, and got one herself. She tipped the lamp standing by the doorway and held it to my ear and commanded someone to get a flashlight. Daddy obliged with an absolutely gargantuan one. Once this was held to my ear the wiggling and pain increased, but it was moving out.

Daddy and Aaron gasped. My whole family was peering into my ear. I was grossed out myself and couldn't stand still, so Mama held me and made me. I tried not to look at the horrified faces around me. "It's coming...coming...ewwww....almost there...hang on....disgusting..."

And then it was out. Aaron ran for his camera and documented the size of the lovely little, or not so little beetle. He hopes to publish a picture of it shortly.

Well, that's enough for now. I'm startig to feel sick thinking about it again. It seemed like a good story, but now that I'm rehashing it...The moral of the story is that mothers are great and that prayer works and the strength of the human spirit will prevail. (just kidding about the last one)

A Word's a Word for A' That?

Aaron and I had a discussion awhile ago about what a "word" actually is. I said that a word must have some certain consistent definition understood by more than the person. Aaron said that any combination of syllables put together could be said to be a word. As proof he pointed out "The Jabberwocky." However, I would say that gyre and gimble and mimsy and brillig all now have meanings, or at least have concrete definitions set down by Lewis Carroll. I was going to dig out the dictionary to type the definition which is actually rather ambiguous, but I'm too lazy. So take this rambling for what it's worth....(not much =) )

Joys of Vacation

"Do not stare at me because I am swarthy, for the sun has burned me." ~Song of Solomon 1:6. Elizabeth pointed out that verse to me early in the week. It could be said to be the theme of our vacation. Tans, sun poisoning, peeling skin, aloe vera, vitamin e gel, and sunblock were frequent topics of conversation. Hooray for sunny days!

"There's a tick on the speedometer!" Thus cried Aaron as we set out to drive home. (Aaron was driving the Safari and towed the boat home,without incident, by the way. Not too bad for his third month of having a license.) Needless to say, I had never expected to hear those words. However, I should not have been surprised. Cape Cod seemed especially inundated by ticks this year. The path from our house to the beach teemed with them. When walking slowly through the grass, one could see the little critters sitting on the tips of the grass just waiting for food. I wonder if they knew we would walk along the path or if they were spread throughout the beach grass. What happens to ticks who never find food? Ticks were discovered on the walls, on towels, on my skirt, on my neck.... I'm just thankful none of us were bitten...although I did wake up with a stiff neck this morning, a symptom of LYME's (or just a bad night's sleep.)!

Despite ticks and burns, and in some ways because of them (Ticks and sunburns are interesting conversation pieces), vacation was an extremely enjoyable time. We were blessed with sunny weather, warm water, and good friends. Now it's back to the daily grind, i.e. finishing up school, graduating, helping out with Vacation Bible School, the Girls' Week, the Family Convention, and work....

Yankee talk?

A few months ago, Aaron read an article about "New Hampshire speak." This article included a list of terms in the local vernacular, such as wicked (as an adjective, of course), Massachusetts drivers, ice out, some very, very strange terms I'd never heard in my life, and finally, "flatlanders." Now, DO YOU KNOW WHAT A FLATLANDER IS? Half the members of my family did and said it was quite a common term, and the other half insisted that no New Hampshirite that they knew had ever used it or knew what it meant. This debate has continued for months. I now turn it over to you, dear reader. Have you heard the term, do you know what it means, and would you consider it common?

Strangeness

Yesterday, as Cara and I drove into the Nashua TJMaxx/Target parking lot, we saw several fire engines already there and another peeling in with its lights flashing. In a moment we spotted their emergency. Four or five firemen were standing around one of the little barkmulch islands in the lot, spraying chemicals on a tiny little sapling. The hoses they were using were coming from a trailer-like apparatus that bore the urgent motto, "PREVENT FOREST FIRES!" We shrugged and entered Panera.

Just did a quick spellcheck. It suggested that I replace "barkmulch" with "fearsomely."

Little Susie Homemaker

I love making lasagna. Makes me feel so domestic and homey and stuff... chopping up onions and carrots really small, making a sauce with a little bit of this and that, trying to figure out how to stretch seven noodles into the nine or so needed. Friday is a good lasagna day, in case you're unaware of that. Life is good.

Another thing about Fridays...cleaning. Today I was in a major cleaning mood (actually, I would have had to do the cleaning I did whether or not I was in a mood, so that was lucky for me.), scrubbing bathrooms (yeah!), deep cleaning stuff, finally vacuuming my room, picking up random clutter, vacuuming other people's rooms. Has anyone else ever noticed that the more you clean, the more stuff you notice needs cleaning? It's a bit discouraging. However, our house is now beeautiful, to my joy. (Oh, and no, I am not a slave. The rest of ma famille worked hard also. :-) )

Fairness, Family, and Flip-Flops

Did you know the common definition of "fair" has changed over the years while retaining a its old connotation? Yes, it has, and I just finished a paper about it, so now I don't have to think about it anymore!! Happiness.

Alicia and I went out for ice cream Tuesday to celebrate a great accomplishment. She'd been dry for an entire week, no small feat for a two year old. (And no, she hasn't had problems with alcohol; this was a matter of potty training.) This outing was in continuation of a long standing tradition of aunts and older cousins taking me out to ice cream in commemoration of such great events. We had great fun. She chatted away about "her brother Andrew," Baby Luke and his new sister, my family's Rialta, Uncle Earl and Aunt Ali, and many other interesting topics. Two year old have extraordinary minds! They also eat there ice cream exceedingly slowly and sometimes decide they want a treat as soon as they finish it...despite which, I happen to love this particular two year old very much.

I broke one of my flip-flops this week. "Exciting!" you say in a sarcastic tone. But really, it was rather, because it broke while I was walking in Manchester. The part that goes between the toes pulled right out. I dragged my foot along for a bit before surreptitiously taking it off and shoving it back together as best I could. It lasted about ten steps before coming apart again. This process was repeated multiple times. Believe me, there's nothing like a broken shoe to make one feel silly. I hobbled around the grocery store feeling like a homeless person who couldn't afford a decent pair of $1.69 flip-flops from WalMart. sigh. Once home, I taped them all together and went back out again. (Praise the Lord for duct tape.) Yes, I know, a bit unwise and rather cheap, but I was low on time and extra flip-flops. How was I rewarded for my frugality? By suddenly being shoeless on Elm Street the next day. grr. Managed to make it to a store and buy some shockingly bright blue and green plastic things that don't go with anything I have. Ah well, such is life.

The Obedient Sister

Aaron tells me that I should post more. To hear is to obey.

Still Alive

I actually am alive and kicking. I also am actually extremely lazy.

Some highlights of the last unblogged month or so (make that the last week or so. As I said, I'm lazy.):

~Driving out to NY for Easter weekend. The family left about noon Friday, and Aaron and I followed later. I really enjoyed the five hours with him, even if his driving did occasionally make me nervous. (For those of you who don't know, he got his license a few weeks ago, and he really is an excellent driver.) During the times when he was driving, I entertained myself by reading old journals, an entertaining experience. "I always carry my diary with me. One must have something sensational to read on the train." (Rough paraphrase from "The Importance of being Earnest."

~Chatting with chicken-pocked Becca. She's quite an interesting conversationalist when she can sit still long enough!

~Playing Cranium with Ben, Katherine, Klara, Cara, and Aaron. Katherine wowing us all by unscrambling some random phrase into Oprah Winfrey at the last minute.

~Conspiring with Ben and Aaron to scare Cara and Klara while they were out tending to goats. (Fire crackers are quite effective.)

~Listening to Joe and Allouette Anderson's stories.

~Just visiting with close friends.

~Coming home. It's good to visit, but better to be home.

Only in New Hampshire

This evening over dinner my family was talking about the half a million protesters in Syria. Daddy mentioned how tempting it must be for Israel to send over a missile to wipe out all those terrorists in one fell swoop. Mama wanted to know how close Lebanon was and what it's relationship was to Israel.

"Would that be like Canada to us?"

"Nah, much more hostile. Sort of like Vermont." or something like that.

Earlier this evening we were trying to think of a way to stop Massachusetts drivers and liberals from moving up here.

As Stephen Vincent Benet wrote in "The Devil and Daniel Webster," "And he [the devil]hasn't been seen in the state of New Hampshire from that day to this. I'm not talking about Massachusetts or Vermont."

New Hampshirites sound a bit hostile, but we're really quite friendly.

Live free or die!

Oh yeah, and I'm back. Jet lag's almost gone, and England seems far away. :-(
But I made risotto today, and that made me think of making it with Karena. My pictures come tomorrow!!! (exclamatin points)