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.

The people in the cities

A man said, Why, why does travelling
in cars and in trains make him feel sad,
A beautiful sadness.
I've felt this way before.
It's the people in the cities you'll never know.
It is everything you pass by,
wondering, will you ever return?

~Innocence Mission


My mind contains quite a large gallery of faces. Strangers' faces. I recorded the earliest that I can now recall when I was about six years old. I add new ones all the time. Most of the pictures are quite vivid still, but some are so faded that I can't quite pull them into focus and just remember what it felt like to see them.

These faces are the faces of people whom I have never really met but have only seen or talked to in passing. I haven't the faintest idea who most of them are, but each one is etched in my mind as someone I wish I could know. And, yes, I do feel sad that I do not know them. Sometimes I can tell that someone is going to be added to my collection, but, more often than not, I don't "recognize" them until they're gone.

Faces added over the past years include a little girl in K-mart (this is the faint one from age six). Tall, bearded, French-speaking Jewish brothers, who perhaps were twins, seen at a violin recital in Jerusalem. A smiling girl with messy blonde hair who was auditioning for the part of Anne at the Palace Theater eight years ago.

The lady who looked just like Yoda. The sandy-haired kid who looked like he should be in school but sat instead in the Pizza Hut in a tiny prairie town with sturdy looking farmers who wore flannel shirts, greasy baseball caps, and lots of stubble. The frightened-looking Hispanic woman and child being yelled at by their father and husband in the hats and gloves section of Caldors twelve years ago.

The girl who toured the bell towers of Notre Dame with me. She spoke no English, and I could not figure out what her language was after ruling out German, Italian, and Spanish. Both solo travelers, we took turns taking touristy pictures of each other with the other's camera and communicated with smiles and sign language. We never took a picture together.


I'm from New England. I don't approach strangers. I feel uncomfortable down south or out west or anywhere where I have to emerge from my shell and talk to my "neighbor." And I like being the way I am, thank you.

Sometimes, though, I wonder what I'm missing.

Jealous

"Outside of literary study, life has no meaning or attraction for him...he is adapted for nothing else. You may make up your mind to that."

--Written to C. S. Lewis' father by his tutor


How convenient to be adapted only for literary study! I feel especially jealous of Jack as I wade through endless college applications, barely able to read and study anything else, ironically enough. Yet, I know that at the end of this tunnel are literary studies galore, so I can't complain. Must hang on for a few more weeks and get my intellectual sustenance in the meantime by filling out financial aid forms.

Je suis fanatique des bouquinistes.

I'm currently sitting in Soj's world famous reading chair, relaxing after a long tour of practically all the bookshops in Paris. (See her blog for proof that I am actually here.)Why did we spend most of one of my few days in Paris doing that? Well, in the last thirty-six hours, I had already seen for the first time all of the following:

~ Tower Bridge
~ Big Ben
~ Parliament
~ Westminster Abbey
~ Eiffel Tower
~ Notre Dame
~ the Louvre
~ Sacre Coeur

Admittedly, some of these were seen briefly and from a distance (Every time I say "from a distance," Soj bursts into a Bette Midler song.), but, still, I would say that I had already seen plenty of major sites of London and Paris in the last day and had my fill (at least for the moment) of tourists.

Yes, I do know that I currently could fall into the tourist category, but I prefer to consider myself a "traveller." If I think of it that way, I feel less guilty about turning up my nose at all the other people in front of me in lines, many of whom I will be hating tomorrow when I actually visit the Louvre and other well-known places.

Anyway, we did the "traveller" thing today and wandered through many little Parisian streets in search of the perfect used bookshop. We visited Shakespeare and Co., the Village Voice, Tea and Tattered Pages, and many of the bouquinistes along the Seine. I never actually bought anything, except overpriced postcards, but, now, having seen some of my choices, I will probably retrace my steps tomorrow and take my picks.

In the meantime, I am sleepy, as is my hostess. I need to be rested up to see Mona Lisa tomorrow, and I also need to get Soj to stop singing cheesy songs to me, so I bid you adieu. (Soj sings, "To you, and you, and you.")

The Umbrella

Dear Umbrella,

I have a confession.

I used to think umbrellas were only for elderly people. When cute little old ladies hobbled by me, carefully shielding their blue perms from the rain, I would smilingly note their quaintness. When young people carried them, I would scoff at their lack of fortitude. After all, I didn't need an umbrella. I could handle whatever moisture I accumulated between the house and the car, and I was smart enough not to walk anywhere in the rain.

Only old people needed umbrellas. And maybe the Wicked Witch of the West.

Umbrella, I have seen the light. Er, maybe it would be more accurate to say that I have seen the clouds. And the rain. And I have wished dreadfully for one of your kind.

In fact, last Thursday, I wanted you so badly that I said aloud, in public, that I was ready to kill for you. Unfortunately, I didn't feel like killing the little Asian couple that appeared around the corner a minute later, so I remained damp.

The day had started off sunnily enough, so much so that I smiled at Karena's predictions of rain and turned down her offer of a rain jacket or umbrella. My little brown coat was just fine, I assured her. And so it was, for most of the afternoon.

As I exited a bookshop, looking homeward (I thought.), a few drops fell to the ground. The local Britishers promptly opend their umbrellas and tied on their waterproof hoods, to my amusement. A few unprotected souls stepped into doorways (Just like in the books!). I was amused. A little drizzle wouldn't hurt anyone.

Then it started to rain harder.

Then I got lost.

When I finally consulted the map, I couldn't find the street I was on on the silly thing. That's because I had walked so far in the wrong direction that I was not in the part of Cambridge I expected to be in. But I didn't know that yet.

Rain started running off my nose, so I put my coat over my head.

"Maybe it will stop soon, I thought," and stepped into a doorway myself. Unfortunately, no P.G. Wodehouseish fellow was on hand with an umbrella to rescue a maiden in distress.

The rain did indeed slacken. It slackened three or four times in the next hour, in between downpours.

One especially torrential downpour found me sheltering under a tree on a green as I tried to turn the pages of a rather soaked map. I felt quite happy to be on a green, because the map showed that I should cross one on my way back to Karena's.

However, I crossed the green and the Cam River, only to find nothing familiar.

"Newnham?" A kind passerby raised her eyebrows at my request. "Oh, you're totally in the wrong direction." (Imagine this in the precisest of English accents. The beauty of it almost softened the blow of the words.)

I retraced my steps.

About the time I was back in the city centre (note brit. spelling) was when I resolved to kill for the umbrella.

My coat was soaked through. My shoes were soaked through. My purse was soaked through. My hair had come down and was soaked through. My jean skirt was soaked.

I was too wet to bother about waiting for the rain to let up, so I forged ahead. I remembered Brandon's little trick of singing, "Oh, how I love Jesus," when he was feeling miserable, so I tried it. Yes, I trudged along the streets of Cambridge singing about Jesus and trying to decide if I was up to murdering someone.

Eventually things looked familiar. St. Mary's swam into my ken. Then, as I stared with wild surmise, Charlie, Lexie, and Arthur did as well. Except they weren't swimming. They were mostly dry because they were standing in the doorway of St. Mary's waiting for either the rain to stop or Karena to arrive with the car, whichever came first. I decided to stick with them and was subsequently rescured along with them by Karena.

And, so, dear umbrella, since I survived the results of my foolishness, I do repent. Henceforth, (at least while I am in England, where rain clouds pop up at the oddest moments, and where I walk everywhere) I will carry an umbrella. Or at least wear a rain coat or something. I also resolve not to secretly mock those who carry umbrellas (at least, not those who carry them on this Island).

Perhaps this repentance is not as complete as it could be. However, allowances must be made for one brought up on Little Women. After all, "Under the Umbrella" would have had to be "Under the Umbrellas" if Jo had carried one of you with her, and that would rather have ruined the story.

That aside, I do respectfully and appreciatively remain your humble admirer,
Bria

Half a Mustard Seed?

After discussing a disappointing situation with a friend yesterday, the friend told me she was going to pray for a miracle in said situation.

My thoughts as I mulled over the conversation later went something like this:

"I appreciate her faith, but I'm not going to waste my faith on that. I'm saving up for a miracle for Paige."

Fortunately, the Holy Spirit stepped in at that point and reminded me that He isn't limited to one miracle at a time. He doesn't wear Himself out working on one situation and find Himself too taxed to take care of one more.

And, no, faith isn't a currency I can hoard until I have enough to purchase a miracle from my own private Max the Miracle Man.

Enough of trying to screw my faith to the sticking place. I don't get it, so I'm just going to plain believe God can do what He wants and that He wants what is good. That takes enough effort as it is. Maybe that's all He's looking for, anyway?

Because I Love and Adore Claire (and part of me really does want to do this, too.)

Claire tagged me. Now, I have not blogged in months. However, since Claire is one of my absolutely favoritest people, I will sort of play the game by listing seven random things about myself. (A nice painless way of blogging for a backslidden blogger, no?) I'm just too lazy to think of seven more people.

1. I used to regularly read the encyclopedia for fun.

2. I would love to be a librarian. Most people who hear that exclaim, "Oh, you look like one!" I still am not sure how to react to that.

3. I want to walk across England someday.

4. I miss Jerry Trupiano.

5. I once pulled a muscle in my face while trying to spit into the sink.

6. Oh dear. I guess I won't feel bad for Mariano Rivera anymore this year.

7. I have never mowed a lawn in all my nineteen years.


Voila. A post.

This Is Scary

What book or movie is it in which some piano virtuoso comes back to a piano after years away and is afraid to play again? I have this vivid picture in my head of him (or her, I can only picture the hands) opening and closing his hands as the pianist musters up courage to touch the keys.

That's how I feel. (Because I used to be a blogger virtuoso, of course!)

I haven't posted in a really long time.

I know you poor souls are all going to look at this because it is going to come up as a new post on Aaron's blog list.

I feel powerful.

Why is it that I feel compelled to tell you how I feel?

......

How many of you can instantly recall what you are wearing without looking to see? I frequently have a hard time remembering. "Oh, you like my skirt? Just a minute while I look to see which one it is." Perhaps this is a warning sign of Alzheimers?

Thanks

I really appreciate all of you who have prayed for me during the last month or so. This year at Bible School seems to be off to quite an auspicious start and already has blown first year out of the water.

My fellow upperclassmen (woohoo!) are incredible.

Our focus on the Gospel in class has fed me richly.

God is teaching me to rest.

I can even be on meals by myself with confidence!

God is good.

I just hope that He helps me to successfully "convert" my eighty-year-old-grandfather-who-has-just-been-diagnosed-with-cancer-and-has-one-month-
to-live (played by Uncle Neil) tomorrow. Hooray for personal evangelism!

End of Summer

Many times this summer I have signed into blogger and almost begun a post entitled, "Bria Comes Through in the Clutch!" This post would, of course, be about my experiences learning to drive stick shift this summer. ("Do you mind if I hide under the seat?") However, I couldn't quite bring myself to use such a terrible pun. And maybe the memories are still a bit painful...

How odd...I wonder how many times I've typed my name out in a sentence, as above. I've typed it out at the beginning of papers and at the end of emails, but I am pretty sure I've not typed it into a sentence myself. I felt strange when I typed it.

* (Report of learning incident that doesn't really fit into this post.)
Do you know what the word "amok," or "amuck," as it can be spelled, means? I had always thought it had something to do with running aground or with things generally going wrong. Last night, as Elizabeth was reading the Iliad aloud to me, while I arranged pennies in order of date, she read a sentence containing the word that made it very clear that it did not mean what I thought it meant. We looked it up and got these definitions:

(among members of certain Southeast Asian cultures) a psychic disturbance characterized by depression followed by a manic urge to murder.

3. run or go amuck,
a. to rush about in a murderous frenzy: The maniac ran amuck in the crowd, shooting at random.
b. to rush about wildly; lose self-control: When the nightclub caught fire the patrons ran amuck, blocking the exits.

Live and learn.
*

I'm off tomorrow morning to Fairwood to work. Will I be blogging from there? Probably not, but anything's possible. Perhaps I will write a nice retrospective post about the clutch-burning days of summer...

My courage for another year is quite good, but I wouldn't mind if any of you guys thought to pray for me.

Happy blogging!

Last Words

"Either that wallpaper goes, or I do."
~Oscar Wilde

I heard this quote for the first time while listening to NPR with Claire a few weeks ago. We pronounced it blogworthy.

Thus this post.

I was considering letting this be my last post before I head back to Fairwood, but now that I'm faced with the looming prospect of summer work I'm becoming more and more attached to this poor neglected blog.

Such is life.

Perhaps I will yet post again.

Overachieving, anyone?

I have been organizing all my papers, attempting to balance my account (it takes me awhile), organizing my "library", packing to go back to Fairwood, reading Don Quixote, berating myself for not practicing my violin, wasting time on blogs, reading In This House of Brede for the second time (It's scary how much Catholicism appeals to me), beginning a study of Latin, preparing to brush up on my French, thinking about studying Aristotle's Rhetoric, not participating in color week, doing laundry, and thinking that perhaps Lord Peter Wimsey would be just the husband for me.

And I'm happy because I don't feel obligated to finish most of the above "tasks." The illusion of business is enough to make me happy.

"Be still and know that I am God."

Okay.

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!

Chivalry is not dead.

A wizened old man with wrinkled tattooes, lots of stubble, and a veteran's cap opened a door for me at the post office today before effortlessly got around me to open the next one for me. I'd like to see some young ATI guy do better. "They don't make'em like they used to."

Something I've Been Pondering

What if you and I see the color we both call "blue" differently?

Say I see it as the color you call green.

We would never know, because we would both consistently call it the same name and identify it with the same objects.

My brain hurts.

"Old Buddha"

is a song title from Mum's cd, "The Best of the Imperials," given to her by her sister in memory of their good ol' Campus Crusade days at UConn. This song amuses me so much with its unabashed unPCness that I am going to break my self-imposed rule of never blogging about song lyrics to share this one with you.

Well, old Buddha was a man
And I'm sure that he did well,
But I pray for his disciples
Lest they end up in hell,
And I'm sure that old Mohammed
Was sure he knew the way,
But it won't be Hari Krishna
We stand before on judgment day.

Chorus:
But it won't be old Buddha
That's sitting on the throne,
And it won't be old Mohammed
That's calling me home,
And it won't be Hari Krishna
That plays that trumpet tune,
And we're going to see the Son,
Not Reverend Moon!

Well, I don't hate anybody,
So please don't take me wrong,
But there really is a message
In this simple song,
See, there's only one way--Jesus,
If eternal life is your goal,
And meditation of the mind, it won't save your soul.

chorus

Well, you can call yourself a Baptist
And not be born again,
A Presbyterian or a Methodist
And still die in your sin,
You can even be Charismatic,
Shout and dance and jump a pew,
But if you hate your brother,
You won't be of the chosen few!

New Chorus:
'Cause it won't be a Baptist
That's sitting on the throne,
A Presbyterian or a Methodist
That's calling me home,
And it won't be a Charismatic
That plays that trumpet tune,
So let's all just live for Jesus,
'Cause He's coming back real soon!


That Reverend Moon bit gets me every time...

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.

In Praise of Camellia sinensis

Tea! thou soft, sober, sage and venerable liquid;-
thou female tongue-running, smile-smoothing,
heart-opening, wink-tippling cordial, to whose
glorious insipidity I owe the happiest moment of my life, let me fall prostrate.

Unfortunately, these lines are not original to myself, but they do express my sentiments quite well.

Where would I be without tea? Dead, probably. My hot pot in my room at Fairwood saved my sanity multiple times. The powers of a steaming cuppa on a frazzled girl are not to be underestimated. By said cuppa hands are warmed, sinuses are cleared, thirst is quenched, cells are antioxidized, mind is sharpened, soul is soothed.

"Thank God for tea! What would the world do without tea?-how did it exist? I am glad I was not born before tea." ~Sydney Smith (1771-1845)

Seriously, a cup of tea really does bring a lot of comfort to me. And no, caffeine isn't the reason. Herbal tisanes make me happy, too.

You, gentle reader, should also like tea. Here's why:

~Tea tastes good. Really. Especially when quality tea leaves are brewed correctly. Most varieties don't even need sugar. (George Orwell and I are united in this opinion.) I usually prefer slightly bitter or earthy tasting teas, but fruity teas, coffeeish teas, and sweet teas exist in abundance for every taste.

~Tea is beautiful. Check out some pictures of tea leaves.

~Tea is good for you. Research has shown some varieties of tea to be rich in antioxidants and lots of good stuff.

~Tea has much less caffeine than coffee, and that caffeine is much milder than coffee's. Herbals of course don't contain any caffeine.

~Tea is soothing. Steadies the nerves and warms the body and soul.

~Tea exudes romance (in the adventurous sense of the word). The very names in themselves are lessons in geography and culture:...sencha, genmai cha, gyokuro, darjeeling, assam, ceylon, jasmine, oolong. They call forth visions of clipper ships sailing to the Far East, of "plantations of ripening tea/ All from tuppence," of the British Empire at its height, and of exotic lands and peoples.

~All real teas come from the same species. The distinctly different flavors of black, oolong, white, green teas and their many varieties are results of differences in processing and location grown.

~C.S. Lewis liked tea. "You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me."

~Tea goes well with books. It just does.

Convinced yet? If not, try some white tea with blueberries. (Make sure it isn't just blueberry flavors.) If you still don't like it, consider the following statement: "If man has no tea in him, he is incapable of understanding truth and beauty." Turn from the folly of your ways while there is still time!

"My smelling salts!"

This morning, for the first time ever, I blacked out.

Even before I climbed out of bed it was a rough morning. I had repeated a dream all night and early morning long. This dream consisted mainlyof a sudden remembrance that I was on dinner at Fairwood and had forgotten all about it. I would start to frantically plan one and then would realize that it was too late to talk to Mary about it. Punctuating this nightmare at regular intervals was an embarrassing incident. I would be drinking a glass of water while I worried about dinner and talked to various students. Every few sips I would somehow miss my mouth with the cup and dump water over myself, and TJ would be walking through the kitchen and would laugh at me. (Unfortunately, as some of you may know, that this has some basis in real life. Distraction is fatal to me while I am drinking...I either have a near death experience or become very damp if my mind is elsewhere. Oh, and TJ does usually seem to notice and does usually let me know that he has noticed, but usually I am amused myself and not at all bothered. In this dream, however, I was quite distressed by his teasing.)

So it was from a not so pleasant sleep that my alarm awoke me. I decided I was too tired to get up and dozed on, ignoring the music. However, after many guilty glances at the clock, I decided I should get up after all. I had no reason to be as tired as I felt, because I had had plenty of sleep.

I dragged myself out of bed and started into my five minute stretch/exercise wake-up routine. Barely had I been moving for three minutes, when I began to feel quite hot. Instead of waking up as I exercised, I was becoming more and more tired. While I was doing some tricep presses at my bed I began to feel quite dizzy, in fact. I pulled myself up onto the bed and noticed that I was having an extraordinarily bad head rush. As everything got darker and darker I decided to sit on the floor and put my head down. (As I slid off the bed I recalled Brandon had told us that this was no longer the recommended procedure for preventing fainting, but I couldn't remember anything else, so I was happy to put my head on my knees and close my eyes.)

I wish I could remember what my dreams had been when I came back to a minute or so later. All I could recall was a vague voice talking lots. I think they had something to do with whatever NPR voice was coming over my radio. I did know for certain that I felt wicked sick, really, really hot, and that my ears were ringing loudly.

After a minute or so on my bed and a few minutes on the couch under my parents' observation, I felt fine, but a bit sleepy. Got to sleep for a couple more hours, and had a normal day after that. Weird, wot?

Maybe I have a weird disease that is going to randomly knock me dead.

Hehe...I keep remembering fainting scenes from books and movies...

"I'm an uncle!" Remember the guy in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers who
faints dead away?

"Wilbur, I forbid you to faint!"-Charlotte the spider

The girl that Anne Shirley was teaching who fainted when the firecrackers
where in the stove.

I seem to be in pretty good company.

She announces in a very small voice that she has returned.

To get you up to speed in my life:

My first year at FBI is done! 'Twas good, God blessed it, but I'm glad for a vacation. The last semester was very difficult, and I thought I would die of stress the last week, but I didn't. Three cheers for the Holy Spirit!

"The most practical thing about a man is still his view of the universe."
G.K.Chesterton is my new hero.

I might do kickboxing this summer. Aunt Beth would be proud of me.

Do I really want to start blogging again? we'll see.