Tomorrow morning will find me dauntlessly arising early. It’s an occurrence I hope to make into a custom. (I’ve never managed it in the past, but the future is equal to hope, right?) I must say, I’m rather looking forward to it. There is something about walking in crisp autumn mornings that brings a decided air of optimism to my step. Of course, this being Washington, the optimism may be slightly more rainy than usual. Thankfully, I am ok with that too.
At this point, I could use a good dose of optimism. About two times a year, I find myself in a slightly blue funk, mixed with a strong desire to go on a horrendously long roadtrip. I hate to call it like it is, but I think it might be termed discontent, which is ironic, since I recently heard a rather excellent sermon on contentment. With my typical lack of originality, instead of coming up with my own zinging points of conviction to share with you all, I will simply put a link to the sermon. 
http://sovgracewa.org/audio/Doug_Edwards_9.5.10.mp3
That being said, I think I will skip over the details of my latest doldrums, as I blog and listen to this sermon once again.
Autumn is on my mind. It’s the gateway to winter, which happens to be my favorite season. Autumn means sweaters are my constant companion, and that I can redundantly wear bright orange scarves. It means re-arranging the living room, so the fireplace becomes the center, rather than the ugly coffee table. No excuse is needed for long walks, and coming home to a cheerful, crackling blaze. There is something about looking in my front window, seeing people relaxing with spiced cider and books, that makes me warm and happy to be home like nothing else does. Summer and spring are wonderful, but the cold seasons create a hearth-appeal like few things can. When I was younger, it meant potential days off of school, but in the last few years, it’s meant enjoying the comfy home times with no school to dread. An added, rather major, bonus is that Fall lighting is fantastic for photography.
I hate the color yellow, but in Autumn, it’s bearable. I generally don’t prefer hot drinks that aren’t caffeinated, but in Fall, I’m willing to drink cider, with no addictive stimulant benefits involved. I don’t like wearing fuzzy socks in summer (in washington, summer isn’t equated with warmth) but in October, sweatshirts and fuzzy socks are acceptable inside. I don’t like sitting for hours at the stove, but in November, it’s worth it, because I’m making caramel. Autumn is a myriad of things. Redheads are in season in the magazines, caramel goes with popcorn, cinnamon goes with pumpkins, and starbucks makes special lattes. We can burn all the spiced ginger candles we got on sale.
Wow. Two long paragraphs of oozing optimism. Maybe we can call it “gushing.” Well, I’ve gushed long enough for this night, and probably bored you out of your mind. My enthusiasm for the season would write several pages, but the late hour (and consideration for your minds….cerebral evac isn’t particularly desirable in readers) forces me to stop where I stand.
Happy Autumn. Happy Winter.

Coffee shop intruders.

I saw something the other day that sent me through a myriad of emotions and thought processes. At a Starbucks in Oregon, a person walked in front of me, and all I noticed was that they were wearing a shirt that on the back said, “On the first day, man created god.” It had Michelangelo’s painting of man’s hand reaching towards what is presumably God’s, in the background. The front of the shirt had the molecule symbol, with the words “Secular Alliance” and a web address.
This brought out a variety of reactions in me, one of which was probably not good. My first, knee-jerk response was a quick flash of defensive anger. I’m aware that there are people who think that way, but usually they don’t go posting it on their backs in a declaration to the world. The mockery it attempted to make of a Holy God, and of the things I believe in, immediately ‘got my hackles up,’ so to speak.
My second reaction was curiosity about her specifically. What had brought her to think that way, and to proclaim her beliefs, or lack thereof, to everyone she sees? Does her family think the same way, or are they perhaps grieving for her lack of belief? Does she even have family?
My third reaction was great pity and compassion. While we stood next to each other, waiting for our drinks, (which, by the way, was a long while. Don’t ever go to the Starbucks next to Fred Meyer, in Bend, Oregon. Always have slow service there.) my heart broke a little for her. What kind of life must an atheist lead? How can they sleep at night? Do they simply narcotize themselves by claiming “no” belief in God, and making valiant efforts not to think about it? And if they do, what kind of despair would that lead to? If you have no thoughts of eternity, no expectation of heaven, no joy and peace given by a gracious God, what do you live for? Where does she go when life gets hard? I cannot imagine living in that sad sort of box. A dark, silent box, in a way, where you can see nothing beyond your own troubles and despair. On earth, you may be able to stand alone and shout your heresies from the rooftops, and no one will bat an eye. But when it comes to the judgment day, you cannot stand alone to face God. You have to have been redeemed by His son’s blood. I wanted to talk to her, but I had people waiting for me. Now I’m ashamed that I didn’t say something. I wanted to ask her about her shirt, what prompted it, why she thinks that, etc, but all I could think was “They’re waiting in the car for you, and you won’t have time to really get into a good discussion.” So, then I went to plan B, which was to pull a card with a verse and a website on it out to give it to her, but of course I’d left that card in my other purse.
Then I left. I walked out of Starbucks, and she walked out behind me. She got into a car across from me, and I saw the Darwin fish on the back. You know the one, where they take the “Jesus fish” symbol, and put the word “Darwin” in it instead. (Also, usually when I see that, it makes me mad) Having not talked to her, or witnessed to her, I began to pray for her, and still am. But somehow I feel like I failed a little bit. That would’ve been a perfect opportunity, with a great opening. Yet, I walked away without saying a word. In a way, I can see why I did. Part of it was trepidation that I would say the wrong thing, but in all honestly, I mostly didn’t want to keep my parents waiting longer than necessary, and I didn’t want to start a discussion I couldn’t finish. The next time, however, I think I will just do it. Nevermind who is waiting for me, when I have the opportunity to plant a seed to get someone thinking about the Gospel.
All that aside, my very last reaction was this: Great joy that God has saved my soul! That I am not a party to the despair that pervades the lives of the unsaved! I don’t say that with a sense of superiority, thinking “Oh, so glad I’m not like HER!”, but with a sense of joy born of thankfulness. It was, in a way, a good reminder of what God has done for me.  Without God’s grace extended to me, I might be wearing a shirt just like that.
Oh, on another note of people intruding on you in coffee shops…. I was having coffee with a friend, and noticed a guy hanging around for a bit too long, apparently eavesdropping. We talked about a variety of things, such as music, church, books, etc. Then, he wanders over, a bit too buoyantly, hands my friend a piece of paper, says something incoherent about Taylor Swift, and then says to me, “Do you read my blog?”  I said, “I don’t know, what’s the name of your blog?” (I wanted to say something like “NO, you creep, why would you approach two young women and ask if they’d read your blog? Now back off!” However, I managed to mangle out a gracious smile. (I think. My friend may have a different opinion of what my facial expression was…) He’d written the name and web address of his blog down, as well as his name, and the phrase “The spirit of prophecy is the testimony of Jesus.” Then he said “Oh, it’s called ‘The Lost Tribes of Israel.’” He said a few other things, but he talked extremely fast, and was also not making sense. Aside from being extremely weirded out, no harm was done, and he left as quickly as he came, leaving us sitting there gaping at each other and trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Now I’m going to have to visit his blog, just to satisfy my curiosity!
Well, I’m supposed to be out working in the yard, so that must conclude this. (Can I say that? “That must conclude This?”) Well, that’s that, so no more of this. (While I’m mutilating grammar, I might as well go the whole way.)

I just became the queen of reference books. As one friend pointed out “How is that a good thing?” Well, I am one of the few people who are unhealthily fascinated by encyclopaedias. More specifically, the entire 30 volume set of Encyclopaedia Brittannica, 15th Edition. 10 volumes of Micropaedia, and 20 volumes of Macropaedia. Stowed away amongst them was Websters New International 3 volume dictionary, including the Seven Language Dictionary. A long craved boon has been fulfilled. I’ve always wanted a multi-volume dictionary. Since the 10 volume Oxford English dictionary will have to wait, these will most certainly do in the mean time! Getting them for free was an added bonus that nearly led to hyperventilation. Thankfully, I escaped bearing four rather large, heavy, boxes, and with my respiratory system mostly intact.
The last few weeks have been a ‘merry mélange of fun and activity’, as it were. Lest I be flippant, I should point out that my stress level has still been very high, but overall, I’ve been able to push that back some. Everyone’s favorite princess turned two, a few weeks after Gabriel did. It was quite the soiree. She seemed tickled pink, which was no surprise, considering the abundance of the favored color. Pink cake, check! Pink frosted crown sugar cookies, double check! Pink tutu and frilly pink skirt. It was quite lovely, what with the pink ad infinitum. Pink is simply perfect for a princess’ party. Gabriel, in his autumn colored checked shirt clashed terribly, and the paparazzi weren’t satisfied until the poor boy was in his white t-shirt. Later, that went too. (With a hearty amount of barbeque sauce and chicken spilled on it, mind you. I took significantly less pictures than normal, because of this:
I mean, really, how can me and my poor little Canon A-1100 compete with that? I only took about a hundred pictures, and that was 100 more than I needed. Now I’m waiting impatiently for pictures to appear on facebook.

Anyway, I’ve recently discovered what a heroic rescuer my mother is. I want to be like her ‘when I grow up’. Sunday, we were sending some friends off, and lo and behold…. A little boy, lying on our lawn, with a bicycle tangled in the vicinity of his shoe laces. Instead of crying or screaming, as most his age would (I estimate his age at 3 1/2 or 4), he simply blinked with owlish eyes, (for a little boy in need of rescuing must blink owlishly, and he did not disappoint) and said “Why hello there.” Upon ascertaining that he did indeed desire (and obviously needed assistance), mummy darling helped free him. He turned out to be quite the little gentleman, with a minimal amount of stuttering as he explained who he was and where he lived. As he rode away, he yelled that he was showing how fast he could go, which turned out to be quite fast for someone his age and height. Judging from the panic that gripped me, I think I’ll be one of those mothers who will have an exceedingly difficult time letting my little boys and girls climb trees or use roller skates, even though I never got hurt doing either of those. (Well, not seriously hurt)
There was much more I planned on saying, but once again time cuts me off.

Dignity, Always Dignity!!

I know, it's been weeks. And through those weeks, every time I typed in a web address other than my blog, I felt guilty. What was I thinking, neglecting it so?
However, I find myself plagued with a common problem... very little brain power geared toward creative genius. Therefore, what follows may be more than a little ugly. Forgive me, my friends, for my lack of finesse.
Lots of little things have been going on, which add up to a nice life, in my opinion. Catering jobs, babysitting, reading, hobbies, and my latest renewed fad-- a morning "run."
Dignity has eclipsed comfort. At least for me, this very A.M.. Rather than double over, gasping, I doggedly kept on running this morning, just until I was out of sight of the neighbors. Despite the burning lungs and aching side, I couldn't bring myself to walk, at least not while they could see me. Perhaps my pride will benefit my muscles at some point. When I turned that corner, what started out as a promising jog turned into a determined speed-walk. Surprisingly enough, only the last half block turned into a pleasant meander. This morning, though, was so lovely and blue (birds singing, etc) that it was pleasant to be outside, even for such an energetic pursuit. (Of course, now it's gray and rainy. Welcome to Washington) When I started out, all I could think was "I really should be sitting on the deck with a coffee, not slogging around the neighborhood in sweatpants." Oh yes, sweatpants and a (relatively cute) sweatshirt, even though I had to display plenty of fortitude under the disdainful glances of other joggers who were in their R.E.I. stretchy pants or spandex.
But anyway, I would greatly appreciate prayer-- tonight I am going to audition/interview for an accompanist job. It'd be once a week,  including performances, but it pays enough to cover more than insurance... which is precisely what I need. Also, it could lead to potential students. However, I'm not as good at sight reading and accompaniment as I am at other things, so I'll need ALL the prayer I can get!
As my aunt put it, I might wow them and be hired on the spot. My gut tells me that I'll be embarrassed in front of a choral group, and walk out trying to scrape together as much aplomb as possible....
And yet the motto remains... Dignity, Always Dignity!

Software. And its many hazards.

Once again, I find myself anxiously battling my computer. Well, not my computer. MY computer is always placid, docile, and overall endearing. Sometimes slow, but never stubborn and headstrong. So, technically, I am battling my mother’s computer. Even less fun. I am currently entangled in various software installations, most of which are not working. I would like to think that if I shake it or throw it very hard, it will immediately recognize me as boss, and stop this obstinate disagreeableness.
After trying multiple times to install Windows Live Messenger onto my poor abused, over used hard drive, I feel as if I am drowning in foreign terms, such as: .DLL files. Nvidia Network Access Manager. Malwares. Platform Manager. Clean Install. Plain Vanilla Version. BHOCITUS.DLL. Third Party Extensions.
I know what they all mean, but when I’ve seen them all so close together, it’s somewhat daunting.
Currently, I am experimenting with Windows Live Writer. We shall see if this blog post is really any easier to post, or any better looking than the other ones…
In the meantime, some pictures to experiment with…

Gibson, on fleeing temptation.

I know, I blogged just last night. And yet, I find myself here again, for the sole reason of posting another excerpt.
I really enjoyed today's words from my puritan devotional (Voices from the Past), so I decided to post parts of it.

"Lay aside... sin which clings so closely."

--Hebrews 12:1

At times temptation presses in with violent demands. To combat the power and force of these, we must prepare out hearts with strong antidotes beforehand. Fix your heart upon your true treasure, your fellowship with the Father and his Son Jesus Christ. Flee to God to hide you. Here the tempter cannot reach you. Be much in communion with God, and the devil will have little communication with you. If he does try, he will have little effect. The soul is secure under the deep, warm, and constant sense of God's being your all in all. What powerful ammunition this is against the assaults and incursions of the tempter. Take up your wings, O Christian, and fly away that you may be at rest (Isa 40:31). When the soul has taken its flights, O how easily does it soar above the smoke and dust of fleshly lusts! Rusty spots on cold metal disappear when it is heated and burns red hot. Get your heart on fire and you will be Elijah-like in a flaming chariot of holy longings after God. Love your dear Master, and you will not find a love for sin. Consider also that things morally good or evil are not so just because one is commanded and the other forbidden, but it is what they are essentially and unalterably. They are fixed in their natures. Bathe your soul with the everlasting beauty of holiness, and the horror and ugliness of all iniquity.... Watch how the tempter has taken advantage of you in the past. Make these searches daily and compare them to the eternal law of God. These considerations will greatly help in the prevention and cure for the sins which so easily best us.

--John Gibson, Puritan Sermons 1659-1689, I:92-96

To the Tenth Degree!

I decided to frantically jam in a short blog, as spending any more time on this than I have to seems ludicrous, especially when the sunlight is streaming through, and I can see hints of a lovely blue sky. The deck is calling my name, especially since I am already armed with a grande iced coffee. What a perfect way to spend midday!
Our triumphant squirrel hunter just came in-- apparently he got the disgusting rodent (masquerading as a squirrel)  twice with the bb-gun. Sadly, it's illegal to kill them with a real gun within the city limits. *sigh for sad things*
Today is another "Happy Fun Sunny Day", dare I say to the tenth degree. (hence the title) My meaning behind this-- Today is ten times more sunny, ten times more happy, and ten times more fun. (I realize that this is inconsistent with the mathematical rules, but pardon me-- enthusiasm overrules coloring inside the lines sometimes) I have my beautiful music playing, have accomplished things, and the rest of the day belongs to me-- at least until 7 o'clock, when John MacArthur preaches in the last session of the shepherd's conference. I had no idea, until the last three days, that you could get such uplifting, encouraging spiritual edification from a webcast. Live streaming is my new hero.

Well, I certainly didn't plan on being this brief, but the beauty outside is calling!
G'bye!

Today finds me rejoicing on many angles. Despite a few things that have been stressful, even painful, this has been a marvelous day. And it's not even over yet!

Papa was thrilled when I told him that we could watch the Shepherd's Conference live. Therefore, I took extra pains to make sure it would work for him. Part of that involved hauling my speakers out, to make the volume louder. The streaming volume wasn't so great, but hooked to my speakers, it took on epic proportions. One would have thought that John MacArthur was standing in our kitchen. (A wonderful thing, to be sure! I would love to meet him. There are very few pastors I admire and respect as I do him. The Lord has used him in powerful ways.)
Hearing three thousand men singing "Crown Him With Many Crowns," accompanied by a symphony orchestra was phenomenal, in a musical sense, but more moving than anything else. MacArthur's first message was centered around separating the church from the world. He especially emphasized the folly in many of today's churches, of trying to embrace the culture, or make unbelievers feel "comfortable" in churches.  As much as I'd love to re-cap the whole thing, with my own editorial, I'll just assume you can listen to it yourself online later.
I am looking forward to the next few days.

Between sessions, I meandered off on a long walk. Lovely day for it. Oddly enough, my feet took me to Starbucks. I was helpless to stop. (on a side note, have I ever mentioned that the first sip of a peppermint mocha is like biting into an Ande's mint? Yum.)  As I mentioned on facebook, I am amazed at the clarity of thought solitude can bring. Also, I never cease to be surprised at how entertaining it can be to sit in starbucks and simply watch people. Of course, I did more than just watch people. I read the journal of Esther Edwards Burr. Esther was Jonathan Edwards' daughter, and began her journal when she was ten. Even at that young age, her writing shows a maturity and spiritual awareness that few have.
I was amazed at how caught up in her life I got, simply by reading her short, far between journal entries. I found myself smiling when she rejoiced, and nearly cried when her words described the tragedies that hit their family. (Thankfully, the fact that I was in a public place prevented me from being a total emotional wreck.)
Another thing I noticed, and will spend more time on, is that no matter how many griefs hit their family, the various members remained steadfastly faithful, and sought their comfort in the goodness of God.

Jerusha Edwards, when she was seventeen, was often around David Brainerd, who spent much time in the Edwards home. Eventually, they had an understanding. Esther wondered if he only wanted Jerusha because she would make an excellent missionary, and supported his work with the Indians, but it seemed that there was a very real affection between them, which makes their story more tragic. After spending nineteen weeks ill in the Edwards household, Brainerd died. He was taken care of and nursed by Jerusha in his last days. Five months after he died, Jerusha passed on as well. She was 18 years old.
Here is Esther's account of those two events:

Northampton, Oct. 9, 1747

 The sainted sufferer of the house, our temporary guest, our brother in the Lord, has at length, breathed his last. He called us all to his bedside, and tenderly talked of his going, and bade us, when we stand by his grave, to remember his words. He expressed himself ready to part with us all. "For to depart and be with Christ, was far better." To our Jerusha, his long-time nurse, who has watched and almost felt every pain of his poor racked body, for many months, he said: "Dear Jerusha, are you willing to part with me? I am quite willing to part with you. Though if I thought I should not see you and be happy with you in another world, I could not bear to part with you. But we will spend a happy eternity together." And so he had his message for each one of us all, and then fell asleep.

Northampton, Oct. 12, 1747

...Dear Jerusha's illuminated face was a study. She was rapt up no more in the living. It seemed as though her soul, liberated from earth, was already mounting up to holy communion with the spirits of the just made perfect, of whom not one of the great congregation could doubt, Mr. Brainerd was now one. And when came the words: "Are we not tending upward too, As fast as time can move? Nor would we wish the hours more slow, To keep us from our love!" it seemed to me as though she saw heaven open, the golden gates lifted up and was only waiting for angel wings to mount there. She is not long for this world. For exactly nineteen weeks, day and night, she has cared for this sick man; and she only eighteen.

 Northampton, Feb. 14, 1748

This day our dear Jerusha died at eighteen. If as she and her sainted David, and we all believe, she be gone to her Father's House, she has already joined the holy company, of which he since last October has been one. They have been separated only five months. Though I doubt, whether he has ever been absent from her thought and longing love....And so we shall lay the frame of this ministering angel side by side with that of the man, who breathed out his life almost in her arms....Now they can say in concert, "My beloved is mine, and I am His!"

The next sad thing to happen to their family was the voting of the council to remove Jonathan Edwards from his church

Northampton, January

.....Nothing could be more beautiful than the manner in which Mr. and Mrs. Edwards have submitted to the decision of the Council with its majority of only one, recommending our removal from this place....

In 1752, Esther married Rev. Burr of Newark, President of the New Jersey College. In 1757, he died, leaving her with two children.

Princeton, Oct. 7, 1757

My loss, shall I attempt to describe it? God only can know. What can be written to set forth the affliction of a poor disconsolate widow and two fatherless ones? I have lost all that could be desired in a creature. I have lost all that I ever set my heart on, in this world. In his eulogium, Gov. Livingston said: "Cease not to weep and angel, whom you loved as a man." Oh, I am afraid I shall conduct myself so as to bring dishonor to my God and the religion I profess. No, let me rather die, this moment. I am overcome. To God only will I carry my complaint. I will speak it to His glory, that I think He has in an uncommon degree discovered Himself to be an all-sufficient God, a full fountain of good. 

She went on to write a letter to her father, parts of which I have included:

One evening, in talking of the glorious state my dear departed husband must be in, my soul was carried out in such large desires after that glorious state, that I was forced to retire from the family to conceal my joy. When alone, I was so transported, and my sould carried out in such eager desires after perfection and the full enjoyment of God, and to serve Him uninterruptedly, that I think my nature would not have borne much more. I think, that night I had a foretaste of Heaven....I beg leave to add my need of the earnest prayers....but that God would constantly grant me new supplies of divine grace.

Here is part of  Edwards' reply to her:

Indeed, He is a faithful God; He will remember His covenant forever; and never will fail them that trust in Him. But don't be surprised as though some strange thing had happened to you, if after this lights, clouds of darkness should return. Perpetual sunshine is not usual in this world, even to God's true saints...

The next year, Edwards himself died. I know I have posted this letter before, but I had to add it again. This is the letter that Sarah Edwards wrote to Esther.

My Dear Child:

A holy and a good God has covered us with a dark cloud... The Lord has done it. He has made me adore his goodness, that we have had him for so long. But, my God lives and He has my heart. O what a legacy my husband and your father has left us. We are all given to God, and there I am, and love to be. 

Your ever affectionate mother, 

                            Sarah Edwards

Sixteen days after her father died, Esther Edwards Burr died. Reading her journal was not only enjoyable, but held many personal examples of people who were more interested in serving the Lord than themselves, and who threw themselves wholly on His grace and goodness.
Hopefully you found this as interesting and profitable as I did.