Small infinities

Pausing in my walk, I was able to watch this leaf slowly drift down from the branch above and wedge itself in the snow. God's creation is so infinitely beautiful.


To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
-William Blake

thesisless

I have a few minutes here before I have to sign off to head to class so I thought I should write something even though I spent a bit of time lastnight writing approximatly 5,000 words... well, actually I don't know the real total since those words are only the ones I deemed saveable. It was probably closer to twice than before revision and deletion took their toll.
But I must admit, putting the words down is not the hard part of essays. The hard part has more to do with the necessity of their making sense. That is why this blog is so much easier and I don't mind writing on it despite my present brain-fatigue: I don't have to make sense on here. I don't have to wonder if my thesis is clear throughout. I don't even have to have a thesis! I can write "don't", I can write run-on sentences, I'm free!
Highlighting my freedom from essayic restraint (not as bad as pharisaic restrain, however) this post is here, a beacon; a lighthouse of insanity in a normally regulated world. Sometimes ya just gotta have fun.

pictured at last

In celebration of:
living in the best country in the world
living where winter is a part of life
living in the best city in the world
living where the canal is easily accessible
having a warm coat to enable me to enjoy the above
having good friends to enjoy things with
looking forward to a relaxing and fun-filled week
having a camera to record aspects of all the above...

here is a picture from yesterday's fun (although really cold) skating time on the canal!

our decorating today

On a nesting note, some more advice from the AW'sEHD. I think the reason I enjoy this book so much is that I find her thoughts to be both practical and quaintly expressed (I like her use of quotations, too).

Order can be taught a child if he is early given 'a place for everything' and shown how to put 'everything in its place'...follow his development step by step, guiding his taste but recognizing it as his own. Let him have some of his 'treasures' around, just as you have yours.

Our decorating today may be inspired by a tradition of the past; but we are interpreting it to suit our own sweet will and today's manner of living.

Choice of pictures is very important. Their function is to please the eye in colour and stimulate the imagination by the subject portrayed.

Sometimes we receive gifts that, though delightful in themselves, do not fit into our decorating schemes. We must then use discretion.

(this is where re-gifting comes in...)

pride and praise

Although I know that there are times when it is important for other people to evaluate my character without having had the opportunity to meet me or get to know me at all, I still find it hard to fill out forms about my strengths and skills. As with a resume, I feel as though I am being forced to toot my own horn. I start to wonder if I really am a 'good listener' or a 'team player' or if that's just something I'm saying because I like myself but that they'll find out to be a gross exaggeration when it comes down to it. Let's face it, most people have a fairly high opinion and biased view of themselves. Of course my modesty in this could merely stem from a desire not to disappoint. I am a cautious person and take to heart the advice not to place oneself too high only to be brought down (rather, enjoying the occasional times of sitting too low and being brought up). Perhaps in letting another man praise me my motives are merely to hear my praise from someone else. Not so good. Also, most of the good traits that I posses (I admit I have some) are ones that deal with the external facade and really has nothing to do with the heart. Of course I suppose that all means of evaluation available to man are fallible in this way since only God can look into our hearts. That thought can be both unsettling and comforting. I think I shall choose to think of it as comforting!

The Heart

There were so many things I could write (or quote from someone else) on Valentine's Day that I almost didn't write anything but I thought I should do something to mark the date.
I was at Augustine for Restless Hearts last night and thoughts on that theme and some of the material presented there have inspired this post.

"The Heart Knoweth its own Bitterness"*
When all the over-work of life
Is finished once, and fast asleep
We swerve no more beneath the knife
But taste that silence cool and deep;
Forgetful of the highways rough,
Forgetful of the thorny scourge,
Forgetful of the tossing surge,
Then shall we find it is enough?

How can we say 'enough' on earth--
'Enough' with such a craving heart?
I have not found it since my birth,
But still have bartered part for part.
I have not held and hugged the whole,
But paid the old to gain the new;
Much have I paid, yet much is due,
Till I am beggared sense and soul.

I used to labour, used to strive
For pleasure with a restless will:
Now if I save my soul alive
All else what matters, good or ill?
I used to dream alone, to plan
Unspoken hopes and days to come:--
Of all my past this is the sum:
I will not lean on child of man.

To give, to give, not to recieve!
I long to pour myself, my soul,
Not to keep back or count or leave,
But king with king to give the whole.
I long for one to stir my deep--
I have had enough of help and gift--
I long for one to search and sift
Myself, to take myself and keep.

You scratch my surface with your pin;
You stroke me smooth with hushing breath;--
Nay pierce, nay probe, nay dig within,
Probe my quick core and sound my depth.
You call me with a puny call,
You talk, you smile, you nothing do:
How should I spend my heart on you,
My heart that so outweighs you all?

Your vessels are by much too strait:
Were I to pour, you could not hold.--
Bear with me: I must bear to wait,
A fountain sealed through heat and cold.
Bear with me days or months or years:
Deep must call deep until the end
When friend shall no more envy friend
Nor vex his friend at unawares.

Not in this world of hope deferred,
This world of perishable stuff;--
Eye hath not seen nor ear hath heard
Nor heart concieved that full 'enough':
Here moans the separating sea,
Here harvests fail, here breaks the heart;
There God shall join and no man part,
I full of Christ and Christ of me.
-Christina Rossetti

It is not your average love poem but I really appreciate the sentiments expressed; the way that the poem shows how after everything, the only love that makes any difference is Christ's for us. He is the only deep that can call our deep.

*This poem is full of Biblical allusions; the title is a direct quiote from Proverbs 14:10. There are many other references to Biblical passages and themes in this (and many other Rossetti poems). I have listed a few touched on in this poem:
-Proverbs 14:10
The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.
-Luke 12:48
But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.
-Haggai 1:6
Ye have sown much, and bring in little; ye eat, but ye have not enough; ye drink, but ye are not filled with drink; ye clothe you, but there is none warm; and he that earneth wages earneth wages to put it into a bag with holes.
-Ezekiel 18:27
Again, when the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive.
-Ecclesiastes 2:16 (indeed, the whole book deals with these ideas)
For there is no remembrance of the wise more than of the fool for ever; seeing that which now is in the days to come shall all be forgotten. And how dieth the wise man? as the fool.
-Matthew 16:26
For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?
-Acts 20:35
I have shewed you all things, how that so labouring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.
-I Samuel 1:15
And Hannah answered and said, No, my lord, I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit: I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but have poured out my soul before the LORD.
-Jeremiah 24:7
And I will give them an heart to know me, that I am the LORD: and they shall be my people, and I will be their God: for they shall return unto me with their whole heart.
-Psalm 139:1
O lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.
-Song of Solomon 4:12
A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
-Psalm 42:7
Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.
-Proverbs 13:12
Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.
-I Corinthians 2:9
But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.
-Mark 10:9
What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.

Irresistible Peanut Butter Cookies

All week long I have enjoyed these peanut butter cookies. The recipe was on the inside of a Crisco lard box and my Mom and Grandma decided to try it. There is nothing fancy about this recipe but for some reason I found them really tasty. We ate the last few tonight and I'm trying to convince them to make another batch for the coming week. I'm in a homey mood right now; we just got back from enjoying the ice sculptures and the wintery weather and I have a cup of hot cocoa in my hand (that sounds more homey to me than 'hot chocolate'). I now wish that we hadn't finished the cookies after supper so I could have something to eat too but such is life. I'm too lazy right now to make a batch myself (and I have to get at that Latin homework) so instead I'll write out the recipe, both so that I will not lose it and for the general enjoyment of my vast readership.

IPBCs [see title of post]
3/4 c creamy peanut butter
1/2 c shortening
1 1/4 c packed brown sugar
1 egg
3 Tbsp milk
1 Tbsp vanilla
1 3/4 c all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 375 deg F. Cream first six (wet) ingredients in large bowl until smooth. Combine dry ingredients, add to creamed mixture gradually, beating at low speed until thoroughly blended. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheets. Press lightly with tines of floured fork. Bake at 375F for 7-8 minutes or until set and just beginning to brown. Cool slightly, then remove to rack.
For variety add chips. Preparation time approximatly 15 minutes, baking time 7-8 minutes. Yield about three dozen cookies.

tasty bits

More advice from The American Woman's Encyclopedia of Home Decorating from the practical to the abstract:

Whatever you do, don't have fancy curtains in your bathroom.

I should like to write a book on nothing but lamps.

...don't forget colour; it's your strongest ally.

[If] you want individuality... have around you the things you like.

Genius can't always glow unless it has a place of its own.

Wind

There is a frostbite warning today from the bitter windchill. But rather than dwell on the cold aspects of it, I shall quote a couple poems that both deal in a similar way with the mystery of the unseen...

Who Has Seen the Wind?
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you;
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I;
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.
-Christina Rossetti

The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit. -John 3:8

Wind on the Hill
No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.

It's flying from somewhere
As fast as it can,
I couldn't keep up with it,
Not if I ran.

But if I stopped holding
The string of my kite,
It would blow with the wind
For a day and a night.

And then when I found it,
Wherever it blew,
I should know that the wind
Had been going there too.

So then I could tell them
Where the wind goes...
But where the wind comes from
Nobody knows.
-A.A. Milne

O Lord, when Thou didst call me

O Lord, when Thou didst call me, didst Thou know
My heart disheartened through and through,
Still hankering after Egypt full in view
Where cucumbers and melons grow?
--'Yea, I knew,'--

But, Lord, when Thou didst choose me, didst Thou know
How marred I was and withered too,
Nor rose for sweetness nor for virtue rue,
Timid and rash, hasty and slow?
--'Yea, I knew.'--

My Lord, when Thou didst love me, didst Thou know
How weak my efforts were, how few,
Tepid to love and impotent to do,
Envious to reap while slack to sow?
--'Yea, I knew.'--

Good Lord, Who knowest what I cannot know
And dare not know, my false, my true,
My new, my old; Good Lord, arise and do
If loving Thou hast known me so.
--'Yea, I knew.'--
-Christina Rossetti

ruined or improved?

I picked up a book of selected poetry by Christina Rossetti to give to my cousin for her birthday. Being a book (and therefore having nothing lost in the opening thereof), I spent a bit of time looking through it while bussing home from the store. There were quite a few interesting poems about which I had some thoughts that I wanted to share with my cousin so I have decided to underline and write some comments in the book.

This was a strange idea to me at first but the more I think about it, the more I like it. I always enjoy finding books second-hand or, even better, inheriting them with someone else's thoughts on the page. It shows how that person interacted and was moved in some way by the text. Also, I want to share my thoughts with my cousin and yet there is no knowing if we will ever sit down together for the purpose of discussing the poems. And, who knows, perhaps she will notice and remember something I have written or underlined and will mention it at some point. Even if it does not happen at least I have conveyed what I would like to to her. I believe that this makes the book so much more personal.

I now have decided that in future I shall attempt to do the same for all the books that I give away. The idea may lend itself better to some types of books and some types of people than to others (I wouldn't want to do it to a coffeetable book or one given to a type-A personality!) so I shall keep that in mind but I am happy that I was thus inspired in this particular case. And I do believe that I have improved the gift by so doing.

So, to commemorate this inspiration, here is a poem:

A Birthday
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dias of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
-Christina Rossetti

And to put the title of the poem in context:
Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. Nicodemus saith unto him, How can a man be born when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother's womb, and be born? Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit. -John 3:3-8

His Will

These quotes from Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest) hit on some ideas I have been thinking about in light of a discussion (I won't say debate) I was part of yesterday:

There is the call of the sea, the call of the mountains, the call of the great ice barriers, but these calls are only heard by the few. The call is the expression of the nature from which it comes, and we can only record the call if the same nature is in us. The call of God is the expression of God's nature, not of our own... my affinities and personal temperament are not considered. (January 16)
The call of God is not a call to any particular service...service is the outcome of what is fitted to my nature... and is the echo of my identification with the nature of God... The Son of God reveals Himself in me, and I serve Him in the ordinary ways of life out of devotion to Him. (January 17)

The greatest competitor of devotion to Jesus is service for Him. It is easier to serve than to be drunk to the dregs. The one aim of the call of God is the satisfaction of God, not a call to do something for Him. We are not sent to battle for God, but to be used by God in His battlings. Are we being more devoted to service than to Jesus Christ? (January 18)

We calculate and estimate, and say that this and that will happen, and we forget to make room for God to come in as He chooses...Do not look for God to come in any particular way, but look for Him. (January 25)

All I do ought to be founded on a perfect oneness with Him, not on a self-willed determination to be godly. (January 28)

The discussion yesterday concerned apathy and our duty to fight against it. Although I agree whole-heartedly that we should strive to fight this tendency (it has been an on-going struggle of mine), I disagreed with the means suggested. It seemed to me that the suggestions were all based on our own strength rather than looking to God for strength. It is good to strive for God, but (as mentioned in the quotes above) it is not our wills that should bear the load. Our own determination and plans will get us nowhere; when we try to fight for God on our own strength we are setting ourselves up for failure. We need to surrender our wills to Him and let Him use us whenever and wherever is best. Yes, we are to make plans but we cannot let our service for God become our highest goal. If we instead set our hopes in His will then if He tells us to change our well-thought out plans, we are more flexible since all is done in obedience to Him.

This is probably quite dis-jointed to read and may not make much sense outside of the context of the discussion but I wanted to write it out!

Ulysses

In class yesterday, we studied Tennyson's Ulysses, my favourite excerpt from which I shall quote here (I especially like the first four lines here):

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
and this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

There is so much in this section (and even more in the rest of the poem) and it is expressed so beautifully and fittingly but I have been thinking of the truth, yet the sadness of these sentiments (especially those in the middle of this section).

Ulysses is, in this poem, an old man who is contemplating one last adventure. He laments the fact that we have a limited time on this earth yet unlimited possibilities of action: "Life piled on life/ Were all too little" yet, as a Christian (although, being human, I can certainly relate in part) since I have a hope of eternity (and not one of "silence") this should not be a problem. We are pilgrims on this earth and although we are to be concerned with the matters of this life, our treasures and goal should be on things above so that when we reach the age where these lamentations are appropriate, we rather yearn for that better place than lament that we cannot spend more time here.

I have many other thoughts on many other aspects of the passage but I think that I shall leave it at that and let my dear readers discern what they will from it.

vanitas vanitatum

I finished Vanity Fair in time for class yesterday. Slogging through all 888 pages was rendered much less a chore than it would seem from the length by the delightful running commentary of the narrator and the truthfulness of the depictions of life found in much of the book. I cannot say that it is a happy book or even that it has a happy ending (even though Amelia and Dobbin are married in the last chapter). On the other hand, it is not a depressing book either (unless one wishes to take it so).

Apparently Thackeray said that his intention was to show how different characters manage to struggle through this Vanity Fair of life without God. It is a fascinating picture, full of human nature. This was the time of the Victorians--a time when conduct and etiquette books were replacing the Bible as moral authority; a time when appearances meant more than truth. But beyond the exposure of these trends for what they are, the book continues to resonate since it is a book on human nature. It is a book about vanity, about ambition, about drawing-room and public politics. Each character in it is flawed in one way or another; it is truly a "Novel Without a Hero" (its subtitle).

This book can be seen in many ways as a parallel to Ecclesiastes: "Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity." -Ecclesiastes 1:2.

But is there any hope to be taken from this book? There is but one character in it who stands against the flow (and she doesn't get much air-time). Lady Jane is true to her faith and is an example of a character who passes through this Vanity Fair of life without getting caught up in it.

The concluding sentences sum up much of the thrust of the book:

Ah! Vanitas Vanitatum! Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or having it, is satisfied?

It is true: we have no hope of being satisfied in acquiring our temporal desires but thankfully we have a hope in the life to come where we shall be satisfied with eternal treasures!

AWEHD hints

Here are a few more lovely extracts from The American Woman's Encyclopedia of Home Decorating:

Decorative theory is the same in all types of rooms. Have essentials of comfort; plan every inch of space to hold conveniently what you really use. Store or throw away what you don't use. Decide to live with charm and have books, pictures, plants about you.

Don't ever overlook having the kind of easy chair a man will like. Decorating is making a home comfortable to live in for a number of people.

Don't treat your dining room like a stepchild.

A fireplace in a dining room is a joy...just as we love sunshine in a dining room in daytime--so a bright crackling fire warms the cockles of the heart (as well as the room) at evening meal.

No matter how large or small the bedroom, if it is to serve its purpose, it must be comfortable for those who use it.

...don't forget colour; it's your strongest ally...

Fire

I find fire facinating. But beyond the physical world, I am finding a facination in the conceptual use of fire in the Bible and how it is both straightforward and complex (as, I would say, are all Biblical concepts).

The word "fire" is used around five hundred times and, putting aside its use in sacrifice, the majority of the times it is used, it is in the context of God's terrible judgement on sinners. Yet, even within that context it is also used to show God's tender mercies to us! How can these two be reconciled? I hope the following three verses help illustrate what I am trying to articulate about the varying degrees that His fire, applied to human life can change it (from destroying to cutting away what is useless to purifying).


As they gather silver, and brass, and iron, and lead, and tin, into the midst of the furnace, to blow the fire upon it, to melt it; so will I gather you in mine anger and in my fury, and I will leave you there, and melt you.
-Ezekiel 22:20

And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried: they shall call on my name, and I will hear them: I will say, It is my people: and they shall say, The LORD is my God.
-Zechariah 13:9

That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ:
-I Peter 1:7

homey hints

I picked up The American Women's Encyclopedia of Home Decoration while cleaning off a shelf in my room and as I was leafing through the pages before returning it to its place, (yes, this is a necessary step to cleaning a bookshelf) I came across some quaint quotes that also contained wisdom. So although I am nowhere near the stage of owning my own house (that I might decorate it), I thought I might share some principles that can be applied to whatever little piece of floor one might call one's own.

It isn't the money you spend that counts but good assembling of attractive things.

Don't have many small ornaments; they mean work to clean.

It is the idea behind the decorating that counts.

Is there a woman who doesn't want just the right draperies?

A long mirror in a bedroom is a luxury within reach.

Order is the first rule of the closet.

And my favourite:

A place to stretch out in the daytime often saves a "state of nerves".

The Deacon's bench

If you were wondering where the name for this type of furniture originated, read on...

According to my sources, in early American times benches similar to this remake stood before the high pulpit in churches and was, in fact, occupied by a deacon. This deacon was (as the story goes) equipped with a long staff to shepherd the flock in such a way as to awaken any listeners who happened to doze off during the two hour sermons!

A full life

He liveth long who liveth well;
All else is life but flung away;
He liveth longest who can tell
Of true things truly done each day.

Then fill each hour with what will last;
Buy up the moments as they go;
The life above, when this is past,
Is the ripe fruit of life below.
-Horatio Bonar

For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting. And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not. As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.
-Galations 6:8-10

Skating

The following poem describes almost exactly the sensations and feelings I have had numerous times when skating alone outside (the best way to enjoy skating). Today was the first time this year that I have had occasion to lace up my skates again. Although the experience (in a public, indoor arena) was not up to the same standard as outdoor skating, the fun of actually skating again was quite adequate! So to commemorate another season, here is a beautiful poem!

The Skater

My glad feet shod with the glittering steel
I was the god of the winged heel.

The hills in the far white sky were lost;
The world lay still in the wide white frost;

And the woods hung hushed in their long white dream
By the ghostly, glimmering, ice-blue stream.

Here was a pathway, smooth like glass,
Where I and the wandering wind might pass

To the far-off places, drifted deep,
Where Winter's retinue rests in sleep.

I followed the lure, I fled like a bird,
Till the startled hollows awoke and heard

A spinning whisper, a sibilant twang,
As the stroke of the steel on the tense ice rang;

And the wandering wind was left behind
As faster, faster I followed my mind;

Till the blood sang high in my eager brain,
And the joy of my flight was almost pain.

Then I stayed the rush of my eager speed
And silently went as a drifting seed,--

Slowly, furtively, till my eyes
Grew big with the awe of dim surmise,

And the hair of my neck began to creep
At hearing the wilderness talk in sleep.

Shapes in the fir-gloom drifted near.
In the deep of my heart I heard my fear.

And turned and fled, like a soul pursued,
From the white, inviolate solitude.

-Charels G.D. Roberts