Squirrel! Or . . . Nuthatch!

I got a birdfeeder for my birthday. This is because I wanted one, and that is because I like to watch the feathered creatures flitting back and forth all day . . . or at least the part of the day that I'm home.

I picked out the birdfeeder myself, and I chose it because it has little metal leaf decorations on it which I thought were kind of pretty, and because it had this spring mechanism which was supposed to make it "squirrel-proof." I was a little skeptical about the squirrel-proof business, but I was willing to give it a shot, because the last time there was a birdfeeder at this house, the Squirrel was pretty obnoxious . . . and hungry, evidently.

I had the feeder for about a week, and the Squirrel knocked it off of its hanger onto the ground, where it proceeded to get immediately warped such that the spring-mechanism is no longer operable, and the feeder is no longer squirrel-proof. If it ever was. I suppose I could get another one (since I replaced the hanger) and find out . . . but I'm too cheap.

Unfortunately, the Squirrel doesn't seem to care about my financial situation. I filled the feeder up last week right before I left on a sort of last-minute trip to New York to visit Dave who was there on business. I was only gone for a day and a half, but when I got back, the feeder was empty again already. I think the birds around here are pretty hungry, but they don't eat THAT fast.

The morning after my return, I happened to look out of the upstairs window and see the Nuthatch fly to the feeder. "Oops," I thought. "I still haven't refilled it." Less than 30 seconds later, I noticed that someone was knocking on the front door. Who could it be? Who do I know who lives in my town and would be beating a tattoo on my front door at 10 a.m.? Because seriously--they weren't stopping. It seemed just like one of my friends to decide to hammer rhythmically against the door just for a joke . . . but I couldn't figure out which friend. I went down the stairs and opened the door. Away flew the Nuthatch. Behind him, he had left a nice little hole in the wall right next to the door. (He had also hammered one of the nails deeper into the wood. He has to have had a headache after that.)

Why did the Squirrel think it was okay for him to eat all the birdseed in one day? And how did the Nuthatch know to go to the front door? And how did all these animals get to feeling so entitled? And why can't they work it out between themselves. I'll just keep supplying birdseed.

Photos: Nuthatch, by Heather Larrabee 2010.
Knock-knock, by Jennwith2ns 2010.

Weather? Or Not. Oh, Definitely Weather.

While the UK and Ireland, as well as Washington DC, have been having levels of snow this year that surprise, baffle and maybe even sometimes terrify them, we in New England have been having what we call "a mild winter." This doesn't mean we're not getting any snow. We are. It just means we can handle it. You can tell it's a mild winter when all the teachers you know complain about not having enough snow days (and when, two days after their February vacation, they're still saying, "I hope we get a snow day this week"). The two weeks before that, it seemed like the meteorologists and school administrators were teaming up to rectify this snow-day-less situation, because twice they cancelled or delayed school in advance for what were supposed to be "major" snowstorms, but which ended up being something that could only be considered major in Alabama.

So this time, when people started saying, "It's going to snow all week," you know, you took notice, but you were a little skeptical. By which I mean I was. Plus it was supposed to start snowing yesterday morning. And it didn't. It's true that last night, by the time I was about to drive over to the Other Jenn's to watch LOST together, I decided what was coming out of the sky might not be that fun to drive in by 10 o'clock at night. (We ended up watching the show from our respective living rooms, with our facebook chats open so we could "chat" things to each other like, "I knew it!" or "Ewwwww!" or "Psycho Claire!" or "Jack just wrecked everything!" or "Maybe he was supposed to do that . . . " Come on, LOST fans. You know what I'm talking about.)

This morning, however, the warnings of a major snowstorm had proved to be true. It's not that I've never seen this much snow before, although there was a lot. It's that every single beauteous flake seems to weigh 16 fluid ounces or something, so when you try to shovel the stuff? Well, let's just say I'm going to wish that professional massage the Other Jenn bought for me for Christmas which I accidentally missed the other night, was scheduled for Friday. The snow is beautiful, though, don't you think?

I suspect I may head out to church/work later in the day, but I'm going to take my time getting out. Mark-the-Plow-Guy says that it took him half an hour to get up Dead Horse Hill (yes, it's called that) with his plow because of all the cars that had slid off the road. Can I just tell you how happy I am that I no longer have a job that requires me to leave my house before 4.30 a.m. to serve coffee to people who don't know how to make it at home . . . or to people who probably won't even come into the store that early that day because of how much it's snowing? Very. Very. Happy. (I did say a quick prayer for whomever it is that had to open today.) Meanwhile, I'm going to sit here in my nice warm house with my nice warm dog and listen to the church history lectures I'm behind on.

Photos: February 2010, taken by jennwith2ns.

The Answers

The World's Cutest Niece (now to be abbreviated "Twcn"--or possibly "Toucan") likes maps. Evidently. The second-to-last time I skyped with her and her parents, she spent much of the time saying "Camel! Camel!" while her parents recounted their trip to the environs of the Dead Sea. She had gotten to ride a camel with her daddy on the trip and was still very excited about it. Much of the rest of the time, she marched smilingly in front of the webcam with a book of Israeli maps. Then she climbed up between them on the couch and gave the book to one of them to "read" to her. Did I mention she's not even two yet?

The three adults (her parents, on one side of the globe, and me on the other) all laughed indulgently at this, and then Sister-in-Lu picked up one of those photo-illustrated guidebooks and waved it at me. "She also likes to look at this," she said. "She'll sit down and look through the whole thing." Apparently sometimes she makes her parents identify everything in the photos. Even the tiniest photos. Even if she couldn't possibly have any point of reference for the subject of the photos.

Dave describes it like this:

This happened again when Lu came back with a camera full of pictures from the City of David excavation south of the Old City of Jerusalem. The ruin is an archaeological mess of eras.

Hannah points at a specific feature of a picture. She says, “Bah-TANNN!” (or some combination of syllables we can’t agree on). Emmylou says, “Hannah, that’s a stepped stone structure (Hannah says, “Steps!”) that supported the fortifications of the ancient city.” (Hannah points at it again, saying “Bah-TANN!”) Lu: “It might have been from the Jebusite period, or maybe from when David was king.” Hannah points at something else in the picture. “The tower on the left is Hasmonean.” Something else is pointed at. “Bah-TANN!” Lu: “See that house in the middle with the four columns? (Hannah says “Co-UMs!”) That’s from the seventh century [BCE]. It was built right into the stepped stones! And see, those are steps going to the roof! (Hannah: “Steps!”) And that room over there? It still has a toilet seat in it! That’s where they put their stinkies.” Satisfied, Hannah is ready for the next picture. The next picture appears, and Hannah points to a specific feature and says, “Bah-TANNN!”

She did this for the whole photo shoot, which was around 45 pictures. She’s gone through up to 60 pages at a time of the pictorial travel guide this way too.

We were marveling over this together--the brilliance of TWCN and the mystery that is the mind of a small child. "Maybe," I said, "she just needs to know that you know the answers. She doesn't need to understand them. She just needs to know there are some, and that you, her parents, know them."

Life would be so much easier if I could just relax in knowing that Someone--my adoptive divine Parent--knows the answers. I have some other allegorical and analogous thoughts about this facet of my niece, but, as I am wont to do, I shall discuss them at another time.

Photo:

Underwater Observatory Marine Park, Eilat. Photo presumably taken by Sister-in-Lu. Stolen from Facebook by jennwith2ns. 2010.

Make a Smilebox greeting

Oscar is Now a Local Celebrity

Click on the link and scroll down. We're so proud . . .

Good for Animals, Too

We have Conference at Camp Selah, and this year, since I have Oscar, I brought Oscar. Most of the kids had already met him and knew him to be sweet but not very friendly. He'd never bite, but he might not come up and sniff your hand either, because of being shy. He wasn't as freaked out about being at camp this time, since he had spent two weeks there during day camp, but this time around the kids were a lot bigger . . . and a lot louder.

Consequently, he spent much more time hiding out in the back room of the Lodge which he had adopted last time. At first I thought the whole scenario was going to be a set-back for him, but it turned out to be just the opposite.

By Sunday he was doing such a good job following me and coming when called that I allowed him to run around the camp without a lead a number of times. He was delighted. He didn't go very far, but where he did go, he galloped. He leapt up and down hillocks like a rocking horse that had got free of its rocker . . . and was maybe a little off-balance; he kind of runs sideways, it turns out. But it's very cute.

On Sunday night we had a skit night, and I held him on my lap the whole time . . . and incorporated him into my cabin's skit . . . and he actually stayed there. He seemed to be watching the skits, too. After the skits, it turned out that there was at least one other person in New England is allowed to pick him up--that was Back-up Liz. Congratulations to her!

Then the next day he delighted me (and himself) by jumping up next to me on a sofa without any help. He didn't used to think he could do that. A lot of times he reminds me of me as a kid . . . I'd always watch the other kids doing stuff and assume I couldn't do it because I couldn't do it the first time. I missed out on a lot in that way. Oscar had kind of been like that about jumping up on the couch. True, he had finally figured stairs out, but the couch was just so much higher of a jump, and he couldn't figure out how to jump up there as opposed to trying (and failing) to climb up. But Labor Day morning . . . he did it!

You might think this would be a bad thing, but look--he doesn't shed, and I got him to keep me company, so I like having him sit with me on the couch in the evening. He was so proud of his new skill that later that day when I took him into one of the cabins with me so I could inspect it, he made a point of jumping up on each one of the lower bunks.

I think part of the point of Conference is for the attendees to become more of who they really are--to grow in confidence. So, you know. It's kind of nice my dog got something out of it, too.
Photos by Joshua Schlegel: Joe Cool 2009; Paris Hilton's New BFFs 2009.
Photo by jennwith2ns: Liz and Oscar 2009.

Labor Weekend

So, no more Labor Days off for this chick. You should know I'm saying that with tongue-in-cheek . . . why would I have had Labor Day off when I worked at Starbucks? The way I have found myself employed during said weekend the last two years has been much more enjoyable and rewarding.

Last year was scarier, though. This year, though I can by no means call myself an old hand, I felt much more relaxed about my church's annual Labor Day youth retreat, affectionately (and oddly formally) known as "Conference." Which is good, since I was officially in charge this year.

This year we had a video curriculum, which the kids made no bones about making fun of, but I didn't really care, because they were still interacting with it and we still had some great discussions. The theme was "Friends," and we talked about loneliness, peer pressure, comparisons, and identity, while the kids solidified friendships with each other that I'm pretty sure some of them had forgotten about.

In the cabin of girls that I stayed with, we talked about Jesus' meeting the woman at the well, and how He might approach the situation if he were to go on the show Paris Hilton's My New BFF. (We talked about this because we were coming up with a skit.) Probably not too differently . . . although we hypothesized that Paris might not have given Him as warm a reception as the Samaritan woman ultimately did.

During a small-group Bible study group, one of the kids asked, "You say you believe the Bible is true and is from God and everything. But . . . isn't there ever anything in there that you disagree with?" Another kid said, "I know God is good and everything, but sometimes He seems really mean."

It may sound strange to say, but I love these questions. Not because they're easy--they're not. (If they were, a lot more of my friends would be on speaking terms with Jesus right now.) But I love that these kids are actually thinking about this stuff, daring to ask the questions--even of someone who might be, to their manner of thinking, a little obsessed about the whole thing.

The other great upshot of the weekend was that it seemed like everyone remembered how much they like being together. So that the following weekend, when, on a whim, I put out an invite to go to a Christian concert and ride the rides at Six Flags, 13 kids showed up instead of the 2 or 3 I was expecting. About that many came to our youth group kick-off meeting the next day, too. There is also a sudden influx of adults who want to help out.

I can't trace all the whys and wherefores of how this is all coming together, and I'm the kind of person that often looks around the happy stuff for the big crash that I always feel is sure to come around the bend, but I can't deny the good, either. So far the worst that's happened was that I had a headache for two days when I got back from Conference . . . but it was worth it.

I Sense a Theme Here

Every ICCC conference has a theme. I suspect most conferences in general have themes. The one from last week was "Christ, Color and Context," and it was appropriate in a way, considering the way at least the youth activities played out. I'm not going to enumerate all the details--it was a positive experience overall, I'd say, but it took a lot of emotional energy, as the demographics of the group were approximately 33% Caucasian kids, 66% African American kids, no discernable other ethnicities, and most of the kids from both these groups did not appear to run in very diverse circles. Speaking from experience, you can have all the non-racist, Christian goodwill in the world, but unless you interact with people who have different backgrounds from you on a regular basis, you're going to step on some toes (and have yours stepped on) fairly often in your initial forays into diversity. Given all this, I think things went pretty well in the end (and I got to see it first hand because a few other youth leaders and I decided it was kind of silly to have only one adult run an entire youth programme for 57 teens . . . which is how the set-up was initially). I'm just saying--the theme was fairly appropos.

Meanwhile, though, within the hotel and independent of the conference (one hopes, though ominous soundtrack music might go well here), there was this other kind of "theme" going on. After the nice old lady made her comment in the elevator about all of us "going to L," a compressor in some fridge in the building overheated and all the alarms in the 24-storey hotel went off at 3 o'clock one fine morning. The number of people who didn't trek down all the flights of stairs to the front of the hotel would have been alarming if the fire or whatever it was hadn't been contained. As it was, everyone's sleep got interrupted and left us all crankier the next day . . . when the same compressor overheated again. Firetrucks went to and from our hotel all week, it seemed, the elevators kept breaking down, and on the last night our floor smelled about to overheat again.

Also, one morning my breakfast purchase total at the hotel Starbucks was $5.91. I didn't feel the need to give a dollar tip, but 50 cents seemed measly, so I wrote 75 cents on the receipt . . . only to discover (because my math-brain is stunted) that that made the dollar amount $6.66. It is no credit to me and my resistance of my superstitious nature that I couldn't bring myself to leave it like that, but I suppose the baristas were happier that I gave them a dollar in the end.

In spite of the lovely room-service breakfast that "my" teens and I had on the last day, courtesy of some generous friends, I don't think it's entirely unreasonable that the girls and I nicknamed our hotel the "Hellton" by the end of the week . . .
Photos: ICCCYouth2009, photo by jennw2ns. Room Service, photo by jennw2ns. The H__ton, photo by jennw2ns

The Mascot

This weekend I held a training session for the Camp Selah staff volunteers. This comprised everyone as young as 13 to as old as . . . I suppose it's just as well I don't know how "old as." Anyway, it was a pretty mixed group, with the younger ones by and large having more Camp Selah experience than the older ones, and the older ones having more life experience than the younger ones. I'm excited about this group. It's not necessarily the same mix of people that they/we have had in past years, but I think it is a good mix, and I'm excited to see what new things can come out of this new combination.

The night before, I was so nervous about this training thing that I woke up at 3 and never really fully went back to sleep . . . except for long enough to dream some dream about Oscar escaping and me getting pulled over by a cop. Also, another group from church was planning on using the camp this weekend, too, and, as we've only seen about one sunny day for every 12 so far this summer, I was, I feel, understandably worried that it was going to rain and we were all going to end up crammed into the Lodge at once and all my trainees were going to look at me like, "What the heck was the point of this? Great idea, Jenn!"

Then the sun came out. It actually came out! And it stayed out. Not in my Hometown. Not in the City. It poured in those places later in the day. But over Camp Selah the skies were blue and the air was warm and we spent most of the time outdoors. Also, the other group ended up being late, so there was scarcely any overlap at all. The teens and two other adults and I all stayed overnight, too, and it was great to see the teens having a chance to bond before the camp season started, so that when it does, they can jump right in as a team and rely on each other.

Also, I brought Oscar. Oscar's such a shy little dog. This is the dog who crawled under my desk at work when Pastor Ron came in to say hi to him. Yesterday, he had to ride on the lap of a teenage boys on the hour-ride to camp. He isn't a huge fan of car-rides and I wasn't convinced how any of this was going to go over--either with the teenage boys, or with the dog. He did shift laps a couple of times, but the guys handled him well, and one of them even eventually got him to settle down.

He spent most of the day being leashed up near wherever we happened to be doing activities, and every so often someone would approach him politely and pat him and let him smell their hands, and he didn't turn away. In fact, he actually started going to people volitionally. Everyone seemed to love him because he was responsive but he doesn't jump or bark. A couple of the teens called him the camp mascot.

By this morning before we cleaned up and left, he was trotting around the Lodge without his leash, in a business-like manner, looking as if he were trying to keep everyone tidy and in line. This is a really boring, "what I did on my summer vacation" kind of ending, but seriously, it was a banner day. I could not have hoped for better on any front. It's nice to have a day like that every once in a while.

Photos: Mascot-Oscar. jennw2ns 2009
All Fun and Game. jennw2ns 2009

Miscellany

"Oh!" I said to the Milk Guy. "You have violets in your lawn!"

"Yeah," he confessed. "I just mow them down, though."

"Of course you do," I said. "But you still have them."

Also, I took the photo of the nest in the forsythia, which is currently my profile photo, back when there was little to indicate that the plant was forsythia. Look at it now, though!

Christmas Recap

It has come to my attention (as I was shoveling snow this evening, if you must know, and not through any other human agent) that I have failed to follow up my irritable Christmas Day post with any report on how the rest of the Christmas week was. Or even the rest of that day, for that matter.

This might be because I seem to have subliminally assigned to this blog the role of Whinge-Keeper. And, see, the rest of that day and the week were pretty much great. So . . . what was there to write about?

I regret to rediscover that . . . I'm not a very grateful person.

Anyway, I'm here to tell you that yes: Christmas Day and Christmas week were just great. There were a few Niece-Hannah sleeping hiccups (read: Niece-Hannah not sleeping), but she's too cute to get mad at.

Here is a photo to prove it. Also one of the World's Cutest Niece with her Designer Auntie.

Now Where Was I?

In North Orange, Massachusetts, if you really want to know.

Camp Selah (pronounced by these particular parishioners "SEE-lah") is a tiny little camp on the shores of a manmade lake at the foot of Mount Tully, and I spent the better part of two weeks there. The church I've moved to runs a two-week day camp there, but there are cabins and a main lodge and a bath-house, so most of the staff (and some staff-related kids) stayed overnight.

I'm not going to lie. I missed my new bed.
But . . . I'm really excited about working for the church. On Wednesday of the second week, about seven different incidents occurred all at once, and I had the combined dreaded yet strangely affirming experience of trying (alongside the young woman who's managed the camp the last few years) to enact a little discipline, and nip a few situations in the bud. They weren't very welcome situations, but I was encouraged to know I wasn't necessarily just going to cave in over everything. On the other hand, I had numerous moments of thinking, "What in the world am I doing? I don't know these people. They don't know me." It felt decidedly like culture shock and, also like culture shock, I suspect I'm going to feel like that on and off for a while as I learn the ropes.

The people are really lovely. They're warm and welcoming . . . and a little bit wrung out. The church hasn't had the easiest time in the last few years. That in itself is intimidating. On Sunday I wondered aloud if someone might be able to help me move a couch to my new office (I have an office?!), and they showed up that afternoon and moved it for me. Everyone is so accommodating and eager to please that it makes me feel like I have a lot of expectations to live up to. What if I don't please? What if I let them down?

But it isn't really about me, is it? I have a feeling I'm going to get reminded of that a lot over the next few months, in kind ways and difficult ones, whether I want to or not. For now, I might as well try not to take myself too seriously.

I don't think these guys would let me, anyway.
Photos:
"Selah," "Muffin-bed," and "Wacky-Wednesday Kids" by jennw2ns 2008.
"Jennwith2ManyBells" might have been by Deb Parks. Or Jean Lunt. I can't really remember.

Journeying

My second Blog-day is coming up this month, and I just googled my blog; one of the listings that came up is my first-ever post, in which I discuss why I started a blog and in which I mention talking to my friend, Author-Sarah (aka Sarah Arthur, interestingly), "who is a published author, unlike me." (Incidentally, I feel I should "shout out" to the great people who commented on that first post, proving that they were with me at the outset, and all of whom still are. Yay, you!)

Hey! I thought. I'm a published author now, too! I'm not sure exactly how instrumental this blog has ended up being in that process, but I do feel better connected and like I have another community and outlet and forum of accountability, not to mention a whole lot of other people's stories to share in. I like this journeying together, and I like the idea that, even though it's taken a few years, we've all learned things and experienced things and even maybe moved a little bit in our journeys. Things have happened. A lot of times, from the close-up view, it seems like things don't.

Here's something else that's "happened" since my first Blog-day, last summer. Starting Labor Day weekend (ironically), I have a new job.

Oh no. I'm not leaving Starbucks. Seriously? I don't think anyone really leaves Starbucks. I've been at my store longer than any one person has, but in the last year, at least four people who once quit and left have all come back. And anyway, this new job is only part-time. But you know, I've been wrestling with and praying about and mulling over my calling (again) for the better part of a year. This new job looks like it might just be the next thing. I'm really kind of excited. I'll have to tell you about it . . .

What? Now? No--of course not! But probably tomorrow.

Photo by jennw2ns: Thames facing East, without a tripod

They Have Arrived!

A funny thing happened on the way back from London . . .

My publishers sent me six free copies of my book, to me care of the friends I was staying with in the UK. I can have more copies at a discount, but these six were already designated in my head: one for my parents, one for my brother and his family, one for each of my grandmothers, one for the Milk Guy and one for me.

But then there was a little mailing mix-up and so my parents actually got a couple of free copies, too (by the grace of the publishers), so I could give their copy to my London hosts. But then one of my friends asked if she could buy one off of me. And then another friend, to whom I was showing a copy, thought I was giving it to her. And then I needed another gift for someone else . . .

By the time I got on the plane to return to the US, the only copy I had was the one for the Milk Guy. Which I gave to him when he picked me up from the airport, and then that was it. It didn't matter how much church and Starbucks friends clamoured--I could not show them my book, because I didn't have it. But it was okay, because even though my book isn't quite out in the States, I had ordered some at my discount, and they would surely be arriving soon.

"Soon" would be the wrong word to describe how they actually arrived. But they did arrive interestingly. This evening when I returned home from an afternoon out, I noticed two rather conspicuous mailbags on the front step. There was one box of books in each bag, and each bag was tied up with all sorts of tags and markings. Inside the boxes was a whole lot of shredded paper and . . . my books!

This Time It's Personal

I grew up reading missionary biographies (as well as a lot of other things, but they're not immediately relevant here). These people were amazing followers of Christ who gave up things that were really hard to give up, so that they could tell a bunch of people they had never met before that Jesus loves them. I found these stories daunting and inspiring, and knew I wanted to "be a missionary when I grew up." So I did, for a while, although I never felt like I was quite giving up as much as I should have been.

For example, in the 1800's, this dude Henry Martyn broke up with his fiancee so he could go to Asia Minor and translate the Bible and make the Gospel known. He did, and people who would otherwise not have heard about the truth of Jesus, actually did, even though Martyn himself ended up dying very young. I think I always thought eventually I'd go overseas and get martyred or something dramatic, too.

If God actually called me to be a missionary, shouldn't I be doing something like that? So what am I doing at Starbucks? Particularly when, in the course of the last year and a half, I've hardly had the opportunity to share the Gospel with anyone?

Then I got to know the Milk Guy.

Someone said to me recently, "If you were once a missionary, I would find it very unlikely that you would date a non-Christian." I considered this, and thought that actually, in some ways it might make perfect sense, because a missionary (or an evangelist, or anyone like that) ideally already loves the people who haven't met Jesus yet--that's why they tell them about Him. If there's already that initial caring present, and then some sort of "chemistry" is added to the mix, there's nothing very surprising . . .

I suppose some would say that, whether surprising or not, my actually deciding to consider a non-Christian "romantically" is out-and-out disobedience to the Gospel. I guess I think it's a little more open to debate, but I certainly don't want to be disobedient. Which is why my brain is getting all mixed up about this "just one person" concept. I know that we are called to put Jesus above all other loves. I truly want to do this. But if I have a missionary call, does it mean I should start investigating international options again, and clear myself out of here? Or would that, in this case, be like running away, and am I being called to reach out with Jesus' love to this "just one person" who happens to be in the place Jesus most recently brought me?

Either way requires a sort of sacrifice, and I don't know for sure which is the one Jesus is requiring of me. I don't know what the end result will be. According to the law of averages, I'd be better off going and doing "official" missions again, because I'd have a broader base of people to share Jesus with than "just one person." Also, shouldn't I be going someplace where people have less access to the Gospel? On the other hand, as I said to Jeff in the comments previously, I'm not sure God's all that concerned with the law of averages, even though He created it. And who am I to say who God should send to, say, the Turks, and who He should send to the Milk Guy.

Meanwhile, oddly enough, since I've been seeing the Milk Guy, suddenly I'm having all these other Jesus-conversations, too--at Starbucks, where I hadn't had one in ages.

Photo by jennw2ns: Sheep by water, Dingle, Ireland. 2008.

Teen Girl Squad

The Teen Girl Squad (not to be confused with the virtual but original Teen Girl Squad) has a concluding party here at my house tonight. This was a group of girls (it ended up being just me, a co-leader, and two high-school girls) who got together to study the Bible on Tuesday nights. There were a lot of interruptions. It took us about three months to get through six studies. But we did it, and we have bonded. I'm going on vacation for two weeks, but then we need to talk about whether we're going to keep doing this.

I was going to talk about one of our "deep topics" of conversation that came up fairly early on in our meetings, and I think I still am. But it suddenly feels daunting, and I really do need to make some chocolate chip cookies for this party . . .

****************
Update:

Photos: Jenn, Tisha, Julia, Sarah. April 2008.

Being Glad

That Barrington day? I was walking back to my car after the breeze got too much, and found myself absolutely riveted by the sight of a dead tree. I couldn't stop looking at it--or taking photos of it. An older couple walked by and the man said, "Pretty wood, isn't it?"

It was a relief to know that someone else got it, even though I'm quite sure "pretty wood" didn't encapsulate it. I don't know how old that tree was, or what killed it, but there was that pretty wood, rising sinuously out of the ground, as if the tree had spent its life pouring itself upward.

I know I keep going on and on about trees. I just can't get enough of them. They make me think of God for some reason, but it isn't a consciously unpackable reason. I mean, sure, there's lots of tree imagery in the Bible--the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, the Cross of Christ, the Tree of Life, and even the trees of the fields clapping their hands. But I don't usually look at a tree and think, "This reminds me of a cross" (it very rarely does) or, "This makes me think of the Tree of Life in Ezekiel." Even though I appreciate all that imagery, of course.

I'm a great one for analogies and allegories, but I just don't think there is one to sum up why trees remind me of God. They just do. They remind me of God in a glad way--even if I'm mad at Him or something (which I'm not, currently, but I have been a fair bit), if I look a tree it calms me right down and makes me feel like thanking Him anyway.

Oh. And I didn't do this on purpose, but . . . Happy Earth Day, everybody!

Reflections on a Saturday Afternoon