Pride and Portraits

  I read once that if you start to get big-headed about yourself, get a child to draw a picture of you. Last week, my three-year-old brother saw me sitting on the coach and said, "Hey, I'm gonna draw you." And he did. In the midst of his scribbling he pointed out my hair, a blanket and a coffee mug. Since there was no resemblance between me and the picture, I was flattered that he wanted to draw me.

  Today I asked a few of my brothers to draw me and see what they came up with. Again my three-year-old brother showed his artistic skill is not fully developed. The other two, however, have slightly greater artistic ability. I could at least recognize some of my features. In addition to a wildly disproportionate body, my brothers gave me my short cropped hair and what they said were batman shirts. I also had innumerate spindly fingers splayed out like fans at the end of stubby arms.

  My experiment did end up working. I was not super flattered by the pictures my brothers drew of me, but that was because they were ridiculous caricatures. It was also a reminder that I am not my looks, nor is anybody else. No picture fully reflects the soul of an individual. We come to love people because of who we know they are apart from their looks.

  So  I cannot take much pride in those portraits, but I should not take pride in pictures of myself in the first place. Because I am not any caricatures of my body, I am the soul that lives in it.

The Wedding I Cried At

  Because I have blogged about crying before, I feel like I may have indicated that I cry on a semi-regular basis. In some ways I suppose that is true because I cry every time I watch Return of the King, and I watch it more than I would care to admit. As a general rule though, I am not a crier. When I encounter an emotionally stressful situation, I tend to get the urge to bury my fist in the nearest wall (not an action I condone).

  Then I cried at my cousin's wedding. At this point of my life, I have been to far more than my fair share of weddings. Usually, I did not have a deep personal connection with the couple, so I did not care less that two people were tying themselves together for better or worse, for richer or poorer; in sickness and in health, and long as they lived. All I was worried about was spending time with the people I knew at the reception and eating cake. Nothing about weddings has ever made me feel like crying.

  But yesterday, at the wedding, I stood in the chapel with everyone else and turned to look back at the bride. And there was my cousin Rachel, one of the most incredible people I have ever known, and she was getting married. Then came the tears. But it was not just the fact that Rachel and Jimmy were getting married. It was the way they got married. The way they acknowledged that marriage is a commitment. That it is a reflection of Christ's relationship with His bride, the church. It was the fact that they were purposing to glorify God in their relationship before anything else.

  Nothing about their wedding made being in love seem silly and sappy. It was a reminder that the gift of love they have been given is sacred and precious. And should I ever suffer the great misfortune of falling in love, I hope that my love is like theirs. A love that is great because Christ is its center.

Part Brown Girl

  Thursday evening, my cousins tried on their saris for the wedding on Saturday. And of course, they were beautiful. I have my sari, but I did not try it on. I am waiting for the wedding. I am glad I get to wear one as a partly brown girl.



Road Tripping

  Now that I have attained my twenties, I finally got to do something I have wanted to for awhile now. I took a road trip with my brother half-way across the state (and by the way, you know you live in a big state when it takes five hours to drive halfway across it). My beautiful cousin Rachel is getting married on Valentine's day, so my brother and I came up early to help get ready for the wedding.  

  Wednesday morning, I woke up at 4:45 after a less than desirable sleep experience the night before. None-the-less, I was surprisingly awake. My brother and I loaded our belongings the trunk of my parents station wagon and set off on our journey to Denton, Texas.

  I enjoy driving. I have never had much trouble focusing on the road when it is calm because it holds a certain therapeutic quality for me. Driving in the early morning traffic of Houston, Texas is not therapeutic. There is just not a lot of appeal in being cloistered between lines of white with countless tons of moving metal and red lights. Even when the drivers crowding the road are wondrously polite, I would rather them not be there.  

  After I pushed out of the city limits of H-town, I headed north on the four-lane interstate. My brother, who had kept his promise to stay awake as I drove through downtown, leaned his seat back and fell into the arms of sleep. I am still not sure if it was the coffee I had filled my stomach with or the excitement at the thought of seeing my cousins or simply the adrenaline running through the blue lines beneath my skin that kept me awake. 

  As I drove on though, I found that albums I once thought long are short when I have so much road before me. I also found myself wanting to drive on the two lanes of black-top that curved and dipped like a ribbon next to the interstate which stretched out like an arrow. I learned that there are few things greater than driving out from under a blanket of gray fog into the friendliness of the golden sun burning in an azure sky. And as I have learned every time I go to visit my cousins, nothing matches the warmth feeling you get in your stomach when pull into their driveway and know once you get out of the car you will get to go into a house in which live people that are among the most wonderful in the world (and to any of my cousins who are reading this, this applies to all of you).

 

I also learned this is a great road trip song:

 

 

webbed morning.

   Spiders do not scare me anymore, at least not as much as they used to. I suppose that is in part because there are quite a few who have garnered the status of pet in my house. In addition to being beneficial creatures, they make incredible webs. Yesterday morning I stepped outside to find the awning that houses my brother's lawnmowers had become a wondrous tangle of dew-drops and gossamer. And it was because of the spiders' night work.

 

paper copies.

The world never won the world for Christ.
The world is not looking for another hip version of herself.
In the chaos of the mess, the world is looking for beauty and truth.
She is looking for the reason behind the mess.
And when the church tries to be a paper copy of the world, the world cannot see Christ.
The church is just a well-dressed goody-goody.
Or worse, there is no difference any day but Sunday.
And the world cannot feel a beauty as hard and true as a diamond on a flimsy paper copy.
If pure religion is caring for widows and orphans and staying unspotted by the world then that is what the church should be.
But never a paper copy.
The world will have trouble seeing Christ as beautiful, if His people do not live lives reflecting His beauty.

What I did this Week: Chocolate, Glitter, and Ivanhoe

  I did not do one of these posts last week. This week, though, I took pictures of the things I did, and here they are.

  Sunday I started reading Ivanhoe. When I first started it, I had high hopes of finishing it by today. That did not happen, but I am not unhappy about it. It is a longer book. My favorite quote thus far: ""The Saxon porker," he said, "is either asleep or minds me not. Prick him with your lance, De Bracy."
  That is the way to get things done.

 

  Then, I baked cookies. Double chocolate chip cookies.

 

  Monday, I baked chocolate banana muffins.

 

  Tuesday night, I had Nutella and waffles for dessert. For all of its wonderful and delicious qualities, Nutella does not photograph very well.

 

  Thursday night, I made breakfast for dinner and we had bacon-cheddar scones, which my little brothers all voted were winners.

 

  Friday, I bought this book, which I had been eyeing for a long time.

 

  In the evening, I baked a birthday cookie for my Paw-Paw and my baby sister.

 

  This morning, I finished a birthday dress for my baby sister. And I think she likes it.

 

   Then this evening I made valentines for the Sunday school class I help teach. I went a little overboard with all the glitter.

  And thus went my week.