On driving to Fargo, June 12

I drove down to Fargo with my dad tonight. Tomorrow morning I fly out, heading to Fresnillo, Mexico.

After stopping for beef in Grand Forks (Texas Roadhouse), the drive to Fargo was really peaceful. South, the light pink and pastel orange sunlight reflecting off of the rainclouds had an ambient look to it: soft, like the subtle changes of the aurora Borealis. North Dakota mountains hung in the distance. (of course, these are not real mountains; merely the illusion of such caused by bilious cumulonimbus clouds on the horizon.)

Later, the setting sun crusted the western clouds with gold. Dad and I talked about television reception and drove into the rain. Tomorrow he will return, and I shall fly through clouds. See you on the other side.

mahwidge

I was a bridesmaid in my friends' wedding this past weekend. It was a new experience for me and was quite enjoyable as well as thought-provoking. I've known both of my friends for a long time and it's fun that they married each other.

All the bridesmaids and groomsmen had pieces of tape marking where they were supposed to stand. I used to have a mark, but it walked away. I stood there, watching things progress, when I realized I wasn't in line with the rest of the bridesmaids. I inched my way over but found that now my view was blocked by shoulders on the steps above me. Now all I could see was Kent, the groom. I had an odd feeling. It was not at all like Kent was saying the vows to us, but there was an aspect that we were hearing the vows the same way Monica did. I couldn't see anything but Kent. I didn't see Monica's reaction. I couldn't see Pastor Rick saying the vows for Kent to repeat. I felt like the big brother behind the bullied kid in school, or the invisible friend of a second grader, or imagine this:a bridesmaid standing up with her friend at her wedding. I was there to support her, to hear the vows and be a witness to them, to encourage them in their marriage and to remind them of the promises they made to each other.

At the wedding I also had a sense of the deep profundity and ancientness of the ceremony - connecting a man and a woman in an intentional and purposeful way. We were dancing on the edge of something incredibly meaningful and established. I pray that Kent and Monica spend the rest of their life relishing and learning more about that dance and the deep deep love it comes from.

You're so vain

I found out that my littlest sister is vain (actually a tad narcissistic). In a real tangible way, I realized this when I drove the car after she had. The rear view mirror was angled so that it reflected whoever was sitting in the driver's seat. My sister moves the mirror so that when she glances up, she can see herself, checking her hair or her make-up.

It was about a mile down the road before I realized that the mirror was tilted incorrectly, and it wasn't because I wasn't glancing up. I know to use my mirrors - side of the eye, side of the eye.
I didn't realize it because I guess I'm vain as well. I was looking up and checking out the color of my hair and the freckles on my nose.

So I guess I have something to work on.

Philistine

I am more satisfied with the fact that I have successfully collected a Kodon* for each semester of my time at Wheaton College than frustrated by the fact that I have not read everything in them or understood most of what I have read or seen.

I keep because of the expectation for future reading, but this potentiality excuses me from having fully read them now.




*The Kodon is Wheaton College's biannual student publication of art, music, and literature.

Otto

I found out that one of my friends at the nursing home passed away last month. I sent him a letter, and it was returned to me, stamped "unable to deliver." Since he was 101 and lived in a nursing home, I checked online to see if I could find anything. He was born August 1906 and died May 17, 2008.

Otto Schoerner was one of my favorite people to visit at the nursing home. Almost every week he would say, in his soft, slightly accented voice, "oh, I would love to join you [in a weekly activity], but you see, I'm legally blind." He would take my hand and say "now you're from North Dakota? Karen?" He remembered each of us volunteers because of where we lived. Otto was always encouraging. He had lived as a missionary in China for 20 years, before international conflict kicked him out of the country. When he heard that I would be living in Mexico for this next year, he was very excited. Often he would pray for me and kiss my cheek.

He had wonderful stories, about being born in Pennsylvania but getting stuck in Germany with his family during WWI. He proposed to his wife by letter in 1938, and it took months for the letter to get to her and for him to receive a reply.

I took a picture with him the same night I took one with Dee and Jim but I didn't post it because it turned out poorly (Otto couldn't sit up and his dear face is only partly in the picture). Despite the lack of pictures online, you can read a little about his life in this newspaper article written after his death.

If I stand

George MacDonald asks why can't two things exist in the same place at the same time? Why do what we see and feel, the material things, have the tyranny to push out things that we can't see or feel?

"There's more that rises in the morning than the sun, and more that shines in the night than just the moon."

In a spectacular Rich Mullins song (and he has many), he sings "there's more that dances on the prairie than the wind, and more that pulses in the ocean than the tide." His words speak of a transcendence that draws us to a higher way of living.

The focal point of this song is found in Rich Mullins' reaction, his response. In the chorus he says "if I stand, let me stand on the promise that you will pull me through. If I fall, let me fall on the grace that first brought me to you." A belief that there is more to this world than the eye can see, that two things really can exist in the same place at the same time, brings a desire to live in the full awareness of that second world. If I stand, if the choices I make bring great things, let it be because God is the one allowing me to stand. If I fall, I am not finished due to my own weakness, but fall on the grace of the Lord Jesus.

"If I sing, let it be for the joy that has borne in me these songs, and if I weep let it be as a man who is longing for his home."
Let the joy found in this life be because there is eternal joy, and if there is sorrow, weep, because not all things are as they should be, and we long for the day when the second world fully bursts through into this one, restoring what has been broken.

Enjoys: long walks on gravel roads

Being home seems at once the right place to be, and at the same time incongruous with the rest of my life. What I mean is this: I came home after graduation, and I fit right in. My bed is still as uncomfortable as ever, I drink three cups of tea a day (it's like a comfort blanket). Shanna still keeps me awake at night, (last night it was recording my name in a gravelly voice on her phone and then playing it back to me, right in my ear.) These are things that fit like a glove.

At the same time, this is just a pit stop. I'm moving to Mexico in two and a half weeks. My clothes don't have a drawer in which to belong, because Shanna has usurped all the space in the room upstairs. My stuff sits in peripatetic piles, piles that I carry from place to place but have no final destination.

I feel comfortable at home, content, yet there is a restless corner inside, because I know I will not be here long. Unsure how the next step will turn out, let alone the step after that, I want to be fully present, here for these next few weeks, and still fully prepared for what happens next. I will keep you updated as to the success of this venture.