Lover of Light

     I finally finished Les Miserables. When I started it a few months ago, I thought I would never finish. Ryan and I counted: EIGHTY-SIX Kindle pages for ONE PERCENT of the book! And when I finished, I wished it would never end. Les Mis is one of the most beautiful, powerful books I have ever read. Victor Hugo examines the world through the lens of man's soul. The lens isn't rose-colored; Hugo lays bare the depravity of our disfigured human hearts, and the lies and atrocities proceeding from them. But at the same time, Les Mis does not abide in the shadows.

     Probably the most heart-wrenching storyline is Fantine's. Fantine sold her hair, her teeth, and her love to provide for her estranged daughter Cossette. The people of Montreuil-sur-Mer saw the gaps in Fantine's mouth and pronounced her grotesque. They saw her on the prostitute's corner and, in all their moral virtuosity, declared her disgraceful. Everyone who could have lifted her up instead passed by with averted eyes. I wept, because I saw the whole picture of Fantine's life. I saw that Fantine was used and abandoned by Cossette's father. I saw that she had placed her daughter with a foster family to keep her from the shame of illgitimacy. I saw that she was decieved into believing that her Cossette was desperately ill and in need of expensive medicine. I saw Cossette in perfect health, being used for slave labor while Fantine's money lined the pockets of a criminal innkeeper. I saw the sacrificial love for her daughter that Fantine lived by. But the townspeople only saw the shame Fantine had been forced into, and the hatred their shunning spawned in her. Hugo writes, "Those who do not see, do not weep."

     There are so many things we do not see. I don't know the stories of the people who sit on off Judson Road with misspelled signs, or the homeless man whose eyes I saw peering out from a pile of cardboard and towels under a downtown bridge, or the rude old man in the grocery store, or the barely dressed girl in Wal-Mart. Certainly they are sinners. We all are. There was a great deal of darkness in Fantine. But somewhere in Fantine, in those broken people around me, is a light, a trace of the image of God. I want to see their pain, their stories, their hidden light. I want to be a part of bringing out that light, seeing it redeemed, like Monsieur Madeline rescued Fantine and brought out her light.

     2nd Corinthians 5:16 says, "From now on" [now that the love of Christ controls us] "we regard no one according to the flesh". We don't see people the same way. Verse 18: "All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation." Through Christ, God has brought me back to Himself and given me new life. Now it is my blessing and duty, granted by Him, to bring people to His "wonderful light" (1st Peter 2:9).I cannot see everything, but I know the Light, and because of my great God I can see Him everywhere, even in the blackest corners of the blackest souls.

I will strive to be a Lover of the Light.

Art as Imitation

     This year, I've been able to teach art to my younger brothers, and some of my cousins. I'm not even really a very good artist-I started drawing because it was something my brother could do better than me, and Heaven forbid that! But I do love painting, and I have a tiny bit of knowledge to pass on.

            Art is what I'm drawn to-literature most of all, but drawing and painting and music have their place in my heart, too. If I have free time, I hole up in my room with my violin or pencil or most often laptop to materialize the ideas in my head. But I came to a point where I started to wonder, is this a waste? As a Christian, I am "called to proclaim the excellencies of Him who called [me] out of darkness into His wonderful light" (1st Peter 2:9). Artistic expression is fun. It's invigorating and freeing. But in the end, isn't it just selfish indulgence, like watching TV or wasting time on Facebook? Shouldn't I  be out preaching the Gospel instead?

The answer is yes, and no.

    The goal is to glorify God, to proclaim His excellencies. Preaching the Gospel is absolutely one of the most important ways to do that, but it isn't the only way. Colossians 3:17 says "whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God". Eating and drinking can glorify God. So can art.

    God is an artist, a Creator. He "formed me in my mother's womb" (Psalm 139). The sky is declaring his handiwork (Psalm 19).

He fashioned this ladybug, and

He delighted in sculpting this little cutie.

    Edith Schaeffer was so right when she said, "A Christian, who realizes that he has been made in the image of the Creator God...[is] meant to be creative on a finite level."

     I can write words that tell of God's greatness, and weave stories that point people to Him. I'm doing a Bible study with a girl in my neighborhood, and when we get together, we're going to paint. Whether your art is soccer 

or water polo

or ballet

or carpentry

or drawing 

or harmonica playing 

or baking 

or interior decorating, you can use it to draw people in: into yourself, or into God. God who gave you the abilities. God who is the first Creator, and who everyone, whether they realize it or not, creates in imitation of.

Wheels and Winds and Wandering Souls

There’s a sign tied to the ride’s green gate. It’s fluttering and hard to read, but I finally make out “Ferris Wheel Closed Due to High Winds”. I try to ask the man running the Ferris Wheel if it will open again soon, but he is inside the shut gate, eating a sandwich that he appears very absorbed in. Sierra starts walking away, but I stay rooted and she’s holding my hand, so she has to stay, too. I stare at the sign and wish for the high winds to settle down to a nice, gentle breeze.

     I feel Sierra backing in to me. An old man is trying to grab her hand. I pull her close, but don’t bother running away. I could knock the man over, that shows how frail he is. And he’s old-seventy or so. His dark, wrinkly skin hangs on his arms more like a loose-fitting jacket than skin. He stretches his gnarled, trembling hand out to mine. The fingers are twisted in directions fingers were never meant to go. Some of his nails are an inch long; others are broken off in rough, jagged lines. I gently push the withered hand away. He grins at me, a toothless grin, and then totters off. I feel heavy inside.

        Once he had been as innocent as people get, only crying and sleeping and eating and wanting to be held and loved. I wonder what brought him from that to this, stumbling around drunk at a carnival in rags and bare feet. Did he choose a hard life for himself, or had he never known anything else? And if he had never known anything else-maybe his father had beaten him, or maybe he didn’t know his father at all-then why am I walking around in new shoes with a wad of bills in my pocket? Why him and not me? I try to follow the weather-beaten man with my eyes, but he is lost in the back-and-forth swarm of people.

      Suddenly the carnival’s neon colors seem garish and gaudy. There’s no enchantment to the music-box tunes or painted ponies or shouts of the balloon man, and the popcorn smell feels overdone. All I see is the grey concrete underneath me and the faces going by. So many faces. So many souls. And so, so much wandering.

Hello There.

I might
(just maybe)
start to blog again

because,

life is beautiful...

...and weird...

...and sometimes confusing.

         I've been learning how to think and pray and talk, things I thought I already knew how to do, but I didn't really. God is shaping me into the image of His Son and giving me a whole new perspective on the world-"In Your light do we see light!" (Psalm 36:9). Living this perspective comes first, and it's wonderful, even in the times it hurts because I have to relinquish my desires-especially in those times. But for me, not writing about life is impossible. When I keep the words inside, they get bored and start fistfights in my head. For real. And sometimes, when I do write things, I want to share them. Not always, but sometimes.

 So my little blog is revisited. And to be perfectly honest, more than anything else it's because I'm not afraid of being called a nerd anymore. (Seriously, name one high schooler who blogs and isn't homeschooled!) 

        I guess that's another part of the new perspective God is hammering into me, little by little. As Paul says, "If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ." (Galatians 1:10) Even the tiny things, even writing and ignoring my insecurities, are part of becoming who God wants me to be, which is just a trifling, infinitesimal part of the BIG master plan to glorify Him. That's the purpose the world spins upon.

And so, here I am. Hello again!

Love,

Me

And the World Spins On

Summer is gone. Vanished.

Last I remember, there was a rush of swimming and sleepovers and trips to the beach, of scrambling to complete that ever-elusive summer to-do list. Amidst all the confusion, vacation slipped from my grasp. School was upon me.



Art filing: one of those to-do list items that didn't actually get done until last weekend.

Sending some short stories into a magazine was one of the first things on my summer to-do list, and I actually did it. Sort of. I mailed them all without stamps, so...this is take 2. :P

 My mind is a blur of biology definitions and character development and Euclid's postulates right now. It's easy to look wistfully at my summer photo albums and feel trapped in a world I certainly never wished for. But I can't let myself forget-life doesn't end after summer vacation.

God can use me just as well now as He could when I didn't have the constraints of school. He even understands geometry, for crying out loud! So, until Jesus returns and saves us from the world that feels especially imperfect right now, I'm going to try to "be diligent to be found by Him without spot or blemish and at peace" (2nd Peter 3:14). At peace, not anxious or discontent. Knowing I've run the race to the best my ability and given Him all glory.

Pray for me :)

 



Finished! :)

Now I just I need to send a copy to my favorite twins!

A Musical Monologue in the Third Person

(how's THAT for an exciting title?!)

Words are and always will be Aubrey's first love. Music has quietly crept up on her over the years. Both of them together? Rather wonderful, she thinks. (And she seriously has no idea why she is talking about herself in the third person.)

Aubrey is doing choir for the first time this year, and thus has already imagined herself as a world-famous singer/songwriter. The realistic half of her mind constantly reminds Aubrey that it won't happen, but the other half, being irrational by nature, blissfully ignores it.

And so, Aubrey turns her head to songwriting-in the noun's most singular form. Literally, Aubrey has written ONE SONG (almost). Here are the first verse and chorus she has come up with so far:

We seek to know ourselves and to change who we will be

But we easily forget who we are

What we will be is a mystery

Still we forget eternity

As we search for identity on earth

We know that when he appears

We'll be like Him

For we will see Him as He is

The confusion melts away like the mist when the sun is rising

Finally I can see through the glass

It's still blurred, like a vision

But the dream is soon to pass

And I'll look upon Your lovely face at last.

Love,

Me