Christmas Favorite No. 7

This gem that I've not heard nearly enough this season.



Love it. I like the Sara Groves version better, though.

Questions for All

(March 27, 1999)


When we were born, we could not walk or talk or even focus our eyes. But the ability to do all these things and more was born in us. By continual effort, we still grow and learn and develop our identities.

We learned early that we were not a bird and not an animal. And this is where personality begins to question--then, what am I? Who am I? Why am I here?

Is this an identity crisis?

No. It is a belief crisis.

Peace,
Tawanka

Pefect for a Sunday (Or, Proof)

Or any day, really.
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(March 11, 1999)

Can you see the wind? Can you see the fragrance of flowers floating on the breezes? Can we see thought or what it is that changes a tree from bare limbs and brown leaves to plush green? Can you see love or joy or peace?

We can only see evidence of these invisible things, and it's enough to make us know they do exist. The substance of life is so evident, so real and beautiful. Why is it we ever question the existence of our Creator who set everything in motion?

We see the changes of day and night . . . the seasons, the stars, the moon, the sun. Anyone must know it is the work of someone more powerful than man.

Peace,
Tawanka

Poignancy

I am, it seems, hounded by poignancy these days. While I don't find meaning in everything (there's not meaning in everything, even if the author/creator wanted to instill meaning in that creation), it seems to jump out at me at times when I'm not expecting it.

Like now. My brain's fuzzy from napping on the couch with the cat. I walked into the library to shut off the computer, but decided to check my email one last time, and I get caught up in links. My simple five minutes on the computer has easily turned into 25.

But it's been worth it, especially after I was called out/pinned down/targeted by this gem: "Only for today, I will be happy in the certainty that I was created to be happy, not only in the other world but also in this one." About which I think, among other things, fuzzy brain and all, "I was, wasn't I?"

And this one: "Only for today, I will firmly believe, despite appearances, that the good Providence of God cares for me as no one else who exists in this world." Wow - and that's a wow based upon my understanding of a lifetime of fault-filled love from those around me - that's usually pretty good. I can only guess at how much better that is when you make it a perfect, divine love. (Read more here.)

It reminds me of this quote from a great little book a dear friend gave me: "Imagine the universe beautiful and just and perfect, Then be sure of one thing: the Is imagined it quite a bit better than you have."

I'm thinking that finding stuff like this on The Happiness Project every time I stop in these days means I'm gonna have to add it to the Reader and the Blog Roll. But the time will be worth it.

Winter

I work until 5:30, which I think works perfectly for me.

Until today.

Today, around 5:10 or so, I walked out of my office to get something off the printer, and when I walked back in, I was surprised not to see trees outside of my window. In fact, I didn't see anything except a perfect reflection of myself. I was surprised because I had, in fact, painted my kitchen stools on the back porch last night AFTER I got home. Granted, I had the porch light on, so perhaps that's skewed my perception some, but I could have sworn that it wasn't pitch black outside at or before 5:30 yesterday.

*Sigh.*

Although I miss the light of spring and summer - both the quantity and the quality - I also do appreciate the changing of the seasons. The trees are quite beautiful; I'll occasionally come upon one that really makes me stop and think about the automatic response of living things on the earth to the earth's revolution. It's usually the maples that have turned so fiery red, all at once, so no other color appears to remain on the leaves. Or the tulips, which turn such a ethereal gold.

I love the crispness of the night this time of year. This phenomenon is what gives all of those holiday songs about twinkling their basis. You can see forever, yet the refraction of the light in the atmosphere still creates a "twinkle." I've always thought that this weather makes the tradition of holiday lights just fabulous. (Aside: Ever wanted to walk through the Festival of Lights, instead of having to drive through it? There's a 5K this year, December 31, at midnight. And, while I'm sure the race organizers would much prefer that you run, I plan on walking. What better way to ring in the new year.)

From my vantage point, in my little house in the Krispy Kreme Capital of the World, the buildings of downtown come into sharp focus. The edges which normally blur in the summer's humidity are now present, allowing you to see exactly how impressive a 34 story building is.

I love that, even in the light-polluted city, you can clearly see Orion over the Northern horizon early at night. I love that you can catch a glimpse of the milky way here and that you can occasionally catch a glimpse of several bright stars in the milky way. I long to drive out to the mountains, sit by a lake or in a clearing, far from the lights of the city, and stare at the stars in the sky.

It's overwhelming when I can do that. The sheer number of stars that I can finally see that cover the sky, from the north horizon to the south, from the east horizon to the west. The complete enormity of the creation overcomes me and I realize how small a part of this world I actually am. At no time is Psalm 46:10 more true for me than at that time, in those moments: "Be still, and know that I am God."

The cold of the season also makes me very thankful - for everything. That I've got a warm cat asleep on my lap right now is one of those things for which I'm thankful. That my stinky dog sits and naps behind me as I write this. That a smile of a friend or an acquaintance warms that which heat simply cannot: the heart and soul. That hot chocolate is free in my office. That I've got a fire pit on my back porch, which begs for a fire, even though we're still in a drought. That I can afford to pay my heating bill, when so many others cannot.

That I can let a crock pot sit all day with yummy, warm goodness, ready for me when I walk in the door. That I appreciate the strong smells of the seasons: pumpkin and cinnamon. That the music which feels so cold and sad earlier in the year, feels surprisingly peaceful and sometimes, cheerful in contrast to the weather.

And so, although I'll bemoan the cold and the lack of light and the curse of having to ever change out of shorts and flip flops, I realize the change makes me appreciate that which I love dearly even more - be it in summer or in winter.

Singing days

I've been singing a lot these days. I've always heard - and completely believe - that sometimes song is the only way that you can communicate with The Great Spirit. Certainly doesn't mean I can sing; just means that I am. Here's what's been in my heart today:

Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home --Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see

The distant scene -- one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, no pray'd that

Thou Shouldst lead me on.

I loved to choose and see my path, but now

Lead Thou me on! I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,

Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still

Will lead me on, O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till

The night is gone;

And with the morn those angel faces smile

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

- Cardinal John Henry Newman

Striking Fear in My Heart

It might have been 10 a.m. this morning when I first saw the link on the News & Record's website about Virginia Tech. My first thought was, "Thank God my sister and her fiance aren't
students there anymore." My second thought was of my friend's sister who currently IS. Still, my first call was to my twice-alum sister of the fine university and I was frustrated when I got her voicemail, but happy to know that she was in California, thousands of miles from the horror.

My second is to confirm that my friend's sister truly is at Va Tech and that I haven't confused it with UVA. Two calls later, I find out that I'm right. I make the call, knowing that she's probably not going to be answering the phone and knowing that she probably has no idea of what's happening, but I think that if I were in the situation, I'd want someone to at least leave me a voicemail - which is what I did.

We find out later that the sister is fine; not even on campus. Praise God.

Later, when I hear from my sister, I find out she was in Virginia until late last night for a wedding, but she's now in California again. I'd had no idea - and I'm instantly grateful that I'd had no idea. Yes, she does still know people at the University.

I spend much of the day streaming the live coverage that WDBJ TV-7 is providing, letting it play in the background. The body counts seem to be the only thing that really comes through - and I continue to be shocked at the fact that it keeps going UP. Regardless, I somehow get lots of work done - maybe more than I've been able to for sometime.

I manage to escape from the media frenzy long enough to go teach a swim lesson, but it's not five minutes into my drive home before I pull up WVTF, the Virginia Tech-based NPR station, completely sucked in again. I learn on the way home that there are now 33 dead, not just 31 and there are 15 more who've been wounded. I hear the commentators say that it seems like the officials are now backtracking on the theory that the two shootings were committed by the same, now dead, perpetrator.

Fear strikes again. The shock continues to assail me. I remember visiting my sister when she lived in West Ambler Johnson. I remember visiting her lab in Norris Hall. I recognize so many of the landmarks on campus in the television footage, and yet, I can feel the persistent beauty and peace that I've always felt on that campus.

Now I sit watching Larry King Live, listening to the students who speak to the media. Their pain and persisting confusion is evident.

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On a related note, I must say that Associate Vice President for University Relations Larry Hinker, President Charles Steger, and the members of the VT faculty and staff family seem to have done what may not be the best job, but perhaps the best under the circumstances. Knowing what I do about crisis communications, Hinker's done a good job about dealing with amazing uncertainty and a media cache that's amazingly antagonistic given the enormity of the massacre.

Having also been on the administration side of an institute of higher education, I can say with certainty that the "powers that be" want to be as sure as they can before they make major decisions, even though it may not turn out to the best decision. Yes, they'll probably regret not closing campus sooner, but don't forget that they also had significant logistical challenges to overcome: communicating such a message to over 25,000 people who would have been traveling to, and already arriving at, campus.

And there's really only one way to end a post like this:

"O Divine Presence, In the trials of life that send me to my knees,

I discover anew you are with me, too."

Quote from a new blog

"No matter how many times I hear I’m created in God’s image, I will always need someone to tell me again."

Marvelous. Check out the rest here.