Mountains II

Altitude

What's there to do on a foggy Sunday afternoon? Hike a mountain, of course. After church, we put on backpacks and warm clothing and ascended a beautiful mountain clothed in mist and beauty. Henry David Thoreau wrote that he went to the wilderness to live deeply. I feel that nature does something to the soul and by spending time outdoors, we make room for God to work in our lives in a unique way.

The ascent was steep and challenging, but the scenery was breathtaking. Enchanting woods. Abandoned buildings. Moss-covered stones. Mountain streams. Things I wish I had taken pictures of, things I wish I had the macro lens for. As I walked, I came up with some things I want to do before I return to school for second semester:

- Read five books
- Read through the New Testament
- Sketch each of the major buildings in the capitol
- Give something away
- Spend quality time with each member of my family
- Watch the sun rise and set

I kid you not, the fog rested like a blanket over the mountains and the valley below. Some scientists insist that mountains were formed from shifts in the tectonic plates, but I believe that God created them intentionally and loves aesthetic disruption in landscapes. The rising and dipping peaks of a mountain range sets awe and longing in the human heart.

There's a quote from somewhere that says, "Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt." Our muscles were aching by the time we reached the pinnacle, mine especially because of training I did with the running club yesterday. When we were descending the mountain, we decided that "Everything was beautiful and everything hurt".

Greetings

This is the view out my window when I wake up in the morning. My family's apartment is on the top level of the building, and the aspect of the city is incredible.  It is so good to be with my family for Christmas break, away from school and the stresses of life. I've been needing time to write, read, explore, and think. With a few weeks before I return to the states, I have a list of things to do and see and read. For instance, this afternoon I'm going to take my charcoal pencils and sketchbook and go sit in the city square for a few hours and try to sketch some of the architecture. Then maybe I'll go sit in a cafe and people-watch.

Please let me just say that the cafes here are delightful! Nothing like standard, unvarying Starbucks or Caribou Coffee. European coffee shops are usually non-franchised, small businesses that give you quality for less money. I had my first espresso today. It was served in a tiny white cup on a saucer (much too small for me; I prefer to drink my beverages from large mugs). I'm sure it was very good, but I hated it. Sorry, it was too strong and I'm too wimpy. I can do the whole trendy cafe-where-you-bring-your-bicycle-in thing, but when it comes to espresso shots, aka two inches of classy black death, I'm out.

P.S. That photo is not me in a cafe. It's me at the airport, three days ago. But let's pretend it's a cafe because I haven't taken any pictures yet.

Tidings of Peace

       My earliest memory of Christmas was when I was four. Until we grew much older, the clan would gather every blanket we could find and sleep on the floor of the living room on Christmas Eve night. Our reasoning was that we would be closer to the presents and Christmas stockings hanging from the mantle, and would be able to get to them faster in the morning. On this particular Christmas, I remember waking up with my sister and running to my parents’ room to get them up. Apparently it was 3 am, and they did not share the same enthusiasm for an early rising. However, my mom is an incredibly understanding person, and she knew we were excited to see what was in our stockings. She let us get one gift each out of our stockings. I don’t remember what I opened, but my sister got a sewing kit. For some reason, I still remember the orange scissors.

       After all these years, one thing that hasn’t changed is that us kids rush to get into our stockings first thing Christmas morning. In all honesty, I would rather sleep in and get to it later, but I have little siblings. And Christmas means the world to them, just as it did to me once. I am not eager for them to grow up. If they see their older siblings less excited than they are, I’m afraid they will be disappointed. So I jump out of bed however early it is and race them down the stairs. Mom follows a few minutes later, starts a fire, and then dad emerge half an hour later. He goes to the kitchen to start some coffee, and my little brother drags him to a chair and brings him his stocking. Dad always gets the same thing: Starbucks gift cards, pistachios, espresso beans, and a random assortment of antique coins or a book. 

       There’s something golden and sacred about my early memories of Christmas. When I was little, Christmas had a certain feeling that made me excited and a bit sorrowful and full of wonder. Every little detail in everything my parents did to make it special, to establish traditions, and make it Christ-honoring. Reading the Christmas story from scripture. Lighting candles. Opening tins of Christmas popcorn (and spilling tremendous amounts on the floor). Celebrating time as a family and blessing each other with presents.

       Why sorrowful? What was it that made me feel that as a four year old on Christmas? I think that even then I understood that I would grow up one day and would outgrow some things. Or maybe everything about Christmas with my family was so beautiful that it was like a small glimpse past the veil of Unsurpassed Beauty. The human heart aches after experiencing or beholding something beautiful; it is like the tides pulled by the moon. We long for the source of beauty; we long to behold something so great and other than. Homesick. Later I would realize that our celebration of the birth of Jesus is also a celebration of His sacrifice. To us a Child is born. For many of us, Christmas involves us being blessed and receiving; for the One who we celebrate, it was about sacrificing. Giving Himself. The sacrifice started long before the cross. What a burden for a newborn baby to take. Traveling to our little world and in humility being born to a virgin and a carpenter. God putting on flesh. Peace on earth and good will to men. Bringing life. What a strange and beautiful thing.

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It's been raining outside for the last few days, and I've been feeling gloomy and out of sorts this morning. It really escalated when I spilled my coffee on my favorite blouse. So, back in my room with the blouse soaking, I've decided to write down frustrating things and weight them out with good things that have happened and that I'm thankful for. I saw this idea on another blog and thought it looked like a great idea!

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 I failed my math test because I ran out of time and didn't get to answer all the questions.
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 I went to my teacher's office and she explained a lot to me and I feel so much better. I'm retaking the test tomorrow.

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 I won't be able to take design tech I (or any art classes) next semester because my class schedule had some last minute changes.
+
 I stopped by the creative services office (it's awesome) yesterday and I might be working there next semester!

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The person who was supposed to buy my old Macbook backed out at the last minute today.
+
 I might be able to fix it for my sister.

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 I miss baking and don't have a kitchen in my dorm.
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A friend literally just stopped by right now and brought me fresh-baked cookies.

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I lost a lot of my music library when my computer broke, and hadn't backed up my hard drive.
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I've been enjoying lots of great music on Noisetrade, like Josh Garrels, the Sleeping at Last Christmas album, Beta Radio, This is the Giant, Astronaute, and Rivers and Robots.

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I probably won't be able to do an internship next summer because I'll be working as a camp counselor.
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I'm meeting with the head of the science department next week to talk about the possibility of being his research assistant!