My Soul Shelf: A Tribute

The professor that had the most impact on my faith and vocation is a dynamite American lit professor named Christina Bieber Lake. I could rave endlessly about how the way she teaches and lives shaped me, but that's not the purpose of this post. Suffice it to say that when I saw this scrawled on a bulletin board in a dorm my junior year I thought that the Bieber was referring to Dr. Bieber, as her students call her. 

Alas - most people are as untouched by her influence as I am untouched by the Justin Bieber fandom. Their loss. One of my best friends and I have declared that Dr. Bieber and Dr. Mazzarella (one of the other professors in the English department) are our spirit animals and we will be a dynamic duo like them when we grow up and achieve our professorial dreams. 

Anyway. Dr. Bieber wrote a book that just came out this month: The Flourishing Teacher: Vocational Renewal for a Sacred Profession. I preordered it, squealed when it arrived in the mail, and read it in four days. It's a mix of wit and wisdom - practical and spiritual - for the teaching life. Though, to be honest, I would give it to just about anybody because it's basically just a good perspective on life in general. I laughed and nodded and underlined and cried and wrote notes in the margins that only I or friends who actually took her classes would understand. 

That was the huge gift of this book - I got to see how Dr. Bieber approaches teaching very deliberately and that the impact that she had on me and my friends was not by chance. I got to marvel anew at the privilege I had of sitting under her as a college student - and of being able to learn from her again as a new teacher, since she is one of the main reasons I figured out I was supposed to teach in the first place.

One of the many life-giving tips Dr. Bieber gives in her book is to build what she calls a soul shelf - a shelf of the books that you can always count on to rejuvenate, inspire, and give your soul rest.

Being the good student that I am (and also being someone who never needs to be told twice to rearrange a bookshelf as a good pastime), I went and built my soul shelf this afternoon. It only took me about 10 minutes, because I know the books that speak to me like that - I just had to collect them on one shelf.  It makes me happy just looking at it. 

Dr. Bieber ordered her soul shelf according to three categories:

Beauty -"What makes me remember that my life here is a gift of immeasurable beauty?"

Simplicity - "What helps me recognize that it is possible to live in the present moment in peace and the fullness of joy?"

Love - "What inspires me to come out of myself and cultivate a healthy love for others?"

Now. These are lovely and very helpful categories. I fully intended to order this list according to them as a handy reference for anyone who stumbles across it. However. Most of the books on my soul shelf fall into at least two of them, and there are many that belong in all three categories.

So here they are. In an order that makes sense to me. Some of them are already on The Bookshelf, while others are new to me in the two years since I created that list. I'll add those to The Bookshelf soon.

BEAUTY * SIMPLICITY * LOVE

A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry, edited by Czeslaw Milosz - I found this at a used bookstore in January and bought it because I loved the title, I know Milosz, and most of the poets were unfamiliar to me (highly unusual when I pick up a poetry anthology), and most of them did not originally write in English. This book is truly luminous. I read it from cover to cover, which is actually unusual for me when it comes to poetry anthologies. In case you're curious, and these names mean something to you, some poets included who I was previously familiar with are Denise Levertov, Mary Oliver, Walt Whitman, Raymond Carver, and Robert Frost.

Milosz says this in the introduction to one section:

Epiphany is an unveiling of reality. What in Greek was called epiphaneia meant the appearance, the arrival, of a divinity among mortals or its recognition under a familiar shape of man or woman. Epiphany thus interrupts the everyday flow of time and enters as one privileged moment when we intuitively grasp a deeper, more essential reality hidden in things or persons. 

A Thousand Mornings, by Mary Oliver  - This is the only volume of Oliver's poetry that I own (hopefully that will change soon), but it's a good one. Her poems are exquisite, humorous, and bracing by turns. I am always refreshed when I turn to them.

The Stream and the Sapphire, by Denise Levertov - I actually first encountered Levertov through Dr. Bieber, who gave me this slim little volume when I graduated. This is a collection of her poetry engaging with ideas of faith. I particularly love "Annunciation," which is too long to include here, and "Avowal":

As swimmers dare

to lie face to the sky

and water bears them,

as hawks rest upon air

and air sustains them,

so would I learn to attain

freefall, and float

into Creator Spirit's deep embrace,

knowing no effort earns that all-surrounding grace.

Come and Eat, by Bri McKoy - I wrote about this book in this post. Bri winsomely and with great joy makes the case that if we want to share the love of Jesus with the world, we need to start by inviting others to share meals at our tables.

"Too often I notice how I can become hardened by the seemingly insurmountable evil in this world. But here's the thing: we know who ultimately wins the battle. We know our Rescuer's name. He is not calling us to rescue anyone; he is calling us to pull out a chair and sit amongst the broken. He is the Rescuer. We are simply an extension of his great love and peace. And he calls us to continue stepping into brokenness and gives us the strength to face the unimaginable under the banner of his love. So we must show up."

Adorning the Dark, by Andrew Peterson - This book. It's a Christian creative manifesto. Peterson started the Rabbit Room, a collective of Christian creatives inspired by the Inklings and Wendell Berry, among others. I underlined and starred and annotated the heck out of this book.

"Righteousness means more than pious obedience; it means letting a strong, humble mercy mark your path, even when - especially when - you don't know where it is taking you. . .Your heart is so full it must be must be poured out. You see the world as a dark, messy place that needs rearranging, and with all that light shooting out of your pores your just the person to do it."

The Hiding Place, by Corrie Ten Boom – every Christian should read this at some point. As much the story of a family living faithfully in ordinary life as the story of how they handled the extraordinary circumstances of occupied Holland in WWII. 

“When He tells us to love our enemies He gives, along with the command, the love itself.” 

A Circle of Quiet, by Madeline L’Engle – lyrical memoir by the author of A Wrinkle in Time about faith, life, and creativity.

“An infinite question is often destroyed by finite answers...To define everything is to annihilate much that gives us laughter and joy.”

Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy, and Women’s Work by Kathleen Norris - very short, practically a pamphlet, on how important small, ordinary things are in developing the rhythms of life that give us space to walk with God. Dr. Bieber assigned it in the first class I took with her. 

“The ordinary activities I find most compatible with contemplation are walking, baking bread, and doing laundry. ” 

“My goal is to allow readers their own experience of whatever discovery I have made, so that it feels new to them, but also familiar, in that it is a piece with their own experience. It is a form of serious play.” 

One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp – beautifully crafted piece about gratitude, trust, faith, and living in the present. A long-time favorite of mine. 

“...the secret to joy is to keep seeking God where we doubt He is.” 

“A life contemplating the blessings of Christ becomes a life acting the love of Christ.”

Surprised by Oxford, by Carolyn Weber – riffing off Surprised by Joy, the author’s story of questioning and faith during her time as a masters’ student in Literature at Oxford University. Oozing with literary references and a delightful read. 

“He quickened his stride: 'The truth is in the paradox, Miss Drake. Anything not done in submission to God, anything not done to the glory of God, is doomed to failure, frailty, and futility. This is the unholy trinity we humans fear most. And we should, for we entertain it all the time at the pain and expense of not knowing the real one.” 

The Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis - beautiful, funny, poignant, and quick to read, these books provide better imaginative and intuitively graspable illustrations of the life of faith than a lot of theology I've read. (Which is why they so often crop up in sermon illustrations.) And they are simply good stories. The world is a different place with the Pevensie children and the people of Narnia in it. 

The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien - I reread this trilogy every few years, and it gets better every time. Tolkien creates a world where evil is so palpable and powerful that there is only the slightest thread of irrational hope that good will win. The journey of the members of the unlikely fellowship to overcome evil and restore good is moving, funny, imaginative, and profound. It is a reminder that courage and beauty and hope and friendship can be found in the most unlikely of places - even when the forces of evil seem insurmountable. 

"There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."

(To be completely honest, I'm not 100% sure if the above quote is from the book or the movie, but it's a great quote all the same.)

The Tale of Desperaux, by Kate DiCamello – I love this book about a very small mouse with very large ears, a kingdom in desperate need of soup, and a princess named Pea. Is it choice or lineage that makes someone what they are?

“Once upon a time," he said out loud to the darkness. He said these words because they were the best, the most powerful words that he knew and just the saying of them comforted him.” 

Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo – this book. Detective story, redemption story, love story, revolution story, with a good dose of random background information on the battle of Waterloo, the sewers of Paris, street slang, and obscure convents thrown in. Stunning on every level. 

“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in--what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.” 

To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee – a classic for a reason. It’s so much more than a story of racial injustice in the Jim Crowe South. It’s a story about childhood and growing up, family, community, and walking around in someone else’s shoes. And who doesn’t love Scout Finch?

“Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.”

Till We Have Faces, by C.S. Lewis – widely considered to be Lewis' best fictional work, this one blows my mind every time I read it. Reimagining of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, with profound things to say about love, integrity, the longing for home, and knowing oneself.

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” 

Jayber Crow, by Wendell Berry - This novel is the ruminations of a man who didn't go many places or do much, but who led a whole, good life. It's a book about inward change even when externals haven't changed much. It's like the river which plays a prominent role in the story: it doesn't go anywhere, but it's always changing. It's a book about calling, about valuing what is, about quiet doubts and quiet faith, with a lot of dry humor thrown in. It's about letting go of the need to "make something of yourself."

"You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out - perhaps a little at a time."

"Faith is not necessarily, or not soon, a resting place. Faith puts you out on a wide river in a little boat, in the fog, in the dark. Even a man of faith knows that (as Burley Coulter used to say) we've all got to go through enough to kill us."

Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson – a stunningly beautiful book. One of my top 5 favorite books ever. A letter from a dying father to his young son, it’s a meditation on grace, fathers and sons, forgiveness, faith, and the beauty of this earthly life. People tend to either absolutely love it (that’s me) or be bored to tears because not a ton happens. I love the sequel, Home, too (it’s a kind of prodigal son retelling), but I may just be partial because it touches on themes near and dear to me. 

“This is an interesting planet. It deserves all the attention you can give it.”

The Elegance of a Hedgehog, by Muriel Barbery – pensive, funny, mildly crass and decidedly European book about a concierge in Paris who is actually a brilliant autodidact. A treasury of small and beautiful things. Originally written in French.

“When tea becomes ritual, it takes its place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things. Where is beauty to be found? In great things that, like everything else, are doomed to die, or in small things that aspire to nothing, yet know how to set a jewel of infinity in a single moment?” 

Little, Big, by John Crowley – I read this for a Christianity and Fantasy class in college, and I’m not sure whether I would have fallen in love with it as much as I did if I hadn’t had the guidance of a fabulous professor. That said, the poetry of the dense prose, the multigenerational narrative, the themes of faith, doubt, love, longing, home, and narrative make this a fantasy I’m confident I’ll return to throughout the years. Be alert to skip some bedroom scenes.

“The further in you go, the bigger it gets.”

East of Eden, by John Steinbeck – extremely dark at times but also at times exquisite, this book is well worth the 600 pages. Set in California around the turn of the 20th century, it’s a multi-generational story about individual choice, the consequences of familial love and lack thereof, and asking questions about what determines someone’s character. I love this book for the secondary characters. Like Les Mis, exceptionally well-done on every level. Lyrical description, powerful exploration of themes, excellent characterization. 

“I believe that there is one story in the world, and only one. . . . Humans are caught—in their lives, in their thoughts, in their hungers and ambitions, in their avarice and cruelty, and in their kindness and generosity too—in a net of good and evil. . . . There is no other story. A man, after he has brushed off the dust and chips of his life, will have left only the hard, clean questions: Was it good or was it evil? Have I done well—or ill?”

how to be a good conversationalist

I gave a  talk at the English Department Chapel at Wheaton my senior year. I closed with this:

We have a responsibility to act on the vision that literature gives us. This dovetails with our calling as Christians to see the world for what it truly is. We know that the world is good, because it was created by a good God as an expression of love. We can see goodness and beauty in places where other people see only the mundane. We are called to cultivate that beauty so other people can see and respond to it. On the flip side, we know that the world is deeply broken as a result of the fall. And we are called to see the world's brokenness, wade into it, get our feet muddy, and begin the work of restoration that will culminate in the Kingdom of Christ. This is our calling - to cherish the world's beauty and rebuild the world's brokenness. But in order to do that we have to have the kind of vision that can see beauty and brokenness. Through my time at Wheaton I have learned that literature is one of the most powerful tools there is to mold our vision. And vision leads to action. 

In many ways, this was the culmination of my academic experience - an experience that shaped my desire to examine the intersection between the world of ideas and the world of action.

During my first few years in college, professors encouraged me to ask questions to spark ideas for papers. "Don't start with what you think. Start with a question. And look for an answer to that question. Be willing to be surprised with where you end up."

Y'all, until my junior year of college, I had no earthly idea how to do that well. I would choose questions so big I couldn't possibly fit them into the scope of a six page paper. Or I would choose questions so narrow that it was ridiculously challenging to stretch my conclusions over six long pages. But the deeper problem is I would start with what I wanted to say and then write a question to which my opinion was the answer. That stunted my learning.

But then I spent a semester in Oxford. I had to write three research essays every two weeks. At the beginning of a week, my tutors would hand me a primary source and a list of about 20 questions to choose from. They always encouraged me to use the list as a starting point to develop my own questions. The essays I brought back to them were NOT meant to be my polished final word on the subject. Rather, they were meant to be evidence I was doing the difficult intellectual work - they were supposed provide a good entry point for a conversation with my tutors.

The process was about learning and dialogue, not about my establishing my authoritative opinion - which was good because I was 21 and had no business having an authoritative opinion on anything.

To prepare for my conversations with my tutors, I read extensively from vastly different perspectives on the subjects at hand before I began to formulate my response. In reading those sources, I felt like I was listening in to a conversation that had begun long before I walked into the group.

Basic lesson in human interactions: do not walk up to a conversation that other people are having, assume after two seconds that you know exactly what they are talking about and what you think about it and then jump in to make your two cents known. It doesn't usually end well. At best, you cause some awkwardness and confusion, and at worst you might spark a very unpleasant disagreement in which all the parties are talking past each other rather than listening to each other. (I know this from personal experience.)

Continued basic lesson in human interactions: when you walk up to a conversation that other people have been having, it is not only polite but profitable to actually listen to the conversation for awhile. Seek to know what's going on. Ask good questions to help understand what ground has already been covered, what conclusions have been drawn, and the trajectory of the conversation. You may find that you hold even more firmly to your initial opinion, and that it will add value to the conversation. Or you may find that your initial opinion actually is erroneous in the context of the conversation. Or your might find that you now have big questions that had never before occurred to you. Now it's time to join the conversation as an informed, invested participant rather than as a conversation crasher.

This is what I learned to do through hours in the English Faculty Library and the Bodleian Library, on walks through University Parks, and through conversations with my dinner group (now my online book club).

At this point you've probably realized that although my experience was extremely academic, it had real application to my actual life. I'm an opinionated person, and through my young adulthood I tended to approach difficult issues with a pre-formed opinion. (Who are we kidding? I still have a natural tendency to do that.) Whether I realized it or not, the questions I asked were often designed to validate my opinion as the right answer, rather than to facilitate listening and learning.

My approach to interacting with people and ideas was profoundly shaped by my academic experience at Oxford, the reading I do on my own time, and my relationships with other people. I have learned how important it is to listen for awhile before inserting myself into a conversation. This is NOT because I think my voice has no value or because I don't have strong opinions. It's because I want to be able to use my voice and my opinions to contribute to and shape the conversation, rather than shutting it down with my ignorance or intransigence.

Why am I saying all of this? You've probably guessed it by now.

This has been one heck of a week for our country. In the wake of the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery,  Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd, the nation is in uproar. Peaceful protesters are taking to the streets - as are rioters and vandals. My city has instituted an 8 pm - 6 am curfew until further notice. Not to mention the fact that there is still a global pandemic.

In a situation like this, it is so easy to shut down the challenging questions. It's hard to listen with humility and grace to a conversation that is so messy. It's easy to feel attacked by people who call for the complete defunding of the police and claim that the violent response to police violence is morally justified. It's hard to take the time to distinguish between those voices and the voices of people who are galled both by nationwide destruction and by the deaths that sparked that destruction. It's easy to state an opinion based on my gut response and biases. It's hard to listen to the voices who are begging us to pause and listen to the conversation and ask questions about the underlying issues.

But here's the thing. I think everyone agrees something's gotta change. And change only comes when people are willing to wrestle with difficult questions about the way things are in order to begin to imagine the way things could be. People may disagree on what that looks like, but the only way to develop a vision of productive and lasting change is to choose to be still, ask questions, listen to the response, ask more questions, and begin to formulate a way to move forward.

Please - don't shut out the questions. Don't shut down the conversation. Ask the questions. Learn the stories. Ponder the ideas. And let those questions, those stories, those ideas, push you into action.

my at-home place

“Ulm ist meine Heimat, aber München ist mein Zuhause.”

Something clicked in my head when an acquaintance from church said that. The sentence is difficult to translate, since it involves two words for home that mean slightly different things.

Loosely translated, it means, “Ulm is my hometown, but Munich is my at-home place.”

In August, I spent a week at a retreat for young people at my church in Munich. I realized during that time that in deciding to stay in Munich for a second year, I have chosen to acknowledge Munich as my Zuhause - my at-home place. The place where I’m home to friends and family and the people of God. It’s not Wheaton anymore. It’s Munich. That is a bizarre realization. 

I could have left relatively easily at the end of this past year. Sure, I chose to put down roots in Bavaria’s capital, but when all’s said and done, I was only there for ten months. It wouldn’t have hurt too much to leave. 

But after another year there - another year of putting down roots and building relationships and blooming where I’m planted - it’s going to be hard to leave my at-home place. As aware as I am of that, I have no doubt that it’s worth it to stay. Munich is where I am supposed to be during this season, and I rejoice to be there.

So I’ve added a new term and a new place to my ongoing preoccupation with the concept of home. 

My True Home is heaven, and any other stopping spot in this life is a pilgrim’s haven. 

My homeland is America. 

My home state: North Carolina.

My home town: wherever my parents live.

My at-home place? For now, it’s Munich. And that’s a really good thing. 

a place that smells like home

“You’re from Illinois, right?”

 I froze inwardly, though I hope that outwardly I didn’t miss a beat.

 “Well, the Chicago area.”

 “But what state is Chicago in?”

 “…Illinois…”

 The kind man from church went on his way, rectified in his knowledge of American geography, and I went home to ponder the error of my ways.

I didn’t see that coming at all.

The question "So where are you from?" has always made me angsty, because, well, I'm not really from anywhere. I could talk for hours about the idea of home and why it's so deeply meaningful and so deeply difficult to define. (Actually, I did talk and write about this for hours on end during my senior seminar in college, a course about the concept of "home" in literature. It was amazing.)

Over the course of many transitions, I've coped with not having a hometown in different ways. When I moved to Munich, I fell into the habit of answering the dreaded question with, “Well I studied in the Chicago area, so…Chicago.”

Some people prodded further and got a little more of the army-brat-moved-a-lot narrative, but many took the answer at face value.

It was easy, because everybody has heard of Chicago. And I like the Chicago/Wheaton area. I don’t mind being associated with it.

Call me crazy, but it never once occurred to me that people would think I was from Illinois. Yes, I know that Chicago is in Illinois – I’m not that awful at geography – but for me they were distinct. Never have I once said that I lived in Illinois for four years. Whenever I went back to college after breaks, I was going back to Wheaton, which only incidentally happened to be in Illinois.

So when someone asked if I was from Illinois, I was a little stunned.

I have nothing against the state. I like the Midwest, cornfields are breathtaking at sunset, and Chicago and Wheaton amazing. I’m open to moving back there at some point.

But.

I am not. From. Illinois.

I’m just not.

You might be wondering what the big deal is. It’s hard to explain – it’s something on the gut level. It means something to say you’re from somewhere, and Illinois just doesn’t have that meaning for me.

So telling people I’m from Chicago was now off the table, but I still needed a simple answer for those times when people don’t want the whole story.

And then I realized something that’s been staring me in the face for the last couple of years.

My official stateside residence is in North Carolina. It’s the state I vote in.

I have a North Carolina drivers’ license.

The Blue Ridge Mountains in the west of the state are one of my favorite landscapes and one of the few constant places in my childhood, and I also love the piedmont and the coast.

I have a lot of family roots in this state.

When I had to list a hometown for my college graduation program, I said Fort Bragg, NC, even though my family only lived there for a couple years while I was in college and had moved on by the time I graduated.

And – the clincher – North Carolina just smells like home.

So, for now, I’ve started saying I’m from North Carolina.

And it feels good.

Things I Learned This Month | September 2017

As usual, taking inspiration from Emily Freeman to share {some of the} things I learned this month.

1. Six million people come to Munich for Oktoberfest, the largest folk festival in the world. To put that in perspective, Munich has a population of 1.5 million.

2. Munich has a huge immigrant population. I knew already that nearly 40% of people who live in Munich aren't German, but what this means didn't fully register until I started teaching this week. At most, half of my students are German. Many were raised in Germany, but aren't of German heritage. My students come from Serbia, Kosovo, Croatia, Italy, Poland, Denmark, Iran, Eritrea, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey, and there are probably some countries that I'm forgetting. It's a fascinating group.

3. German students think that Americans are "addicted to guns." One student told me that while the Americans she's met seem open and friendly, Americans must also be wild and unpredictable - anyone who owns a gun, it seems, is like this, and of course all Americans own guns. Hmmmm. Methinks these students have a lesson on the 2nd Amendment in their future.

3. Sophie Scholl was 21 years old, one year younger than I am, when the Nazis executed her for participation in the White Rose resistance group. I realized this today, and suddenly all the weight of what that meant hit me. Her courage astounds me.

4. "Faith is not believing in spite of evidence: it is obeying in spite of the consequences." ~Alisdair Begg from his series on Daniel

sometimes it's the smallest things - springboards to friendship

Immediately after the congregation was dismissed, Mama leaned over and whispered, "I love that lady's haircut!!!"

Two things that are high on our list of things to find when we move: a church home and a hairdresser. We were close to settling on a church home, and Mama never hesitates to ask strangers where they get their hair cut.

As I gathered my sundries, Mom bolted out of the pew to catch the lady with the fabulous hair. By the time I got to them, they were deep in a conversation about hairstyling woes and fixes. Shortly thereafter, the conversation moved on as they swapped stories about how each ended up in Germany.

Before I knew it, we had accepted an invitation to lunch at an Asian restaurant. Jennifer and Mama had hit it off, and they wanted to continue their conversation. (Dad was at a conference that weekend.)

On the way out, Jennifer introduced us to another lady who is clearly the instigator of a lot of church projects. Her first question to Mama: "Do you run?"

It turns out that she's trying to organize a fun run to raise awareness for Compassion International. She's not a runner though, and wants insights on how these things go. My family has never organized a fun run, but we have participated in plenty, so before names had been exchanged we were in a pow-wow about how to organize a family 5k.

And just like that, we had two new friends and an "in" into this church community. All because my mom wanted to find out where a stranger gets her hair cut.

The moral of the story: if you want to make a friend, compliment their hair and ask where they get it done.

But actually.

Sometimes all it takes to make a friend is to compliment them on something they have a vested interest in and then ask them more about it. My mom cuts my hair, so I don't actually ask people about their recommended hair salon. But I've used the idea multiple times with people I want to get to know - I ask them about a project they've worked on that I appreciated, or a book they're reading that I love, and then I use that as a springboard to a conversation. Sometimes it's a two-minute conversation and nothing more comes of it. But sometimes we hit it off and I actually gain a friend from taking the trouble to reach out.

As I prep to move to a new city by myself, I'm keeping this maxim in mind to make me smile and give me the necessary kick in the pants to meet people instead of staying in my nice little comfort zone:

Make a new friend: ask where they get their hair cut. 

"trust Me, and take the next step"

During my time at Wheaton, I experienced some seasons of intense growth and others of quiet contentment.

I thought that my final season at Wheaton would be one of the quiet contentment variety. I expected to focus on strengthening old friendships and finishing strong academically, but I did not anticipate anything particularly noteworthy.

I thought wrong.

My last month at Wheaton was filled with the most concentrated and specific outpouring of the Lord's encouragement and preparation that I have ever experienced. This outpouring came on so many levels - through classes; through conversations with old friends, new friends, and total strangers; through well-loved poems and poems I encountered for the first time; through Scripture; through quiet assurances of the Lord's love and steadfast faithfulness.

This outpouring was multi-faceted. The Lord confirmed things I had known for a long time and revealed things I had never thought of before. He at once broadened and sharpened my vision and doused it with a double helping of wonder. I was alive to His presence and guidance and overwhelming grace.

To even begin to go into specifics would take a ridiculous amount of time. I spent the first week after graduation journaling all this and only finished after writing around 13,500 words. (By hand.) I will spare you that. But there was a common current in this flood of encouragement.

In some ways it all started one week that I had been uncharacteristically agitated and preoccupied. I finally came before the Lord in prayer, ready to lay my laundry list of worries and what-ifs before Him when He stopped my thoughts in their well-worn tracks.

"Be still and rest."

He gave me these words, and He gave my distracted soul the ability to be still and rest before Him. He recentered me in His presence. In the midst of my fretting, He reminded me of another time that He had spoken as I prayed.

Basically, He reminded me to trust Him. 

All year, as I figured out what to do after graduation, the Lord had been teaching me to trust Him and take the next step. That evening in March, He reminded me that this attitude applies not only to major life decisions but also to every moment of every day. I'm not supposed to know how a conversation will pan out. I don't need to figure out why I'm supposed to be in a given place at a given time. I don't need to overanalyze or be ready with a detailed plan of action for the best-case scenario, the worst-case scenario, and every scenario in between. 

As difficult as it is for this planner to admit, my job is not to know what the next step will lead to. My job is simply to take the next step as the Spirit leads and trust the Lord to provide the next step after that when He sees fit.

"Trust Me, and take the next step."

It seems so simple, so basic. 

It changed everything. Being tethered to the Holy Spirit, taking almost literally every step of every day in dependence on Him, led to unequaled freedom and confidence. (Paradox, yes; surprise, no.) 

It was this that opened my heart for the Lord to speak to me on so many profound levels as I walked through my last weeks at Wheaton. It is as if He said: "You think you're finished, but I still have more for you here - more joy, more fellowship, more growth. I'm not finished with you here." 

Not only was that season deeply life-giving at the time, but I know that it will be a source of consolation as I face a challenging year of transition. The Lord is faithful. Always. Faithful when He is pouring out encouragement and life by the bucketload, and faithful in the times when everything seems dry. I know that the changes He worked in me even in my last days at Wheaton will draw me closer to Him for a long time to come. I'm only beginning to learn what it looks like to truly trust Him and take the next step.

So as I rejoice in the Lord's work in and through me at Wheaton, as I grieve that my time at Wheaton is over, and as I step into my upcoming adventure in Germany, I'm resting in the Lord's faithfulness and eager to receive whatever grace He has for me. 

"Welcome to Oxford: This is a chance to trust."

On Monday we had our first introduction to Oxford as an academic institution. It was overwhelming, but also exhilarating. I am so amazed that I get to be here, and, more than that, immensely grateful that I am here with at Christian program.

{this is me being elated to be here}

The staff ("faculty" here means "department") of the program - it's through SCIO, Scholarship and Christianity in Oxford - are absolutely marvelous.

Dr. Stan Rosenberg is the leader of SCIO. He's American, but has lived in Oxford for seventeen years. What he told us could have been demoralizing, but was actually very encouraging.

Several years ago, one of the students at SCIO started a Facebook page called "Oxford: where your best isn't good enough since 1200 AD." That's an accurate statement. Your best isn't good enough here, but that doesn't have to be a negative thing.

Your best isn't good enough because there is always more to learn.

This is a challenging lesson to learn, since nobody likes to hear that they will never measure up, least of all students who made it to Oxford. But it's true. And, if received with the right attitude, this can be freeing. It frees me to be humble and learn to enjoy it, instead of building up my pride to try for unattainable perfection. It also means that there is no necessary plateau to hit in learning: there are always more fascinating things to explore. 

According to Dr. Rosenberg, Oxford is a place to test our limits, to stretch ourselves by asking new questions and be ok if we can't immediately find answers. He says: "Doubt isn't an enemy. It's an opportunity, a place to ask questions, to grow, and to trust God. Doubt is the moment where trust happens. So welcome to Oxford: this is a chance to trust. Be humble and confident." 

Dr. Elizabeth Baigent is the academic leader of the program. She's a delightful British woman who came here as an undergrad in 1979 and hasn't left since. She's erudite and crisp and witty and clearly is in her element in the world of Oxford. Amidst much useful information sprinkled with choice wit, here are two quotes I just had to write down. 

"90% of what the Brits say is ironic." {said very ironically, of course}

"Obviously tea is essential to make any decisions in Oxford."

{Incidentally, the British love of tea is not a generalization or exaggeration. It's a very integral part of life here, which makes me quite happy.}

Simon Lancaster is an Australian who basically runs the student life part of the program. He's very winsome and fun. An expression I've heard him use several times is "Crikey!" He's a cellist, accredited counselor, and student here at the grad school. His wife, incidentally, is also a cellist and recorded the Avengers 2 soundtrack. 

Simon quotes:

"We are the salt of the earth. Salt preserves meat - the culture - but must be ground into the meat to do so."

"Without spiritual nourishment, you lose spiritual weight."

"I fall off quite a lot." {referring to his bicycle}

{Yay selfies. But sometimes there aren't other options. These are two of my roommates, Paige and Katherine.}

better

{via pinterest}

Usually when God wants to tell me something, He does it by giving me certain Scripture passages, speaking through my friends, and tailoring the sermons I hear and books I read so that they all repeat different aspects of the same message. A friend and I talk about "divine bruises" - when God is whacking us over the head with something over and over again so that we can't ignore what He has to say. I'm always excited by divine bruises, because they are a signal to me that God is working in my life. But very, very rarely, God will speak to me more directly, giving me words that I know are not mine in order to tell me what I need to hear.

(Disclaimer: whatever the method God uses to tell me something, I always make sure to test it with Scripture: this is, after all, the final authority on the nature of the things that God says to us. If something doesn't completely line up with Scripture, it is not of God, no matter how supernatural it seems.}

Last week was one of the incredibly rare times that God gave me a direct assurance while I was praying - an assurance as clearly from the Holy Spirit as if it had been a direct quote from the Bible. Because He usually chooses to speak to me through His Word and the people He has placed in my life, the words He gave me were all the more striking, while harmonizing perfectly with all that I know of Him.

Awhile ago I set aside something I wanted. It was difficult, and I wasn't sure exactly why it was necessary, but I knew that I needed to. So I did. This was long enough ago that I thought I had dealt with it and it wasn't an issue any more. But as I was praying over my tea a few weeks ago, I suddenly found myself praying about this desire, questioning why I had to give it up, why it would not have been good.

And suddenly, in the middle of a thought, I was given three words. They did not come from me: I've generated inner dialogue and tried to convince myself it was God talking enough times that I know the flavor of that self-deception. This was different, clearly coming from something other than myself.

I have better.

That was it, but it pulled me up sharply. I started turning these words over in my mind: "I have better." As in, "Kate, I have something better for you than this thing that you wanted."

These words reminded me that whatever I get - or do not get - comes from God, who is the source of my contentment and joy. But that was something I already knew.

What grabbed my attention was the word "better." God was not telling me that my misguided heart wanted something bad that He withheld in order to give me something good. He didn't say "I have good." He said better. Which means that what I wanted was a good thing, but that I needed to let it go in order for Him to prepare me to receive a better gift.

This realization came as such a relief to me. I had tried to convince myself that this desire was somehow bad, and that this was why I couldn't have it. But I really knew that it was good. I think this is why I found myself praying about it after such a long time - I had not moved on because I had attempted to do so by denying the good in this desire.

But now I don't need to do that. When it comes up, I don't need to tell myself what I don't really believe: "Kate, that would have been bad for you." I can instead remind myself, "Yes, that could have been good, but God has something better in mind."

As small a shift as it seems, it makes a world of difference, and it really applies to every prayer answered negatively or every good thing withheld from us. When God says no, it is because in the long run, He has something better.

"For the LORD God is a sun and shield; the LORD bestows favor and honor. No good thing will He withhold from those who walk uprightly." ~Psalm 84:11

"Delight yourself in the LORD, and He will give you the desires of your heart." ~Psalm 37:4

"Because Your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you...My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods, and my mouth will praise You with joyful lips." ~Psalm 63:3, 5

What I Learned: July

It's the end of July (what? where did June go?), so I'm linking up with Emily Freeman's What We Learned in July post. It's a useful way to help me remember things - trivial, profound, or somewhere in-between - that I've encountered over the month, and it's fun to share them with you all.

1. I can read books in German. 

This realization came as I was browsing through bookstores throughout Germany. As a result, I brought 22 books home with me. Some are classics, like Anne Frank's Diary or Bonhoeffer's Life Together, which I want to read in the original language. Others are books that I'd never heard of before, but looked fascinating. Being able to read books in another language has drastically expanded this book-lover's world.

2. It is important to me to seek out and serve those that aren't from my social echelon or background.

After working with refugees for a month, I have realized that I don't want to stop. It has always been important to me to serve my friends and family, but now I want to deliberately look outside my circles and seek places to serve. This could involve refugees, the elderly, children, or whatever. I want to give to people who have nothing to give back. After all, I have been given so much, and to whom much is given, much is expected.

3. I don't do my own convictions a favor by refusing to listen to those who hold an opposite viewpoint.

This isn't a new lesson, but it's one I've been revisiting in the past few weeks. If I can't handle some pushback from the other side, it probably means that my convictions are more flimsy than I'd like to admit. On the flip side, it is hard for me to respect someone who relentlessly pushes their own ideas without giving me the chance to express my own. 

4. It never hurts to say thank you.

People are serving us all the time, making sure our small worlds run smoothly. Waiters, cashiers, security officers, flight attendants, janitors, and so many other people would be sorely missed if they stopped doing their jobs, but we rarely think to stop and say thanks. Just because their work is commonplace does not mean they should not be thanked. In fact, the fact that they faithfully keep things running behind the scenes means we owe them all the more thanks. On my flights to and from Germany, I left simple thank-you notes on my seat. I happened to still be there when one of the flight attendants from my flight home (which had a lot of unexpected complications) saw the note, and her face absolutely lit up as she thanked me. It makes a difference, folks.

5. God's Word bridges language and cultural barriers.

a process

It happens often, but that doesn't mitigate the wonder.

I puzzle something out - slowly think through an idea that is planted by a Bible verse, or a stray word in a conversation, or a book that I am reading, or a combination of all of the above. I think and think and come to a conclusion about a truth that I have missed, or reach deeper into the meaning of a truth that I have always known. It is hard work, but it is satisfying work. It takes awhile. Sometimes days. Sometimes weeks. Occasionally months or years.

I reach a conclusion that doesn't exactly change everything, but subtly changes the way that I view everything.

This process is fascinating and exhilarating, but also a little...frightening. Because I wonder if what I've discovered has value. After all, I'm only an inexperienced young woman, so it is natural to wonder if I'm pulling my ideas out of thin air and if they have no basis in reality. I wonder if my mind-blowing thought is just an illusion, since I have never encountered it anywhere else.

And then it happens. I start seeing the truth that I have discovered in many different places. Woven through the Scriptures. In books hundreds of years old. In blog posts from last month. In quotes I stumble across online from people I highly respect. And this fills me with delight.

It is an indication that what is so new to me, what I worked so hard to reach, is as old as the hills. This truth has been spoken by and to God's people for centuries, has changed many more lives than my own.

And it is different, more valuable, than if I had just been taught about it by other people from the beginning. It is also much more valuable than if I figured it out on my own and then never found any indication that others agree with what I have discovered. At the same time, this truth is old and confirmed and solid, but also new and exciting and personal because of the work that I did to arrive at it. I confidently claim it, knowing that it has been claimed through the centuries by those who seek what I do: a wild, precious life lived in the presence of the Father and spilling His grace out into the lives of those around me.

This pattern is a reminder that God is with me, that He loves me, that He wants me to puzzle my way to a truth by myself because the process will bring me closer to Him. Then, once He has walked me through it, He confirms my conclusion by showing me that many, many of His children have walked through this process and come to the same conclusion.

It's a pretty amazing feeling.