During our family vacation to Florida Katie and I had the opportunity and privilege to meet Sarah Dee.
We had a fun afternoon, talking and giggling in the Famous Florida Sunshine.
Even though we had never met before face to face we were definitely already "kindred spirits."
God made us: invented us a man invents an engine. A car is made to run on gasoline, and it would not run properly on anything else. Now God designed the human machine to run on Himself. He Himself is the fuel our spirits were designed to burn, or the food our spirits were designed to feed on. There is no other. That is why it is no good asking God to make us happy in our own way without bothering about religion. God cannot give us happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.- C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity
I want to live my life.
That sounds a bit “well, duh!” doesn’t it? By definition you do live your life. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be living.
But I want something more than just vital signs. I want to experience my life fully. To feel the wind rushing against my face. To bask in the first sunlight of spring. To know the glory of God whatever I’m doing.
And that’s the rub. Because things catch us up in their net and all of a sudden here I am thinking about the paper I need to write, the room I need to clean, the tickets I need to buy, what time do I need to leave to get to class on time, why doesn’t anyone ever reply to my e-mails, do I really have to call that person to get an answer? And I’m not living anymore. Not really.
It’s not like I don’t need to do some of those things. Papers must be written. Rooms must be cleaned (especially mine). Tickets to La Boheme will certainly make me happy. Getting to class on time would be a plus.
All the time I’m worrying about those things, I can feel part of me crying out for something more. Some beauty, some moment of sheer wonder.
Sometimes I need to stop and think and listen and be. Notice the crocuses on the walk home. Thrill to the flight of the bird by the Tube station. See the beauty hidden in the everyday acts of our lives. I don’t particularly feel the need to go climb Mount Everest or something extreme like that. But I do need to avoid getting caught up in the cares and worries of the world and forgetting about true life—the life that experiences every day and in everything the wonder and majesty and love of God.
Dear Reader.
The following is the first in a series of guest posts by my sister Lydia. We'll be publishing three of her "Dear Lydia" letters over the next few weeks, so keep watch!
For now, enjoy the humor :)
Dear Lydia,
To say I was in love would be an understatement. I have true love for the most beautiful women in the world. She has skin that is the color of wintery cream and long golden hair. She is beyond perfection. I worked years at hard labor just to hear the sound of her voice. When we fell in love 3 years ago I left to make a life in America for us, My ship was captured by The Dread Pirate “Bob”, whose motto is “There will be no survivors.” I survived umm… for a reason I’m not at liberty to reveal to you.
Anyway, I returned home to seek my bride, only to find her engaged to an evil man who had arranged to have her kidnapped by three circus performers. I then followed the kidnappers in my ship through shark infested waters, climbed the Cliffs of Insanity, and tangled with a fella who knew a little something about fencing. After that I spent a few happy moments grappling with a giant. After that I had to outface a Sicilian to death when any mistake meant death to my beloved “Peanut Butter”. I rescued her and then we ran our lungs out for a couple of hours. Then I was pushed down a rock ravine and survived the fire swamp, then in an effort to save me, my true love walked away from me hand in hand with her fiancée. He promised to protect me, but he won’t and is now my arch enemy. I am now in his dungeon recovering from being bitted by a rather large rodent. When I am well my enemy is going to kill me slowly and painfully and marry my true love, and then kill her. What do I do?
Sincerely,
“A Boy From a Farm”
Dear Farm Boy,
First off, and I’m sorry, but I have to say this, what is wrong with “Peanut Butter” ???? She left you for your arch enemy? She’s going to marry him? I thought you were “in love” are you sure she’s worth it? I know she’s the most beautiful women in the world but still, brains and a little consistency are always nice to have. This must be some kind of true love, to make you be so forgiving to her. The truly true love type of true love. I only hope she realizes what a dork her fiancé is. My advice to you is to stick it through, in the event of your situation getting any worse (I can’t see how it could get worse without loss of life) I think the power of true love will always sustain you. Keep going as long as you can. Since your situation is so terrible, I recommend (which I normally don’t) if you can manage it, find a miracle man, see what he can do for you. Do you think you could possible get the giant and fencer on your side? They might be helpful.
As always,
Lydia
Mail time has always been a much anticipated event at our house. People have argued over the priviledge of getting the mail from the mailbox and everyone jostles over each other to see what has arrived in the day's stack. Will there be letters from pen-pals or the latest issue of a good magazine? Maybe there will be a surprise package even!
And then there are days when the mail is a disappointment. Usually it's the lack of fun mail that is disappointing. But today, for me, it comes in the form of an envelope that holds a rejected manuscript from a children's magazine.
I had promised myself not to get my hopes up, but in spite of myself, I did hope and wish, for maybe, just maybe, a nice slim letter telling me that they loved my short story and would be happy to publish it.
They didn't.
Most of me didn't expect to receive the response that I would have liked, but I'm still a little sad. I wish they liked it. I wish it were easier to find a magazine that would want to publish my work.
And I'm trying to fight discouragement today. Writing hasn't been easy for me lately, inspiration being low and time even scarcer. Will anything I write ever be something worth publishing? I find myself re-reading journal entries from close to two years ago. In one entry, I copied and pasted the lyrics to a favorite song, and suddenly, I find them incredibly encouraging.
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