This is from Elisabeth Elliot speaking on physical beauty vs. spiritual beauty...
"People's standards, of course, differ. Usually, in things that do not matter, we set them impossibly high and thus guarantee for ourselves a life of discontent. In things that matter we set them too low and are easily pleased with ourselves."
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
The Path and It's "Problems"
From Elisabeth Elliot
The Road to Shandia
There is a road east of the Andes from the little tea-growing town of Puyo, to an unnamed point in the jungle just beyond the mostly Indian town of Pano. When I lived in Ecuador most of the road was not there at all, and it would have taken you three days to cover that distance. I covered it a few weeks ago in the space of a few hours in a jeep driven by a missionary named Ella Rae. We traveled along the south side of the Ansuc River and crossed, on a suspension bridge, the Atun Yacu, which we once crossed by dugout canoe. The road took us through the towns of Napo and Tena and then straight up the middle of what used to be a mission station airstrip in Pano. When the road ended at the Pano River, Ella Rae bade us good-bye and we set out on foot for Shandia, one of the places where I used to live. I had been over the trail from Tena to Shandia many times, but, although the government has laid logs crosswise to make walking easier, horses and cows have been making use of it and the trail was in the worst condition I'd ever seen.
We were two women and one man--he in shorts and rubber knee boots, we in standard jungle garb of blouses, skirts and tennis shoes. As we plowed our way through the mud some spiritual parallels came to mind.
Every step of faith is a step faith. In some places the logs were submerged in mud. Finding one to put your foot on did not make it easier to find the next one.
Each step was a decision, but to make it a problem would have halted progress altogether. Sometimes the choice was to balance on a three-inch-in-diameter log laid parallel to the path and take the chance of slipping off sideways and falling into the mud, or to step deliberately into mud (which was like peanut butter) up to one's knees, or to try to beat one's way through the tangle at the side of the trail (and of course that tangle could always hold snakes). You had to keep moving. Decisions, therefore, had to be snap decisions. If we had let each step be a problem, to be paused and pondered over, we'd still be there. If a decision turned out to be the wrong one, which it often seemed to be, you simply pulled yourself out and kept on.
The trail--always leading us to our goal--took on varied aspects. We were not always in mud up to our knees, or trying to find a footing on logs which were in some places floating and in some places submerged. For short spaces the trail was of gravel. Sometimes there were hills to climb and rivers to wade through where we got the chance to rinse off a few pounds of accumulated jungle soil. At times we were in sunshine where the forest had been cut back to make pasture, at other times in deep shade.
There was a tiny footprint in front of me. You learn when you travel jungle trails to recognize the differences in footprints. A party of Indians had evidently preceded us not long before. One of them was a child no more than three. As we came to what seemed to me impassable sections, I found myself spurred on by the knowledge that where the trail was firmer I would find the little footprint. Sure enough. That little person had made it through what was for him hip-high mud, across the precarious logs, into the streams, up the hills and down the slick ravines. There is something amazingly heartening in the knowledge that somebody else has been over the course before especially if it's somebody who has had manifestly greater difficulties than ours to overcome. Most of the time there was no evidence at all of his going, and I could lose heart. But here and there again the evidence lay, clear and unmistakable. If he had made it, so could I.
We made it. We reached the house my husband Jim Elliot had built twenty-three years ago. The only reason it still stands is that it was built on a cement slab with poured cement walls up to the level of the window sills, boards from there up to the aluminum roof. An ordinary jungle house would have vanished long since. Mary began sweeping out the bat droppings and the dead cockroaches and spiders, tidying up, lighting candles and cooking a simple supper while Frank and I went to visit the Indians in their houses nearby. Thirteen years lay lightly on most of them, but a generation of children had become unrecognizable.
We pulled out some bedding I had left stored in steel drums and stayed the night in the house. A mouse had to be evicted from one of the mattresses. The sound of the Atun Yacu at the foot of the cliff was the same as it had always been. The shadows cast by the candles seemed to take the shapes familiar to me from the nights when I had risen to feed my baby in this very bedroom. Her toy wicker furniture was still there, its upholstery mildewed and nearly colorless.
Not quite three weeks have passed, and I sit in my green-carpeted study in Massachusetts. The trail--always leading to the goal--does take on different aspects. Soon I will face my seminary students again to remind them that each footstep along the trail matters, not only the goal toward which they aspire. The clean, hard gravel matters, but so does the slough with the floating logs, the hill and the deep ravine. The traveler who makes each decision about where to put his foot is not different from the person who has reached the house and rests at last by the fireplace with a cup of tea and a candle. Are they prospective ministers? Then they must be now, while they are on the journey, true men and women, attending to today's task, living their lives today. They do not see into heaven. They have to live on earth. They must move steadily, putting one foot in front of the other, no matter whether it is the log, the rock or the mire that receives it. They must rightly discharge each small duty, whether it be to a professor, a landlady, a wife or an employer.
I will remind them, too, that the Bible does not speak of problems. As Corrie ten Boom says, "God has no problems, only plans." We ought to think not of problems but of purpose. We encounter the obstacle, we make a choice--always with the goal in mind.
We are conditioned nowadays, however, to define everything as a problem. A little girl on a TV commercial pipes, "I have this terrible problem with my hair! But my mommy bought No More Tangles, and now there's no more tangles!" A group of young wives asked me to speak to them on "The Problems of Widowhood." I declined, explaining in the first place that I did not regard widowhood as a problem, and in the second place that if I did I was not sure I had any warrant for unloading my own problems onto the shoulders of young women who had enough of their own, and in the third place a widow has only one "problem," when it comes right down to it--she has no husband. And that's something nobody can do anything about.
Life is full of things we can't do anything about, but which we are supposed to do something with. "He himself endured a cross and thought nothing of its shame because of the joy." A very different story from the one which would have been written if Jesus had been prompted by the spirit of our own age: "Don't just endure the cross--think about it, talk about it, share it, express your gut-level feelings, get in touch with yourself, find out who you are, define the problem, analyze it, get counseling, get the experts' opinions, discuss solutions, work through it." Jesus endured. He thought nothing of the shame. The freedom, the freshness of that valiant selflessness is like a strong wind. How badly such a wind is needed to sweep away the pollution of our self-preoccupation!
Analysis can make you feel guilty for being human. To be human, of course, means to be sinful, and for our sinfulness we must certainly "feel" the guilt which is rightly ours--but not everything human is sinful. There is a man on the radio every afternoon from California whose consummate arrogance in making an instant analysis of every caller's difficulties is simply breathtaking. A woman called in to talk about her problems with her husband who happens to be an actor. "Oh," said the counselor, "of course the only reason anybody goes into acting is because they need approval." Bang. Husband's problem identified. Next question. I turned off the radio and asked myself, with rising guilt feelings, "Do I need approval?" Answer: yes. Does anybody not need approval? Is there anybody who is content to live his life without so much as a nod from anybody else? Wouldn't he be, of all men, the most devilishly self-centered? Wouldn't his supreme solitude be the most hellish? It's human to want to know that you please somebody.
We visited another place where I lived--Tewaenon-- where the Aucas live. It had been sixteen years since I had seen them, but they remembered me, calling me by the name they had given me, "Gikari," and everybody beginning at once, as was their custom, to tell me what they had done since they saw me. Dabu, with two of his three wives, came walking up the airstrip and began immediately--there are no greetings in Auca--to tell me that when he had heard of the death of my second husband he had cried. This prompted Ipa to remark that she had sat down and written me a letter when she heard of his death, but on rereading the letter said to herself, "It's no good," and threw it away. Sometimes readers of things that I write tell me long afterward that they have thought of writing me a letter, or have written one and discarded it, thinking, "She doesn't need my approval." Well, they're mistaken--for wouldn't it be a lovely thing to know that a footprint you have left on the trail has, just by being there, heartened somebody else?
The Road to Shandia
There is a road east of the Andes from the little tea-growing town of Puyo, to an unnamed point in the jungle just beyond the mostly Indian town of Pano. When I lived in Ecuador most of the road was not there at all, and it would have taken you three days to cover that distance. I covered it a few weeks ago in the space of a few hours in a jeep driven by a missionary named Ella Rae. We traveled along the south side of the Ansuc River and crossed, on a suspension bridge, the Atun Yacu, which we once crossed by dugout canoe. The road took us through the towns of Napo and Tena and then straight up the middle of what used to be a mission station airstrip in Pano. When the road ended at the Pano River, Ella Rae bade us good-bye and we set out on foot for Shandia, one of the places where I used to live. I had been over the trail from Tena to Shandia many times, but, although the government has laid logs crosswise to make walking easier, horses and cows have been making use of it and the trail was in the worst condition I'd ever seen.
We were two women and one man--he in shorts and rubber knee boots, we in standard jungle garb of blouses, skirts and tennis shoes. As we plowed our way through the mud some spiritual parallels came to mind.
Every step of faith is a step faith. In some places the logs were submerged in mud. Finding one to put your foot on did not make it easier to find the next one.
Each step was a decision, but to make it a problem would have halted progress altogether. Sometimes the choice was to balance on a three-inch-in-diameter log laid parallel to the path and take the chance of slipping off sideways and falling into the mud, or to step deliberately into mud (which was like peanut butter) up to one's knees, or to try to beat one's way through the tangle at the side of the trail (and of course that tangle could always hold snakes). You had to keep moving. Decisions, therefore, had to be snap decisions. If we had let each step be a problem, to be paused and pondered over, we'd still be there. If a decision turned out to be the wrong one, which it often seemed to be, you simply pulled yourself out and kept on.
The trail--always leading us to our goal--took on varied aspects. We were not always in mud up to our knees, or trying to find a footing on logs which were in some places floating and in some places submerged. For short spaces the trail was of gravel. Sometimes there were hills to climb and rivers to wade through where we got the chance to rinse off a few pounds of accumulated jungle soil. At times we were in sunshine where the forest had been cut back to make pasture, at other times in deep shade.
There was a tiny footprint in front of me. You learn when you travel jungle trails to recognize the differences in footprints. A party of Indians had evidently preceded us not long before. One of them was a child no more than three. As we came to what seemed to me impassable sections, I found myself spurred on by the knowledge that where the trail was firmer I would find the little footprint. Sure enough. That little person had made it through what was for him hip-high mud, across the precarious logs, into the streams, up the hills and down the slick ravines. There is something amazingly heartening in the knowledge that somebody else has been over the course before especially if it's somebody who has had manifestly greater difficulties than ours to overcome. Most of the time there was no evidence at all of his going, and I could lose heart. But here and there again the evidence lay, clear and unmistakable. If he had made it, so could I.
We made it. We reached the house my husband Jim Elliot had built twenty-three years ago. The only reason it still stands is that it was built on a cement slab with poured cement walls up to the level of the window sills, boards from there up to the aluminum roof. An ordinary jungle house would have vanished long since. Mary began sweeping out the bat droppings and the dead cockroaches and spiders, tidying up, lighting candles and cooking a simple supper while Frank and I went to visit the Indians in their houses nearby. Thirteen years lay lightly on most of them, but a generation of children had become unrecognizable.
We pulled out some bedding I had left stored in steel drums and stayed the night in the house. A mouse had to be evicted from one of the mattresses. The sound of the Atun Yacu at the foot of the cliff was the same as it had always been. The shadows cast by the candles seemed to take the shapes familiar to me from the nights when I had risen to feed my baby in this very bedroom. Her toy wicker furniture was still there, its upholstery mildewed and nearly colorless.
Not quite three weeks have passed, and I sit in my green-carpeted study in Massachusetts. The trail--always leading to the goal--does take on different aspects. Soon I will face my seminary students again to remind them that each footstep along the trail matters, not only the goal toward which they aspire. The clean, hard gravel matters, but so does the slough with the floating logs, the hill and the deep ravine. The traveler who makes each decision about where to put his foot is not different from the person who has reached the house and rests at last by the fireplace with a cup of tea and a candle. Are they prospective ministers? Then they must be now, while they are on the journey, true men and women, attending to today's task, living their lives today. They do not see into heaven. They have to live on earth. They must move steadily, putting one foot in front of the other, no matter whether it is the log, the rock or the mire that receives it. They must rightly discharge each small duty, whether it be to a professor, a landlady, a wife or an employer.
I will remind them, too, that the Bible does not speak of problems. As Corrie ten Boom says, "God has no problems, only plans." We ought to think not of problems but of purpose. We encounter the obstacle, we make a choice--always with the goal in mind.
We are conditioned nowadays, however, to define everything as a problem. A little girl on a TV commercial pipes, "I have this terrible problem with my hair! But my mommy bought No More Tangles, and now there's no more tangles!" A group of young wives asked me to speak to them on "The Problems of Widowhood." I declined, explaining in the first place that I did not regard widowhood as a problem, and in the second place that if I did I was not sure I had any warrant for unloading my own problems onto the shoulders of young women who had enough of their own, and in the third place a widow has only one "problem," when it comes right down to it--she has no husband. And that's something nobody can do anything about.
Life is full of things we can't do anything about, but which we are supposed to do something with. "He himself endured a cross and thought nothing of its shame because of the joy." A very different story from the one which would have been written if Jesus had been prompted by the spirit of our own age: "Don't just endure the cross--think about it, talk about it, share it, express your gut-level feelings, get in touch with yourself, find out who you are, define the problem, analyze it, get counseling, get the experts' opinions, discuss solutions, work through it." Jesus endured. He thought nothing of the shame. The freedom, the freshness of that valiant selflessness is like a strong wind. How badly such a wind is needed to sweep away the pollution of our self-preoccupation!
Analysis can make you feel guilty for being human. To be human, of course, means to be sinful, and for our sinfulness we must certainly "feel" the guilt which is rightly ours--but not everything human is sinful. There is a man on the radio every afternoon from California whose consummate arrogance in making an instant analysis of every caller's difficulties is simply breathtaking. A woman called in to talk about her problems with her husband who happens to be an actor. "Oh," said the counselor, "of course the only reason anybody goes into acting is because they need approval." Bang. Husband's problem identified. Next question. I turned off the radio and asked myself, with rising guilt feelings, "Do I need approval?" Answer: yes. Does anybody not need approval? Is there anybody who is content to live his life without so much as a nod from anybody else? Wouldn't he be, of all men, the most devilishly self-centered? Wouldn't his supreme solitude be the most hellish? It's human to want to know that you please somebody.
We visited another place where I lived--Tewaenon-- where the Aucas live. It had been sixteen years since I had seen them, but they remembered me, calling me by the name they had given me, "Gikari," and everybody beginning at once, as was their custom, to tell me what they had done since they saw me. Dabu, with two of his three wives, came walking up the airstrip and began immediately--there are no greetings in Auca--to tell me that when he had heard of the death of my second husband he had cried. This prompted Ipa to remark that she had sat down and written me a letter when she heard of his death, but on rereading the letter said to herself, "It's no good," and threw it away. Sometimes readers of things that I write tell me long afterward that they have thought of writing me a letter, or have written one and discarded it, thinking, "She doesn't need my approval." Well, they're mistaken--for wouldn't it be a lovely thing to know that a footprint you have left on the trail has, just by being there, heartened somebody else?
Friday, January 19, 2007
Keep On Keepin' On!
From Streams in the Desert....
"Go to the ant." Tammerlane used to relate to his friends an anecdote of his early life. "I once" he said, "was forced to take shelter from my enemies in a ruined building, where I sat alone many hours. Desiring to divert my mind from my hopeless condition, I fixed my eyes on an ant that was carrying a grain of corn larger than itself up a high wall. I numbered the efforts it made to accomplish this object. The grain fell sixty-nine times to the ground; but the insect persevered, and the seventieth time it reached the top. This sight gave me courage at the moment, and I never forgot the lesson." --The King's Business
Prayer which takes the fact that past prayers have not been answered as a reason for languor, has already ceased to be the prayer of faith. To the prayer of faith the fact that prayers remain unanswered is only evidence that the moment of the answer is so much nearer. From first to last, the lessons and examples of our Lord all tell us that prayer which cannot persevere and urge its plea importunately, and renew, and renew itself again, and gather strength from every past petition, is not the prayer that will prevail. --William Arthur
Rubenstein, the great musician, once said, "If I omit practice one day, I notice it; if two days, my friends notice it; if three days, the public notice it." It is the old doctrine, "Practice makes perfect." We must continue believing, continue praying, continue doing His will. Suppose along any line of art, one should cease practicing, we know what the result would be. If we would only use the same quality of common sense in our religion that we use in our everyday life, we should go on to perfection.
The motto of David Livingstone was in these words, "I determined never to stop until I had come to the end and achieved my purpose." By unfaltering persistence and faith in God he conquered.
"Go to the ant." Tammerlane used to relate to his friends an anecdote of his early life. "I once" he said, "was forced to take shelter from my enemies in a ruined building, where I sat alone many hours. Desiring to divert my mind from my hopeless condition, I fixed my eyes on an ant that was carrying a grain of corn larger than itself up a high wall. I numbered the efforts it made to accomplish this object. The grain fell sixty-nine times to the ground; but the insect persevered, and the seventieth time it reached the top. This sight gave me courage at the moment, and I never forgot the lesson." --The King's Business
Prayer which takes the fact that past prayers have not been answered as a reason for languor, has already ceased to be the prayer of faith. To the prayer of faith the fact that prayers remain unanswered is only evidence that the moment of the answer is so much nearer. From first to last, the lessons and examples of our Lord all tell us that prayer which cannot persevere and urge its plea importunately, and renew, and renew itself again, and gather strength from every past petition, is not the prayer that will prevail. --William Arthur
Rubenstein, the great musician, once said, "If I omit practice one day, I notice it; if two days, my friends notice it; if three days, the public notice it." It is the old doctrine, "Practice makes perfect." We must continue believing, continue praying, continue doing His will. Suppose along any line of art, one should cease practicing, we know what the result would be. If we would only use the same quality of common sense in our religion that we use in our everyday life, we should go on to perfection.
The motto of David Livingstone was in these words, "I determined never to stop until I had come to the end and achieved my purpose." By unfaltering persistence and faith in God he conquered.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Attention All Nerds!
Ok, I know this post is going to reveal my true, nerdy English teacher character. I was just online trying to find a good lesson plan to teach analogies and I ran across this list. I think some of these are kind of funny and just wanted to share. Now I need to go pull my pants up really high and tape my glasses back together.... again!
The webpage says they are taken from actual high school essays and collected by English teachers across the country for their own amusement. But please don't be confused as to the type of writing the typical high school teacher receives- I've never seen such wittiness from my students.
1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a ThighMaster.
2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
The webpage says they are taken from actual high school essays and collected by English teachers across the country for their own amusement. But please don't be confused as to the type of writing the typical high school teacher receives- I've never seen such wittiness from my students.
1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a ThighMaster.
2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
The Holiday Season in Upon Us
Oh wait, I guess the holiday season just ended. I feel like my life has been a blur every since Thanksgiving came around. Here are some things that have been going with me:
For Thanksgiving, my mom, dad, Josh and Amy came out for a week! It was awesome! And for once, it didn't rain while my parents were here. Amazing! We had a fabulous, fabulous time.
Then, a couple of weeks later, my semester ended at school and I flew home. Jeni flew home a few days before me and we got to spend almost three weeks at home with my mom and dad. It was, of course, an amazing time.... but also really busy! Oh, and did I mention COLD?!?! For some reason, the cold affected me more this year than it did last year and I felt like I never really warmed up until I landed back here in Hawaii. And it didn't help things out much when we went up to Tahoe for new Years! I really wanted to take a picture of all the Elson girls (including Amy) with their Ugs on and me with my Converse. Sidenote: Converse are not made for the snow.
I flew back here to Hawaii on January 7 and started school this past Thursday. Only ten weeks until Spring break! :) (thanks Jill for helping me to count my school year in weeks!). As for life here in Hawaii. As you might know, the beginning of this year was really rough on me in a lot of ways. But God is so faithful and I literally just clung to Him for my every breath at times. And He has brought me out of the dark times and into a glorious period of rest. Its amazing to experience God's peace and restoration even in the midst of what should be difficult times. I wish I had exciting news to report, but life is still pretty same ol', same ol' around here... which is ok too. I have learned to appreciate this time that I have to spend with God and learn more about Him. I know it actually is a blessing to have so much time on my hands, even though sometimes it feels like my worst enemy :). I also started going to a new church a while back and have started to go to a Bible study. It's been really cool to start to meet people and fellowship with likeminded believers. Its been a real blessing. I am praying about what ministry God wants me to get involved in. Anyway, that's just a basic rundown!
Here are some random pictures of both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
For Thanksgiving, my mom, dad, Josh and Amy came out for a week! It was awesome! And for once, it didn't rain while my parents were here. Amazing! We had a fabulous, fabulous time.
Then, a couple of weeks later, my semester ended at school and I flew home. Jeni flew home a few days before me and we got to spend almost three weeks at home with my mom and dad. It was, of course, an amazing time.... but also really busy! Oh, and did I mention COLD?!?! For some reason, the cold affected me more this year than it did last year and I felt like I never really warmed up until I landed back here in Hawaii. And it didn't help things out much when we went up to Tahoe for new Years! I really wanted to take a picture of all the Elson girls (including Amy) with their Ugs on and me with my Converse. Sidenote: Converse are not made for the snow.
I flew back here to Hawaii on January 7 and started school this past Thursday. Only ten weeks until Spring break! :) (thanks Jill for helping me to count my school year in weeks!). As for life here in Hawaii. As you might know, the beginning of this year was really rough on me in a lot of ways. But God is so faithful and I literally just clung to Him for my every breath at times. And He has brought me out of the dark times and into a glorious period of rest. Its amazing to experience God's peace and restoration even in the midst of what should be difficult times. I wish I had exciting news to report, but life is still pretty same ol', same ol' around here... which is ok too. I have learned to appreciate this time that I have to spend with God and learn more about Him. I know it actually is a blessing to have so much time on my hands, even though sometimes it feels like my worst enemy :). I also started going to a new church a while back and have started to go to a Bible study. It's been really cool to start to meet people and fellowship with likeminded believers. Its been a real blessing. I am praying about what ministry God wants me to get involved in. Anyway, that's just a basic rundown!
Here are some random pictures of both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Podcast Favorites
I love listening to Podcasts. Its like a whole new world has opened up to me. Two of my favorite podcasts are from RZIM called, "Let My People Think" and "Just Thinking". I think I've mentioned them before, but they are fascinating because they are Christian speakers who are very plugged into the culture around us. Their official title is "Apologists", which means they give a defense of our faith. I think as American Christians, we are somewhat ignorant to the culture around us, or we are compromised to it... or we don't care what people in the world are thinking about God. The speakers in these series are constantly answering challenging questions that will truly help us to love the Lord will all my heart, soul and MIND. I highly recommend them. I was listening to one today about Consumerism in America. Here was his parting quote and I couldn't agree more with him!
Looking good and feeling good has replaced doing good and being good and we don't know the difference anymore.
Stuart McAllister
Looking good and feeling good has replaced doing good and being good and we don't know the difference anymore.
Stuart McAllister
Monday, December 11, 2006
RIP Lil' Jeni
Saturday was not a good morning. Not a good morning at all. Remember sweet Lil' Jeni who moved in after the original Jeni moved out? Yeah, well, he's no longer with us. The story is kind of gross so I will spare you all of the details. But the basic run down is this:
My backdoor wouldn't shut completely Saturday morning. Because I am a girl, I just kept trying to slam it harder and harder instead of actually finding out what was stopping it from closing and fixing the problem. In all, I probably slammed the door five times at least. It was at that point that I started to inspect the door to find the problem... ooohhhh... and what I found was half of Jeni's squished body in the door crack. The rest of the story is censored, but it was really upsetting to me.
Later that day I was telling the real Jeni what happened. She was really upset with me and actually said, "You need to stop killing your friends!" (he's not the first gecko I've accidentally killed). I was on the phone with my mom when it happened and she said, "Oh don't worry honey, another one will come along soon". I guess maybe I took the "new roommate" joke too far. But I am sad he died and of course- I didn't do it on purpose.
Lil' Jeni, you'll be missed.
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