Sailing.

This steady rocking is safety to me.  It’s organic and lovely,  like the peace and assurance of sitting on Grandma’s lap under a sweater in a rocking chair,  or comforting a child in your arms, swaying gently. 

The damp salt air quenches my need to breathe.

Breathe.

It’s been a day of planes, trains, and automobiles, as I make my annual trek home for the holidays.  My heart’s home is Ottawa- but as I sit on the deck of the “Spirit of Vancouver Island,” mesmerized, praising God who has created such indescribable beauty… I think my body’s home will always be on the Coast.  I left my apartment in the dark, bussed to the airport, watching the sun rise over Ottawa.  I boarded a plane and was lulled to sleep, waking to see glimpses of golden sun and patchwork prairies and majestic mountains.  Bags in tow, I found the sky train, and watched the Pacific Ocean meet the city of Vancouver and both be united under a lovely clear sky.  And now I’m outside on the ferry, the photographers and excited kids have moved into the warmth of the indoors, and I’m alone on the deck, watching.

It’s kind of blue for Christmas: blue sky, blue ocean, blue mountains.. even the trees which I’m slowly inching away from seem to have a blue tint, but it is the happiest kind of blue -  like giggling, sticking your blue tongue out after a blue freezie or blue lollipop, or possibly even blue pop rocks, if you like those.

I don’t know what to expect when I get off the boat.  It doesn’t feel like the Christmas I’m used to.  I ‘m not particularly in the mood for Christmas carols, I’m not super excited to watch Christmas Movies.  The lights are lovely…but I just like shiny things.  As I sit here, fingers cold, heart warm, I’m realizing that maybe this isn’t the Christmas I am used to or dream of – even Ottawa has no snow, I haven’t gone caroling, I’m not wrapping gifts or baking obscene amount of delicious sweets…though I do have some in my bag, waiting to share with my family.  But when did the world become so wrapped up in all those things?

Jesus was carried in Mary’s womb as she travelled with Joseph from their home to the home of his fathers.  He was born outside – and the stable probably didn’t smell like cinnamon or mandarin oranges or savoury turkey.  The wise men followed a shining star to bring him their gifts.  Shepherds were in the fields. 

I look around me – why is Christmas to me a comfortable, warm, electric home? Why isn’t it in the smell of the forest? Why isn’t it in staring at billions of stars, shining from farther away than I can imagine, in a way that no bulb or picture or human creation of any sort can possibly represent. 

I want to discover CHRIST in the journey from home to home.  I want to celebrate CHRIST in the most intimate, natural way possible – and maybe that isn’t in the traditions that I have cherished for so long.  Maybe I need to learn to step outside of symbolism that I love, and the rituals that I’ve explained, and the false depth that I’ve tried to create but can’t understand -  and exchange it for raw, real relationship.  Maybe I need to cling to Him in rolling hills and stiff cold fingers and tide-stained air.  Maybe it’s time for me to learn to come home to worship a King, to give him all that I can, to love Him as much as I know how – and to trust Him to draw me even closer. 

I love presents, and turkey, and candles, and carols, and fires, and movies, and family.

But I love His presence more.  And his gifts are eternal.  And His fire in me is life changing.  And His Word is truth.  And this Father – this Brother, this King, this Friend…is everything.

My Top Methods of Procrastination this Exam Period (in no particular order).
1. Unnecessary changes: outfits, my blog background, Facebook profile, meal plans, study locations...

2. Discovering the things I don't usually have time for... Like reading forwarded emails, and finding that my star wars name would be Emema Jeery, and looking at obscure "galleries" on news sites (for your own protection, do not look at anything involving strange family portraits).

3.  Food.  And good food.  And Lots of food.  Isn't it time for Christmas baking and fancy meals with   friends?  Isn't it important to eat the perfect combination of healthy, beautiful meals and comforting homey  treats?  It's the perfect time for Grandma's cookies and 10 dish breakfasts.  And isn't it better to share and please others, and make 5 kinds of pancakes, not just one? I wonder what would happen if I were to study food...

4.  Cleaning.  (Maybe this goes under number 2?)

5.  Music - choosing the right stuff to listen to helps me focus...and it only takes me...a long time to find it... But I need the right mood, the right instruments, the right speed, the right language...  And then there's the guitars and keyboard that are really just sad if they aren't being played.  And I need to practice singing high so that I can sing all the Christmas carols, inevitably in an uncomfortable key.

6. Unusual levels of interest in the fact that others are studying, and what they are studying - helping someone with French is really helping me study, right?  And I'd like to say that meeting people at the most convenient place for them is completely me being a nice person...but there's probably a bit of "oooh, that means a longer break from studying too.

7. Writing anything other than exams or study notes.  Cards, letters, blog posts, references, journal entries...

8.  Checking the weather.  How was it possibly more than 10 degrees in Ottawa YESTERDAY??? Fear not...the average temperature for tomorrow (which I may have looked at 5 times today...) is -7.  And Snow is coming...supposedly.

9.  Planning.  Planning when I"m going to do what (and knowing I probably won't actually follow the plan).  Plans to meet up with friends, trying to figure out what's going on with my family and friends over the break, thinking about what I want to do next semester, next year, after school...for my life...

10.  It's already been mentioned, but I think it's worth mentioning again.  Facebook.  I've never been such a Facebook creep in my life...except maybe in that one phase, last summer.

Communion

I'm the only one awake in my apartment right now.  The wind is whistling outside, rattling the glass windows against each other.  It's gray outside. Gray like a resting early morning, lulling you back to sleep in the coziness of a comfy bed.  It's gray like a blanket of wetness, the air is cool and damp, and the road is shining wet, and the colours of cars are brighter wet, and there world sounds different wet.

I look at the leftovers from last night: two mugs of grape juice on the living room table, a plate of crackers, a guitar next to the couch.  Extra chairs are pushed around the dining room table, which has a sparkly runner and glass candlesticks and paper hats left on it.  There's a basket of blankets, sweaters, toques and mittens on the ground beside the table left from yet another D-St welcome-to-the-team fire (not too major though).  I'm sitting on the couch, toes warm in wool socks, with a cup of tea, a clementine, and some cookies, listening to people wake up, completely at home.  

Sometimes I think I use the word love far to liberally.  I love this person, I love that feeling, I love these objects.  And I have to check my genuineness.  What does the word actually mean when I use it to say I love the combination of smiles, and light, and glass? Or that I love sharing food with friends - and at the fellowship that comes through it?  Or that I love having a crowded table, and listening to a conversation that flows to the most ridiculous places? Or that I love opening the door, and putting food on the table, and just being with people?

And it means that I love the pause it provides.  I see light shining here - my spirit is lifted, and it's a feeling that warms my heart.  I'm thankful for those moments.  I'm blessed by those people.  I experience pure joy.  I see God working. I hear Him speaking.  I'm learning who he has made me to be, and how he has made me to live.  

And sometimes it just means I'm laughing really hard, and nothing else seems to sum up my thoughts when friends are deciding what gender numbers are, or her surprise when the Christmas cracker popped, or their concern for various foreign objects being added to the beloved fish's home. 

When dinner was finished, we moved into a time of worship and prayer, and communion.  And that is the point.  It's not the presents and the fancy glasses and the silly hats and the decorations.  And it's not the food or the conversation or the laughter. 

 It's Him. 

 It's abiding and dwelling and breathing and living in, with, and for a King who humbled himself, and was born to us.

I am overwhelmed and softly held and completely in LOVE as I learn to hope - to eagerly expect God, to eagerly expect His presence, Him working, Him moving, Him changing, Him providing,  Him Preparing.  

I am amazed by the power and incredibly thankful and completely in LOVE as I experience His Peace in my life - the rain that washes all the junk away, His breath in me, His arms holding me, His voice in my ear - shhh.  

I am swept off my feet and surrounded by light and I'm completely in LOVE as I am flooded by His Joy - his joy that surprises me when I struggle, His creativity, His complexity, His plan for me, His heart for me. His presence with me. 

And this is really LOVE.  This baby king, who would live and demonstrate and speak and inspire and die, and rise to bring full LIFE.  And this is LOVE, that perfect in every way, his Body was pierced for my transgressions, broken for me.  And his blood was shed for me.  And I am forgiven, wholly.  I am loved, entirely.  

And this is what we share and celebrate together.  

kyo͝orēˈäsitē

I've pondered a lot of mostly-pointless things this week.  At some point in my life, this may have been called wide-eyed curiosity, a thirst for learning.  But as I enter a second very full, busy week, coming in with a cup of strong coffee and no where near enough sleep, I doubt as to how "wide-eyed" anything can really be.  (The coffee isn't that strong!)

For instance, does anyone know how the letters of the alphabet came to be the the characters we read every day? Is there a relationship between sound and shape? Like when I look at a large wave coming in against little rocks, I know how those shapes are going to sound together.  And I know how wind sounds different going through thin soft needles or large dry maples leaves. Do the curves and lines and short or tall letters actually mean something? Maybe they don't in my alphabet, but do they in another? Or what were people thinking when they chose these characters to represent our language? Sometimes I wish our written language was more beautiful to just look at as art - and not to think about the meaning.  Sometimes I'm glad our letters seem relatively simple to draw.  But really... what inspired these letters?

Last week I was thankful for my selfless roommates, who cooked for me, ignored my disastrous study habits, and put up with my moodswings.  And I was thankful for the breaks from the craziness to spend time with God and in Christian community.  Sunday our new youth pastor and his wife finally arrived in Canada, and the youth spent the afternoon helping the two move into their first home.  It was fun to watch him "carry her across the threshold" and to be there as they tried to decide where to put things, and how to put things together.  Tuesday I had the opportunity to do backup vocals at the GYG.  I love worship. I love helping to lead worship: and it was such a blessing to be in the sanctuary instead of the hall, and to be joined by other members of the congregation, worshiping as one body.  There's something immensely beautiful about pouring my heart out through song, and encouraging others to do the same thing.  

Thursday our small group was helping a young family move in to what I could actually describe as my dream home.  I'm serious.  The house that I always imagined as a little kid with fireplaces and a twisting staircase and a loft -attic, and a white kitchen with exposed white rafters...this is it.  Maybe it was just because it seemed like all I did last week was either school or helping people move, but to some extent it made me so restless and anxious to move on to that part of my life.  None of the people we were helping are that much older than me.   Sometimes I'm more than completely content to be sharing an apartment with five sisters in Christ.  I somehow can't imagine the kinds of escapades we have still happening when married.  And sometimes I just really want to be a wife, and be a mom.  On Thursday night, after most of the moving had been finished, I sat watching three beautiful girls putting on a show for us in their new family room.  Singing in complete freedom and dancing joyfully around.  Sometimes my tired heart melts at their beauty.  And sometimes it cringes in irrational fear and premature longing and, to expose all my stains, even some jealously...feelings which have a horrible tendency to penetrate my joy.  

It's 8 degrees and raining in Ottawa this morning.  There are 13 more days until I'm finished for the semester: 3 of class, 10 of exams. I'm struggling to stay motivated ...There are so many things in my life that seem so much more important than school, and even the dull rainy sky seems more interesting than my books.