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.