Trusting

Today is the day. At 2:45 on the dot, I will be sitting down to an hour long mid-term exam in my Spanish classroom. In fact, I should be studying for it now. I just had to ask for some support before I go for it. At this point I'll be happy to get a C. But anything higher will be much appreciated. Wait a minute, sounds like I'm puting in an order to a catalogue company!

Just pray if you please. If you happen to think of me, just pray. One truth that has really come to bear upon me in the past weeks: no matter how long and hard I study, no matter how hard I try in the "hour of trial", I would always fail if it weren't God who was allowing my brain to work in a sufficiently logical and clear manner. If He wasn't calming my anxiety every time I sit down to an exam, I would be on the verge of depression by this point. He's teaching me to trust Him, like I've never had to trust Him before. Praise the Lord!

Today will be a momentous challenge, so please pray with me. God will hear, and work all things to His glory and my good. That's more than I could ever hope for otherwise.

Thank you my friends, and go with God!

storytelling~the lost legacy

Exerpt from a recent essay:

With books beginning to record the old tales, and now television and movies having become the primary source of entertainment, storytelling has become somewhat of a lost art. But in my imagination, I can still hear the lyric sound of the old peddler's melodic voice, as it rose and fell on the tide of heroic deeds, terrible tragedies, and a joyful "happily ever after"...

...One member of the family reads, and others act as the listening audience. Let us zoom in as it were to the brain of a child as he is sitting in rapt attention to his mother's voice. We will call him Max. There is a constant frenzy of activity as Max establishes the scene in his minds eye. Each character is formulated, and to a certain extent created masterfully as the lively sound of his mother's voice relates dialogue, descriptions, and narrative. Her voice at times is hushed to a mere whisper as great and marvelous wonders are communicated. Her eye beomes sparked with fire as she dives into a tirade of heated dialogue, and Max's heart drops in dread--for those same beloved eyes have grown dull with remorse as the hero is broken in sadness. At last, as the final triumphant verbal trumpet has been sounded, the leather cover is closed softly. Max, heaving a deep sigh of contentment, leaves his former post at his mother's feet, stands, stretches, then wraps dovout arms around her neck, and says cheerily, "G'night mummy."

Please pardon the lack of context--most of you are no doubt scratching your heads, pulling your ears, and commiting all sorts of other horrid outrages. I accept the blame for this utterly and completely. The above passages are simply two from my most recent essay for English 101, and they happen to be very dear to my heart. I am rather proud of them you see.

Psalter Hymnal #394

Spirit of God, dwell thou within my heart;
Wean it from earth, through all its pulses move;
Stoop to my weakness, mighty as thou art,
And make me love Thee as I ought to love.

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
No sudden rending of the veil of clay,
No angel visitant, no opening skies;
But take the dimness of my soul away.

Didst Thou not bid us love Thee, God and King?
All, all Thine own: soul, heart, and strength, and mind.
I see the cross--there teach my heart to cling;
O let me seek Thee and O let me find!

Teach me to feel that Thou art always nigh;
Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear;
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh;
Teach me the patience of unanswered prayer.

Teach me to love Thee as Thine angels love,
One holy passion filling all my frame--
The baptism of the heaven-descended Dove;
My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame.

~George Croly, 1854

I would give almost anything to have been the author of this transcendant poem. I cannot help but feel that it was written for me exclusively--but then there are many about which I feel the same. Lord, "take the dimness of my soul away"! "Wean it [my heart] from earth...one holy passion filling all my frame...my heart an altar, and Thy love the flame"!