It's been a crazy week and I've got another ahead! Tomorrow morning I'm leaving at 6:30 a.m. for Haling Island, near Portsmouth. I am very excited to spend a week on the English coast, especially if the gorgeous, sunny, warm weather holds up (I doubt it). But Emma is from Portsmouth, and she tells me it's much warmer down there.
This week I:
1. Wrote 4 newspaper articles, including my BIG story for the Chicago Sun-Times Travel section. It should appear on Sunday, Feb. 10, and my public blog will launch on their site that day.
2. Helped a lot of people at the Arches, including several pregnant teenage girls. I was thinking a lot that day about what a difference birth control can make in a woman's life. I'm glad these girls are carrying their babies to term but ... anyway, I was told that English girls can get birth control from the school nurse or even a GP. Hasn't seemed to make much of a difference in these girls' lives. However, I was encouraged by one lovely young woman. She's just 18 and had been kicked out of the house by her mum, she doesn't really know how to cook and looks quite lost, but she clearly loves her two-month-old baby girl so much and has been given a new flat. Her brother and sister are helping her out, so maybe she'll be OK.
3. Got my visa extension application paperwork sent off! Please join me in praying I get approved for my final two months here and also that I get my passport back by Feb. 15, since I'm supposed to go to Norway on Feb. 17.
4. Did a lot of learning, growing and stretching in spiritual and emotional matters.
5. Taught kids and found out from some parents that that their kids talk about me (in a good way) at home.
6. Was given a gorgeous grey, wool cardigan by Anna; fun footless tights by Jules; and 6 STUNNING, beautiful, almost-new pairs of shoes, plus one pair of boots, by Carmen
5. Rode my bike to and from church A LOT!!!
(and now I need to go do it again, as I'm due at church to help with set up in 22 minutes. Ah, well, I guess my packing for tomorrow morning is going to have to wait until I get home at about 11 p.m. tonight. The joys of Discipleship Year continue).
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Welcome to my private blog
Hello! In just a few short weeks, I'll be launching a public blog from the Chicago Sun-Times Web site, to appear in conjunction with an article I'm doing for the Sunday travel section about my year in England. The editors and I agreed that my personal blog should therefore go private, since I will need to maintain a modicum of professional privacy in my new Sun-Times blog. (When the new blog goes live, I'll post the link on here).That means that you now must be added to my approved list before you can read this blog. I do know I have many blog visitors who are acquaintances, so if you know of someone who might like to get added to my list, simply ask them to send me an email at: stephaniefosnight@gmail.com I'd be happy to put them on it.
I've just posted a ton of fun photos from my Christmas holiday. I started out by flying to Phoenix for 8 days, which I spent happily with my family in Mesa, Tucson and Mexico. I then spent another week in Chicago for my dear friend Sus' wedding and to see other wonderful friends. I've posted several sets of photos below.
Here are a couple of pictures from my exciting day out this past Saturday. My sweet friend Emma and I drove to the National Peak District in Derbyshire (just about 90 minutes from Nottingham) to spend a day searching for natural beauty. We had a marvelous time, and as you can see from these photos, discovered some rather dramatic scenery. We picknicked and drank tea on the edge of the cliff, and even spent about an hour sitting by a (very swollen) river praying for one another. It was a chilly, misty, extremely muddy day, but as long as we kept moving we were fine. I still haven't managed to get all of the mud off my Doc Martens, but it was worth it!
Just in case you'd like to see even more photos from my recent Christmas fun, here are links to several public galleries on Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=76821&l=69efb&id=807395516
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=76290&l=c5806&id=807395516
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=83656&l=4e982&id=807395516
Mexico
On the day after Christmas (Boxing Day to the Brits), Mom, Dad and I; Peter, Melissa & Isaiah; and my cousin Tanya drove about four hours over the Mexican border to the beach town of Rocky Point on the Gulf of California (Tanya's parents and brother decided to visit with my grandparents in Arizona during those days). We stayed in a luxury condo overlooking the beach and had a wonderful time playing in the sand and tidepools, playing frisbee and tennis, playing tennis, and eating delicious meals. (Playing and eating seem to be themes of my family). Here we have Tanya and I feeding lettuce to the ceramic turtle who was perched on the dining room table of the condo; Isaiah's little fingers in the sand; a shot of me while I'm playing frisbee with Dad at low tide; and Isaiah riding very happily on his daddy's shoulders. It was a wonderful, restful and very fun few days just hanging out with my family. The day after we returned, Mom & Dad took some quiet time while I drove Uncle Eric, Aunt Tammy and Justin and Tanya down to Tucson to visit Peter's family once more. Pete & Melissa made us a delicious lunch of spare ribs, then we all headed out to the Sonoran Desert Museum. I really felt like I got to hang out with my aunt, uncle, cousins and brother and sister-in-law, and I also spent five days with Isaiah and really got attached to my little nephew. It was so hard to say goodbye to him!
Christmas with Isaiah!
The Fosnights had a veritable family reunion this year. Not only was I back from England and not only did Pete, Melissa and Isaiah came from Tucson, but my mom's brother and his family came all the way from Minnesota to spend Christmas with us and my grandparents. We ate a marvelous Christmas ham dinner at Grandma's house and the place was packed with the Fosnights, Grandma & Grandpa Bower, Eric, Tammy, Justin and Tanya Bower (and their dog Riley), and also longtime family friends Shanti, Sopor and Nini. We missed having my older brother Shane there, however.
Of course, Christmas this year was all about Isaiah Peter Fosnight, my nephew, Peter's son, Mom & Dad's grandson, etc.
Now eight months old, Isaiah is quite content to be the center of attention and happily charms us all. Here he is playing with his new duck that he got from Grandma Fosnight; enjoying a Christmas dinner of mashed fruit, and playing with Riley in the post-feast stupor. It was a wonderful day.
A few more wedding pix
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The latest photos
It's definitely time for me to post again, but I must be honest and say I don't have the energy. I've been fighting an ear infection for awhile now and it's tim for me to go to sleep.
But I did get some new photos up on Facebook and they're great, so take a look here:
Discipleship Year, Southwell Minster, Libby's Wedding and More
But I did get some new photos up on Facebook and they're great, so take a look here:
Saturday, December 08, 2007
A Tribute to Mallory
Last Tuesday evening I was doing creative writing while meditating on Christ when I felt compelled to write the following letter to Chris and Lee Langill, Mallory's parents. I sent it off and told them no response was necessary. But Chris wrote write back to say that they'd been meaning to ask me if I'd write something to be read at Mallory's memorial service back home in Evanston, and whether they could read the letter. I was honored to be asked. Here is the letter that was read.
December 4, 2007
Dear Chris and Lee,
I am sitting in a friend’s second-story flat in Bramcote, Nottinghamshire, England, perched above a park filled with noisy ducks. I’m facing a wall of windows and watching the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen outside of Arizona. I’ve never seen a sunset like this before in Minnesota, Illinois, England or Washington, D.C. The sky is literally aflame with long orange clouds topped by pink, gauzy strips. Shades of deep purple give depth to the brilliant colors. And I am thinking of Mallory.
I didn’t know that Mallory liked the sunset colors until I read your journal today, but it makes perfect sense. I do know she loved pink and orange and purple, because she was always wearing them! When I think back on the last year of Kids Church and my nearly 52 Sundays spent with the same small group in that same room, I always see Mallory as a little bright ball of energy and smiles, even if she was coughing or fighting a fever.
Of course there are no words that will make you feel better or diminish the grief. In fact, I know from experience that, when we Christians are going through deep grief, people will say so many words. Most of them will be well-meant, but even then we will want to scream because we’ve heard the same thing so many times. We get sick of being “preached at” or “cheered up.” We get sick of giving the same dreary explanation and the same assurances of gratitude over and over again. But we do not get sick of knowing someone else cares, that someone else wants to help carry the burdens, if even for a short while.
I just wanted to let you know, then, that I care. I do not know either of you very well and I certainly did not know Mallory as well as many did, but I did know her. And I treasured her. I loved her calm, helpful presence in the midst of a chaotic class, and I also loved that she wasn’t always calm. Despite the fact that she was the “sick kid” (though the other kids never seemed to notice this), she was still human, not saintly. Sometimes she talked too much or didn’t listen, but on the rare occasion when this happened, she was so quick to respond to my gentle chiding. She was not a saint, but she was better than a saint, because she was real yet she loved Jesus and she loved life with her whole heart.
As I told you in an email last summer, Mallory spoke into my life in a dark time, when she shared the complex picture of the servant seeking a precious jewel at great cost, only to see the jewel turn grey and lifeless as he presented it to the King. She wanted to know what it meant, and when I told her to ask God, she did. “I think it means we’re supposed to keep trying, no matter what happens and what the outcome is,” she told me. “God says that what matters is what we do and how we do it, not what we end up with.”
That was a powerful message to me as I contemplated events in my own life, but now I see her picture in a whole new light. God has used this word to speak to me of Mallory’s own life and her own heart. I see Him being tremendously pleased with her, and all that she accomplished for his kingdom, although the ending is so horrendously wrong.
I think of Mallory now and I remember her chattering about her cats, about how Aaron always wanted to play in the hospital play room, about how excited she was to go home and sew a teddy bear with her mom. I remember her bowling me over with big hugs and giggling and giggling and giggling. I remember watching her come into the kids’ room and scanning the crowd for her friends, then her big eyes brightening and that huge smile splitting her face as she ran towards Marissa or Emily. I remember Mallory raising her hand every week to ask us to pray for her and for her loved ones, and I remember her clear, sweet, unbelievably-intelligent-voice reading scripture passages with complete ease.
I recall how last year at Advent the children wrote prophetic Messiah passages onto paper ornaments. It was an activity that was fine and dandy for the older kids, but I knew many of our first graders wouldn’t be able to fit an entire Bible verse onto a Christmas ornament. So I handed the Bible to Mallory and she wrote out the entire verse in careful, perfect, small script more legible than my own. I thanked God yet again for sending Mallory to my class.
I’m glad, right now, that I’m not teaching Sunday School at Evanston Vineyard this year, for I don’t think I could bear being there without having Mallory in the midst.
The sunset is darkening now and the colors are becoming more muted—all but the orange. The orange is flaming out brighter than ever, as if in defiance of the approaching night. The reason I came to my friend’s place this evening is so I could do some creative writing in a peaceful spot, so I was doing some writing about a little dialogue I was having with Jesus. I “saw” him sitting next to me on the sofa and we were chatting about many things, when I suddenly noticed the stunning sky.
“This is one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen, Jesus!” I exclaimed in my little mind’s eye conversation. I heard his response quite clearly.
“Yes,” he said. “Mallory had a say in it.”
I am so sorry for your loss. There is nothing else to say, but know that Mallory’s death touches so many of us, including me. As I write this, my eyes are filling with tears yet again.
It will be so wonderful to see her again. But I’m going to have to wait in a long line in heaven to get my turn, I think, because no doubt the Lord has already spread her fame far and wide around there, just as he’s done here.
With love,
Stephanie Fosnight
P.S. If you have not already seen it, I do recommend the book “A Sacred Sorrow: Reclaiming the Lost Language of Lament” by Michael Card. It’s at the church bookstore.
December 4, 2007
Dear Chris and Lee,
I am sitting in a friend’s second-story flat in Bramcote, Nottinghamshire, England, perched above a park filled with noisy ducks. I’m facing a wall of windows and watching the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen outside of Arizona. I’ve never seen a sunset like this before in Minnesota, Illinois, England or Washington, D.C. The sky is literally aflame with long orange clouds topped by pink, gauzy strips. Shades of deep purple give depth to the brilliant colors. And I am thinking of Mallory.
I didn’t know that Mallory liked the sunset colors until I read your journal today, but it makes perfect sense. I do know she loved pink and orange and purple, because she was always wearing them! When I think back on the last year of Kids Church and my nearly 52 Sundays spent with the same small group in that same room, I always see Mallory as a little bright ball of energy and smiles, even if she was coughing or fighting a fever.
Of course there are no words that will make you feel better or diminish the grief. In fact, I know from experience that, when we Christians are going through deep grief, people will say so many words. Most of them will be well-meant, but even then we will want to scream because we’ve heard the same thing so many times. We get sick of being “preached at” or “cheered up.” We get sick of giving the same dreary explanation and the same assurances of gratitude over and over again. But we do not get sick of knowing someone else cares, that someone else wants to help carry the burdens, if even for a short while.
I just wanted to let you know, then, that I care. I do not know either of you very well and I certainly did not know Mallory as well as many did, but I did know her. And I treasured her. I loved her calm, helpful presence in the midst of a chaotic class, and I also loved that she wasn’t always calm. Despite the fact that she was the “sick kid” (though the other kids never seemed to notice this), she was still human, not saintly. Sometimes she talked too much or didn’t listen, but on the rare occasion when this happened, she was so quick to respond to my gentle chiding. She was not a saint, but she was better than a saint, because she was real yet she loved Jesus and she loved life with her whole heart.
As I told you in an email last summer, Mallory spoke into my life in a dark time, when she shared the complex picture of the servant seeking a precious jewel at great cost, only to see the jewel turn grey and lifeless as he presented it to the King. She wanted to know what it meant, and when I told her to ask God, she did. “I think it means we’re supposed to keep trying, no matter what happens and what the outcome is,” she told me. “God says that what matters is what we do and how we do it, not what we end up with.”
That was a powerful message to me as I contemplated events in my own life, but now I see her picture in a whole new light. God has used this word to speak to me of Mallory’s own life and her own heart. I see Him being tremendously pleased with her, and all that she accomplished for his kingdom, although the ending is so horrendously wrong.
I think of Mallory now and I remember her chattering about her cats, about how Aaron always wanted to play in the hospital play room, about how excited she was to go home and sew a teddy bear with her mom. I remember her bowling me over with big hugs and giggling and giggling and giggling. I remember watching her come into the kids’ room and scanning the crowd for her friends, then her big eyes brightening and that huge smile splitting her face as she ran towards Marissa or Emily. I remember Mallory raising her hand every week to ask us to pray for her and for her loved ones, and I remember her clear, sweet, unbelievably-intelligent-voice reading scripture passages with complete ease.
I recall how last year at Advent the children wrote prophetic Messiah passages onto paper ornaments. It was an activity that was fine and dandy for the older kids, but I knew many of our first graders wouldn’t be able to fit an entire Bible verse onto a Christmas ornament. So I handed the Bible to Mallory and she wrote out the entire verse in careful, perfect, small script more legible than my own. I thanked God yet again for sending Mallory to my class.
I’m glad, right now, that I’m not teaching Sunday School at Evanston Vineyard this year, for I don’t think I could bear being there without having Mallory in the midst.
The sunset is darkening now and the colors are becoming more muted—all but the orange. The orange is flaming out brighter than ever, as if in defiance of the approaching night. The reason I came to my friend’s place this evening is so I could do some creative writing in a peaceful spot, so I was doing some writing about a little dialogue I was having with Jesus. I “saw” him sitting next to me on the sofa and we were chatting about many things, when I suddenly noticed the stunning sky.
“This is one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen, Jesus!” I exclaimed in my little mind’s eye conversation. I heard his response quite clearly.
“Yes,” he said. “Mallory had a say in it.”
I am so sorry for your loss. There is nothing else to say, but know that Mallory’s death touches so many of us, including me. As I write this, my eyes are filling with tears yet again.
It will be so wonderful to see her again. But I’m going to have to wait in a long line in heaven to get my turn, I think, because no doubt the Lord has already spread her fame far and wide around there, just as he’s done here.
With love,
Stephanie Fosnight
P.S. If you have not already seen it, I do recommend the book “A Sacred Sorrow: Reclaiming the Lost Language of Lament” by Michael Card. It’s at the church bookstore.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Mallory Blake Langill (2000-2007)
Mallory died on Sunday morning.
Who was Mallory? She was an amazing, 7-year-old girl who loved Jesus, her parents, her little brother, her friends, her cats and making stuff. Her favorite colors were orange, pink and purple, because they were the colors of the sunset. I had the immense privilege of being her Sunday School teacher for one year. This photo was taken on my last Sunday in Chicago, just a few months before Mallory began to deteriorate. She'd always been sick from cystic fibrosis, and was on the double lung transplant list, and about a month ago was moved to a children's hospital to await new lungs. She didn't make it.
Here is an email I sent out today to all who'd been praying for Mallory. I am determined that I will always remember this little girl, and as long as I am writing and telling stories, I will talk about Mallory.
If you haven't already heard, Mallory's body could no longer take the wait for new lungs. She finally had to stop fighting. As her parents reported in their blog announcement, God decided to not only give hernew lungs but a whole new body to enjoy in His presence, in heaven. She died at about 4 a.m. CST on Sunday morning. See the entry here:
http://www.cotaformalloryl.com/node/35
I found out this morning, as I did not get a chance to check email or messages yesterday. Of course I am very grieved, not for Mallory because, cheesy as it sounds, it's more than true to say she is in a far better place. But I am grieving for her parents Chris and Lee, for her little brother Aaron (who's 4) and for all of us in her extended network of family and friends. Including myself.
Mallory had such talents and gifts of intelligence and friendship, as well as an incredibly perceptive heart. I was so looking forward to seeing her live life with new lungs and seeing her grow up into a lovely girl and young woman. I will miss her and I will never forget her.
Her own dad said that Mallory probably impacted more people in her 7 years than her parents have in their 40-something years.
Thank you for all of the prayers, whether you know Mallory or not. Her parents say the prayers and support have really gotten them through this time, and they are also grateful that so many strangers (including those in England!) have been praying for them. I know they will appreciate continued prayers as they now grieve and continue to face financial challenges because of the medical bills. Please pray for them as they strive to celebrate Christmas with Aaron in the face of such painful loss.
Some of you had mentioned that you felt uncomfortable praying for lungs for Mallory, since someone else had to die in order for that tohappen. Our prayers had simply been that some other family, in theirgrief and loss, would make the choice to donate their loved ones' organs. In the end, it was Mallory's family who made the decision tod onate their own daughter's organs, and I know that Mallory's death will mean life for others we will never meet. Please consider organ donation yourself, if you haven't, and check to make sure you'vecomplied with your own state's organ donor laws. For example, the Illinois laws changed a few years ago, but it's easy to register online if you haven't done so.
I wish it hadn't turned out this way. I know it didn't have to. But despite the sometimes overwhelming presence of death and evil in thisfallen world, I still know God is good and He is faithful. And rightnow Mallory knows that more than any of the rest of us.
Thank you,
Stephanie
If you'd like to learn more about lung transplants and cystic fibrosis, as well as hear the story of a very cool guy named Steve and the young woman named Kari who gave him new life, go here for an article I wrote last year:
http://www.pioneerlocal.com/evanston/lifestyles/health_family/135554,on-kari-111606-s1.article
As Steve told me in his condolence email, he constantly tells Kari's story for all of the Mallorys in the world. And now I want to tell Mallory's story for all of the others like her.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Differences Between the U.S. and U.K.
1. The man just came to read the gas meter. I had to let him in, direct him to the kitchen cupboard where it's kept, and let him out to a "cheers, love." A man also came to read the electricity meter. Aren't all these meters now outside in the U.S., if not just transmitted digitally anyway?
2. There is a milkman. Not everyone uses the milkman anymore, but we do. I love it! And the milk does seem to taste better (most dairy products, in fact, taste better here than at home...with the exception of ice cream).
3. Ketchup and Salt and Vinegar chips (crisps) are sweeter. I know everyone says the U.S. makes everything sweet, but I've found most desserts (puddings) here to be sweeter than at home. Sometimes I miss the tang.
4. No tumble dryers. We hang our wet clothes outside or inside on radiators.
5. Buttons and symbols on stoves, remote controls, ovens, vacuums (Hoovers) and pretty much anything electronic, which means i sometimes feel like an idiot when I can't figure out how to work stuff.
6. Loads and loads and loads of words. Where do I begin? onesie (baby grow), dinner (tea), zucchini (courgette), rutabaga (swede), brew (steep), trunk (boot), hood (bonnet), vest (undershirt), waistcoat (vest), suspenders (braces), pants (trousers), underwear (pants) and I could go on and on and on...
7. Intersections and traffic. Backwards and with roundabouts. Nuff said.
8. Fahrenheit into Celsius, pounds into kilos or stones, inches into centimeters (except when talking about height). But a pint is a pint is a pint, thank goodness!
There's a tiny little window into my new life.
2. There is a milkman. Not everyone uses the milkman anymore, but we do. I love it! And the milk does seem to taste better (most dairy products, in fact, taste better here than at home...with the exception of ice cream).
3. Ketchup and Salt and Vinegar chips (crisps) are sweeter. I know everyone says the U.S. makes everything sweet, but I've found most desserts (puddings) here to be sweeter than at home. Sometimes I miss the tang.
4. No tumble dryers. We hang our wet clothes outside or inside on radiators.
5. Buttons and symbols on stoves, remote controls, ovens, vacuums (Hoovers) and pretty much anything electronic, which means i sometimes feel like an idiot when I can't figure out how to work stuff.
6. Loads and loads and loads of words. Where do I begin? onesie (baby grow), dinner (tea), zucchini (courgette), rutabaga (swede), brew (steep), trunk (boot), hood (bonnet), vest (undershirt), waistcoat (vest), suspenders (braces), pants (trousers), underwear (pants) and I could go on and on and on...
7. Intersections and traffic. Backwards and with roundabouts. Nuff said.
8. Fahrenheit into Celsius, pounds into kilos or stones, inches into centimeters (except when talking about height). But a pint is a pint is a pint, thank goodness!
There's a tiny little window into my new life.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Bonfire party photos
Everyone loved the sparklers!
Rachel, Laura and Stephanie attempt to dance the haka, some fierce tribal thing the New Zealand rugby team performs (menacingly) before each match.
I am all smiles at the bonfire birthday party. Look at those flames!
I have a difficult time blowing out the candles on my birthday cake because I am laughing so hard.Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Bonfire Night Birthday Party!
Hope you enjoyed the above photos!
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So, yes, I received the birthday gift of an amazing, very fun, very well-attended party, thanks to the Grange family.
Monday was Guy Fawkes Day aka Bonfire Night aka The 5th of November aka My 29th Birthday. I'd had a big party last year and so this year I hoped someone would invite me to a bonfire or something. But then Pete & Sue told me they used to have bonfire parties when "the children" (now 23, 25 and 27) were small and suggested we host another. I was delighted, of course, and sent out invitations with the tagline, "Bad Day for Guy Fawkes/Good Day for Stephanie."
Monday was a quiet day. Even though my U.S. phone didn't start ringing until 1 p.m. (when America woke up), I still got plenty of birthday text messages from thoughtful new friends here. I also received birthday greetings from Pete & Sue (who gave me tokens for buying a new book...they'd picked up somehow that I enjoy reading!!!) and a sweet card from Julia. I tried to get work done but my phone kept ringing and my mobile kept buzzing and then Pete started to build a magnificent bonfire, wigwam-style, in the driveway, so I gave up all pretense of working. Pippa (one of the discipleship year pastors) took me out for a lovely cup of tea and slice of birthday cake at a cafe overlooking a lake in the nature preserve and then I got home and helped prepare food. Julia, who used to work for a professional stylist, then helped me put together a glamorous, cold-weather birthday outfit that meant I wouldn't have to wear a coat (gloves and scarf were very necessary, however). I love having my own stylist--and her closet-- one bedroom door over!
By 7:45, 15 minutes after the official start of the party, everything was ready. Dave (who'd been poring over fireworks catalogues for weeks) had them set up on the lawn, Pete couldn't wait to set off the bonfire with his beloved blow torch, and Sue had broiled 40 sizzling sausages. The onions were fried, the chips and dips ready, the cakes and toffees laid out, everything. We sat quietly in the kitchen, enjoying the calm before the storm, until I quipped, "You know how at the start of every party you wonder if anyone is going to come? Well, that's how I feel right now!"
A few minutes later, though, one person came. Then two, then three and suddenly the kitchen was crowded and we enlisted everyone to carry the food and drinks out to the big table set out in the hedge-enclosed driveway. Then someone called, "Stephanie, there's a horde of people coming down the driveway!" and sure enough, there was a well-bundled, chatty, happy crowd heading down the path.
"More friends!" I cried gleefully and ran from person to person getting hugs, kisses (from the girls), cards and even some presents (lots of wine and chocolate...yay! I shared the wine but hid the chocolate away). Before long there must have been about 40 people present, and Pete torchd off the bonfire to cheers.
After serving hot sausages and mulled wine, everyone walked through the hedge arch separating the driveway from the garden (yard) where the crowd lined up and waited expectantly for fireworks. I must admit I was pretty nervous about this, because even though Dave had been doing lots of research on how to (literally) get the most bang for the buck, we only had €35, and for days guests had been coming up to me saying, "I am *so* excited about the fireworks at your party!" However, I needn't have worried. Dave had arranged two separate fireworks displays and each one filled the air with showers of rockets and stars. There were even the fun crackly ones that I always love to listen to. The crowd oohed and aahed---and once, when a firework ricocheted off a branch and headed towards us before exploding above our heads--screamed and ducked, and then nearly fell over laughing at our fright. It was awesome! We all loved it and all had a blast.
In the break between fireworks we passed out sparklers and they sang to me and I blew out the candles on my birthday cake. As guests walked in ones and twos back through the hedge arch, I stood on the other side watching. At first I was waiting to get through to the kitchen door, and then I just stopped and marveled as each person came through the arch. With the exception of a few friends of Steve, whom I hadn't met before (but who were very welcome), I knew every single person there. Most came from Discipleship Year and small group, as well as a few other ministries I am part of, like prayer on the streets and children's work. And I knew some of them quite well after weeks of serving alongside them.
"I can't believe I didn't know anybody two months ago," I said to my friend Libby (also a Discipleship Year pastor) who was standing with me.
"Just think, all of these people are here because they love you," she said.
"I can't believe it," I said. "It's so amazing. God has blessed me so much with this community."
For awhile I simply wandered happily among the various groups, from those in the kitchen heating mulled wine (you rock, Tim B.!) to those in the garden to those gathered around the food table and the bonfire. It was a perfect night...cold with some clouds, but still stars, and everyone was scarfed and mittened and hatted and happy. Most of the party is kind of a blur, but I remember laughing and laughing and laughing. There was more of the usual teasing about my accent, but when one of the guys jokingly made a disparaging comment about me, "that rude American," a whole group of girls flew to my defense and wouldn't even let him joke about it. I just cheerfully told him if he kept it up I'd shove him into the fire (not a nice thing to say, admittedly, but it was funny).
As it got towards 11 p.m., folks started to leave (it was Monday night, after all), but a hardy group of about 20 pulled up chairs around the fire and we roasted marshmallows and chatted. Folks finally left about 11:15 and Sue and I stayed up until midnight cleaning and talking about the party.
The next morning I received a flurry of wonderful birthday cards from dear friends and family members in the States, all hoping that I felt loved and celebrated. Trust me, I did. Thanks to the Granges and my wonderful new community, I couldn't have had a better birthday.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Chatsworth House and grounds
I decide which book I would pull off the library shelves, were I allowed.
One of Mom's favorite sculptures (a copy of the bust is in the Minneapolis Institute of Art), only this time the Vestal Virgin gets a touch of Christmas festivity. (Yes, we visited on Nov. 3, but the English really get into the whole Christmas spirit thing...early).
It may have been Christmassy inside the house, but outside it was pure autumn bliss.
I pose with my traveling companions and fellow disciples Ruth and Jo. We left Nottingham at 8 a.m. on Saturday morning and traveled by bus about 2.5 hours, stopping in the city of Derby and then little villages as we wound our way into the Peak District and then to Chatsworth House. We spent an hour exploring the house itself but then four hours having a blast on the grounds. We walked all through the formal gardens and got lost in the hedge maze, we traipsed through woods and over bridges, we climbed alongside fountains and took a tram tour of the woods on the ridge and an Elizabethan hunting tower. We picknicked on a ledge overlooking the valley and then had tea and cake in the stables-turned-restaurant. We finally left at 4:15 p.m., took a bus to the village of Matlock and puttered around a bit there before catching another bus back to Nottingham. We arrived home around 7, tired but very happy with our exciting day.Tuesday, October 30, 2007
What a Week
"Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are -- chaff and grain together -- certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away." -George Eliot (pen name of Mary Ann Evans), novelist (1819-1880)
I pulled this quote from17 pens , my pal Michael's blog. I love it.
I don't even know where to begin writing about the last week. The last week has been intense but amazing and just, overall, good. Very, very good. I feel such contentment and peace about being here in England, doing this work. This morning my friend Laura came for tea and we sat in my peaceful, quiet, sunny bedroom chatting and just being. I sat there, perched on the bed, clutching my tea and watching the shifting sunlight, blown about by the apple tree branches outside the window, move in patterns over Laura's lovely face. And I felt again that encompassing peace. I didn't even really want to talk, and Laura understood (although, as you can imagine, I was soon talking plenty!)
I do worry about next year and wonder where on earth I will be. I realized the other day that, during all of last year as I prayed and discerned about doing this Discipleship Year program here in Nottingham, I was more or less planning on returning to Chicago since I was in a serious relationship. Even before we were engaged, I just sort of assumed I'd be going back and picking up my life more or less where it left off. And now, of course, there is nothing compelling me to return. Oh, yes, there are marvelous friends and wonderful places and opportunities in Chicago, and I was very happy in my life there. But I do know that when I return, if I stay, it will all be different. Everyone will have changed, everyone will have moved on, in a sense. And I will have moved on, as well. Consider the experiences I've been having lately. It's impossible to NOT be transformed.
Last Wednesday Julia and I went shopping for Soup Run. Twice a week a team from Trent Vineyard goes out into the city centre with sandwiches, crisps, chocolate and cold and hot drinks. We go to meet the homeless population, and they all know that we'll be out and they look for us, as well. It was my first time on Soup Run and I wasn't sure how it would all come together, but it really wasn't hard at all. Jules and I went to Sainsbury's and bought the stuff on the list: fruit, bread, meat and cheese, chocolate, crisps, squash (the drink, not the veggie), plastic bags, etc. We were famished and treated ourselves to McDonalds on the way back to church. We did arrive 5 minutes late (due to the long line at Sainsbury's, not our McDonalds stop) but received much merciless ribbing. We brought all of the food into the church kitchen, where small group leaders were waiting to assemble it all, but left our Mickey Ds out in the hall. Then Julia and I snuck into the hall and began quickly eating our hamburgers, hoping to escape notice. However, group leader (and youth pastor) James happened to stick his head into the hall. He saw us and his face fell.
"You went to MacDonalds?" he asked (they all say it with a pronounced "Mac" here). "And you didn't get me any?"
Then he stuck his head back into the kitchen.
"Come here, everyone," he called. "Come see why the girls were late."
I sensibly slipped behind a pillar but Julia squared her shoulders and planted her feet in defiance and began cramming her Big Mac into her mouth with a look of pure rebellion on her face.
"MacDonalds?" Nathan exclaimed. "Julia, that's disgraceful!"
"I'm not sorry," Jules said, glaring at him as she continued to stuff her burger into her mouth. Much merriment ensued.
We made about 50 sandwiches and picked up the rucksacks filled with thermos bottles, hot drink makings, emergency supplies and things like socks and dog food. Then we headed out to the city centre. After splitting into two teams, we wandered around the city, looking for someone who might want a hot drink or some food.
We finally settled on the steps of the downtown Marks & Spencer department store and set up a little drinks station there as the guys started coming. We chatted with them for a long time--I spent a very long time talking with one man who was telling me all of his conspiracy theories about JFK, Tony Blair and everything in between. We gave out sandwiches and the other food, as well as lots of tea, hot chocolate, coffee and even some soup (hence the name: Soup Run). Then we all went off to a pub where a friend's band was playing for a farewell event (or, as they say here, a "leaving do").
As we walked towards the pub, I saw Steve, one of our group members, walking ahead looking rather dejected. I caught up to him and asked him what was wrong.
"Well, I was just thinking about what we're going to do now, versus what those guys are going back to," he said. And he was right. We'd finished our job and were off to enjoy ourselves in warmth and comfort once more. And these men were going back to their difficult lives on the streets. Living rough, they call it here.
The next morning I was down at The Arches, as usual, doing project working (meeting wih the clients and helping them get what they need), as usual. I recognized a few of the guys I'd met on Soup Run and said hello. One man came in for a shower so I helped him get some toiletries and a change of clothes together. He rifled without shame through the bin of donated, (gently) used underwear and socks, and went off for his shower, leaving quite a trail of scent behind him but pleased with a change of clothes. He was about my age.
I also helped a young woman a few years younger who'd come in with her 12-day-old baby boy. "Sharon" had just received legal refugee status after having fled Eritrea and coming to England seeking political asylum. Her tiny new son looked like a precious doll, and he slept through the entire interview. Since Sharon had received status and been given a flat, we knew that all she had was a cooker, microwave and mattress on the floor, and I was allowed to be generous, especially as her fiance is expected to join her from Sudan in a few weeks. However, when we went back to the Furniture Arches, there was nothing there. We haven't had many donations lately and it had all been claimed.
While we were looking, though, the church van pulled up. My friend Jen explained that a woman had just died and her daughter donated the entire contents of the house to the Arches. Sharon was right there standing with me and we were able to claim it all for her: double bed, matching wardrobe and chest of drawers, dining room table with four chairs, sofa, display cabinet, mirror, etc. Sharon just couldn't believe and neither could I, hardly. I wish the woman who so generously donated her mother's things had been there to see the immediate difference they had made in the life of a new young family just getting ready to start over in a foreign land.
Friday I spent all day at church doing fun Discipleship Year team day stuff, as usual, but then that night I was on the Cabin rota. The Cabin is similar to the Soup Run except the team brings out a little camper-trailer (they call it a caravan), hook up a generator, and serve hot food from it in a parking lot.
My fellow disciple Pete and I were just there to help, so we rode in the cab of the truck out to Sneinton Market, where the homeless and poor guys (and a few girls) were waiting. We helped set up tables and chairs in front, and then a couple dropped off the food: pots of hot chili, lots of baked potatoes, bags of cheese and bread. Another team came and served hot drinks from one window, as well as passing out sandwich packs, while Pete and I dished up the hot food. Some men were very pleasant and polite, some were ... not. "How come his is bigger than mine?", "Oi, I want more chili," "Don't put any cheese on mine," "Chili and potatoes again? What happened to the Caribbean chicken," were just a few of the comments. However, the teacher in me refused to be bullied and I made the guys wait their turn and didn't give them special food unless a) they asked nicely and b)there was enough. Later Pete told me he was impressed with how strict I was. But I kind of had to be. Many of them were drunk or stoned so it was pretty much like dealing with a bunch of toddlers!
Of course, they weren't all like that. Some of the men were very pleasant and polite. My accent always gives away my nationality, of course, so I talked to several of them about America. After the food was gone two of the guys stood up by the window and talked with me. One of them has traveled quite a lot in the West, so we talked about that. The other was pretty out of it. He is just 20, he said, but he was missing most of his teeth. His black hair was incredibly greasy and obviously hadn't been washed in a long time. He didn't speak clearly at all and was very hard to understand. He started telling Cary (one of the other helpers) and me about how he is trying to get off meth and a few other drugs. His father started giving him drugs when he was just a boy. He spent most of his teen years in jail. As I watched him and listened to him, my heart just broke. "God had so many different plans for you," I thought. "He wanted you to grow up in a healthy family where you were loved and where you thrived. You could be a successful young man starting out in business right now, or a university student. Intead, you are here, broken and bruised and quite possibly beyond true redemption." I prayed a lot for him that night.
I was surprised, though, that both young men began asking me about God and whether or not I was a Christian. I guess they know we're there from a church, so these questions come up even though I don't introduce them. The young guy told us about how he attended some Bible studies in jail and how he liked reading the Bible now, but that it was hard on the streets to find a warm place with lights where he wouldn't be kicked out.
After awhile we shut the Cabin up and drove back to church, but the day still wasn't over. There was a women's ministry event that night, attended by about 300 ladies, and I had to help break down the tables and chairs. I rode my bike home very wearily and fell into bed around 11 p.m.
The next morning was Saturday and I got up early enough to watch an episode of "Friends" while eating my cereal, but then I was on the train into town to meet the others for our biweekly Ministry on the Streets event. (For stories from that event, gohere ). Afterwards I spent two hours at a cafe working on editing a paper for a Northwestern grad student (something I get paid handsomely to do, so I didn't mind) and then my friend Ruthie met up with me. We went to the bus station to inquire about our upcoming trip to Chatsworth House on Nov. 3, then caught the train back to my place. Soon a few other friends had arrived and a lively game of "Ticket to Ride" was in progress, followed by a girlie night spent watching "Dirty Dancing."
Sunday morning I was coordinating the 9-11s room at church. We had 35 kids and started with only 3 teachers, not a good plan when we're all crammed into a tiny room, but a few others got cajoled into helping. It was a hectic but very fun morning and the lesson plan and curriculum I prepared seemed to go over really well, even the teaching bit where I gave the kids a mini-sermon. They also seemed very enthralled and had a good time.
I was back at home to polish off that paper for the NU student and send it off, then enjoyed a lovely roast pork dinner with the family before I had to get on my bike and go BACK to church, this time for choir rehearsal. They've put together a special choir for the Christmas carol service on Dec. 9, which is always a really big deal. That was very fun and the choir is quite good, but I couldn't stay for the entire rehearsal because I had to get down to the auditorium to do set-up for the evening service (it's true. When you are on Discipleship Year they work you very hard!). By this point I was insanely exhausted and nearly falling over, but I made it through the service and clean-up somehow and staggered home on my bike at about 10:30 p.m.
Yesterday was much more relaxed (I slept in until 9 a.m.!!!) but I spent much of it preparing to teach a course on prayer that evening. I'm helping to lead the MORE course, which our pastor Ade pioneered to help new Christians learn about the Christian life and healthy spiritual habits. I was excited to teach on prayer (I distributed my "Meeting with God" booklet--download the PDF from the link list at left) and had a fun PowerPoint presentation to help the 30-or-so adults engage as I told lots of stories and outlined some practical ideas for prayer. I was very nervous before beginning but actually had a GREAT time standing up there (in the same spot and same room where I'd taught the kids the day before, actually) getting to wax eloquently about intimacy with Jesus, one of my very favorite subjects. We followed it up with small group discussion and afterwards several people gave me excellent feedback. I think it was a very helpful session and really helped to demystify and "deguilt" the whole concept of prayer.
So that was my week. Today is quiet and I have to do some journalism work, but tomorrow it all starts again, first when I have coffee with my mentor, then with an evening core group meeting for the small group (the leaders asked me to join it), followed by the actual small group. Then on Thursday I'm helping my friend Hannah present two school assemblies about the poor and what we do at the Arches and will be getting involved with preparing and presenting those. It's a never-ending round but I am loving it. I'm just loving it. Although, if I didn't have these quiet Monday-Wednesday mornings, I'd surely be tearing my hair out by now.
I pulled this quote from
I don't even know where to begin writing about the last week. The last week has been intense but amazing and just, overall, good. Very, very good. I feel such contentment and peace about being here in England, doing this work. This morning my friend Laura came for tea and we sat in my peaceful, quiet, sunny bedroom chatting and just being. I sat there, perched on the bed, clutching my tea and watching the shifting sunlight, blown about by the apple tree branches outside the window, move in patterns over Laura's lovely face. And I felt again that encompassing peace. I didn't even really want to talk, and Laura understood (although, as you can imagine, I was soon talking plenty!)
I do worry about next year and wonder where on earth I will be. I realized the other day that, during all of last year as I prayed and discerned about doing this Discipleship Year program here in Nottingham, I was more or less planning on returning to Chicago since I was in a serious relationship. Even before we were engaged, I just sort of assumed I'd be going back and picking up my life more or less where it left off. And now, of course, there is nothing compelling me to return. Oh, yes, there are marvelous friends and wonderful places and opportunities in Chicago, and I was very happy in my life there. But I do know that when I return, if I stay, it will all be different. Everyone will have changed, everyone will have moved on, in a sense. And I will have moved on, as well. Consider the experiences I've been having lately. It's impossible to NOT be transformed.
Last Wednesday Julia and I went shopping for Soup Run. Twice a week a team from Trent Vineyard goes out into the city centre with sandwiches, crisps, chocolate and cold and hot drinks. We go to meet the homeless population, and they all know that we'll be out and they look for us, as well. It was my first time on Soup Run and I wasn't sure how it would all come together, but it really wasn't hard at all. Jules and I went to Sainsbury's and bought the stuff on the list: fruit, bread, meat and cheese, chocolate, crisps, squash (the drink, not the veggie), plastic bags, etc. We were famished and treated ourselves to McDonalds on the way back to church. We did arrive 5 minutes late (due to the long line at Sainsbury's, not our McDonalds stop) but received much merciless ribbing. We brought all of the food into the church kitchen, where small group leaders were waiting to assemble it all, but left our Mickey Ds out in the hall. Then Julia and I snuck into the hall and began quickly eating our hamburgers, hoping to escape notice. However, group leader (and youth pastor) James happened to stick his head into the hall. He saw us and his face fell.
"You went to MacDonalds?" he asked (they all say it with a pronounced "Mac" here). "And you didn't get me any?"
Then he stuck his head back into the kitchen.
"Come here, everyone," he called. "Come see why the girls were late."
I sensibly slipped behind a pillar but Julia squared her shoulders and planted her feet in defiance and began cramming her Big Mac into her mouth with a look of pure rebellion on her face.
"MacDonalds?" Nathan exclaimed. "Julia, that's disgraceful!"
"I'm not sorry," Jules said, glaring at him as she continued to stuff her burger into her mouth. Much merriment ensued.
We made about 50 sandwiches and picked up the rucksacks filled with thermos bottles, hot drink makings, emergency supplies and things like socks and dog food. Then we headed out to the city centre. After splitting into two teams, we wandered around the city, looking for someone who might want a hot drink or some food.
We finally settled on the steps of the downtown Marks & Spencer department store and set up a little drinks station there as the guys started coming. We chatted with them for a long time--I spent a very long time talking with one man who was telling me all of his conspiracy theories about JFK, Tony Blair and everything in between. We gave out sandwiches and the other food, as well as lots of tea, hot chocolate, coffee and even some soup (hence the name: Soup Run). Then we all went off to a pub where a friend's band was playing for a farewell event (or, as they say here, a "leaving do").
As we walked towards the pub, I saw Steve, one of our group members, walking ahead looking rather dejected. I caught up to him and asked him what was wrong.
"Well, I was just thinking about what we're going to do now, versus what those guys are going back to," he said. And he was right. We'd finished our job and were off to enjoy ourselves in warmth and comfort once more. And these men were going back to their difficult lives on the streets. Living rough, they call it here.
The next morning I was down at The Arches, as usual, doing project working (meeting wih the clients and helping them get what they need), as usual. I recognized a few of the guys I'd met on Soup Run and said hello. One man came in for a shower so I helped him get some toiletries and a change of clothes together. He rifled without shame through the bin of donated, (gently) used underwear and socks, and went off for his shower, leaving quite a trail of scent behind him but pleased with a change of clothes. He was about my age.
I also helped a young woman a few years younger who'd come in with her 12-day-old baby boy. "Sharon" had just received legal refugee status after having fled Eritrea and coming to England seeking political asylum. Her tiny new son looked like a precious doll, and he slept through the entire interview. Since Sharon had received status and been given a flat, we knew that all she had was a cooker, microwave and mattress on the floor, and I was allowed to be generous, especially as her fiance is expected to join her from Sudan in a few weeks. However, when we went back to the Furniture Arches, there was nothing there. We haven't had many donations lately and it had all been claimed.
While we were looking, though, the church van pulled up. My friend Jen explained that a woman had just died and her daughter donated the entire contents of the house to the Arches. Sharon was right there standing with me and we were able to claim it all for her: double bed, matching wardrobe and chest of drawers, dining room table with four chairs, sofa, display cabinet, mirror, etc. Sharon just couldn't believe and neither could I, hardly. I wish the woman who so generously donated her mother's things had been there to see the immediate difference they had made in the life of a new young family just getting ready to start over in a foreign land.
Friday I spent all day at church doing fun Discipleship Year team day stuff, as usual, but then that night I was on the Cabin rota. The Cabin is similar to the Soup Run except the team brings out a little camper-trailer (they call it a caravan), hook up a generator, and serve hot food from it in a parking lot.
My fellow disciple Pete and I were just there to help, so we rode in the cab of the truck out to Sneinton Market, where the homeless and poor guys (and a few girls) were waiting. We helped set up tables and chairs in front, and then a couple dropped off the food: pots of hot chili, lots of baked potatoes, bags of cheese and bread. Another team came and served hot drinks from one window, as well as passing out sandwich packs, while Pete and I dished up the hot food. Some men were very pleasant and polite, some were ... not. "How come his is bigger than mine?", "Oi, I want more chili," "Don't put any cheese on mine," "Chili and potatoes again? What happened to the Caribbean chicken," were just a few of the comments. However, the teacher in me refused to be bullied and I made the guys wait their turn and didn't give them special food unless a) they asked nicely and b)there was enough. Later Pete told me he was impressed with how strict I was. But I kind of had to be. Many of them were drunk or stoned so it was pretty much like dealing with a bunch of toddlers!
Of course, they weren't all like that. Some of the men were very pleasant and polite. My accent always gives away my nationality, of course, so I talked to several of them about America. After the food was gone two of the guys stood up by the window and talked with me. One of them has traveled quite a lot in the West, so we talked about that. The other was pretty out of it. He is just 20, he said, but he was missing most of his teeth. His black hair was incredibly greasy and obviously hadn't been washed in a long time. He didn't speak clearly at all and was very hard to understand. He started telling Cary (one of the other helpers) and me about how he is trying to get off meth and a few other drugs. His father started giving him drugs when he was just a boy. He spent most of his teen years in jail. As I watched him and listened to him, my heart just broke. "God had so many different plans for you," I thought. "He wanted you to grow up in a healthy family where you were loved and where you thrived. You could be a successful young man starting out in business right now, or a university student. Intead, you are here, broken and bruised and quite possibly beyond true redemption." I prayed a lot for him that night.
I was surprised, though, that both young men began asking me about God and whether or not I was a Christian. I guess they know we're there from a church, so these questions come up even though I don't introduce them. The young guy told us about how he attended some Bible studies in jail and how he liked reading the Bible now, but that it was hard on the streets to find a warm place with lights where he wouldn't be kicked out.
After awhile we shut the Cabin up and drove back to church, but the day still wasn't over. There was a women's ministry event that night, attended by about 300 ladies, and I had to help break down the tables and chairs. I rode my bike home very wearily and fell into bed around 11 p.m.
The next morning was Saturday and I got up early enough to watch an episode of "Friends" while eating my cereal, but then I was on the train into town to meet the others for our biweekly Ministry on the Streets event. (For stories from that event, go
Sunday morning I was coordinating the 9-11s room at church. We had 35 kids and started with only 3 teachers, not a good plan when we're all crammed into a tiny room, but a few others got cajoled into helping. It was a hectic but very fun morning and the lesson plan and curriculum I prepared seemed to go over really well, even the teaching bit where I gave the kids a mini-sermon. They also seemed very enthralled and had a good time.
I was back at home to polish off that paper for the NU student and send it off, then enjoyed a lovely roast pork dinner with the family before I had to get on my bike and go BACK to church, this time for choir rehearsal. They've put together a special choir for the Christmas carol service on Dec. 9, which is always a really big deal. That was very fun and the choir is quite good, but I couldn't stay for the entire rehearsal because I had to get down to the auditorium to do set-up for the evening service (it's true. When you are on Discipleship Year they work you very hard!). By this point I was insanely exhausted and nearly falling over, but I made it through the service and clean-up somehow and staggered home on my bike at about 10:30 p.m.
Yesterday was much more relaxed (I slept in until 9 a.m.!!!) but I spent much of it preparing to teach a course on prayer that evening. I'm helping to lead the MORE course, which our pastor Ade pioneered to help new Christians learn about the Christian life and healthy spiritual habits. I was excited to teach on prayer (I distributed my "Meeting with God" booklet--download the PDF from the link list at left) and had a fun PowerPoint presentation to help the 30-or-so adults engage as I told lots of stories and outlined some practical ideas for prayer. I was very nervous before beginning but actually had a GREAT time standing up there (in the same spot and same room where I'd taught the kids the day before, actually) getting to wax eloquently about intimacy with Jesus, one of my very favorite subjects. We followed it up with small group discussion and afterwards several people gave me excellent feedback. I think it was a very helpful session and really helped to demystify and "deguilt" the whole concept of prayer.
So that was my week. Today is quiet and I have to do some journalism work, but tomorrow it all starts again, first when I have coffee with my mentor, then with an evening core group meeting for the small group (the leaders asked me to join it), followed by the actual small group. Then on Thursday I'm helping my friend Hannah present two school assemblies about the poor and what we do at the Arches and will be getting involved with preparing and presenting those. It's a never-ending round but I am loving it. I'm just loving it. Although, if I didn't have these quiet Monday-Wednesday mornings, I'd surely be tearing my hair out by now.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Ticket to Ride and Photo Bonanza
I was right. The game came from Mom & Dad. So I opened my birthday present two weeks early. Ooops. But I am very excited about it!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Expressions
Timmy the cat teaches Stephanie how to glower menacingly.
Jen Rankine expresses outrage at a controversial call during the England/South Africa Rugby World Cup game.
Jen prays for God's grace to smile down upon the England team.
Jen is in the depths of despair over the England's sad fate (the prayer was too little, too late, apparently).As I've been uploading photos, updating my blog and thinking about getting to work this morning, I received a pleasant and mysterious surprise. The doorbell just rang and I ran down, expecting the plumber (as our boiler is broken AGAIN!). But it wasn't, it was a man with a massive box. I mean, massive, like about half my size. I figured it was for someone else in the house but when I opened the door he said, "Are you Stephanie?" and I nodded in pleased shock as I signed and brought the box inside. It was huge but fairly light and was sent from within the UK, so that ruled out overseas care packagages. I ripped it open and, under layers of brown paper, found a white, large box with the words "Hamleys: The Finest Toys in the World" emblazoned on it in red. So I opened that box and was confronted with the sight of loads of gold and red ribbon and stars. At this point I thought, "Hmm...maybe this is an early birthday present. But who in England would mail me such a giant present?" As there was no card I decided I couldn't take the suspense (especially as my Nov. 5 birthday is still two weeks away) and just went ahead and dug through the ribbon and confetti. Finally, at the bottom, I found the board game "Ticket to Ride." No card, but I'm pretty sure it's from my family, perhaps my parents and grandparents, since this is one of their favorite games. It's very fun and has very elegant pieces so I'm very excited to play it. I wonder how they shipped it from a UK company? In 49 minutes it will be 6 a.m. in Mesa and I will be able to call Mom & Dad and find out!!!
I love getting mail. (hint, hint) Let me know if you want my address :)
Mists of October
The other morning there was a very thick mist as I was cycling to church for our Discipleship Year Team Day. I actually had to stop and put my lights on my bike because I was having trouble seeing more than five feet in front of me (I guess qualifying it as a fog, rather than a mist) but the photos turned out lovely! Here are shots from the British Waterways canal I cycle alongside. The shot of me with the tree coming out of my head was a self-portrait I took while exploring the University of Nottingham campus on a sunny day a week ago.
Friday was a long and busy day with team time, theology sessions, cleaning the church, lunch and then setting up and attending a Potential Leaders seminar that night. The next morning the Discipleship Year team was back at church bright and early to serve refreshments for Day 2 of the leaders seminar and we were busy until 4 p.m. I then headed off with my friends Robin and Jida for a walk back into the city centre, where Jida and I abandoned Robin (her husband) to go shopping and do girly things like try on hats and makeup. We grabbed a quick cup of tea and then were back at Jida & Robin's flat for a fast dinner. Since Jida is Israeli-Arab and Robin is Austrian-English, they had yummy Middle Eastern bread, cheese and olives and German sausage. I hadn't realized how my palate was craving some international flavors after the generally bland English food (sorry, new friends). I just couldn't stop eating that sausage and herb feta.Then we were back to church yet again that night for the Rugby World Cup. For you ignorant Americans (like me), the Rugby World Cup only comes once every four years and England barely made the finals this year after two months of semi-finals. They were playing against South Africa and trying to retain their title from 2003. Well, as you can imagine, rugby fever had swept the UK, and Trent Vineyard celebrated by showing the game on their big screen and opening the bar that's in the corner of the sanctuary/auditorium (the bar is for all big evening events and after every Sunday night service). I desperately wanted to be part of the action but don't understand rugby very well, so was thrilled when they asked me to be on the bar team. It was my second time serving on the bar (though I'm now on a monthly rota) and I had a blast. However, there were a couple of hundred people there, and the queue (yes, the English actually queued up for the bar, until James--the bar supervisor and one of the youth pastors--scolded them all and told them to 'crowd round the counter like normal people') stretched halfway across the auditorium. Thanks to all of the people, there was an insane rush on the bar and I poured dozens of pints, opened a lot of bottles (got inadvertently sprayed with warm ale several times, too) and also served a lot of Coke and juice.
Unfortunately, England lost the game by quite a lot (the best part was when a South African player got accidentally pushed over the the barrier and landed on top of a TV cameraman) so there was an extremely subdued atmosphere when the Brits left after the game. However, there were many, many glasses to run through the dishwasher, so the rest of the team and I had our work cut out for us for awhile. It was fun!
The discerning among you may notice that there is no Carlsberg Export actually coming out of this tap into the half-pint glass. That's because I wanted a photo of me actually pouring a pint--in a church--but was too busy to hand the camera to someone until after the event. Jules (my English 'sister') was obliging enough to set this one up with me after the fact.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Ministry on the Streets
If you're wondering what happens when a team of 15 people go out to the crowded city centre on a Saturday morning to pass out chocolate bars with stickers that say, "A token of God's love," then check out this new blog I'm helping with.
Stories on the Street
The team also sets up about four chairs in the city, next to a statue, and have signs that read, "Healing" and "Are you feeling ill? Would you like to feel better? We have seen God heal many hurts and would be happy to pray for you if you'd like. All it costs is a moment of your time."
To be honest, I wasn't sure what kind of response we'd get with this enterprise. But I discovered that folks are very happy to get chocolate bars and some of them even want to know about the church. We honestly don't make a big deal out of telling them about church. We're not out to steal parishioners or throw Bibles at people or anything. It's truly just a way to tangibly show people that we love them, just like we say we do. We're also there to lend a listening ear and, if they desire, to pray with them.
I'm looking forward to going out on a regular basis and gathering all sorts of stories!
P.S. The above blog site is rated PC for Particularly Christian. (Cute, huh?) You all know that I'm also not interested in throwing Bibles at people, and while much of what I post on my blog here has to do with the church work I'm currently involved in, it's not written for a "Christian audience" (a term I rather dislike). However, the other blog is.
The team also sets up about four chairs in the city, next to a statue, and have signs that read, "Healing" and "Are you feeling ill? Would you like to feel better? We have seen God heal many hurts and would be happy to pray for you if you'd like. All it costs is a moment of your time."
To be honest, I wasn't sure what kind of response we'd get with this enterprise. But I discovered that folks are very happy to get chocolate bars and some of them even want to know about the church. We honestly don't make a big deal out of telling them about church. We're not out to steal parishioners or throw Bibles at people or anything. It's truly just a way to tangibly show people that we love them, just like we say we do. We're also there to lend a listening ear and, if they desire, to pray with them.
I'm looking forward to going out on a regular basis and gathering all sorts of stories!
P.S. The above blog site is rated PC for Particularly Christian. (Cute, huh?) You all know that I'm also not interested in throwing Bibles at people, and while much of what I post on my blog here has to do with the church work I'm currently involved in, it's not written for a "Christian audience" (a term I rather dislike). However, the other blog is.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Delighting the spirit
I haven't been homesick yet, although I've started to have twinges for the lovely home I created with Sara and Trudy and then Sara and Erica. I miss small things like my gorgeous walnut dining room set (thanks Carol!) and my soft, white down comforter (thanks Mom & Dad!) and, when I made American-style chocolate chip cookies the other day, I missed my electric hand mixer BIG TIME.
Yet I am happy, oh so happy, because I am where I am supposed to be. Yet I also know how to rejuvenate and relax when it all becomes overwhelming. Here, in no particular order, are some of the little delights that feed my soul and rest my spirit as I live in another country and go through major changes emotionally, physically and vocationally.
Having Internet, a laptop, an iPod and Vonage phone service (allowing me to call America and receive American phone calls for only a low monthly fee) has made a BIG difference in my settling process, too.
1. Scrapbooking, especially while listening to the soundtrack to the new Canadian stage musicalAnne & Gilbert based on two of my beloved Anne books, "Anne of Avonlea" and "Anne of the Island," by L.M. Montgomery.
2.A Prairie Home Companion and The Writer's Almanac , two radio programs featuring Garrison Keillor's familiar, soothing voice that evoke favorite things like poetry, music and Minnesota.
3. Online radio stationPandora , that lets you build the perfect playlist and discover new artists by responding by your feedback as each new song comes on.
4. Cycling along the canal path as the leaves change, exploring historic sites like the Nottingham Castle and discovering pastoral beauty in spots like the Nottingham University campus.
5. Books from the Nottinghamshire public libraries. Just now I'm intoTony Hillerman's Four Corners mystery series and James Herriott's lovely animal stories . Reading James Herriot in the English Midlands, just one town south of Northern England, makes perfect geographic sense. Reading about northeastern Arizona, however, is quite a time traveling experience!
6. Painting with watercolors, as Mom taught me at Howard Lake this summer.
7. Playing Scrabulous on Facebook! And updating my blog.
8. Worshipping and hanging out with my new friends. Kristen and Liz came over today for tea, conversation and prayer and we had a marvelous time.
How do you unwind?
Yet I am happy, oh so happy, because I am where I am supposed to be. Yet I also know how to rejuvenate and relax when it all becomes overwhelming. Here, in no particular order, are some of the little delights that feed my soul and rest my spirit as I live in another country and go through major changes emotionally, physically and vocationally.
Having Internet, a laptop, an iPod and Vonage phone service (allowing me to call America and receive American phone calls for only a low monthly fee) has made a BIG difference in my settling process, too.
1. Scrapbooking, especially while listening to the soundtrack to the new Canadian stage musical
2.
3. Online radio station
4. Cycling along the canal path as the leaves change, exploring historic sites like the Nottingham Castle and discovering pastoral beauty in spots like the Nottingham University campus.
5. Books from the Nottinghamshire public libraries. Just now I'm into
6. Painting with watercolors, as Mom taught me at Howard Lake this summer.
7. Playing Scrabulous on Facebook! And updating my blog.
8. Worshipping and hanging out with my new friends. Kristen and Liz came over today for tea, conversation and prayer and we had a marvelous time.
How do you unwind?
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Home
As I was taking photos of Pasture House last evening (the sun was setting through the clouds...hence the dreary light), Timmy the cat came bounding towards me. I'd just given him his dinner and he wanted to play. He did not want to sit still and have his photo taken, but I did my best.
You'll find more photos here:
Monday, October 08, 2007
London
I spent a very fun day in London last week, purely to sightsee. While I stayed again at my dear friend Nikhita's flat, she was busy all day so I took myself to Picadilly Cirucs, Trafalgar and Leicester Square and enjoyed the treasures of the National Gallery, St Martin-in-the-Fields church local book shops and cafes and also saw the musical Wicked, which is a little funny because it's been showing in Chicago for more than two years. But I got a great seat at a big discount when I wandered around the Picadilly Circus cheap ticket booths that morning, so I took it.
Since I was on my own that day, I asked a nice couple to take a photo of me in front of this fountain in Trafalgar Square. At the last minute their little girl ran into the frame, so here I am with the cute little girl!
Be sure to check out my latest online photo album in the previous post.
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