Stories are Soul Food

This N.D. Wilson post has been around a few times, but I recently re-read it and have been thinking on it since.

Saturday night meditation...

Take me and remake me

do something new

in this darkness.

Give me love that is daring,

willing to be scorched

and open to nails.

Make my roots deep and grounded,

unsatisfied with this,

always thirsting for you.

Teach me to long for something bigger,

give me desire that will hurt,

a passion that will burn hot.

Thrust me in the refiner's fire,

only watch and shape me gently,

always beside me and with me.

Use me in this scene you are always weaving,

feed my lines and my cues patiently,

show me a glimpse of the story.

Just don't leave me to flat comfort or happiness,

never let me outlive my love for you,

forever fill me up and pour me out.

New York

I've visited Pennsylvania many times and she is the very best in October (or so my mildly limited experience tells me). Oregon fall is beautiful because there are deciduous trees and evergreens setting each other off in amazing ways. Also, there is Portland. But Pennsylvania is stunning because it almost entirely sheds summer onto old, expectant graveyards, brick buildings, and long driveways. Yeah, we'll have to talk more about Pennsylvania another day...

This year, I met New York City. And then I came back for a visit and to see just how she looked in the fall.

I know it's horribly mainstream to fall in love with New York... But I could be happy in Brooklyn forever. (Of course, I could be happy almost anywhere I've visited, country or city  :-P, however, Brooklyn does thrill my soul. ;-)

Snapshots-

-The death march of the abundant suitcases and treasure hunt for the subway elevator.

-People--in your way, under your feet, over your head, in your face.

-Phantom of the Opera. Hated the movie. Loved the musical. Once in the second row and once along the wall of the balcony. 

-Times Square at midnight. (And over a dozen other times.)

-Reading about someone walking down King's Highway in my Potok's words while the Subway pulled away from the King's Highway station.

-Reading John together in Trinity Church cemetery and Central Park.

-Seeing friends before and after their wedding. God did something mysterious and is doing something awesome with that grounded romance. J+J, you guys are real and beautiful!

-Worshiping and fellowshipping with newly met brothers and sisters and in a dozen different accents.

-Listening to a concert in a crowded park feeling very pale and uncharaismatic. 

-Watching Aisha spazz in the Lindt store. 

-The Cyclone. Both times with people who said they would never ride a rollercoaster. 

-Listening to Dylan's Tempest in the airplane, the train, the subway.

-Sushi in Little Italy. Yes, we went to Little Italy twice and ordered sushi. But don't worry, we experienced the Italy-ness as well. The best pizza I have ever tasted was down the street. I thought I was ordering a slice and they brought me a whole pie. I'm told their desserts were good too. Also, much energy and arm waving from Italian waiters. 

-Visiting Redeemer Church.

-Seeing Suzy go nuts with her camera all over the city. 

-Tasted gelato for the first time ever. Two scoops of it made out of fresh milk, chopped mint leaves, squeezed lime, and white rum. First ice creamy substance since October 2010. Not that I'd remember...

-Nearly getting run over by individuals jogging with strollers across the Brooklyn bridge...

-Lingering over Memling, Caravaggio, and hundreds of other gifted, amazing paintings. Like this one. Or this one. And so many others. Makes you think about things differently. Makes you see how important art is.

There were a thousand other things too, of course. My idea of seeing the world is going somewhere and really living there for awhile. Holding still and absorbing it. Writing in it. Reading in it. Talking in it. Listening to the violinists under the bridges and standing in the dirty ocean.
But since my Mumsie is an expert planner and efficient world traveler, this last time in New York we saw so much! It was pretty amazing. And I am thankful. :-)

We were there just a few days before Hurricane Sandy. Please keep all the people who's lives have been so changed in your prayers. It's going to be a mess for a long time, and there will be scars left over.

Please pray for King's Chapel, Pastor Troy, and all the saints there who are laboring to help those effected by the storm. They have been and will be continuing to proclaim the Gospel in a tough missionary field.

Thanks for reading,
Bethany

Pictures from my amazing sister. She'll be posting much more about NYC sometime, I'm sure. 

Seasons

As it may appear unto you, I am neglecting this blog very successfully. 

And I'm not going to say anything about being busy, because that is simply to say I live in this place. 

The last few months have included the following-

Flying back and forth across the country a few times, shady bus rides while whispering of deep things, some inauspicious writing, big talks across little coffee tables, unassuming sunsets, and many glorious sunrises. 

Wise words from wrinkled people, baby people, and middeling people. 

Many hours and slow going through new and old work. Fresh ideas and ancient projects. 

Soundtrack of Donne, Herbert, and Auden. Bonhoeffer, Chesterton, and Lewis. Wright, Goff, and Leithart. Potok, Bradbury, and Wilson. 

Also, lots of fragments...

I fully intend to post on Wednesdays from this day forward. Perhaps I shall talk about New York City in one whole blog post cliche. That will be fun. 

God Moves in a Mysterious Way - William Cowper

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.

 Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

 His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.