February 14, 2015

into the peace of these wild things


Into the peace of these wild things
Into the wild of this grace
Into the grace of this blessing
Speak in the peace of this place

- Andrew Peterson -

All my life, I've been trying to find home (aren't we all). It took me a long time to realize that home is not an earthly place, as much as I love both Seattle and France, but that home is in heaven. Andrew Peterson is my favorite author speaking to the why and the how and the when of getting there, most of his work fills my hearts with a little more hope for my day of birth into heaven. I could rattle off a long list of all the books and songs that make the promise of our homecoming even sweeter. I have read The Last Battle maybe twice, but it's last few chapters I could tell you by heart. My friends know that On Jordan's Stormy Banks is my favorite hymn. 

The older I grow, the more promises of home I see in my life. Some days the gifts are loud and clear; some days I have to look for them. I see it in the sky often. God delights to let us glimpse the light of heaven through cracks in the walls of heaven. Sometimes I see it in the mountains, standing firm and unmoving (but alive) as far as my eyes can see. Sometimes heaven swirls in the water, slapping against the hull of my boat or running icy cold through my fingers. Sometimes I see heaven in the faces of my friends: on the day they pledged their love, when they come back from adventures lived beyond the scope of our hometowns, when we sit together after church. Sometimes, I see it in the middle of a loud house with seven children running in every direction, and sometimes, I see it in the setting sun, playing off my cousins' faces and the small moments of peace in an tiny Alpine apartment.

We were never intended to live a in a world where life has a beginning and an end. We are "children of eternity" and our souls are never content with the home we build for ourselves. Home is a word that we are ever searching after and trying to understand. Home is where you make it, home is with the people you love, home is where your heart is, home is.... Especially these days, when I am far from my family and american loved ones, but filled with the love of my family and friends here, I spend a lot of time trying to figure out where my home is. Do I belong in Seattle? Should I be here? The problem is, no matter how at home I feel in a place or with a person, there will always be some part of my soul that will hunger after a greater home. I will always be searching, until I one day reach that healthful shore. Until then, my home hungry soul will have to content itself with the promises of home that God gives me: the gifts of peace and hope in the midst of all the wild things of life.

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound. 
We, we are bound.


February 13, 2015

Les Grisons



Greuzi! I bring greetings from five days in the sun bathed Alps! We could not have asked for better weather and I'm sorry (not sorry) for all the pictures of sparkling snow, blue skies, and cute little boys. A #1 picked up skiing again with greater veracity and will than last year. A #2 needed more than a little encouragement and frequent sledding breaks, but will make it big, too. I skied with my uncle on Tuesday afternoon, up against the sky. It was the one of the most freeing days of ski I have ever had, and I went a little to fast all afternoon. I'm home now, a little freerer and a little pinker.

February 4, 2015

La Poupette


I fled to the country with some of my favorite people this weekend. It rained and snowed and some folks braved the weather and put their muscles to work cutting wood and some of us stayed inside and drank tea. But then we cooked pancakes and bacon and scrambled eggs for them on Sunday morning, so. It was a short weekend, but restful after my internship. This week I'm up to my ears in homework, writing application essays, buying groceries, and of course, preparing for The Wedding, but it's good to have a week of the grind in between weeks of adventure every morning.