Wheee.... White rabbit, everyone!

Some slightly jumbled quotes/distillations from the last three chapters of "Spiritual Depression: Its Causes and Cure" by Martyn Lloyd-Jones. One of the most beneficial, gentle, straightforward, honest Christian books I have ever read.

When filled with worry: Come to God in prayer. First, use worship/adoration to come face-to-face with God. Second, use supplication to bring your problems to God. Then, use thanksgiving to praise God for being your Father, for loving you so much that even your hairs are numbered.
The Gospel is concerned about you, not your circumstances! God promises that “you will be kept in peace in spite of” your circumstances. He is the one who is going to do something—not you, not your prayer. This peace works by showing you Jesus Christ. God cannot forsake you!
It does not matter what you’re worrying about: “Be careful for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.” In everything, no matter how big or small. (“The Peace of God”, Spiritual Depression, L-J)

You are to be self-sufficient, independent, free, no matter what your circumstances. The apostle Paul was “not mastered or controlled by circumstances. By all means if you can improve your circumstances by fair and legitimate means, do so; but if you cannot, and if you have to remain in a trying and difficult position, do not be mastered by it, do not let it get you down, do not let it control you, do not let it determine your misery or your joy.”
I do not depend for my happiness upon what is happening to me.
Remember these steps:
Conditions are always changing, therefore I must obviously not be dependent upon conditions.
What matters supremely and vitally is my soul and my relationship to God. That is the first thing.
God is concerned about me as my Father, and nothing happens to me apart from God. Even the hairs of my head are numbered. Do not forget that!
God’s will and God’s ways are a great mystery, but I know that whatever He wills or permits is of necessity for my good.
Every situation in life is the unfolding of some manifestation of God’s love and goodness. Therefore my business is to look for this peculiar manifestation of God’s goodness and kindness and to be prepared for surprises and blessings because ‘His ways are not my ways, neither His thoughts my thoughts.’ Paul was taught through physical weakness God’s grace.
I must regard circumstances not in and of themselves but as part of God’s dealings with me in the work of perfecting my soul.
Whatever my condition may be at this present moment, they are only temporary, and they can never rob me of the joy and the glory that ultimately await me with Christ.
Learn to find your pleasure and satisfaction in Christ. (“Learning To Be Content”, Spiritual Depression, L-J)

Christ is all-sufficient for every circumstance, for every eventuality and possibility. A mighty power enters into us; it is a life that is pulsating in us. It is an activity, and an activity on the part of God. God is doing something in and through you.
Christ infuses so much strength and power into you that you are strong for all things. You are not alone, struggling against mighty odds. Great power from Christ Himself has entered you and is there as a dynamo, an energy, a strength. Not I only, not Christ only, I and Christ, Christ and I, two of us.
Use the indirect approach! I must get to know and concentrate on knowing Christ. I must read the Bible, exercise, practice my faith in all its fullness. Abiding is active.
God controls the supply and the power. He infuses it.
Do not agonize in prayer beseeching God for power. Do what He has told you to do. Live the Christian life. Pray, and meditate on Him. Spend time with Him and ask Him to manifest Himself to you. And as long as you do that you can leave the rest to Him. He will give you strength…. He knows us better than we know ourselves, and according to our need so will be our supply. (“The Final Cure”, Spiritual Depression, L-J)

Now Playing: Canned Heat, "Going Up The Country."

Look it up on YouTube and find some pretty ridiculous videos! Courtesy The Blind Side, which has this song during the credits.

We're missing Laura, Keith, and Will, who flew out this morning from Tulsa. I've been writing letters, Facebook messages, and blog posts most of the day and reading Spiritual Depression. We raked eleven bags of leaves.

This is one of those awful-looking photos that people upload to the web thinking, "Aw, my kitty is the cutest in the world! Let's put it up on some website of cute animal photos so that everyone can be subjected to it!" This cat is not cute. She bites, scratches, and jumps on anything that moves.

My longsuffering mother smiling away at the end of the table....

You'd need to be longsuffering with these goons around!

Now Playing: Sufjan Stevens, "Seven Swans," "All The Trees Of The Field Will Clap Their Hands."

So... birthday.

A lovely late autumn day--crisp, blue sky, made even better by the prospect of not having to work on grad school applications all day. Of course, my dad and Stephen had already eaten breakfast, so I sat down alone, until my mother came back from her early-morning walk. "You're not supposed to be up yet!" she exclaimed and set a big box of bagels down on the table. I ate half of one--really good, soft and sweet, with a chewy skin.

I had practically the whole gym to myself this morning, except for the pump class happening in the studio. So I was able to use the weight machines without feeling like a wimp for once, which was nice.

After a shower I settled down to do my quiet time. God blessed it especially today. Finding my feet again after a few weeks of drifting. I cried twice today: once when I was reading the prayer from The Valley--and once when I was cutting up onions this evening....

Philip, Laura, Keith, and Will arrived at about noon. Laura, Keith, and Will had flown in to Tulsa from Geneva, and Philip had driven them over in his car. He said that it had no acceleration and roared particularly loudly with all the extra weight. Laura bounced all over the house, let the guinea pig lick her face, admired her newly-painted bedroom, asked to bake bread.

We sat down to lunch. Leftovers. Conversation was lively, my mother asking Keith, Will, and Laura loads of questions about classes and professors. My mother was baking tomorrow's turkey, and the smell filled the house.

After lunch, we all somehow settled down in the living room. Philip was mucking about with his laptop again, and Keith sat in the dining room, talking to my mother. Will and Laura were "studying" for Bible, which meant pretending to read the Old Testament but actually arguing and shooting rubber bands at each other. Stephen worked on Latin homework and asked me grammatical questions. I replied to e-mails and Facebook posts on my laptop amid the mayhem.

At about three o'clock, my father came home early from work. I went upstairs for a wee bit. The upper floor was completely silent, cool, full of sunshine from the west-facing windows.

When I went back downstairs, I played around with my journal for awhile, and then I helped my mother with tea. Donned an apron and plunged in. Anna was slagging me off for liking to cut up vegetables recently, but you pretty much have to like cutting up vegetables in this household--especially when the main dish for the evening is curry with loads of vegetables in it (sorry, Emmaline :o). Cut up onions, red and green bell peppers, mushrooms, broccoli, and garlic. Laura stole slices of mushroom.

The boys went outside to play basketball. Laura sat at the dining room table and drank a big cup of black tea, which subsequently made her extremely hyper. She was quite proud of the fact that her hands were trembling. My mother was snipping the tips off of artichoke leaves, then carving the turkey, then heating meatballs in the oven, then frying tofu.

Pots of artichokes on the stove boiled out clouds and clouds of steam and their peculiar rich, sweet smell. I set the table. My mother made curry sauce--cinnamon, curry powder, turmeric, tomato sauce.

All eight of us sat down to eat at the long table. We ate artichokes and butter, then curry and rice, and grapefruit. Pretty much a perfect meal. At seven o'clock, the grandparents arrived, and we had ice cream and cake for dessert. I opened presents, and then everyone sat around the living room and talked.

At one end of the room, Keith, Will, my mother, and the grandmothers were talking about "eating everything but the intestines." At the other end, Laura was explaining playing the cello to my grandfather, and my dad and Philip were talking about computer programming.

The grandparents left at about half eight. We all settled down in the living room and had family worship. Then my mother sent Laura up to bed--she, Keith, and Will had been up since half two this morning! Philip practiced chords for his jazz piano lessons on the piano while Keith, Will, my mother, and I discussed the new Psalter. I made cards in a corner on the floor.

And now the house has suddenly become mysteriously quiet. I suspect that everyone is in bed--except maybe Philip and Keith across the hall. Sufjan Stevens is pretty much perfect for this moment: mellow, acoustic, upbeat. Owls are hooting outside.

Now Playing: Jon Foreman, "Limbs and Branches [Spring and Summer]", "Deep In Your Eyes (There Is A River)".

Today was my first full-ish day of work at Crepe Myrtle. I arrived just as the lunch rush was beginning at half eleven. Since an OSU football game was scheduled for this evening, the area around campus was unusually busy for a Thursday noon, and customers kept coming into the restaurant well after two o'clock, when the rush usually ends.

So I was thrown into the deep end. Laurel, my boss, let me wait on two tables at a time instead of a whole section, but in between taking orders and refilling drinks, I tried to keep the ice bin filled, bus other people's tables, seat customers as they entered the restaurant, and stand near Laurel when she was taking orders so that I could see how it was done.

We had an interesting variety of customers today: a British couple who were very, very soft-spoken, except that they wanted milk with their tea, which sent me scrambling among the mysterious refrigerators under the counter in search of a nearly empty jug.

The smell of frying oil filled the restaurant, and the air was hot from bodies moving quickly, zipping in and out between tables and booths. At last, when people began to leave, Laurel showed me how to help with cleaning: disinfecting countertops, sweeping the floor.

 I felt as though I was scrambling all day, running, running, running--running on eggshells because the floors are perpetually slippery, and everything has to be done quickly but without slipping and spilling a trayful of drinks or big plates of food.

By four o'clock, only one group of people was left in the restaurant. I was hopelessly late for meeting Rachel, so I bussed the two tables I had left and "checked out," a mysterious process whereby Laurel reckoned up my tips and discovered that yes, I had made above minimum wage.

With that reassurance, and an untidy wad of cash in my purse, I rang Rachel to apologize and began the trek out to her house. Generally I love the drive out to the Ss' house, but today the town was crazy with people in for the football game. Still, stopping the car at a stop sign near their property, I had time to look out over green fields hazy with rosy dust from the roads, and the sunshine gilding the trees along the creek.

Rachel and I walked out in their pasture and stood chest-high in grass to discuss Burroughs, which we've been reading together. Being outside was magnificent. Late afternoon was perfect: cool southeast breeze, high powder-blue sky veiled with loops of clouds going pearly, the low sunshine striking white from the supple copper buffalo grass. After such a good summer, the grass was very thick, rich shades of umber and russet, and Rachel and I absently scattered fluffy white seeds while we walked. Plumes of seeds dazzling as the sun went down.

At home, my father and Stephen had already left for the biweekly practice in Ponca City. My mother and I ate leftovers for tea. After tea, I went upstairs and rang Katie so that we could sort out plans for this weekend. Then I took a couple of minutes to breathe and check e-mail before my mother and I took Moochy for a walk.

The night was dark, of course, streetlights throwing splashes of orange light over the road between huge dark patches of shadow. Yellow house lights punctuating the deep darkness under big trees. Overhead, the sky was full of stars and milky with clouds reflecting the opalescent glow from the town and the big stadium lights. At the end of the road, at a cul-de-sac, we found three deer grazing perhaps five hundred yards away. Instead of tearing after them, Moochy sat perfectly still, and the three of us watched the deer, who stared back at us. The rest of the time, the dog panted and wheezed, yanking on her leash like a barely-contained freight train.

At home, my mother left to watch the game with my grandparents. I went up to my room with one of the cats to keep me company and rang Nicole.

We rang off in time for me to join my father and Stephen for family worship. After family worship, I took a shower, which felt so good. Washing off the food oil, sweat, and doginess. I made myself tea and have been sitting in my room, working on my writing sample and listening to Jon Foreman and the cat snoring on my bed.

Now Playing: Bob Marley, "Confrontation," "I Can See Clearly Now."

At last it was sunny today after several days of clouds and rain and cold wind. Clear late autumn sky, pale, high, chilly. I went to the gym this morning and worked out, which was good. I've been listening to Pastor D's sermons on Nehemiah about rebuilding the church--challenging. As I listen, I wonder what good I as an individual can do in a church that is at times so hard to mobilize, especially considering my tendency either to be petrified with fear or to rush unwisely into situations. But I love the applications to personal life and, indeed, to the life of the church: the hope of revival, God's faithfulness to raise up leaders who love Him, His Spirit's power to stir up His people.

When I came home from the gym today, Annie was chasing something in a coil of hose on the back porch. The house was empty: my father at work; Stephen at a meeting with his academic advisor at OSU; my mother in cataract surgery at the surgery centre. I showered and then left immediately to pick her up, stopping at Wal-Mart on the way. Listened to Bebo Norman, who reminds me a lot of The Lighthouse Family. Cheerful Christian music, not particularly deep.

The waiting room at the surgery centre was packed with people. The TV was on, and everyone seemed to be talking at once. I sat near the door and read Master and Commander until suddenly, Mr. C appeared out of a side door and asked me if I wanted to go back and see my mother. He seemed to be quite at home there. He opened a door that had no handle and ushered me into what appeared to be post-surgery care, a series of cubicles and a nurse's station. My mother was in one of the cubicles, looking very pale.

I drove her home. At half eleven, I went over to OSU to help with the CRF book table. Lunchtime in the Student Union is busy, all sorts of people hurrying through the low-ceilinged corridors between bookshops, stylist's salons, the food court, and the post office. Pastor and Jon were sitting at a table in a corner, and I joined them until Pastor had to leave. Then Jon and I were stuck together for an hour, during which we attempted to come up with a more colorful logo for CRF. A couple of guys stopped by to look at the books.

At home, I found Mrs. S just arriving to pray with my mother. I put drops in my mother's eyes and ate a late lunch with the two of them while they talked about "heat hogs," dogs and cats who like to sit on top of heater vents. Then I worked on personal statements for graduate applications until I had to leave again at three o'clock.

I went to Crepe Myrtle for another training time. Laurel wanted to go over the waitstaff test I had taken yesterday. The restaurant was nearly empty, so we sat at a booth, and she went over all the minuscule details of writing orders. Particular layouts, pricings, exceptions. She tried to explain to me how busy the restaurant gets, how to handle several tables at once, and so forth, while I tried somewhat unsuccessfully to absorb it all.

Then I ran errands: to the church office to return the book table supplies; to the bank to cash a check. At home I had to start making tea. Chinese beef and noodles and stir fry tofu. I enjoy cooking, but there always seems to come a point when everything is sizzling or boiling or spitting oil (and flames!) at once, which is slightly terrifying. No sooner had I begun to put the tofu into the oil than the stove darted out a couple of flames, and no sooner had I boiled the water for the noodles than the beef and tofu both started to scald to the bottoms of their separate skillets.

So I had a lively hour-and-a-quarter of it. My father ended up setting the table, and my poor mother had to slice up vegetables to go with the tofu. But everything tasted alright when it finally arrived on the table.

At seven o'clock, Stephen and I drove over to OSU for CRF. I always try to leave early because it takes us awhile to walk to the Student Union from the car park, but tonight we didn't leave early enough: an OSU men's basketball game was creating a furor all around the stadium. Add to that a "Mr. and Ms. International" pageant happening in the Union, and all the parking spaces were full. We circled and circled for nearly twenty minutes before we finally squeezed in beside a sports car near Hideaway, and then we had to walk to the Union.

So of course we were late for the Psalm sing. Jonathan was away, so CRF tonight was just a Psalm sing, and a paltry one at that. Sarah and I were the only sopranos. We warbled valiantly, but we were usually either sharp or flat, while Logan manfully tried to pull the rest of the guys along on bass. It didn't help that we sang several tunes with which none of us are quite familiar, or that Sarah and I were both tired and kept singing words from the red Psalter instead of paying attention to the new wordings.

In the middle, we stopped so that Jon could present his "brilliant" idea for the new CRF logo. The sword dripping blood made all the guys laugh. J.D. redrew a passable revision, but I still think the sword is rather random. We bantered around, sang some more, ate cookies, and then people started to leave. Sarah and I sat and chatted quietly in a corner of the table. Stephen and I walked with her to her car, and she drove us to ours.

As we walked up the sidewalk to our house, our breath left plumes of mist on the still air.

The finished product! We need to hem the curtains up considerably, but otherwise this is how it will look.

 

 

Now Playing: Handel, Messiah, "Comfort Ye."

Anna, Stephen, and I painted Laura's room on Wednesday.

 Three of the walls are a sort of latte brown color: a dark beige, I suppose.

 

The other wall is robin's egg blue. I meant it to be aqua, but my mother hates green, and as soon as she got this paint on the wall, she said, "Oh, it's too green!" So we had to compromise and use this paint instead of getting something either more aqua or "less green." (Though you can't get much less green than this paint!)