A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night

O come, all ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant,

O Come ye, O come ye, to Bethlehem.

Come and behold Him, Born the King of angels;

O come, let us adore Him,

O come, let us adore Him,

O come, let us adore Him,

Christ the Lord.

God of God, Light of Light,

Lo! he abhors not the Virgin’s womb;

Very God, Begotten not created.

Sing, choirs of angels, Sing in exultation;

Sing, all ye citizens of heaven above!

Glory to God, In the highest.

Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, Born this happy morning;

Jesu, to Thee be glory given;

Word of the Father, Now in flesh appearing.

--John Francis Wade

On life and hobbits

Christmas break is finally here. I'm reveling in doing absolutely nothing in the coming weeks.
Well, nothing as in, no homework to work, no papers to write, no tests to take, no lectures to listen to, and no Latin quizzes to grade! I do have a few projects I'd like to complete and books I'd like to read. But it makes all the difference in  the world simply because I want to and no is telling me to do it.
Isn't it funny how that makes a difference? We're stubborn creatures. Or at least I am.

Within the last couple of weeks, I've successfully taken the ACT (and am still anxiously awaiting my score), turned in my first college application (and barely made the early deadline), and completed my last midterm (my very last ever big test for that class). Sleep is a sweet, sweet thing, friends.

Although he's been my brother from the moment he stepped through that door, Jeremiah's adoption was officially finalized on Friday! And despite a "minor" incident that sent Jamie to the ER - he stepped on a pitchfork while playing hide-and-seek outside in the dark . . . barefoot - all is well at the Crampton house.  The whole family - all nine of us! - are finally under one roof. Joseph got in around 3:00 AM last night. The house is loud full again.

My house is filled to the brim with people, laughter, homemade goodies, and Christmas everything! There are so many reasons to be thankful.

As you hear/sing carols this Christmas season, it's easy to simply skip and skim over the words. Don't. There's a reason these old hymns are still being sung. Read the last verse of Hark the Herald Angels Sing:

Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris'n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"

And on an entirely different note, The Hobbit comes out in December of next year and they just released the trailer!!! This makes me one excited fan girl.

Joy unspeakable

I do most of my thinking at the piano. Decisions, ideas, thoughts, and prayers are made as my fingers trace the black and white keys of my old, faded piano. Music is itself a relief, happiness, and sheer joy. I can't tell you how many times I have heard musician after musician say, "Music helps me best express my emotions." But, as cheesy as it sounds, it rings clear and true. The feeling is unspeakable, inexpressible when I make music sing from my rickety, wooden piano and the sound permeates from room to room. The notes dancing on the page come alive and fill the house with vibrant life.
I'm no piano prodigy, I'm not even particularly gifted. But I revel in the utter bliss and unsurpassable joy that always goes hand-in-hand with the God-given gift of music.
My joys in life? To put it simply: serving my Lord, loving those around me, reading good books, and music - listening, making, learning - any form.

A Bend in the Road

A blank page. I don't know where to begin. It's been so long since I've written - I mean, really written. I'm almost scared.

There are so many things I want to write. But I don't even know how to start.

These past few months have been filled with so much uncertainty. If I had a dime for every time I've been asked what I want to do with my life, I'd be rich. . .in dimes. But rich, nonetheless. The answer is: I don't know. Honestly, I have no idea.  Some people figure this out in their freshman year, some in their sophomore year, some practically since birth. Well, not this girl.

In Matthew 6:27, Christ asks us, "Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?" Worrying about tomorrow will not make tomorrow any better.

For me, I like to figure out what I'm doing and have a plan - in the little things, in the big things. Katie and I joke that she's the spontaneous one who lives by the seat of her pants and I'm the one who with an agenda and a plan. (AKA, the boring one.) My life does not go perfectly according to plan. Trust me. I'm learning to surrender my life, my plan, wholly to the Lord, who has a far better plan, though I may not always understand it.

I do not know what lies around the next Bend in the Road.
I do know that I would like to go to college, to further my learning, and to learn to be (relatively) on my own. Although, I'm not the kind of person who jumps at the chance to leave home. This home and family and all that goes with it are so dear to me. I can't leave them without decided hesitation.
I do not want to have anything to do with silly sorority fickleness, frat fiats, cold cinder block dorm-life, college parties, or God-less teaching.
That's exactly what has led me to New College Franklin, a tiny, brand new, classical Christian college in beautiful downtown Franklin, Tennessee. (That, and the fact that my brother goes to school there.) There I would read and discuss the classics, learn music theory, study Greek and Hebrew (something I never thought I would want to do), think through moral philosophy, and delve into the Scriptures. There are no dorms, but students live with church families who rent out spare bedrooms. This is not only a college begun solely for the glory of God (in deed, not in word only), but it's a community. I guarantee you it's unique to just about every college or university out there; hardly anyone has heard of it and there are about 20 students in the whole school right now. Total. You might be wrinkling your nose at the number of people and wondering why on earth I would want to go to such a place for college.

But this is something I've had to think and pray about. Going to New College is not something people will understand and they probably won't ever have heard of it. My friends won't "get it." I've had to ask myself, why are you going to college? Am I going so people will "get" me? Am I going so that others will approve of me? Am I going so I can make lots of new friends? If this is why I want to college, I might as well stay at home.
If I'm going to college for the right reason, I go for the glory of God, to grow in Him, to love Him more, and to grow in my understanding of His Word (and what better way to do that than read the Bible in its original languages?) Don't get me wrong, one can still learn to love God more at a non-Christian college. God is present with those who love Him everywhere, at Christian colleges and state universities alike. But I think I can best accomplish these things at a place like New College, without so many hindrances, where the glory of God is all-important.

If all my New College plans never come to fruition or they just don't work out, it doesn't matter. God is still God. He reigns whether I know what I'm doing with my life or not. God has been teaching me to surrender, to make His will mine, to leave my life utterly in His hands. Who better to hold it than the God of all the world?

Mrs. Allan once told Anne in Anne of Avonlea, "Well, I should like to see you go to college, Anne; but if you never do, don't be discontented about it. We make our own lives wherever we are, after all. . . college can only help us do it more easily. They [the bends in the road] are broad and narrow according to what we put into them, not what we get out. Life is rich and full. . .here. . .everywhere. . .if only we can learn to open our whole hearts to its richness and fullness."

I almost want to include the whole first chapter of Frances Ridley Havergal's book Kept for Jesus, but I'll just quote this part:

"For we both may and must
Commit our very faith to Him,
Entrust to Him our trust.

What a long time it takes us to come down to the conviction, and still more to the realization, of
the fact that without Him we can do nothing, but that He must work all our works in us! This is
the work of God that ye believe in Him whom He has sent. And no less must it be the work of
God that we go on believing, and that we go on trusting. Then, dear friends, who are longing to
trust Him with unbroken and unwavering trust, cease the effort and drop the burden, and now
entrust your trust to Him! He is just as well able to keep that as any other part of the complex
lives which we want Him to take and keep for Himself. And oh, do not pass on content with the
thought, “Yes, that is a good idea; perhaps I should find that a great help!” But, now, then, do it.
It is no help to the sailor to see a flash of light across a dark sea, if he does not instantly steer
accordingly."

I do not know what the next year holds, I can't see around the next Bend in the Road, but I'm trusting He who does and who will reveal it in His good and perfect time.

Little things

Jeremiah sits on my bed while I call out his Latin vocabulary words and he replies with the English: 

"Frumentum."

"Grain."

"Proelium."

"Battle,"

and so on. 

With a wide grin and one proud tutor, he finally nails the Second Declension Masculine chant he's been struggling over. It's all worth it in the end. His wide, curious eyes look up at me, he smiles and says, "This is actually funner than I thought." I smile back and ignore his grammar.

God has been teaching me so much - especially patience. It's not always easy. But not much in life is. One thing's for sure. It always pays off.

Mud pies

In "The Weight of Glory," C.S. Lewis says:

Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday by the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

 Charles Spurgeon ought to stir us up even further when he says:

O true believer, called by grace and washed in the precious blood of Jesus, thou hast tasted better drink than the river of this world's pleasure can give thee; thou hast had fellowship with Christ; thou hast obtained the joy of seeing Jesus, and leaning thine head upon His bosom. Do the trifles, the songs, the honors, the merriment of this earth content thee after that? If thou art wandering after the waters of Egypt, oh, return quickly to the one living fountain; the waters of Sihor may be sweet to the Egyptians, but they will prove only bitterness to thee. What hast thou to do with them? Jesus asks this question - what wilt thou answer him?

Today I am thankful for the clouds. I am thankful for the rain. Sometimes you need hard times to appreciate the good ones.

It's the contrast, you see, that makes the burning amber and the bright shades of reds and oranges pop. Against the grey skies is the beauty of fall. 

It's this same contrast between the light of the Son and the darkness of sin. The life in Christ and the death all around us. His holiness, our wickedness. His strength, our weakness. His greatness, our littleness.

Today I am thankful for my Heavenly Father who sent His only Son so that I might be freed from sin and death and the chains of this world. I have been bought with a price, ransomed, set free! In love, in gratitude, I give it back to Him.

My life is not my own. It is His. I am His. And He is mine.

109 books to read before you die

There are so many different lists of the greatest classics, each one claiming to be "the list." But this one was 1) smaller than 1001 titles and 2) didn't have so many trashy modernist novels I have no wish whatsoever to read. So I picked it. I've also tweaked it a bit.
It makes me want to quit everything and read. My goal is to finish this list and be able to cross out every one. And if I ever finish this list, I'd like to tackle another.

1 Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings – JRR Tolkien (Confession: I've only read the Fellowship)
3 Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series – JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee6 The Bible

7 Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four – George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials – Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations – Charles Dickens
11 Little Women – Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 – Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca – Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit – JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong – Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye – JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife – Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch – George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind – Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby – F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House – Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams

27 Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows – Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield – Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia – CS Lewis
34 Emma – Jane Austen
35 Persuasion – Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh – AA Milne
41 Animal Farm – George Orwell 42 The Da Vinci Code – Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney – John Irving
45 The Woman in White – Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables – LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies – William Golding
50 Atonement – Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi – Yann Martel
52 Red Badge of Courage - Stephen Crane
53 Cold Comfort Farm – Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility – Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities – Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World – Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night – Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck
62 Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History – Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones – Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road – Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure – Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary – Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick – Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist – Charles Dickens
72 Dracula – Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island – Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses – James Joyce
76 The Inferno – Dante
77 Swallows and Amazons – Arthur Ransome
78 Uncle Tom's Cabin - Harriet Beecher Stowe
79 Vanity Fair – William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession – AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol – Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple – Alice Walker
84 My Antonia - Willa Cather

85 Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance – Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web – EB White
88 The Scarlet Letter - Nathaniel Hawthorne
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
91 Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince – Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
94 Watership Down – Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice – Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers – Alexandre Dumas
98 The Old Man in the Sea - Ernest Hemingway
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables – Victor Hugo

101 Last of the Mohicans - James Fenimore Cooper

102 Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain

103 The Iliad - Homer

104 The Odyssey - Homer (Currently reading)

105 Frankenstein - Mary Shelley

106 Black Beauty - Anna Sewell

107 Silas Marner - George Eliot (Marian Evans)

108 In the Reign of Terror - G.A. Henty

109 Ben Hur - Lew Wallace

Weekend according to Instagram

 A few of my favorite, most fall-ish activities include visiting the pumpkin patch, picking out a pumpkin, getting lost in a corn maze, taking a hay ride, and carving out the pumpkins into anything I could ever imagine (like pretty stars, or Kermit the frog, or Snow White). On Saturday, I did all of them with Luke and Rachel. It was wonderful.
And of course, we couldn't leave without getting our picture as floating goat and sheep heads. Luke opted out and insisted he had to be the one to hold the camera.

P.S. I said hi to Santa at the Celebration Village. You'd think he'd be to busy to visit us in little Tupelo, Mississippi. But, no. He asked me if I had been a good girl. And then I promptly jumped up and down yelling, "SANTA! I KNOW HIM!!!" Like this.

Well, maybe not just like that.

Let's have a tea party

What's my life if it's not praising you

With every breath I take, with every heart beat,  

Sunrise and the moon lights in the dark street.  

Every glance, every dance, every note of a song.  

It's all a gift undeserved that I shouldn't have known.  

Every day that I lie, every moment I covet 

I'm deserving to die, I'm just earning your judgment. 

I, without the cross there's only condemnation.  

If Jesus wasn't executed there's no celebration.  

So in times that are good, in times that are bad, 

For any times that I've had it all I will be glad.  

And I will boast in the cross. I boast in my pains.  

I will boast in the sunshine, boast in his reign.  

What's my life if it's not praising you.  

Another dollar in my bank account of vain pursuit. 

I do not count my life as any value or precious at all.  

Let me finish my race, let me answer my call.

If this life has anything to gain at all I count it lost if I can't hear you, feel you, 'cause I need you. Can't walk this earth alone. I recognize I'm not my own, so before I fall I need to hear you, feel you, as I live to make my boast in you alone. 

Tomorrow's never promised, but it is we swear.  

Think we holding our own, just a fist full of air.  

God has never been obligated to give us life.  

If we fought for our rights, we'd be in hell tonight.  

Mere sinners own nothing but a fierce hand.  

We never loved him, we pushed away his pierced hands.  

I rejected his love, grace, kindness, and mercy. 

Dying of thirst, yet, willing to die thirsty.  

Eternally worthy, how could I live for less?  

Patiently you turn my heart away from selfishness. 

I volunteer for your sanctifying surgery.  

I know the spirit's purging me of everything that's hurting me.  

Remove the veil from my darkened eyes.  

So now every morning I open your word and see the Son rise.  

I hope in nothin, boast in nothin, only in your suffering.

I live to show your glory, dying to tell your story. 

Glory was solely meant for you, doing what no one else could do.  

With All I have to give, 

I'll use my life, 

I'll use my lips. 

I'll only glory in your Word. 

What gift to me I don't deserve. 
I'll live in such a way that it reflects to you my praise.

-"Boasting," Lecrae

Weekend according to Instagram

I spent Columbus Day weekend with (most of) the family at our friend's penthouse in Fort Walton Beach, FL. There was a hammock. On the deck of the penthouse. The weather was perfect and my weekend consisted of sleeping on the beach, sleeping in the hammock, sleeping in my bed, reading on the beach, reading in the hammock, reading in my bed. Oh, and a liiittle bit of watching movies, playing bananagrams, and snuggling with friends' puppy. It was wonderful. Did I mention there was a hammock on the deck of the penthouse?

The Holocaust and Abortion

Please take some time to watch this.

So many beautiful reasons to be happy

This week I'm thankful for:

books
parents who love one another even more after almost 26 years
fall weather

smiles

the story of Esther
Sum Xu (Chinese for "pine rat" or squirrel) - the baby squirrel in our care
the delicious fragrance of sweet olive trees that leave the whole yard smelling like autumn
handwritten letters
sheet music (and the Public Domain)

Made for Thyself

Made for Thyself, O God!

Made for Thy love, Thy service, Thy delight;

Made to show forth Thy wisdom, grace, and might;

Made for Thy praise, whom veiled archangels laud:

Oh, strange and glorious thought, that we may be

A joy to Thee!

Yet the heart turns away

From this grand destiny of bliss, and deems

'Twas made for its poor self, for passing dreams,

Chasing illusions melting day by day,

Till for ourselves we read on this world's best,

'This is not rest!'

-Frances Ridley Havergal

A land called Honah Lee

Her girlish eyes were completely and entirely enraptured with the world he painted through his calm, deep voice. She knew the tale almost as well as the voice which told it. This time every night was sacred to her little heart. Hanging on his every word, she once again entered the land far away and full of enchanting fairies and delightful creatures - a world as real and familiar to her as our own is to us. He sang the words, while she lived them. Her ears tingled with glee at his tale, though she did like to imagine herself as a female Jackie Paper. Or just that she was a boy. (Because, truth be told, this girl truly believed - or wished so earnestly that she thought she did believe - she would one day grow up to be a boy, though evidence and everyone around her protested.) A soft, clear voice rang out these words and filled the little white room with melody, much as the sun fills the earth with light:

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee,
Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff,
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff. Oh

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee.

Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff's gigantic tail,
Noble kings and princes would bow whene'er they came,
Pirate ships would lower their flags when Puff roared out his name. Oh!

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee.

A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giants' rings make way for other toys.
One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And Puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.

His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain,
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane.
Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave,
So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave. Oh!

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee,
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee. 

The Little Girl is not so little now, and her Daddy doesn't sing to her every night before bed anymore. But occasionally, she'll slip away to Honah Lee, rekindle old friendships and frolic with her dear magic dragon.

 {listen here}

Out with the old, in with the new

 

Goodbye, 12-year-old tastes, stripes, and crazy daisies.

My sweet Jeremiah

After vacationing in the Tennessee mountains, 

 We brought this guy home.

 He helped celebrate my birthday.

 And there was laughter.

 And much dancing.

Life without Jeremiah? I don't even want to think of it.

100 years of style in 100 seconds

And a big part of me is very in love with 40's fashion at the moment.

Dreams

 

Apparently, the floating lights festival is not just something that happens in Tangled. It actually happens anually in Chiang Mai, Thailand. In real life, not just the movies. Can you believe it? Dreams do come true.

Someday, I'd like to see it for myself.

image via: pinterest

Word to the wise

Ermias gravely reminds us, "Hey, hey, everybody listen! You should really love your plate."

Laugh all you want, but seventeen sounds dreadfully old to me.

Seven, the number of perfection

I sit in the back of the car surrounded by quiet, peaceful sleepers. The sun's golden light quickly fades behind the gray Tennessee mountains. And I can't help but think how very blessed I am. For one thing, we all needed that vacation. And what better way to spend it in the mountains surrounded by those you love and those who love you? For another thing, God has blessed us with not eight, but a big ol' family of NINE. We kids have grown from six to seven - seven, the number of perfection. 
Ermias is the newest addition to the Crampton Crew and has many endearing traits and talents, such as making crazy silly faces, breaking out the dance moves (especially when anything by Michael Jackson comes on the radio), singing, cuddling, and laughing. And, boy, can that kid laugh. With his laughter, he could make a hyena smile, Puddle Glum giggle, and Eeyore would surely bust a gut. Oh, how I love him.

On growing up

I'm a senior.

I'll be 17 before I know it.

I'm looking at colleges.

When did this happen?! Last time I checked I was 9 and thinking of my college days and imagining that Future Courtney, who would know what to do, where to go, and when to do it, would come and save the day.

 Isn't it funny how, as a child, you always imagine your future self to be -- someone else? As in, not you. But now I wake up to find, I'm still me. (deep, right?) I didn't magically morph into Future Courtney. Although I have been changed since 9 (only by the grace of God), I'm still the same 9-year-old girl (plus a few years) dreaming of those seemingly far-off days when I would grow up, become a woman, and move away from home.

But now that it comes down to it, I don't want to move away from this dear old home-of-mine. Truth be told, I don't want to grow up. Truth be told, I'm scared. Truth be told...I just want to find Peter Pan and Neverland.

Sometimes I forget. I forget that I have no strength in myself. I forget that if left to myself I would never want to grow up and wouldn't be able to bear the responsibilities if I did. Praise be to God I haven't been left to myself. My strength is in Christ and Christ alone. He alone can help me to bear things I don't neccesarily want to bear and the things that I can't. He alone can guide me in the way I should go. I want to be ready to receive HIS will - whatever that may be.

"I am trusting Thee to guide me:

Thou alone shalt lead,

Every day and hour supplying

All my need." 

Frances Ridley Havergal, (Hymn 541).

The Neshoba county fair

Since 1889, ladies and gentleman, young and old, have gathered together for the attractions of the Neshoba county fair in South Mississippi. Festivities last over one week. Brightly-painted and incredibly decorated wooden cabins that have been passed down through the years from one old Southern family to another line every nook and corner of the fairgrounds. In its early beginnings, attendees would hear political candidates speak while they sat on wooden benches under the pavilion or under the nearest shady oak. They fought the penetrating heat with forceful strokes of their paper fans. Others would sit under the comfort of their cabin porches while gingerly sipping on an ice cold glass of sweet tea. When lunch time came 'round, they would take turns providing a meal of southern staples - barbecue sandwiches, potato salad, baked beans, watermelons, and fresh banana pudding for dessert. The men talked business and politics. The women spoke in quick, excited whispers about one another's hair and dress or laughed over the matches they prophesied between the young men and little ladies. The children giggled and played as all young children do. The horse and buggy races would begin in the late afternoon and all would gather to see the excitement for themselves.

The fair hasn't changed much, even after over 120 years. It still looks and feels almost the same way as it did in 1889. Men and women still come from all over to hear politicians, sit on their cabin porch, eat quintessential southern foods, fan away the July heat, watch the horse races, and visit with friends, old an new. The Neshoba county fair is like taking a glimpse at the Old South and having a small taste of simpler times.

a man's best friend.

I always laughed at those people who seemed a trite overly-dramatic at the death of a beloved pet.
But now I know. I understand now the devastation of losing an animal dear to my heart. After more than ten years, Duke, our big, sweet, harmless, and faithful Great Dane passed away. Duke proved the old saying that a dog is a man's best friend to be more than myth or legend.

Duke was always waiting at the door with a warm, delightful, tail-wagging welcome for me. And for the first time, he wasn't there when I came home.
Duke took with him both a part of me and a part of my childhood. For as long as I can remember, my big black and white playtoy was always there to be ridden like the miniature horse he was (or rather, what I thought he was), to be hugged and pet, or he was waiting at the family dinner table hopeful of the scraps that would "accidentally" fall from my plate into his mouth. He didn't like to be forgotten and would remind us, lest we forget him, during the day with a conscious bark, groan, or whine, and even at night with unconscious snoring. And, boy, could that dog snore.
He could bite a tennis ball in half or swallow a sock (yes, that fact is one of many that made Duke Duke) faster than you or I could say Jack Robinson. But this was just one of his many talents. He could also patiently watch a game of wiffle-ball in the front yard - and only snag a few balls for himself every now and then.
He always let me lug him around as my cow when we played prairie in the backyard. He was protective of we kids and never took his eyes off of us. He was a great listener. He let little Sam (his best friend) sleep on his pillow sometimes and endured Macy's rowdy playfulness with quiet patience.
I was about 6 when Duke first came to live with us. Some friends of ours had told us about an ad in the paper for a free Great Dane. When Dad and Jamie went to pick him up, they found him tied to a truck and as skinny as a rail. When we took Duke home, he refused to walk inside. He was terrified and trembling all over and had obviously never set foot indoors anywhere. When we finally got him inside, he wouldn't go back out. Eventually, he was comfortable going inside and out. And soon enough, he had learned to open the backdoor and would let himself out whenever his little heart desired. Unfortunately, he never learned to shut the door.

As I grew older, so did he. I grew taller, he grew fatter. My hair got longer, his got more gray. He even conquered heart worms and various other health issues veterinarians had warned us of. But while I was away at camp, he showed his age more and more. He lost weight, became weaker, and found it hard even to perform menial tasks such as eating, drinking, and walking.
My Dad was forced to make the executive decision to put Poor Duke out of his misery. On Tuesday morning, we said our goodbyes; one of the hardest goodbyes I've had to say, though I'm sure I'll face harder.
Duke lived to the ripe, old age of 77 in dog years (11 in human) and lived what I believe was a full and happy life filled with a warm bed, good food, and a family who loved him - still does and always will - dearly.

The fruit of the spirit's not a coconut.

I pulled into the driveway after 10:00 last night. The feeling of coming home, home to stay, home for good - this turned out (rather unsurprisingly) to be a delightful one indeed.  And for a girl who over the course of 9 weeks, spent a few weekends at home for less than 24 hours, this is an incredible joy. For the first time, I'm not in a rush to sort through laundry, pack up, and go right back down to Jackson again. For the first time, I can slow down, rest, and enjoy everything around me at my own pace. After a whole summer of rushing exhaustion and excitement, I have a deep, new-found appreciation for this happy home, dear family, God-glorifying church, and slow pace of  the remaining summer in Woodside Circle.
I am blessed. How could it have taken even a whole summer to realize the richness of His abundant mercy, grace, and loving kindness on me, even me, a wretched sinner; a sinner wholly undeserving of the goodness of God? Yet He continues to pour out His love. He is good, He is faithful, even when I am not. I pray He would teach me to live a life of gratitude, to live with my eyes fixed on the cross, "looking unto Jesus."

Yes, I've missed out on plenty of events (thanks for the constant reminder, Facebook), but I've gained so much this summer. So much more that I would have never done, seen, heard, learned had I not gone to work at Twin Lakes this summer. I've had so many wonderful experiences, and some not-so-wonderful. I've learned so much. I've been stretched - physically, spiritually, mentally. I've had crazy fun times. I've made lifelong friends - leadership staff, other counselors, and even my sweet campers. I've had the opportunity to minister to children, to pour out myself for them, to teach them the gospel, and to live it out (however imperfectly).

It's funny how you imagine life at home to simply stand still while you're away. But life doesn't cope with your demands. Life went on as usual at home - yes, even without me. (Crazy, right?) We even met my new little brother, Ermias, and had a grand old visit. I only got to be a part of just two days of this visit. Once again, life goes on without you - whether you like it or not. A hard, but oh-so-true lesson to learn.

I don't regret spending my summer there. Not one bit. I wouldn't take it back for all the world. Praise be to God for the opportunity He has given me this summer. I pray that He would use these experiences to mold me more into His image, to make my life look more like His.

P.S. This doesn't even scratch the surface of describing my time at Twin Lakes. Perhaps another post complete with pictures and stories will suffice. And of course, pictures of Ermias, as well. :)

I'm really slacking on the titles these days.

At the moment, I'm listening to some Dario Marianelli (favorite Pandora station, hands-down) and soaking in this beautifully still house. I felt the impulse to write. Not really. I'm just avoiding studying.

One. More. Day. And I'm done with my Junior year of high school.

Wait, what?

Yep. Senior year is oh so very, ridiculously close. I can almost reach out and touch it.

Almost, but not yet. That's the catch, you see. One Gargantuan Final To Go. Today is my last study day. I do not feel ready for this Test of Doom. Why am I still here?

Oh, yeah. Now I remember.

Anyway, I'm leaving in four short days. When did that happen? Last time I checked, it was like four months away. Funny how time flies when you're studying. . . oh, wait.

I need to pack.

Summer's just around the river bend.

 

this is about how things have been recently. so much going on, so much to do, so much homework, so much stress. a lot floating around my head.

 but my 40-hour project is finally finished. we had our last day at excelsior and our end-of-year program. i'm exempt from next week's geometry test and i only have one final left. 

unfortunately, the only final left is for gileskirk - and it's 30 pages. yay.

life goes on.

 We like to shake things up in class. Give us a pipe cleaner and we'll take a mile.

 

 Hawt.

Last weekend, Mom & Dad were out of town, Katie was in Jackson, and Jonathan was at Andrew's. And we took full advantage of that fact. Savannah came over Friday night and we spent the night on the town. Saturday night, Kelley and I made some potato skins and some sides and ate out on the porch, candles and Chinese lanterns and all. Then, we watched a movie and ate ice cream. It's spring nights like these that make me want to live outside.

Just two weeks left of school. I've started my 40-hour project. My room once again smells like paint thinner. And I am loving it (painting, not the smell of paint thinner).

Before long I'll be packing for camp and off in the sunshine with some kiddos in my chacos. Can't. Wait.

How can I not trust Him?

"Daily I turn my gaze in distrust. Daily I remember the Jesus who already washed clean this mess and I fall to my knees, sorrowful and repentant. How can I not trust? And He reminds me that I must die with Him – not just that once but every single day – choosing to throw off the distrust and walk with Him in the newness of life. Daily. Hourly. Sometimes seemingly every five minutes."

(Katie in Uganda. Read the whole Journey here.)

And He shall strengthen your heart

I sit on my bed. All is quiet around me. I am so overwhelmed at the kindness of our great God. I am faithless, yet He is faithful.

So many, many things - I can't even begin to tell you. (Some I actually can't tell you. Not now, at least.)
He has done so many unimaginable things! How could I have ever doubted His strength and His ability to do such? I pray He would give me of such little faith more faith to trust in the Ever Faithful One.

Psalm 31:19-24:

"Oh, how great is Your goodness,

Which You have laid up for those who fear You,

Which You have prepared for those who trust in You

In the presence of the sons of men!

You shall hide them in the secret place of Your presence

From the plots of man;

You shall keep them secretly in a pavilion

From the strife of tongues.

Blessed be the LORD,

For He has shown me His marvelous kindness in a strong city!

For I said in my haste,

“I am cut off from before Your eyes”;

Nevertheless You heard the voice of my supplications

When I cried out to You.

Oh, love the LORD, all you His saints!

For the LORD preserves the faithful,

And fully repays the proud person.

Be of good courage,

And He shall strengthen your heart,

All you who hope in the LORD."

Memories of Spring

Why is it that I always feel the urge to write late at night? Why does my mind work best in those quiet moments just before I fall asleep?
These questions are left unanswered. I can't tell you why this is - but tonight I'm taking advantage of it. (That, and I can't sleep. It's that Sunday afternoon nap, I tell you. And the bug buzzing around my room probably has something to do with it.)

It seems to me that memories are best triggered by smell. The sweet fragrance of the patches of yellow and white honeysuckle bushes wafts through the air. At the smell, I remember Springs past: running barefoot over the soft, green grass, bouncing, flipping, jumping on that old, worn trampoline while the metal springs whine and screech in rhythm, or playing as a pilgrim in a lonely, consecrated cabin in the prairies, or a passenger on a boat, or a superhero with super strength, or the power of flight or X-ray vision, fighting the good fight in an old warehouse -- all from the real protection of the four walls of the wooden tree house which took on many forms back in its prime.
I thought of those soft giggles of dear, little friends, the wild, silly games of Tag, the enticing fear of slipping from the safety of a wood plank, the fence, or trampoline onto the "lava" ground. I saw the bright sunshine cast its rays on familiar faces, and of course, I remembered the piles and piles of sweet, luscious honeysuckles we plucked from the bushes and sucked and sipped on until there was not one more drop to be sucked or sipped.

What is it about childhood memories that is so bittersweet? Perhaps it's sweet to revisit happy, simple times and places, but bittersweet to come to realize these are times and places we will never again live in.

Eudora Welty on reading

"I learned from the age of two or three that any room in our house, at any time of day, was there to read in, or to be read to. My mother read to me. She'd read to me in the big bedroom in the mornings, when we were in her rocker together, which ticked in rhythm as we rocked, as though we had a cricket accompanying the story. She'd read to me in the dining room on winter afternoons in front of the coal fire, with our cuckoo clock ending the story with "Cuckoo," and at night when I'd got in my own bed. I must have given her no peace. Sometimes she read to me in the kitchen while she sat churning, and the churning sobbed along with any story. It was my ambition to have her read to me while I churned; once she granted my wish, but she read off my story before I brought her butter. She was an expressive reader. When she was reading "Puss in Boots," for instance, it was impossible not to know that she distrusted all cats.
It had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming up of themselves like grass. Yet regardless of where they came from, I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them - with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself. Still illiterate, I was ready for them, committed to all the reading I could give them."

(Eudora Welty, One Writer's Beginnings)

"If any man will open the door I will come in."

First the child speaks:

Dear Lord Jesus, will You come

Into such a little home?

It is poor and it is bare,

Dear Lord, You'll find nothing there.

It is very dusty too;

Oh, it isn't fit for You.

Not a flower has bloomed for me,

There's no fruit upon my tree.

And, Lord Jesus, have you heard?

I have not one singing bird.

Dearest Lord how can You come

Into such a dismal home?

Then the Lord answers:

But, My child, I want to come,

Want to make your house My home.

If I come it shall be fair,

In and out and everywhere.

I will clear the dust away,

Make it clean and make it gay.

All its flowers will bloom for Me,

Fruit will ripen on your tree.

In your garden will be heard

Many a merry singing bird.

Dearest child, I want to come.

May I make your house My home?

And at last the child says,

O my Savior, Lord and King,

Come, I give You everything.

With my whole heart I say, Come;

Come and make my house Your home.

-Amy Carmichael, Ploughed Under

dear spring break,

In other news,

Jonathan had a birthday and he's now in the double digits, which is sad and amazing and exciting all at once. He had a birthday party. My house was full of ten-year-old boys. Ten-year-old boys full of sugar. Ten-year-old boys feeding off of one another's energy.

 (Oh, and that's my brother. The one with the plate in his mouth.)

We've had some warm days and I was able to grab a good book and a blanket and retreat to the woods.

I saw Tim Hawkins live in Memphis! Funniest. Man. Of the world.

(Oh, and this was the lovely view from my seat. I had fun in spite of that.)

I deleted my Facebook.
It turns out, the average person spends about an hour a day (or more). This adds up to be 7 hours a week, which in turn adds to 30 hours a month!  
30.
And in a year? That's 360 hours!
I think this is only going to be temporary for me, but you never know.
But really, can you imagine what one could do in 360 hours, instead of wasting it learning things you didn't want to/shouldn't know about a person on Facebook? Those are my thoughts. I'm not saying you all have to go out and delete your Facebook. No, I just know that it's been a distraction and a waste of time for me, so I deleted it. And that's that.
And nooo, this doesn't mean I've fallen off the face of the planet. We live in the 21st century. There are ways one can be reached outside of Facebook. Feel free to email, call, text me, or even write a good, old fashioned, real and lovely letter.

After many YouTube videos and a good push, I finally did it. I grabbed some scissors and just cut.

 Bangs!

TeenPact MS

I've putting this off and putting this off. Really, I've been waiting for some pictures - 'cause I know I'm not exciting enough to get you to stick through the whole post without some media (and even then, probably not).

Anyway. I didn't take pictures, but Anna did and Lindsay did. So, all of these photos are courtesy of ALC Photography and Lindsay T. And instead of just pictures, I went all out and made a slideshow of pictures. Now I'm no pro-video-maker (?), so go easy on me.

This year, I got the privilege of staffing TeenPact MS. Where do I begin? It was a crazy, lovely, wonderful, eventful week filled with the joy of seeing old friends and meeting new ones.

I had always been curious what really went on behind the scenes, you know, when we students weren't watching/when the staffers left/what they did at night, etc. And now. . .well, I can't tell you.

Just kidding. We just grade homework. But, without sounding like a complete nerd, that was really one of my favorite times. At that point we were tired, and delirious, and a tad bit crazy. So, fun things went down.

Highlights also include playing ultimate frisbee, eating in the Belhaven cafeteria and playing the hand game, evening sessions with Mr. Cal, Do You Love Your Neighbor, Disney songs with Anna and Hannah/getting to staff with those lovely girls, the whole staff team, the awesome parents, and most importantly, the great students, TP Elections, leading Rendezvous in an awesome cabin with awesome ladies, learning the Tasmanian toetap, um - SNOW! - Bacon Day, having the opportunity to give a devotion on Romans 11 & 12, and getting to lead the FIHI Committee with Micah. Let me tell you about my committee...to sum things up, best group of kids ever. And ironically, I had a lot of people I already knew. Ha.

So that doesn't even begin to describe my week. But a picture's worth a thousand words, and here's like 50:

life in 2D.

 When it comes to homemade cupcakes, I have zero willpower.

 Jonathan and friend.

 Oh, to be a tree.

Woodside at dusk.

Weekend and Valentine's Day.

As much as I love doing things chronologically and as much as it bothers me when things are not so, well, I'm just throwing all that out the window right now.
Valentine's Day weekend and day first, then Teenpact and then the blankets of snow we got in early January. I've gotten a little behind. . .in lots of things (thanks, TeenPact), but one by one I'm catching up. Bear with me. Yes, I know this throws out all order. Oh well.

This weekend after unpacking from Teenpact. Woah, freeze. I actually unpacked my bags the day after I got home. After a trip, my suitcase and things will usually sit out for a week. . .or much longer. I feel so accomplished. Play. Moving on. Valentine's weekend was spent with two lovely ladies in Tupelo. Because guess who came to Tupelo? Celtic Woman. That's right.

Feast your ears on this and this. Maybe you're thinking, 'This just isn't my type of music.'  Well, it hadn't been mine either until very recently when I gave them an unbiased listen. They've really changed my taste in music. Their traditional Irish elements, beautiful voices, simple harmony, and sheer talent blend to make incredible music in a culture full of auto-tuned, wacked-out Lady Gagas and Justin Beibers. Please say you love them.

So, off we went to hear them live. It was incredible, to say the very least.

Oh, and on the way, we met Matthew, the bagpipe-player. Why, yes, he did have a most attractive Irish accent. And yes, we did take a creeperish picture. Matthew did not judge us.

And then the day of flowers, pink hearts, sweet candies, chocolate, and simple love happened - Valentine's Day. No date or flowers delivered to my door. . .oh yeah, and no man for me. But today's been wonderful, in spite of that. I had my little valentine.

And I went on a date with some of my favorite girls. Did I mention it was classy? A classy date to Sonic, AKA, the drive-in house of class. Mhm.