Happy Thursday

Life lately

Little happenings

Today my alarm went off. Silently. And when my eyes finally popped open, I jumped out of bed. 10 minutes before I was supposed to leave my house.
Once I scrambled out of the door, I scraped the ice off of my car and opened the door. Only it didn't open.
As I shivered in the cold, I realized: I locked my keys in the car (again).

Today I walked across West Main Street to eat at Subway. Crossing a "busy" street in a small town may seem like a small feat to you, but to me it was quite the adventure.

Today a man in his eighties tried to convince me to get a Big Mac from McDonald's with him.

Today I learned a new word. In Spurgeon's Morning + Evening, he says, "Let your conversation be redolent of heaven."

red·o·lent  

/ˈredl-ənt/

Adjective Strongly reminiscent or suggestive of (something): "names redolent of history and tradition". Strongly smelling of something: "the church was old, dark, and redolent of incense".

Synonyms fragrant - odoriferous - odorous - aromatic - scented

Today the whole family gathered in the living room for lovely music, laughter, and conversation.

Today I learned once again that Romans 8:28 is absolutely and completely and wonderfully true.

Today I realized . . .

. . . How much I really believe I will miss my job at the old hearing center, especially the sweet people I meet and grow to know and love.

. . . How happy little things like new knobs for my drawer can make me.

. . . And how much one new lamp can brighten up my bedside -- and in turn, my entire bedroom. I picked up this new lamp when I went to Hobby Lobby intending to come home with only lace. But when I saw this lonely little blue lamp with a shade covered in French poetry, it called my name and I simply couldn't resist.

And on another note: I was flipping through an old journal tonight (and yes, it was embarrassing) and found this entry from June of 2009:

O God, how many times have I said unto Thee, 'Take my life and let it be, consecrated, Lord, to Thee!' and not meant it? How many times have I sung it or said it unto You to take my life and let it be for Thee, but said in my own heart, 'Don't take my life, for I want to live it for myself'? Have I ever said this and truly meant it?
"Having already said,'Take my life, for I cannot give it to Thee,' let us now say, with deepened conviction, that without Christ we really can do nothing -- 'Keep my life, for I cannot keep it for Thee." (Frances Havergal, Kept For the Master's Use)
 What a freeing thing it is to learn that it does not depend on me! It is Christ, Christ -- all of Him! 

"We know nothing of religion here: we think only of Christ."

As C. S. Lewis is one the best and brightest authors, I'm going to share a few quotes from his book, The Great Divorce.

"There have been men before now who got interested in proving the existence of God that they came to care nothing for God Himself . . . as if the good Lord had nothing to do but exist. There have been some who were so occupied in spreading Christianity that they never gave a second thought to Christ. You see it in smaller matters. Did you never know a lover of books that with all his first editions and signed copies had lost the power to read them? Or an organizer of charities that had lost all love for the poor? It is the subtlest of all the snares." (Ch. 9)

~ 

"There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, in the end, "Thy will be done." All that are in Hell, choose it. Without that self-choice there could be no Hell. No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. To those who knock it is opened." (Ch. 9)

~ 

"We know nothing of religion here: we think only of Christ." (Chapter 5)

~ 

"No natural feelings are high or low, holy or unholy, in themselves. They are all holy when God's hand is on the rein. They all go bad when they set up on their own and make themselves into false gods." (Ch. 11)

~ 

"'Oh, of course. I'm wrong. Everything I say or do is wrong, according to you.  

'But of course!' said the Spirit, shining with love and mirth so that my eyes were dazzled. 'That's what we all find when we reach this country. We've all been wrong! That's the great joke. There's no need to go on pretending one was right! After that we begin living.'" (Ch. 11)

~ 

"There is but one good; that is God. Everything else is good when it looks to Him and bad when it turns from Him." (Ch. 11) 

Source: pureblyss.tumblr.com via Courtney on Pinterest

The Lady of Shalott

   Part I.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
   To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
   The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
   Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
   The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
   Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
   The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
   Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
   Lady of Shalott."


      Part II.

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
   To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
   The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
   Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
   Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
   Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
   The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
   And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half-sick of shadows," said
   The Lady of Shalott.


      Part III.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
   Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A redcross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
   Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle-bells rang merrily
   As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
   Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
   As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
   Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
   As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
   Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
   She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
   The Lady of Shalott.


      Part IV.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale-yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
   Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
   The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse--
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
   Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
   The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
   She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
   The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
   Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
   The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
A corse between the houses high,
   Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
   The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
   All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
   The Lady of Shalott."

-- Alfred Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott