Hmmm…it is proving more difficult than I might have anticipated to keep up with my blog and to give you, blessed readers, insight into my thoughts and developments here at L’Abri. Many things are going on in my interior, intellectual world, but they do seem to be falling along into some discernable themes, and these I have, with the diligence of Penelope, woven together for you, into one, mighty Thought. And here it is.
Perhaps one of the most difficult things that I have been finding in my time here is certain perversities within myself: falseness, a certain sort of crookedness in my interior posture towards myself and the world. What I wish I could rid myself of most is fear. I move around the outskirts of life, a thief and a grasper, everything I receive I perceive as stolen, because I do not think of anything as mine to take. I am hungry. My soul hungers and despairs of being filled. Hungry for love, acceptance, kindness, affirmation. I could drain you dry and still not be filled. So I guard my portion, I demand fairness, but only for myself. I watch with wide eyes and a wide open mouth as the Good Things are given out, constantly fearful that I will be the one, at the end of the day, who is lacking. And yet for all that I am willing to take, I am so hesitant to take the risk of giving. I will not, in fact, be generous without the hope of return, will not give trust until it has been well and duly earned. If you look at the white stone where my name is emblazoned, it says simply, “Will Not Be Taken In Again.” This is the nature of my depravity.
They tell me this is wrong, and I find that I must believe them. I will tell you a story so that you can see why I know this must be true. I did not find it here at L’Abri, in fact I am not sure where it comes from, but it forms a Destination, a direction towards which I strive.
Once a girl was taken in a vision to a great banqueting hall. The walls were covered in sumptuous tapestries, the floors were of inlaid marble. A long wooden table filled the vast room, and on it were laid plates of gold and silver, jewel studded cutlery, and goblets of crystal. And on those plates a breathtaking feast was laid, whole roasted birds, puddings, chocolate truffles, roasts, mounds of fresh vegetables, and dew-glistened fruits. But, the girl noticed, there was something shockingly out of place about the scene. All the people sitting around the table, every last one of them, was completely emaciated, with gaunt, withered cheeks, twig-like fingers and bloated, empty stomachs. The girl was amazed, but as she watched the people at the table, the reason became clear. Each of the people at the table could only eat with a single, very long fork. They would stab a piece of food and try to raise it to their mouth with the long fork, but just before they could actually taste it, the food would slip off and fall to the floor and with a sigh they would reach out and begin again. Over and over they would try, but none of them could feed themselves with the long forks, and so they were slowly starving.
As the girl realized this, the vision suddenly changed, and she found herself again in the very same hall, with the same walls, floor, and decadently groaning table. But here, she found to her surprise, all of the people, every last one sitting around the table, had fresh, rosy cheeks, strong, sturdy limbs, and a glow of good health around them. And, most astonishingly, they too were eating with the long forks. But as the girl watched them, she could see the difference. Rather than trying to use the long forks to feed themselves, each one would pick up a piece of food and use the length of the fork to reach it across to his or her neighbor, and because the length of the fork was appropriately utilized, the neighbor got to eat, and would in turn feed a neighbor of theirs. In this way, everyone was getting to enjoy the feast by feeding their neighbor.
I think the meaning of this little parable is fairly clear. (And don't you dare tell me it's trite or sappy. Some of the most profound things that we ever experience in this life are mediated by the trite and sappy.) I want to be the kind of person who’s hunger is filled, so my attention is no longer on my own hunger, but on the care of my neighbor. When I try only to feed myself, I will always be hungry. When we all feed each other, everyone will be filled.
Okay, that was not the Thought, at least, I have neither the time nor the energy, nor, I think, the space in your attention span to flesh out the rest of the Thought. That was only a thought, which I wished to share. More to come, I suppose.
(P.S.-After I finished writing this, I was reflecting on my reflections and realized that this is becoming a part of a journey I take every Lent, a journey entitled, "Shannon Wakes Up and Realizes She Is Actually a Rather Shitty Person Who Isn't Entitled to Much of Anything." While I think the journey that was taken and is recommended to us for this season of the calendar by earlier generations of Christians went by a somewhat different title, isn't this theme, essentially, a part of the nature of Lent itself and, in fact, the waking that one is supposed to experience in this season of the year: "Wow. Good morning. I suck. I need major renovation in my heart and life. How much longer until Easter?")
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Study/Work/Eat/Rest
Wow. How many days has it been since I left? Six? It feels strangely like I have been here for a very long time, and yet in many ways the days seem to fly by and I still can’t seem to fit in everything that I want to do into a 24 hr. period.
But first, like a good writer, the setting. L’Abri is set in this huge, beautiful house in a quiet, snowy neighborhood, similarly filled with huge, beautiful houses. I thought people had to win some kind of game show or sweepstakes to be able to stay in places this beautiful. This is pretty much my ideal setting. When you first come in the wreath-adorned front door, you come into the “parlor” and encounter the first of two main wood-burning stoves. There’s a quirky gilded mirror on the wall with a funny eagle and blossoms adorning the frame. The chairs are covered in very old-fashioned floral prints and the rug on the floor looks oriental. A chess board sits on a side table.
And the rest of the house continues in like fashion. The kitchen has a huge wooden table around which we all eat and funny nooks for storing the cream pitchers. The house is full of original artwork done by past students and workers. Sconces on the wall for the electric lights. A sunken garden in the far backyard in which is buried clues to finding the secret treasure of the L’Abri house. A large, frozen over pond. A huge winding staircase in the front hall. It’s pretty much my ideal for my someday and future life, except for the size, which I think would be a little excessive for a single family.
But, I haven’t yet told you the most fantastical and wonderful part about the whole thing. The Library. No, no, not just the library, THE Library. Dark wood paneling, intricately carved over the mantel, covers the walls and forms the many, many book cases, all filled with books. Derelict old couches, surrounding the second cheerfully crackling and blessedly warm wood stove. Crystal fixtures around the wall sconces. Beautiful snatches of view into the surrounding trees and doors that open into the plant-filled conservatory. Pretty much if I had to spend the rest of my life in just one room, this would be the room I would pick.
And I haven’t even mentioned the other people yet. I was really worried about this before coming, because I very much believe that the people you’re surrounded with can make or break an experience like this. I’m really glad though that so far that hasn’t been an issue in the slightest, and the more I get to know the other people here, the more I enjoy them. Everybody is pretty thoughtful and for the most part, not afraid to express their opinions. The dynamics are different from any group I’ve ever been in before, and I think obviously part of that is to be expected because this isn’t any group I’ve been in before, and every group has their own dynamics. And part of it is that we’re just not all that familiar with each other yet, tho surprisingly more familiar than you’d expect after only six days. I think we’re going to be good friends by and by, is the bottom line.
Before I forget, I must mention that one of the drawbacks in paradise is the very limited opportunity to make it to the all glorious and connective Internet. So, perhaps, for the first time in my life, the best way to get hold of me is by...phone. Or letter, as always, but if you're in a hurry, cell phone. And, let me say, that they keep the schedule pretty darn full here, so it's hard for me much of the time to fit in calls period. It's okay. I think it's good to be hard to get a hold of now. But please be patient with me if I take a while to get back to you.
And I still have yet to tell you about my spiritual/intellectual life! That could fill an epic post of its own, so I’ll save it for another time. Suffice it to say that as usual, it seems to generally be slow, frustrating work, with intervals of even more frustrating near-enlightenment. Sometimes, when I'm pondering, or perhaps even more often when I'm not, I feel so whisper close, like I'm skating on a deep frozen pond, and at any moment I could break through the surface. And then an eyelid twitches, a branch scrapes the window, and it's gone. But. But it was almost there. And maybe, maybe it could be reached, could be understood, could be held in the hands like a deeply buried stone, finally emerging.
If you are the praying sort, pray for me that God could illumine even my dark, twisted little mind. Pray that I could be patient, with myself and with the work, and trust the process. And, if you have time left after all that, be glad for me and with me that I have found this place, which is a good place for me, and that there is yet hope.
S.
But first, like a good writer, the setting. L’Abri is set in this huge, beautiful house in a quiet, snowy neighborhood, similarly filled with huge, beautiful houses. I thought people had to win some kind of game show or sweepstakes to be able to stay in places this beautiful. This is pretty much my ideal setting. When you first come in the wreath-adorned front door, you come into the “parlor” and encounter the first of two main wood-burning stoves. There’s a quirky gilded mirror on the wall with a funny eagle and blossoms adorning the frame. The chairs are covered in very old-fashioned floral prints and the rug on the floor looks oriental. A chess board sits on a side table.
And the rest of the house continues in like fashion. The kitchen has a huge wooden table around which we all eat and funny nooks for storing the cream pitchers. The house is full of original artwork done by past students and workers. Sconces on the wall for the electric lights. A sunken garden in the far backyard in which is buried clues to finding the secret treasure of the L’Abri house. A large, frozen over pond. A huge winding staircase in the front hall. It’s pretty much my ideal for my someday and future life, except for the size, which I think would be a little excessive for a single family.
But, I haven’t yet told you the most fantastical and wonderful part about the whole thing. The Library. No, no, not just the library, THE Library. Dark wood paneling, intricately carved over the mantel, covers the walls and forms the many, many book cases, all filled with books. Derelict old couches, surrounding the second cheerfully crackling and blessedly warm wood stove. Crystal fixtures around the wall sconces. Beautiful snatches of view into the surrounding trees and doors that open into the plant-filled conservatory. Pretty much if I had to spend the rest of my life in just one room, this would be the room I would pick.
And I haven’t even mentioned the other people yet. I was really worried about this before coming, because I very much believe that the people you’re surrounded with can make or break an experience like this. I’m really glad though that so far that hasn’t been an issue in the slightest, and the more I get to know the other people here, the more I enjoy them. Everybody is pretty thoughtful and for the most part, not afraid to express their opinions. The dynamics are different from any group I’ve ever been in before, and I think obviously part of that is to be expected because this isn’t any group I’ve been in before, and every group has their own dynamics. And part of it is that we’re just not all that familiar with each other yet, tho surprisingly more familiar than you’d expect after only six days. I think we’re going to be good friends by and by, is the bottom line.
Before I forget, I must mention that one of the drawbacks in paradise is the very limited opportunity to make it to the all glorious and connective Internet. So, perhaps, for the first time in my life, the best way to get hold of me is by...phone. Or letter, as always, but if you're in a hurry, cell phone. And, let me say, that they keep the schedule pretty darn full here, so it's hard for me much of the time to fit in calls period. It's okay. I think it's good to be hard to get a hold of now. But please be patient with me if I take a while to get back to you.
And I still have yet to tell you about my spiritual/intellectual life! That could fill an epic post of its own, so I’ll save it for another time. Suffice it to say that as usual, it seems to generally be slow, frustrating work, with intervals of even more frustrating near-enlightenment. Sometimes, when I'm pondering, or perhaps even more often when I'm not, I feel so whisper close, like I'm skating on a deep frozen pond, and at any moment I could break through the surface. And then an eyelid twitches, a branch scrapes the window, and it's gone. But. But it was almost there. And maybe, maybe it could be reached, could be understood, could be held in the hands like a deeply buried stone, finally emerging.
If you are the praying sort, pray for me that God could illumine even my dark, twisted little mind. Pray that I could be patient, with myself and with the work, and trust the process. And, if you have time left after all that, be glad for me and with me that I have found this place, which is a good place for me, and that there is yet hope.
S.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Where in the world IS Carmen Sandiego?
So, actually, I think I've made a little communication mistake. I realized at some point today that nobody has any idea what's going on with me currently. Or at least, maybe some of you do, but not very many.
So, I found a place to do my retreat of wonderment and inspiration. It's called L'Abri, the very first of which was founded by Francis Schaeffer in Switzerland. L'Abri means "the shelter" in French. They focus a lot on study and answering questions in ways that are applicable to real life, which I appreciate. Tomorrow I fly out at 8:30, then I have to take a shuttle from the airport, then I have to take a train. Tim optomistically thinks of this as a potential adventure, I think of it more as a long, tired day and a potential for disaster, which is what adventure really boils down to anyway.
Once again, this is an example of "S. goes off blindly without knowing what she's getting into." What do I know about this place, really? Pretty much jack. But a desperate woman will do desperate things, so they tell me.
You know, I'm wobbling on whether to divulge the depth of what I'm thinking and feeling about this voyage, but it's already fairly late, tomorrow's an early morning, and quite frankly, I don't really know what to say. I don't get myself, surprise, surprise. But, at any rate, tomorrow, I'm peacin' out.
So, I found a place to do my retreat of wonderment and inspiration. It's called L'Abri, the very first of which was founded by Francis Schaeffer in Switzerland. L'Abri means "the shelter" in French. They focus a lot on study and answering questions in ways that are applicable to real life, which I appreciate. Tomorrow I fly out at 8:30, then I have to take a shuttle from the airport, then I have to take a train. Tim optomistically thinks of this as a potential adventure, I think of it more as a long, tired day and a potential for disaster, which is what adventure really boils down to anyway.
Once again, this is an example of "S. goes off blindly without knowing what she's getting into." What do I know about this place, really? Pretty much jack. But a desperate woman will do desperate things, so they tell me.
You know, I'm wobbling on whether to divulge the depth of what I'm thinking and feeling about this voyage, but it's already fairly late, tomorrow's an early morning, and quite frankly, I don't really know what to say. I don't get myself, surprise, surprise. But, at any rate, tomorrow, I'm peacin' out.
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