In honor of Michaelmas Day ...

I'm a fan of British literature. Not just the old "classics," but even more recent literature set in England (and surrounding areas) -- books by Elizabeth Goudge from the mid-20th century, for example. Often, I've encountered references to Michaelmas -- Michaelmas Day, Michaelmas flowers, Michaelmas term -- in this literature. So I noticed, at the start of this month on a lovely little nature diary I keep in my kitchen, that today, September 29, would be Michaelmas Day. Time to put vague associations aside, I decided, and find out what this was all about.

Michaelmas (pronounced Mick-ul-mus) Day is a traditional celebration of the early Christian church (the church of Rome and the Church of England). Like many other holidays, it has both religious and secular associations.

Tribute to a valiant archangel
First and foremost, Michealmas Day was a celebration of the archangel Micheal, who is mentioned five times in scripture. The most well-known of these mentions, probably, is in the book of John (I think) where Micheal fought against Satan and forever earned a reputation as protector from the evil one. The British poet, Milton, eulogized the encounter in some of his most famous poetry.

Honoring a daisy-ish flower
Michaelmas Day is also associated with Michaelmas daisies, a type of aster that grows well in the coldest of weather. The flower is reported to sprout its first bloom just at Michaelmas Day, and continue blooming clear through to the next summer.

Yesterday, I went to Walmart, and I think perhaps I saw some Michealmas daisies disguised as mums -- purple, with a bright yellow center. (If I'd done even more research, which I don't have time to do, I might have learned that these mums are, in fact, a type of aster.)

Cicely Mary Barker, a favorite illustrator, was most known for her poems and illustrations of flowers posing as fairies -- the flower fairies, she called them. Here is a picture of her Michealmas Fairy.
(Cicely Mary Barker poems and illustrations are suddenly in fashion, and you can find them in books everywhere. If you love gardening, or you have a little girl, you might want to check some out from the library. Delightful, they are. She so cleverly draws these little fairies adorned in dresses and caps that resemble the flower after which the fairy is named.

End of the Harvest, Goose Day, and other folklore:
Michaelmas celebrations traditionally signaled the end of the harvest season in the British Isles.

In Ireland and northern England, it was thought that if you ate goose at Michaelmas, you would have good luck for the rest of the year. Thus, it remains a custom on the holiday (also known as Goose Day) to have goose for dinner. (Supposedly, it had something to do with a legend about Queen Elizabeth eating goose after the defeat of the Armada.)

In Ireland, finding a ring hidden in a Michaelmas pie meant that one would soon be married.

Craftsy journal project, and a mental picture of C.S. Lewis

The Journal
Thanks to inspiration from scrappy artist extraordinaire, Virginia, I altered a little antique primer (which belonged to someone in my family, though I can't remember whom), into this scrappy journal, ready for writing.


Pages in the journal are a combination of the original primer pates (complete with charming illustrations),


and two other books (to stabilize the journal, as the primer pages are fairly fragile).


I'll either paint over the text on some of the pages (and then write over the paint), or write on scrappy paper and paste it in -- haven't worked out all the details of that yet. But I've wanted to create one of these little altered books for some time now, and am happy to see the project finally done.

A Mental Picture of C.S. Lewis

As I mentioned in my previous post, I'm reading a book by a man (Vanauken) who was a friend of C.S. Lewis. At one point in the book, Vanauken describes the man Lewis. It's a first-hand account of a real man -- heretofore seemingly unreal in my mind (an ethereal presence whose name appeared as author on profoundly written publications -- but not a real, living, breathing man). I appreciated so much the human element portrayed in Vanauken's description -- it made Lewis present in my mind. Thought you might enjoy it too.

"... I got a card from [Lewis] inviting me to dine with him at Magdalen College. I had never so much as seen a photograph of him, and in reading his books and letters I had vaguely pictured him as slender, perhaps somewhat emaciated, and slightly stooped with a lean, near-sighted face. What I met, when I turned up at his rooms, was John Bull himself. Portly, jolly, a wonderful grin, a big voice, a quizzical gaze -- and no nonsense. He was as simple and unaffected as a man could be, yet never was there a man who could so swiftly cut through anything that even approached fuzzy thinking. Withal, the most friendly, the most genial of companions. ... I therefore saw and heard, both at table and in the semi-circle by the fire in the common room as the port went round, the Lewis who, in brilliance, in wit, and in incisiveness, could hold his own with any man that ever lived."

A Severe Mercy

After devoting myself to the Twilight Saga for weeks, I haven't felt as though I could devote myself to any extra-curricular reading. With school in full gear, support-raising opportunities, Bible study responsibilities, etc., reading seemed like a guilty pleasure. But I came across a book in the thrift store, read through the first page, and knew the book to be, in the words of Adria Ellis, "a gift from God" -- something I am meant to read.

I had heard of this book before, in two vague sorts of contexts -- one associated with C.S. Lewis, the other with an author named Sheldon Vanauken. I wondered, in fact, if there were two books by the same title.

But now I know that there is only one book. And it is something of a memoir by Vanauken, an agnostic (or, arguably, atheist) graduate of both Yale and Oxford who became a Christian during the years when C.S. Lewis was at Oxford.

But it's not Vanauken's story alone. Titled A Severe Mercy, it's the memoir of Vanauken's (almost surreal) relationship with his wife, Davy, their joint search for truth, and the influence of Lewis in their conversion. Shortly after becoming a Christian, Davy is struck with a mysterious illness, and dies young, and Vanauken turns to Lewis for guidance and comfort. What follows is a series of 18 letters through which Lewis, in effect, pastors Vanauken through his grief.

I'm only about halfway through the book, but it is both compellingly narrative and deeply intense. The cover bills it as "A Real-Life Love Story, Full of Wonder and Hope." And Adria tells me that, while heartwrenching, it will be encouraging and challenging and I will love it (which I do).

Here are a few of my favorite quotes from the book, so far.

On beauty:
He remembered as though it were but a few days ago that winter night, himself too young even to know the meaning of beauty, when he had looked up at a delicate tracery of bare black branches against the icy glittering stars: suddenly something that was, all at once, pain and longing and adoring had welled up in him, almost choking him. He wanted to tell someone, but he had no words, inarticulate in the pain and glory. It was long afterwards that he realised that it had been his first aesthetic experience. That nameless something that had stopped his heart was Beauty.

On marriage:
The killer of love is creeping separateness. Inloveness is a gift of the gods, but then it is up to the lovers to cherish or to ruin. Taking love for granted, especially after marriage. Ceasing to do things together. Finding separate interests. "We" turning into "I." Self-regard: what I want to do. Actual selfishness only a hop away. This was the way of creeping separateness.
(note: this portion written of his thoughts before He became a believer, hence "the gods")

On faith:
I suspected that all the yearnings for I knew not what that I had ever felt -- when autumn leaves were burning in the twilight, when wild geese flew crying overhead, when I looked up at bare branches against the stars, when spring arrived on an April morning -- were in truth yearnings for him. For God.

New Website

Thanks to my absolutely brilliant hubby, we now have a new Morgan Journey website. I know you're just DYING to check it out here!

This has been an encouraging week, as we have had at least one financial supporter sign on, discussions with three local pastors (one who just recently returned from a trip to Ireland) and encouraging conversations with several other people. And Steven has a meeting with another pastor tomorrow. (Pray, please.)

I have LOTS of things to blog about, but that'll have to wait til tomorrow. Toodles, til then.

A new take on clothing tags, and wisdom from the pen of Luther

Take a look at the photo below, and tell me what you see:


If you said "clothing tags," take a look again! Those, my friend, are art supplies! And I need more of them. So as you purchase clothing for the change of seasons, for yourself or other family members, collect up those little promotional tags attached to the price tags and send them my way. I'm also in need of Scrabble pieces, by the way, so you can send those as well. (If you're one of the few people who read this blog who don't know how to contact me, leave a comment with your e-mail address and I'll send you my address!)

So enough with the craftsy stuff. Onto more serious topics:

Last week, as Steven and I met for Bible Study (via telephone) with our World Harvest friend and mentor, Meredith Elder, I mentioned to him how frustrated I get with myself over my sin. My trouble, Meredith said, is that I expect myself to be different than I actually am. I expect myself not to sin, because I don't really realize just how pervasive the sin nature is. And, hence, I don't grasp at all the pervasiveness of God's forgiveness and love toward me. I have the same ailment as a friend of Martin Luther, to whom he wrote the following in a letter:

" ... my faithful request and admonition is that you join our company and associate with us, who are real, great and hard-boiled sinners.

You must by no means make Christ to seem paltry and trifling to us, as though He could be our Helper only when we want to be rid from imaginary, nominal and childish sins. No, no! That would not be good for us.

He must rather be a saviour and Redeemer from real, great, grievous and damnable transgressions and iniquities, yea, from the very greatest and most shocking sins; to be brief, from all sins added together in a grand total....

[Luther, quoting another]
Aha! you want to be a painted sinner and, accordingly, expect to have in Christ a painted Savior. You will have to get used to the belief that Christ is a real Savior and you a real sinner. For God is neither jesting nor dealing in imaginary affairs, but He was greatly and most assuredly in earnest when He sent His own Son into the world and sacrificed Him for our sakes."

O, that I might know more fully both the depth of my need and the depth of his love. May I kneel in awe and wonder at this very Real Jesus, who lived, died and reigns for this very Real Sinner.

How I spent my afternoon with (almost) no kids in the house

Can it really have been five days since I posted? I thought a day or two, perhaps, but not five!

All children except Eli were out of the house yesterday, and I had planned to write a post and work on an e-mail we send to our prayer/financial supporters ... but, alas, the Internet was down all afternoon. I was forced instead to clean out my scrapbooking/crafting desk, which has been an untouched wreck for six months at least. I'm itching to work on some projects, and organizing the materials was a necessary first step. (Let's be realistic, if I can't even see the top of the desk, how in the world am I going to use the top of the desk?)

Much to my dismay, I opened the drawers only to discover -- prepare yourself -- mouse poop in every drawer. Aaaacccchhhh! Eeeeeeekkkkk!

We noticed the little critter several weeks ago living under the desk. So Steven, being the humane hub that he is (and at the prodding at the tender-hearted scientific type, Aden) purchased a live trap, put some peanut butter in it, and nabbed the unwanted guest. The children were all amazed to look at the "cute" little mouse, and we put trap-and-all on the porch until Steven could get home and take it town to the woods by the lake to release it. Drove the cat absolutely CRAZY!

Ah, but I digress.

Never occurred to me that said mousling had been living not only under the desk, but in it as well! Not a welcome discovery. So I spent the afternoon taking everything out of every drawer, then vacuuming (and, needless to say, washing my hands about 10 times at various intervals because we were out of the gloves I buy for cleaning toilets).

Now, the desk is all clean and organized, but I did discover five clear letter stamps missing -- don't know if that's the result of some craft-loving rodent (you have read/seen The Borrowers haven't you) or, more likely, a craft-loving six-year-old (Isabella, of course). Probably the latter, don't you think?

Except for the loss of those stamps, I'm ready to go. I'm going to work on the aforementioned e-mail first, then allow myself the reward of working on a little craft project. Some certain friend -- she knows who she is -- ordered a decorated initial from me last November (I hate even admitting that), so today's craft time belongs to her. I'll be filling the order before the weekend is out!

Must get to the e-mail first, though. Pray for our support-raising activity, ok?

This young man, my son

A photo of Eli smiling -- rare treat indeed. (He seems to think smiling in photos isn't cool.) Melissa Holmes nabbed the shot while Eli was at the beach with them this summer, and (being the thoughtful -- and organized friend -- she is) forwarded a copy along to me. I was stunned when I saw the picture. He is so grown!

Happy Place

This home we live in -- this place I spend my days teaching and crying and laughing and praying and dreaming and hoping and loving and entertaining -- this place has soothing little spots which seem to reach out to me and draw me close.

Places like my kitchen window ...


... where I bring a bit of the outdoors in. Visually. And literally. I think the "look" of the window soothes me because the "do" of the window soothes me: those stolen moments of time, when I slip away into the garden to snip the cuttings and then tenderly arrange them, those moments are sweet and nourishing ... and I feel the "doing" of it anew with every look.

The zinnias (oh, perfect cutting flowers) delight me ...

... with their reds, yellows, oranges, pinks and fuschias. Have you ever noticed the little yellow stamen at their center. Delicate, detailed. I love them.

I also love the rosemary, earthy and fragrant. The aroma lingers.

The containers are simple, undistracting -- a sturdy sqaurish bottle which once housed who knows what (olive oil, maybe), and simple antique medicine bottles. But the large one is adorned with a tag, beautifully scripted (not by me), which reminds -- twice over -- Celebrate. Celebrate.

And so celebrate, I do. Life. Love. Redemption.

Even kitchen windows.

Thoughts on God's glory

Tonight in Maja's Wednesday night class, we talked about God's glory. It reminded me of this excerpt from a Frederick Buechner book.

Glory
Glory is to God what style is to an artist. A painting by Vermeer, a sonnet by Donne, a Mozart aria -- each is so rich with the style of the one who made it that to the connoisseur it couldn't have been made by anybody else, and the effect is staggering. The style of an artist brings you as close to the sound of his voice and the light in his eye as it is possible to get this side of actually shaking hands with him.

God's glory. Uniquely His. Staggering. As close to the sound of Him, as close to the appearance of Him as I can be this side of actually embracing Him.

The analogy falls short, of course, but there's something I love about it. To "see" God as supremely all things -- supremely loving, supremely holy, supremely faithful, supremely gentle, supremely grace-lavishing, supremely forgiving, supremely sacrificing, supremely good, supremely wise, supremely understanding, supremely protective, supremely compassionate, supremely supreme -- makes His intangibility tangible to me. What I'm saying is, it enables me to see that I will never be able to grasp just how infinitely glorious He is. And so, in his glorious intangibility, he becomes breathtaking.

Unique. Staggering. Breathtaking. Like a Van Gogh painting or a John Donne sonnet.

Only infinitely exponentially moreso.