Annal 63: Tale from the Drowned Rat

Have you ever seen a drowned, or at least soaking wet, rat?  I have not, but I have seen wet dogs that closely resemble rats, and as such feel justified in the title of this entry.  It rained all day yesterday, the result of which was a somewhat wet me waiting to catch the bus up to the university. 

A friend kindly pointed out to me that in British Literature the heroine always goes through some sort of an emotional journey, which ends up being symbolized by her travelling through the rain.  Just as she collapses, unable to go on any further, she is swooped up in the arms of some hero and taken to safety.  I don't know about you, but this sounds like a fantastic idea.  Sadly, I have never  been one to be allowed to follow the norms set about by literature, and so my story is slightly different. 

I have had a somewhat emotional journey, things which perhaps one day I will get into a little more, but for now suffice to say that my heart has been broken and has had to be mended.  Therefore I feel that I am about due for a symbolic walk in the rain.  I had this yesterday morning when I was making my way to the bus stop. 

Now, just when you think my hero should come riding in on his noble steed to save me and take me up to the university, a hero did come in.  But he wasn't on horseback.  He was driving a bus.  And he didn't swoop me into his arms, but instead opened the doors to the bus early so I could jump on and avoid being further soaked.  He even wished me a "Good morning."

Yeah, how's that for a romantic encounter?

I then had to walk home from the bus stop at the end of the day.  By the time I unlocked the door I was pretty wet, pretty dirty, and overrall not the most attractive creature on two legs.  How do the women in the BBC movies make getting caught in the rain look so good?  They have the perfect mix of vulnerability and not-running make-up.  It is no wonder men always want to rush to rescue them.

This morning I was reading in 1Peter 3 where Peter is describing the relationship between a husband and a wife.  He talks about how women should not focus on adorning their outer appearance, but instead on adorning their inner appearance.  He uses the term "imperishable beauty" (this is the the English Standard Version).  This got me thinking.

What does imperishable beauty look like?  Peter lists some examples, but I wondered what others thought about this.  What does beauty that doesn't wash away in the rain look like?

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 62: Tale from Monster in the Basement

Blast you, Christian Victorian romance novels I read as a child!!!! 

Okay, I feel somewhat better now that I have gotten that out of my system. 

I am taking a Victorian Literature course this semester, and yesterday was the lecture where we are given an introduction to life in Victorian England, specifically gender roles as that is what the course will be dealing with.  Growing up I read Christian romances from just about every era, but I always wanted to live among the Victorians.  Beautiful gowns, balls, walks through gardens, afternoon teas... does it not sound simply delicious?  Alas, my bubble was burst last night.

Did you know that Victorian women were supposed to fit the idea of the "Angel in the House"?  They were supposed to never leave the home, but also do nothing productive beyond sewing, embroidering, and some reading.  Too much reading of intellectual works would render you too intelligent, while too much reading of scandalous works would leave you open to the temptations of the world.  You didn't cook or take care of your own children, and you never left the house unaccompanied.  In fact, you didn't even own a key to your own house.  When you did receive visitors, they were only allowed to stay for fifteen minutes, and you must never discuss anything controversial or philosophical.  All must be perfectly shallow.  Your job was to symbolize all that is pure and to remain untainted by the world.  This was because your husband was the provider.  In order to prove himself a true, Victorian male, he had to be able to go out in the world, live tainted by it, and provide for his family.  He needed his wife to remain pure so that she would anchor him to all that was good.

I don't think I would make a very good Victorian woman.  I like children (hence teaching), I enjoy baking and cooking (when mine and my sister's somewhat limited resources allow for it), and I definitely enjoy having a key to our home so that I can take off whenever I want.  I cross-stitch, but that is the extent of my sewing, and think I would go absolutely batty if I was expected to live my life in complete seclusion.  I have this horrible feeling that I would become the "Monster in the Basement" which Victorian society lived in such fear of.  This would be a woman that no one knew what to do with.

All this being said, it is probably a good thing I don't fit the Victorian ideal as I really wouldn't want to marry the ideal Victorian man either.  You know the saying "stiff upper lip"?  Yeah, that pretty much summarizes how men were supposed to live.  They were to show no emotion but to always portray a face of pure calm.  Nothing was to faze them.  Words and expression are somewhat important to me (I keep a blog... I figure this makes sense).  I have a really hard time if I don't know what another person is thinking, especially if I can tell that they are feeling off.  Stoicism doesn't really do it for me; I can't say as I find it very attractive.  Communicators?  Yeah, that's hot (at least for me).To be with someone who never talked, who never shared what was going on in their mind and their heart would drive me insane. 

Did I mention that insanity is another characteristic of women who would have been seen as monsters?

The moral of this tale?  Some Christian writers, especially those who do historical fiction, really need to make sure they research more than just clothing styles and the odd social custom when writing books.  Otherwise you have have girls, like me, who grow up engrossed in this romantic ideal that never fully existed.  So while my view of Victorian England has crumbled around me, at least I have realized that it was a good thing I never lived then, as I would have never belonged.

Side note:  there is a street near my home called Rochester Crescent.  Coincidence?  I think not!

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 61: Tale from my Buddy Clive

Oi.

Sometimes I like to pretend that I am more British than my several generations removed allow.  When such an urge comes upon me, I like to use words such as "Oi."  That being said, I also like to say "Huzzah" when cheering.  I suppose this means I am simply odd.

The reason for the "Oi" was simply my way of describing this passed week.  It has gone well, and I think I will enjoy my courses, but it has still been a week.  That being said, I think the tangent about being British will work as a nice little path as I discuss hanging out with a good friend of mine.  His name is Clive, though I prefer to call him Jack, but you may know him as C.S. Lewis.

For my birthday my cousin gave me a collection of Lewis' works as I have always wanted to read his writings.  I grew up on The Chronicles of Narnia and loved any quotations of his I read.  So I have spent the last... two weeks or so engrossed in this collection.  I am currently reading The Problem of Pain and last night had somewhat of a revelation.  I want to share with you a passage from it.  He is talking about suffering experienced by "good" people.

"Let me implore the reader to try to believe, if only for the moment, that God, who made these deserving people, may really be right when He thinks that their modest prosperity and the happiness of their children are not enough to make them blessed: that all this must fall from them in the end, and that if they have not learned to know Him they will be wretched.  And therefore He troubles them, warning them in advance of an insufficiency that one day they will have to discover... I call this Divine humility because it is a poor thing to strike our colours to God when the ship is going down under us; a poor thing to come to Him as a last resort, to offer up 'our own' when it is no longer worth keeping.  If God were proud He would hardly have us on such terms: but He is not proud, He stoops to conquer.  He will have us even though we have shown that we prefer everything else to Him, and come to Him because there is 'nothing better' now to be had."

I was floored upon reading this.  Especially considering how it tied into another quotation a friend shared with me, from George Macdonald.  It says:

"My fit wages may be pain, sorrow, humiliation of soul: I stretch out my hands to receive them. Thy reward will be to lift me out of the mire of self-love, and bring me nearer to thyself and thy children: welcome, divinest of good things!"

I am fairly certain God has been trying to tell me something.

Last night I crawled into bed and couldn't fall asleep right away.  So I started praying.  I had already had one breakdown on God earlier in the day (I blame the stress of school), and while this was not a breakdown, it was the culmination of several weeks (perhaps even months) and thoughts and feelings.  I began to hand everything over to God.  My hopes, my dreams, my fears, my expectations... everything.  I handed over the things I was scared to hand over. 

I don't want to only turn to God when my life is in shambles.  I have been in that place before, and while He got me through it, I want to walk with Him in the good and not just the bad.  Whatever He has for me, even if it be pain or sorrow, I want to accept it because He knows that the things I hold onto will not be enough for me.  He knows that He is the only one who can satisfy. 

Sometimes I lose sight of this. 

Often times I lose sight of this.

My life is not my own.

While I think this lesson is important for everyone, I think that as singles it is especially so.  Especially as Christian singles.  Sometimes we lose hope.  People tell us to pray, to "just be content with God and then He'll bring you your special someone," and that "you are amazing; God will bring that person soon."  But for often than naught those words and phrases ring hollow.

Lord, remind me of Your truth.  That the things I place my hope in are not enough to make me blessed, or to make me happy.  Only You can do that, Father.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 60: Tale from Moving

Oi... I don't think any other word more accurately describes how I am feeling at this moment in time.  The last week has been spent packing, moving, driving back home, driving to a neighbouring city's airport, and then driving back to where I am now living.  I calculated it, and with highway driving alone, I have driven about 1250km since Saturday.  Needless to day, I was rather excited to hop on the bus this morning and have someone else cart me around.

My sister and I are almost fully moved into our basement suite now.  I finally finished unpacking my bedroom last night, and all that is left now is to hang up pictures on the walls.  I think we have managed to blend our styles fairly well.  We have a little table with a dish to keep our keys in, and standing watching over this dish is my sister's statue of Gollum.  We have posters from The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, and Wolverine hanging on the walls in our hallway, blended with my somewhat Victorian-era furniture.  Ecclectic?  I think so.  But so far it is working for us!

Last night we were invited to the movies by some friends, so we went to go see The Help.  I have not read the book, but I have to be honest, I haven't laughed that hard in a movie, or been so closely moved to tears, in a long time.  My personal favourite moment was when the main character's mother informs her that her eggs are dying.  The main character is only 23.

This did make me realize something though.  And this something may be brought to mind because I am getting reading to head to my class on witch hunts, thus reminding me of a previous blog entry.  Somethings don't change all that much.  In the movie, the heroine is not understood, or fully accepted, by her friends because she has gone to school, gotten a degree (and not a degree in getting a husband), and is single.  While I have never experienced anything as blatant as what she does, to this day, in some communities (but seemingly specifically in churches) this view is still held.  People just do not always know how to treat you when you do something "against the norm."

That being said, I must confess to loving being back at university.  This is the time where social divides seem to disappear, where there are no "cool" kids and as such, I feel like I belong.  I am surrounded by other people who are attaining degrees and preparing for careers, and so the emphasis on being single is not nearly as strong.  This is refreshing.

Does this change the desire to meet someone and settle down?  Heavens, no!  But when I am here, it almost feels like God's gift to me.  A reminder that perhaps I am not so strange, that my quirks are not so pronouned as to make me an  undesirable.  It suddenly becomes much easier to see aspects of my personality as His artistic works, and less the result of some strange mutation.

All of this being said, I must take myself off to class now, and shall continue mulling over my thoughts another day.

Such is the life of a Christian single.

Annal 59: Tale from an Autumn Day

Today truly felt like the first day of fall.  The sky was a dark, foreboding grey, the leaves are starting to turn, it rained, and there was a brisk feel about the air.  It was a day when one should stay inside by the fire, wrapped in a warm blanket, reading a book, and drinking tea.  Instead of doing this I chose to, along with two friends, take pictures for the day.  We visited another friend's property, and then went to the an old train platform for our photo shoot.

It was brilliant.

A day that started off leaving one melancholy, turned into a day of utter joy.

I love weather like this.  I always have.  Something about it stirs every creative impulse within me, convincing me to act upon it, typically through writing, although today that expression came through a camera (and was dependant upon others as I am no photographer).

The thing with weather like this is that it always fills me with longing.  I become convinced that there is so much more to life than what I am experiencing at that moment.  As if a veil exists that is just barely dividing me from something else.  As a child (and not so young child) this longing made me think of The Chronicles of Narnia.  Melancholy days would find me in my closet, searching for a way into another world.  As I grew older, I found that the wind through the trees seemed to whisper to my inner being, beckoning to me to come and dance among the trees to the song the wind was  composing.  Laugh if you will, but that feeling has yet to leave me.

While I fully believe that any creative pulse within me is God-given, I wonder to what purpose.  What good does dancing among the trees provide for humanity?  Is there really any purpose to it?

Other times I wonder if this is simply God's way of speaking to me, like the caress of the wind.  Is this longing within me to be caught up in nature's song simply my heart crying out to be near its Creator?  It is strange, but in these moments where my heart feels so unsatisfied and desires be loosed from its seeming constraints, I also feel closer to Him who created my heart.  It is as if my recognition that something is missing, that there is more than what I see, allows room for God to let me know He is present. 

And so I shall watch the trees sway to the wind's rhythm; I will close my eyes and listen to the sound of their song.  And as I witness creations worship of the Creator, I will allow my heart to be caught up in worship as well. 

Such is the life of a Christian single.