die way.

"I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice? Only words, words; to be led out to battle against other words."
-Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis

again Merton.

"Only the man who has had to face despair is really convinced that he needs mercy. Those who do not want mercy never seek it. It is better to find God on the threshold of despair than to risk our lives in a complacency that has never felt the need of forgiveness. A life that is without problems may literally be more hopeless than one that always verges on despair." 
— Thomas Merton 

desire.

"My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going, I do not see the road ahead of me, I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore, I will trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone." — Thomas Merton

the Way.

We defied all preconditioned odds of Barcelona by actually catching up on sleep, instead of sacrificing it. Jesse booked a chic apartment in a quiet, near-coast area of loco Barcelona that Maeg and I schemed to replicate for our future abode. The 3-day journey wound through Gaudi monuments (including famous Park Guell and La Sagrada Familia), a chocolate museum, cathedrals, street performers, parks and the beach. Maeg fulfilled a personal mecca to finally see Gaudi’s work, while I wandered through a country I’d studied since 8^th grade, basking in each attempt at “translator.” While paella, sangria, papas bravas and otras tapas satisfied all Espana-cuisine cravings, the Vampire Weekend concert equally quenched the semester-thirst for live music.

Sunday morning began at 3 a.m. with a walk to a bus station, followed by a drive to an airport, a flight to a train station, a train ride to Florence and a walk home 30 minutes before our Renaissance history presentation. Thankfully, we had enough coins in our pockets to steal 30 min. off an “E-Point” airport computer, to Wikipedia information for our noon project. Nothing like a 5 a.m. international cram session.

As our last Narnia-esque adventure came to close, thoughts from two worlds reeled their familiar images through my head. (I now agree with Maegan in crowning 4 a.m. as the peak-processing hour.) But as my mind scurried around just about everyone and everything I’ve encountered in 91 days, I tripped on the unexpectedly weighted question of, “what really matters?”

Psalm 10 possesses a startling line in David’s description of the prideful man, as he says “in all his thoughts there is no room for God.”

Too true did this accusation resonate with my introspective morning, and I found little openness to His filling.

In a kenotic response to surrender the masses of life equations flooding sacred space in our hearts, Maeg and I hope to examine the past few months and grapple with important questions throughout December. Have we allowed Him to truly transform our inmost beings, in full? What will remain, divinely solidified in our inconsistent characters, when the European memories and experiences fall to the wayside? Who has He led in and out of our 4-month journey and for what reasons? Do we truly trust Him with the upcoming unknowns, especially after His manifested faithfulness in this season?

Surely, we can acknowledge evidence of His cultivation of foundational layers for our “nexts.” But with one month left, we’re challenged to finish this race.

Prayer for Maegan and I:

“You have made known to me the path of life;

You will fill me with joy in your presence”

For the Lord truly has remade Himself known to us, both in intimate purposes for our individual souls, and in ultimate purposes for His glory. 

Yet as we continue to step forward, pray for a Spirit-empowered ability to keep living IN the questions, and joyfully remember that the Path of Life, the Way, is only in Him. 

good.

"But in this world there is too much ugliness and horror.
So there must be, somewhere, goodness and truth.
And that means somewhere God must be."
-Czeslaw Milosz

"moats and boats and waterfalls, alleyways and pay-phone calls... i've been everywhere with you"

she said.

She said “night train,” and I got excited. Not just letter-in-the-mail kind of excited, but REAL, win-the-lottery excitement, with only a slight twinge of concern. After a missed train falling among other failed attempts, fate left us no option but to take the parent-forbidden night train. Not only did we cross the line of defiance in this decision, but, more importantly, we were going to fulfill my age-old, romantic idea of traveling Europe in a sleeper car, by night. The seemingly epic realization of this movie-like scenario fueled my thoughts, and immediately, I prepared my mentality for battle. My imagination raced through cartoon images of sinister gypsies lurking in cabin hallways, and of dangerous co-passengers to whom we would be forced to share a compartment with. Even after the father-like conductor placed us safely in a quad-bolted, secure room, I didn’t let my guard down nor my thoughts subdue. Every peculiar screech or shuffle outside our fastened door offered new material for my over-active, thrill-set mind. Eyes peeled to catch any outside glimpse of a foe at each Slovakian border-crossing and two close friends in shelved-beds above me, the 7-hour voyage marked a climax for my European travels thus far. What an escapade.

She said “night train,” and immediately the felt weight of a daylong hesitation seemed to hover. From nixed plan to nixed plan since 9 a.m., the growing concern of the last-resort endeavor loomed in her conscience. She had promised their mother she would offer a savvy opinion in any compromising situation. Now, the friends seemed to have no choice but take the banned night-train to Prague. Though she worried little of her own safety, resting in a long and successful history of questionable scenarios, the potential perils for three female Americans inevitably existed. With a “make-the-best-of-it” mentality, she prepared her mind to navigate the ensuing prospective for disaster. Yet after boarding the train and quickly being offered a “safe room” from the friendly conductor, her day-high pile of apprehension instantly diminished. Relieved from the alleviated burden of responsibility, she could sit back on her fold-out wall cot, above the pajama-geared lady below, and enjoy a restful night of cherished time with two friends; the focus of her travel in the first place. What a relief.

She said “night train,” to let the others know their final verdict. She neither felt excitement nor concern at her own words, however. Yes, the night train had been warned against. Yes, night-travel proved possibly perilous. But she had traveled this way before. And plus, “safety in numbers,” right? The only miniscule feeling that carried any significance in her mind pertained to her mother, and the account she would later have to relay. But even such a duty mattered little at this point. So numb were her feelings, and so drained was her brain from the 9-hour chaos of decision-making and dead-ends, that she no longer possessed the slightest leftovers of emotion. She, the appointed “travel agent” of the trip, only cared that her friends make it from point-A to point-B. And then to point-C, once arrived in Prague. After steering through schedule-shambles at the Budapest train station, she could’ve train hopped and felt ok about it. Thus, the conductor’s guidance to a “better” cabin only seemed appropriate. And as she sat on her  “bunk,” seemingly without comment about the day’s pandemonium or her cousin’s over-eager enthusiasm, she began to plot out the groups’ next steps. What a headache.

17th Century Nun Prayer.

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself, that I am growing older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but Thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessing cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a Saint – some of them are so hard to live with – but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so.

AMEN

continued.

...Eastern Europe met our intrigue with unique architecture, interesting food, colorful parks and perceivable scarring of the still-recent communistic recovery. The residual aura of oppression hung in a contrasting tension between buildings and people-the chic new structures symbolizing a younger generations’ aim to “move on” and “westernize,” contrasting the bullet-holed stack of flats with windows full of elderly faces, longing to re tell a piece of their painfully haunting history. Unfortunately, anticipated gypsy attacks never occurred. Other than the peculiar noises heard outside our quad-bolted cabin door during our forbidden night train ride to Prague, I decided the eerie gypsy world doesn’t actually exist.  Beyond the overall flawless execution of this 6 day trip, the 10 hours of travel-attempt shambles and interesting hostel experiences in Room 101 of the Czech Inn merely solidified Maegy’s fore-trip prediction: “Adventure only begins with something goes wrong.”

Needless to say, we enjoyed Starbucks at least 7 times. Thanks for being a good sport, Steph.

Halloween topped every previous year, with a FREE five–course Italian feast at Jesse’s restaurant in Bergamo. Thanks to owner Filippo’s love-fueled generosity, we enjoyed prestigious pasta dishes, breads, cheeses, meats, reserve wines, French champagnes and deserts. After a tour of the entire restaurant, Filippo gladly offered us the rest of our 2005 Chianti reserve and large jar of home made “secret spice” to take home. Candy  and pumpkins just wont cut it anymore…

Speaking of holidays....Christmastime feels near. As much as I enjoy the downslide into my absolute favorite season and all its nostalgic comfort, I cant help but dig my heals in the ground a little more stiffly for now: a futile attempt to slow down the inevitable pull of waning time. Nevertheless, I’m still mentally embracing the upcoming Holy season, listening to tons of Christmas music with my headphones (the only place I’m allowed to thus far.)

Discussion of "community" has been the subject at large lately…in thought, in prayer and in conversation.  Sifting to define and understand its priority and structure, in our lives now and in future preparation, I am thankful for this common theme in learning, and even more grateful for pilgrim hearts to process it with.

Above all, we praise God for His Divine Providence in every pocket of this semester, and the slow unveiling of our eyes to recognize all the miniscule-but-mighty pieces of it…

Have to fight, have to fly, have to crow.

to be continued.

Autumn finally arrived, and after putting up with a few winter-esque rainy days, we have comfortably settled into the sunny, sweater-and-scarf wearing climate. (Adequately equipped with supplies from the vintage shop around the corner.) Italia at it’s finest.

In the theme of kenosis, a reiterated discipline of “self-emptying” pulled from the book Maeg and I weekly discuss, a golden carpet of fallen leaves and exposed bare branches visibly display the effects of such a season within us.

We’re shedding layers, like the surrounding world. And as winter raps on the door to takes its place, we’re asking it to hold off a little longer. There is more to surrender…

Nevertheless, time inevitably races, and three weeks have already passed since we alighted the steep hills of Cinque Terre with Whitney and Ethna; a trip worth a short novel in itself.

Cinque Terre Highlight: the coast-side terrace view of our “upgraded” hostel, the ocean backdrop during our nightly porch feasts and, ultimately, the welcomed and refreshing company of both Ethna and Whitney as we peered over the vertigo-edges of coastal cliffs. (Not to forget a worthy introduction to Ethna's Mexican chili powder and an entertaining observation of Whitney's Nutella consumption rate.)

During the following week, Dr. Parrish surprised us with a  “scouting” visit for Baylor’s abroad program, invoking a timely mid-semester evaluation of our stay in Florence, both introspectively and outwardly. Appreciative for this unexpected pause, Maeg and I reflected on our densely-packed tales and transformations since August, and contemplated the unrealized stories still to unfold. Following the professor’s visit, our crawling-pace of academic life spiked and we pulled the typical collegiate cram-sessions to cross the October finish line.

Rejuvenated from a quiet four-day weekend, we excitedly received Steph into our Florentine home that quickly followed with a Fall Break vacation to Budapest and Prague…..