One Month.
I’ve spent one month thinking about how to write this post, and I’ve even begun several drafts, only to abandon them.
One month ago, I walked to the bus station in Gloucester Green, Oxford, at 3:30am with H and two of my housemates.
I fell asleep on the bus to London, and awoke to see Heathrow Airport looming before me like an alien city from H.G. Wells’ imagination—hundreds of two-eyed lamposts standing in formation before the lighted levels of the terminals.
One last coffee at Café Nero.
One last look out the window at English soil (or concrete, rather).
And then Seatac, home, Christmas, and the end of 2011.
A week or so ago, I had dinner with Jordan, one of my closest Seattle friends, and her parents.
We talked about Oxford and how I’ve changed.
We’re meant to change. Donald Miller talks about that in A Million Miles In a Thousand Years; one of his friends did a year-long study on the physical change that occurs in our bodies throughout our lifetimes. We are designed to change, inside and out.
I am convinced the most beautiful praise one can hear is this: “You’ve changed; you’re different now, and it’s so good.”
When our friends call out the changes in us, we have evidence that it’s actually happened. The comments I receive from those who know me solidify my Oxford experience. Those around us testify to our progress.
They say humans fear change. If wonder, though, if we truly fear remaining unchanged.
If you’re anything like me, you sometimes question whether or not you have changed.
You make progress; you break a habit, form a friendship, strengthen a virtue.
But the questions, the doubts, creep in. You’re not really any different. You’ll never change. You’ll be stuck like this; accept it, this is just the way you are.
Meanwhile, “the writer, who is not me” (to steal a phrase from Don Miller) speaks to us softtly, saying,
“If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (2 Corinthians 5:17)
“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isaiah 43:19).
At dinner with Jordan and her parents, she described God’s love as standing under a waterfall.
I told her that is exactly what my time in Oxford felt like. I felt like my life was overflowing, like I was living the way I was created to live.
Every little detail felt crafted, written, by Someone who knows me.
This is what He wrote:
"You love liturgy, academic Bible study, and song lyrics full of meaning.
Let me place you in a church that gives you all of these, as well as students your age to meet with and befriend. And you will walk into this on your first Sunday in Oxford. I know the songs that will fill you with hope most. I know the place you will cry when the stress and worry weigh you down. I know every soul that has prayed to Me there, the humble prayer of confession that I rejoice in and answer with generous mercy and perfect forgiveness.
"You love reading, story, libraries and books.
Let me give you a teacher who will show you how to write stories here, in the city where so many stories have been written and lived. You will meet Rachel, a young woman with the same literary passion as you—I painted your souls the same color so you could discover each other now, at the right time. Also, you will spend at least 30 hours each week in the magnificent libraries of this city, enjoying their beautiful, aged resources. I know every book you will touch, every place you will catch your breath at the words in them, and the passages you will reread as you try to grasp their meaning.
"You love beauty in palaces, cities, the countryside, and the sea.
Let me show you the kind of countryside that feels like it is alive—the personified moors and heaths of Thomas Hardy and Emily Bronte. Oh, and I will place you by the Irish Sea, the Adriatic, and the River Thames, where I know you'll adore their different shades of blue, green, and gray. You will explore Hampton Court Palace, Muncaster Castle, and the Doge’s Palace; and you will wander through the streets of Rome, Florence, Verona, Venice, Oxford, London, and Whitehaven. When these cities were built, I knew you would be here one day; I knew the places at which you would stop and stare."
And that is just an excerpt.
Standing under a waterfall is an extraordinary experience, but in this world of time and emotions and the up-and-down trudging that is being human, it cannot last forever.
One day it will, and I will dive in and swim in the Living Water like they do at the end of The Last Battle.
For now, though, I am back in Burien. I am working at the bakery, slowly making over my little upstairs bedroom, spending time with my family, and turning 21 on Monday.
Those of you in the area, if you are interested in meeting up, do let me know. Most (read “all”) of my friends are back at their various universities now, so this extrovert is struggling to get her fix of conversations from interactions with customers at the bakery and visits with my older brother a few times a week.
But even (or especially) here, working my 40-hrs.-a-week at a job that is not a career, life is happening. We strive for excellence in all we do, so that we will not be ashamed. When I look Him in the face, the hope that overwhelms me is that I will hear Him, smiling, say, “You’ve changed; you’re different, and it’s so good.”
It is time to live like we cannot die.--Beth Moore
xx Jennifer
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