On the Christmas Story

During church yesterday, I started to think about the Christmas story, and an interesting notion struck me. I am still working through the idea, but I tried to write a poem that would express it. I'm not sure if it entirely makes sense, but I'll post it here anyway.

Innocent Blood

Everyone knows that Jesus died
They hung him on a cross
Pierced his side
His feet
His hands
They killed him
And he died
To be our atonement
A perfect sacrifice
With pure and innocent blood
And there was weeping in Jerusalem
As there had been many years before
Not far away
In Bethlehem
When Herod killed the baby boys
Trying to kill a king
They were slaughtered in the streets
Before their mothers' eyes
Their pure and innocent blood
Poured out
while the family of Jesus escaped
A gruesome sacrifice
But we were atoned by those deaths
Those cruel deaths
That saved the life of our Lord
So he could be placed on the altar

On the Silver Lining

I've finished another semester.

Finally.

As fast as it flew by, this has been a very long semester--very full. It had its great moments, but I am very glad that it is accomplished. I have had a hard time really looking forward to being at Oxford, just because so many things stood in the way. When I first found out I was accepted, it hardly even felt real. I didn't know how to be excited about it. The last few weeks have been different. I finished off more and more final projects which meant that there were fewer and fewer obstacles between me and the trip. It got scary for a while. In some ways it is, but now it is only three weeks of Christmas break away, and I can truly look forward to it.

Finally.

I think I have spent far too much time focusing on the negatives of a semester abroad, which is strange for me. I am a die hard optimist. I can almost always see the bright side. Of course, I have seen the bright side to studying at Oxford from the beginning, but oddly enough, it has not always been the side on which I centred my attention.

I am changing that. This trip will rock my world, and it will do so in Europe. I'll have a close, long-time friend to share it with, and we are going to be studying in Oxford. That I have the chance to have such an experience blows my mind.

God is good.

Oh yeah, and only one week to Christmas.
Woot!

On Being Almost There

I feel like I'm cruising down a trench on the surface of the Death Star . . .

On Traveling

Things are ending.
New things are starting.
It is a strange time for me. I'm coming to the end of a semester, which is usually a jubilant time. Finals go by, then there is a gorgeous three week break. However, that break means something completely different to me this year. I won't be coming back in three weeks; I'll be leaving. In fact, I'll be heading a few thousand miles east by northeast to spend a semester in this little place called Oxford.

I am exceedingly pumped to be there, to see Europe, to learn.

I am not so excited to be gone.

There is so much that I will miss. I will miss my sister's final musical while she is in high school. I will miss two shows put on by my own school and two more put on by my friends, all of which will be starring friends of mine. I will be missing vocal recitals by people in my life of whom I am exceedingly fond.

But more than that, there are so many little things I will miss, and those will be the hardest: the day to day happenings. People whom I pass on the sidewalk and greet. Chapel services. Impromptu trips to 24 hour restaurants. Inside jokes. My friends will still be my friends when I return, but there is so much shared experience I will not have. What if some of my friends start dating, and I don't get to know them in relationship? What if other friends break up? What if a friend lops of all her hair? What if a friend takes up dancing?

I don't know how to express it.

But it is the little things I dread missing.
Things like the sounds of familiar voices.

On Empathy

I just wish to understand people. I don't think there are many things more important for me

. . . as a fellow person

. . . as a writer

. . . as an ambasador of Christ

than knowing why a person does instead of merely what, knowing where they are coming from and where they are going. I long to be able to look--the way that God looks--and see the heart.