NATURE

I went to Lake Bonny Park for this assignment, and 

I stayed there for at least 40 minutes.

POEM:

We drove ten minutes down the road

The Mcdonalds in the trunk was a big load

Our final destination, Lake Bonny Park

It was far from turning dark

The sun was deceiving

But i kept on believing

What I hated was the wind

Everyone still just grinned

Good someone knew about the bridge

the lakeview was sure a privilege

I threw a jellybean to the crocodile

But I guess lemon wasn’t his style

The birds swooped down too low

We were a bit scared down below

There was no silence with children’s screams

They competed with my nature daydreams

All the lizards we were seein’

obviously had not been eatin’

Nature includes sweet tea

It was once leaves, you see?

My poem was a bit silly. However, I take nature very seriously. In fact, I recently just wrote a list of values for my life and one of them was to take time daily to appreciate nature. I feel that it is important to, each day, take time to breathe and take in the beauty of Creation. It reminds me of how creative and how thoughtful God is. It is a reminder of my lowliness compared to such a big and awesome God.

I am a lover of nature.

I wish I could eat, sleep, and work outside. :)

There is so much simplicity in it, yet so much complexity that I do not even want to say that I come close to being capable of fathoming it. It is such a mystery. It is so great that I often feel unworthy of being in its presence. 

It impacts all your senses. I could sit outside all day long, embrace every sound, every sight, every feeling, every smell. There’s something about nature that speaks serenity and peacefulness.

Nature speaks so much about our Jesus......Even now I find myself speechless.

When we first think of nature, we usually think about trees, flowers, the mountains, or the beach. But I think the most amazing form of nature is God’s ultimate creation, humans. You and I are what God treasures most. He made all the rest of nature for our enjoyment and pleasure. 

The trip to the park was lovely. Any day at the park with the warmth of the sun shining is a good day in my book! I always jump to any opportunity to soak up the sun. However, I feel that we did not have to go to that park necessarily to be “inspired” for this poem, but it was enjoyable as I already shared. We sat on the bridge overlooking the pond or lake, whichever it was. When I place myself directly in the presence of nature, I feel that I am sitting in the presence of God. And of course, there’s nothing better than that......

Nature

Beauty fills your heart with warmth.

Beauty fills your mind with a world of imagination.

Beauty fills your soul with a sweet song.

Beauty stirs up emotions.

Beauty is often difficult to sum up into words.

Beauty is all around you.

Nature is God’s artwork and to describe it as beautiful does not even begin to do it justice. 

Everyone can find something they feel is beautiful in nature. 

My favorite quote from “State of the Planet” was “It must be a gift from evolution that  humans can’t sustain wonder. We’d never have gotten up from our knees if we could” 

As I read the poem, it really stuck out to me and made me think for a moment. We fail to recognize the details of nature. We take them for granted because they are not so “amazing” because we see them every day. 

If we saw the sunset on the beach in St. Lucia, lava running down the side of a volcano, the planets from a space ship, an aerial view of Hawaii, or the depths of the ocean every single day, we may not find them to be so “wondrous”. 

To think that we’d never have gotten up from our knees if we could does not mean we are in awe and want to worship the nature itself, but we are in awe of how a Creator paid so much attention to every little detail and made it beyond our intelligence. 

What would our lives be like without nature? We are surrounded by it and harmonious with it. 

God uses nature as a way to reveal Himself to those who have not heard the name of Jesus. He says that everyone is responsible because he shows himself to them through the glory of His creation. 

What else about nature is still yet to be discovered? What are the things that cannot be seen with the naked eye? Why did God create the things that we cannot even see so meticulously? 

As we have read about nature in poetry, it has helped me learn to appreciate it even more. It gives attention to the littlest aspects that we forget and describes them in a way that shines light on its wonder. It gives words to the beauty that leaves us speechless. The author, Mary Oliver, did a good job in not only describing nature, but in describing nature’s interaction with humans. 

Who defines what beauty is anyway....

Character

One of the things that I have learned this semester is that everyone is keeping a secret. Now wait, it is not a personal thing against you. It is usually not even a secret like the one that your girlfriend will tell you and then make you promise not to tell anyone. They can simply be considered one’s “hidden thoughts”, things they are not public about, something they are not openly expressive about. It may not be something they are not willing to share. It just may be something they are not going to volunteer to be transparent about automatically. It is a part of their inner self. And many people are yearning for someone to take the time to recognize this unknown, someone to simply take the time to hear their heart, to hear the whispers of their secret.
I have been praying about this area specifically that God would enhance my empathy for others, that I would be more discerning to people’s deeper feelings......that I would not just see the outer crust. As I live on this Christian University’s campus, I would not expect for there to be so many hurting souls, so many broken pasts, so many people with a secret that is eating them from the inside out. But this past semester and a half, I have been privileged to hear people’s stories which had been hidden. They deserved to be expressed, to be heard. There is so much healing in releasing what has been kept hidden.
People’s outer self, their crust, can be so deceiving. We probably have all experienced the surprise of finding out that your initial idea of someone was completely wrong after you have gotten to know them well. I think that this proves that what is on the inside is not always reflected on the outside. Basically, what I am spitting out thoughts about is how we should not judge, have preconceived thoughts about, or assume things about people. They usually have a story, a secret. Take the time to listen to their heart, how their character has been shaped.

This Blessed House

This Blessed House by Jhumpa Lhairi left me questioning if I had missed an underlying theme or lesson in the story, what the author was truly trying to get a cross, what the point of this short story was, what the conclusion was, and basically what the story was REALLY about. The story itself was a fast read that kept me engaged to see what was going to happen in the end. However, nothing truly meaningful actually does happen. It feels like it ends abruptly and it left me dissatisfied. 

I found an interesting interview with Jhumpa Lhairi online. I have found that when I read about the authors and little bit more about how the text was originated or what it was inspired by has been quite helpful in “feeling” the story more. Also, I believe respect for the text is also gained.

Jhumpa Lhairi was raised in America by her parents who were Indian immigrants. In her interview, she talks about how as a result of being a daughter of Indian immigrants, she struggled with a strong sense of alienation, desiring knowledge of a lost world, confusion about belongingness, and questions of identity. This is why many of her stories are either set in India or America or based on Indian people or American people. 

One of the questions in the interview was stated, “You write frequently from the male point of view. Why?” She began explaining how because she did not have any brothers and so she did not understand the male species very well. They seemed to be a mystery and she was curious. I suppose expressing her ideas about a male perspective is helped her explore this mystery. She said that “This Blessed House” was the first story that she had ever written from a male perspective. She described it as exhilarating and liberating and a challenge. This first experience inspired her to write many more from the male perspective. 

After learning that, I thought it was interesting to go back to the story and see how the text was her effort to imagine what a man would be thinking in that situation. I found Najeef’s little remarks about what annoyed him about Twinkle was comical. She showed how husbands most often do not understand the little things that their wife will find amusing or be interested in, but they simply just learn how to accept that as part of who we are and love them anyway. 

Special Post 1 - Character

Every Sunday morning felt as if I were experiencing Ground Hog Day, but I liked routine. It consisted of the same exact routine of me struggling to pull my arm out from under the warmth of my blanket to reach for my phone vibrating, circling around on my crimson red nightstand that I called my treasure because I had “rescued” it from the dump. That buzzing sound always seems significantly louder as if it was maybe, four hours later. And seven thirty always seemed like four AM, no matter what time I had convinced myself would be a good time to finally resort to sleep the night before. Although I have many real and meaningful reasons to get out of bed, it was the seemingly insignificant part of my agenda that motivated me to start my Sunday morning, breakfast at Amelie’s with just me, myself, and I. Despite how oblivious I was to how this routine of having breakfast at Amelie’s that I had acquired over the past months could be significant, it did not really matter in the eyes of destiny.

Sunday, March 17^th, had of course seemed to be typical, with only the expectation of things being predictable yet pleasant. Once I conquered all the the things that I labeled as “morning challenges”, I became cheery as the man who had for months been disappointing me had finally delivered words that put an extra “umph” in my step. It may not be what you are thinking. This man people call, the “weather man” does not know me personally, but I wished he was like a friend I could impress as if he had the power to grant me my wishes. If only he knew that I anticipated hearing good news from him for the past six Sunday mornings. I took so much delight in the idea of having my breakfast with the sun shining on my face in a way that should require sunglasses and that would seem rather annoying to most, sitting indian style on the white whicker chairs that Amelie had placed in front of the restaurant. They resembled the ones that I used to sit on while having breakfast with my grandmother on magical summer mornings that year I spent all of July with her sometime in my childhood. My infatuation with the sun seems rather silly, but it is a legit infatuation to me. And today, I trusted the weather man to give me that seventy eight degree, cloud free day that could allow me to finally do this. Oh, the simple things I long for.

As expected, Amelie greeted me with her genuine, warm and almost grandmotherly like hug, wearing a rose colored apron that you would think would have looked stained and wrinkled from the baking she had already done for hours by the time I saw her. This was typical. In a proud way, as if I had been the one who deserved credit for the beautiful weather, I pointed out the window and said that I was going to sit outside today. Amelie attempted to smile, but it was more like a smirk because she knew how much I had been looking forward to finally being able to sit outside after the months of the worst winter in decades. As she led me to my table, I suddenly felt embarrassed because I realized that my excitement had got me skipping. Amelie just walked with her eyes forward as if she did not notice, giggling not out loud, but I could tell by her grin almost stretching to her ears that she wanted to so badly.

It was as lovely as I had imagined. Amelie had already brought out my coffee with two sugars and put in the order for my two eggs overeasy,crispy around the edges, and my blueberry pancake with extra blueberries with a dallop of her homemade whip cream. I was trying to embrace the sun in full capacity with my eyes closed, only seeing rainbows and flashes of neon colors. However, my curiosity got the best of me and I managed to peel open one eye so I could peek to match a face to a woman’s voice who was saying her farewells to Amelie.

Though I had been adopted twenty years ago from Taiwan, the complete opposite end of the world, I still studied every Asian woman I saw as my, just maybe, potential birth mother. This woman had jet black straight, flowing hair with a shine that was enhanced by the sun’s inevitable attraction to its deep, rich color. It rested about five fingers below her shoulders and parted directly above the middle of her nose leaving her whole forehead exposed. As it traveled away from her shoulders with the light breeze, I could tell the texture was very fine and silky as I watched how each strand seemed to find its way back to its original placing before the wind had blown it, as if it had a memory and knew exactly where she had fixed it that morning.

She appeared to be very vibrant and youthful, but the sporadic single strands of silver in her hair and the dark shading around her almond shaped, pitch black eyes gave a subtle hint to her years. Her skin looked kissed by the sun, golden, or bronze-like. Her face was like a doll’s, porcelain-like, with a healthy glow and no sign of a single wrinkle. She was slender and fragile looking, yet had an automatic presence of confidence, strength, and authority. Despite our probably twenty five year or plus age difference,I found myself wishing I knew where she bought it her pearl-colored lace dress. It sounds fancy, but it seemed casual enough for the laid-back, family style restaurant that Amelie’s atmosphere created because of her sea-foam green beach sandals that wrapped up her ankles.

My curiosity overwhelmed me so much that I was not aware of how I was leaning forward trying to keep my balance, with my legs still crossed indian style, and my eyes glaring with such focus. I examined this lady as if she were a science experiment and I probably made it quite obvious I was doing so. I overheard her saying how much she adored Amelie’s cooking because it resembled the meals her mother had prepared for her that she slowly savored before she raced to catch the school bus. She mentioned that she would love for Amelie and her husband to come over sometime that week to venture out by giving her authentic Taiwanese food a try. Her tone and words seemed refreshingly genuine. It did not seem to be one of those, typical polite “Hey, we should get together sometime soon.” kind of things. She reached her small, delicate hand toward Amelie’s shoulder and gently held it there while she talked because it made her feel like her invitation might seem more personal.

Amelie seemed truly blessed by her invitation and even more simply by her presence. I could tell this by the way Amelie laced her fingers together right in front of her heart, palms touching and her torso slanting forward closer to her with almost a twinkle in her eye. After many mornings of breakfast with Amelie, I knew that anyone she adored so much was someone I would want to know.

I began to think a thought that seemed oh so silly to even myself because I have observed many ladies like herself. “But what if this time was different than the rest and it was her?” But I did nothing about it. As I watched this lady turning the corner, her last finger that was waving goodbye disappeared behind the aged-brick wall, I felt emptiness take place in my stomach and in my heart. Then I starred at my half filled, now lukewarm mug of coffee with a dried imprint of my pink lipstick pursed on the rim, eggs with a hue of green from the oxygen, and a pancake now with a candy like texture from dried maple syrup. All were untouched and unnoticed.

I did not expect this lady to be a part of my seventy eight degree Sunday morning at Amelie’s I had fantasized about for weeks as I struggled to reach my arm out from under the blankets that morning. I did not expect to feel an emptiness as I saw the aged-brick wall take her from me before my conviction led me to speak to her.

Lectio Divina

Monday was my first experience doing Lectio Divina. In fact, it was my first time ever even hearing about it. 

I looked it up and another source described it as “divine reading”.  After applying lectio Divina to Sonny’s Blues, I definitely could see how it could benefit me in my time reading Scripture. Because again, it emphasizes not only reading text through one time and assuming that you received what the message was. It challenges you to really “soak it in” and “consume” what the text has to offer. 

In application to scripture, I believe that if you truly desire to be knowledgeable and receive wisdom from it, you should push yourself to not be lazy and take the time to genuinely study God’s words and give them the opportunity to speak.

We read a couple paragraphs from the story and applied this concept to it. 

I liked the way that Wikipedia compares this process to “Feasting on the word.” 

Lectio: taking a bite

Meditatio: chewing on it

Oratio: Savoring the essence of it

Contemplatio: it is digested and made part of the body

Lectio (Listening to the word): After reading the text out loud, I wrote down “But the man who creates the music is hearing something else, is dealing with the roar rising from the void”

Meditatio (Reflecting on the word): We read the text aloud again. My thoughts that I wrote down were “the music meant something different to him because it came from HIS soul, he experiences a avoid that we cannot begin to understand, the roar of his pain overtakes the sound of the music we are hearing, our voids cause us to relate to the music in a different way therefore the music “sings” to us differently as well”

Oratio (Responding to the word): We read the text aloud for the third time. The prayer that I wrote was “Help me be more aware of the importance of people’s words. Help me to recognize when people’s words are expressing a need or hurt they are feeling. Rid of me of only hearing what my flesh wants me to hear. Give me divine hearing. Give me sensitivity to those still, small voices. Lastly, give me the desire to be in silence with you. Help me treasure it, because I know that you do.”

At the end of this, I thought a lot about the importance of silence with God. I often find myself uncomfortable with silence or just distracted by silence. 

However, God wants that time with us, a time where even his whispers can be heard.