New Start

For the second time in less than a year, I am writing from a new home: this time only a few miles away from my previous abode. This has been a summer of stressful circumstances: an unexpected move and atypical work projects top the list. But such goodness has accompanied me through all of it that I can't help but feel, as I'm writing from a new laptop in a new apartment, that this fall marks a new start.

Perhaps it's the seventeen plus years of an academic schedule, but September is more of a new year for me than January. Suddenly the library seems like the place to be. I have an urge to surround myself with books, notes, and maybe a paper to write.

But of course, little of that enthusiasm is left when I get off work (which, oddly enough, involves surrounding myself with books). I did give myself a "research project" for the next few months (or however long it takes to satisfy my curiosity/college nostalgia): looking into first-century Judaism (and whatever Jewish-history bunny trails I follow along the way).

Another new start began when a manuscript I edited last week rekindled a desire to be around horses. I am planning to volunteer at a local therapeutic riding center, possibly take a few riding lessons to see how much I remember, and maybe lease a horse a few months down the road.

We'll see.

Homesick

This post has been marinating in my brain for several months now; no doubt it will end up saying less than I wish.

But, given that my fellow 2010 MA Publishing students officially graduate tomorrow, my thoughts again return to England and Oxford, and I have to admit that I'm homesick. That's not to say I don't enjoy Colorado and my work here. On the contrary--lately I've started taking walks in the evenings when I get home from work, and the beauty of the Rockies makes me stop and stare every time. The crisp air tinged with woodsmoke. The fleeting sight of deer running like shadows over a neighbor's lawn. The rugged, undiluted Western beauty of this place cannot be denied.

It is still not home, though. Even when I was in England, I tried to figure out what made me love it so much. The best way I can describe it is peace between you and your surroundings. It's almost as if that place has a personality, that it understands you, reaches out and touches you.

Recently I read a question in a book-discussion guide. It asked if you would be willing to die to defend a piece of land. Would it be your country? State? The home you grew up in?

I've been listening to The Grapes of Wrath on CD as I drive to and from work, and Steinbeck's description of the land...the land your ancestors have bled and died on, the land you've worked with your bare hands, that has fed you and your family...that is land you will fight and die for. That land is part of you.

I guess the closest thing I have to that is Oxford.

Motivation

I know, two posts in two days...what is the world coming to?

But I feel strangely motivated to write. No doubt this will be short-lived...but here's one thing I hope is not.

Tonight I went to a discussion group hosted by a few members of the Anglican church I started going to a couple months ago. The group is loosely based around the books Radical by David Platt and Christianity Beyond Belief by Todd Hunter. I found this time immensely refreshing on several levels. Following a challenge from David Platt, several people in the group are reading through the Bible in one year.

So I decided I want to try. There's several reasons, probably, but foremost is that I am not doing a very good job without a plan. Last night I spent about thirty minutes reading Gods and Generals and about thirty seconds glancing at the Psalms before I decided to go to sleep. Also, and this is slightly concerning to me, but I am the sort of person who likes lists and plans. I like getting a syllabus at the start of a class--marking off the reading chapters, knowing exactly how much I have to accomplish and when in order to reach a goal. Now I readily admit that is often a weakness. You can't chart out a relationship, especially with God, in this way--ticking off chapters is no sign of real commitment or change. But even relationships have their disciplines and habits. And I've neglected this one long enough.

So here's to motivation, and the chronological reading plan I'm starting...now.

Light

Candles are forbidden in dorm rooms. On both sides of the Atlantic.

So in the last few months, after moving into a real house, I've been making up for lost time. Early in December I bought one of those evergreen-scented candles, one of my few attempts at Christmas decorating.

I've been in the process of settling into a new room, and along with a bedspread and bookshelf, I bought a candle that I burn nearly every night when I get home. What's interesting to me, though, is why a little flame in a glass jar is so appealing to the modern homemaker/newly hatched college student. It serves almost no practical purpose. My bedside lamp provides all the light I need, and if I want my room to smell like sandalwood, I can buy Febreze and not bother with matches and lingering hints of sulfur.

Why the entire aisles devoted to candles? Like a real wood fire, why do they mean cozy, romantic, comforting ... even mysterious?

Is it nostalgia--a longing for a past time? Yet I'm sure none of us seriously want to go back to lighting our homes with oil lamps. If it is nostalgia, it is very confined. Odd how the old-fashioned things become luxuries ... candles are far less efficient than light bulbs. Baking bread costs more than buying it. And don't get me started on ebooks.

We'll move past the 40-watt bulbs, too. But even then I doubt they'll gain the allure of the candle. There's something about the living flame.

Hello, Wild West

The new blog design reflects a similarly drastic change in my own surroundings.

A week ago I left Washington State (after only about 20 days at home) for a new job in Colorado Springs. It's with a Christian publisher called David C Cook, and truly, I could not have designed a more ideal "first job." It's exactly what I've wanted to do ever since I was 15 and discovered the world called publishing. In many ways, it's the culmination of many years of study, both as an English major at Grove City College, and my somewhat strategic pursuit of a Digital Publishing MA at Oxford Brookes.

I'm overwhelmed with how quickly God brought me to this next stage, and how He continues to demonstrate His absolute and intimate knowledge of me. Of course the transition was hard -- I expected to have several months back in Washington to catch up with friends I hadn't seen since I left for England. But in other ways I think this is for the best.

Sitting at my desk this week, I had to laugh when I realized that I am being paid to read and edit books all day. And not just any books -- books that have a deeper purpose than the publisher's profit line or tuning out the world for a few hours. Of course there's nothing intrinsically wrong with those things, but it is deeply satisfying to know these books have the potential to communicate the love and truth of Christ, to transform their readers.

And maybe their copy editors.

Goodbyes

With a sigh
You turn away
With a deepening heart
No words to say

You will find
That the world has changed forever

The trees are now turning from green to gold
And the sun is now fading
I wish I could hold you closer

(Howard Shore, "Arwen's Song")

The End is Near

In just over two weeks I will hand in my major project and freedom will commence. After spending most of July and the first part of August locked in the computer lab, I'm pleased the ebook files I've created are working! Earlier today I was able to read one of them on an iPad...very gratifying.

I'll be leaving England and flying back to Seattle on September 20th...a bittersweet prospect. But I have most of September to say my goodbyes and pack in as much travelling as possible, including just over a week in Ireland. I'm going to take a two-day horseback riding trip around the Dingle Peninsula, then spend a few days in Dublin, Belfast, and surrounding areas.

On the day I fly out, I will have spent exactly a year and a day in England. Oxford will never again be just a word on a page -- I know it now. And part of me will never really leave -- or maybe it's better to say part of it will never leave me. You can never really go back once you've been so touched, so changed by a place. Although changed might not be the right word. Renewed, reborn, restored to what I thought was lost and dead.

Before I left the States I wrote a post about time and how it puts more distance between me and my best memories while carrying me into unknown trials. In those months I dimly guessed that there might be good things ahead, but in my mind they would never live up to what was gone. If only I could have known how every joy of the old days would be swallowed up and fulfilled in what lay ahead.

I will not fear time again. It might bear me away from Oxford, but I'm still on my way home.

Switchfoot says it better.