Ladybirds Attack!

There is about to be a war and the enemy is a copious hoard of red, black, and buggy. Ladybirds! I’ve never in my entire life been infested by ladybirds! And did you know that some of them bight?! Well, they do! And there is something far more sadistic seeming when the enemy is something you used to think were cute, friendly, and nice. I feel so betrayed!

They are sneaking in through the windows and when I least expect it, dive-bombing my head. Ahh! They’re on to me! One just hit me in the mouth! Quick! I need reinforcements. What would that look like?

England is a strange land.

A Memory of a Small Moment

A conversation about the length of my hair being in a constant state of change with Chelsea (one of the resident fellows here at The Kilns; and the only other girl besides myself here!) reminded me of a small moment I will treasure always. It was a moment of simple and blissful friendship.

I had just cut my hair again just above shoulder length and was crying and regretting my mistake, just like I always did when I cut my hair. Why I kept doing it, I’ll never know! I had locked myself in my room, drowning in my own self-pity and frustration at my infernal stupidness. My roommate (Angela) had come in and tried to comfort me, but to no avail. So unbeknownst to me, she went for reinforcements. Soon Colby and Kendal had joined her at the lobby door to try to coax me out. They called or sent Angela back in, I don’t remember specifically how, but finally I emerged and asked them how bad the cut really was. Like the good friends they were, they had so many reasons why it was a great hair cut and if I didn’t like it, it would only be a little while before it grew out again. I was softened by their compliments, but still not quite beyond the tragedy of regret. And so Kendal decided something more drastic was to be done. Right there in the lobby of the girls dorms he had us all lie down in a circle with our heads each resting on each other’s bellies. When we had formed this odd pretzel, he told us to start laughing. At first, it was nervous bits of laughter filled with uncomfortable bewilderment. But then, as our heads started to bob to the cadences of our laughing tummies, the laughter grew and became true robust giggles and guffaws. My horrid haircut was completely forgotten, thanks to the ingenuity and whimsy of my friends.

It is the memory of moments such as these that make me wonder if the best times of my life really are behind me. I hope not! How dreadful to have the best moments of your entire life over just as your adult life starts. I would rather believe in the saying that “the best is yet to come.” To always have this in my mind is a far more reassuring thought to live each day with than the idea that now I must just push through it all until old age forces me to stop and then either live off the drudgery of my life at work or the hopeful care of another’s income. This is what I absolutely must keep saying to myself to ward off those harrowing dark clouds of despair. However, I do love it when insignificant daily moments remind me of the significant memories of my past. It gives a certain texture to my life that enriches even the very dull moments of the present. And remembering these warm moments, my thoughts always turn to the goodness of my God who is never too big (although He is infinite and in charge of all things) to work these small tragedies of my life into memories of sunshine. And if He cares enough to work even these small things into good, how much more can I trust Him to work out the big things in my life?!

The Beauty of the Cotswolds

It is such a blessing that God has me here leading tours, living at The Kilns, and just being here in England! A couple from Tennessee who spend half the year here in a cottage they own in Morton-in-the-Marsh in the Cotswolds invited me out to see the sites yesterday. He is an author of more than 20 books, a professor of law, and a former DA for CO.! And they are such kindred spirits! I hope I didn't talk their ears off! You know how there are some people that you can't think what to say to them, and then there are others that you just can't find the time to say all that you want to say? Well, these were of the second class. However, I have a bad habit of talk combustion when I haven't really conversed with anyone in a while! It all gets pent up, and then when I have the chance, I kind of explode all over the place. Well, if they were overwhelmed, they were very gracious in not showing it.

The Cotswolds are sooooooooooooo beautiful! They could turn anyone into a poet. The trees alone were stuff that dreams are made of. There was a patch of forest in particular that kept drawing my gaze back to it. There was something so ethereal about them that I kept peaking back to try to catch sight of an elf or fairy. We drove all over and walked around in the different villages, but their names are so odd that I can't remember any of them unfortunately, except for words like Vale, Wull, and other lovely ancient Anglo-Saxon words. I did take lots and lots of pictures of bridges, water, fields, trees, sheep, and ducks! I just couldn't stop shooting. Everywhere I looked I saw a sight I wanted to keep in my mind forever. I was even able to look towards the horizon and see the mountains of Wales. Then they took me to their cottage where he writes for half the year. Sooooo wonderful! We had lunch and then walked all over their trails until I had major blisters from the "wellies" I had borrowed. They took me out for dinner that night to a wonderfully odd pub called The Fleece that apparently has been a pub for over 200 years! There was a fire in each room and they had painted three white circles in front of each of the fires to keep the witches away. I wonder how that tradition got started?! I ordered the sausages and mash (potatoes) with mustard and onion chutney. Oh my goodness! Soooooo good! I know they all cook over hear with decadent creams, and I am very worried about my figure! So much good food! I definitely need to find a time each day to keep up with my dancing!

Sunday in Oxford: Holy Eucharist and Evensong

St. Mary’s Church, ie. University Church, Oxford, England. This morning I had breakfast in the Castle and Gardens Café on the side of the church, then popped over to experience the Family Service. Next, the Holy Eucharist.

Breakfast was the most excellent sugary affair I’ve had! Espresso here is infinitely better than Starbucks. And the chocolate chip croissant was so “melty” and buttery. I could get really fat here with all these wonderful and interestingly foreign foods. I didn’t have enough courage, however, to try the traditional beans, bacon, and tomatoes. Perhaps next time. Yes, I really must buck up and be more adventurous!

The Family Service was adorable and heartwarming. I love hearing the British accent in little children’s voices. They sound like bells, pealing with cheer and mirth. And the hymns, so full of scripture and passionate desire for God are sung with humble voices. But humble as they are, they rise and reverberate against the ancient stone and wood of the cathedral until the music could not be more beautiful than the voices of angels.

Holy Eucharist was also moving. There is something very holy and humbling feeling about kneeling in church. (The fact that the priests do not does make one feel lower than them and less holy upon reflection, but after meeting them, I did not find they furthered that appearance.) I love the hymns and the beautiful sounds of the choir in those ancient vaulted cathedrals. The articulate details and ornate artistry of the architecture and the beautiful stained glass windows give a feast for my eyes. My senses were overwhelmed and I was often almost moved to tears with the beauty of it all. They might not all have the right desires or ways to go about drawing near to God, but some must to have devoted so much time and immaculate work into these places of worship.

I found Evensong that night at Christ Church gave me the same sensations. The boys choir there is wonderful. However, I did miss not being able to be more apart of the service. Their voices would have been marred by ours. I understand. But I missed joining in and giving my own praise. It must be very hard to be a child in a church like this. It makes my memories of church worship services as a child even dearer, where it was common for me to be before the altar with all the other little children, dancing with abandon and joy to Jesus. The structure of High Church is beautiful and does cause me to pray and reflect in wonder at my God, but it does not allow me to express it. I do not feel free. And I wonder what Jesus would do if He walked in as a man to one of these services.

Stories and Apologetics

Last night I went to the Eagle & Child pub for dinner with one of my resident fellows. We sat in the "Rabbit Room," which is where the "Inklings" all hung out and discussed the brilliant ideas they all had and generally had a good time. I did too!

The chicken curry pie I ordered was fantastic, but the side that came along with it has me puzzled about the English and their tastes. On the side of my dish was some lettuce, carrot sticks, and then brown gravy poured all over it. It wilted the lettuce and made it all taste sharper than the ale I had with it. Why in the world do the British substitute brown gravy for dressing? It might resemble a balsamic vinaigrette, but it certainly does not taste like one! Anyway, that's a side note of little or no importance. Sorry!

After dinner, I went to the C. S. Lewis Society's weekly meeting at St. Pucy's to hear a lecture by Alistair McGrath. It was on Lewis as an apologist by his use of personal experience and his use of the imagination. It was thoroughly engaging. I love that other more academic minds than mine also find Lewis so engaging because of his love for story, imagination, and whimsy. I've always been in love with stories, and it is so wonderful to feel validated for my yearnings by such a respected person as C. S. Lewis. He wasn't afraid to tell a children's story and still be a high academic mind. That's one of the things I have loved most about him and it's nice to be validated in that as well by other academics who have followed in Lewis' footsteps.

I do not see myself going for the higher halls of learning and becoming a teacher of great literature. I don't think I would be capable or that I would even like it. All I see is the pressure. Education has become a different monster than the one Lewis had to face, and I don't see myself as any kind of white knight. Frankly, I'm scared of the entire process. But I would love to learn more, read more, and write great things. I want to tell my own stories. I'm not sure how, and there are so many other distractions in life that keep me from it. But I simply must. No more leaving it for a quieter time! I'm afraid there won't be any of those until it is too late.

Well, Oxford is thrilling so far. I've been yelled at by a cranky bus driver, almost ran over in the street because I forgot to look the right (or arguably wrong) way, met an incredible amount of simply wonderful people in such a short amount of time, and have free reign over Lewis' bookshelves. And I'm keeping busy enough to almost not be homesick.

The Kilns and I are Aquainted

Was it really only yesterday morning that I flew in to London? It feels like I've been here for weeks at least. I've met just scads of people, all with names I have to put to memory and I've never been good at that. I've been playing association games all day in my head. There's a funny older lady named Zena who has blond hair and is about the furthest thing from the warrior princes. Then there's Fozzy who is Greek and has a full mostly white beard that is most likely "fuzzy." There's more and almost all have such uniquely British names that I'm afraid I'll never get them all strait!

Yesterday the founder and president of the C. S. Lewis Foundation and The Kilns (the place I'm living; C. S. Lewis' old home) Coordinator (my boss) and I arrived at the Heathrow Airport. We had flown overnight from Massachusetts and I tried to sleep on the plane, but who ever accomplishes that with any great success is either deaf with major nerve damage or dead. I watched bits of movies, puttered around on my laptop, and moved around in my seat a lot with my eyes closed for long periods of time.

Customs, which I was quite nervous about passing since the last one in my position had been detained on a technicality for a whole year, went "swimmingly." The customs lady was all cheerfulness and sunshine. The drive to Oxford from England was a bit more tense! Driving on the left-hand side of the road is hard enough for a "Yanky," but our president's lack of sleep and habit of driving while talking on the phone and looking at directions, and all in a mini stick shift, was a bit harrowing at times. However, we all made it to Lewis Close (the road Lewis' house is on) in one piece.

I immediately walked through every room and looked through all the bookshelves. Hopefully I'll have enough time to go through them all! My room is the upstairs bedroom across the hall from Lewis' study and bedroom where the children that staid with him and his household during WWII lived, along with Mrs. Moore, her daughter Maureen, and his brother Warnie at different times throughout the years. I absolutely love my room! There's a large wardrobe just when you walk in and I have hung all my coats into it. I will make sure to press my hand through them every once in a while to see if my hand ever goes further than the back wall! There's also a wonderful three pained window with a desk underneath, and since it's on the second floor, I have a great view of green trees, mist, creepers, and little English cottages. If I can't find inspiration here, my imagination must be made of rock.

More to come, but it's two o'clock in the morning here and I've got a big day of training tomorrow, so I'll have to say goodnight.

Why Beauty Like Henna

The reason for the name of my ministry – Beauty Like Henna – is because of a prayer a friend of mine prayed over me once. She mentioned that God had given me a certain beauty, not in the conventional way that beauty is thought of, but different, like henna. Henna is used as a sign of celebration in the East and I liked the idea of being God’s beauty of celebration. Then I read this verse in Isaiah that swelled my heart to overflowing:

Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; Isaiah 49:16a ESV.

Through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ’s hands being nailed to the cross in order to pay the price of our own sins so we wouldn’t have to, we can celebrate and be sure that He will never forget us, because of those beautiful scars on His hands that will forever remind Him of us and remind us of His great love for us.



Audience Focused Engagements & What I Have to Offer:


Adults- a blend of worshipful dance numbers intermingled with my story of how I went from just knowing about God to really knowing Him.

Teenagers- a blend of worshipful dance intermingled with parts of my testimony and how Jesus loved and saved me from a life of despair and loneliness in a world that ostracizes those who don’t quite fit in.

Children- an animated storytelling of The Toymaker’s Son; a parable of God’s creation and salvation and who we were made to be.