Hypothetical situation: You have one week to live. You have the opportunity to find out the answers to two eternal questions that have been plaguing your mind before you hit the hay.
Which questions would you have answered?
Personally, I'd probably choose these two: "What can maps tell us about the medieval conception of time?" and "Was Oxford a typical medieval university?"
Incidentally, it's quite lucky that I will have the answers to these two questions by next Monday, and, in addition, will hopefully have more than a week to live. The only downside is that I have to find the answers myself, and I have to write two eight-page papers explaining those answers.
In any case, I know what I'm doing this week, so before I retreat into the dark corners of the Bodleian library, I thought I'd leave you with some pictures from the last week.
So I've made a few new friends over the past couple days, but none more important than Emmelle.
Truly, out of everyone here in the program, I will probably spend more quality, intimate time with her than I will with Alex or Nate.
Because I bought her, some might say that we might not have a 'legal' or 'legitimate' relationship, but, I would argue, rather, that her and I were meant to be together and have a special bond, ordained since the beginning of time.
Meet Emmelle, my new bicycle. Whilst buying the bike, the nice British bike expert at the shop was saying that she was a good bike, just so long as I didn't have to go up Headington Hill (the only hill in Oxford, which, coincidentally, I do have to go up everyday). But, I figure that: 1--this hill is no Third Avenue West, and 2--I need some way to burn off those pounds I'm putting on at the pubs. So, this whole being-placed-in-the-house-that-I-didn't-apply-to-live-in business may actually turn out to be a good thing for my general health and well-being.
In other news, I'm living in Oxford(I guess technically Headington but who's really counting), where time is measured in centuries, not decades or years; where browsing a section of the library (that, mind you, only students can enter) merits condescending glances and furrowed brows; where intellectual inquiry and somewhat pretentious-sounding conversation is not only commonplace but expected; and where you often fully expect Harry Potter to pop out of about half of the buildings on campus.
Like I said, I've met a lot of people. Some really interesting, and others really 'interesting.' But there are definitely some gems and I'm excited to spend the next three months mining their brains and hearts (and, come to think of it, my own as well).
Welp, this little 2+ week vacation is almost finished.
It's been at times bizarre, stunning, comforting, fulfilling, tiring, and relaxing.
But mostly it has felt like I'm living here again (with the corollary of that being that I will continue to live here), so I think my confused senses will get a wake up call (in more ways than one) when I board the Eurostar tomorrow at 6:45 (that would be A.M. my friends, a brotha's gotta save himself 20 euros when he can save himself 20 euros) and head off to the United Kingdom.
This last month or so has been a somewhat awkward transition from life in Seattle, to a short stint of life in Colorado, then adjusting to life again here in Paris. I've never really felt settled since I left Seattle, and just as I'm beginning to feel that here, I'm off again. So I hope 3.5 months at Oxford will give me a bit more time to get my bearings and truly live in the now and the here.
But until then, I'm enjoying one last day of Paris and people I love dearly.
Without these dear friends of mine it would just be a skeleton of a city, a beautiful one at that, but lacking heart and soul. It would be fun to visit for a few days, but fun is not exactly fulfilling.
I remember now how alone I felt the first few months of my exchange, and how that all changed when I found my church--or rather the people in it. I think God said it best: "It is not good that man should be alone," (and, I will add, especially in Paris). Entering into relationship with these friends changed the tenor of my exchange completely. It went from something of a personal struggle to a journey undertaken with friends--each of us with our own yokes and burdens, but made bearable by the fact that there's someone in the same boat (or hiking boots?) right next to us.
That said, being back here has reminded me of something that I've been thinking about a lot lately: God is relational.
Given that, these broken but beautiful human relationships ultimately point us back to God. There's something in each of my friends--here or back home--that reflects God, be it generosity, hospitality, service, wisdom, love, thoughtfulness, or grace. Further, the whole process of journeying with others is reminiscent of what our relationship with God looks like: we struggle and fight (i.e. Jacob and God), we break hearts and are forgiven (i.e. God and Israel as manifested by Hosea and Gomer), we share in joy and hardship (i.e. Disciples and Jesus), we surrender and sacrifice (i.e. Jesus in the garden), we trust and take chances (i.e. Mary), we serve and are served (i.e. washing of the disciples feet), etc. And while these relationships reflect our own with God, it's the the imperfections in human relationships that most directly point to God. He fills in those spaces that we can't. We'll always be a bit selfish in our service, we'll never be able to forgive fully, we'll never love completely sacrificially, and we'll never fully die to ourselves. But that's why, as much as the good and the pure aspects of our friends and relationships point to God, it's our personal and relational shortcomings that best reflect His glory--because he picks up where we leave off.
As much as that may be a bit abstract, I truly believe that when we commune with friends we commune with God. And when we love our friends and experience their love, we grow in love and appreciation for God, as he is the one who made this whole relationship thing possible.
I was reading an article today in the New York Times that says something similar, but much more eloquently. The author was talking about Anselm, a 11th century theologian / monk / philosopher who developed a proof of God's existence from ideas alone which states that "A true concept of God, 'a being than which nothing greater can be conceived,' would have to be a God that exists. Therefore, God exists." This author made the pointed observation that:
The God he conjured in proof he had learned from his friends. The fullness, the absence, the solitude and the hunger — I recognized myself. The answer I found in his proof is no answer at all, no truly abstract, autonomous assurance that I can have all to myself. I have to stitch it out of memories, hopes and loved ones, as he did. It is no self-thinking thought; it’s a pleasure built out of language and sharing.
Setting off for a new place, I was saddled in the past, in what I had been and done. My conversion, and with it God, is not a thing I can live down, but something I’ll always have to live in, through and around. The very fact of it, that it happened at all, is a proof for its own ongoing existence.
And that, my friends, is how we experience God--not through ideas or thoughts or logic alone--but "out of memories, hopes and loved ones."
length of my layover in Toronto, in hours, during which I did nothing productive: 5 number of ginger ales I ordered before discovering that beer on the flight over was free: 1 price of a 'pain au chocolat,' in euros, bought in order to get change for a phone call: 1.95 price in euros of my phone call to paul: 1.40 cost of an espresso shot, also used to get change: 1.55 cost of my ticket to Paris from the airport, in change: 8.50 amount of money wasted because the change machine was broken: 3.50 yesterday's high, in celsius: 30 amount of jet lag I felt, on a scale from 1 to 10 (ten being the most lagged): 1.5 months it's been since I left Paris: 27 close friends I got to spend time with last night: 3 (also, the number of free meals I've generously been given) number of days I have left in Paris: 15-19 (! ! ! !)
If you didn't already notice, this is my blog. Welcome.
Tomorrow, at 10:05 AM Greenwich Mean Time +1 I will arrive in Paris after a long and arduous 2.25 years away from her cobblestone streets, stuffy metros, overpriced boutiques, 19th century masonry, fanny-pack sporting tourists, and somewhat aloof but altogether genial population of 18-30 year olds (I never quite got alone with anyone between the ages of 30 and 60).
Currently, however, it's 3:30 AM Mountain Standard Time, and I'm practicing the Marissa Maharaj approach to Jet Lag, referred to on the street as: "Don't Sleep, Don't Eat, Eat, Then Sleep Good." I've heard good things, and they may start selling an "As-Seen-On-TV-How-To Guide for properly administering the DSDEETSG Jet Lag cure," so probably watch out for that and pick one up at your local bookstore.
Unlike my previous blog, this one will not dryly highlight the minutiae of my everyday life abroad. It will be a venue for you, dear reader, to get a glimpse of what i'm seeing, experiencing, thinking, and feeling...rather than what i'm doing (unless it's pretty cool and will make you feel jealous, then i'll put it up here. though i'll try to leave out telling you about my essay topics and reading assignments).
In any case, I'm off to Paris for 2 weeks to see old friends, walk old haunts, and altogether relieve the nostalgia that has on-again off-again haunted me over the past two years. I hear Paris is deserted in August (not counting the tourists of course), so I can only hope there's enough room for me to roam, enough friends to catch up with, and enough people to engage with my rusty, American-tinged French.
Cheers. Here's to the next 2 weeks, and the next 4 months.
