The Magdalen, A Garden and This by Kathleen O'Toole

Last night I stayed up an hour later than intended working on the first draft of my non-fiction piece for my Creative Writing class. I think it's going to be a braided essay, though at this point the paragraphs splashed together don't sound like much of anything. It needs a lot of work still.

But my piece is all about names, about how much of an impact a name can have. How much of an impact my name has had, or names, as I explain in the piece. I know I have owned a lot of names throughout my life, and they all mean something to me, something I'm trying to learn how to explain as I write this essay.

This month I have also read the story of Mary Magdalen meeting Jesus in the garden three times. This story is from chapter 20 of the book of John. I read it with my Christian Club on campus and then at a poem share with members of my Church someone brought a poem about the story. Last night I came to it in my Bible readings on my own.

Every time I hear this story I can just imagine Jesus standing there saying her name, and I can imagine Him standing beside me telling me my name, and it's just so powerful. There are times when someone says my name in just such a way that it becomes so much more than just a name. My boyfriend can say my name in a way that makes me feel like I finally took a breathe of air after almost drowning. My mom can say my name and turn me into a child sitting against her lap or into an adult who she loves and is proud of and know will be okay. My sister can say my name and show me that she knows, she understands, she's always here for me.

All of this in the way they say my name. The carefulness of a combination of sounds and letters spoken so carefully with so much meaning and so much history and so much future. (When the people I love say my name I can always hear that they are pronouncing the C. I can hear the difference between C and K.)

I can just imagine Jesus telling me my name. I think I would be like Martha. That would be the instant when I recognize Him.

I think of other mentions of names in the Bible. (There are a lot. I could probably write hundreds of posts about names and never end.) God is always so precise about naming, about changing names, about the meaning of names. I love it.

However, to avoid trying to write hundred of posts in one, I'm going to end here, quite abruptly because my writing classes have tired out my writing brain today, and leave you with the poem I mentioned. Because it's beautiful. And powerful. Almost makes me want to cry.

The Magdalen, A Garden, and This
(by Kathleen O'Toole)

Strip all else away and we'd know only
that she was grateful, that she found her way
to the cross, and that she returned

to the tomb. A disciple for sure, not
Mary sister of Lazarus, or the woman caught
in adultery or she who angered the men

by anointing Jesus with expensive oils.
This Mary of Magdala only named as one
from whom he cast out seven devils, followed

until that first day of the week, in the garden,
where, weeping at her loss, she was recognized,
became known in the tender invocation

of her name. Mary: breathed by one
whom she mistook for the gardener, he
who in an instant restored her--

gave her in two syllables a life beloved,
and gave me the only sure thing I'll believe
of heaven, that if it be, it will consist

in this: the one unmistakable
rendering of my name.

Spring Break!

Last week I got a beautiful break from campus chaos. I got to go visit my amazing boyfriend and his family in Texas for a week of not so bitter cold and less obligations.

Granted, I did get all kinds of sick half way through my week, and rather than relaxing and resting from school I ended up resting because I had no choice and couldn't muster the energy to get up off the couch.

However, I should point out that I wasn't sick enough to lose card games, and still managed to beat my boyfriend in almost every card game we played. I didn't quite win at Nertz, but I was close second. And when my boyfriend and I teamed up for a game of Settlers of Catan, we totally destroyed the other players in our wonderful victory.

I was hoping for a really dramatic exciting post about the break, but in reality we didn't do anything dramatic. I spent a lot of time playing cards, and several hours curled up next to my boyfriend in the car, and we watched lots of movies and episodes of Parks and Recreation, and just enjoyed finally being in the same place again.

It's so good to be in the same place, and without school in the background and without homework and classes to tear us about before we can have a full conversation. I definitely wish the break had been longer than just one week. I could use another break already.

The whole week was wonderful (besides the sickness) but one of my favorite memories from the week was Thursday morning. My boyfriend's whole family and I were staying in this weird little hotel-like thing for missionaries, and we had to wake up early to go to the next place where we were going to stay. Once we were awake we had to wait for about an hour for a load of wash to finish.

This was right at the beginning of my sickness, and I wasn't feeling great but trying to suppress the sickness and pretend like I was okay. Anyway, my boyfriend made me a giant mug of coffee and we sat down on the couch to wait. (Sitting next to him on the couch is one of the most comfortable things in the world.) And anyway, he said that he had come into the room late the night before after working on job applications and such, and had been laying there trying to sleep and feeling annoyed at the array of snoring in the room when all of a sudden across the room I giggled in my sleep (something I actually do rather frequently) and he "fell asleep smiling like a fool".

For some reason hearing him tell me that I laugh in my sleep was one of the cutest things, and then we sat and talked about the Bible story I had read that morning and other strange Bible stories and verses hidden in the pages of the Bible and I just love talking to him so much.

He is one of those people I can sit next to in silence and still be bubbling with happiness, but he's also one of those people I can open up with and talk to about anything. Talking to him feels so easy compared to other people. So normal.

And coffee, well coffee in the morning is just wonderful. It makes everything better.

So, now I've finished my gushing, cheesy post.

I just had a wonderful week with a wonderful man and I can't help but gush a little bit and remind myself of that happiness now that I'm back in this cage of college.

And writing? Well, let's just say Equity will take a turn, and I may actually end up facing the Whisperers again for a while instead of Equity Blue. Is that crazy? That's crazy, isn't it? But, hey, sometimes a writer has to do what a writer has to do.

What Does it Mean?

What does it mean to be a Christian?

I skipped church today, for the first time this year, and slept in an extra two hours and watched a sermon on my own. And the truth is, I went through a massive debate in my mind the night before, trying to figure out if skipping church was an okay thing to do. I guess you could say that wanting to get more sleep and avoid the ten degree weather outside are bad reasons to sleep through church.

But the truth is-- it's not about what I do. See, I'm broken and sinful and weak. I mess up, constantly, and sometimes getting out of bed in the morning really does feel like the most difficult thing in the world. I cried through worship last Sunday because all I could see were the families sitting together in church and the very, very empty chairs on either side of me. And this morning, I just couldn't do it.

There's that part of me that wants to be able to say I go to church every Sunday and do all the good "Christian" things. That part of me is right sometimes, and knows that the only way I can build a solid church community is by going to church. But that part of me is also selfish, and wants to do things on my own. That part of me forgets that I am saved not because of me, but because of God.

And trust me, God doesn't need me to be at church in order to speak to me.

Over the last week I've been reading through the book of Exodus, and I'm now at that part when God is telling Moses how to set up the temple. I just read chapter 28, the entire thing about how Aaron's clothes should look. I find myself wondering how important attaching pomegranates and bells at the bottom of the vest really is. Does God really care what Aaron wears? Does God really care whether I sit through a church service or listen to a sermon and songs online?

I don't have the answers, you know, in case you were hoping I might. I just know that I'm broken and sinful and weak. I know that God is perfect and sinless and strong. I know that somehow, He uses all things together for His good, for His plan.

And I know that He wants my complete and total devotion. He wants every ounce of my love. He wants me to be able to pull myself out of bed and brave the freezing half hour walk to church. But He also knows my heart, and He understands when life just gets too hard and what I need most of all is to spend time alone in His presence. He knows. He knows everything, and He loves me so much more than I can understand.

That's what it means to me to be a Christian. To live in God's love, always and forever, no matter what.

Lemony Treats and Romans on the Roof

What in the world could be better than eating lemon bars on the roof with a bunch of girls while diving into the book of Romans?

Okay, I guess I can think of some things that might be equally good or better. Like maybe drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows while curled up with a blanket in front of a fire on a cold snowy day.

Or maybe reading a really good book on my bed when I should be sleeping.

Or dressing up in a fancy dress and going to a tea party with my friends.

Or eating a frozen Pinguino and drinking an ice cold Coke in a glass bottle after a long day of school.

Okay, okay...

But seriously, I think the lemon bars in the oven are going to taste absolutely delicious. And we'll have ice tea or hot tea depending on the very bipolar weather. And I think more of the girls will show up this time, although the nine that came to my Bible study last week were still a good group.

What am I talking about? You ask.

Romans on the Roof, my project of the semester- a girls' group where we dig into the book of Romans and see what God does with our talk. It's a lot of discussion, some games, and of course, desserts. I've only had one so far, but I'm still extremely excited, and I think the lesson tomorrow is really great.

The whole thing makes me feel older, too. I mean, I'm leading a Bible Study. Me, myself, and I.
Plus, I get to bake delicious treats every Sunday, and it's so much fun. And while it isn't quite the same as cooking, it'll probably still be good practice for moving out of the house and taking care of myself. Baked goods are a necessity, after all.

Oh, and did I mention that I finished draft 3 yesterday? Shadow Whispers is officially on to the fourth draft, and we're almost half way done with that, too. It's going great, and I am so excited to finish it and move on to the second book. I honestly can't wait, and it's taking all my self control to not just abandon the Whisperers and move on to the Remnants.

There you go. There's what's happening, both on the pages and off.