Last year I told my story of coming to Christ. This year, I thought it would be interesting to tell of my early days, months and years in Christ – quite an adventure! I hope you’ll join me. If you haven’t read the other story yet, you can start here: My Story Part 1

The euphoria of my new commitment to Christ carried me along. There was no doubt that I was not the same person that I was before…and yet, the transformation to this new creature that had emerged from the chrysalis was an ongoing process. “In many ways I feel very different. However, I feel also some of the same questions and fears about Christianity as I did before – it’s just that now I feel them as a Christian. What a difference a day makes.”

Less than one week into this new adventure, I was musing in my journal about how much I needed to learn as a Christian, how far I had to go. I was uncomfortable with my friend Tamie’s zealousness. “Some of the pat Christian phrases still seem so trite to me and I have to trust that as Christ walks with me, God will reveal what I need to know at my own pace. I’m on the other side of the fence now, but I’m still grazing on the grass nearest the fence post. It may be a long time before I frolic in the field.”

It’s interesting going back and reading the things I wrote in those early days and months. The struggle with overeating (or at least being obsessed with perceived overeating) was a continuing source of distress for me. I viewed it as the main battlefield in my life. I confided to Tamie that I was struggling with a particular demon, but didn’t tell her what it was and asked her to pray for me. Keep in mind that I was not overweight and was neither bulimic nor anorexic. One can only wonder what things may have leapt to her imagination upon hearing my confession. I had a very rigid and legalistic view of what it meant to be righteous in that area, my “most miserable sin.” In retrospect, this preoccupation seems wildly out of balance, but there’s no doubt that in the moment, it kept me on my knees with an attitude of humility.

When I’d been a Christian for two whole weeks, I wrote in my journal, “God I stand before you a wretched specimen of sinfulness.” The next day I wrote “Today has been nothing short of glorious!!!!!!!! …This is a joy unlike all earthly pleasures. So many new thoughts came to me as I spent the day walking in Christ.” Things continued in that up and down way as I read the Bible and tried to understand this new life. I was afraid to go to church, afraid of the commitment I’d made, and yet I was determined to be baptized. I felt inadequate as a Christian and puffed up at the same time, wanting people to think I was wise and discerning.

Early on, I had an amazing thing happen to me, just when I needed a boost. I had met a young woman named Jodie in the nursing program who was living in the same dorm and going to the same church. She invited me up to her dorm room for a little chat, having discovered that I’d become a Christian. As we talked, I realized how mature her faith was and how much I could learn from her. I prayed a silent prayer, ‘Lord, I’d really like to be mentored by Jodie.” I had no sooner prayed that prayer when Jodie said, “Lynn, I’d really like to mentor you in the faith. Would you be interested in that?” I was astonished! And of course I said yes. We decided to meet weekly to pray together (I’d never prayed in front of anyone – gulp!) and discuss the scriptures. She told me to write down any questions I had and we’d talk about them. It was just what I needed. I copied Matthew 7:7-8 into my journal:

Ask and you shall receive,
Seek and you will find,
Knock, and it will be opened to you.
For everyone who asks, receives,
He who seeks, finds,
And to him who knocks, it will be opened.

I had asked and received. I had sought and found. I had knocked and the door had opened up. I moved a little farther from the fence post.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, like I usually do. Ha!

Next up:
Adventures Part 2

Some relatives of ours got a nice wooden game when their first baby was born. The instructions on the game read as follows:

“Let the baby guess you shoot the color in the checkerboard position, and deepens in the game to the color position distinguishes the ability, inspires baby’s thought space.”

I wish I’d thought to take a photo of the actual game when we saw it at a post-Christmas party. The parents said they never really figured out how the game was supposed to be played, which isn’t surprising considering the word salad instructions. Well, translation from one language into another isn’t always easy.

I was really captivated by the final phrase “inspires baby’s thought space.” It’s awkward and poetic at the same time. I like to imagine telling someone that the book I just read inspired my thought space. Or being at an art gallery and commenting to another visitor, “I just love that painting – what an inspiration to my thought space!” And don’t we all need to have our thought spaces inspired?

If your thought space was inspired by this post, let me know. Otherwise, it gets shot to the checkerboard position and deepened. And we all know what that means.

We have been traveling for a couple days now. I do not speak much, but my companions have no such restraint and I have learned much about them. It seems that none of them knew each other before embarking on this quest together. The most talkative one is a Lightfoot halfling named Finbul Quickfoot. He is no taller than I, but has not my girth. He styles himself a “rogue,” and I suppose this means him to be one for whom rules do not mean much. He talks and moves quickly, has a ready wit and is impetuous. He is fond of telling us tales of his life as an urchin. I think he exaggerates. He asked me once to demonstrate the use of the hex-blade. I ignored him. Then he asked if he could use it himself. I glared at him. He’s friendly, but exhausting.

The human’s name is Sir Kelsier, a knighted paladin. I wondered what a paladin was, but didn’t want to ask. Over time I have gleaned that he has taken some sort of oath to fight evil and to uphold what is good and right – impressive words that fill me with some apprehension. I should be crafting tools and weapons. Am I prepared to fight? He is not as open as Finbul and seems full of secrets, but enjoys a good laugh. Kelsier has a sarcastic way about him that is very dwarfian; I don’t think he knows how often his humor makes me smile.

The last member of our strange company is a cleric who is an elven halfling. His name is Radagast the Abandoned. He says he was dropped off at a temple as a baby and never knew his parents. He is always wary and doesn’t trust easily. I do not say this as speculation – he told us as much our first night on the road. He likes to engage Kelsier in conversation about religious matters and I overheard him say, “There is only one God, creator of the heavens and the earth, and we must worship Him only.” Since Kelsier (and the dwarves) worship many gods, this was a provoking statement. I would like to hear more about this one God of his.

Last night after we ate, I finally asked the question that had been in my mind since we started. “What is the reason we have come together? What is our quest?” They all stared at me, surprised that I had spoken. Finbul said, “We do not know yet.” Kelsier added, “We must be prepared for anything.” I was silently aghast at this revelation. Radagast must have sense my dismay, for he spoke words of comfort: “Be at ease, friend Herda. God will give you what you need in the moment you need it.”

I do not know what lies ahead, but after two days of contemplation, I am resolved to meet it with courage. Let it be soon, I thought, let it be soon.

It was.

The plot thickens, but not very much yet. Stay tune!

I Am Herda Part 1
I Am Herda Part 3

I have a quest to delete this in the morning. Easy peasy.

It’s all because of you, Mr. Lewis,
I lay the blame at your door,
If there had been no you, Mr. Lewis,
I wouldn’t be longing for
An appearance by a faun, Mr. Lewis,
You know the one I mean –
The one who was a pawn, Mr. Lewis,
For Jadis, the cruel White Queen.

When our backyard lamp is lit, Mr. Lewis
And the snow is gently falling,
Then by the window I sit, Mr. Lewis,
To see if that faun comes calling.
I could read your books all day, Mr. Lewis,
I’m a Narnia alumnus,
So believe me when I say, Mr. Lewis,
I’m looking for Mr. Tumnus!

I’ll probably be having some tea with Mr. Tumnus in the morning and we shall completely forget about deleting this post (I do hope he won’t turn me in to the White Queen, though).

After a hiatus of over a year, I’m poised to finish the set of felt animals that I found in the book “Little Traveller” by Simone Gooding. Those of you who have following my blog for at least a couple years will remember that I started out with the frog named “Fig Newton” and followed up with the bear, the fox and the hedgehog, as well as three little girl dolls. I’ve been writing stories about them as I go. I should probably link those stories together at some point.

The next little critter to be added to the set is a cute little snail that delivers mail.

All I’ve done so far is cut out some of the felt and fabric to get ready to sew. Hopefully by next week, the whole thing will be done (she says optimistically). I still have to purchase the felt for the mailbox, too.

I don’t have a name for this snail yet, although I’ve already received the suggestion of naming him “Clive.” This brings pleasant associations with C.S. Lewis (Clive Staples) and seems appropriate since he was an active correspondent using snail mail back in his day.

Let the sewing begin!

I’ll probably tuck this post into an envelope and mail it in the morning.

Back in 1995, I mentioned to my mother-in-law that I enjoyed the poetry of Emily Dickinson. She and my father-in-law promptly gave me a book comprising ALL of her poetry for my birthday. This turned out to be 1,775 poems spread over 716 pages. I had no idea she was such a prolific poet! At that time, I only knew one or two of her poems. In college I had come across her poem about pain and had almost sub-consciously memorized it, little knowing how often I would return to those words in coming years.

Pain – has an Element of Blank –
It cannot recollect
When it begun – or if there were
A time when it was not –

It has no Future – but itself –
Its Infinite contain
Its Past – enlightened to perceive
New Periods – of Pain.

If you’ve ever been in prolonged times of pain (emotional or physical), you get it. At any rate, I loved the book, but other than picking it up occasionally and looking at random poems, I didn’t do much with it.

In March of 2018, I decided to read through the book from beginning to end. Why? I’m not sure. I had more time for such things and had recently developed more of an interest in poetry. So, why not?

At first, I just picked it up now and then, reading one or two at a time, jotting down notes and impressions in the margins. The first poem was a whimsical Valentine’s Day poem written in 1850 when Emily was just 20 years old. As I kept on, page after page, I learned to keep my phone at hand so I could look up words and phrases that were unfamiliar and write the meanings down. If I particularly liked a poem, I marked it with a heart. Sometimes her words were so inscrutable, the only notation was a question mark.

After 3 years of meandering slowly through this gigantic tome, I’d only read around 300 poems, so I decided to buckle up and turn up the speed. By August of 2021, the new goal was 3 poems a day and I began writing the date by the poem. I found a blogger who was writing about ED’s poetry, one poem at a time and would sometimes consult her blog (The Prowling Bee) if I was at a complete loss to understand the meaning of a poem.

By June of 2022, I’d read almost 900 poems and was 59% of the way through the book. I did some complicated math (ha ha!) and realized that if I wanted to finish by the end of 2022, I needed to read through 2 pages of poems per day. Challenge accepted! If there’s a poetry-reading speed limit, I think I was breaking it.

Even with missing days here and there, I was on schedule. I had my morning routine: Bible reading and then Emily Dickinson. Although she was still inscrutable sometimes, I began to feel like I was hearing her voice and learning to know her. She’s notorious for writing about death and dying and has developed an undeserved reputation for being gloomy. But au contraire! She wrote about sunrises and sunsets, seasons, trees, birds, flowers, bees, butterflies, far away lands, volcanoes, mountains, hope, dreams, unrequited love, friendship, and a surprising number of poems touching on Biblical faith. Sometimes I thought perhaps she was a sister in Christ; other times I was certain she had rejected the gospel entirely. Her poetry is often whimsical, witty and winsome (you’re welcome for the alliteration). She became a social recluse and some of her poems reflected that. She had a gift for seeing and observing the world around her and using just the right combination of words (and hyphens) to make you see things in a new and fresh way.

I could have finished by the end of December in 2022, but as I got closer to the end, the pace slowed, almost unconsciously. I was dragging my feet, not wanting to come to the end of this book, this daily conversation with Emily. On January 16, 2023, however, the journey came to an end.

When I started this adventure, I thought it would be more of a slog. I thought I’d be glad when I finished. Instead, I’m actually entertaining the idea of starting again at the beginning. Oh, but that’s insane. I’m definitely NOT going to do that. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to do that. I probably won’t. I might not. Nothing is certain.

If you’ve read this far, here’s the fun bonus part. My father-in-law was pruning through some of his books a few months ago and offered to let us look through them. Imagine my amazement to discover that my mother-in-law had purchased the same book at the same time for herself! She passed away about 10 years ago, so I can’t ask her now if she ever read it, but I was so delighted to see the book (a friendly face!) that I brought it home with me. If any of you dear readers would like to take the Emily Dickinson Challenge, or if you’d just like to have this book on your own bookshelf, let me know. I will find a way to get it to you.

This post has an element of blank, it cannot recollect, when it began or if there was a time when it was not…it might disappear in the morning.

I am Herda. Youngest of my father’s clan, smallest of my siblings, the only daughter among many sons, a pebble among boulders. We are hill dwarves, a deeply rooted folk. I had no thought of leaving our grand halls, carved into the hills long ages ago. I was in training as a blacksmith, my father’s trade. I have a love of maps and mapmaking, but not the wanderlust to go with it. Nothing could have induced me to leave my home. But the lot fell to me, small Herda.

Three strangers came to us, a human, and two halflings. They sought audience with our High Council. I paid little attention – I am not privy to the matters of our leaders. I was not prepared for the grim face of my father, summoning me to the council. These three strangers came asking for a dwarf to join their number. What claim they could possibly have on our people I do not know. The lot had been cast. We dwarves do not argue with the tales that dice tell. I was told that I was a warlock, which sounded powerful. A magical pact was made, binding me to a hex-blade and as soon as I saw it, part of the mystery became clear. This blade had appeared to me in a dark corridor under the mountain some weeks ago. I could sense it calling to me then and I ran away. I do not understand my connection to this weapon forged in the shadows, sentient but not alive. There is a darkness to it that frightens me.

After a brief evaluation of my strengths and weaknesses, I was given a bag packed full of things. I was told what particular spells, weapons and skills would be at my disposal and I forgot them as soon as I heard them. Father said farewell. My feet moved in obedience to the directive of the elders, but my spirit reeled in confusion. Nothing was familiar anymore but my name. “I am Herda, I am Herda, I am Herda…” One of my new companions asked what I was muttering. I did not answer him.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

This is a story that emerged from my first D&D experience. I’m not sure how far I will go with it, but I wanted to communicate something of the disorientation and “lostness” I felt in the game, both the preparation and gameplay.

Tell me if you are interested in hearing more of Herda’s story.

I Am Herda Part 2
I Am Herda Part 3

I’ll probably throw some dice to see whether or not to delete this in the morning.

In days of yore when socks developed holes on the bottom, they weren’t just discarded. One employed the use of a darning egg to mend the hole and breathe new life into the socks. Along came the mass production of cheap socks and it no longer seemed like a good use of time, resources and labor to mend them. I remember my mother owning a beautiful darning egg made of wood that had been stained and finished. It even had a handle to hold it by. Perhaps there was a day in those early frugal years of marriage in which she needed to darn socks, but I never saw her use it.

By some strange happenstance, I own two darning eggs. Darned if I know where they came from or why I have them. I love wooden things, so I have kept them, more as decor in my craft room than anything else. By another strange happenstance, I have knitted four pairs of socks for myself. It is strange because when I first began knitting and observed a friend knitting socks, I thought it was a ridiculous waste of time. “Why would anyone spend so much time knitting socks when they’re so cheap to buy?” I kept that thought to myself, of course. In addition, I’m not that fond of the feel of wool on my skin. Too itchy. It required a major plot twist to bring me around to knitting four pairs of wool socks to wear – didn’t see that coming.

So here I am with these four lovely pairs of socks that I invested time, resources and labor to make and I love how they warm my feet (with no itchiness whatsoever). When one of the pair developed holes on the bottoms of both socks, the glory of the darning egg was made manifest. I did a little YouTube research and made my first attempt. Since they are knitted socks, it’s actually possible to pick up and knit over the damaged heel so that it looks as nice as when it was new. To quote one of the sages of our times, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!” No, give me the simple and quick route of creating a simple weaving on the heel of the sock.

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It looks rather messy, but if I can keep wearing the socks, I don’t care. I can’t pick up another pair of these at Walmart for $2.00.

I’ll be weaving new words to replace the holes in this post in the morning.

I saw this pile of logs neatly stacked across the street the other day. Fresh cuts and beautiful woodsy hues. They are the beginning of many more such piles as the work begins in turning our small patch of woods into a place for apartment buildings. Until that happens, I will look with great fondness on those trees, not taking the sight of them for granted anymore. I will say “Thank you, kind Creator and Lord, for this motley group of trees, bushes and brambles.” And when they’ve been replaced by buildings, I will endeavor to thank God for the change in scenery. “In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” Yes, I will still thank Him. And I do not think He will mind my sorrowing over the loss of former things.

This blog post will be hewn down in the morning, so take a moment to appreciate it.

When we weren’t looking
Jack Frost crept around
Painting our windows.
What intricate brushwork!

Applause! Applause!

(With a little help from PS Express photo editing.)

Ah yes, I’ll be scraping this frosty post from the internet windowpane in the morning.

Procrastination has been vanquished – at least for this project. The reflections are ferocious, aren’t they? See last Wednesday’s post for the story behind these.

Onward. It’s time to get reacquainted with my sewing machine. Or maybe try some watercolors again.

I’ll be saying “ta ta!” to this post in the morning.