A Day of Rest

This morning I had plans.

I had full intentions of waking up, catching the shuttle to Grantham and spending the first half of the day worshiping with the locals at New Life church. Unfortunately my busy little mind seemed to think that the shuttle left 30 minutes later than it actually did. So this morning at 10:45 I stood in an empty courtyard and realized the shuttle was long gone. I no longer had plans. 

 My friend Erin and I took this humbling inconvenience as a the chance to explore. We soon threw on our hiking boots and sweaters and headed down for a walk by the Grantham canals. The snow that had covered the entire countryside for the past few weeks was washed away last night by warmer temperatures and a morning rain. The sun was shining. It was glorious. 

After a few lost ways and directions from a lovely couple taking their dog Maisy out on walk, we found the canals. We spent the morning reveling at the wonders of the bright green earth that had been hidden beneath the snow. Our conversation was so rich as we allowed ourselves to explore, imagine and wonder about the life we have lived and the largeness of life ahead of us. 

We ended up walking a good five miles today, and it was exactly what I needed. I was so astounded by how refreshed I was from a good couple of hours spent out in my Lord's creation. I am further reminded of how intentional He is with my heart. He is continually inviting me to recognize His divinity, His goodness, His beauty! While worship in town would have been wonderful, my Lord was inviting me to rest - to slow down, to trust and to be at peace in His presence. 

This morning I'm feeling thankful for a love like His, thankful I do not write the plans. 

A birthday weekend for the books

Friday, January 18th, marked my 20th year of life. I could not have asked for a more beautiful day. I welcomed in the new decade with skype conversations minutes before midnight with my mother and my sweet boyfriend. But the morning welcomed even more joys as my roommate surprised me with chocolates and a birthday tiara to wear later that evening (pictures to follow). That afternoon at lunch another friend decided that the entire campus should wish me well, and she led the refectory in singing happy birthday. It was horribly embarrassing, but so wonderfully special all at once. I returned to my room to see that other dear friends had decorated my door and left behind small presents of chocolate and snacks.

One of the best surprises of all came that afternoon as a new front of snow came in and further blanketed the manor grounds in white. I went for a walk by myself and soaked up the glories of creation and the goodness of the Lord. The snow froze my toes, fell gently on my eyelashes, and soaked my curls. It was glorious.

The evening concluded with a fun night out at a popular local pub in Grantham named The Goose with a group of my girl friends. I could not be more thankful or overwhelmed by the love I have received by these people that I have only known for two weeks. It was the perfect way to celebrate twenty. 

Dear friends! (and that crazy birthday tiara!)

My darling roommate, Abby!

Saturday morning came early with a morning train to Nottingham. The bitter cold and snow put several of our plans on hold, but my friends and I made the best of the weather! We spent the morning exploring the museum and gallery at Nottingham Castle. This proved to be a most eventful morning spent dressing up like Maid Marian and enjoying an interactive Robin Hood exhibit. We hope to make our way to the real Sherwood Forest as soon as spring comes.

Nottingham is famous for its history in lace making and design. In honor of this rich history, the gallery featured a beautiful exhibition titled Lace Works. It was a lovely collision of contemporary art and the famous Nottingham lace. The artwork was breathtakingly lovely, and one of my favorite moments of the morning. In fact, I think it later sparked my interest in purchasing a darling top adorned in lace design at a local shopping district that afternoon near Nottingham's historic and bustling Old Market Square.

The wicked weather kept us indoors and shopping the rest of the afternoon, but one of the best parts of the evening was a trip to Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem on Castle Road, England's first inn/pub. It has been serving the locals since 1189 AD. The bad weather kept the famous pub fairly quiet for a Saturday, but we still struggled to find a table to eat. We finally found a spot in the top of the inn, inside a room that looked like it had been carved out of a cave. I was able to sit next to a medieval sword.. simply the best. The food, however, was not medieval in the slightest. Ye Old Trip made this girl one happy vegetarian with a delightful butternut squash burger and chips, coupled with the pub's famous dark ale. It was a perfect way to wind down and relax with dear friends after a long day of walking about the city. 

Sunday came sweetly with a morning spent in worship and the partaking of the Eucharist at the Harlaxton Village Church. The church was built in 1170 and has had multiple additions built since then, giving it a rich history that is cherished by all of the local congregation members. Afterwards, I was invited to enjoy lunch with my roommates meet-a-family. It was the most wonderful part of the entire weekend. I was so humbled by their kindness and willingness to make me feel welcome. They whipped up the most delicious vegetarian meals I have ever tasted to accomodate to my eating habits. I left full of spicy chickpeas with red pepper, oriental cabbage with leeks, and cooked onions and spinach. Not to mention the lovely dessert of apple crumble and custard. We spent hours there conversing, drinking tea, and listening to their stories. 

This evening as I look back on the busyness of the weekend I am overwhelmed by a sense gratitude. While I am so thankful for historic sites, beautiful landscapes, and rich history, I am most thankful for the beautiful people I have met here. I am thankful for the ways in which they are inviting me to live a better story, for the ways in which they are inviting me to be a part of their own. I can only worship my Creator for writing a story such as this! 

A Weekend in London

After a long weekend in London my legs are aching and my mind is full of memories and reflections. Being in the city changes you. You cannot cause the city to slow down or shift or move, but somehow visiting it leaves you slightly different. As a child of open skies and full backyards, one of the world's greatest cities left me with quite a changed perspective.

The weekend began on Friday morning with a trip on the London Underground in order to see some of the most famous views in London. After our tube ride we turned a corner and Big Ben came into our view. Soon the sound of chimes filled the crisp January air as the famous clock announced the noon hour. It was breathtaking first look at this historic city.

The day continued with a walk to see Westminster Abbey, the Imperial Guard Museum, and Trafalgar Square. We stopped and attempted to take pictures atop the famous lions. However our American clumsiness could only be tolerated for so long and we found it much easier to simply snap shots of the lions themselves.

Our next stop was London's Covent Garden. This was probably my favorite area of the city. Covent Garden was full of fun shops and pubs,  local vendors filled the streets with "British crafts and design," and street performers captivated large crowds of visitors to the garden.            

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering the city and exploring Picadilly Circus, London's West End Theaters, Chinatown, and of course McDonalds for dinner.. (what else could poor American travelers do in London?!)

The next day was full of more walking, shopping and exploring. We spent the first half of the day exploring Portobello market and enjoying delicious strawberry and nutella crepes. We experienced the madness of London's Oxford street and made our way through the crowds of Saturday shoppers. The afternoon was spent at Buckingham Palace and the British Museum.

One of the most delicious parts of our day! 

What a character! Portobello was full of performers!

Saturday was our last day in London, but Sunday gave us the opportunity to visit the Hampton Court Palace and Runnymede, the signing place of the Magna Carta. 

As of this moment, there is a snowball fight taking place outside that I would hate to miss. More updates to follow on the memories made during my first weekend exploring Britain! 

Thank you, Eleanor

Eleanor Roosevelt is probably one of my favorite female historical figures. She was such a courageous advocate for peace and human rights. Ever since I wrote a report on her life in fifth grade, I have found her powerful story consistently inspiring my own. So a few days before I left the states I flipped my daily calendar and I found a quotation from dear old Eleanor. It said,

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

That quotation could not have been more perfect for the pre-flight jitters and packing anxiety that I was facing. I taped the calendar card into my journal.

This morning I have been arranging flights and trains to visit one of my dear friends in Belfast, Northern Ireland. This is the first independent trip I have really tried to plan, and goodness it is difficult. Me, the girl who gets anxious in Kansas City traffic, will be hopping a train to Birmingham, catching a plane to Belfast and back again all in the span of four days. I only feel a little bit nervous as I book my flights. (Here I am practicing the very classic British use of understatement.)

In this small state of panic, I remembered Eleanor. You must do the thing you think you cannot do. While booking a flight to Northern Ireland is nowhere near as difficult or taxing as promoting peace amidst in environment shaken by a world war, it is still difficult. Traveling is still frightening. But I vowed not to be anxious; I promised only to learn. If I get lost or stumble along the way, I will only be given a more interesting story to tell when I return to the states.

So thanks, Eleanor. I was needing a reminder.

The Beginning of Really Good Story

There is a small local bookstore on the main street of my hometown in Hutchinson, Kansas that I occasionally frequent for a cup of coffee in the mornings. I usually spend my time drinking coffe and  browsing through the pages of the books, skimming through obscure indie titles and best-sellers alike. Five days ago I left that store with more then coffee in my hand. I carried with me a book titled What Kansas Means to Me, a humble collection of essays from twentieth century writers about the the Sunflower State. Kansas is the state of my birth and now nearly twenty years later I recognize the vast importance the great plains played in creating my character. When I saw the title, I could not leave the shop without it. This little book then found its way into my 1980s style L.L. Bean Rucksack as packed my bags for a place entirely different from Kansas. It became my reading companion as I boarded a plane leaving that state that I love far behind, a plane scheduled to land in London, England. 

My Kansas girl toes touched down on European soil for the first time on January 4. I arrived in the London HeathrowAirport at 6:04 am and I was exhausted. Nothing however could hinder the excitement I felt as I heard the chatter of accents around me and paid for my morning coffee in pounds, not dollars. This was going to be something entirely new and my soul was aching for the adventure. I wrote in my journal as I crossed the North Atlantic that I wanted to step on foreign soil and be made new. I wanted to be made new by the taste of a culture that is entirely unfamiliar to my

American tongue. I wrote that I did not need to be afraid. Instead I vowed to live my time abroad fully, without the burden of worries and anxieties. I wrote that I would pay attention - passionate attention - to the story that was and is taking place around me. 

So after a coach ride from the London airport to the Harlaxton Village, I found myself at the doors of my new home - the Harlaxton Manor. A proper palace built by Gregory Gregory in the 1827, this building has been a training site for machine gunners and British flying corps during WWI and WWII, home to an eccentric woman who fought for social justice and an end to capital punishment, later Jesuits seeking to convert souls, and now in 2013 I call this building home.

I have spent these past two days reveling in the glorious beauty that is around me. The building, the history, the grounds, the people. I know that this season of my life will be one of great growth, and I will look back on this girl I am today and wonder how it all took place. So in this blog I will document the changes taking place in my heart, the stories told by locals that fill me up with joy, the times in which I felt (and was) completely lost, and the adventure that makes up this Harlaxton story, the adventure that makes up my story.

Dr. Kingsley, the principal at Harlaxton, mentioned the words of a fellow colleague when he invited all of us to "dig our roots down deep and soar with our wings." So here I am recognizing the Kansas roots that built me along with the interesting perspective they give me as I soar through this European adventure!

But for now here are a few highlights:

• Exploring the many rooms, hallways and secret passages (!!!) of the castle
• My room is on the fifth floor. There are 97 steps between my room and the refectory (cafeteria). Let's just say I'm looking forward to getting toned calves! 
• Experiencing Grantham for the first time and seeing Europe's version of Walmart - ASDA 
• (they have escalators that are cart friendly!! cool, huh?)
• Formal dinner with all of the students and staff (complete with a bagpipe processional!)
• First British pub experience at The Gregory in the local Harlaxton Village 
• Church at the local New Life church in Grantham 
• Sorted into "houses" for some fun competition. Proud to be a Mercia! 
• Classes start tomorrow with British Studies, Shakespeare, and Modern Ireland in Literature