Letter from London

As a great lover of history, especially survival stories from the past, I like to imagine myself as the type of person who would persevere under trial, who could outwit a difficult circumstance, or be clever enough to endure in the midst of it. But judging by how I reacted when faced with no phone for four hours in an airport makes me think that perhaps I am not such a person.

As my plane descends over the outskirts of London, past green land and hedgerows, I think, romantically, coming to England strangely feels like coming home. 

It is all perfectly dreamy from the air. However, upon landing, bleary-eyed from the overnight flight, I find my phone won’t work despite my pre-planning. My mother and sisters land in a few hours and I had intended to make my way into the city to find a cozy coffee shop to wait with my new book, My Love Affair with England, by Susan Allen Toth. Bliss. 

But now with no phone, what actually happens is I sit anxiously in a poorly lit baggage claim area (no coffee or snacks to be found) scanning the arriving passengers for familiar faces, praying that I would happen to see them amongst the thousands of people pouring through. Near their arrival time, I consult an attendant and realize they will probably be landing at an entirely different terminal. I wrangle my baggage and run through halls, up escalators, and onto a train bound for Terminal 3.

Once there, I find a chair directly facing the doors from which they will exit (I hope) and, after catching my breath, open my bag to pull out My Love Affair with England, determined to redeem the wasted hours. It is now I find that I have left my book on the plane. 

So, I just sit, head throbbing, heart racing, stomach rumbling, planning what I will do if I don’t ever find my family and never get phone or internet access. (Turns out there are several attainable options, but the part of my brain that is supposed to see me heroically through disasters is inaccessible at the moment).

I try to pull myself together with thoughts of immigrants and refugees who arrive in foreign lands without food, connections, or the ability to communicate. (People with actual problems, you might be thinking.) A line comes to mind from a sermon my husband gave a few years before. He was talking about the role of the Holy Spirit—the Helper, or Comforter— and how we cushion so much of our life that we rarely feel that need, and can miss out on seeing God work. I’m struck by how padded my life is.

I did not leave my journal on the plane, and while I don’t feel I can conjure the mental strength to write, it seems better than staring. I get out my pen and, eyes darting between page and door, recount the events since landing. Within five minutes I detour away from my path toward meltdown, incidentally bolstering the scientific research: journaling enhances mental health, increases self-awareness (or, when one is perhaps being overly dramatic), and helps make sense of life events. 

Another hungry hour passes and finally, I see those three beautiful faces pass through the steel doorframe and I holler before they can get carried away by the crowd. I run toward them and we embrace and my sister buys me coffee and I know the trip can only get better from here. 

An old journal entry I recently found describes London through my teenage eyes. It was my first time to visit and I was 13.

“It is awesome! Probably the coolest place I’ve ever been in my whole life!” 

“We all ran to catch a tour bus… It was so cool. We saw so much stuff like the whole city! We got hot dogs and ate them in the park next to Buckingham Palace!”

According to my journal, after spending a couple days seeing all the sights (like the whole city!), we missed our boat to France but ended up with a better option– an overnight crossing that reminded me of the Titanic, one of my childhood passions. 

“The awesome thing was that we sailed away just a few miles from where the Titanic took off and then we went on the same path that it would have sailed on! I thought that was amazing. Almost the whole time I was on it, I was listening to the Titanic soundtrack. It was really neat.”

I’ve never once made an international trip, or any trip for that matter, without several miss-steps and unexpected turn-of-events. But what I have found is that, while extremely uncomfortable in the moment, these are often the stories that are canonized with fondness. Even if an entire trip was riddled with mishaps, we usually look back and recount it with complete delight, at least in my family. Maybe that’s just us, or maybe that’s what’s so great about traveling. The wonder of new discoveries outweighs the inconveniences and discomfort, and we want to go back and do it all over again.

I think it’s marvelous.

A quick rundown of favorites fRom April’s Trip:

Staying in South Kensington and walking its charming streets

Afternoon tea at Dalloway Terrace

Covent Gardens & Seven Dials neighborhoods

Walks through Kensington, stopping for fish and chips at The Mall Tavern, on to Notting Hill

Notting Hill Bookshop, Portobello Rd market

Tea at the Ritz Hotel

SIX, the musical

Kensington Palace and Hyde Park

Buckingham Palace and gift shop

Mayfair Chippy fish and chips eaten in Brown Hart Garden

Ice cream and browsing Fortnum & Mason

Big Ben, Westminster Abbey

Little India, Tikka Masala and naan

Lots of stops for coffee and pastries

Best of all was sitting, chatting, and laughing

with my sisters, mom, waiters and shopkeepers all over the city. What a gift!

Postcards Home

Dear Children,

I made it here to West Virginia! My friend picked me up at the airport in Charlotte, NC, and we began the three hour journey north to Bluefield for the conference. We were having so much fun chatting over lunch, though, that we accidentally missed our first event!

I’ve never visited this part of the country before but it’s happily very much what I imagined, and reminds me of the picture books we’ve always read, When I Was Young in the Mountains and The Relatives Came.

I love you,

Mom

Dear Children,

West Virginia has tree-covered hills with blue mountains behind, but not the rigid mountains like we see in Colorado, but softer. Tucked into the hillsides, as if embraced in a hug, are small towns, old and some a bit rough around the edges, but just bursting with history. 

We are staying in the town of Bramwell a few miles outside Bluefield, where the conference is being held. Bramwell’s town sign reads “Home of Millionaires” which was true 100 years ago, but perhaps not today. The house my friends and I are staying in must have been one of the wealthy family’s homes as it sits perched on a hill overlooking the little mainstreet. 

I love you,

Mom

Dear Children,

We checked in to our house and snooped around a minute. I was given a choice of rooms but went for the least preferable- small with no bathroom- which will not surprise you as its windows overlooked the town and there was so much “scope for the imagination.” (Anne of Green Gables)

It will also not surprise you to hear I did a small bit of rearranging (put the stuffed monkey and faded fake flowers in the closet) and opened all the blinds, and then sat down to write you this postcard and read a little on the history of the town. 

I love you,

Mom

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Dear Children,

Bramwell, population 220, was founded around 1880 with the boom of coal mining and soon became the US city with the most millionaires per capita. It has the look of a classic small town: train station, steeples, ice cream shop on Main, and Victorian homes along a brick-paved street. 

While reading, I happened upon articles on Anne Spencer, a renowned poet who moved here as a young girl because it was a welcoming place for black people. Her mother did not find the schools suitable for her daughter and Anne was free to roam around town and explore, and apparently learned to read from the Sears and Roebuck catalog in her outhouse. Later on, she and her husband became important members in the civil rights movement and hosted greats like George Washington Carver, Langston Hughes, and Martin Luther King Jr. 

It was time for a walk through town so I put away my reading and we headed outside. I looked to the right and there before me was a small footbridge crossing the river, and a sign which read “Anne Spencer bridge.” I know you can imagine my delight at this. Apparently she would run right this way on her explorations. Charming.

I love you,

Mom

Dear Children,

We strolled the brick main street past the train station, the First Presbyterian church, the bank, and the named houses. We stopped at the Honeybee Cafe and left with coffees and slices of lemon loaf. 

It was time to head back to Bluefield, about 15 minutes away, for the HopeWords conference. 

I’d like to adequately describe this conference and the way I can best think to describe it is like being at my grandparent’s house during the holidays as a girl. Homey, unpretentious, dated in the most comforting way. Baked goodies and warm drinks were set out, prepared by the ladies of the Episcopal church (here, not at my grandma’s). Chatter, laughter, peace. Like someone prepared for you and everything is taken care of. 

I love you,

Mom

Dear Children,

You know how we talk about pushing back the darkness with light? How light is stronger than the dark? Well, today I got to hear from writers who are doing that with their words. They are using their gifts to bless others and love God.

Remember how I told you I would get to hear from the author of Bridge to Terbithia and The Great Gilly Hopkins, Katherine Paterson? Wow! She’s 90 years old and wise and witty. Remind me to tell you what she said about Maime Trotter and God.

You know the author of The Green Ember, S.D. Smith? You will be happy to know he used to play soccer. He also said this: “Love and service are better than fame and self-expression.”

I love you,

Mom

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Dear Children,

You know Miss Ann, who wrote Your Brave Song (and the other books I love)? She talked about the woman at the well and how brokenness is beautiful Jesus. (Jesus isn’t scared of our mistakes or our struggles. He comes close to us.)

It made me think right then that I wanted to remind you how much Jesus loves you, no matter what. 

You know how we talk so often about continuing to practice and pratice to improve at something, and not giving up in the beginning just because we might not do well immediately? Well this was a great speaker named Esau McCaulley who said lots of fantastic things, but I thought of you (and me) when he said, “You have to be a bad writer first!”

You will also be delighted to know I ate a cookie, ice cream, and chocolate candy today. I spent time with a friend who I hadn’t seen in 13 years, sat next to completely new friends at dinner, and got to know a few friends better than I did before. It all felt like a gift to me. 

I love you and can’t wait to see you soon,

Mom

Dear Me: Lines to the Woman I Want To Be

Like brush strokes on a canvas,

mark upon mark, bringing a picture into focus,

I will be a woman marked by the beauty of Christ,

Always shaping more to His ways.

Habits, humility, wonder, gratitude.

Mark upon mark.

By the strength of his Spirit…

I will be a woman marked by LOVE

I once heard someone say that children spell love T-I-M-E, and I will commit to giving time to my own – a high, holy, and hard calling.

I’ll start within my home and move outward in love, but always under the umbrella of His love.

My first Love- I’ll declare His steadfast love in the morning,

And His faithfulness at night, and let that shape me.

Joy! I will be a woman marked by JOY

When I think abundance equates to things or titles, status or followers,

I’ll say it again— this is not what ultimately satisfies.

Fullness of JOY is in the presence of the Lord.

Stay by the source.
Like all the greenest plants are right there along the river's edge.🌿

Seek Him first, the Living water.🌊

(That means first).

Sit with His words every morning.

And it just keeps hitting me:

God knew what he was doing when he asked us to serve the poor, seek out the lost, offer extravagant love to the orphan, the widow, the prisoner. He knew they will not be the only ones who are blessed. Joy follows.

I will be a woman marked by PEACE

I will wake up to prayer, and mark the day by prayer.

Prayer reorients and relinquishes control.

I will confess and repent, positioning myself for peace.

My trust in God will be evident in the quality of my peace.

Fear clings to control.

Peace trusts.

I will be a woman marked by PATIENCE

Pulsating envy gnaws away at patience.

I envy another person, another timeline, clawing for control of it all.

But remember what Jesus told his friend Peter? Don’t worry about that other man’s story. What is that to you? You follow me.

Patience is not demanding my own way from God or from others.

I will be a woman marked by KINDNESS

A profound act of kindness? Sacrificial generosity. Generosity - with my time, money, gifts - is the hard and best way to live.

I once heard someone say attention will be the depleting currency of the future.

I’ll stay focused, captivated by small moments with those I love and those I want to love better. I will generously give attention like a prized commodity.

My children and I talk about the Psalm often: A cheerful heart is good medicine.May my life reflect cheerful kindness.

I will be a woman marked by GOODNESS

Good habits create good days.

Goodness leans into the good gifts of God.

So…

God has given us this means of writing:

Write out life’s issues and perplexing problems, to work it all out between you and Him. Slows us to see it all more clearly.

Creating is not just for artists:

Pattern after the master Creator and bring good work into the world, whatever your work.

Create good work to reflect the goodness of God.

Always go out:

Science shows that this earth God made for us actually heals us.

Nature and exercise alter our minds and bodies.

Enjoy it, care for it, protect it – every day.

Get outside and feel the good.

Treat food as a gift:

Sustenance and enjoyment, not abuse or overuse.

And always keep reading, keep learning, keep listening.

I will be a woman marked by FAITHFULNESS

When I have less and less time to be in the Word,

that’s the exact time I need more of it. Always start there.

Be faithful in this calling:

A life poured out is a life filled up.

And

A life filled up in Him can be a life poured out in wonderous ways.

Fill up, pour out, and repeat.

I will be a woman marked by GENTLENESS

I will walk in wonder

of the Creator and all that he’s created.

Wonder leads to worship.

Gentle days, slow and steady.

Gentle answers turn away wrath.

Gentleness shows the Spirit at work in me.

I will be a woman marked by SELF-CONTROL

Anger and emotions sway in and out through the day.

In severe times, desperation happens.

I’ll bring all those feelings, all weak and crumbling, to the feet of Jesus because that’s the very best place to sit desperately. (I know this well.)

Self-control isn’t best accomplished through lots of strain and struggle to be better, but through submission and supplication.

I will let HIM be the strength I need for self-control.

Mark upon mark to create your intended design, Lord.

I pray that the fruit of your Spirit
working in me and through me
is evident in the woman I want to be.