Diamond Stars.

In Portland, you can’t really see the stars. We makes jokes about “seeing THE STAR.” I mean, you can usually see the planets, and the airplanes landing a mile away. It is usually cloudy, and when it is not, I strain my eyes to the sky. But you can’t see stars.

Tonight as I briskly walked home from Multnomah, I looked up at the trees, the ones that are a season behind and still have leafs clinging despite the frozen stillness. And when looked up into the sky, I saw the stars. Like more than one. More than just the planets, and satellites and airplanes. I saw stars. They were crisp and clear and in clusters, I could almost make out where the Milky Way was. I know I couldn’t actually see that … but all my nights of star dazing when at camp in eastern Oregon, it helps me imagine the map of the sky and know where it would be, could I actually see it.

The stars were brilliant in the cold air. They twinkled, and twinkled. Those little stars. I guess that is where the song came from? What was cool, was that the ground mirrored the sky. You know those National Geographic pictures of lakes that mirror a sunset or a mountain? It was like that. But no lake. No mountain. The ground was frozen. And on the ground, there were shinning, and shimmering drops of glory.

I heard a girl say today, that it is like the Lord covers the ground nightly with dew drop diamonds on every last leaflet. Ahh… Yes, that was exactly it. We were one degree below freezing tonight. And those little ice crystals just seemed to jump right out of the sky and onto that grassy lawn.

And I was singing this song. And these lyrics. And it was wonderful.

“Sometimes You're further than the moon
Sometimes You're closer than my skin”

That’s my God for you. Displaying a Tiffany’s just for me to enjoy on my walk home. And tonight, though I saw the moon, he was closer than my skin.

Oh the distracted mind.

I sit in the basement of Smith Union Hall here at Portland State. There is a restaurant called “Green Space Café,” and it is run by students and is pretty darn Portlandy. I brought my own mason jar for water, (because that’s what you do, you know, recycling and non-leaking) and then I broken it when I dumped out the boiling water that was in it and decided too quickly to have cold water instead. I busted the bottom out. Good thing I have two shelves and box of more mason jars at home. Sorry Melissa, I know you are saving them for your wedding… I will work really hard on not breaking any more!

So I instead am drinking from a chipped yellow mug, with my own instant Nescafe coffee that has been sitting in the bottom of my backpack for nine months. I bought it when I was in Alabama last spring break so that I had some caffeinating to help me rise early with my wonderful nephews and nieces. It is not good by any means, but it is hot. And having a hot cup of caffeine in my hands is nice. I long for the day when I can spend my money on real coffee beans again. Locally roasted, fresh, not bitter.

I have three days left of this term, and one final next week… but as I have a three hour break before I go into work, I find myself in a compelling situation. One that draws me in a competition against myself, which I suppose is a good battle to be in, because either way, I win. The situation at present is that of Jane Eyre. Such an intriguing read. Charlotte Bronte has quickly become one of my new favorite authors this week. Its not just the plot, which is AMAZING! But it is the word usage, the one liners that draw me to examine my inner being. I have Dr. Shakk to thank for this. He taught my British Literature class last year at Multnomah, and opened my eyes to a world of wonderful authors, he showed me what was good, and why. And not more and more, I think in British accents.

We had many discussions in his class, and it is often said at Multnomah, that you learn more about God in Shakks literature classes than you do in any theology class. And there is such truth to this. It is not because they (authors) speak of God; no! It is quite the opposite. It is their lack of mention of him. The dark revealing's and honest observations that make me think so much more about Him than a directly pointed question. I connect with Bronte.

“I then ordered my brain to find a response, and quickly. It worked and worked faster: I felt the pulses throb in my head and temples; but for nearly an hour it worked in chaos, and no result came of its efforts. Feverish with van labor, I got up and took a turn in the room; un-drew the curtain, and noted a star or two, shivered with cold, and again crept into bed. And a kind fairy in my absence, had surely dropped the required suggestion on my pillow; for as I lay down it came quietly and naturally to my mind – …” (Jane Eyre, chapter 10)

My brain so often works overtime, seeking a quick response. I throb and lay away and pace. And yet so often, once I am found in silence, giving up, I find peace. This I know comes only from the Lord, and it is really me giving up the battle of struggling within my own mind. I am not sure if Bronte knew that, but I like the way she thought about things too.