Morning light

My bedroom window faces northeast, and if you look out you see a bald spot in the horizon (owing to the parking lot to our apartment complex and, further along that vector which starts at my window, the campus of the University of Georgia) which cradles the morning's first sun. When that sun makes its daily appearance there, pushing its way even through my mini-blinds, even through my heavy eyelids, I am hopelessly aroused from my night's sleep, regardless of whether I tumbled into bed eight hours earlier or three.

I don't entirely mind. I see beauty during that first hour of sunlight that many people only read about or view in photographs. I can hear daylight take its first breaths; I can observe the sky blooming with light that only becomes harsher, hotter, heavier as the day ages.

A part of me loves my mornings, though there is another sluggish side that revels in letting my eyelids droop shut for another hour that, in that snoozing reverie, feels like only a few blissful minutes. I am reading a book (an early Christmas gift from my dear and doting Bob) called In the Morning: Reflections From First Light by Philip Lee Williams, and it contains some of the most beautiful language about morning that I have ever had the occasion to read. I recommend it to anyone who wants a deep and many-faceted account of morning--what it means aesthetically, biologically, spiritually... simply. It is novel and lovely, prose wrought with the poetic. It has caused me to think much on morning's place in my ever-evolving life.

How I have always longed to be a morning person... But when you are in high school and college, your social world is constructed around night--theatre and midnight movies, 24-hour coffee shops and bars that close up shop at 2 AM, nightclubs and formal dances, rock concerts and winds symphonies. You stay up later and later out of necessity, until you find yourself on your nights off, sitting at the computer in the middle of the night, idly surfing the web and waiting until "bedtime." That is how, as young people, we are obliged to fashion our lives.

But for me, those who keep going until those early-late hours are missing something quite enchanting contained only in the quietude of morning. Early mornings were the preferred time for Jesus to commune with God the Father, when he "withdrew to lonely places and prayed." It is difficult to find lonely places in the bare and brazen light of day, and it is difficult to pray in the night watches when our biology tells us to be on guard against the dangers of the darkness. But in the morning there is peace and there is solitude. It is a time of day I often missed until I moved here to my beloved east-facing window, which never fails to alert me at the first shard of sunlight that a new day has arisen. I hope only that as I get older and more seasoned, I become more able to leave aside the folly of night life and rise to greet the new day with a growing eagerness.

Being home

I got back to Athens on Saturday. The last few days have been weird, frustrating, exhausting, and fun all at the same time. For one thing, I have still not finished unpacking--there was a lot of work to do at home, and I've been trying to clean up what's here before dumping a whole lot of new stuff into the mix. For another, Bob is working all week, in addition to this past weekend and this coming weekend. Seven days a week. So it's kind of lonely around here. In addition, I have not been sleeping regularly. I could not sleep last night because I was so exhausted yesterday afternoon that I took a three and a half hour nap.

On a brighter note, one of my close friends came over yesterday and we got to spend some time together. It's so good to spend quality time with people you really know and trust. We talked for so long that I forgot to make lunch for us (as was the original plan). She'll be working with Bob at the Wesley Foundation this year. Several of my friends will be there. I wish I could be doing that too...

Well, since this is my last year in Athens, I really want to have a good time here while I still can. I've spent so much of the past two years locking myself inside and studying, and I really want to take it a little bit easier. I'm usually not one for making to-do lists, but this is different. Here are just some things I'd like to make a point of doing this year, before it's too late:

1. Hang out with my accounting friends and not do accounting
2. Go see live music more often
3. Go to more literary events (poetry readings? I'm so there...)
4. Enter the Honors Program art show this fall
5. Submit my writing to Stillpoint Literary Magazine here on campus
6. Go on more dates with Bob downtown
7. Go to Krush Girls with my friends
8. See Michael Stipe downtown (okay, maybe this one is just wishful thinking)
9. Study at the Botanical Gardens
10. Walk to Earth Fare once a week
11. Work out at the Ramsey Center regularly

That's a pretty good start, I think. There is so much to see and do here, and I want to see it and do it while I can. Not that I think I've wasted my time in Athens--I've done lots of fun things. But after May, I'll never be a college student again. I really want this to be a good, memorable year.


I am reading The Heart of a Distant Forest now by Philip Lee Williams. It's really enthralling--it's hard to put down. His writing is so beautiful... I can't wait to finish it. In fact, I'm going to go read it for a while now--at least until I fall asleep (I'm feeling a little drowsy again).

Why don't I read anymore??

When I was a kid I read all the time. I felt like such a dork, but it really was what I usually wanted to be doing. Even during spare moments in the car, on the school bus, in between classes, I always spent my time reading.

Now that I'm an adult, I don't understand why I do not enjoy reading as much as I used to. I still like books and I still read them, but not the way I wish I would. Perhaps I have read one too many dry textbooks and spoiled the thought of reading. I really hope I can get myself interested in reading again--and more than just fiction.

I came across a book yesterday called Been Brown So Long It Looked Like Green To Me: The Politics of Nature by Jeffrey St. Clair, an investigative journalist. Of course, being in the store I didn't have much time to thoroughly leaf through it and get a good sense of what type of book it is, but it definitely struck me as one worth looking into a bit more. Perhaps I can find it at the library when I get back to school. What I want is comprehensive coverage of the environment, fair, well-rounded (i.e., not just bashing W. for pushing to open ANWR for drilling), and provocative. Not that I need to be provoked into believing that the environmental state is deplorable at the moment, but I do want to read something that is not just propaganda. I don't know who Jeffrey St. Clair is, but it intrigues me that he is titled an "investigative journalist." Who knew that such reporters even existed anymore? So, perhaps I will give this book a try soon.

One book I started reading early in the summer is The Heart of a Distant Forest by Philip Lee Williams--my nature writing professor! It was unique, written in the style of a journal rather than a narrative, but unfortunately I didn't get very far into it before I moved to Atlanta, forgetting to bring the book with me. It's not a very long book, so I hope to be able to pick it up when I get home and read it from start to finish before school gets back in. (With Bob at intern training all week and working on the weekends, I should have plenty of time to myself...)

My professor is publishing another book, which is to be released this fall, called In the Morning: Reflections From First Light, which I certainly plan to buy. I love the mornings, and this man is a freaking authority on mornings, since he gets up at about 4:30 every day! Seriously, his engagement with nature is deep (his class helped to change my whole perspective on the world) and his writing is beautiful, and I will be thrilled to read his essays on morning.

I did not intend this post to be a rave about Dr. Williams, but while I am on the subject I am going to recommend one of his other books: The Silent Stars Go By, a nonfiction narrative of Christmas memoirs from his childhood. I read this book my sophomore year of college, and it was the catalyst that made me decide to pursue my love of writing again (as I took a long hiatus from any serious writing during my latter years in high school). Anyway, it is a short book and it is something different, and if you are ever struck with the desire to read it I give it my highest praise.

See? I told you I really do love books. I love them so much that while I was writing all of that, I completely forgot that I have been in a no-reading rut lately. So maybe that's all about to change... Maybe all I need to do is remind myself that I really am passionate about reading.

For no real reason

I just thought this was amazing sunrise. This is Bob's parents' farm, and it's probably about seven in the morning, in early February. Sunsets and sunrises are so beautiful--I don't think anyone would contradict that.

One of my favorite books is Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. If you've not read it, I strongly recommend it to you.

" 'Un jour, j'ai vu le soleil se coucher quarante-quatre fois!'
Et un peu plus tard tu ajoutais:
'Tu sais... quand on est tellement triste on aime les couchers de soleil...'
'Le jour des quarante-quatre fois, tu étais donc tellement triste?'
Mais le petit prince ne répondit pas."

" 'One day,' you said to me, 'I saw the sunset forty-four times!'
And then a little later you added:
'You know--one loves the sunset, when one is so sad...'
'Were you so sad, then?' I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?'
But the little prince made no reply."

I add this for no real reason, other than whenever I think of the sunrise and the sunset I think of that passage. There is something calming about watching the display of light, slowly fading in, slowly out. It does quell sadness, and it evokes thought and reflection and, most soothing of all, silence.

Recently I've been learning to love silence. Particularly silence before God. But silence before God has to start somewhere--silence within myself. In a world of constant white noise our spirits become starved for silence. You cannot find it unless you set out to look for it... or unless the Most High leads your stubborn spirit into it. But once you're there, in the silence, you find all the peace and all the comfort that you have made all that noise in seeking. Then you can reflect, and think, and hear the still, small voice that you have tuned out so effectively for such a long time.

There will be silence before You,
and praise in Zion, o God..."
Psalm 65:1

New appreciation

Terry Tempest Williams has helped me to come to appreciate birds much more than I ever did. I have to admit, with Hitchcock movies and stories like Poe's "The Raven" and the Grimm Brothers' "The Juniper Tree" I have always had some kind of dread of birds, as if they were supernatural creatures. This morning, I sit at my desk before sunrise and I hear the songs of several different species filtering through my window, and it's so refreshing that I cannot imagine having ever dreaded them.

In Refuge, Terry Tempest Williams found comfort in the familiarity of the birds, even when the Great Salt Lake was rising and when her mother was dying. The scene in which she prepares the body of the deceased whistling swan is so idyllic and moving and deeply metaphoric. I looked up the whistling swan, and it really is a beautiful bird. She knew each of the birds intimately, and her heart broke as theirs did, slowly as she watched their habitat drown, bit by bit.

I have watched birds a few times in my life. Truthfully, it has never greatly interested me. Until now. I never cared about putting a name to a new bird; they were simply all birds to me. But it might be fun to watch them come and go, become familiar with the frequenters and, like Terry Tempest Williams, become filled with excitement when a rarer species makes an appearance. Birds really are beautiful to listen to, and their colors and shapes are all so varied. I just never noticed before.

Refuge

Terry Tempest Williams's Refuge made me think a lot about my faith, and finding comfort in it. It was beautiful to me, the way she clung to her Mormon traditions during a very hard time in her life; but at the same time as being a devoted Mormon, she also questioned many of the cultural traditions. She made her faith personal to her, by thinking about it in terms of the world around her and not just in terms of what had been ingrained in her from childhood.

I've felt differently about a lot of the mainstream Christian ideals lately. Once I would have called myself a political conservative; now I prefer not to think about politics at all, in relation to my beliefs. It seems stupid to me, when I really think about it, to comingle politics and Christianity anyway. When my ancestors came to America in the 1600s it was for religious freedom from the Anglican Church. Now conservative Christians want to outlaw, one by one, every non-Christian practice. You cannot pass laws to force a religion on someone--you have to show them and cause them to believe that your religion is something worth living for.

I love being a Christian. I love God and I love experiencing Him in the world around me, every day, in new and exciting ways. But for a long time I believed and subscribed to everything every other Christian told me. Now, I prefer to learn about God's heart myself, with nothing but my Bible and the Holy Spirit to lead me. That's what I felt like Terry Tempest Williams was doing, when she blessed her mother in private when women in her religion had no official authority to do so. I felt like she did that throughout the book, in little ways. Her deep connection with nature helped her to experience her faith in ways that one could not if one were not willing to dig deeper into the heart of everything. I feel like, in seeking God through the natural world, I have learned a lot more about God than a Baptist pastor would tell me on a Sunday morning. I can see the Psalms come alive with depth and meaning. I can see so many different sides of His character, one piece at a time. Seeking Him for myself has meant so much for me and helped me to mature in my faith.

Terry Tempest Williams, and more on nature and spirituality

You know, thanks to Kristin I have been thinking a lot more about the idea that we discussed somewhat in class, about a genetic need for spirituality. On the one hand I have a hard time believing that could be true--in my mind, everyone has a need for something spiritual, to believe that there's something greater than themselves out there. Whether they run from that feeling or embrace it is a different matter.

I have never been one to boil everything down to genetics--in the nature versus nurture debate, I tend to think that our culture and values and a lot of our personality get stamped on us when we are young. Certainly there is a hereditary factor--a huge one. I always thought identical twin studies were cool, and it amazes me to hear stories about identical twins who were separated at birth growing up apart yet living radically similar lives. But when I think about spirituality, a lot of people who are raised in very spiritual environments turn out to embrace spirituality themselves. Is that because of genes? Or is it because of the way they were raised?

My parents profess little or no need for God--they don't go to church and at times have actually discouraged me from going to church. The certainly don't see the value in prayer, or see any sense in trusting God. My grandparents? My mom's parents, and my dad's mom, have all been faithful churchgoers at some point in their adult lives. Both of my parents were raised in the Southern Baptist church. If spirituality were in our nature, then what happened with my parents? Did that need for God skip them and resurface in myself? I don't know--that's definitely a possibility. What I tend to think, though, is that my parents were raised in the post-World War II era, during the Cold War, when people were taught that hard work and success were a way of life. I think people to some extent were conditioned to fear--and I think fear ultimately leads you to turn inward to find answers, because it takes an awful lot of faith and trust to turn outward and find answers in the spiritual realm. My grandparents stopped going to church at some point when my parents were still young, and it wasn't until their old age that they returned. And then what happened with me? I don't know when my need for God surfaced and I really started seeking after something consistent to bind the universe together. But I remember feeling that it was the answer I always knew, and had just turned my face away from for so long. I have definitely needed God all my life. I personally feel that most people, if they could really search themselves objectively, would admit the same thing.

I have thought a lot about Terry Tempest Williams in exploring this idea. Here is a woman who is deeply rooted in the Mormon faith, deeply spiritual--she clings to faith, to spirituality. No doubt that need arose from her family--but was it the nature or the nurture? You cannot separate her from the genes that her parents gave her, nor can you separate her from the Mormon culture in which she grew up. Is there a genetic need for spirituality? I cannot be sure.

Speaking of Terry Tempest Williams, I want to talk so much more about Refuge. But I don't have time to go into that right now. What a beautiful, moving book! That's all I will say, until this weekend.