On homelessness and pioneers.

Kristus er som en lilje på marken og fuglen i luften.

Christ is like the lilly in the field and the bird in the air. How so? Because he has nowhere to lay his head. In Philosophical Fragments, Kierkegaard's pseudonym, Climacus, wonders if this made Christ unable to understand the essentially human, as humans tend to care about home and head-laying and things of the morrow.

Inspired by these same passages, my dear friend, Deidre, pointed out (first while sitting on couches in her temporary living room, and second while standing at a Mormon pulpit while I sat on a Mormon pew) that in the very same scriptural breath that Christ mentions some of these things, he asks his followers to do the same, by simply saying, "Come follow me." She mentioned that he says other strong words, about the dead burying their dead and son being against father.

It may not be surprising, then, that early Latter-day Saints were asked to follow Christ in homelessness, by giving up everything familiar and comfortable to follow the dictates of their conscience and their new faith. What may be more surprising is that they were repeatedly asked to build temples (i.e., houses) for the Lord, amidst personal poverty, uncertainty, and external persecution.

Plans were made for temples that could not be finished due to the third of those "amidsts." Others (the Kirtland and Nauvoo) were completed, following great acts of sacrifice, time, and belief. Nauvoo took at least 5 years to build. And still they were pushed Westward. Still they were without a home.

When some of the saints arrived in Utah, it was announced prophetically that it "was the right place." Notwithstanding this, I wonder how much faith and hope and love it must have taken to be willing to work so carefully and painstakingly on a new temple, a new home, that they did not know for sure that they would get to enjoy. It makes the already impressive 40 year figure that much more impressive, and helps me feel greater gratitude for this building that means so much to S (as it meant so much to his ancestors who helped build it).

One of my friend's points in her inspiring speech is that many (if not most) of the things that we try to do in life fail, or don't last. We might lose a job or have trouble finding a job in the first place. We might anything. But (and this is a big But), we just build again. We just try again. We just work to have a (Christ-centered) home again, or to feel at home (my personal crisis).

This makes it even more beautiful that the Nauvoo Temple was rebuilt, and makes me feel honored to have been married by the architect who designed it.

From Minnesota with Love.

Minnesota has been lovely (albeit a tad too hot for me, with a tad too many mosquitos). I fly back to LA this evening, and while it will be good to no longer have to talk to Spencer through the interwebs and phone lines, I will miss this calm, pretty place. I will miss the green fields and green trees. I will miss the quiet. I will miss the safe feelings I feel here. I will miss the ivy covered brick buildings. I will miss the library. I will miss the track a small jaunt away that helped me feel happier (and more myself) than I have felt in a long time. I will miss hearing snippets of Kierkegaard conversations everywhere I go. I will miss being with one to two good friends everywhere I go. I will miss my Danish classmates and my Danish class. I will even miss the fact that the majority of Kierkegaard scholars are as (socially) anxious as Kierkegaard. I will miss. I will miss.

I will/do look forward to Spencer, taco trucks, the ocean, two little dark haired darlings who I love, their angel mother, my grandma with (and without) her always abundant avocado and lemon trees, and the weather that is very nearly always perfect.

xo

(pictures and follow ups to come)

Conference Weekend.

I missed Utah, and bike rides, and picnics, and waffles, and front porches, and kites, and not having an almost 30 page paper due that Saturday.

I liked President Uchtdorf's talk and knowing that many people I care about were hearing the same messages and songs I was, albeit in different cities, states, and countries. I liked watching the Hunger Games Saturday eve.

Favorites x 2: An Ending.

Søren Kierkegaard may rightly be looked upon as the Danish little prince. In Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s French tale, we meet a small prince from a planet far away, and a lost pilot. The little prince tells his new friend, “What makes the desert beautiful, is that somewhere it hides a well.” The aviator narrator understood. When he was a child, he heard about a house that held a buried treasure. While the treasure was never found, its secret was enough to make the house magical. The little prince fell asleep in his arms, as he walked through the desert to find water, and the aviator said to himself, again: "What moves me so deeply, about this little prince who is sleeping here, is his loyalty to a flower—the image of a rose that shines through his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep..." The little prince held a hidden devotion to a rose, and a planet and star far away. Even though he had to leave them. Even though he was too young to understand his rose. Søren Kierkegaard, that sad, sweet prince, held a secret devotion for his own rose, his Regine. Even though he had to leave her, causing them both great despair (as well as many sleepless nights). Even though they could not understand each other. (He was too reflective, and she too immediately passionate for that.) The image of Regine shines through his whole published work, like the flame of a lamp that cannot go out.

A beginning.

Once upon a time, a baby was born to a proud mother and father. The mother was a simple woman, reported to be round, short, and kind. She had been a servant, in the home of a wealthy hosier. She could not sign her own name, three letters long, without the help of another guiding her hand. She would be exalted from her station, by disgrace in her station, for the same hosier would bless her with a child, and then a wedding, and then six more children. This particular baby was the last—the child of their old age (not unlike Abraham and Sarah). While they might not have known it, this was also their child of promise. He too would make the journey to Mt. Moriah. He too would place the object of his love on an altar before God. While the father did not accompany him, the child carried his memory with him. Indeed, he carried the father’s weight on his back, and his sadness. (How many days was his journey? Perhaps more than three, and as silent.) The child learned of God from this father, including the sad familial tale when the father was himself a son, and young shepherd, standing on a hill in Jutland. Hungry and cold, the small shepherd threw up his arms and cried out against his Maker, before spending the rest of his life trying to undo his cries. (Is it any wonder that the shepherd’s son felt anxiety and guilt before God?) He took communion with this father. He was baptized and confirmed in the presence of this father, in the church of his father. He would learn of piety before God, and self-denial. Through all of this, he developed faith in God, a faith so strong, that no matter how many times it was expressed, could not be fully revealed. These same things could be spoken of his love for the object of his sacrifice. And unlike Abraham, who was asked to sacrifice his son, this son, would sacrifice his betrothed. He would do it not with a knife, which is dull as a sword, but with the mightiness of a pen, and a breaking of an engagement, in a time and place when engagements were not broken. The son as we know is Søren Aabye Kierkegaard, the father, Michael Kierkegaard, the betrothed, Regine Olsen.

Americans in Paris.

S and I went to The City of Lights to look at Christmas lights, and you know, to celebrate Christmas. I think it may have been the only way that being away from family for the second year in a row was (somewhat) bearable. It was a lovely city, and one of my favorite Europe cities. Perhaps because it reminded me so much of New York, in every good way possible. It also had delicious pastries on every corner. While there we most definitely lived on croissants, crepes, baguettes, pan de chocolates, and cheese--all kinds of delicious cheese. Fortunately while there we also walked a lot, so I felt good about it.

One of those walks has been mentioned previously. It celebrated the completion of my 40 page Kierkegaard paper, and was to the Eiffel Tower and back. We got there after it had closed, so ended up going a second time. I wanted to take the stairs up, to have the experience and to see the city. It was amazing to me how different the famous tower looked up close, compared to far away, and compared again to pictures, videos, and other representations I have seen of it. Up close it is not that pretty, except for the lights. Or it is pretty, just not in ways I expected. It is made from a course metal. Spencer told me the French didn't like it very much at first, and wanted desperately to take it down after its entrance into the world for the World Fair. Now I can't even imagine Paris without it. I am sure many feel that way. Someone exercised good wisdom in persuading the Parisians to let it stay.

We also got to visit a few museums. I wanted to see the Louvre because I (and everyone else in the city) wanted to see da Vinci's famous painting. It was nice, but smaller than I imagined. Winged Victory--a very commanding/inspiring headless statue with wings--was more impressive. I also didn't know that the Louvre only housed old paintings. I was expecting to see Monet's, Picasso's, Van Gogh's, etcetera. Sadly for me, I was in the wrong place. I think my favorite thing about the Louvre was not a single work within the structure, but the structure itself. It really is a beautiful building, as so many in that part of the world are. Still, Spencer and I loved the Pompidou Center more. This may not have been too surprising, because we received a very strong recommendation, naming it a favorite in the whole of Paris. It is also housed in a cool structure, though cool for completely different reasons. The purpose of the Pompidou's structure is to have all of the things on the outside of a building that normally go inside, but distract from the meaning of the building--things like air ducts, electrical ducts, and water lines. The art inside was also better. Or at least better to me, and to my interests. Architect Spencer liked the Pompidou more because he modeled a building after it, is friends with the individual who designed the restaurant on the top floor, and finds it one of the best contemporary art museums in the world.

More Paris highlights include visiting that particular restaurant designing friend, who has also done some other cool things in the city and country like design a hip, bright green fashion school on the Seine River and a sunny orange building in Lyon. He was very nice, works with his wife, and has a little daughter. Somehow I really liked that he had a family and was similarly down to earth. For whatever reason I don't picture most architects like that. Afterward we got to meet up with our best European friends: Katherine and Eric. They had been traveling around Spain and had a 4-5 hour stop in Paris on their way back to Vienna. It was nice to spend Christmas Eve Eve with them. In Spencer's words, they made our Vienna/Europe experience 100 times better. That night we also enjoyed Paris' many (English and non-English) bookstores, and watched The Artist, which film I whole heartedly recommend. Christmas day we slept in, opened stockings, ate pez and other good treats, before going to another friends for dinner. We met her in Utah this past summer, and she is very kind. Her family: equally so.

The last one was taken in Vienna, but you get the idea.

Happy birthday, Søren Kierkegaard.

May 5, 1813. You are favorite.