It is the Wind, . . . but Nothing's Broken.

Anyone who has lived in more than one house in his or her lifetime knows that every house has its quirks.  In our last house, the bedroom door would not open unless we heaved upward on the handle at just the right angle.  We could shake all the furniture in our Forest Grove house by jumping up and down in one particular spot in the floor.  Every place I have ever lived has had something that was just part of the structure that just needed to be gotten used to.  Adapt and overcome, right?  Well, last night, we had our first major windstorm of the season, and we discovered something about this house that puts all the other houses to shame.

I should reiterate that we have been lent a very nice house.   The living and dining rooms were completely redone in an open floor plan before we got here, and there's a big bay window that lets in lots of natural light.  (I intend to post pictures for my out-of-town friends and family as soon as we get our kitchen table.) However, I think the pleasantness of our current dwelling lulled us into a false sense of security.  Everything looked so new that we weren't really expecting this. 

Our house farts.

Seriously, when the wind hits the back wall at the right angle, it makes the sliding glass door vibrate against the rubber seal, which makes a noise a lot like a little boy blowing on the palm of his hand to simulate flatulency.  Here's a short clip.  You can see from the trees how windy it is outside.

At first, Seth and I couldn't figure out where the noise was coming from.  We knew neither of us was making it, and it would happen at the strangest times.  Nobody was flushing anything.  We weren't even moving.  Hearing it was a little creepy.  Then I noticed that whenever I heard the noise in the dining room, the wind would howl outside the kitchen window.  Then Seth put two and two together and found the source of the noise. We were highly amused.

Minnesota is a windy state (Our house is surrounded by wind turbines.), and I understand it only gets windier as winter comes on.  So we are going to be visited by our ghost a lot.  He loves to interrupt conversations and put his two cents in, and he has phenomenal comic timing.  We've always had pets that liked to "talk;" now I guess we have a house that will fill that function.



Speaking of bodily functions, my favorite place to read deep theology is in the bathroom.  I find that deep thoughts are best processed one or two paragraphs at a time, which is perfect for bathroom reading.  You can always find something serious on the tank of my toilet. My current source of meditation is The Complete Julian of Norwich (pronounced JU-li-inn of Nor-itch); translated and edited by Fr. John-Julian, OJN; published by Paraclete Press, Brewster, Massachusetts.

Julian was a medieval minor noble woman (probably about the same social rank as Elizabeth Bennet for my former English students).  After two marriages and five children, Julian experienced a nearly fatal illness that left her convalescent for a while.  As she was recovering, she experienced 14 "showings" from God, which left her plenty to ponder for the rest of her life.  When her second husband died and her children were all provided for, Julian entered the life of  an anchorite.  That means that she set up for herself a little room on the back of the local church, and let them lock the door and throw away the key.  Her income as a noble woman provided her with food and clothing, and there would be a little window through which she could speak to passers by, pray for them, and possibly offer them advice from her prayers and meditations.

Here is a bit from Julian that I found comforting after last weekend's ordeal:

One time our good Lord said: "All manner of thing shall be well"; and another time He said: "Thou shalt see for thyself that all manner of thing shall be well"; and from these two sentences the soul recognized several implications:

One was this: that He wishes us to be aware that not only does He take heed to noble and great things, but also to little and small things, to lowly and simple things, both to one and to the other and so means He in that He says, "All manner of thing shall be well"; for He wills that we be aware that the least little thing shall not be forgotten.

Another understanding is this: that, from our point of view, there are many deeds evilly done and such great harm given that it seems to us that it would be impossible that ever it should come to a good end; and we look upon this, xorrowing and mourning because of it, so that we cannot take our ease in the joyful beholding of God as we would like to do, and the cause is this: that the use of our reason is now so blind, so lowly, and so [limited] that we cannot know the exalted wondrous Wisdom, the Power, and the Goodness of the blessed Trinity.  And this is what He means when He says, "Thou shalt see for thyself that all manner of thing shall be well,: as if He said, "Pay attention to this now, faithfully and trustingly; and at the last end, though shalt see it in fullness of joy."   (Meditation 32, p. 161)  

I needed that last Friday.  At certain points during that night, I was ready to consign the airline to the deepest parts of unmentionable places for putting my husband in such a fix (see previous installation).  I saw only forces of evil and incompetence trying to keep my husband from his God-appointed calling.

However, Seth got safely to Oregon.  He passed his examination.  He gave a resounding testimony to God's faithfulness.  And I learned that I can pray through the night when properly motivated.  My understanding (reason) last Friday was "so blind, so lowly, and so [limited]"* that I couldn't see beyond the next morning, and, a week later, I feel pretty foolish about that.  However, Julian also had words to say to my incompetence.

God shall do this, and I shall do nothing but sin, and yet my sin shall not prevent His doing  it.

So we got through after all.