St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Millennium Bridge

We walked to St. Paul’s through the city, arriving just in time for Evensong. At this point we’ve seen several of the structures designed by Christopher Wren, including Oxford’s own Sheldonian Theatre. This was my favorite. Its lavish interior was a space built for exaltation. We were inside as worshippers, not tourists, so I kept the camera off. We joined a large crowd of people seemingly from all over the world for a traditional choral service lasting about forty minutes. Hugh was the only baby in evidence, but he was very, very quiet. I think he liked the music. As we were leaving the service leader, greeting people at the end of the aisle, leaned over and said to Hugh, “You were very good.” I must remember to make a note of it in his baby book: “Went to St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, where I received a compliment on my behavior.”

The service was beautiful, incorporating choral music, call and response, Scripture readings, and public prayer. To sit still and quietly in that vaulted space, listening to God’s word being read and sung aloud, was greatly encouraging to both of us.

After we descended the steps of St. Paul’s, we turned towards the Thames to walk across the Millennium footbridge and on along the river to our hotel in London’s old County Hall. It was sunny and breezy, early evening, and the views were spectacular.

I saw London Bridge at last, and the Globe Theatre.

From the other side of the Thames, we looked back over the bridge at St. Paul’s.

Up next: An Eye on London and then: Harrod’s 

the British Museum

Is it because I’m a teacher? Or because I married an academic? Both? Once in a while museums just get me. And the British Museum is like the mother of all museums. We enjoyed the walk through Bloomsbury in the sunshine and walked in on the world’s best collection of human artifacts. The Museum no longer contains the national library or natural history, being largely a collection of artifacts from human history and culture.

The Queen Elizabeth II Great Court was very interesting architecturally, though we did not visit the round reading room in the center due to a special exhibition. The King’s Library along one side of it was probably my favorite room–I’m not alone: Wikipedia just told me it is known as “one of London’s finest rooms.”

We spent most of our time on ancient Roman and Egyptian antiquities. One thing I really enjoyed seeing was also the Museum’s most-visited artifact: the Rosetta Stone. It was fun watching Alex squinting at the Greek.

The busts of Roman emperors were interesting as well. We studied their faces, as portrayed  in sculptures that reached the far end of the empire. Caesar Augustus, Titus (who sacked Jerusalem), Nero.

Augustus

Nero

In this area I also learned something I never knew before. (Stop me if you’ve heard this one.) The earliest Christians did not identify themselves with the symbol of the cross or with the fish symbol. They used the “Chi-Rho” symbol–the first two letters of the name of Christ in Greek, often appearing with the alpha and the omega of Revelation 1:8. We saw dishes, jewelry, and various objects with this symbol, including the famous tile mosaic portrait of Jesus found in England in Hinton St. Mary. The mosaic has pomegranates instead of the alpha and omega–symbolizing immortality.

Since seeing it all was out of the question, we eventually had to leave. En route to St. Paul’s we couldn’t decide between coffee and ice cream so we went to Starbucks for frappes. (I can’t remember the last time we both ordered at Starbucks, but I think it was  before we had the children.)

london, i {heart} you

Because you can never, never have too many pictures of Big Ben.

Our little man needed a passport this spring, requiring another visit to the United States Embassy in Grosvenor Square. That meant London. We had been secretly discussing how to manage a night away there when Alex’s mom and dad randomly offered to put us up in a hotel there if we would be interested. We picked the weekend before our wedding anniversary. A tag team of kind, kind friends agreed to care for our little misses Sparky and Spunky, so we headed off for 33 hours away with just Hugh for company.

Chestnut trees in St. James Park

It was such a gift. Every minute, beginning to end. London was so perfectly itself–chestnut trees and flowers and embassies and red buses and cobbles and coppers. We roamed all over and saw things and ate things and talked and laughed and I took pictures and Hugh behaved beautifully.

Hugh’s souvenir was a little red bus, which somehow none of my children own yet.

We left home just after six and made it to Grosvenor Square for Hugh’s 9:30 appointment (we had to made a side trip to Victoria Station to leave our bag, not allowed in the Embassy). There Hugh proudly became a United States citizen. I raised his right hand for him and we all swore him in together. When we left the Embassy, it was nearly lunchtime and twenty-four glorious London hours awaited us. Setting our sights on eventually reaching the British Museum, we cut right past Buckingham Palace–as the changing of the guard was happening. Thus we were swallowed by a huge crowd of tourists just as we started out. (Aren’t other tourists annoying?) This was funny. But Hugh had never seen the guard and I think he was pretty interested.

For lunch we had “small bites” (a food trend I’ve been hearing much of but have had no opportunity to try) at an Italian restaurant just off Trafalgar Square. Then we did make it to the British Museum before we wound our way to St. Paul’s Cathedral for Evensong. . . come along and relive it with me, more tomorrow.

With much gratitude to Mom and Dad, who helped us do this, and to our dear friends who gave up their time and energy to love on our girls while we were gone. 

our ninth wedding university

That’s what Norah called it. (In her knacky way of accidentally generating strangely appropriate terms. As a toddler she also spontaneously nicknamed Alex “StudyDud.” See what I mean? She has a gift.)

Was it really nine years ago that I put on a white dress and bound my life to his until death should end it? We said better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness, health and meant it. It was actually on purpose that we chose Habakkuk 3:17-19 as our wedding text:

Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls, 
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
God, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the deer’s;
he makes me tread on my high places.

At the moment when we married the fig trees were blossoming left and right and we saw no reason for concern regarding the fields. Though in the nine years following there have been seasons with few fruit on the vines, this may be the first time the herd have vacated the stalls.

One of the sweetest realities of marriage is that, in such times (and we all have them) each has the shoulder of the other to lean on, watching the south end of the last cow.

“Yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.”

He is the “God of salvation”: meaning not just that he’ll save whatever situation you are in this time (He will). But that he is the God who saved us. He is the God who sees us, like he saw Hagar sitting alone in the dirt and totally without options in Genesis 16. God is in the hard times who he always was. With a lift of the heart we remember it. Circumstances change. But he is the same.

 

not in chariots (nor in horses)

I am eating poached eggs on the sofa. The house is so quiet I can hear the kitchen clock (time is passing) and a bird singing outside (even in the rain?). My husband is at church this evening, my children, praise the Lord, are sleeping. In the silence the questions that were hiding underneath the commotion of the day emerge. I sit holding them and they are like bowling balls in my arms. What are we going to do? Where are we going to go? HOW are our needs going to be met? Time is ticking, we can’t wait anymore. We need to know. They are slipping around, pressing on me lately whenever I hold still. And sometimes I pick them up and carry them with me when I vacuum or chop onions or bathe the children. This is foolish of me: carrying them makes every task harder.

We are in a time of great uncertainty. We celebrate nine years of marriage on Wednesday and this is the most stretching time we’ve faced yet. For nine years it has always seemed clear in advance what step to take next. For nine years God has always provided exactly what we needed in good time and thus we’ve continued on rejoicing. I can’t even tell you all the ways and means he’s been there for us. He has provided scholarships, places to live, churches and community, opportunities, jobs, money, and direction. With that history I am embarrassed to tell you how difficult it is for me to trust–and wait–right now.

Then I saw myself in the Bible. In the early hours I read about Paul’s perseverance in adversity in Acts 14 but that’s not where I was. At my mums’ Bible study midday we read about faith in Hebrews 10 and 11 but I wasn’t there either. I found myself tonight. I was standing in the ranks of the “stubborn children” of Israel in Isaiah 30. The mighty army of Assyria is coming and the people of Israel turn to Egypt for help instead of to their God! They do not trust him to come through for them. And they don’t have time to wait for him. They of all people should know where to turn, should they not?

‘For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel,
“In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
But you were unwilling, and you said,
“No! We will flee upon horses”;
therefore you shall flee away;
and, “We will ride upon swift steeds”;
therefore your pursuers shall be swift.

A thousand shall flee at the threat of one;
at the threat of five you shall flee,
till you are left
like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain,
like a signal on a hill.

Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you,
and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you.
For the Lord is a God of justice;
blessed are all those who wait for him. . . ‘

–Isaiah 30:15-18

So often the actions of the Old Testament people of God show me the inclination of my own heart. But I want to trust in God–the gracious God–of the universe.

‘Some trust in chariots and some in horses but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.’ –Psalm 20:7

Happy Half, Hugh!

Hugh is already one-half today! I’ll be making half of a cake (that everyone else will eat in his honor) and we’ll celebrate him today just for fun. In these last few months as we’ve watched him grow there have many exciting developments.

He eats food.

He plays with toys.

He spends a lot of time with his toes.

He’s really hit it off with that baby in the mirror. He likes to make him laugh.

He likes to make Daddy laugh, too.

He goes on adventures in his chariot. On his most recent adventure, he went to the United States Embassy in London and gained a U. S. Passport–so he’s all ready to cross oceans!

Happy Half, Hugh! We love our jolly, chuckly little guy!

 

of norah’s writings and the national ballet

For a long time I’ve eagerly awaited the time when my oldest daughter would learn to read. And it has been exciting. But I completely forgot to look forward to when she would learn to write. Even though she’s reading, I guess I thought it would be a while yet before she made the connection that the letters and sounds she is learning could be rearranged to form words–any words she wants. But it happened when I wasn’t looking.

Suddenly she’s writing cards and letters (“Hape muders day nana”) and noting down song lyrics (“Paz God frum hm al besins flo”). She’s constantly making lists (“Musd mac my bed”): is she my kid or what? On most of her lists, ballet makes an appearance (“doo balay”). Norah (and thus Harriet) are obsessed very interested in ballet, though I think they are not certain what it actually is.

When I heard that the English National Ballet was performing “My First Cinderella” to Prokofiev’s famous score at the New Theatre in Oxford, I had to take her. Because Harriet is a bit young to really appreciate the experience, we made it a Just-Mommy-and-Me event.

“Don’t worry, Harriet,” we heard Norah saying. “I’m gonna come back and show you all my moves that I learn at the ballet!” Harriet, looking forward to going to the park with Daddy, seemed satisfied with this and sent us off with “Have fun time the ballay No’Jane!”

We sat high up on red velvet chairs in the old theatre and shared peeks through opera glasses to get closer looks at the glittery costumes and beautiful dancing. We laughed at the awkward stepsisters trying to impress the prince (Norah exclaiming loudly at the conclusion of their dance, “That was REALLY silly, wasn’t it?”). We filled up with strawberry ice cream during the interval and discussed our favorite parts.

Norah lived up to the plans she had laid out for herself, found on the sketchpad by Daddy:

“Yoos my Besd maNars
at thu BaLa
and have Fun”

Did you get that? “Use my best manners at the ballet and have fun.”

And so we did.

of king’s chapel, cambridge

Our first view of the spectacular chapel at King’s College, Cambridge was from the other side of the River Cam and through the rain.

We made our way to it through the city on Saturday afternoon.

From the doorway, I took pictures of this spectacular tree inside the gates of Clare College while Alex pulled out the treasured “Bod” card–the Bodleian Library card and student ID of Oxford. In Oxford, it’s like the key to the city. In Cambridge, the porter debated whether we ought to be allowed entry. “Hmm . . . that’s the Other Place,” she said. In the end, she gave us both the student discount. (And Alex denies being charming!)

My favorite moment when seeing these cavernous medieval churches and chapels is the moment of entry. You step from ordinary life outside in which you were just about to see yet another sight, sometimes even forgetting why you want to see it. In a second you are in a different time and a different place, both physically and mentally. The doorway is always dark but as you step through light reappears, only now it is reformed, directed in different patterns, gleaming through colored glass and enormous arches of silent stone.

You stand like an ant in the midst of its late-Gothic splendor, all at once (appropriately) insignificant. As we entered this one the tremendous organ was reverberating throughout  (“Music, Mommy!”).

“It has quite the organ, if you like organs,” said my dear friend. Yes, I do.

This one was truly magnificent, topping the intricately-carved wooden rood screen dividing the antechapel from the chapel. Above it were placed two angels with golden trumpets. You can also see the fan vault ceiling, the world’s largest of its kind.

The chapel was completed during the reign of Henry VIII, though it was begun one hundred years before by earlier Henrys. It is Henry VIII whose statue famously adorns the front gate and whose initials (Henry Rex) are carved into the wooden doors throughout the chapel. I have read that royal cypher, still used today, was first used in this way by Henry VIII, so these are of historical interest.

The painting over the altar is Peter Paul Rubens’ The Adoration of the Magi. I read that this work was given by an American millionaire and that the chapel floor was redesigned and leveled to accommodate it. I would have liked half an hour alone with this one.

The paintings of Jesus Christ in various places were worth the visit. I was particularly interested in this Italian master’s version of the wan body of Jesus removed from the cross, capturing the devastation of those dark, puzzling hours between the death of the Savior and his imminent resurrection. It is sunset in the painting, but morning will come.

We emerged from the chapel to find the sun had come out to bless us in that sudden English way. (The beauty of the front court was being photographed by a group of Asian tourists who also photographed Harriet’s rule-breaking dash for the green. I am proud of her: after all, the number of people who have stepped on this turf is probably small.)

It was one of those experiences I’ll bring with me, wherever I go.

ah, cambridge

We drove to Cambridge on a beautifully sunny morning that turned abruptly to rain with a splash of hail as we were prying the children from the car to walk the famous “Backs” of the colleges along the River Cam. Apparently the Oxford Rule applies to Cambridge as well (When in in doubt, bring an umbrella. Also every other time.). Due to the unfailingly good nature of our friends and their amazing children we weathered this and the rain gave up and went away eventually. Many of the colleges were shut Saturday–their enormous wooden portals impervious to Norah and JJ’s efforts to effect an entry. It had something to do with graduations. We know about these on Spring Saturdays in Oxford. Apparently people finish at Cambridge as well. This was confirmed when we ran into an English friend from Oxford striding down the road in full regalia. He had completed his studies at Cambridge more than ten years before, but waited to “walk” the ceremony.

We went to Fitzbillies instead. Though apparently under new ownership, this small independent bakery opened first in Cambridge in 1922 and is famous for its Chelsea buns, which we all enjoyed.

The window displays alone made me really happy. Beautiful cakes, cake stands, daffodils arranged beautifully between the sunny cobbled street outside and the turquoise tiled interior. I just wanted to stand there, breathing in cinnamon and yeast and admiring the beautiful old-world feel of the place. I have never liked a bakery better.

We clustered around a bench outside and everyone except Hugh became very sticky indeed. It was a great way to kick off the weekend. Despite having such limited time, I think we really got a feel for Cambridge, seeing many of its treasures.

We saw the Mathematical Bridge, of which, I am informed by Eyewitness Great Britain, it is erroneously said that it was originally built without nuts or bolts.

Sunday we walked past the old Round Church and also went to Tyndale House, a Cambridge theological library.

We spent more time in a few other spots–I’ll post a bit more because I can’t help myself. Until then, I leave you with this magnolia.

the other place

This past weekend we finally went to Cambridge, where some dear friends are visiting for a few months, giving us an excuse to make the trip. We packed all three children in the back of a tiny car we borrowed for the occasion. Being completely unaccustomed to car rides, the girls began asking if we had arrived yet before we left Oxford. We answered that question about thirty times per hour, read a few stories, and played Find-the-Object to fill the two-hour journey. (I try not to brag about him, but I can’t help it: My husband can not only drive an English car down the Other Side of the Road with three noisy children in the backseat, he can do so while sheltering Polly Pocket in his hair.)

We’ve been friends with these wonderful people for more than ten years–long enough to remember hanging out when it was just the four of us. Our offspring now outnumber us: we had five children in tow as we trekked around Cambridge, ages 4, 3, 2, 1, and 0. It was hair-raising and lovely.

Cambridge was unbelievable. I took the camera–Alex took the kids. (This arrangement recommended.)

Oh the chapels,

the colleges,

the sweet friends.

I’ll be posting a few more times on Cambridge because I can’t wait to relive it myself. Until then, here’s a few images of the ones who enjoyed it all most. (We walked Cambridge–they ran it!)