A Sketch of 2019

         Dear Friends,

            What am I to say about the year? What can I say?

            I believe I'll call this year a year of God's faithful love. He has shown me, above all else that no matter how much I doubt, no matter how often I attempt sanctification on my own, He who has begun a good work in me will complete it. I am never too far-gone, I am never made to sit in time out(that whole concept is rather skewed, by the way. I don't know what parent decided that time alone sulking in one's room was good for a naughty child).

          In fact, I feel as though this entire year has been one in which I've learned surrender. Surrender of control, of my own strength, my dreams and aspirations...not that I'm not still pursuing them, just in a different way...and learning to put those things first which really matter.

          Well, let's start at the beginning, shall we?
         
          Ladies and Gentlemen, let's rewind the year to January. At this point in time I am awaiting news. The big question on my mind is: Will I be going to England in the spring?

           Quite frankly, at this point, I considered the dream as little more than fantasy. Christianna Elise Hellwig, the shy, argumentative, rambunctious, country bumpkin scared of the world, and full of romantic fancies going to England? The idea!
           And so we pass to February wherein I discover that, somehow or another, I am going due to the kindness of several individuals, and am beside myself with excitement as well as finding it difficult to actually believe.

            That's when I received the email.

          It consisted of a few short lines which I had to read thrice before I comprehended it. A little seven year old boy whom I'd taught for a year and a half or so, and whose family had moved to Virginia the prior November had just passed away due to what they called complications of the flue.

         It was a stunning moment for me, to say the least. I sent a response and drove two and a half hours up the next day to attend the memorial service. The poor brothers of the dear child were very excited to see me, and I was honored to be asked to sing at the service, but I nearly broke down right before it commenced at the visual sight of it all.

         A dear little child, so exuberant and full of fun when I last saw him, now lying cold and still in a coffin. It seemed too much to bear at times. From the testimonies I heard, I am convinced that little J died in the Lord, that trusted fully in his Saviour and is now alive with Him, and yet it was a sobering instance.

          None of us know how long we will dwell on this earth. We are not given the day, nor the hour, but we are given each moment to live as we choose. Will we live it for Christ, or will we live it for ourselves? We know not how many moments more we will be granted.

          February ends and March sweeps in with the feverish air that always precedes a North Carolina storm. I cannot call a trip to England a storm, but seeing as I fell in love(more on that later), one might. On March 31st, I sang Hayden's Creation with the NC Master Chorale, and the next morning, I found myself on a plane, headed for Boston, and from thence, after a four hour wait during which I wished dearly I could go outside and taste, once again, the sweet New England air of my childhood, I boarded a Virgin Atlantic aircraft bound for Heathrow in London.

         What followed was a week of delight, and, as I mentioned above, I fell in love.
        Do you know, the sheer number of beautiful stone structures in the single country is staggering. Americans and their ugly metal and glass buildings ought to be properly ashamed of themselves. I did find myself suitably entranced with the buildings, and heartily wished my countrymen could take some lessons. But that's not what I fell in love with.

         My passion for writing poetry was also rekindled. It is somewhat discouraging to be a poet in this day and age. Nobody hates poetry, in fact, when I read the common man something I've written, he will usually tell me it's good, and then promptly change the subject. The fact is, few people care to read poetry these days, and before April, I'd begun to feel ambivalent about writing it.

          And then I went to England and realized why people write poetry in the first place. They experience something that's either too deep for prose, or that sounds so much more wonderful when told in poetry. Poetry inspires me like nothing else does, and perhaps it's a good thing that these days one can't sell a book of poetry. I might stop loving the beauty of poetry, and instead care for the praise I received for it.

        I don't want that to happen, because ultimately joy found in man's praise is so transient and fleeting that it can hardly be anything beyond shallow. Whereas, Keats is at least partially correct when he says, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." God is our joy, and in Him resides true beauty. Where else can we be more joyful but in creating, or marveling in the beauty of our Creator?

         Much of that I see in poetry, and whenever I need inspiration, I return in my mind to the beauty which I was able to drink in at Oxford.
      In truth, my friends, I had no idea that so many beautiful buildings existed in one place. Modern architects need to take a few lessons from the past, I think. It's true, having so much beauty around you can be so inspiring....no wonder we've gotten some of our best writers from England.

              But I didn't fall in love with poetry; no, that love affair began a long time ago, I fell in love with England...with the countryside in particular.
              Sheep have always been my favorite animals but in the U.S. I've only gotten to see them once or twice in my life, and then, only on  a petting farm with a whole lot of nasty goats and nagging hens, but in England I got to wave to a real flock of sheep every morning when I went out for my run/walk around the beautiful property where we stayed. Real sheep in a real field on a real farm, and oh, it was beautiful. The woods, the hills where I could stand amongst the trees and look down a slope and across a hedgerow to where another flock grazed in a far green field.

           When I stood there I felt like I couldn't get enough of it, and I still feel like it. And then there were all the little groves and, what I call islands, of trees and shrubs rooted right in the middle of grassy fields, here and there. I could hardly believe this because I'd imagined such a concept for years but never believed such things actually existed.

What a wonder.

Perhaps I haven't traveled enough, but anyway, that's my latest love affair, and I fear I'll never quite get over it. I'm afraid I left a good portion of my heart in England, and oh how it aches to see those majestic scenes once more.



               Alright,  have you all heard enough of England? Good. Let's move on.

              When I returned from my trip, the relatives on my mother's side gathered to bury my Grandfather who passed away last November. May, June, and July passed away relatively uneventfully, except I will add that a man whom our family knew in past years, a beloved father and husband, passed from cancer and my mother and I attended his service.

               Three funerals in a year. That's a lot in my book, but once again, it was a sobering reminder, and a good lesson.

        In August, my favorite Nephew was born to my sister Arianne(currently my only nephew) and I love him so very much....


             In September a wonderful friend visited from Arizona. We stayed up way too late talking about wonderful things, went on long walks and shared our writing. Her visit was too short.



           At the same time, my maternal Grandmother passed away.
              I am grateful for the time I got to spend with her, and am glad she went peacefully in her sleep. The Lord was merciful, whatever the outcome.

              October passed, bringing with it whisperings of fall and tidings of the festive season.

              Then came November in which I went to visit my dear friend in Eastern Tennessee, and ended up celebrating Thanksgiving with her family two days before the actual date. It was a wonderful time, and although, alas, I have no pictures, it was a Thanksgiving worth remembering. I have distinct memories of lying on a couch, laughing 'till I cried from various yarns woven by my friends Alaskian uncles.

I also wish I had pictures of the time when my friend, who can do Irish dancing beautifully, taught me a few steps, it was very educational and very difficult.
 
    I do, however, have a photo of a beautiful drawing my friend made for me for the epic fantasy story I've been working on for years now.
             It's the first piece of artwork anyone's ever made for my stories and I am heartily proud of it. I keep it on my desk now for regular inspiration and encouragement to press on towards the eventual completion of this story.

         I went home, celebrated Thanksgiving with my family, and then came December, and with it, Christmas.

            I had the wonderful opportunity to sing at the Christmas at Christ concert which was a beautiful, Christ honoring way to kick off the Christmas season.

             
                A week or so later, my older brother Timothy came to visit, as you probably already know. We had an uproarious time and I look forward to when he will come again.

                So ends my year, and what a year it has been. I look forward to the new year while wondering how many more changes it will bring. Somehow, I feel that 2019 has only been the beginning of a great tidal wave sweeping through my life, bringing many changes with it. Am I right? Will 2020 be the crest? Only God knows, for now, I am content, as the song says to trust Him day by day.

	Happy New Year!

                          ~ Christianna