I realized recently that I have managed, somehow, without a camera, to amass a decent amount of photographs from my last two months here. This has been partly resulting from my asking my obliging flatmate to take them, and partly from asking her and others to send them to me anytime I see them taking pictures of things that I want. I realized, though, that the lady behind the camera, in most cases, has managed to keep herself out of all of them, an easy thing to do when you're the one taking the pictures.

        Be that as it may, I wish to take you all, my dear friends and family from the States especially, through a short pictorial of the past two months. The above photograph is from an afternoon in a little fishing village south of St. Andrews called Crail. It wasn't as dark as it looks in these pictures and was one of the most beautiful and peaceful places I'd been since returning to the UK. Just so you can get an idea of what I saw and where I was, I'm going to post a stock photograph of Crail Harbor.

We walked along the top of that outer wall that encloses the harbor. It was very peaceful. A couple of fishermen were perched atop it, obviously locals, speaking companionably in broad Scotch accents. We walked along the shore line on the other side, invisible in the above photo, and I hurled long, stalks of seaweed back into the brine.

      It's a place I hope to return to someday. A moment where time stood still for the first time since I'd set foot in Scotland. Coast-land spots are usually not my favorite places, but I loved the fact that the ocean was grey rather than blue, that the houses were mostly stone, that the streets were narrow and badly paved, and the entire place seemed to have been built into a cliff. I loved all the old buildings, walls, and the watchtower which had obviously all been there for centuries. What is it like to be raised in a place with that much history, I wonder?

        Also, the sheer variety of seaweed they have here...simply staggering...

        Before we went to Crail, we were in St. Andrews, that infamous place where George Wishart was hanged for his protestant preaching, and John Knox, his bodyguard, through a bizarre series of events was sentenced to years as a galley slave. We got to see the ruins of the castle where a lot of this drama took place.

       So many grand buildings in one place. And, so much history...at the risk of sounding like a fangirl, I was slightly in awe thinking that I was treading the same streets John Knox must have often trod, and many other great men before and after him. The ruins of the old cathedral were super impressive, though I have no pictures of that. I could see the shadows of a building that was both staggeringly large, and imperiously grand in its day. 

       Then there was the place where young, handsome, rich, educated, noble Patrick Hamilton was hanged for preaching the reformed faith. At 23 years old and exceedingly popular among the upper classes, his death was the beginning of the end of protestant persecution. He was hanged in a hurry so that his friends wouldn't have time to get a pardon for him. It made everybody think twice about what was going on.

        The sky was forbiddingly blue that day. I complained about it once or twice. The sun and I really don't get along and it is sunnier here on the east coast of Scotland than I had anticipated. Climbing up on the harbor wall helped to compensate for my disappointment somewhat, and it was a lovely view both out onto the north sea, and back over the city of St. Andrews.

 

           Climbing down by the seaside with the steep, stone steps, worn by years of tide and storms was also exciting. Stone stairs never cease to fascinate me. I'm not sure what exactly it is, the immutability, the solidarity...whatever it is, they're mysterious and exciting to me, and even here in Aberdeen, every time I see a set of stone steps I haven't taken yet, regardless of the detour or what I'm doing, I immediately turn off to climb them, sometimes both ways if I know I have no time for following the path further.

 What is it? I guess I'll just have to keep climbing them to find out!

     In case you're wondering how I managed to pop up in St. Andrews and Crail, I was invited down to Dundee, my flatmate's (Eilidh) home town, by her  family for Burns Supper, a celebration in Scotland wherein they recognize "The bard" Robert Burns, by serving Haggis, Tatties and Neeps, (potatoes and turnips), reciting Burns' address to the haggis before eating, and singing Scottish songs afterwards, most of which are written by Burns. This was a very exciting time for me, not to mention I very much enjoyed the haggis, and the following day, Eilidh's mother drove us to St. Andrews and Crail for the aforementioned tour. Eilidh proved to be one of the most interesting tour guides I have had as of yet. She told me about all the things that I actually wanted to know about, as well as inserting her own commentary which was always fascinating. 

         My main takeaway from this was something I'd already realized a little, that Scotland is beautiful once you can get out of the city. 

Also, trains are the best way to travel over here. I had never been on an actual, passenger train until I took the one to Dundee, and it was an experience I hope to repeat multiple times while I'm here. In fact, should the Lord ever permit me a trip to the European Continent, I intend to travel by train as much as possible. Trains always have the right-of-way, so no stops except at stations, the scenery is usually much nicer than that by the highway, they are so smooth that motion sickness, a regular enemy of mine, doesn't appear, and the whole atmosphere is exceedingly pleasant.

Enough about trains. Even I'm falling alseep here...this was taken by a random student while I was resting my eyes waiting for my voice lesson once I returned to Aberdeen and studies resumed. 

        I proceeded to catch him in the act, and let him keep the photos on condition that he send them to me. Since I was sleeping in a public place I was asking for it, but he was nice enough to ask if I was okay with him taking them, and I took advantage of the fact and had him send them to me. I found the situation rather amusing once all was said and done. I haven't seen him since.

       This picture came as a result of my finding venison on sale at Sainsbury's and snatching it up. I then proceeded to make venison pasties completely out of my own head, and it worked exceedingly well. I asked Eilidh to take this picture as proof that I can cook nice things sometimes!

      These last ones were from just two nights ago, as I made pancakes and scrambled eggs, and fried up some kielbasa in honor of Shrove Tuesday. It was an excellent dinner, and Eilidh, not me, initiated the picture taking. Of course I begged for the pictures and she obliged.

        Time is flying, friends, it's March, and the start of the Lenten season. I have been learning to let go of many of the spiritual crutches I'd been relying on back home and to lean on God alone for my satisfaction. Most of you know I'm an avid people watcher, but here in the city, people all move rather mindlessly in concord. Few people even make eye-contact when you pass them on the street. There are too many. It's exhausting to meet everyone's eyes, and sometimes, if you do, they end up begging or trying to pull you into a conversation you are not prepared to have. It's easier to keep your head down and pretend like they don't exist. 

           The love of Christ compels me not to do that, however, exhausting and tiring though it may be. Every now and again, there will be someone who makes eye-contact and smiles back. Every now and again, there is an unexpectedly lovely exchange with a complete stranger who I will never see again. I take these moments as gifts from the Almighty God. I can no longer rely on my comfortable friend group, or retreat to my haven of a home for comfort and companionship. I must forge relationships myself, or I will walk alone. I must share Christ myself, there is no one alongside to do it for me. I must seek God's presence myself, the atmosphere is not already hallowed by the prayers and entreaties of my family and close friends. 

        Ultimately, it is not me doing all these things, but Christ finally getting through to me...me finally allowing him in. Now that the training wheels have been taken away I am compelled to learn to ride the bicycle properly.

        My favorite passage of Scripture recently has been Psalm 119. I've loved this Psalm ever since I started seeing it a new light while on campus as an eighteen year old in Indiana. Now it has been my delight and comfort on many occasions. I find the octet a perfect size and set to read when I have five odd minutes during the day to pick up my Bible. Each one is so powerful, each verse so raw and relatable, and more so the older I get.

        "My soul cleaves to the dust, revive me according to Thy Word."

        "Mine eyes fail with Longing after Thine ordinances all day long."

       "Deal bountifully with Thy servant, that I may love and keep Thy word."

        "I am a stranger on the earth, do not hide Thy commandments from me."

        "I shall run the way of Thy commandments, for Thou shalt enlarge my heart."

 And so many more like these. This Psalm would be my recommendation if ever anyone expresses a frustration with wording in prayer. This is where I go when I don't feel like praying but know I ought to. This is where I go when I feel like the world is devouring me whole and licking its chops afterwards. This is where I go when I doubt God, life, eternity, and every good thing. Psalm 119 never fails to serve me with a solid dose of reality during these moments.

     I've talked enough now, thank you for accompanying me this far. It's been a difficult two months, but not, by any means, devoid of joy!

      I hope you'll come with me for the rest of it.

               Until we meet again,

              ~ Christianna