I need a new word for "interesting."

I keep telling myself that I need to blog, but I’ve been duly uninspired as of late. Did that sentence sound a little British? I really couldn’t do an accent even if you paid me, so I suppose that’s as close as I’ll ever get. It’s been about 5 days since my last entry, so I really shouldn’t put it off any longer.

On Saturday, the boys and I ventured into Central London to see the Tate Modern museum. It’s a fairly boring brick building that sits right up against the Millennium Bridge. But once you go inside, the entire atmosphere changes. It really is modern. The interior is awesome.

The interesting thing about doing anything with the boys is that they go at their own pace. I don’t know if it’s because he’s the oldest, the tallest, or the most level-headed, but we normally follow Justin. Justin and Andy both have super long legs, so Stephen and I are usually trailing behind, doing our best to maintain a reasonable distance.

But once we entered the Tate Modern, all three of the boys slowed down considerably. We meandered through the halls, examining some pieces with great interest and tilting our heads at others. I’m always surprised at what qualifies as “modern art.” I was excited to see work from the likes of Picasso and Mondrian, as well as some of the 4D installations and photo exhibits.

Whenever I visit museums, I’m always interested in the way they arrange and display the exhibits. It’s really a science in itself to discreetly or unconsciously direct the visitors through the museum to see each work. And I learned my lesson well: Always read the signs at the entrances of exhibits. Otherwise, you run the risk of walking unexpectedly into some very, very disturbing works of art—especially at a modern art museum.

We might have stayed longer, but we did quite a lot of walking (including up and down several flights of stairs), and Stephen remembered that he doesn’t really like museums. We were making our way back by tube and bus, and I asked the boys if they wouldn’t mind accompanying me to find Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence, which I needed for class. Being the gentlemen that they are, they readily acquiesced.

Strangely enough, however, when we got off at Putney and walked across the bridge, we realized that we picked the worst possible time to go book hunting. At that very moment, we were surrounded by a huge flood of people either coming from or going to a football match (that’s soccer for you American readers).

There were even police escorts to make sure that everyone was on their best behavior, regardless of what color uniforms they wore. Despite a few small delays—and our amazement at their immense football pride—we made it to the book shop and I was able to make my purchase.
Sunday morning, I had intended to visit the Chinese church. But Saturday night, people were in our courtyard yelling, singing, and laughing until about 3 or 4 am. I finally got fed up and fell asleep with my headphones in and ipod on. Needless to say, I was exhausted when I woke up, and decided to sleep in.

Sunday evening, though, I joined the boys again for evening service at St. Paul’s Hammersmith, an Anglican church in (duh) Hammersmith. We arrived early and munched on crisps (chips) and juice while we waited for service to start. Hospitality, I think, is one of their gifts there.

The service was nice; they have a very contemporary worship style mixed with a couple traditional hymns. The female drummer reminded me of Josephine back home. This weekend was a special visitors’ welcome event, so instead of their usual sermon, they had an actress/comedian from their church give her (very hilarious) testimony of how God pursued her.

The theme she kept emphasizing was synchronicity—the way that certain things happen at the exact time that they’re supposed to, so that they make a huge impact in our lives. We must be cautious not to discount the things that God is doing by writing things off as mere coincidence. When we look at the synchronicity of our lives, we see how God when He has provided for us or answered our prayers in His perfect timing.

The most interesting part of the night, though, was the after-service fellowship and refreshments. They served pita and hummus, crisps, juice, wine, and beer. I have never seen alcohol served at a church event before. It was foreign and strange to us, but I believe that fits in quite naturally with British church culture. I do want to go back again to hear what their preaching is really like.

Classes started (for me, anyways) on Monday. I have both of my Roehampton courses on Monday, for three hours each. I can’t really say too much yet, since I’ve only been to one session of each, but I’m pretty excited for what I’ll be learning this semester. I’m taking a travel writing course, which isn’t quite what I expected, and a 20th Century American literature course.

My travel writing professor seems pretty laid back for the most part. She’s kind of what I imagine an English professor would look like. She has striking gray eyebrows and gravity-defying, curly gray hair. But she seems very friendly and I think her teaching style makes the material intriguing for me, regardless of the expectations I might have had for the class.

My American literature professor is a bald, robust man, with an ear piercing and booming voice. He talks rather fast, and reminds me a little bit of Professor Smith in the way he takes apart the text for interpretation. I love how he forces us to really think about what we’re reading and how we’re reading it. He’s very high energy though, and I felt worn out once his class ended.

Tonight we had our Biola course on British Spirituality. Professor Lotz is an American who studied at Cambridge and now lives and works as an evangelical theology professor in London. He’s also got a good sense of humor, and the history behind British spirituality is really fascinating. I like the way that he asks us to think about our own spirituality and the forces that shapes the way we practice our faith as well.

All of my classes move rather fast, since they’re only once a week. This means that I have somewhere between 2 and 3 books to read every week, for a grand total of (I think) 23 books for the entire semester. In addition to that, I have two large papers for each class. I need to work really hard to stay on top of all my reading and writing.

Other than that, my week has been generally uneventful. Last night we had our weekly flat dinner. Amy, the girl who lives across from me, cooked for us. We had a stuffed tomato as a starter, followed by bacon-wrapped chicken, accompanied by broccoli, zucchini, and potatoes covered in a marinara-type sauce. For dessert, she brought out a chocolate gateau cake.

It was really fun to just sit around the dinner table eating, talking, and laughing together. I’m really thankful for my flatmates, and for the chance to get to know them better. Even tonight, we unintentionally gathered in our lounge and just started chatting away. Tom and I tried to do some reading, as well.

I wanted to think of a clever way to tie everything up, but now I’m too tired and need to go to sleep. I can hear a group of strange people congregating in our hall for no apparent reason. Please keep praying for me and keeping in touch with me. Hopefully I’ll have more interesting tales to tell that will inspire to be better about keeping up this blog.