What do you think?
05 February, 2007
21 January, 2007
love and level
I live in a 1920s home that has been renovated into 4 flats, 2 up, 2 down. Having lived here for a year and a half, I have become inured to the idiosyncracies of the place: the sloping floors, the poorly hung doors, the leaky plumbing. The space is safe; it's mine, and I am happy here, and that's all that matters to me for the most part.
My roommate's brother visited recently, and the first thing out of his mouth after crossing the threshold of the apartment was a comment about having forgotten to bring his level with him. He thought it might have been of some use to whoever had done the flat conversion job. Of course, his comment elicited any number of stories about the floors and doors and our landlord and more laughter. His eye is a trained one in such things. As someone who works on building projects daily, namely a 100 year-old boat, he is keen. He knows by the results -- the angles, the quality of materials, the placement of the nails, the skill of the tradesman. He can spot a hack within seconds.
I have pondered his comment for weeks. How, I wonder, does God, when he looks on us, respond? For many years, I figured his reaction regarding myself would be that of my roommate's brother. Let's blow out a few walls, tear up the floors and get out the drills, saw, and level. Time to renovate to renovare: to make new again. Certainly God is skilled and able, capable of the hardest job. But is this how he approaches us, is this how he decides to rectify -- to make straight -- the bent, the twisted, the untoward? After all, he can, as Jeffrey did, spot a fraud in a split-second.
I was often taught by zealous, fat, sweating preachers to believe this was God's day job, tearing down the house --inducing trauma in my life -- (see last post), in order to rebuild it, "The Right Way." At night, he would go about ordering world affairs while I slept off my pain from being the day's construction zone, and then, come morning, the jackhammer and pounding would start all over again. Sanctification was where it was at, Baby! Yes, you're justified and washed in the Blood, but you are screwed and Jesus has got to fix you! It's his only concern, his only 'problem' with you. Once you're all tidied up and righted, you'll be ready for regular attendance at your favourite pew. And may even be worthy of service in the Kingdom. God just might make something of you, yet!
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
I had to get off that Glory Train, and quick! This wasn't the Jesus of my knowing. The Jesus I met basically just moved in with me, into the place of my creaking floors and unsealed windows. He felt the drafts coming in under the doors and knew that my neighbours were exotic dancers and bouncers. He loved me, said he felt welcome in my ramshackle place, and said he would stay forever if I would have him. He liked me, even in my frailty and brokenness. Eventually, I realised that he had a special perspective on life, one that I could respect, admire, and ultimately defer to: because I wanted to, not because he was about to swing a hammer aimed at my head, saying it was for my own good.
I know God is holy with a capital H. The real deal. I know in the depths of my being he's crazy to involve himself with fickle, sinful me. But I also know that his eye can be on this sparrow, and love -- not the level -- will be his first response.
My roommate's brother visited recently, and the first thing out of his mouth after crossing the threshold of the apartment was a comment about having forgotten to bring his level with him. He thought it might have been of some use to whoever had done the flat conversion job. Of course, his comment elicited any number of stories about the floors and doors and our landlord and more laughter. His eye is a trained one in such things. As someone who works on building projects daily, namely a 100 year-old boat, he is keen. He knows by the results -- the angles, the quality of materials, the placement of the nails, the skill of the tradesman. He can spot a hack within seconds.
I have pondered his comment for weeks. How, I wonder, does God, when he looks on us, respond? For many years, I figured his reaction regarding myself would be that of my roommate's brother. Let's blow out a few walls, tear up the floors and get out the drills, saw, and level. Time to renovate to renovare: to make new again. Certainly God is skilled and able, capable of the hardest job. But is this how he approaches us, is this how he decides to rectify -- to make straight -- the bent, the twisted, the untoward? After all, he can, as Jeffrey did, spot a fraud in a split-second.
I was often taught by zealous, fat, sweating preachers to believe this was God's day job, tearing down the house --inducing trauma in my life -- (see last post), in order to rebuild it, "The Right Way." At night, he would go about ordering world affairs while I slept off my pain from being the day's construction zone, and then, come morning, the jackhammer and pounding would start all over again. Sanctification was where it was at, Baby! Yes, you're justified and washed in the Blood, but you are screwed and Jesus has got to fix you! It's his only concern, his only 'problem' with you. Once you're all tidied up and righted, you'll be ready for regular attendance at your favourite pew. And may even be worthy of service in the Kingdom. God just might make something of you, yet!
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
I had to get off that Glory Train, and quick! This wasn't the Jesus of my knowing. The Jesus I met basically just moved in with me, into the place of my creaking floors and unsealed windows. He felt the drafts coming in under the doors and knew that my neighbours were exotic dancers and bouncers. He loved me, said he felt welcome in my ramshackle place, and said he would stay forever if I would have him. He liked me, even in my frailty and brokenness. Eventually, I realised that he had a special perspective on life, one that I could respect, admire, and ultimately defer to: because I wanted to, not because he was about to swing a hammer aimed at my head, saying it was for my own good.
I know God is holy with a capital H. The real deal. I know in the depths of my being he's crazy to involve himself with fickle, sinful me. But I also know that his eye can be on this sparrow, and love -- not the level -- will be his first response.
19 January, 2007
light sabre, please!
In the Hero's Journey, the 'destruction of the status quo' at the beginning of the story is deemed the Call to Adventure. That's when all the good stuff starts to happen. Well, usually, that is after all the bad stuff has happened. Think of Luke Skywalker when he returns to his home after visiting with Ben Kenobi. The Evil Empire has marched through in his absence, leaving a wake of destruction and a dead aunt and uncle. He receives his 'Call' and he is engaged in an epic struggle -- good vs evil. His world view had to be toppled in order to get him to find himself and discover his destiny and true identity.
I've heard this described as trauma: the dismantling of one's accepted frame of reference, status quo, dearly held beliefs and values. And it is traumatic to have your world up-ended. It's fascinating actually, unless, of course, it's happening to you.
How I wish that it were all as straightforward as the epic call, when it's straight black or white, and you can't mess around in the middle. Reality though tells me that most of our 'call to adventure' begins in the muck and grime of everyday living and something or someone steps into the picture long enough to blow the house of cards down. The cards go down, and we must begin either to reconstruct the same house or to build a new one, maybe even throwing the cards into the fire and starting fresh with brick and mortar.
The beginning of the new year has met me with it's fist in my face. Come on, I dare ya! Taunting me, goading me, pulling at my heart strings and pulling annoyingly at my hair. What are you, a sissy?! I'm not really appreciating the call to adventure on this scale, and yet, the fact that it's coming to me fills me with hope mixed with a heavy side of anxiety. What the hell is going on, I wonder? How will I respond?
I've heard this described as trauma: the dismantling of one's accepted frame of reference, status quo, dearly held beliefs and values. And it is traumatic to have your world up-ended. It's fascinating actually, unless, of course, it's happening to you.
How I wish that it were all as straightforward as the epic call, when it's straight black or white, and you can't mess around in the middle. Reality though tells me that most of our 'call to adventure' begins in the muck and grime of everyday living and something or someone steps into the picture long enough to blow the house of cards down. The cards go down, and we must begin either to reconstruct the same house or to build a new one, maybe even throwing the cards into the fire and starting fresh with brick and mortar.
The beginning of the new year has met me with it's fist in my face. Come on, I dare ya! Taunting me, goading me, pulling at my heart strings and pulling annoyingly at my hair. What are you, a sissy?! I'm not really appreciating the call to adventure on this scale, and yet, the fact that it's coming to me fills me with hope mixed with a heavy side of anxiety. What the hell is going on, I wonder? How will I respond?
16 January, 2007
the shoreless watery wild
What could matter enough to write about tonight that hasn't already been written about? Bombings in Baghdad, terrorists being tried in Britain, Prince William's got a girl, dolphins being saved. I've got some stiff competition. I write ostensibly for myself, right? For my own creative process. For my own benefit. To set down landmarks on my journey. So what that everything under the sun has already been discussed, dissected, hailed, slammed, and adored? Art for art's sake, right Matthew.
But I don't really believe that. I don't want to be 'in the sea of life enisled' like the good ole Victorians thought...
"Yes! in the sea of life enisled,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.
The islands feel the enclasping flow,
And then their endless bounds they know."
I want to know that my island is connected to your island, even if only by means of a blog. And your liking of my blog. ( I think CS Lewis meant to say, "We blog to know we're not alone." Everyone gets that one so wrong!)
I want to know that what I think, feel, post, matters to you, reader. I worry that if you don't think it does, maybe I am not so 'okay' -- maybe my little world is just that, little, and enisled. Isolated from the thriving, the well-off, the Together of the world. I don't like that thought. I confess, your opinion matters to me overly much. That's what I've been discovering lately. Your opinion and that of others has mattered too much to me for too long.
I went skiing recently with a friend and her brother and his wife. The brother/wife combo - they are down right great skiers. I was nervous about skiing with them. My inner E grew resistant, came up with excuses for staying in the lodge, riding a different lift, going on different runs. All to avoid the feeling of having to perform, to prove myself. For to attempt to prove oneself and fail means being disconnected and relegated to the whimp pile.
I started skiing when I was 4 or 5 and did a lot of it until I had to start paying for the hobby myself at 18. I haven't skied a lot since I was 18, but I can still ride, baby, and these friends, when they saw me ski, said as much. So why all the anxiety and pain about skiing with these people? Why am I still, after all these years and all that I know about pop psychology, still so prone to these ridiculous fears?
Partly, that is why it's tough for me to frequent this place. The blog. I could fail here. And you could witness it. And what then? Will I be shut off by "The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea"? Cut off from your collective good opinion?
I know the answers to these questions, up here (I'm pointing to my head now), but I want to find a resonant, 1000-fathom-deep place of solace in a Greater Acceptance and in my own approval, my own good opinion of the stuff I create -- down in here (pointing to my heart and belly).
This is my prayer.
But I don't really believe that. I don't want to be 'in the sea of life enisled' like the good ole Victorians thought...
"Yes! in the sea of life enisled,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.
The islands feel the enclasping flow,
And then their endless bounds they know."
I want to know that my island is connected to your island, even if only by means of a blog. And your liking of my blog. ( I think CS Lewis meant to say, "We blog to know we're not alone." Everyone gets that one so wrong!)
I want to know that what I think, feel, post, matters to you, reader. I worry that if you don't think it does, maybe I am not so 'okay' -- maybe my little world is just that, little, and enisled. Isolated from the thriving, the well-off, the Together of the world. I don't like that thought. I confess, your opinion matters to me overly much. That's what I've been discovering lately. Your opinion and that of others has mattered too much to me for too long.
I went skiing recently with a friend and her brother and his wife. The brother/wife combo - they are down right great skiers. I was nervous about skiing with them. My inner E grew resistant, came up with excuses for staying in the lodge, riding a different lift, going on different runs. All to avoid the feeling of having to perform, to prove myself. For to attempt to prove oneself and fail means being disconnected and relegated to the whimp pile.
I started skiing when I was 4 or 5 and did a lot of it until I had to start paying for the hobby myself at 18. I haven't skied a lot since I was 18, but I can still ride, baby, and these friends, when they saw me ski, said as much. So why all the anxiety and pain about skiing with these people? Why am I still, after all these years and all that I know about pop psychology, still so prone to these ridiculous fears?
Partly, that is why it's tough for me to frequent this place. The blog. I could fail here. And you could witness it. And what then? Will I be shut off by "The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea"? Cut off from your collective good opinion?
I know the answers to these questions, up here (I'm pointing to my head now), but I want to find a resonant, 1000-fathom-deep place of solace in a Greater Acceptance and in my own approval, my own good opinion of the stuff I create -- down in here (pointing to my heart and belly).
This is my prayer.
14 January, 2007
to the threshold
I am being pushed, and I don't like it. My cosmic parent is pushing me toward the door saying, "It's a beautiful day outside. Why don't you go out and play." He knows I'll go out, unfurl, and catch the wind around me. I'll play, move, live, and breathe. It will be 'good for me'. Indeed.
But I feel insecure and unsure of what I'll do when I get out there, and partly, I just feel lazy. I don't want to go to the trouble of finding all that fun and adventure anymore. Can't I just stay inside and watch tv? Can't you just make life happen for me inside here, where it's all a bit more safe and easy? Bring me dinner, while I lie on the couch and wait for life to happen.
I want someone else to do all this, not me. I just want the benefits. Discipline is fun until you run out of energy for it. Then it sucks. Never did I realise that I would ever feel the way I feel now and would need a swift kick to get back Outside, to risk, to try.
I'm tired, and what will be the remedy for it? More 'folding of the hands to rest'? Perhaps not, but I've run out of my own ideas...
I hear the squeak of the backdoor and the screen shutting behind me.
But I feel insecure and unsure of what I'll do when I get out there, and partly, I just feel lazy. I don't want to go to the trouble of finding all that fun and adventure anymore. Can't I just stay inside and watch tv? Can't you just make life happen for me inside here, where it's all a bit more safe and easy? Bring me dinner, while I lie on the couch and wait for life to happen.
I want someone else to do all this, not me. I just want the benefits. Discipline is fun until you run out of energy for it. Then it sucks. Never did I realise that I would ever feel the way I feel now and would need a swift kick to get back Outside, to risk, to try.
I'm tired, and what will be the remedy for it? More 'folding of the hands to rest'? Perhaps not, but I've run out of my own ideas...
I hear the squeak of the backdoor and the screen shutting behind me.
10 January, 2007
new year
New Year. Old questions. And new ones. Do I have anything fresh to answer them with? Maybe. Just maybe.
This year I want to respect my creative self a bit more. Give it more air time. Let it breathe and stretch. Help it grow by giving it some sunshine and also pushing it off the front porch when it's time to go to work everyday. I wonder how I do this?
Julia Cameron says it's all about 'recovery'. As in 12 steps and facing your demons and believing enough to start dreaming again. How did she get this audacious I also wonder -- to believe that the Universe will answer if you start throwing those attempts out like fishing line into a deep, dark pool? The Universe will fill your net and you'll bring in the haul. Whatever the haul might look like -- I think it's different for each person.
Her Universe. My God. I think he'll answer. It's just his answers I am scared of.
Another thing: avoidance.
How much avoidant behaviour is bad? To avoid crossing the street when cars are whizzing past is a good thing. To avoid hard situations and crap you just don't want to with other people or with yourself can be okay in the short term, but what do you do in the long term when you feel you don't have answers for the questions that prompted the avoidance in the first place?
I'll leave you with that for the day.
This year I want to respect my creative self a bit more. Give it more air time. Let it breathe and stretch. Help it grow by giving it some sunshine and also pushing it off the front porch when it's time to go to work everyday. I wonder how I do this?
Julia Cameron says it's all about 'recovery'. As in 12 steps and facing your demons and believing enough to start dreaming again. How did she get this audacious I also wonder -- to believe that the Universe will answer if you start throwing those attempts out like fishing line into a deep, dark pool? The Universe will fill your net and you'll bring in the haul. Whatever the haul might look like -- I think it's different for each person.
Her Universe. My God. I think he'll answer. It's just his answers I am scared of.
Another thing: avoidance.
How much avoidant behaviour is bad? To avoid crossing the street when cars are whizzing past is a good thing. To avoid hard situations and crap you just don't want to with other people or with yourself can be okay in the short term, but what do you do in the long term when you feel you don't have answers for the questions that prompted the avoidance in the first place?
I'll leave you with that for the day.
i wonder
I wonder what would happen if I just started writing a post every day or something absurd like that? How long would it take people to realize that I had come out of my dormant mode and had started to blog again?
30 September, 2006
life questions
I have a few life questions:
Why can we put satellites in outer space, have cell phones, create nuclear power, and we STILL cannot invent a lotion bottle that gets ALL the lotion out of it, even as it gets empty?
Why does cheese in great quantities have to make you fat? It's my favourite protein, hands down. Middle age and cheese, can I reconcile the two? Deep sigh.......
Why do we grow hair, to shave it off? I'm not advocating extreme hairiness, which would be disturbing I am sure, but I do wonder at the point of it all.
Is there ever any point at which one has enough chapstick?
Why do people drive in the left lane when they want to go the speed limit or under? Do they not SEE the long line of cars behind them? I'd like to be a member of the Voluntary Left-Lane Patrol. I'd be good, damn good, at my job.
Should we believe in the pre-hensile tail? All the doctors say we have one.
Do we really need directions on a bottle of salad dressing?
Why does the width of the brim of a hat corollate to age? As age increases, so the width of the brim. Is the sun MORE dangerous as you get older or does the sun just give people another reason to be cantankerous, and they must therefore have more sun protection? I'd suggest then, also, that there is an inverse relationship to hipness -- as the width of the brim expands, so the fashion of the wearee diminishes.
Why do people say they love the natural world, but then go to the mountains in a ready made home on wheels, so that they can have all the 'comforts of home'?
Why does Citibank tell you to use credit responsibly and then send you a notice that says, Guess what? We've increased your credit line by 5,000 bucks?
What did they do before dental floss?
As you can see my mind is just brimming with any number of significant ponderings. Put me out of my misery and write to me: please answer my questions if you can.
By the way, Autumn is HERE!!!! The sky is blue, the trees are turning and the air is crisp. Yahoo! I've been loving my rides lately as I fly through the leaves and listen to them rustling. Snowshoeing, winter camping, and skiing are right around the corner, but biking is now. On that note, I think I'll head out for a ride!
Get out and enjoy the blessed creation -- ain't it amazin'?
Why can we put satellites in outer space, have cell phones, create nuclear power, and we STILL cannot invent a lotion bottle that gets ALL the lotion out of it, even as it gets empty?
Why does cheese in great quantities have to make you fat? It's my favourite protein, hands down. Middle age and cheese, can I reconcile the two? Deep sigh.......
Why do we grow hair, to shave it off? I'm not advocating extreme hairiness, which would be disturbing I am sure, but I do wonder at the point of it all.
Is there ever any point at which one has enough chapstick?
Why do people drive in the left lane when they want to go the speed limit or under? Do they not SEE the long line of cars behind them? I'd like to be a member of the Voluntary Left-Lane Patrol. I'd be good, damn good, at my job.
Should we believe in the pre-hensile tail? All the doctors say we have one.
Do we really need directions on a bottle of salad dressing?
Why does the width of the brim of a hat corollate to age? As age increases, so the width of the brim. Is the sun MORE dangerous as you get older or does the sun just give people another reason to be cantankerous, and they must therefore have more sun protection? I'd suggest then, also, that there is an inverse relationship to hipness -- as the width of the brim expands, so the fashion of the wearee diminishes.
Why do people say they love the natural world, but then go to the mountains in a ready made home on wheels, so that they can have all the 'comforts of home'?
Why does Citibank tell you to use credit responsibly and then send you a notice that says, Guess what? We've increased your credit line by 5,000 bucks?
What did they do before dental floss?
As you can see my mind is just brimming with any number of significant ponderings. Put me out of my misery and write to me: please answer my questions if you can.
By the way, Autumn is HERE!!!! The sky is blue, the trees are turning and the air is crisp. Yahoo! I've been loving my rides lately as I fly through the leaves and listen to them rustling. Snowshoeing, winter camping, and skiing are right around the corner, but biking is now. On that note, I think I'll head out for a ride!
Get out and enjoy the blessed creation -- ain't it amazin'?
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