Someone raised a topic at homegroup the other night that has my mind rolling up its sleeves. I know it's probably got some high brow theological title, this topic, but the best I could do was chump and bump, at least for now, until one of you can enlighten me. Okay, let me explain...and please bear with me...I am trying to work this one out of my intuition into words that make sense.
We often seem to be confused about something in our lives that is of rather huge importance: the "stance" of God towards us humans. We spend an exorbitant amount of time striving to impress, persuade, dissuade, humour, please, awe, and dazzle our Creator (though most of this is more about us and our anxieties than it is about Him). But here's my question, is he so in need of our bedazzling, our religious effort? How much of what we do changes anything fundamental about him as he looks at us? What is the manner in which he knows or perceives us?
I jump to the beginning of the Great Book. God's first acts, as we know him described to us, are creative. Creativity, by my definition, is a generous act, and generally benevolent (though creativity isn't necessarily incorruptible obviously). In God's case, we count on his absolute holiness, so we consider his creative acts as pure, perfect, and good. He started out with creating and blessing and saying "good" was the proper descriptor for men and women as he created them. We like all this: those lovely, dreamy days before we gave God the finger in the garden. And we can believe that what he said was true: we were wonderfully, gloriously "good". But that part, I just mentioned, about us dissing God did, in fact, bring darkness upon our souls and into our hearts. Hold that thought....
Race through Old Testament Messianic prophecy now, and pull yourself to a halt after it's fulfillment....Jesus has lived, died, and has risen from the dead. Jesus is the Consolation of Israel, Immanuel, the Revelation of God Himself among us. His first witnesses and those who follow after them take on the huge task of helping us understand what that means. They preach, teach, leave family, friends, vocations to get the message out, and they row and contend and struggle about what Jesus and his greatest Act meant. Did it really mean that Jesus had done something magnificent, so magnificent that it restored us, in God's eyes, to those early glory days of being "good". Where God Himself would smile and say, That's a wrap! We got it this time! Now THAT's what I had in mind. Or was it simply an adjudication: passport stamped, justified and heaven-bound. Or was it something, so wholly about God and His Son being true to their nature that it sort of overwhelms the whole issue of sin and actually reveals the sheer grandeur and terrifying might of an awesome, loving God?
What I mean is: is it more about God showing us who He is and his tender act of reaching toward us, or is it about the issue of sin and venality. You see, that seems a critical question to me. Because if you say it was more about God dealing with sin, then sin suddenly gets a promotion: it is Sin. If this act was more about God, vulnerably yet all powerfully, revealing Himself to us, telling us about His Person, then He remains exactly where he always has been: on His throne, but now visible and accessible through His Son.
If we take the capital S Sin route (doctrine of original sin, right?), I think we extrapolate and end up going with all the theology that's been based on verses like the one in Psalms when David says "I was conceived in sin" : we started out as chumps and chumps we do remain. And if one is a chump, a chump has to work very hard in life to get anywhere with God, because having started out bad, it's a perpetual battle to hack back through the jungle of the Garden to find, and point at, Adam and Eve's Hollywood Stars in the paving stones of Eden: See, we were GOOD once, and GOOD again we will be! This is an overgrown Garden and you have a very dull machete: translation....endless toil.
Now, if we go with that idea about God showing up and bedazzling US, I think the theological outcome is bump-ness. In Britain, before a baby is born it's often referred to as bump. Used in its best sense, I've heard it said in endearing, tender tones. For me, it embodies the openhearted warmth, joy, and expectation that many parents have as they await their baby's arrival. Their hearts are set on bump and though they know sleepless nights and self-sacrifice will follow, their hearts are purely FOR this child whom they do not yet know. The "posture" of the heart is, YES, You are good. Before you have arrived, before you have done right or wrong, you are good.
So, I ponder scripture and what I personally know of God, and what I arrive at is this: in the heart of God, we were conceived, and we ARE good. Not just because Jesus died for us and restored us to relationship with the Father. I know, I know...we all know the verses...while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us, and so I am stating the obvious, right? Well, no. I don't actually think this is all that obvious to us. We primarily (from what I have lived and seen) see ourselves in relationship to God through what we do rather than Who He is and what that means about His disposition toward us. God is love. In Him there is no darkness at all. That means no cursing us under His breath and wishing He could wrap us around a tree (my parents' favourite threat!) when we are bad. He is not so inclined. And I think we are called to bank not so much on our badness --- and all the implications of our badness -- as His Goodness.
Hold His Goodness and your own bumpness right there...in your heart...let it sink in, and what does it say to you? Life is not about forever attempting to extricate ourselves from our badness (and failing miserably at it I might add) but about living into a fullness that is the breadth and depth of the universe - a thrilling, jolting, screaming glory of a ride into the heart of a good and holy God that is forever FOR us.
Yeah....
31 May, 2005
30 May, 2005
echo
am a bit discouraged at the moment about this blogging thing. i think of endless topics to write about, but it's hard for me to write it out and so rarely hear from anybody. it's pathetic really, how much i depend on feedback or knowing from someone else that what i said mattered to them. it's the classic "artist's dilemma". i remember Madeleine L'Engle writing about this...that although you may create out of a naturalness of soul...meaning...that if you don't do this thing, you cannot fully be yourself...it simply must come out of you and be made manifest to the world....you still desire the resonance or an echo of some kind...the echo sounding different in each place you throw out your voice for it to bang around. i know she was writing about this in the context of rejection, particularly, her manuscript had been rejected and she was reeling from the effect of believing strongly in her story and having no one concur. it took her 10 years to get Wrinkle in Time published and when it finally did get picked up by Farrar, she won the Newberry Medal for it in 1963.
i have to know the answer to this question - for me: why does it matter if I continue to write even if no one listens or cares?
i have to know the answer to this question - for me: why does it matter if I continue to write even if no one listens or cares?
11 May, 2005
does it taste like chicken?
Well, okay, as long as it's deep fried...
Wow, blogging frenzy! My third post in a week! However, I just couldn't resist sharing one of my favourite websites with you all. I figured if I gave you a little taste of what is there you might feel compelled to check it out for yourself, http://www.engrish.com/index.php .
In my travels, I have encountered stuff like this everywhere and have often been in great need of deciphering a menu or a package of some kind, and the English is of absolutely no help at all. It's all still complete roulette.
My favourite food moment in Mongolia was when our team ate at a Chinese hot pot and was completely stumped by the menu, which was kindly translated for us into English from Chinese. It was a free for all, we just started pointing and ordering, having no idea what would arrive at our table. It was a small, family restaurant so everyone got in on the confused Westerners making their peculiar menu selections. When the food came out in courses, we were a little hard pressed about what order the meat and vegetables were supposed to go in the hot pot (and we discovered, we had order way too many items!), but after a little experimenting, we figured it out and ate, hands down, the best meal I had there. Tons of garlic and very spicy. Yum!
When it came to some sort of dessert item, out came the menu again, and we started scratching our heads again. There were some interesting selections none of which made sense in English to have for dessert, so we started the pointing routine again trying to gauge by the waiter's reaction how we were doing...good, yes? We narrowed it down to a couple options and then "ordered", which of course amounted only to gesturing, smiling, and tapping our finger against the greasy, laminated menu card. The waiter stood stock still and gave us a grave look...like Are you the stupidest people on the planet? He wasn't budging and seemed to be telling us that this item was not for sale. What, you don't have this?( I think the item listed as something like 'pancakes'.) We were really keen on 'pancakes' by the time we got round to getting something ordered, so this was a disappointment. We pressed him again. No, pancakes? After a few back and forths, he wavered and finally did the Chinese equivalent of throwing up his hands and giving in. He smiled and went back to the kitchen. A very few minutes later, he emerged from the kitchen with what ended up being the most delicious plum sauce dumplings. Right on! Westerners succeed in decoding menu. We congratulated ourselves on how cross-culturally adept we were. But the waiter, he disappeared again and this time returned with our several orders of 'pancakes'. Down onto the table were placed, a number of small, white bowls filled with little mounds of....dried, fiery red chiles. I am sure, the perfect compliment to our plum dumplings. The whole team sat there, stunned, gaping at the bowls of chiles. And then, gales of discrete laughter at ourselves (re: the whole evening and then the chiles!) and how frustatingly funny the whole business of living in another country can be. You're seriously out of the loop, most of the time.
Anyway, that's my rabbit trail for the day. Enjoy some good Engrish today!
10 May, 2005
More late night thoughts on varied topics...
If I were President of TV, I would:
Reduce sports coverage by about 75 percent. As much as I love Wimbledon and skiing and watching a good nailbiter once in a while, there are far too many opportunities to sit around watching these activities. I think I did discover recently why I think men, in particular, can consume endless amounts of sports tv; it's a simple construct that involves knowing the rules and playing by them and then having an outcome where someone wins and someone loses. In other words, it's not like life and provides an escape from all those things that don't play by a set of fixed rules -- things like relationship and kids.
Onto a predominantly female vice now: chat shows. I figure we could do without these altogether, but just to stave off a revolt, I'll say, reduce by 95 percent, leaving Oprah and Dr Phil intact.
All the airtime saved from sports and chats shows can now be put to good use by running documentaries, adding an additional C-SPAN channel, adding a BBC channel, and broadcasting all those amazing foreign films that no one ever sees outside the Mayan or Esquire.
I like commercial free tv, so I would make a tax on all the corporate fat cats who have retained their salaries and pensions on the proverbial backs of their employees and their pensions. We'd have more than enough to run Ellen TV for many years. Check out, for instance, United Airlines CEO's annual salary and his 4.5 million pension that will remain protected when his employees (mostly blue collar) have only a portion of what they were guaranteed to retire on. Oops, sorry 'bout that!
I would require that an automatic detonating device be installed in all tv sets. At the slightest hint of any car, weightloss, prescription drug, or food commercial, the set would implode.
If you desire to be a part of my new tv scheme for America, please add your comments and pass along your suggestions. I have more ideas, but I'll bring them out slowly. Too much change, too fast may overwhelm the general populace.
Questions:
Since we're on the subject of tv, how about those erectile dysfunction ads. My question is, Why is the person in these commercials, the one who is discussing said problem with the audience, very discretely mind you, The Woman? As far as I am aware, I have never met a woman with this problem. Can the man not speak due to his distress?
Related to corporate bosses: whatever happened to fairness, equity, and believing that businesses were meant to not exclusively serve the greed of those in power, but rather they were meant to function as an institution in society which provided blessing for both boss and employee? When I see lay offs and situations like United and yet see those who are in charge still bringing home more money than most honest folks will ever see even if they win the Lotto, it breaks my heart, truly. How can avarice so cloud and bankrupt a person's soul that they simply do not care about those who make their luxury possible?
Observation:
I read a curious little fact about George Washington the other day. As the first president, he was offered a salary of 25, 000 bucks. That would have gone a long way in 1789. But because he was already a wealthy man, he determined that he didn't need the money, and turned the salary down. How I would love to see this happen in our time. To see people foregoing their own senseless gain for the sake of others. How novel, and how wonderful that would be. I wonder if W really needs that $400,000 salary and $200,000 personal expense account each year? I hear oil goes for a pretty tidy sum these days.
Wrapping it up for another night, folks. Please share your comments. I get tired of writing out here alone. Is anyone reading, I wonder? Issues on your mind that are worth batting around in the blog? Let me know.
Reduce sports coverage by about 75 percent. As much as I love Wimbledon and skiing and watching a good nailbiter once in a while, there are far too many opportunities to sit around watching these activities. I think I did discover recently why I think men, in particular, can consume endless amounts of sports tv; it's a simple construct that involves knowing the rules and playing by them and then having an outcome where someone wins and someone loses. In other words, it's not like life and provides an escape from all those things that don't play by a set of fixed rules -- things like relationship and kids.
Onto a predominantly female vice now: chat shows. I figure we could do without these altogether, but just to stave off a revolt, I'll say, reduce by 95 percent, leaving Oprah and Dr Phil intact.
All the airtime saved from sports and chats shows can now be put to good use by running documentaries, adding an additional C-SPAN channel, adding a BBC channel, and broadcasting all those amazing foreign films that no one ever sees outside the Mayan or Esquire.
I like commercial free tv, so I would make a tax on all the corporate fat cats who have retained their salaries and pensions on the proverbial backs of their employees and their pensions. We'd have more than enough to run Ellen TV for many years. Check out, for instance, United Airlines CEO's annual salary and his 4.5 million pension that will remain protected when his employees (mostly blue collar) have only a portion of what they were guaranteed to retire on. Oops, sorry 'bout that!
I would require that an automatic detonating device be installed in all tv sets. At the slightest hint of any car, weightloss, prescription drug, or food commercial, the set would implode.
If you desire to be a part of my new tv scheme for America, please add your comments and pass along your suggestions. I have more ideas, but I'll bring them out slowly. Too much change, too fast may overwhelm the general populace.
Questions:
Since we're on the subject of tv, how about those erectile dysfunction ads. My question is, Why is the person in these commercials, the one who is discussing said problem with the audience, very discretely mind you, The Woman? As far as I am aware, I have never met a woman with this problem. Can the man not speak due to his distress?
Related to corporate bosses: whatever happened to fairness, equity, and believing that businesses were meant to not exclusively serve the greed of those in power, but rather they were meant to function as an institution in society which provided blessing for both boss and employee? When I see lay offs and situations like United and yet see those who are in charge still bringing home more money than most honest folks will ever see even if they win the Lotto, it breaks my heart, truly. How can avarice so cloud and bankrupt a person's soul that they simply do not care about those who make their luxury possible?
Observation:
I read a curious little fact about George Washington the other day. As the first president, he was offered a salary of 25, 000 bucks. That would have gone a long way in 1789. But because he was already a wealthy man, he determined that he didn't need the money, and turned the salary down. How I would love to see this happen in our time. To see people foregoing their own senseless gain for the sake of others. How novel, and how wonderful that would be. I wonder if W really needs that $400,000 salary and $200,000 personal expense account each year? I hear oil goes for a pretty tidy sum these days.
Wrapping it up for another night, folks. Please share your comments. I get tired of writing out here alone. Is anyone reading, I wonder? Issues on your mind that are worth batting around in the blog? Let me know.
09 May, 2005
just a place to put it down
On long days when thoughts are rocketing around in my mind about nearly anything and everything possible, I kind of feel like I am playing King of the Mountain (or Queen in my case) and fielding dirt clods from every direction. Inevitably one of them is going to catch me on the chin, forehead, or as happened many times when I was a kid, in the temple (I KNOW, this explains it ALL, doesn't it!). Well, it's about 9:30pm, kinda late to write, but by now several of these clods have exploded on my face, and I need a way to clean'em all off, so I feel like I can go to sleep tonight without them lingering. Lots of them have no import for anyone else, but I will still put them down.
So apropos of nothing...
1. Gloria and Norte, the two birds of prey near the wetlands by my house, have vanished. Developers have bought most all the area around the wetlands, but they were forced to leave a conservation easement. Trucks and Caterpillers and all manner of motorized thing have been pushing and hauling dirt, rumbling and bumbling around, pushing up clouds of diesel into the air around the wetlands. And now, the Red-Tail Hawk (that's Gloria because that's what you wanna say when you see her--Gloria!) and Norte, a male Northern Harrier, have decided it's all too busy and noisy. They breed around here every year, but their hunting grounds are turning into cleared lots and driveways. They have been my friends out on my walks since I came back to the US, part of a quiet space that still seemed set aside for animals - to be. To just go about their business of doing animal stuff. And they take my breath away, the way they hunt, they way they fly, catching the thermals, the Red-Tail's cry. I've seen many other animals out there -- foxes, coyotes, pheasants, killdeer (my favourite!), western meadowlarks, American tree sparrows, prairie dogs, rabbits, various ducks and Canada geese. I hope they don't all get so undone by all of our DOING that they decide to up and move for good. What will I do without them?
2. Landscaping in Colorado....and throughout the Southwest for that matter. We're in a season of drought and have been for the last several years. I heard a guy on NPR say it's possible the conditions are making for a time like the Dust Bowl days. And there's a lot of clamouring about water and conservation, but do people really care? Do they really give a damn? No, I don't think so. My evidence. The American lawn. 99.5 percent of Americans somehow believe that a lush green lawn is a birthright, no matter where you live, no matter the climate or the demand for resources. So, for instance, if you live in Phoenix (a DESERT), you still have every right to expect an emerald green lawn, and more importantly, golf course, where millions and millions of gallons of water will be used every year. Here in Colorado, we're just a high plains DESERT, so that must not really count either as a place that is naturally meant to be DRY. My parents have done some very cool xeroscaping and have used all native plants in their garden...and it's BEAUTIFUL. In fact, they have attracted over 85 species of birds and all sorts of animals (I named our raccoon, Bandit), demonstrating you don't have to be a water hog claiming divine right to have a pleasant place to recreate outdoors.
3. Things I must have in several locations:
Sets of keys (my former flatmate took years of convincing to believe this was not a character flaw)
Chapstick (any flavour, but must be located in several convenient locations, purse, bathroom, bedside table, car (except summer months)
Allergy meds/tissues
pens/scratchpaper
a plastic mug for water or tea or coffee (one in car, in bathroom, by bed)
gloves -- year round (Raynaud's sufferers round the world are clapping now!)
books (everywhere except bathroom...who wants to prolong that whole experience anyway? Classify under: something Ellen will never understand.)
AlkaSeltzer (because life is stressful..at least these days)
address books (of varying degrees of currency)
a fleece hoodie
i'm sure there are others, but this list is having the desired soporific effect, and i am getting tired of thinking about these trivialities.....
4. Finding a job stinks. However, since yesterday it has occured to me that maybe i have been shooting for LESS than I ought to in that wise. Perhaps i need to believe that i could get paid a decent amount of money to use the skills i have, and maybe, just maybe, someone would believe in me and hire me for a job like that. Hmmm. I'm having a rubbish day, so I feel reluctant to believe this, but something tells me I am "getting it" finally. Yawn.
5. I need to get my fishing gear tidied up, in order, ready to go for the season. The hatch is on and the fish are hungry. As a treat to myself on a low day about a month ago, I bought my fishing license for 2005. I just needed to feel like life was gonna get better and that I'd get back to doing all that normal fun stuff someday, like fishing. Do you know the thrill of putting a perfect cast onto the water, and just at the moment the fly is making its descent onto the water, WHAM, the trout is out and up and on top of the fly, leaping and straining, and pretty much dazzling the heck out of you? Wow, now that's something to fall asleep thinking about...certainty of lovely, sun-kissed dreams...ah...
Goodnight.
So apropos of nothing...
1. Gloria and Norte, the two birds of prey near the wetlands by my house, have vanished. Developers have bought most all the area around the wetlands, but they were forced to leave a conservation easement. Trucks and Caterpillers and all manner of motorized thing have been pushing and hauling dirt, rumbling and bumbling around, pushing up clouds of diesel into the air around the wetlands. And now, the Red-Tail Hawk (that's Gloria because that's what you wanna say when you see her--Gloria!) and Norte, a male Northern Harrier, have decided it's all too busy and noisy. They breed around here every year, but their hunting grounds are turning into cleared lots and driveways. They have been my friends out on my walks since I came back to the US, part of a quiet space that still seemed set aside for animals - to be. To just go about their business of doing animal stuff. And they take my breath away, the way they hunt, they way they fly, catching the thermals, the Red-Tail's cry. I've seen many other animals out there -- foxes, coyotes, pheasants, killdeer (my favourite!), western meadowlarks, American tree sparrows, prairie dogs, rabbits, various ducks and Canada geese. I hope they don't all get so undone by all of our DOING that they decide to up and move for good. What will I do without them?
2. Landscaping in Colorado....and throughout the Southwest for that matter. We're in a season of drought and have been for the last several years. I heard a guy on NPR say it's possible the conditions are making for a time like the Dust Bowl days. And there's a lot of clamouring about water and conservation, but do people really care? Do they really give a damn? No, I don't think so. My evidence. The American lawn. 99.5 percent of Americans somehow believe that a lush green lawn is a birthright, no matter where you live, no matter the climate or the demand for resources. So, for instance, if you live in Phoenix (a DESERT), you still have every right to expect an emerald green lawn, and more importantly, golf course, where millions and millions of gallons of water will be used every year. Here in Colorado, we're just a high plains DESERT, so that must not really count either as a place that is naturally meant to be DRY. My parents have done some very cool xeroscaping and have used all native plants in their garden...and it's BEAUTIFUL. In fact, they have attracted over 85 species of birds and all sorts of animals (I named our raccoon, Bandit), demonstrating you don't have to be a water hog claiming divine right to have a pleasant place to recreate outdoors.
3. Things I must have in several locations:
Sets of keys (my former flatmate took years of convincing to believe this was not a character flaw)
Chapstick (any flavour, but must be located in several convenient locations, purse, bathroom, bedside table, car (except summer months)
Allergy meds/tissues
pens/scratchpaper
a plastic mug for water or tea or coffee (one in car, in bathroom, by bed)
gloves -- year round (Raynaud's sufferers round the world are clapping now!)
books (everywhere except bathroom...who wants to prolong that whole experience anyway? Classify under: something Ellen will never understand.)
AlkaSeltzer (because life is stressful..at least these days)
address books (of varying degrees of currency)
a fleece hoodie
i'm sure there are others, but this list is having the desired soporific effect, and i am getting tired of thinking about these trivialities.....
4. Finding a job stinks. However, since yesterday it has occured to me that maybe i have been shooting for LESS than I ought to in that wise. Perhaps i need to believe that i could get paid a decent amount of money to use the skills i have, and maybe, just maybe, someone would believe in me and hire me for a job like that. Hmmm. I'm having a rubbish day, so I feel reluctant to believe this, but something tells me I am "getting it" finally. Yawn.
5. I need to get my fishing gear tidied up, in order, ready to go for the season. The hatch is on and the fish are hungry. As a treat to myself on a low day about a month ago, I bought my fishing license for 2005. I just needed to feel like life was gonna get better and that I'd get back to doing all that normal fun stuff someday, like fishing. Do you know the thrill of putting a perfect cast onto the water, and just at the moment the fly is making its descent onto the water, WHAM, the trout is out and up and on top of the fly, leaping and straining, and pretty much dazzling the heck out of you? Wow, now that's something to fall asleep thinking about...certainty of lovely, sun-kissed dreams...ah...
Goodnight.
06 May, 2005
car talk
Whatever happened to the still small voice, I ask you? That inkling in your heart or spirit or your gut that jingles, "this is the way, walk ye in it" and you just know that you know, you have been spoken to and you need to follow that directive? I haven't heard God like that for a LONG time, I think. My part of the conversation certainly hasn't been of the still, small voice variety for quite a while. Screaming out into the empty foothills where I hike, listening to my voice echo off the canyon walls, I have tried the direct route. I am pounding on the door and throwing rocks at it. Anything to get a response. But the response I am getting is altogether weird. I am not "getting a word" or a scripture or having my Bible fly open to some passage I need to read particularly badly; none of that. I think God knows I am fed up with religious crap. In fact, lots of the response is just big, fat, wide open space. Empty, clear blue sky, and sunshine. There's a lot to ponder there. But it's not that part that seems curious to me. The truly bemusing part is his car talk.
I received my car from a church, a very generous church, when I came back from the UK. The title was signed on the back, "Gift". And so it was. The car has a name: Spirit. No kidding. I own a 1990 Dodge Spirit. A holy roller car, for sure. (I could feel some sort of celestial grin already coming on from God from the very beginning of my history with this vehicle.) Once the Gifted Spirit came fully into my possession and I was on the road, this very average, old American car, (FYI: I am not the American car type...meaning, bring on a Toyota or -- dream of dreams -- a Volkswagen or a Volvo, but NOT an American petrol sucking, emissions spewing car!), well, it began to talk to me. I didn't hear it at first. In fact, it's been talking me to me for over a year now, and I think I just understood it yesterday for the first time. And once heard, I am getting all the other nuanced messages from the past year.
I have had a persistant problem since I got my Spirit: the rearview mirror falls off and off and off. I have tried SuperGlue, industrial tape, new mounts, spit and cursing. Nothing will make this mirror stick. I finally relegated it to the front seat and call it my Makeup Mirror, perfect for those last minute touch-ups. I have had to spend a significant amount of time in my car this year, and not having my makeup mirror do its real job has been a PITA. But yesterday, driving home from Denver, minus mirror, I finally got it. Constantly looking backwards can be a really stupid thing, especially in heavy traffic. I don't need a rearview mirror, necessarily. In the Purgatorio, Dante has this fantastic punishment for those with the opposite problem...diviners who attempt to manipulate the prophetic, always seeing into the future, and so end up, compliments of the Almighty, with their heads screwed on backwards, negotiating the road to hell. I wonder what sort of trouble I might be in for always looking over my shoulder? Hmmm. I am paying attention now, and I think I am not in danger of some hellish punishment, but rather I feel some serious reassurance that now is what I need to keep my focus on. The past can dearly mess up your present if you pay too much attention to it.
The Control Panel. Very unreliable. Fuel gauge, speedometer, temperature gauge, oil gauge, and odometer, none of them works accurately, so I play a perpetual game of What's behind door number two, Bob? Are those fumes in my tank or do I have a full tank of gas? Thankfully, no major incidents have resulted. But again, a message comes to me: don't trust all the gauges...the way things look...being in control. Know what's under the hood and take care of it, and you'll keep ticking along. You'll be all right. So maybe I don't need to worry so much about all these rejections I am getting from employers, my mood swings, the living-with-my-parents stigma I feel so keenly, the Loser complex I fear will permanently blight my life, perhaps it WILL all turn out okay, former missionary will make good. So, okay, God I will do what I can to take care of what's under the hood.
You know, I laugh at those highlight Bible moments like when the disciples are out on the Sea of Galilee in their boat, right after the big bread and fish fiesta, and they're wondering what's for lunch, freaking out that they forgot to bring along snacks. Jesus must have groaned and pulled his hair. But if I laugh, I am laughing at myself, too. God's been talking to me for a whole year, just a few basic principles, a few simple lessons. Such simple words, but they wrap up my little package quite nicely. God is at work in my life, no matter how much I feel like denying it, and He's serious about these object lessons, and He seems to be serious about not giving up on me. So for the time being, I will rest content in that and will fire up the Holy Spirit each day, listening for more.
"Speak, for your servant is listening."
I received my car from a church, a very generous church, when I came back from the UK. The title was signed on the back, "Gift". And so it was. The car has a name: Spirit. No kidding. I own a 1990 Dodge Spirit. A holy roller car, for sure. (I could feel some sort of celestial grin already coming on from God from the very beginning of my history with this vehicle.) Once the Gifted Spirit came fully into my possession and I was on the road, this very average, old American car, (FYI: I am not the American car type...meaning, bring on a Toyota or -- dream of dreams -- a Volkswagen or a Volvo, but NOT an American petrol sucking, emissions spewing car!), well, it began to talk to me. I didn't hear it at first. In fact, it's been talking me to me for over a year now, and I think I just understood it yesterday for the first time. And once heard, I am getting all the other nuanced messages from the past year.
I have had a persistant problem since I got my Spirit: the rearview mirror falls off and off and off. I have tried SuperGlue, industrial tape, new mounts, spit and cursing. Nothing will make this mirror stick. I finally relegated it to the front seat and call it my Makeup Mirror, perfect for those last minute touch-ups. I have had to spend a significant amount of time in my car this year, and not having my makeup mirror do its real job has been a PITA. But yesterday, driving home from Denver, minus mirror, I finally got it. Constantly looking backwards can be a really stupid thing, especially in heavy traffic. I don't need a rearview mirror, necessarily. In the Purgatorio, Dante has this fantastic punishment for those with the opposite problem...diviners who attempt to manipulate the prophetic, always seeing into the future, and so end up, compliments of the Almighty, with their heads screwed on backwards, negotiating the road to hell. I wonder what sort of trouble I might be in for always looking over my shoulder? Hmmm. I am paying attention now, and I think I am not in danger of some hellish punishment, but rather I feel some serious reassurance that now is what I need to keep my focus on. The past can dearly mess up your present if you pay too much attention to it.
The Control Panel. Very unreliable. Fuel gauge, speedometer, temperature gauge, oil gauge, and odometer, none of them works accurately, so I play a perpetual game of What's behind door number two, Bob? Are those fumes in my tank or do I have a full tank of gas? Thankfully, no major incidents have resulted. But again, a message comes to me: don't trust all the gauges...the way things look...being in control. Know what's under the hood and take care of it, and you'll keep ticking along. You'll be all right. So maybe I don't need to worry so much about all these rejections I am getting from employers, my mood swings, the living-with-my-parents stigma I feel so keenly, the Loser complex I fear will permanently blight my life, perhaps it WILL all turn out okay, former missionary will make good. So, okay, God I will do what I can to take care of what's under the hood.
You know, I laugh at those highlight Bible moments like when the disciples are out on the Sea of Galilee in their boat, right after the big bread and fish fiesta, and they're wondering what's for lunch, freaking out that they forgot to bring along snacks. Jesus must have groaned and pulled his hair. But if I laugh, I am laughing at myself, too. God's been talking to me for a whole year, just a few basic principles, a few simple lessons. Such simple words, but they wrap up my little package quite nicely. God is at work in my life, no matter how much I feel like denying it, and He's serious about these object lessons, and He seems to be serious about not giving up on me. So for the time being, I will rest content in that and will fire up the Holy Spirit each day, listening for more.
"Speak, for your servant is listening."
04 May, 2005
it's hard to cry with your mouth full...
Sobs and salad don't mix. I was reminded of this a few days ago as wave after wave of tears tried to make it past The Guardian. I was eating lunch and not doing a very good job of it. Do not cry in front of others. Especially, do not cry in front of parents. Do not reveal to anyone you are having a hard time. Do not show defeat. Crying outloud and with lots of pathos, in front of everyone, with no apologies, is an horrible act of treason against the Family Way. Achtung! Continue eating salad. Swallow hard.
I am not naturally predisposed to being tearful, and I am often confused about why I am actually crying when I do. Maybe only a hyperanalytical person would ask that, but it's important for me to know why I am crying, because it's truly an event when emotion breaks free and does its thing. And it often is in complete isolation from a triggering event. I sometimes cry weeks or months after something has disturbed me...it's simply a long way up to my lacrimal glands, I guess. All in all, I have come to scrap most of the chapters of the said Family Way on the subject of Emotion, so I am charged with the weighty duty of writing some new content, and so I am pondering all this, for research.
I was a little worried a several weeks back when I realised that over a period of months only two things had brought me to tears, one which seemed very reasonable, the other dissonant. The reason it (not crying for so long) worried me was that I could feel myself diving beneath the surface waters of my life -- churn, churn, churn -- to greater depths where the water is calmer, more quiescent, but not necessarily safer (sharks and scary stuff lurk there). Watching The Hiding Place was the first thing that brought everything to a halt, which seemed wholly reasonable. The second was when I thought I had broken my beloved short wave radio. Yes, true. I sat down on my bed, clutching my radio, and wept.
My little Sangean has taken on a life of its own. It travels with me, sits on my bedside table, talks to me in the shower, wakes me up in the morning. It's not that I listen to my radio an inordinate number of hours, it's just that it's there, as so few things have been these last few years. And during a tremendously difficult time, when I felt the world closing in on me, it was there, with its shortwave capability, reminding me that the world was expansive yet, and open, so much left to touch and learn of. Because sleep was eluding me then, I would lie in my loft at night, up near the ceiling, where I could study the texture of the anaglypta and look for cracks, and I would turn on my radio. Softly, voices spoke in the night. They spoke to me in tongues...ones I knew and others that I didn't. They ran over me, through me, taking my mind to far off places and peoples, and so I could sleep. Like a lullaby, like a bedtime story.
Lately, I have all sorts of data to collect....ridiculous moments -- catching myself tearing up watching a Hallmark advert (so NOT me!), crying in my dreams because I keep getting lost and can't find my way back to Centre Station, crying because someone who has rarely been able to show me tenderness did, and now I am reading a book that although it's a speedy read, it's got a grip on my insides in a way I cannot fully get. And I keep water-damaging the pages.
I am not sure why it's important for me to tell you this, fill you in on my research, but somehow this particular process of discovery doesn't seem to work well in the safe environment of a laboratory where all the proper controls can be placed on things...meaning its all contained and hidden and unknown. Here, out in the public place of my trusted friends, I am doing my hypothesizing and trials. I have been letting myself off the hook to try and reach grand conclusions about all this (not a very good scientist - can't stick to the rules); I just keep following these smaller insights like a trail of crumbs - to somewhere or someone I want to get to.
I am not naturally predisposed to being tearful, and I am often confused about why I am actually crying when I do. Maybe only a hyperanalytical person would ask that, but it's important for me to know why I am crying, because it's truly an event when emotion breaks free and does its thing. And it often is in complete isolation from a triggering event. I sometimes cry weeks or months after something has disturbed me...it's simply a long way up to my lacrimal glands, I guess. All in all, I have come to scrap most of the chapters of the said Family Way on the subject of Emotion, so I am charged with the weighty duty of writing some new content, and so I am pondering all this, for research.
I was a little worried a several weeks back when I realised that over a period of months only two things had brought me to tears, one which seemed very reasonable, the other dissonant. The reason it (not crying for so long) worried me was that I could feel myself diving beneath the surface waters of my life -- churn, churn, churn -- to greater depths where the water is calmer, more quiescent, but not necessarily safer (sharks and scary stuff lurk there). Watching The Hiding Place was the first thing that brought everything to a halt, which seemed wholly reasonable. The second was when I thought I had broken my beloved short wave radio. Yes, true. I sat down on my bed, clutching my radio, and wept.
My little Sangean has taken on a life of its own. It travels with me, sits on my bedside table, talks to me in the shower, wakes me up in the morning. It's not that I listen to my radio an inordinate number of hours, it's just that it's there, as so few things have been these last few years. And during a tremendously difficult time, when I felt the world closing in on me, it was there, with its shortwave capability, reminding me that the world was expansive yet, and open, so much left to touch and learn of. Because sleep was eluding me then, I would lie in my loft at night, up near the ceiling, where I could study the texture of the anaglypta and look for cracks, and I would turn on my radio. Softly, voices spoke in the night. They spoke to me in tongues...ones I knew and others that I didn't. They ran over me, through me, taking my mind to far off places and peoples, and so I could sleep. Like a lullaby, like a bedtime story.
Lately, I have all sorts of data to collect....ridiculous moments -- catching myself tearing up watching a Hallmark advert (so NOT me!), crying in my dreams because I keep getting lost and can't find my way back to Centre Station, crying because someone who has rarely been able to show me tenderness did, and now I am reading a book that although it's a speedy read, it's got a grip on my insides in a way I cannot fully get. And I keep water-damaging the pages.
I am not sure why it's important for me to tell you this, fill you in on my research, but somehow this particular process of discovery doesn't seem to work well in the safe environment of a laboratory where all the proper controls can be placed on things...meaning its all contained and hidden and unknown. Here, out in the public place of my trusted friends, I am doing my hypothesizing and trials. I have been letting myself off the hook to try and reach grand conclusions about all this (not a very good scientist - can't stick to the rules); I just keep following these smaller insights like a trail of crumbs - to somewhere or someone I want to get to.
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