Here's something that was/has been bothering me over the past 36 hours or so: I am evangelical about lots of things in my life. It depends on my mood and energy level and so on, but still: I will go to great lengths to share with you my affection for floss picks or for the smell of Noxzema facewash, or to convince you that you really should like to eat all the things that I like to eat and care about all the things I care about and do all the things that I like to do. If you don't like water, I will try to make you understand why you should like water. If you do not like being outside, or wearing tennis shoes, or eating more than six things (I don't know whether you'll ever read this, Ian, but yes it is possible that that is a pointed comment) then I will go out of my way repeatedly to try to make you "see the light." To try to change your mind. And it's obnoxious--I know it is--but I can't seem to help myself. In fact, if you have habits or opinions that I find irksome and you notice me not being pushy or giving you shit about them all the time, then you should be aware that I am working really hard to keep my mouth shut.
So here's a segue that I'm not sure how to make without being offensive: I'm not evangelical about that thing that the term "evangelism" was probably coined for in the first place: my faith. What I say I believe. And probably part of the reason is that being evangelical isn't really culturally acceptable around here, and part is that I'm afraid to offend people, and part is that I'm more worried about being judged by others than I am willing to admit to myself. Part is that I don't know how to balance not being judgmental and being respectful and sharing and communicating. And part is that I don't really know what I think is true, or rather, don't know how much is true. Don't know how much is grey.
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Like I said on facebook,
I usually veer pretty far away from "Christian" writing. From that stuff that's all full of jargon and talk about feelings and personal relationships with an intangible, invisible being, and feelings, and Bible verses and Bible analysis and some flowery metaphors (ok, I'm a hypocrite) and maybe some more stuff about feelings. I don't know how to say this, and maybe it's because I don't have an example of said writing in front of me (because, um, it's not the kind of thing I tend to bookmark), but there's just a whole atmosphere to it that makes me want to run the opposite direction. All those things--relationships and churchspeak and feelings--those are all things that I just don't get. But this girl--Jamie the Very Worst Missionary--this girl I like. Even if you're not particularly a person of religious bent, you might like what she has to say--particularly in this post. Check her out.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
And
By the way, it is evidently still impossible not to think of David when the air begins to change. So that's cool. And I definitely didn't wake up weeping with frustration for absolutely no good reason this morning. Nope. That was another girl.
But it is amazing--truly astounding to me the extent to which it is helpful for me to send up a silent prayer when life is, for no discernible reason, so much more than I can handle. When I swear if I have to look at that woman one more time I will scream. When I can't imagine a way to make it through the week without collapsing. So often it turns out that a "please, help me" directed skyward is all I need.
But it is amazing--truly astounding to me the extent to which it is helpful for me to send up a silent prayer when life is, for no discernible reason, so much more than I can handle. When I swear if I have to look at that woman one more time I will scream. When I can't imagine a way to make it through the week without collapsing. So often it turns out that a "please, help me" directed skyward is all I need.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Notes from Northstar (church)
The point was raised today that in today's church, there is often a focus on the giving of "testimonies," and that the testimonies are expected to go like this:
"I once was lost, but now I'm found...and now I'm fine."
But life doesn't work that way. And so those of us who hear such testimonies and believe them and put stock in them find ourselves trying to match them--and failing. And when we fail we hide, and when we feel the need to hide, we feel ashamed. So there has been created, rather than a culture of love and hope, a culture of falsehood and dishonesty. It isn't good.
So here was the point:
It was never about perfection. It was always about relationship. When will we stop making it about perfection?
She said that when she was young, she heard a preacher say that "God helps those who help themselves." And at the time, being young, and "not knowing Genesis from Revelation," she thought, "well, it must be true, because he's old." But then when she grew older and studied for herself, she realized that there's no Biblical basis for that kind of thinking at all. Instead, there is a common theme of God helping those who are unable to help themselves--and that's all of us.
This reminded me of a whitewater rafting trip I took a long time ago, when I was seventeen. There was a flash flood on the river, and I and several others were thrown from the raft and nearly drowned. So here I'll start copying from what I wrote down in my notebook toward the end of church. (Excuse the melodrama. It happens more when I'm writing by hand and am feeling emotional at the time. Reliving this rafting thing brings back the residual PTSD stuff that I've still got going on sometimes.)
This reminds me of the rafting trip: this "God doesn't help those who help themselves! He doesn't make us pick ourselves up and climb, swim, crawl back! He helps those who cannot help themselves: all of us. So, the rafting: I fell out of the boat, off the wagon, into the dirty raging water, and I sank and I let it pull me down into its tumultuous, dark depths. I did not call out for help. I did not cry out to God. I did not even think to. I tried to swim against it on my own, and I could not. I could make no progress. I could not avoid the hidden snags and currents that repeatedly pulled me under. I did not know where I was or where I was headed or whether I would ever be able to snatch another breath of clean air again.
Still, in my stubborn and fearful silence, I was protected. In the midst of the flash-flooded, filthy, debris-filled torrent into which I had fallen, I was protected. I was not driven into an inescapable crevice [as commonly happens in such scenarios]. I did not dash my foot against a stone. [The whole time, the only things I touched were the things I was holding and the raft.] I did not run out of air, or time.
And when I finally realized my utter powerlessness and lack of direction, and when I finally saw that my death was literally inches and moments away, and I accepted it and asked for help, for breath, for direction, they were given to me. Instantly. I knew where to go and kicked up into the air with all my strength. And at the surface, still in the river, I was on the edge of the exact thing I needed: an eddy in the current, and a rock to which I could--just barely--cling.
And here it comes in again: help when we cannot help ourselves. No more than we can handle.
Treading water there, barely clinging to a sheer cliff face, I saw no help coming. I saw only rafts rescuing others--all too far out of range to help me. I was quite literally steadying my breath and mentally preparing myself to swim out to the only help I could see--which would certainly have meant my death--when a raft--the last raft--sailed around the bend in the river and pulled me in, and carried me to safety.
Of the four of us that fell in on a river that was so flooded that it was no longer legal to raft, in a rapid that, though it should have been a class 3, was now above a class 5, in water that looked like chocolate milk and ran full of propane tanks and tree limbs and coolers and, further down the river, power lines, none of us was injured. Though we all suffered from PTSD, not one of us was trapped beneath an undercut rock. Not one of us suffered a scratch. Though we were warned that we probably would, not one of us contracted a single disease from that filthy, sixty-degree water.
People die on the Gauley river fairly regularly, even under normal conditions.
"I once was lost, but now I'm found...and now I'm fine."
But life doesn't work that way. And so those of us who hear such testimonies and believe them and put stock in them find ourselves trying to match them--and failing. And when we fail we hide, and when we feel the need to hide, we feel ashamed. So there has been created, rather than a culture of love and hope, a culture of falsehood and dishonesty. It isn't good.
So here was the point:
It was never about perfection. It was always about relationship. When will we stop making it about perfection?
She said that when she was young, she heard a preacher say that "God helps those who help themselves." And at the time, being young, and "not knowing Genesis from Revelation," she thought, "well, it must be true, because he's old." But then when she grew older and studied for herself, she realized that there's no Biblical basis for that kind of thinking at all. Instead, there is a common theme of God helping those who are unable to help themselves--and that's all of us.
This reminded me of a whitewater rafting trip I took a long time ago, when I was seventeen. There was a flash flood on the river, and I and several others were thrown from the raft and nearly drowned. So here I'll start copying from what I wrote down in my notebook toward the end of church. (Excuse the melodrama. It happens more when I'm writing by hand and am feeling emotional at the time. Reliving this rafting thing brings back the residual PTSD stuff that I've still got going on sometimes.)
This reminds me of the rafting trip: this "God doesn't help those who help themselves! He doesn't make us pick ourselves up and climb, swim, crawl back! He helps those who cannot help themselves: all of us. So, the rafting: I fell out of the boat, off the wagon, into the dirty raging water, and I sank and I let it pull me down into its tumultuous, dark depths. I did not call out for help. I did not cry out to God. I did not even think to. I tried to swim against it on my own, and I could not. I could make no progress. I could not avoid the hidden snags and currents that repeatedly pulled me under. I did not know where I was or where I was headed or whether I would ever be able to snatch another breath of clean air again.
Still, in my stubborn and fearful silence, I was protected. In the midst of the flash-flooded, filthy, debris-filled torrent into which I had fallen, I was protected. I was not driven into an inescapable crevice [as commonly happens in such scenarios]. I did not dash my foot against a stone. [The whole time, the only things I touched were the things I was holding and the raft.] I did not run out of air, or time.
And when I finally realized my utter powerlessness and lack of direction, and when I finally saw that my death was literally inches and moments away, and I accepted it and asked for help, for breath, for direction, they were given to me. Instantly. I knew where to go and kicked up into the air with all my strength. And at the surface, still in the river, I was on the edge of the exact thing I needed: an eddy in the current, and a rock to which I could--just barely--cling.
And here it comes in again: help when we cannot help ourselves. No more than we can handle.
Treading water there, barely clinging to a sheer cliff face, I saw no help coming. I saw only rafts rescuing others--all too far out of range to help me. I was quite literally steadying my breath and mentally preparing myself to swim out to the only help I could see--which would certainly have meant my death--when a raft--the last raft--sailed around the bend in the river and pulled me in, and carried me to safety.
Of the four of us that fell in on a river that was so flooded that it was no longer legal to raft, in a rapid that, though it should have been a class 3, was now above a class 5, in water that looked like chocolate milk and ran full of propane tanks and tree limbs and coolers and, further down the river, power lines, none of us was injured. Though we all suffered from PTSD, not one of us was trapped beneath an undercut rock. Not one of us suffered a scratch. Though we were warned that we probably would, not one of us contracted a single disease from that filthy, sixty-degree water.
People die on the Gauley river fairly regularly, even under normal conditions.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Catching up
Last night, it was too cold for fireflies. Before that, though, on the fifth, I wrote that
"as always, the sight of a clear night sky full of stars is positively bewitching. But here, in the summer, the beauty is heightened still further--the trees blink with fireflies, and looking up into the night, numerous extra stars seem to wink in and out of existence.
I love this. On my way to bed I stand outside Cabin 6, or sit in my bunk, and watch the trees glitter in the night, hear the frogs sing, listen to the creek run on.
In the day I cannot keep from checking the blackberry bushes each time I pass by, just in case--as though they might have grown from green and hard to a full, ripe black overnight."
I have also been noticing with some frequency how much I love the way guitar music played outdoors seems to saturate the air.
[begin religious moment]
Two things:
I had a bit of a moment during and after our Camp version of church the other day. Religion is largely an emotional thing, and emotions aren't something I'm good at--so I tend to do a lot of drifting. This bothers me. Anyway, I had this realization, based on the "Christ-as-the-potter, people-as-the-clay" metaphor:
Our responsibility is not to mold our own hearts--can clay mold itself, or rid itself of impurities? We are only clay; Christ is the potter. We only need to submit, as clay only needs to submit. We only need to lay our burdens down in the pile at the foot of the cross.
[end religious moment.]
"as always, the sight of a clear night sky full of stars is positively bewitching. But here, in the summer, the beauty is heightened still further--the trees blink with fireflies, and looking up into the night, numerous extra stars seem to wink in and out of existence.
I love this. On my way to bed I stand outside Cabin 6, or sit in my bunk, and watch the trees glitter in the night, hear the frogs sing, listen to the creek run on.
In the day I cannot keep from checking the blackberry bushes each time I pass by, just in case--as though they might have grown from green and hard to a full, ripe black overnight."
I have also been noticing with some frequency how much I love the way guitar music played outdoors seems to saturate the air.
[begin religious moment]
Two things:
I had a bit of a moment during and after our Camp version of church the other day. Religion is largely an emotional thing, and emotions aren't something I'm good at--so I tend to do a lot of drifting. This bothers me. Anyway, I had this realization, based on the "Christ-as-the-potter, people-as-the-clay" metaphor:
Our responsibility is not to mold our own hearts--can clay mold itself, or rid itself of impurities? We are only clay; Christ is the potter. We only need to submit, as clay only needs to submit. We only need to lay our burdens down in the pile at the foot of the cross.
Anna is pretty great, and gave a bit of a devotional the other day. She ended with this: "The end of your rope is not the end of the world--not with a God whose grace is sufficient for you. Not with a God whose strength is made perfect in your weakness."
And that made me think of the way our strengths complement our weaknesses--that is, the way my strengths are there to fill in the gaps where you are weak, and your strengths may perfectly fit with my weaknesses. It reminded me of the Bright Eyes song, "Bowl of Oranges":
And we'll keep working on the problem
we know we'll never solve:
of love's uneven remainders--our lives are fractions of a whole.
And if the world could remain within a frame, like a painting on a wall,
I think we'd see the beauty then.
We'd stand staring in awe
at our still lives posed
like a bowl of oranges.
Like a story told
of the fault lines in the soul.
[end religious moment.]
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Thoughts on what I do.
I have always been one for pulling things together--science and religion or groups of friends, mostly. I try to make everything fit together. I try to get all of my friends to be friends with one another. I try to get along with everyone. I try to find ways to make the craziest theories and cultural mythologies line up, and I don't see science and Christianity as being as irreconcilable as people tend to claim. I am not good at straight lines, but I am a master of blending. And I want to believe in everything. Maybe because I don't usually make things up, I want to find the origins of everything--every word, every song, every turn of phrase, every belief and story. Maybe some came from nowhere. But why are there so many fairy tales, so many religions? Why not one or the other? And why is North America so full of ghost stories, when in other countries no one believes in ghosts at all? In Zimbabwe they aren't even discussed--but almost nobody swims, because the fear of mermaids is very real, even in fresh water. (Zim is landlocked, by the way.) And how do we align science, not with religion, but with the things that just happen, that don't line up with much of anything? And it's not just hearsay. I've heard plenty that can only be backed up by the words of my friends--miraculous healings, ghost stories, and so on--but I've experienced some myself, too. I've mentioned them before: I dreamed the future, once. That is, I think I've dreamed it many times, and remembered in deja-vu type moments, but I dreamed and remembered before the event. I dreamed of a stone and woke up with it in my hand. I heard someone calling my name when no one was around. What are those things, and things like that? Magic? Some natural force that science doesn't yet understand? Communiques from some higher being?
I have no idea. I couldn't and can't control or reproduce any of them. But there's no way that the "that's impossible" argument will ever convince me of much of anything.
Side notes:
There is just nothing like standing in a forest and looking up at a perfectly clear night sky. The trees stand tall and true, their gnarled limbs pushing and pressing upward forever, with the stars glittering through their strong fingers. I can't get enough of it.
And there is just something about holding a piece of fruit. It feels alive, magic. Bananas don't count--no seeds, no magic. But apples? For a while in college I used to take an apple from the cafeteria every day and bring it with me to psychology. I'd just sit in my seat before class and hold it in my two hands and look at it and smell it and adore it. And then eat it.
I know, I sound completely insane. Still, that doesn't change the truth of the matter. Fruit is magical. Seeds are magical. How could something so small become a tree*?
Anyway, oranges work too. We have oranges, and I held and adored one the other day before eating it. Magical, and far tastier than cheap cafeteria apples. (Actually, I only took an apple when they broke from their usual granny smith/red [un]delicious pattern. So the ones I ate were decent.)
Lastly, it has been brought to my attention that I gleefully referenced "The Book To Come Before The Book That Will End All Books," and frustratingly neglected to mention its actual title. (No, it isn't actually called TBTCBTBTWEAB. Sorry if that was confusing.) The Book is called Towers of Midnight, and was written by Brandon Sanderson using notes left for him by the late Robert Jordan. I finished it Monday night. It was excellent. I am toying with the idea of reading it again, since I clearly rushed through it the first time (840-some pages in two days is rather a lot, even for me) before returning it to the library. If you like fantasy, and if you like book series that go on forever (as I REALLY do), I highly recommend the series.
*In another age, I probably would have been a druid. Hopefully the kind that didn't ritualistically violently murder people and leave them in random swamps like the Bog Man.
Edit: okay, I think this is awesome:
I have no idea. I couldn't and can't control or reproduce any of them. But there's no way that the "that's impossible" argument will ever convince me of much of anything.
Side notes:
There is just nothing like standing in a forest and looking up at a perfectly clear night sky. The trees stand tall and true, their gnarled limbs pushing and pressing upward forever, with the stars glittering through their strong fingers. I can't get enough of it.
And there is just something about holding a piece of fruit. It feels alive, magic. Bananas don't count--no seeds, no magic. But apples? For a while in college I used to take an apple from the cafeteria every day and bring it with me to psychology. I'd just sit in my seat before class and hold it in my two hands and look at it and smell it and adore it. And then eat it.
I know, I sound completely insane. Still, that doesn't change the truth of the matter. Fruit is magical. Seeds are magical. How could something so small become a tree*?
Anyway, oranges work too. We have oranges, and I held and adored one the other day before eating it. Magical, and far tastier than cheap cafeteria apples. (Actually, I only took an apple when they broke from their usual granny smith/red [un]delicious pattern. So the ones I ate were decent.)
Lastly, it has been brought to my attention that I gleefully referenced "The Book To Come Before The Book That Will End All Books," and frustratingly neglected to mention its actual title. (No, it isn't actually called TBTCBTBTWEAB. Sorry if that was confusing.) The Book is called Towers of Midnight, and was written by Brandon Sanderson using notes left for him by the late Robert Jordan. I finished it Monday night. It was excellent. I am toying with the idea of reading it again, since I clearly rushed through it the first time (840-some pages in two days is rather a lot, even for me) before returning it to the library. If you like fantasy, and if you like book series that go on forever (as I REALLY do), I highly recommend the series.
*In another age, I probably would have been a druid. Hopefully the kind that didn't ritualistically violently murder people and leave them in random swamps like the Bog Man.
Edit: okay, I think this is awesome:
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Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Here, now, open.
So I had that weepy-and-intense religious experience the other night, and then not much. I've thought about it some. I still have a hard time getting the whole relationship thing. I can barely have relationships with people--and now you're asking me to have one with some invisible, uncontainable, indefinable higher being? Yeah. I'll get right on that.
Tonight I was walking Miley, and talking to her about how I was sorry but I couldn't walk in the grass in the rain because I was wearing decidedly not-waterproof boots, and then I realized that if I consider myself a Christian and I can talk to a dog, it's stupid for me to go around telling myself I have nothing to say to God. So. "I don't really feel like I have anything to say to you, but I guess if I can talk to Miley, I don't really have any good excuse not to talk to you." And on from there.
Then, as I approached our driveway, I suddenly remembered that almost every single night for months I have walked Miley and missed having someone to talk to. That's sort of new. I've almost always enjoyed the peace and quiet of walks, and definitely not wished for conversational company. In fact, I have often discouraged other people from walking with me.
It used to be that my prayer time, when I had prayer time, was in the shower. Not particularly for any reason I could discern except that people tend to be more emotional when they're relaxed, and hot water is relaxing, and I knew no one was going to bother me or see or hear me and so I didn't have to feel so guarded. It's not like I ever planned it.
Before that, during my first, horrible encounter with major depression, when I had no experience and no one I trusted and no coping mechanisms to deal with it, late-night walks with Little Bit were my refuge. I never wanted to take them. I fought it tooth and nail. But it was my turn and my parents made me. And most times I ended up stumbling forward, streaming tears, talking to God and begging for a friend or a way out. And eventually, and little by little, I got one. So.
Have you been calling me?
And I'm sorry I haven't picked up. I guess, in my dream, I didn't realize what I was hearing--just like an alarm clock that makes itself a part of the dream until you recognize what you're hearing, and put it together, and rise to consciousness. But I think I'm awake now, and I'm trying really hard to stay awake. Not go sleepwalking through my life. Not wishing I were somewhere else. Not holding my breath. Not barring the door and leaning against it with all my might. I want to be here. Now. Open.
Tonight I was walking Miley, and talking to her about how I was sorry but I couldn't walk in the grass in the rain because I was wearing decidedly not-waterproof boots, and then I realized that if I consider myself a Christian and I can talk to a dog, it's stupid for me to go around telling myself I have nothing to say to God. So. "I don't really feel like I have anything to say to you, but I guess if I can talk to Miley, I don't really have any good excuse not to talk to you." And on from there.
Then, as I approached our driveway, I suddenly remembered that almost every single night for months I have walked Miley and missed having someone to talk to. That's sort of new. I've almost always enjoyed the peace and quiet of walks, and definitely not wished for conversational company. In fact, I have often discouraged other people from walking with me.
It used to be that my prayer time, when I had prayer time, was in the shower. Not particularly for any reason I could discern except that people tend to be more emotional when they're relaxed, and hot water is relaxing, and I knew no one was going to bother me or see or hear me and so I didn't have to feel so guarded. It's not like I ever planned it.
Before that, during my first, horrible encounter with major depression, when I had no experience and no one I trusted and no coping mechanisms to deal with it, late-night walks with Little Bit were my refuge. I never wanted to take them. I fought it tooth and nail. But it was my turn and my parents made me. And most times I ended up stumbling forward, streaming tears, talking to God and begging for a friend or a way out. And eventually, and little by little, I got one. So.
Have you been calling me?
And I'm sorry I haven't picked up. I guess, in my dream, I didn't realize what I was hearing--just like an alarm clock that makes itself a part of the dream until you recognize what you're hearing, and put it together, and rise to consciousness. But I think I'm awake now, and I'm trying really hard to stay awake. Not go sleepwalking through my life. Not wishing I were somewhere else. Not holding my breath. Not barring the door and leaning against it with all my might. I want to be here. Now. Open.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Heart and soul.
I like to think of myself as a Christian, but sometimes I think I'm a bad one, or I think that my views (which tend to be fairly mutable) are too far off center to count. Sometimes this makes me wonder about my ultimate fate--illogical and slightly ridiculous as that may be.
I have realized hundreds of times that speaking or writing negativity causes my internal self or feeling or balance or whatever I would call it to take a negative turn. Possibly someday I will realize this enough times to stop speaking negativity.
I think I spend a lot of time trying to paint my heart so that it looks like the heart of God, or looks the way I imagine God's might look. Pure and loving and forgiving, respectful, wise. Obviously this doesn't work. I am not God. I am not particularly Godlike. I am probably pretty average as humans go, and "average" on the human scale contains a lot of less-than-awesome stuff. Purity? Forget it. You can listen to me talk for a day and cross that one off. Loving? On a "God" scale that would have to entail perfect loving, and... no. Wisdom is especially laughable. Sometimes I think I'm doing pretty well, and then I end up in the presence of another human, who is by definition fallible, who makes me look like a petulant child. And then I remember.
I am a petulant child. I guess we all are in our own ways (or at least it comforts me to think so, in a misery-loves-company kind of way), and that isn't such a terrible thing. He said "suffer the little children to come unto me," didn't he? And there's a verse in Mattew (18:3) which, though it differs across translations, shares this sentiment in all: that in order to enter the kingdom of heaven, we must be like children.
Almost any verse in that book is up for debate. People make what they will of the text, for good or ill. In my mind though, a child is a person who can be taught. A child is a person who is growing. A child is, generally speaking, a person with an open heart.
I'm making a little bit of jump here, and I apologize, but there's a stronger connection in my mind than on paper. I have felt for a while that tears are the great equalizer of humanity. That, as I put it here or in a paper journal, "only children weep." Most of adulthood is little more than a constructed wall and a facade of control that we put ourselves behind because doing so is easier than knowing ourselves or one another. It is easier for me to pretend that everything is simple and straightforward than it is for me to really look at who I am. It is easier for you not to know me, either. But when we weep we relinquish our control and we drop our walls, and we allow ourselves to be exposed as the fragile children that we all are. We admit that the world touches us. We admit, not only that we can be hurt, but that we are. I think it can be a very powerful thing.
Back to the heart metaphor: it is gradually coming to my attention that perhaps my fear of asking (read: praying) for things for me stems from the fact that when I mess with shit, I mess shit up. Thus I fear that asking for things in some way constitutes "messing with the plan," and will therefore cause mass chaos and high levels of regret. Anna tells a story occasionally about a friend who did something and then worried aloud that it would screw up her life, which prompted the (somewhat snarky) reply of "Wow, you must be really powerful if you can mess up The Plan." A week after hearing this story for the second or third time, the idea that it maybe could possibly apply to my habits seems to have trickled down into my brain. It now occurs to me that maybe the reason I mess up when I try to force things to happen is that I am not, in fact, God.* And that maybe, praying for something is not quite the same thing as, for instance, trying to stick my hand into a running car engine and bend it to my will, or trying to make six different things happen at the same time.
Back again to the heart metaphor, hopefully this time in a way that makes more sense: usually it takes a lot of repetition for me to truly internalize a eureka moment, so I don't know whether this will stick this time, but I am (for tonight) starting to see that perhaps acrylics are not the best solution for my heart problem. I still get irrationally angry. I still don't know who I am. I still tend to think that my viewpoint is the only viewpoint, and that I am (for all practical intents and purposes) the only person in existence. Even the best paintbrush can only do so much. So I am, tonight, seeing that maybe the way to make my heart look like His is to give up. Stop standing over here and looking over there and carefully applying paint to any place where it may have flaked off since yesterday, and allow actual contact instead. I am not good at letting my guard down. I am not good at Love Close Up. I am not good at allowing myself to feel things. But I am learning.
It takes a lot of effort for me not to apologize for the overtly religious nature of this post, but I am nevertheless choosing not to. If you don't believe in God, I am saddened by that, but that's your deal. If you are turned off by the hatred and judgment that Christianity has been and often is used to justify, then I understand, and again am deeply saddened. If you believe that God is the energy force that connects all living things, I get that too. I feel the same way sometimes. I don't know who or what God is. I don't know if any of us have all the answers. I hope that, as the Bible and Torah say (In Deuteronomy 4), if anyone truly seeks God, they will find him. I hope we are all given a chance to choose after the veil of this life is lifted. But I don't know the answers, and I am no judge. I just believe what I believe.
*Apparently this is big news to me.
I have realized hundreds of times that speaking or writing negativity causes my internal self or feeling or balance or whatever I would call it to take a negative turn. Possibly someday I will realize this enough times to stop speaking negativity.
I think I spend a lot of time trying to paint my heart so that it looks like the heart of God, or looks the way I imagine God's might look. Pure and loving and forgiving, respectful, wise. Obviously this doesn't work. I am not God. I am not particularly Godlike. I am probably pretty average as humans go, and "average" on the human scale contains a lot of less-than-awesome stuff. Purity? Forget it. You can listen to me talk for a day and cross that one off. Loving? On a "God" scale that would have to entail perfect loving, and... no. Wisdom is especially laughable. Sometimes I think I'm doing pretty well, and then I end up in the presence of another human, who is by definition fallible, who makes me look like a petulant child. And then I remember.
I am a petulant child. I guess we all are in our own ways (or at least it comforts me to think so, in a misery-loves-company kind of way), and that isn't such a terrible thing. He said "suffer the little children to come unto me," didn't he? And there's a verse in Mattew (18:3) which, though it differs across translations, shares this sentiment in all: that in order to enter the kingdom of heaven, we must be like children.
Almost any verse in that book is up for debate. People make what they will of the text, for good or ill. In my mind though, a child is a person who can be taught. A child is a person who is growing. A child is, generally speaking, a person with an open heart.
I'm making a little bit of jump here, and I apologize, but there's a stronger connection in my mind than on paper. I have felt for a while that tears are the great equalizer of humanity. That, as I put it here or in a paper journal, "only children weep." Most of adulthood is little more than a constructed wall and a facade of control that we put ourselves behind because doing so is easier than knowing ourselves or one another. It is easier for me to pretend that everything is simple and straightforward than it is for me to really look at who I am. It is easier for you not to know me, either. But when we weep we relinquish our control and we drop our walls, and we allow ourselves to be exposed as the fragile children that we all are. We admit that the world touches us. We admit, not only that we can be hurt, but that we are. I think it can be a very powerful thing.
Back to the heart metaphor: it is gradually coming to my attention that perhaps my fear of asking (read: praying) for things for me stems from the fact that when I mess with shit, I mess shit up. Thus I fear that asking for things in some way constitutes "messing with the plan," and will therefore cause mass chaos and high levels of regret. Anna tells a story occasionally about a friend who did something and then worried aloud that it would screw up her life, which prompted the (somewhat snarky) reply of "Wow, you must be really powerful if you can mess up The Plan." A week after hearing this story for the second or third time, the idea that it maybe could possibly apply to my habits seems to have trickled down into my brain. It now occurs to me that maybe the reason I mess up when I try to force things to happen is that I am not, in fact, God.* And that maybe, praying for something is not quite the same thing as, for instance, trying to stick my hand into a running car engine and bend it to my will, or trying to make six different things happen at the same time.
Back again to the heart metaphor, hopefully this time in a way that makes more sense: usually it takes a lot of repetition for me to truly internalize a eureka moment, so I don't know whether this will stick this time, but I am (for tonight) starting to see that perhaps acrylics are not the best solution for my heart problem. I still get irrationally angry. I still don't know who I am. I still tend to think that my viewpoint is the only viewpoint, and that I am (for all practical intents and purposes) the only person in existence. Even the best paintbrush can only do so much. So I am, tonight, seeing that maybe the way to make my heart look like His is to give up. Stop standing over here and looking over there and carefully applying paint to any place where it may have flaked off since yesterday, and allow actual contact instead. I am not good at letting my guard down. I am not good at Love Close Up. I am not good at allowing myself to feel things. But I am learning.
It takes a lot of effort for me not to apologize for the overtly religious nature of this post, but I am nevertheless choosing not to. If you don't believe in God, I am saddened by that, but that's your deal. If you are turned off by the hatred and judgment that Christianity has been and often is used to justify, then I understand, and again am deeply saddened. If you believe that God is the energy force that connects all living things, I get that too. I feel the same way sometimes. I don't know who or what God is. I don't know if any of us have all the answers. I hope that, as the Bible and Torah say (In Deuteronomy 4), if anyone truly seeks God, they will find him. I hope we are all given a chance to choose after the veil of this life is lifted. But I don't know the answers, and I am no judge. I just believe what I believe.
*Apparently this is big news to me.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
This day's been crazy, but everything's happened on schedule.
This morning I went to scrape paint and discovered the work of genius (or, possibly, boredom) that is the heat gun. This, for those of you who remain unenlightened, is essentially a jacked-up hairdryer which reaches temperatures high enough to melt (boil?) dried paint, thus enabling a paint-scraper like myself to pull it off in 4x10 inch sheets, rather than scraping it off (along with little bits of wood) in 1x2 mm chips.
Also, the people who live in this apartment like tot throw away useful things, like clean clothes (seriously, were in a trash can in the basement under a broken detergent bottle), laundry baskets, and drinking glasses.
Also, just before getting in my car to leave I put a useful piece of trash--a sturdy chair bottom, the back having been broken off; I have been wanting a low stool--in the back of my car, closed the tailgate, and heard a small sound like some sand falling onto the ground. Turns out it was sand, sort of, in that auto glass is probably made from sand just like other glass. Somehow the impact of the closing tailgate caused the left side panel window at the back of my car to shatter. I guess there must have been a hairline crack that I didn't see, or something. I'm just glad it wasn't one of the windows that rolls up and down, or, God forbid, my rear windshield. As Junior put it (merely giving voice to thoughts I had been thus far keeping to myself), my car is becoming more and more ghetto all the time.
After knocking the rest of the window out and taping a trash bag into place (stay classy), I ran over to DSW in a vain attempt to blow the $50 I made yesterday on a pair of boots I've been wanting for a while. Possibly months. Unfortunately, I don't wear a 6.5 or a 7, and that's all that was left. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was going to be the case. It's alright. And they do sell them online, though I won't get DSW reward points for buying boots from Zappo's, and that's really a shame.
There had been plans for me to meet Kaiser (guy I met in May who miraculously was given my phone number) at the park at 3, but at this point it was... nearly 3*. I had said I might be late due to the window incident, but it wasn't too bad. After a hurried lunch I ended up leaving the house at 3:05.
Wandering around Maymont was fine, but judging by my slight annoyance upon leaving and my really and truly horrible mood upon rising from a not-sleeping-just-lying-in-the-dark two hour "nap," I have to say, hanging out with people who are attracted to me and to whom I am not attracted, especially people in said category that I don't know well, really, really stresses me out. I really, really do not like it. If we hang out again, I am going to have to lay down some ground rules. For instance: please do not touch my arm. Please do not touch me at all. Please do not try to hold my hand. You're nice and stuff, but pretty much as a rule I don't want to be around people I don't know that act this way toward me, and you're only making things worse for yourself. Actually, yeah, maybe just one ground rule. He is a nice guy. I just a) don't really want to be dating anyone right now**, and b) don't want to hang around relative strangers who obviously want to date me.
The reason for the two hour not-exactly-nap was largely that when I came home from the park, my hip hurt. A lot. Increasingly. There have been times that my hip has hurt a little after a lot of walking, but I don't think it's ever been like this. I discovered while walking Miley tonight that if I step very carefully onto my right leg, it usually doesn't hurt very much. I'm hoping it will have improved at least a little by tomorrow.
While I was walking though, eventually, once I mostly had a grasp on the hip thing, I started to sing. It was a song of praise actually (though I've begun to realize that really, anytime I just start singing out of nowhere it's a song of praise, even if I'm singing some completely heathen Celtic song about magic)--a simple one I like a lot and never really hear anywhere, about love being higher and deeper and longer and wider than our perception***. Then I started thinking about yesterday, about having had lunch with David, and how wonderful it was. Not that the food was particularly great or that from beginning to end it was the best time of my life, or even that it was easy, but it was so good. It was so honest and real and survivable. I survived it, and I learned things--I learned a lot--and I think maybe we know each other better now than we did before. I thought of sitting on the stoop in the sun with the band playing down the street, and I just said "thank you," and then I couldn't stop saying it. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. For this draught of hope. Thank you. For my breath misting in the night air, for this sweet little dog, for my sweet family, for the clear sky, for the lights shining through the trees, thank you. For breath. For hope. For giving me my friend back.
Post title taken from my favorite Caedmon's Call song, which you can find if you search "Table for Two" on grooveshark.com or ilike.com or Pandora. However, none of these sites will allow me, at the moment, to link the song. The part I've quoted goes like this:
*I don't usually make unnecessary side trips when I'm already running late--I just want to say that. However, under the circumstances (I finally made some money yesterday, I had already said I'd be late, K and I have no relationship whatsoever really and the time and location were picked arbitrarily and by me in the first place, I had been putting off the boot thing forever and knew they'd be gone soon if not already, my effing window just broke out of nowhere), I felt that it was at least somewhat justified.
**Part of this is that I just straight-up don't. I'm not saying it won't change, but right now that's how I feel. Part of it is that I just started talking to David again, and I'd be lying if I said I was over him, and I'd be lying if I said I was still completely in love with him. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't want to tackle him and not let him up for air for at least an hour. However, that kind of tackling can really cloud the thinking, and can cause quite a lot of related problems. We two are in agreement about that. Also, getting back together only to break up again would be, pardon my French, fucking hell. And getting back together without either of us really having given this "what's life like being romantically involved with someone other than you someday" experiment any kind of chance would sort of feel like giving up, and that goes for both of us. So I think we're going to give being friends and sitting a few feet apart at all times a fair chance, and just see. I am pointedly staying the hell away from any kind of questions about the future because they are so completely fucking utterly unhelpful. As I said to the man upstairs earlier tonight, between the singing and the can't-stop-thanking-yous, I am going to let that go and trust that all things will be made right according to His will. And that's about as religious as I ever expect to get in a public forum on the internet.
***"Your love is deeper than my view of grace, higher than this earthly place, longer than this road I travel, wider than the gap you filled."
Also, the people who live in this apartment like tot throw away useful things, like clean clothes (seriously, were in a trash can in the basement under a broken detergent bottle), laundry baskets, and drinking glasses.
Also, just before getting in my car to leave I put a useful piece of trash--a sturdy chair bottom, the back having been broken off; I have been wanting a low stool--in the back of my car, closed the tailgate, and heard a small sound like some sand falling onto the ground. Turns out it was sand, sort of, in that auto glass is probably made from sand just like other glass. Somehow the impact of the closing tailgate caused the left side panel window at the back of my car to shatter. I guess there must have been a hairline crack that I didn't see, or something. I'm just glad it wasn't one of the windows that rolls up and down, or, God forbid, my rear windshield. As Junior put it (merely giving voice to thoughts I had been thus far keeping to myself), my car is becoming more and more ghetto all the time.
After knocking the rest of the window out and taping a trash bag into place (stay classy), I ran over to DSW in a vain attempt to blow the $50 I made yesterday on a pair of boots I've been wanting for a while. Possibly months. Unfortunately, I don't wear a 6.5 or a 7, and that's all that was left. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was going to be the case. It's alright. And they do sell them online, though I won't get DSW reward points for buying boots from Zappo's, and that's really a shame.
There had been plans for me to meet Kaiser (guy I met in May who miraculously was given my phone number) at the park at 3, but at this point it was... nearly 3*. I had said I might be late due to the window incident, but it wasn't too bad. After a hurried lunch I ended up leaving the house at 3:05.
Wandering around Maymont was fine, but judging by my slight annoyance upon leaving and my really and truly horrible mood upon rising from a not-sleeping-just-lying-in-the-dark two hour "nap," I have to say, hanging out with people who are attracted to me and to whom I am not attracted, especially people in said category that I don't know well, really, really stresses me out. I really, really do not like it. If we hang out again, I am going to have to lay down some ground rules. For instance: please do not touch my arm. Please do not touch me at all. Please do not try to hold my hand. You're nice and stuff, but pretty much as a rule I don't want to be around people I don't know that act this way toward me, and you're only making things worse for yourself. Actually, yeah, maybe just one ground rule. He is a nice guy. I just a) don't really want to be dating anyone right now**, and b) don't want to hang around relative strangers who obviously want to date me.
The reason for the two hour not-exactly-nap was largely that when I came home from the park, my hip hurt. A lot. Increasingly. There have been times that my hip has hurt a little after a lot of walking, but I don't think it's ever been like this. I discovered while walking Miley tonight that if I step very carefully onto my right leg, it usually doesn't hurt very much. I'm hoping it will have improved at least a little by tomorrow.
While I was walking though, eventually, once I mostly had a grasp on the hip thing, I started to sing. It was a song of praise actually (though I've begun to realize that really, anytime I just start singing out of nowhere it's a song of praise, even if I'm singing some completely heathen Celtic song about magic)--a simple one I like a lot and never really hear anywhere, about love being higher and deeper and longer and wider than our perception***. Then I started thinking about yesterday, about having had lunch with David, and how wonderful it was. Not that the food was particularly great or that from beginning to end it was the best time of my life, or even that it was easy, but it was so good. It was so honest and real and survivable. I survived it, and I learned things--I learned a lot--and I think maybe we know each other better now than we did before. I thought of sitting on the stoop in the sun with the band playing down the street, and I just said "thank you," and then I couldn't stop saying it. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. For this draught of hope. Thank you. For my breath misting in the night air, for this sweet little dog, for my sweet family, for the clear sky, for the lights shining through the trees, thank you. For breath. For hope. For giving me my friend back.
Post title taken from my favorite Caedmon's Call song, which you can find if you search "Table for Two" on grooveshark.com or ilike.com or Pandora. However, none of these sites will allow me, at the moment, to link the song. The part I've quoted goes like this:
This day's been crazy, but everything's happened on schedule: from the rain and the cold to the drink that I spilled on my shirt. You knew how you'd save me before I fell dead in the garden, and you knew this day long before you made me out of dirt.
*I don't usually make unnecessary side trips when I'm already running late--I just want to say that. However, under the circumstances (I finally made some money yesterday, I had already said I'd be late, K and I have no relationship whatsoever really and the time and location were picked arbitrarily and by me in the first place, I had been putting off the boot thing forever and knew they'd be gone soon if not already, my effing window just broke out of nowhere), I felt that it was at least somewhat justified.
**Part of this is that I just straight-up don't. I'm not saying it won't change, but right now that's how I feel. Part of it is that I just started talking to David again, and I'd be lying if I said I was over him, and I'd be lying if I said I was still completely in love with him. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't want to tackle him and not let him up for air for at least an hour. However, that kind of tackling can really cloud the thinking, and can cause quite a lot of related problems. We two are in agreement about that. Also, getting back together only to break up again would be, pardon my French, fucking hell. And getting back together without either of us really having given this "what's life like being romantically involved with someone other than you someday" experiment any kind of chance would sort of feel like giving up, and that goes for both of us. So I think we're going to give being friends and sitting a few feet apart at all times a fair chance, and just see. I am pointedly staying the hell away from any kind of questions about the future because they are so completely fucking utterly unhelpful. As I said to the man upstairs earlier tonight, between the singing and the can't-stop-thanking-yous, I am going to let that go and trust that all things will be made right according to His will. And that's about as religious as I ever expect to get in a public forum on the internet.
***"Your love is deeper than my view of grace, higher than this earthly place, longer than this road I travel, wider than the gap you filled."
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
This ended up with a lot of verses. Bear with me.
I don't really have much to say, except that I love Anna Tuckweiller. A lot. I went over to see her for breakfast this morning (which is a testament to my love, really, because she lives 20 miles and two tolls away), and left around 5:40 pm. She does this thing where we talk about each other's stresses lately and then she restores my faith in God and humanity. It's pretty nice. The side effect of all this though is that I now feel compelled to have lunch with David and apologize for walking all over his boundaries (or trying to, though he held the line pretty well in most circumstances) for the last three and a half years or so. I feel pretty bad about it. I have to admit though that some of the time there is a small part of me hoping that he will see my contrition and decide that maybe a relationship isn't such a bad idea after all. I feel that I should admit this in the interest of honesty and healthy self-sabotage.
We talked for a while about all of the arguing and disagreeing and selective interpreting that goes on within the church, and came, perhaps, to the wavering conclusion that when Jesus stated that he came not to abolish, but to fulfill the law, this fulfillment came in the teachings of love. I don't know, it's a confusing verse. But I have long been irritated by the fact (and evidently so has Anna) that people get ALL UPPITY about the, what, four? verses in the Bible that make reference to homosexuality, and skillfully ignore any and all verses that speak out against things like cheeseburgers, polyester, overeating, backtalk, and so on. Some people also spend a lot of time making cases against women acting as ministers (often, largely with verses taken from the writings of Paul), though there are also verses like
"Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have stripped off the old self with its practices and have clothed yourselves with the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator. In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free, but Christ is all and in all. As God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as Christ has forgiven you, so you also must forgive." (Colossians 3:9-13)* Of course, a few sentences later he (Paul again) says, "Wives, be subject to your husbands. Husbands, love your wives and never treat them harshly." So maybe we should work with what Jesus said instead. I mean, I'm sure Paul was a great guy and everything--he was a disciple after all--but he was also a reformed Jew-murderer. Also, disciples were known to say things that irritated Jesus at times. So let's backtrack to the gospels.
Jesus says probably just as many things I don't want to hear as Paul does, such as "enter through the narrow gate, for the the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. The gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it." (Matthew 7:13-14)
But then, he also says "Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30)
I am as guilty of selective reading, I suppose, as anyone else. Unfortunately this whole thing seems to be set up to require such an approach. Anyone who says otherwise is, in my opinion, blind, lying, or more poorly educated even than myself. But if I am going to have to either read selectively or give up faith, I much prefer to live a life of faith and of LOVE, above all. I choose to refuse to live out a faith of fear, though there is certainly still quavering in my life. I accept and act to the best of my ability "judge not, lest ye be judged" (Matt 7:1), and "Then Jesus cried aloud, 'Whoever believes in me believes not in me but in him who sent me. And whoever sees me sees him who sent me. I have come as light into the world, so that everyone who believes in me should not remain in the darkness. I do not judge anyone who hears** my words and does not keep them, for I came not to judge the world, but to save it.'" (John 12:44-47)
Lastly, I carry this around in my mind: Jesus was asked, "'Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?' Jesus said to him, 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.'"
*It continues in verses 14-15, "Above all, clothe yourselves in love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful."
**Hears/accepts. That's key, as you'll see if you read the next verses: "The one who rejects me and does not receive my word has a judge; on the last day the word that I have spoken will serve as judge, for I have not spoken on my own, but the Father who sent me has himself given me a commandment about what to say and what to speak. And I know that his commandment is eternal life. What I speak, therefore, I speak just as the Father has told me."
I think I reserve the (highly controversial) opinion though that Jesus, as a human, might have been the slightest bit fallible. I am not really sure about this, but it does seem as though he may have contradicted himself once or twice. Regardless, I don't really think my convictions about unconditional love are hurting anyone. It makes my life better. I will hold onto it.
We talked for a while about all of the arguing and disagreeing and selective interpreting that goes on within the church, and came, perhaps, to the wavering conclusion that when Jesus stated that he came not to abolish, but to fulfill the law, this fulfillment came in the teachings of love. I don't know, it's a confusing verse. But I have long been irritated by the fact (and evidently so has Anna) that people get ALL UPPITY about the, what, four? verses in the Bible that make reference to homosexuality, and skillfully ignore any and all verses that speak out against things like cheeseburgers, polyester, overeating, backtalk, and so on. Some people also spend a lot of time making cases against women acting as ministers (often, largely with verses taken from the writings of Paul), though there are also verses like
"Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have stripped off the old self with its practices and have clothed yourselves with the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator. In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free, but Christ is all and in all. As God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as Christ has forgiven you, so you also must forgive." (Colossians 3:9-13)* Of course, a few sentences later he (Paul again) says, "Wives, be subject to your husbands. Husbands, love your wives and never treat them harshly." So maybe we should work with what Jesus said instead. I mean, I'm sure Paul was a great guy and everything--he was a disciple after all--but he was also a reformed Jew-murderer. Also, disciples were known to say things that irritated Jesus at times. So let's backtrack to the gospels.
Jesus says probably just as many things I don't want to hear as Paul does, such as "enter through the narrow gate, for the the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. The gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it." (Matthew 7:13-14)
But then, he also says "Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30)
I am as guilty of selective reading, I suppose, as anyone else. Unfortunately this whole thing seems to be set up to require such an approach. Anyone who says otherwise is, in my opinion, blind, lying, or more poorly educated even than myself. But if I am going to have to either read selectively or give up faith, I much prefer to live a life of faith and of LOVE, above all. I choose to refuse to live out a faith of fear, though there is certainly still quavering in my life. I accept and act to the best of my ability "judge not, lest ye be judged" (Matt 7:1), and "Then Jesus cried aloud, 'Whoever believes in me believes not in me but in him who sent me. And whoever sees me sees him who sent me. I have come as light into the world, so that everyone who believes in me should not remain in the darkness. I do not judge anyone who hears** my words and does not keep them, for I came not to judge the world, but to save it.'" (John 12:44-47)
Lastly, I carry this around in my mind: Jesus was asked, "'Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?' Jesus said to him, 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.'"
*It continues in verses 14-15, "Above all, clothe yourselves in love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful."
**Hears/accepts. That's key, as you'll see if you read the next verses: "The one who rejects me and does not receive my word has a judge; on the last day the word that I have spoken will serve as judge, for I have not spoken on my own, but the Father who sent me has himself given me a commandment about what to say and what to speak. And I know that his commandment is eternal life. What I speak, therefore, I speak just as the Father has told me."
I think I reserve the (highly controversial) opinion though that Jesus, as a human, might have been the slightest bit fallible. I am not really sure about this, but it does seem as though he may have contradicted himself once or twice. Regardless, I don't really think my convictions about unconditional love are hurting anyone. It makes my life better. I will hold onto it.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Yet another profusion of disparate pages
I have this mental image of a soft rain of web pages like crisp autumn leaves tumbling down onto you, sitting on a big pile, throwing your hands up and grinning at this sweet earthy wealth.
This might be because I currently don't really have a life. Also, the word "profusion" does things to me.
Anyway:
Flickr links:
http://flickriver.com/
Always a love of mine. I go here when I'm in a mood and the only thing for it is to stare at something beautiful.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/phillipschip/3985257353/in/photostream/
Another excerpt from the photostream of Chip Phillips. I found him yesterday and I don't have bookmarks on this computer.
Other:
I like old buildings, too.
This is horrifying. I am not one who damns the entire church or Catholic church for these scandals, but I most certainly do think that this growing mass of evil in the very heart of the church means something. I most certainly do think that the authorities of the Catholic church need to do something, make some serious changes and not just speak individually to priests who made "mistakes." This has gone far past something that can be treated as an individual issue, or as separate incidents. This is a plague in the church, and they're trying to treat it with Tylenol and Band-aids.
This is also rather unsettling. I don't want to be a fear-monger, and I don't want to spread misinformation, but really? I haven't read the Koran, but some of the points made here freak me out a little. Watch it, though, and tell me whether you know that any of it is false. I want to respect Muslims as brothers and sisters who worship the same god, but this just doesn't seem...godly.
And here's the best link for last. I'm sure I've said all this before, but although I almost certainly fall prey to it from time to time, one of my biggest pet peeves has to do with people using words or citing references that they really know very little about. It's one of the reasons I tend to stay out of political discussions.
One more thing: a poem posted in memoriam of a blogger (friend of one that I follow, a cancer survivor) who very recently passed away just after getting her NED (no evidence of disease). I didn't know her, but I've seen several posts about her. This one was on the front page, posted by a blogger I'm not familiar with.
For Sarah, Bumble10012001 of Open Diary, who passed away on 9/9/10.
Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other
That we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes
We enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me,
Let my name be ever the household word that
It always was.
Let it be spoken without effort,
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same as it ever was
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am
Out of sight? I am but waiting for you
For an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner .
All is well.
Canon Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)
This might be because I currently don't really have a life. Also, the word "profusion" does things to me.
Anyway:
Flickr links:
http://flickriver.com/
Always a love of mine. I go here when I'm in a mood and the only thing for it is to stare at something beautiful.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/phillipschip/3985257353/in/photostream/
Another excerpt from the photostream of Chip Phillips. I found him yesterday and I don't have bookmarks on this computer.
Other:
I like old buildings, too.
This is horrifying. I am not one who damns the entire church or Catholic church for these scandals, but I most certainly do think that this growing mass of evil in the very heart of the church means something. I most certainly do think that the authorities of the Catholic church need to do something, make some serious changes and not just speak individually to priests who made "mistakes." This has gone far past something that can be treated as an individual issue, or as separate incidents. This is a plague in the church, and they're trying to treat it with Tylenol and Band-aids.
This is also rather unsettling. I don't want to be a fear-monger, and I don't want to spread misinformation, but really? I haven't read the Koran, but some of the points made here freak me out a little. Watch it, though, and tell me whether you know that any of it is false. I want to respect Muslims as brothers and sisters who worship the same god, but this just doesn't seem...godly.
And here's the best link for last. I'm sure I've said all this before, but although I almost certainly fall prey to it from time to time, one of my biggest pet peeves has to do with people using words or citing references that they really know very little about. It's one of the reasons I tend to stay out of political discussions.
One more thing: a poem posted in memoriam of a blogger (friend of one that I follow, a cancer survivor) who very recently passed away just after getting her NED (no evidence of disease). I didn't know her, but I've seen several posts about her. This one was on the front page, posted by a blogger I'm not familiar with.
For Sarah, Bumble10012001 of Open Diary, who passed away on 9/9/10.
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other
That we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes
We enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me,
Let my name be ever the household word that
It always was.
Let it be spoken without effort,
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same as it ever was
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am
Out of sight? I am but waiting for you
For an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner .
All is well.
Canon Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)
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