Autumn!

I love that we can make connections between seemingly dissimilar things. We do this with emotions and colors, for instance-- yellow is happy, blue is sad, and red is excited. I like doing this with seasons, and since autumn is my favorite season, I decided to share a list of things that I've been loving for their autumn-like qualities.

All things pumpkin, especially these:
the pumpkin cupcakes at Cupcake Royale
the pumpkin bread that comes from a box at Trader Joe's (T.J.'s has taught me to never underestimate the quality of boxed mixes.)
the pumpkin spice candles I've been burning in my room

A variety of music that feels oh-so-fall:
Joni Mitchell
Bon Iver
The Weepies
Iron & Wine
Jessica Lea Mayfield
Band of Horses

Wendell Berry's poetry, which is appropriate for every season but feels especially good on a cold, rainy, subdued evening

Chai tea lattes

Knitting

Then there are those things that are directly associated with fall that I can't get enough of as well...
scarves
crisp air
college football
changing leaves

Ahhh, I love you, Autumn.

The costly nature of hope

"Hope requires risk, so much that it hurts. Hope makes us vulnerable to future and even greater loss. Hope exposes us to disappointment, frustration, and betrayal. Faith plants the seed and promises a harvest, and so creates hope. But with the promise of a harvest comes the possibility that the promise will fail. That is the burden that hope must bear."
- Ray Anderson, The Soul of Ministry

I feel this.

Hey Look!

I've been a super-slack blogger, but I wrote an article!

What do we do the Terry Joneses?

I don't think it's necessary here to explain the many, many reasons that I disagree with Pastor Terry Jones' plan to burn copies of the Quran. I am assured that I can take those arguments for granted here and simply express my thankfulness that Dove World Outreach Center has revoked its plan.

That being said, I'm left wondering, what do we as Christians do with the Terry Joneses of the world?

Do Pastor Jones and I not claim to serve the same God? We both wear the name "Christian," and with that label comes a certain relationship. By biblical standards, he is my brother. Sure, we can argue that Terry Jones and I aren't actually serving the same God, because the God I serve wouldn't call His followers to do such a ludicrous and hateful thing. But I wonder if that's just a shortcut out of the challenging, painful, and often daunting task of offering grace to the people who are a million convictions away from us but remain "on our side" by logistical standards.

I don't feel like Pastor Jones and I are playing for the same team. I have a hard time imagining that he and I read the same Bible and hear the voice of the same God. Perhaps Terry Jones isn't a Christian, but I don't get to make that judgment about him, and as long as he and I both claim to be followers of Christ, I think I must figure out a way to offer grace to this man. To plan such a radical act of disrespect and hate, Pastor Jones must have a bank of hurt and anger hidden away, consuming his ability to love and holding hostage the capacity to offer grace and hope to the world.

Still though, my initial reaction is to lash out in anger against this man and lay bare all his faults and ugliness. I did this, too, when I first heard of this story last week. But lately I've been praying that I could be a person who offers grace in all she does. I don't do this well. Being back in my hometown last week I remembered how gracelessly I speak of the church I grew up in for the first 18 years of my life. That church looks little like Jesus and much like a country club in my opinion, and I'm readily available to share that thought with people who don't even ask. But that's not grace, that's not love, and that's not beneficial for the body of Christ.

So what do we do instead? How do we offer grace to our brothers and sisters without dropping our convictions of what it means to follow Christ? I don't know how to answer this question in a conclusive way, but as I've been thinking and praying about this, I have a couple of thoughts about where to start.

We must pray for the Terry Joneses of the world. We must ask God to heal these people who are so clearly broken. We ask God to let the Terry Joneses know His grace, because in my experience, the people who can't offer grace are the same people who can't receive it. We ask God to reveal His truth to the Terry Joneses, but we know this is especially hard, because it requires us to also surrender our own ideas of truth.

I think that when we recognize that we're all broken people, and that none of us are incapable of acting in such a hateful manner given the right circumstances, we are better able to lovingly and graciously approach one another. This doesn't mean that we can't be critical and vocal about things like the plan to burn the Quran on 9.11, but it does mean that we exchange our hateful gossip and crushing insults for meaningful dialogue and helpful solutions. We've all been offered grace that we didn't earn, so it just seems right to me that we should offer that grace to others even when they haven't earned it-- and to do so prayerfully, remembering that God's Spirit is far more powerful than anything I can say or do.

So here's to grace... grace for Terry Jones, grace for First Baptist Church Concord, grace for the Christians that think I'm a heretic, and grace for anyone else who shares the name Christian that I find unlovable.

Complexity

I've come to the realization that I'm not a very complex person. I have complex conversations, I entertain some fairly complex ideas, and I like complex people, but I myself am not very complex. Sometimes I wish I was, and sometimes I like to think I am, but I'm not. I don't hide much. I'm not necessarily everything that one might gather after a first meeting with me, but I'm usually many of those perceptions, just with a few more pockets of something else here and there, or perhaps a little less of something that's assumed.

[Time out: I think I should distinguish between complexity and depth. Complexity, in my opinion, has a lot to do with life experiences, whereas depth has more to do with the ideas and feelings that one explores. I know a lot of people that I would consider deep but not complex. And conversely, I know some complex people that aren't very deep. That being said...]

Most of the complex people I know don't broadcast their complexity. Instead, they try to appear fairly simple and readable, not letting anyone in on the secret that a lot more is going on than what meets the eye; this only adds to their complexity. Every once in a while I meet a person who appears complex, and actually is complex, but this is rare. But ignoring that exception, the strange (and terribly obvious) thing about it all is that you don't know a person is complex until you know they're complex.

Nine times out of ten, when I get to know someone that I didn't initially like, that person is complex. They put up walls because they've been hurt, and walls are usually ugly. But when those walls are explained, their ugliness isn't as loud as their function.

All this tells me that it's important to remember that everyone carries a story. And in order to honor those stories, I think it may be safest to assume complexity. After all, even those of us who aren't complex have complexities.

Bad dreams

A few nights ago I woke up from a bad dream that I couldn't remember.

How did I know it was bad?

One year anniversary... and still in love

My love affair continues. We met last June, and I knew there was something special going on from the first moment. We've been together a year now (well, actually a year and 3 days), and the romance hasn't fizzled a bit.

That's right-- one year in Seattle already, and still, my obsession with this city has not worn off... in the least. I thought it would by this time, but I keep discovering more breath-taking and character-filled spots. And not just that, but I'm still caught off guard by the places I see every day.

How is it possible that I still squeal and yell, "I love this city!" when driving over the Ballard Bridge? I even catch myself off-guard with my Tourette-like reactions. I just can't help it when I see the ship yard and its mountainous backdrop on a sunny day.

Sometimes I start to think that I have a handle on a good majority of the cool spots in Seattle. Nope. They're endless. Last week I discovered a place that, upstairs, is a new and used bookstore and Greek restaurant and downstairs, a pub with a great selection of micro-brews, huge tables, and bookcases with help-yourself games and books. Hummus, books, beer, and Carcassonne all in one place? I must have died and gone to heaven.

Seattle keeps doing this to me! I think it can't get any better, and then it does. Over and over again.

Seattle,
It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.
(There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do...)

More from Barb

I officially finished my intensive Greek course today, so I'm on a month-long break now... woo hoo!!!

I'm excited about my break for many reasons, and one of them is that I get to organize and de-clutter my room. (It clearly doesn't take much to excite me.)

So... I just saw The Poisonwood Bible sitting under my desk and remembered that I had a couple pages marked that I wanted to blog about. And even though I finished the book a while ago, and I don't really have any commentary or thoughts to add, I thought I'd share a couple of quotes. And, really, they're so beautiful that I think my commentary would only discredit them. So, here they are...

To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know. In perfect stillness, frankly, I've only known sorrow.

The power is in the balance: we are our injuries, as much as we are our successes.

Oh, man, Barbara... you are somehow profoundly inspirational and bitterly honest all at the same time. (Ok, maybe I did have a comment.)

Ahh! The Irony of the Idealist!

My Myers-Briggs obsession has yet to subside. I'm currently reading a book called Please Understand Me II (this title cracks me up) by David Keirsey, and it's awesome. He suggests 4 personality groupings based on M-B letters. They are as follows:

• SPs-- Artisans
• SJs-- Guardians
• NFs-- Idealists
• NTs-- Rationals

So, according to this system, I am an Idealist... no surprise there. Here's an excerpt about the Idealists:

Idealists often dedicate their lives to this kind of self-realization-- seeking to become realized, trying to get in touch with the person they were meant to be, and to have an identity that which is truly theirs... Idealists regard this search for identity as the most important enterprise in their lives... But even more mystifying is the paradox coiled at the very center of this search, namely, that the search for Self is fundamentally incompatible with the achievement of finding the Self. For many NFs the search for Self is a quest which becomes very much an end in itself, and which can come to dominate their lives. Thus, the Idealists' truest Self comes to be the Self in search of itself, or, in other words, their purpose in life becomes to have a purpose in life. But how can one achieve a goal when that goal is to have a goal? Intent on becoming themselves, Idealists can never truly be themselves, since the very act of reaching for the Self immediately puts it out of reach. In their enthusiasm for self-discovery, then, Idealists can become trapped in a paradox: they are themselves only if they are searching for themselves, and they would cease being themselves if they ever found themselves.

Ummm, I feel like someone should cue "Killing Me Softly" (the Fugees version), because Keirsey is telling my life with his words.

Also, I love the line "trapped in a paradox," because it reminds me of Austin Powers being trapped in a nutshell.

That is all. Sorry for once again taking everything back to Myers-Briggs; I have a problem.

Being Direct

Most of all I want to ask Anatole this one unaskable question: Does he hate me for being white?
Instead, I ask, "Why do Nkondo and Gabriel hate me?"
--Leah Price,
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

I'm much like Leah sometimes. I have questions I'm dying to ask but never do. I entertain thoughts and ideas that I want to share but just can't for some reason. I bite my tongue, and often I just twist it into another form that can ask a different question-- one that might hint at my real query but has no actual potential for unleashing the conversation I'm seeking. Sometimes I'm so concerned about keeping the peace that I lose myself in the process, and that just doesn't seem like a good thing for anybody.

I wonder if the questions I place in the unaskable box should really be there. I'm starting to think that it may be better to bring up some of those bothersome and awkward conversations than it is to leave them alone. But really, it's less about bringing things up and more about how to respond to what others bring up. I'm realizing it's better to give a direct answer when someone asks a question than to avoid saying what I'm really thinking.

In short, I'm learning how to be more direct. I've even practiced it a few times recently! I appreciate when people are direct with me, and I think it says a lot about a person's character when one is bold enough to say the slightly uncomfortable-- but honest-- thing. I think it's one reason I love kids so much. There is something profoundly beautiful about their undecorated honesty. Perhaps this is one of the implications when Jesus says that the Kingdom belongs to little children?

I'm not talking about aggressiveness here or crass honesty that cuts other people down. I'm talking about being true to myself, being realistic about what I'm thinking and feeling, and respecting the people around me enough to convey those things when necessary. Little is more frustrating than people who dance around their conversations, using a lot of words but really saying a lot of nothing.

But it's also important to know when to keep your mouth shut. (And it's worth mentioning that I don't consider this is the antithesis of being direct.) Sometimes when I want to say something to someone that I'm not sure about yet (especially if I recognize that I'm being exceptionally emotional), I'll write that person an email and let it sit in my draft folder. I've even written a letter or two that I figured I would probably never send. There is something cathartic about just putting the words down, even if the "recipient" never actually hears them or sees them. And more often than not, I feel silly when I re-read what I wrote in a moment of anger, self-pity, or irritation. That's when I know my email was better suited for my draft folder than it was for someone else's inbox.

So, I guess what I'm getting at is this: I think it's always good to be honest, and I would even say it's always good to be direct, but maybe that honesty and directness will take different forms that must be discerned on a case-by-case basis.

I think that's what I'm concluding, but I'm still hammering this out in my mind. (And, no, this is not an example of indirectness, but rather, of the rambling indecisiveness that is forever a part of me... and that's me being honest.)

Augusts

I can't believe it's already August. August 11th, at that. This August is different than many of the Augusts I've experienced, especially those of the past two years. For me, August has been the time of many transitions, hellos and goodbyes, new beginnings.

6 Augusts ago (2004), I was making my first big move-- from Knoxville, TN to Columbia, SC-- to begin college. I was yearning for independence and beginning a pattern of change that has yet to stop.

The next three Augusts weren't quite as exciting, but still brought at least a little change, mainly just moving between dorms, apartments, and a rental house.

But the past two Augusts have been huge for me, defining points in my life, I'd say.

Two years ago around this time, I graduated from college and said goodbye to Young Life, my sorority, and math (which I wasn't so sad about). Three days after graduation, I boarded a plane for Galati, Romania, to join a servant team with Word Made Flesh for four months, where I met some of the most remarkable people I have ever known and found my heart in a way I never could have anticipated.

And just a year ago, I left Columbia for good. I loaded up my car and road-tripped across the country with my friend Kelli. I ended the trip-- and stayed-- in Seattle and started a divinity program... something I never planned on doing.

And now it's August again. I'm still in Seattle, still working on my Masters, and still living in the apartment I moved into a year ago. This is the first August in 6 years that I haven't at least moved boxes into a new place.

No move, no big change, no transition. And it feels good. I like this August. Its changelessness is comforting, yet still dynamic and alive. It doesn't feel stale or dead; it just feels right. I like where I am, and although I doubt this will be my last stop, it's a good stop, and I'm thankful to be here.

A comedic, tragic world

"The world is a comedy to those that think; a tragedy to those that feel." --Horace Walpole

I think about this quote a lot, and most days I resonate more with the latter than the former. But today the world is comedic to me. I feel like I've been reading and hearing and seeing things today that are absurd, and all I can do is laugh.

Things like people being ridiculous on Facebook. Sometimes my minifeed makes me want to give up all hope for humanity, but today I'm laughing about it. It's incredible to me the things people put out there for all the world to see.

Another one: Wyclef Jean is running for president in Haiti. Seriously??

Oh, world, you are truly hilarious. But I may very well be crying over you tomorrow.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well...

including Christian music festivals.

Yeah, you read that correctly.

I went to Creation Fest in Enumclaw last Friday. I barely know myself anymore. [In my defense, I went to help out a friend who needed a few female chaperones, but the fact remains that I willingly went to a Christian music festival.]

A few of the highlights:

• hearing "Jesus Freak" live
  
• Christian t-shirts... my favorite: "Virginity Rocks"
• the great nap I took during the sermonette (note to youth pastors: don't ask me to "chaperone" if you're counting on someone to stay awake)
• the petting zoo (this is not a joke, and there was a wallaby)
• owning some highschoolers in Egyptian Ratscrew
• the classic candlelit moment at the end of the night
• the 8th grade kid in our group who melted about 20 of those candles into his palm
• the awesome dance circle and train that our group started at the end of the music...

... which leads me to my point. Sometimes, I get caught up in moments, forget who I am, and do ridiculous things. The dancing circle did this to me. I felt the need to make all the students in our group break it down. I excitedly yelled, "Jesus on 3! 1...2...3... JESUS!!" Hey, if you're going to go to Creation Fest, better do it well. Go big or go home, people.

Random Wednesday Thoughts

I'm currently having a musical craving that I can't pinpoint. You know how sometimes you'll be hungry and want to eat something in particular but can't figure out what it is? You open the fridge and it all looks fine, but nothing really looks good. Well, that's how I feel when I open up iTunes, and it's been going on for the past week or so. I'll pick something to listen to, and it's fine, but something is missing. Maybe I need some new music, I don't know. Does anyone else experience these musical funks?

Today I went to the eye doctor, and he put that weird dye in my eyes. I got home and my nostrils were orange. At first, I thought something was very wrong with me, but then I realized that the dye had just traveled down. Nonetheless, it was strange (and sort of gross, too).

Today I feel like locking myself away with no phone or internet and just reading and writing for 4 days straight. Instead, I'm going to be studying Greek and working (which currently consists of skimming through a 1200-item listing of books to figure out which ones are appropriate for a bibliography I'm working on... painfully boring).

I just counted that I have 16 pens/pencils/highlighters/sharpies in my backpack. I am truly crazy. Granted, I only deem 7 of them necessary (but perhaps that should make me feel worse, and not better, about my problem).

I've been using the word "enigma" more than usual lately, but I'm not sure why. Does that make my use of the word enigmatic?

I love Seattle summer! A lot!

"Happy Ending"

I've only recently realized that not all people have conversations with strangers on a regular basis. I end up in conversations with people I don't know all the time. Maybe not every day, but it's usually multiple times a week.

Every once in a while I find myself in a weird situation that I'm dying to get out of... like the day the the strange man on the bus tilted his container of red vines towards me and said, "Want some candy, little girl?" Ummmm, no thank you. Number one-- I like real Twizzlers and am a little insulted by your knock-offs. Number two-- that's creepy as hell, mister.

But normally, my random interactions are great. I really love meeting new people and getting a glimpse of someone else's story-- even if it's only for 5 minutes. I don't know what causes these impromptu exchanges of mine, but I hope they never stop.

I had one of my all-time favorites about 3o minutes ago (well, I anticipate that it will be an all-time favorite). I'm housesitting this week and took the dog on a walk. A ten-year old boy was outside of his house and said to me, "Nice poodle." I said thanks, and then he just kept chattin it up. He was awesome. First, he started asking me all about poodles and the possibility of a pink poodle. Then he showed me what was on the piece of paper in his hand: the first song he's ever written. Adorable.

The song was typed, and he pointed out that he had used Times New Roman font (because it's the easiest to read, he explained). He even had guy/girl parts distinguished. It was called "Happy Ending" and was about him rescuing his princess. I made it about 3/4 of the way through reading the lyrics before he took the paper and started singing it for me so I could get the full effect. I felt a little uncomfortable (read: illegal) to have a 10 year-old boy singing me a love song he had written, but I went with it anyway.

The gist of the song was him falling in love with a girl who was his "princess." Then she gets taken away (tragic!), so he weeps. Then he takes up his weapons to fight for her (somebody call John and Stasi Eldridge... this number has Wild at Heart written all over it). Finally, he rescues her and they have their "Happy Ending." (Are you tearing up yet?) What a little romantic!

I hope this kid is famous someday so I can say, "Oh yeah, I knew about him long before he made it big," (because that's what cool people say). I love strange stranger conversations!

Random Day Resolution

I played trivia with some people a few weeks back and realized how behind I was with current events. It was embarrassing how few political world leaders I was able to name. I used to be great about checking the news, but life is busy, and sometimes I just don't have the time these days.

Yet... I have time to check Facebook and learn the happenings of people's lives that I don't really care about.

The truth is, we have time for the things we make time for. So I made a mid-June resolution to start keeping up with the news again. It wasn't a special day with significant reasoning behind it. I just realized that it was time to change what I was unhappy with, and mid-June was as good a time as ever.

It is seldom a perfect time to make a change; we can always come up with a thousand reasons not to do something. But I've found that it is very often a good time to make a change. So, do it! Make an early-July resolution, no matter how big or small it may be. You don't have to wait until January 1st. After all, if I had put off my resolution until the new year, I never would have discovered my obsession with the Russian spy ring.

Freedom

This 4th of July I've been thinking about freedom-- what it is and how we interpret it as Americans and Christians... and American Christians. I wouldn't really call myself a patriot, but I am grateful for the opportunities I have in America. I'm thankful that I don't have to fear for my life on a daily basis. I realize the blessing it is to be able to worship my God freely. I'm grateful for my education and the fact that I can choose what I want to do with my life. Many people might call these opportunities "freedom," and in a sense, I agree. But at the same time, I fear that we have twisted our freedom into something that isn't very freeing at all.

When I look around, I see a lot of Americans whose lives speak anything but freedom. People are trapped in unhealthy relationships that drain their being. People are tied to possessions that bring no real value or meaning to life. People are addicted to anything and everything. But we have the right to be trapped, because we're "free". It seems to me that a sad irony too often accompanies our freedom.

Frankly, I don't think we can't know true freedom apart from Christ. It is only by God's Spirit that we know what to do with freedom. We snuff out the gift when we hoard it. Our "freedom" becomes strangely tyrannical. We fool ourselves into thinking that freedom is a privilege to be protected instead of recognizing it as a gift to be shared. Is there anything truly free about a freedom that oppresses and tramples anyone that gets in its way?

Instead of "freedom" that crushes other people and ourselves, we've been offered a freedom in Christ that should be shared. We have been saved and freed for something, not just from something. It's a costly gift, but it's a beautiful one. There is freedom where the Spirit of God is, and we're invited to experience it and live it and give it and share it and hope for it.

So, anyway, I'm trying to figure out what it looks like to reject the tyrannical "freedom" of the world and embrace the freedom of God's Kingdom.

Being balanced... and being neurotic

I took my car to the dealership this morning (after the Netherlands vs. Brazil game, of course... Hup Holland Hup!). My check maintenance light was on, and I also needed them to check my tires. I keep having to fill up the back ones. Turns out there were nails in both.

One was pluggable, one wasn't. The tires there were super-expensive, so I decided I'd get the replacements elsewhere. On my way out, the service guy told me that since they plugged the one, I could just have the other replaced with the same brand tire.

What?! Only replace one of my back tires?!

The idea of replacing one and not the other is really disturbing for me. Why? Because I'm neurotic, and I hate things to be unbalanced. If I'm going to replace one back tire, I want to replace the other one. If I get one hand wet, the other's gonna need it too. Seriously, I'm a nut job about these kinds of things. But I also don't want to fork over $100 if I don't have to. So I guess I'll have an unbalanced car and try not to think about it.

So, now, my point...

My rad friend Annie often says, "All things in moderation, including moderation."

I think this applies to balance too... Balance is good, but you have to have balance with balance. I'm gonna work on this.

Anticipated Serendipity

One of my best friends from college visited this past weekend... it was rad. We had a date night that involved an entire baguette and wine from a Nalgene on the beach, and it ended with dessert at P.F. Chang's. They had mini desserts, so we ordered 5 (this is not a joke).

One of them was the miniature version of the Great Wall of Chocolate (insert trademark here). It's called the "Mini Great Wall of Chocolate." Mini Great. Ha! Mr. Chang is a riot!

I'm officially on an oxymoron kick now. And I've decided that I'm hopelessly idealistic (among other things).

Time

"Time is the only reality of life, yet it is a strangely nonexistent reality: it constantly dissolves life in a past which no longer is, and in a future which always leads to death. By itself time is nothing but a line of telegraph poles strung out into the distance and at some point along the way is our death." -Alexander Schmemann, For the Life of the World

Time is a funny thing.

I have a really hard time with endings, like, an unnaturally hard time. We're talking, I cried on my way to turn in my last final on Friday, because it meant that my first year of grad school was over. Not all of grad school, just year one. Probably not normal.

I love new beginnings though. I know I love them, because I do them fairly often in spite of my profoundly hard time with endings.

Usually, when I'm in the midst of an ending, I feel as though someone is pouring a pool's worth of water over me while I stand with cupped hands, trying to catch it all. How am I supposed to hold all the good in my heart while still moving forward? I don't really know how, and that's why I'm thankful for time. I need its constraints. It doesn't wait on me, and I'm glad it doesn't. I need its push so that I can embrace the next good thing.

nine whole days!

Well, finished my first year of grad school. That's pretty crazy.

I have 9 days until I start summer school-- a year's worth of Greek packed into one summer of love. Yup, one year, one summer. So I plan to relish all the glory that my 9 day break will bring.
How, you ask? Here's how...

Finish Poisonwood Bible finally (I don't think I've picked it up in a good 3 weeks)

Blog (I'm well on my way, huh?)

Watch some World Cup games (I love you, George and Dragon... and beer)

Cook something... anything! (I'm sick of turkey sandwiches and carrots)

Sleep (I took two naps yesterday after turning in my last final. I'm doing well with this one.)

Watch a couple good movies and some crappy television

NOT write a paper (I think I'm most excited about this one)

Things I hate

The song "Love Shack"
I cringe every time I hear this song come on. I really think it might be the most annoying song in existence, partly because of the song itself, partly because of the people who love it.

Texas pride
Get over it, Texas. No one is messing with you, not everything is bigger there, and Billy Bob Thornton starred in The Alamo.

Mustard
I just think it's gross, that's all.

Facebook statuses that could be better described as diary entries
This is a love-hate relationship. They're so entertaining, but they're so painful. I would also like to include here cryptic statuses that are clearly directed to one person. Come on, people... you're fooling no one.

Misuse of your/you're, there/their/they're, and two/to/too
These things are covered in elementary school. It's time to learn.


[Note: I know this is a little cynical-- maybe rude too-- but it's finals week, so I'm allowed.]

associations

"Once every few years, even now, I catch the scent of Africa. It makes me want to keen, sing, clap up thunder, lie down at the foot of a tree and let the worms take whatever of me they can still use. I find it impossible to bear. Ripe fruits, acrid sweat, urine, flowers, dark spices, and other things I've never even seen-- I can't say what goes into the the composition, or why it rises up to confront me as I round some corner hastily, unsuspecting. It has found me here..."
-- Orleanna Price,
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Isn't it funny how we can smell or hear or taste something that transports us to another experience? How is it that something so mundane and universal can become so meaningful and particular in an instant, merely because of an association that exists only in one mind?

Usually I don't know it's coming. I'll be in the middle of an ordinary moment, when all the sudden, the ordinary becomes extraordinary. I'm caught off guard, because, why should I have such unexplainable happiness when I see the cover of a children's book? And how is it that a song can be so undeniably inseparable from one person?

It is often much more subtle though, and I don't know quite what to make of this. How can a building that I'm seeing for the first time evoke such overwhelming memories? What can I make of these visceral responses?

Perhaps things are more connected than we realize...

Short, unrelated thoughts

I don't like the smell of freshly cut grass, but I like its implications.

How on earth did George Costanza always end up dating hot girls?

It seems fitting that the word "esoteric" is unlikely to come up in conversation with most people.

I sometimes wonder what Jesus' Myers-Briggs type indicator is.

I like eating ice cream out of mugs.

The subject of my most common recurring bad dream is a really, really nasty public bathroom. (Note: These are never actual bathrooms that I've experienced.) It's more disturbing than it sounds.

William Faulkner, is that you?

I'm pretty sure that theologians are the wordiest of all writers. Sentences last for days in these books.

For example:
"The task is important, since the Pentecostal emphasis on the indwelling Spirit and our participation in Christ's person and work through consecration and mission have ecumenical relevance in an era in which discussions over soteriology are attempting to move beyond the impasse between the anthropocentric Catholic emphasis on graced human cooperation with God and the theocentric but lifeless declaration of righteousness in Christ."

Yeah, that's right-- you're only seeing one period there. Sheesh!

another blog!

I started another blog as part of a class! Two blogs? I didn't know I had it in me!

Little reminders that Seattle is not the South

Apparently, "pen" is not pronounced the same way as "pin." I don't buy it.

Also, coozies... not a national phenomenon. Who knew?!

The Cry

I really love and respect the missions organization I went to Romania with a while back-- Word Made Flesh.

Anyway, they publish a quarterly advocacy journal called The Cry, which is conveniently available online. Each issue highlights one of WMF's lifestyle celebrations. The most recent is on simplicity. You should check it out!

Playing Mom

I've been babysitting 2 little boys for the last 4 days. I love kids, but I don't like babysitting. I'm used to taking care of only me, and sometimes I'm not even good at that. So to help myself get through the past few days I've kept a list of some redeeming factors of babysitting:

• Eggo waffles... I forgot how good these suckers are
• Really effective birth-control
  
• Free laundry
• Free meals
• Making enough money to cover wedding flights
• Teddy grahams
• Good excuse for a zoo visit (not that you need an excuse)
• A reminded appreciation for my single life
  
• And finally, I always learn a good lesson or two:

Ian was telling me that he missed his mommy, and I said, "I bet she knows that you miss her." He said, "I don't think so. She can't hear me all the way from California. I'll tell her when she gets home though, because when you miss somebody, you should tell them." Wise little guy.

T minus 7 hours until I regain my freedom!

Country Grammar... actually, just the grammar part

I think this site is fabulous:

http://grammar.quickanddirtytips.com/

Good Friday

Good Friday is tough. The crucifixion is nearly impossible to appropriate. It seems much easier to skip straight to Easter and celebrate the resurrection. Yet, can we have Easter without Good Friday?

I'm often overwhelmed by the senseless suffering of the world. Death and pain abound, and I don't know what to make of it. It's hard, and it sucks, and it doesn't add up. A friend of mine who has dealt with nearly every imaginable hardship in his life has asked me numerous times, "Why is it that some people have it so easy while I have to deal with so much?" We can theorize and guess why the world is so unfair and full of suffering, but when I look at my 13 year-old friend who has known little else than pain in his life, those theories don't provide much comfort.

Really, the crucifixion is utterly absurd. I'm not talking here about atonement; I'm talking about the very real act of Jesus' death. It wasn't some event that took place outside of history. Jesus was killed. The Roman authorities crucified him-- a man that had done no wrong. That to me seems as senseless as anything. It's upsetting. It's painful. It's infuriating. It's confusing. It's absolutely terrible.

It seems that my responses here are not so different from those that my friend's troubles evoke in me.

I don't know why the world is the way that it is, but I'm comforted to serve a God who lovingly immersed himself in the senselessness.

A quick funny

I was behind a maroon Mercury Sable yesterday with a license plate holder that read, "It's red, it's fast, and it's all mine." This was REAL funny to me.

stories from planes, trains, and automobiles (minus the trains)

I was flying back to Seattle a couple days ago with a layover in Chicago. I always love looking out the window during the descent, and I happened to have a window seat during this flight. We were flying over a Chicago suburb, and based on my extensive time being on the ground rather than in the air, I could tell that the houses we were flying over were enormous and beautiful and expensive. Yet, from so far up, they just looked silly.

****

In Seattle, some members of the homeless population sell a mini-newspaper called Real Change for $1 a pop. The proceeds go toward helping them get back on their feet. I was driving home from Trader Joe's on Wednesday night, and a man was selling copies of Real Change under the bridge. I was stopped at the red light as he paced by all our cars flashing his papers. As he approached my car, I rolled down my window and told him I was sorry but I didn't have any cash with me. Then he handed me a copy anyway and said, "Here. It's on me tonight." I don't have words to describe that man's gift and the way it blessed and humbled me, but I would confidently say that that man is great in the Kingdom of God. For he had little and gave much.

I'm white... so what?

I have more privilege than I realize... I'm starting to realize.

I mean, really the only thing I don't have going for me is being a man. Other than that, I'm about as privileged as they come. I'm white. I'm upper-middle class. I'm American. I'm straight. I'm a Christian. I have a college degree. I'm working on another degree. I have a great family who is also all of these things.

I think this realization comes with responsibility, but I'm still figuring out what that responsibility is (and I'm guessing that this is a process that will last a lifetime). I have all this privilege, but I don't know what to make of it or what to do with it. Most of the time, I don't even see that it's there. But it always is.

When I first started to really grasp that other people don't have all the advantages that I do I felt angry and guilty. I wanted to lash out against the man. Part of me hated my privilege. All the sudden my advantages felt like an unbearable, ugly burden. I know how ridiculous and infuriating this might sound to someone who doesn't have my advantages, but it's how I felt. More than anything, it was guilt, and that guilt was rooted in a strange sort of self-absorption.

I've come to find that feeling guilty about my privilege doesn't help the underprivileged at all; it just gives me a reason to feel sorry for myself and then feel high and mighty for being sorry. So instead, I think our privilege comes with a responsibility.

This is where it gets sticky for me. How am I supposed to responsibly use my privilege?

I read a book a while back called Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire. About 2/3 of the the book went over my head, but the fraction that I did understand has stuck with me. Freire talks a great deal about the need to join the oppressed in their struggle. When we work for the marginalized instead of alongside them, we further their oppression. We may have the best of intentions for these people, fighting for them to have (what we think is) a better life. But if we go over them in this pursuit, we're no different from their oppressors. We're just more privileged people who have treated them as sub-humans. We don't need to be "a voice for the voiceless," because there's no such thing as "the voiceless." Rather, we should be a voice alongside the unheard.

So I guess I do know what to do with my privilege in abstract terms: stand with the oppressed. I just have a hard time figuring out what that practically means.

I'm working on it though. In many ways I still don't understand my privilege or know what to make of it, but I hope I do more than just write about it from my laptop in my warm bed.

Some things I'd really like to see make a comeback

• Puff paint
  
• L.A. Lights shoes... you know, the ones that light up every time you take a step. I thought I was the bomb because of those shoes, circa 1994.
• Calling things "the bomb"
• Singled Out
• Legends of the Hidden Temple
  
• Flintstones Push-up pops, orange flavor
  
• The phrase, "You go, girl!"
• Snap bracelets
• Commercials for Pizza Hut stuffed-crust pizza... I don't actually want to eat one of these pizzas; I just miss seeing Pizza Hut advertise them like crazy.
• Raising the Roof

I'm sure there are many more. This is a "to be continued" kind of list...

The Silver Rule

I tend to think that everyone is a lot like me. People think the same way I do, feel the same way I do, and experience the world around them the same way I do. But it's not true. And I'm finding that maybe the golden rule isn't so golden. It's not a bad rule by any means, but maybe it's more of a silver or bronze rule than a golden one. Rather than treating people the way I want to be treated, perhaps I should I consider how they want to be treated.

I've been really obsessed with the Myers Briggs personality indicator over the past several months. In my dream world I would be able to have a conversation with a person and peg their 4 letters. Actually, that happened recently. But only once, and my excitement about was far beyond reasonable.

I'm the ENFJ poster child. If you ever want to understand me, read this: http://www.personalitypage.com/ENFJ.html

There are a few reasons I think I love reading about my Myers Briggs so much. Self-absorption is part of it. Everyone likes to talk about him/herself, but even more, everyone likes to hear someone else talk about them. Secondly, Myers Briggs has managed to reconcile the seemingly contradictory parts of my personality. I'm free-spirited, but I have a list for nearly everything. I make major life decisions on a hunch but I also make my bed every morning. I get stressed out if I can't find a specific pen for my journal, but I'm almost always up for a spontaneous, middle-of-the-night road trip. Somehow Myers Briggs has solved my mutant personality with a four-part letter combination.

I don't think it has to be all selfish though. In fact, in many ways, I think that learning more about who I am has ushered me into being more respectful and appreciate of who others are.

Knowing that I am an F (feeler), I can see the T (thinker) in others and appreciate it. These people aren't insensitive; they just don't make their decisions in the same manner I do. In fact, I find that I'm very much drawn to thinkers, because they offer a different (and often deeper) perspective than my natural inclination. Sometimes I wish I was a T, but then my F kicks in and I'm glad that I'm not.

Similarly, realizing my extreme E (extrovert), I can value the I (introvert) of other people. I get depressed if I spend too much time alone, but for others, they can only spend so much time around people before they need a break. In light of this realization, I'm more inclined to respect other people's needs and also not get upset if I spend a Friday night on my own.

Myers Brigg has also pointed out several of my flaws. When I see them and try to fix them, I trust that the people around me benefit too... at least I hope that's the case.

So all this to say, I'm not convinced of the alleged "golden" rule. Instead, I'm trying to figure out how others want to be treated, even if it's completely different from the way I would want to be treated. It's tough, but then I imagine if we were all ENFJs... we'd have fun for a few minutes, but then we'd all drive each other nuts.


Here's a link to a free Myers Briggs test: http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

It's a long story...

No, actually it's not a long story. It's just a story you don't want to tell me.

Have you ever had someone, after saying, "Oh, it's a looong story," change their mind and decide to tell you said story? It's never long! It's just personal, and perhaps incriminating.

I'm going to start calling people out on this one. You should join me; it's going to be a load of fun!

Thoughts on Lent

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?"
- Kahil Gibran, The Prophet


Growing up in the So-Bap church I missed out on some really great stuff, including trick-or-treating, Harry Potter, beer, and liturgy. I'll save hops and Halloween for another day. Until then, let's talk about Lent.

It's only been in the past few years that I've thought about Lent, and it's been especially meaningful this time around. I attended an Ash Wednesday service a couple of weeks ago that profoundly affected me. It's a funny thing, isn't it? Why would we possibly want to celebrate death, remembering, "From dust we came, and to dust we will return"? It's morbid and weird, something to be ignored so that we can get on with our lives. If we remember our finiteness as humanity, won't we also remember our limitations in saving the world? What will we possibly do if we can't turn the world upside down for Jesus?!

Well, I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not supposed to be the world's savior. It turns out someone already did that, and he just so happens to be the reason we celebrate Lent in the first place. I wonder what might happen if we stopped trying to be the saviors and instead, we took time to find what Jesus is already saving, and then joined in that. I think we feel more comfortable being the saviors though. If I'm the savior, I call the shots, and I get the credit. But when we acknowledge our extreme limits and submit to Jesus, it's not about us anymore. And even more difficult, we don't get to hide from the world's pain and suffering.

Paul tells us that in order to share in Christ's glory we must also share in his suffering (Rom 8:17). Jesus tells us to take up our cross (Luke 9:23). Well, that's anything but appealing. Why would anyone choose suffering for himself? What sort of masochistic faith are we a part of?

I have a hard time with this, but the ironic thing I've found is that the more deeply I enter into the world's suffering, the more deeply I experience life. I've recently had the privilege of sharing the burdens of several other people whose problems are more than I can imagine. Often, I want to run. I think of countless reasons to turn around and plug my ears. I come up with endless excuses of why I'm unable to engage. I don't want to feel the weight; it's just too heavy. It's hard and it's exhausting to sit in brokenness without answers, but now that I've known it, I can't seem to experience life apart from it.

When we can't fix the problems, we have no choice but to depend on Jesus. We don't get to merely think anymore; we have to feel. But in the depths of the messiness, we somehow find hope. We mysteriously come closer to being what God has created us to be.

I think this is what Lent is all about. It's a beautiful, sacred place of weakness. I'm reminded that I am a limited person, but I serve a limitless, eternal God. My life only can achieve so much, but I trust in the One who has achieved all things. And so we wait. We embrace our limits and hope for more.

I wonder... if we don't know, experience, and embrace brokenness, inadequacy, finiteness, and death, then how can we possibly know, experience, and embrace fullness, life, hope and resurrection?

All the reasons I shouldn't start a blog

I figure if my first blog entry is all about the reasons I should not start a blog, things can only look up, right? So even if my blog-pursuit is destined to fail, at least I'm recognizing it in the beginning. Also, I'm a fairly big fan of irony. I wouldn't say that I'm a huge fan, but enough of one to start off a blog in this manner. Plus, I really love lists. So here it goes...

1. I keep a journal, and anytime I go back and read previous entries I always feel like such a goob. It's as though today-me is embarrassed of yesterday-me. Inevitably, today-me will eventually become yesterday-me, and I'm just trying to look out for tomorrow-me.

2. It gives me one more reason to procrastinate. Although I pride myself in being a prime time player, I don't need any more fuel for that fire.

3. I've always associated blogs with emo teenagers. I'm not in a crappy band (or a good one, for that matter), I don't wear tight vintage tees, and I haven't been into Dashboard Confessional in a long time.

4. I've come to realize that I think I'm funnier than anyone else things I am. I'm pretty sure that having a blog will reaffirm this awareness. Maybe that's a good thing though.

5. I'm not a very creative writer. I'm hiding behind my math degree on this one.

6. It's a strange way of others getting to know me while I don't get to know them. Something about this seems uncomfortable, eerie, and a little vulnerable.

Alas! I shall blog.