mirah

"don't die in me"

a story

well i've never posted anything i've written before, but i thought this somewhat connected to some things i've been thinking and writing about. i wrote this two years ago, and it's definitely interesting to go back and look at it now. i'm not sure how i feel about it. anyway, i know it's especially long for a blog post, so feel free not to read it. but if you do i would love to hear any thoughts or comments--especially on what you think it's about. thanks. (oh and sorry for the formatting, it won't do tabs and spacing is weird for whatever reason)

The Pearl of Our Price

His son had certainly outdone him this time. Nine brides. More like concubines really. But what could the feeble old man do? Was he not just the same? Are the generations destined to follow their father?
He looked out a gap in the stone wall that served as an opening. A windmill blew steadily in the distance. He watched each wing descend and rise again. The breeze barely blew, but the spokes continued to turn. He picked up the flute from his lap and started to play. A soft melody rose in the air, bringing him a peace he used to give to others.
He paused for a moment as he heard someone calling from below. It was a woman’s voice, one he recognized almost before she spoke. It was his fourth wife.
“Where are you? Come down here. Do you here me? David.”

* * *

“Estoy Aqui.” the boy ventured to the voice calling him.
She found him hiding just below the small mound she had just climbed. “What are you doing out here? I have been looking all over for you.” She slid down the sand and walked up next to him. He was sitting against the bank next to a cactus bush. “Have you been out here all night?”
He raised his head and found her eyes cast down upon him. She stood with her hands behind her back. His hands instinctively found the sand below him. “I…I’m tired Ramona.” He turned and crawled up the hill just enough to see over it. “Did anyone come with you? Were you followed?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“He wants to kill me. I never thought…” He turned back to her with a fear in his eyes she had never seen before. “Why? I don’t understand. Why would you…”
She took a step toward him, but he drew back. She stopped. “I would never hurt you. You know that.”
“How can I be sure?”
“Because we are friends. We are the best of friends. And maybe someday—”
“But he is your father,” he cut her off. “Your father is trying to kill me.”
She stepped forward again, but this time he did not move. He saw tenderness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She smiled, and then walked up right in front of him. From behind her back she brought forth a small flower with red petals and a yellow center. She dropped it at his feet and walked past him up the mound.
He picked up the flower and climbed to the top. She was still walking away, slowly but noticeably steady. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get any words out her voice filled the dry air.
“Adios Jonathon.”

* * *

The horn sounded, which meant they were coming into port. She leaned against the boat railing, waiting for her husband to come up with the bags. The waves chopped below as the boat rocked up and down. She was used to it by now though. Her time of getting sick on board was well past. The blue of the ocean water filled her with a sense of tranquility, but the choppy waves kept disturbing her stare. She looked down further at her hands on the railing. She raised them up in front of her, examining them closely. The lines were beginning to become deeper. She sighed and slipped off her wedding ring. She was always proud of it in front of the other women. A sign of my husbands true ingenuity, she would tell them. The band was ivory, and a perfectly sized shiny white pearl sat mounted atop it. Formed from waves like this.
Her husband came up from the stairs carrying all their bags. His forehead was moist from sweat and his glasses had half fallen off his face. She walked over to help him but he refused. “Just fix my glasses dear.”
She pulled them off and began wiping them with her handkerchief, then wiped the sweat off his brow. “You don’t have to work so hard on my account you know.”
“But that is precisely what I do and always have done,” he said. “You are a lady and a man should do all he can to make sure—”
“Yes, Yes, I know Frank. And now that we can vote I’m sure you will help me in that as well.” She turned away after she said this. The ship was docked into the harbor and the ramp was being lowered. She hated that she said that. Why do I snap at him like that?
They walked over to the ramp and stood waiting for the many passengers to get off. She fiddled with her ring while he held the luggage. As he started down the ramp she paused for a moment and watched him walk down. He could have been so much if he had not married me. And now look at him, practically a servant. Was it me who took away his greatness ten years ago today?
A woman stood behind her that they had become friendly with throughout the cruise. “It’s sad to see it over with isn’t it dear? But it’s only your 10th anniversary. You’ll have plenty more to come. It was just a fabulous cruise though wasn’t it honey? I tell you I have never had better shrimp than they served…” She continued on, but only because she didn’t want to get off the boat either.
Frank reached the bottom of the ramp and turned around. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, dear.” And she made her way down the ramp. She reached her husband and kissed him after her first step on solid land. “Thank you so much.”
“Of course. I love you Helen.”

* * *

“Let me tell you all a riddle,” he said.
They were all sitting at the dinner table. The meal had finished some time ago, but the conversation had continued and laughter and stories filled the room. The group had grown quiet for a moment, a common lull that frequently happens in conversation. So Peter decided to make things interesting. His wife sat across the table from him, and he looked only at her as he said these words.
“A riddle?” one man said, “But it’s much too late for a riddle.”
“Ok. A story then. A story with two endings where you decide which ending is better. Does that sound good?” A couple of people laughed and smiled, but all held their attention on Peter. All except one.
“So here’s how it goes. It takes place some two hundred years ago in Africa. There was a hunter. A fierce man they called ‘Chisulo,’ which in fact means, ‘strong as steel.’ Well this man, Chisulo, was the greatest hunter in the whole land. From a very young age he killed lions and cheetahs and every sort of animal. He was the best on the hunting trips and the best at defending the village and its herds from wild beast attacks. It was even said that he could take down an elephant with a spear, something no one man had ever done before. ‘He alone can hit it in just the right place,’ they said. As he grew up the village hailed him with honor and fortune. All the women of the village wanted to be Chisulo’s wife, but he seemed uninterested in all of them. None of them could ‘turn his head,’ so to speak.”
“Sounds just like my adolescence!” one of the men said. Most of the table laughed. Peter smiled and paused a moment before continuing. She was not smiling, and her head was still bowed.
He continued. “So one day Chisulo was on a hunt alone, which by the way was nearly unheard of in those times. Well he was stalking a group of gazelles when they became spooked by a predator. They began to take off westward. Well Chisulo was not going to let the village down, so he began to run as fast as he could after these gazelles. With amazing speed and endurance he chased down the herd and took down two of the beasts. Throwing one over each shoulder, he began to make his way back. But to his surprise he saw a small well not far from a cluster of trees by him. He was far enough from his village that this was not their well, but one from another village. As he approached the well a woman was there drawing water. Instantly he was struck by her. He moved closer and began to approach the well. All alone and seeing a man from another village, the woman began pulling the water up faster and faster. He stopped and held up his hands. This only slightly reassured her. He walked slowly not far from her, by her things. He then sat down one of the gazelles next to the first bucket of water she had drawn. He smiled and she seemed not so afraid. He motioned for a drink of water, and she brought it to him cautiously.”
“Are you telling us a love story?” One of the men sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Oh be quiet Herm,” his wife said as she jabbed him in the side. “I’m liking this. Please continue Peter.”
“Well to make a long story a little shorter. It wasn’t long before they were laughing with one another at the well. They couldn’t speak one another’s language, but they had fallen in love in that short time. She took him back to her village, which was quite small, and he left her with one of the beasts. Arrangements were made and he promised to return shortly while she prepared for the ceremony. Her family was very happy and doted over the girl after he left. He marked out the way back to his own village and kept it in mind.”
“Not a week later the elders of the village came to Chisulo very frightened. ‘There are wild elephants on the loose, they have been angered by some evil spirit,’ they said. ‘They are charging through the wilderness and we fear they are headed for our village.’ You see a spooked elephant is driven by the scent of food, and during these rare times the villages can be very vulnerable. Or, as the elders were always afraid, a witch had cast them upon the village. So Chisulo grabbed two spears and headed into the direction the elders pointed. Out in the wilderness, he came to the high point. In the distance he could make out two elephants, but they were not together. One was headed to his right, the other to his left. It was then he realized that they had caught two different scents. One was headed for his town, the other for the town of his newfound bride-to-be. The elephants were too far apart to be able to kill them both, so Chisulo had a choice. Which village did he save?”
There were a few laughs and chuckles from around the table. One man said, “It’s a simple ethical question you’ve put to us Peter. But why all the fluff? You could have just said the part at the end?”
Another woman was staring intently at her plate, apparently deep in thought. “Would he sacrifice all that?” she said almost to herself.
Peter might have seen her eyes watering up if he would have been looking. But he was staring straight down the table at his wife. She still had not looked up. “What would you do honey?” he asked her. She didn’t move. “You were listening to my story weren’t you?”
She finally raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. Her expression was firm and very serious. Her face revealed no anger or amusement. Only in her eyes there flashed a moment of sadness, but then it was gone. She did not say anything.
He looked at her mercilessly. “Well? Which would it be? Do you have an answer?” The rest of the table had grown completely quiet.
Peter’s face shifted. “Abigail?”

* * *

He threw another rock into the waves. Then another. Then another. He could just make out the bottle’s reflection in the dim light from the sleepy town behind him. He had thrown probably fifty rocks trying to hit it. The splashes would be close and then far away; the bottle would float close and then far away. Sheba sat behind him laughing. She was lounging in one of the beach chairs, another bottle of wine in her own hands sat resting in her lap.
“Maybe if I throw this one out there too then maybe you will be able to hit one of them.” She laughed again. He continuously stumbled as he threw, and she could not stop giggling at him. “I shouldn’t have brought you out here tonight. You have your test tomorrow and look what I’ve brought you to.”
He chucked another rock into the air. “My arm hurts.” He staggered over to her and took the bottle from her hands, but not before sliding his hands across her leg. “You’re doing a great job helping me study Sheba.” He laughed as he raised the bottle above his head.
She smiled too, but only partly; her giggle was running away. “I don’t know if you should…”
“I’m going to hit that bottle if it’s the last thing I ever do!” he yelled. He handed her the bottle and picked up five smooth stones as he made his way back to the shoreline.
She watched him go, bringing her lips together. “But your test,” she yelled. The waves were crashing and he couldn’t hear her anymore.
The rocks fell far from the bottle and he sank to his knees. “I can’t hit it Sheba! I can’t do it!” He put his hands into the air, reaching towards the moon. “Med school here I come!” he yelled.
She had walked up behind him now. “Maybe you should get some sleep. I mean tomorrow—”
“It’s too late!” he said.
“What do you mean? You still have two hours. The sun will be up soon but drink a little coffee and—”
“No! I mean the bottle’s gone. See. It’s floated off to sea.” He pointed off into the distance, but the bottle was closer to shore than it had been all night. She didn’t say anything to him as he leaned back and started to fall asleep. She watched the bottle wash up onto shore with the changing tide.
“You have to get up.” She shook him but it was no use. “Get up! Dave!”

* * *

David stood below the windmill, watching it rotate slowly. He sat down and began playing his flute, keeping an eye on the flock nearby him. The flute would calm the sheep and make them feel safe. But he knew that if a lion or any other animal were to threaten he would be able to defend them. He was an old shepherd, but he had done nothing but that since he was a boy. He knew he could have done other things. He knew he had his chance. He could have been king over more than just these sheep. Did he give it all up for her? Or did she take it from him? He bent down by the base of the windmill and picked a flower. He held the red petals up against his ivory flute. He smiled and stuck the flower in a hole, and continued to play. The petals of the flower shook in the intervals of his breath. His song filled the air and carried up by the turn of a windmill. The wings rocked like the steady waves of the ocean. And he dreamed of the sea, the rocks below turning to pearls.

"how firm a foundation"

When through deep waters I call thee to go,
the rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
for i will be with thee, they troubles to bless,
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

and please enjoy another sufjan song, perhaps one you haven't heard before:

"borderline"

fragmenation

(i've been in kind of hyper-blog mode recently. i guess i just have a lot to say at the moment, writing has been a good thing. but i apologize to any casual readers out there who haven't been able to keep up.)

i've been reading kierkegaard's Purity of Heart recently, as you might have guessed from my last post. it has been really incredible, like pretty much all of his that i read. but it has also been somewhat frustrating--even more frustrating than his more difficult books where i understand about 1/3 of it if i'm lucky. the full title of the book (or rather section of a much larger work) is "Purity of Heart is to Will One Thing." and over half the book is about the different forms of double-mindedness and ways that we will many things and therefore are not truly pure in heart.

you see i've been feeling really fragmented lately. feeling like there are parts of me kind of all over the place, in every direction. it's mostly inward, which is quite a change from my general little plan outward what am i going to do with my life next mentality. i think i know where i am, am glad to be here, and excited about what is next--i think i will probably end up doing this ministry apprenticeship program thing that is sort of like seminary. it starts in january and i'll still be doing ichthus here in manhattan. not finalized yet, but it looks like it's going to happen. i kind of know where my life is going at the moment.

yet at the same time a part of me feels very lost. i feel good vocationally, but fairly lost relationally. part of me wonders where a lot of my friends are, but part of me just wants to be by myself right now and i feel alienated in groups of people. part of me feels depressed and lost, and part of me feels hopeful and patient. spiritually part of me feels angry and frustrated, and part of me feels excited about some other things that are happening with ichthus. sadly, i could go on for awhile with things like this.

how can i will one thing when there is so much that i seem to be wrestling with? it's not just an over-arching wanting to follow God, it's a deeply integrated singularity of purpose and direction that leads to purity. and i am all over the place and so far from being there.

some of that is just adolescence, right? that's part of growing up--yes i'm still there at 25. some of that is just where i'm at right now personally, right? i'm just in a tough place. some of those conflicts are still kind of external, right? you're bound to have differences of opinions within yourself regarding other things. "double-mindedness!" kierkegaard would cry! that's the clever man making excuses.

but the fact is i am not there. not even close. i can't even seem to manage to focus on any one thing for very long at this point in time. i'm in a season of brokenness, and that is going to create some fragments. if my heart is not whole, how can it be pure? how can it be put back together? how can life spring anew? i don't even know what i would hope for at this point. i am of two minds there too, or i guess maybe a few altogether.

where will i find myself? what will happen? what am i left with? i don't want to be fragmented. i don't want to wander anymore. i'm tired of feeling like it's not enough. and i don't even know how to go forward in finding healing. all i feel like i can do is just lay down. my will is weak. my commitment feels spurned. the longer i lay here...

and then the quote from the last post comes back to me. and i think i can take just that one step. maybe soon. i hope so. of course then i have to figure out what that step is... damn it.

soren kierkegaard

Purity of Heart is to Will One Thing

"Another says 'I have not the strength to risk all." Again evasion, an evasion by the aid of the word "all."  For the Good is quite capable of reckoning and computing its demand in relation to the strength that this man has.  And what is more, if he will venutre in all sincerity, then he will certainly receive strength enough in the act of decision...And in a spiritual sense, a person is only really out at sea who is willing to do all, irrespective of whether he is the highest or the least." 

"So then, go with God to God, continually take that one step more, that single step that even you, who cannot move a limb, are still able to take; that single step, that even the prisoner, who has lost his freedom, even the one in chains, whose feet are not free, is still able to take: and you are committed to the Good." 

pearl snap buttons

"Holy obedience is the insatiable God-hunger that will make a person dissatisfied with anything less than the pearl of great price."
~Richard Foster

About 9 months ago I went to Texas, which by all accounts was a pretty dreadful trip. I wrote an entry about it (and much more) then, which part of me feels like I almost need to write again for my own sake, but I'll spare you that here.

I don't think it's that I doubt the goodness of God. I feel like I've snapped that top button, even if it chokes me every now and then. Maybe it's more that I'm wondering about the cost.

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it." --Matthew 13:43-46

He sold all that he had. He sold everything. Of course the catch being that in return he gets the pearl of great price and ends up all the better for it. And if you think I'm talking about the prosperity gospel there's a video down a few posts you can watch. No, we sell what we have to gain something far greater in return. That is the deal.

"If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it. What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?" --Matthew 16:24-26

I have always found these verses simultaneously inspiring and terrifying. I have to lose my life? I have to sell everything? But I know it doesn't do any good to gain the world and lose my soul--but sometimes it seems like I have to give my soul too. No, it's never a "half to" really I guess. But if you really want to live... There's a dangerous prayer that I have prayed before and several times after--"whatever it takes. Whatever it takes for you Lord, do it." And several times I've come to the edge of regretting that, knowing that it is always something I can pull back from. The Lord is good and he would give me that. Yet still I will not take back that prayer.

But I can still complain about it! I know I said whatever but really, how hard do you want it to be? Would you have me wander around these pillars for years to come? Would you keep my eyes in darkness and not tell me your way? Am I your friend or just your simple servant who needs no explanation? Why set the plate before me if you take it away after only a tease? I've heard how you treat your prophets, do I really want to be your servant? Where is your deliverance? Where is your true peace--why is it so fleeting? Where is your joy? Where is the abundant life? I've been waiting. Are my prayers in vain? Is my hope merely deception? Am I such a fool? Why do you stand so far off?

What more can I give? I have submitted my life to you and followed you wherever you have led me. What more do you want from me? I feel like I don't have anything left.

Yet still I will snap the buttons. Still I long for that pearl. I don't want to float through life. I don't want to swim to the shore and quit. That is death I know--life, but death. The river is death, but life. I wish it could be a quick death, but no, we take up our cross every day. No one ever said life was going to be easy. Let me discover you as the refuge and strong tower you can be.

--

(i am afraid to share this, and know that my problems are nothing compared with so many others so i probably sound like a whining idiot. but the laments of the psalms are often no less unreasonable, and far more public. can we be a people who can share our laments? or is it too much for you to hear? i hope not. oh and don't worry about me. i'll be ok.)

and i love this song.

untitled

strength comes when you least expect it
or rather
when you need it most.

God's crumbs are like that sometimes--
when you feel malnourished
forgetting your invitation
they are a feast brought to your door.

i wish i was stronger
but sometimes i guess we have to be fed
usually when we're not looking for it.

i wish i was ok
being alone with myself
not spiting the joy of others,
and bearing patience a little softer.

and the notecard on my windowsill
is faded,
but i can still make out the words.
though i have them memorized by now
i still seem to need to see them.

"A heart resolved to love can radiate goodness without limits"
and
"Life is filled with serene beauty for whoever strives to love with trust"

and this monk's dying words
still seem just as elusive as they always have been,
with no years in a monastery to practice.

but that's the hope
and the aim
and the trust.

so the next step forward
means another day
and another surrender.

greg laswell

how the day sounds. good song. video worth watching too.

kathleen edwards

"sure as shit"

it is what it is

someone i know once got their hair chopped off, and when the initial cuts went a little shorter than previously expected all the hair-dresser kept saying was "it is what it is." now this might not have been the most concerting thing to hear for the person actually getting her hair cut, but it was the truth and there was no changing it now. still it might mean a little more coming from the person who had to live with the consequences of what "it is."

there's really something to that statement though. it's the plain, bare truth without any spin or cushion. there is great power in being able to call things as they are. it conveys a trust in the person that they can handle the reality of the situation for exactly that--the reality. so often we want to try to make things look good, or just a little better than they actually are. or we want to build it into something that makes for a grander story, perhaps in hope that it will make our lives feel like they have a little more meaning. we all of us for the most part color our lives and situations for others in hopes that they'll see us a little better. then they'll like us.

even worse perhaps is the way we do this to ourselves. i think with others it is quite a bit more understandable. but why do we allow ourselves to make the subtle twists in our own minds or hearts? why do we allow what is really a form of self-deception?

it is what it is. i just don't care enough about it to put forth the effort. i actually don't like that person. it was a mistake. he said no. a broken heart.

sometimes things happen and we can't seem to let ourselves accept the reality of them. we fight against deception and try to figure out what's really going on. some things we can easily know and say what is the truth, if we would allow ourselves. but so many other things are just too complex to be able to truly name. the label does not do it justice. the language is insufficient. but we have to make sense of it somehow, right? so we come up with some sort of story because we are unable to live in the tension that is created by the fear of the unknown. in this way we try to control our lives. and if we tell the story well enough we can usually get ourselves to believe it. it may even actually be mostly true.

but is it better to leave things unnamed than to fill in the blanks? or is that what we must do in this fragmented life full of mystery? would we get anywhere if we didn't close the gaps and push on ahead? but then it creates such a strong tendency to paint those missing parts in the colors we want, transforming the picture to look a lot more like we want it to look than perhaps it actually probably is in truth. and in that way we live a lie. but it's just a little white lie right? when were those ever so bad?

it is what it is. i want to name the things in my life. i want to be able to name things in others' lives as a gift, not a burden. i don't want to let deception flourish. i want to be ok with living in the tension and the pain of the unknown. i don't want to soften the blow. i don't want to protect myself or others when it is really not trusting them or myself. i want to be genuine. and i don't just want others to see me as genuine but i want to feel it myself. i want to let the gaps be gaps and the darkness darkness and the foolishness foolishness.

oh give me the eyes to see with this sort of clarity.

saddest commercial ever

watching tv the other when some sort of cable or tv commercial comes on touting the amazing benefits of HD tv or service. and the golden retriever is the one narrating the whole thing, watching all of his human family run into the living room and pile together on the couch to watch tv.

at the end you can see the family in the background watching tv while the dog plops down in the kitchen. his eyes are drooping as a ball falls out of his mouth and rolls away. he says, "i don't know what HD is, but i don't like it."

i wish i remembered who the commercial was for so i could boycott them.

a poem and a prayer

While faith is in me, I am blest;
It turns my darkest night to day;
But, while I clasp it to my breast,
I often feel it slide away.

What shall I do if all my love,
My hopes, my toil, are cast away?
And if there be no God above
To hear and bless me when I pray?

Oh, help me, God! For thou alone
Canst my distracted soul relieve.
Forsake it not: it is thine own,
Though weak, yet longing to believe.

~Anne Brontë


"In winter the roots of the tree plunge deeper into the ground."
~Madame Guyon

this is just too good

you absolutely have to watch the first two, and i strongly recommend the third as well. unreal. come jam with the lamb!




courtesy of rustin via im

anna dorable: the diva

so my niece is 5 now. she's quite cute, especially in pictures. don't get me wrong, i'm not saying she isn't cute in person too--she is. oh but she is a little firecracker. as they sometimes say, this one's going to be trouble. let me just tell a few exemplary stories from her first few years of life.

when she was 2: anna had a little bean bag chair that she loved to sit in and watch "toons." it was her beloved little chair and she was just a little possessive of it. finding someone else sitting there she would often throw fits and cry. one day she wandered into the living room to find her 32 year-old dad sitting in it watching television. "out!" she proclaimed. daddy shook his head. "out!" he didn't move. "anna i'm sitting here now, you can't just make people move." so anna waddles her way over to the couch and lays down. she pulls the blanket up around her and says, "daddy!" todd looks over to see anna smiling. "nuggle!" todd smiles and gets up to cuddle with his beautiful little daughter. he lays down behind her, at which point she gets up and runs over to the bean bag and sits down. then she turns back to daddy and smiles. she was 2.

when she was 3: anna was watching television, probably so you think you can dance? her favorite show at the time. she is watching with her family when she suddenly points at the screen and says, "i like her shoes."

when she was 4: anna was out with her mother shopping for clothes. lauren picked up a few things that were anna's size and took her to the dressing room. they go in and anna is whimpering away all of the sudden. lauren looks at her somewhat alarmed by the sudden change in mood for no apparent reason, "anna what's wrong? why are you crying?" and anna looks up through her tears and says, "because you are going to make me try on those pants i don't like!"

now that she is 5: anna is truly the independent woman. she loves to do everything herself. so apparently she decided that it was time to change her look. she went to get her haircut and told the woman exactly what she wanted, chopped to an exact length and shorter in the middle in the back. and she got it.

oh what this girl will be like at 15!

paul tillich

"Love never faileth; but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."
I Corinthians 13:8-12

The creative man, in all realms of life, is like a child, who dares to inquire beyond the limits of conventional answers. He discovers the fragmentary character of all these answers, a character darkly and subconsciously felt by all men. He may destroy, by means of one fundamental question, a whole, well-organized system of life and society, of ethics and religion. He may show that what people believed to be a whole is nothing but a fragment of a fragment. Th misery of man lies in the fragmentary character of his life and knowledge; the greatness of man lies in his ability to know that his being is fragmentary and enigmatic. For man is able to be puzzled and to ask, to go beyond the fragments, seeking the perfect. Yet, in being able to do so, he feels at the same time the tragedy implicit in his being, the tragedy of the riddle and the fragment. Man is subject, with all beings, to the law of vanity. But man alone is conscious of that law. He is therefore infinitely more miserable than all other beings in the servitude to that law; on the other hand, he is infinitely superior, because he alone knows that there is something beyond vanity and decay, beyond riddles and enigma. This is felt by Paul, when he says that the creation itself shall be delivered from the bondage of decay into the liberty of the glory of the children of God.

Man is a fragment and a riddle to himself. The more he experiencs and knows that fact, the more he is really man. Paul experienced the breakdown of a system of life and thought which he believed to be a whole, a perfect truth without riddle or gaps. He then found himself buried under the pieces of his knowledge and his morals. But Paul never tried again to build up a new, comfortable house out of the pieces. He dwelt with the pieces. He realized always that fragments remain fragments, even if one attempts to reorganize them. The unity to which they belong lies beyond them; it's grasped through hope, but not face to face.

How could Paul endure life, as it lay in fragments? He endured it because the fragments bore a new meaning to him. The pictures in the mirror pointed to something new for him; they anticipated the perfect, the reality of love. Through the pieces of his knowledge and morality, love appeared to him. And the power of love transformed the tormenting riddles into symbols of truth, the tragic fragments into symbols of the whole.

frederick buechner

Guilt

Guilt is the responsibility for wrongdoing. Apart from the wrong we are each of us responsible for personally, in a sense no wrong is done anywhere which we are not all of us responsible for collectively. With or without knowing it, either through what we have done or what we have failed to do, we have all helped create the kind of world mess that makes wrongdoing inevitable.

The danger of our guilt, both personal and collective, is less that we won't take it to heart than that we'll take it to heart overmuch and let it fester there in ways that we ourselves often fail to regognize. We condemn in others the wrong we don't want to face in ourselves. We grow vindictive against the right for showing up our wrong as wrong. The sense of our own inner brokenness estranges us from the very ones who could help patch us together again. We steer clear of setting things right with the people we have wronged since their mere presence is a thorn in our flesh. Our desire to be clobberred for our guilt and thus rid of it tempts us to do things we will be clobbered for. The dismal variations are endless. More often than not, guilt is not merely the consequence of wrongdoing but the extension of it.

It is about as hard to absolve yourself of your own guilt as it is to sit in your own lap. Wrongdoing sparks guilt sparks wrongdoing ad nauseum, and we all try to disguise in the grim process from both ourselves and everybody else. In order to break the circuit we need friends before whom we can put aside the disguise, trusting that when they see us for what we fully are, they won't run away screaming with, in nothing worse, laughter. Our trust in them leads us to trust their trust in us. In their presence the fact of our guilt no longer makes us feel and act out our guiltiness. For a moment at least the vicious circle stops circling and we can step down onto the firm ground of their acceptance, where maybe we'll be able to walk a straight line again. "Your sins are forgiven," Jesus said to the paralytic, then "Rise," whereupon the man picked up his bed and went home (Matthew 9:2-7).

resistance

"I have said these things to you that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart, I have overcome the world."

John 16:33

I don't know what it is within us that makes us think that life will be easy. Oh sure on the surface we will acknowledge that it isn't easy and we will run into our struggles. But somewhere behind it all we can so easily think that life will go just as we planned it to. All of our little schemes and well-laid plans can fall apart at the slightest thing, and still we have no control over it. Who's to stop a car from running a red light or cancer falling on the one we thought would be with us the rest of our life? But what can we do? Not bother seeking happiness? Pursue gingerly while we live in fear of all the many ways it could all suddenly change? So still we plan.

And we'll even work that knowledge into our plans a little. A savings account. A life insurance policy to really take care of those who would miss us. A little security in an anarchy of chaos. Chances are you'll make it awhile. Perhaps some will be lucky enough to go long enough into life to really get some enjoyment out of it before it begins to crumble by the water in the seams. You will have tribulation.

So why do we run? Why do we just pursue happiness like we can keep it? Are those few moments, those few years enough to satisfy our life while later we will cope with the pain through distraction, trying to push off the depression, despair, and anger? Or will we have the peace to pull us through? Will our roots go down deep enough or our anchor of hope be heavy enough? How the hell do we take hold of our hearts?

One of the observations I feel like I've made a lot over the past year or so is how surprised I am that people do not really expect to face opposition. If something doesn't work out it is just that "door being closed" by the Lord. Is it really now? Or are we just forgetting that any truly good work will be resisted? In fact it is probably more often the truth that the greater the resistance the more important the work is. Things drift away or are abandoned because we aren't ready to fight, or we would just rather do something a little easier.

The funny thing is that I somehow completely miss that about my own life too. I have always been a fighter--or at least I like to think that about myself. But then that's not really the answer is it? So much of the opposition will not be anything you can really fight against, and trying to do so will only leave you fighting yourself or God. Giving up is always much harder for me to do, but then surrender is perhaps often more important than fighting--in the way of Jesus. Against such what can opposition truly do?

Jesus says it twice in Matthew, "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it," but i suppose that means we truly have to lose it for his sake and not just to get a life that is more rich. I miss that part sometimes.

But how do you take heart? Especially when the world seems anything but overcome. What is there to take hold in? My personal momentary transitory joys? No no no. In finding hope again. Hope that is only worth it if it is unseen, in the darkness, fighting away against resistance. Fighting that looks a lot more like laying down. Maybe. That sounds kind of nice. That I can do. Sure maybe there's a bit more than that, but we'll start there for now.

soft

there comes a time when another

notch on the doorpost

bleeds darker than faded childhood,

and what doesn't kill you

makes for some pretty strong wood

laid across the screen door,

that blew open with gusto--

then banging a little

too often.

they leave the house

with warm goodbyes

i heard before they came.

though now the seats are warm

and the couch still soft,

until time cools and darkness passes.

my spine is stiff

from a sinking mattress,

pushed down when i slept

on the couch.

and character is no sheet

warmer than fat,

holding tight

in all the right places.

maybe that's why i run,

away

and back again

my heart beating my heart

into shape.

rending faith

in myself,

until they all return--

goodbyes through the door.

above my mark

i invite them in,

offering a spot on the couch.

confessional corner

welcome to a new segment on this blog--well, kinda new. i've done it before somewhat less structured when i just had to confess something. a blog is a good place for these types of silly yet important confessions because you get the relief of letting the secret out without the shame or degradation of having to look someone in the face while you do it. and since no one can talk about "blog world" in the real world, i figure i've got a good little system here. we all have these little secrets in our lives--things that are for the most part inconsequential but yet somehow say a great deal about a part of us. i think it's fun to share them every now and then. so occasionally i'll ask you to don the vestments of my confessor, and hear my sad and tragic failures.

today i have to get something off my chest. it is something that has taken control of my life to one degree or another. i even dreamed about it last night, and fulfilled that dream today. was i prophetic? well about this certain secret delight i'm afraid it can only be taken so seriously. i have a secret love...chinese buffet donuts!

yes i actually had a dream about chinese donuts last night--and no not a dream with them in it, an actual dream where they were the center of what the dream was about. there were several of us at the buffet, and we went to get dessert. most of them went for the ice cream first...oh those poor fools. the guy in front of me scooped all the donuts into the corner and took like 7 of them! he saw me standing behind him so he decided to leave two. i never did see the face of this terrible man, but he was about 5'10" and about 265lbs with brown hair and thin glasses. let me know if you see him! so back to my table with my two precious donuts, which i thoroughly enjoyed. everyone else was upset with me for taking the last donuts and they would hear nothing of the gluttonous hoard before me. i told them we could go back later, they would make more. but when i went back they were shutting down the buffet. so sad. of course, i wasn't all that distraught--after all, i did get my two donuts. (dream somewhat reflected an actual event also to be noted)

then tonight my roommate tyler planned a dinner with a group of people. the destination (of which i had no part in choosing): hunam chinese buffet and mongolian grill. if you are in manhattan, this is the place to go. you get the sweet benefit of the mongolian grill with great vegetables and noodles and sauces, plus the entire chinese buffet (though i really only eat crab rangoon and donuts off it)! AND it's all for the low price including $2 student (or $1 faculty if i'm being honest--which i am!) discount of $7.25 with a drink! does it get any better? i submit that it cannot!

so tonight i watched those donuts carefully while i ate the rest of my food, careful to see that they would not run out. time for dessert came and i edged in front of my friends. though it didn't matter--they headed for the ice cream those fools! as i walked up a man clutched the tongs of my beloved bin of sugary fried goodness. i cringed. he picked up a couple, inspecting them and walked away with only one. a sigh of relief. but wait, what was wrong with the ones he inspected!?!? i approached. four remained. they were covered in sugar and looked mighty tasty. they were still warm too and not at all hard, which makes a big difference. i went back to my table satisfied with my rewards while the other fools felt their hands cramp while scooping ice cream. they didn't even want any donuts!

i was quite full from my huge mongolian plate, but the tasty delights had no troubled overcoming my slight lack of hunger. the donuts were half gone before the others even returned--partially because i really wanted them, partially because i didn't want them to know how many i ate. so, in my confession, i had a plate full of 3 chinese donuts tonight. it could have been a lot worse i know, even on top of a very full meal. and i even left one for someone else!

today i got by--not perfectly by any means. in fact, it probably was still too much. so will you help me my confessor? absolve me of my wrong-doing! save my arteries for the future! stop me in any degree you are able!

...that or teach me how to make them myself. better yet, make them for me!!! :)

vampire weekend

M79

it's beautiful!

yes i am talking about fall! i walked outside today and the weather was just so good. it is windy and storms loom in scattered directions. but most importantly there was that crispness to the air that only means that summer is saying its goodbyes. i love summer and this was a great one, but oh fall you are my favorite. i threw my hands in the air in joy and delight! i had a dream last night i was getting ready for a soccer game, another reason i love fall--soccer season.

let the leaves fall from the trees
the cicadas climb out of their shells
and the footballs fly through the air!

also loved this quote from alli rogers' blog (yes this is a second-stealing):
"Not all those that wander are lost."
-J.R.R. Tolkien

surrender

You see, there are two kinds of losses in life. The first is shared by all mankind—the losses that come to us. Call them what you will—accidents, fate, acts of God. The point is that we have no control over them. The second kind is known only to the pilgrim. They are losses that we choose. A chosen loss is different from repentance, when we give up something that was never ours to have. With a chosen loss, we place on the altar something very dear to us, something innocent, whose only danger is in its goodness, that we might come to love it too much. It is the act of consecration, where little by little or all at once, we give over our lives to the only One who can truly keep them.
Spiritual surrender is not resignation. It is not choosing to care no longer. Nor is it Eastern mysticism, an attempt to get beyond the suffering of this life by going completely numb. As my dear friend Jan describes, “It is surrender with desire, or in desire.” Desire is still present, felt, welcomed even. But the will to secure is made subject to the divine will in an act of abandoned trust.
True surrender is not an easy out, calling it quits early in the game. This kind of surrender comes only after the night of wrestling. It comes only after we open our hearts to care deeply. Then we choose to surrender, or give over, our deepest desires to God. And with them we give over our hearts, our deepest selves. The freedom and beauty and rest that follow are among the greatest of all surprises.

John Eldredge

Your only assignment is to be strong in faith, no matter what your weaknesses. “When I am weak,” says Paul, “then am I strong.” Strength is made perfect in weakness. So your weakness will turn out to be your strength if you accept it humbly.
Let me tell you what real surrender is. It is simply resting in the love of God, as a little baby rests in its mother’s arms. A perfect surrender must even be willing to quit surrendering, if that is what God wants! We renounce ourselves, and yet, God never lets us know when it is complete. If we knew, it would no longer be complete, for there is nothing that bolsters the ego quite so much as knowing that it is fully surrendered!
Surrender consists, not in doing great, heroic deeds about which the self can brag, but simply in accepting whatever God sends, and not seeking to change it (unless it is His will for it to be changed). Full surrender is full peace. If we are restless and concerned about things formerly renounced, we have not genuinely surrendered. Surrender is the source of true peace; if we aren’t at peace, it is because our surrender is not complete.

François Fénelon

tim keel

some things that stood out to me from the last part of his book, intuitive leadership:

"The heart is not engaged or satisfied in the same ways the mind is. It cannot be domesticated, or at least if it can, it is only at great cost and is often the result of violence. To engage the heart, your own and others', you must be present, and that can be incredibly hard for many of us because it means engaging pain. When we give ourselves permission to engage our hearts (usually with the help of another), what we find there is often scary to us. But far scarier is what happens when we don't engage the heart: we pay a price personally and our churches miss out on an intergral part of what it menas to be a disciple of Jesus Christ."

"There needs to be more tension than...previously allowed. We must abide in the tension between questions and answers, between the head and the heart, between spoken words and living words. It is not an either/or option. It is both/and. Why? Because there is no long-term life to be found in abandoning and marginalizing one set of competencies or leaders with traditional skill sets for an emerging set of leaders or skills, no matter how life-giving they initially appear to be. When we hold these twin realities in dynamic tension, life emerges as we depend on God."

then he quotes buechner in one of my favorite passages and then goes on to say:

"'If I were called upon to state in a few words the essence of everything I was trying to say both as a novelist and a preacher, it would be something like this: Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.' --Frederick Buechner

"The opaque and open-ended nature of what he is inviting us toward can produce anxiety. Just tell us what to do, we say. We'll execute it. We are accustomed to discovering God and his life out there. We can observe it and go and lay hold of it. Listen to my life? Can you be more specific?
I believe a great many of us have forgotten, or maybe we never knew, what it is like to relate to God, each other, and ourselves in this manner. We have sought answers from experts who promise success rather than postures that would allow us to be integrally engaged in the discovery of life ourselves. Now we are discovering that laying hold of other people's answers no longer provides the promise that we once thought it might. We must reckon with our environment and with God in a different way. The answer lies in God, in us, and in the engagement between God and us. We must listen to our lives and engage."

silver

so i guess this is something of what it means to be me today. that was the first thing that came up on a google search of "25."

if you make the same search on youtube you'll come up with a great segment from some power rangers episode, but it was a little too long to justify putting on here.

interesting fact about the day of my birth you might not know--it was also the day of the the first african-american in space taken by one of the challenger shuttles.

i also happen to share a birthday with ted williams, cameron diaz, shaun alexander, cliff lee (will win the cy-young this year), and andy roddick.

it is the feast day of felix and adauctus.

and there's way more than you ever thought you'd know about this day, am i right? maybe i'll write a more substantial entry tomorrow during the day if i have time. that is if i can tear myself away from bemoaning all the things i still haven't done now after 25 years.

look

there is a coffee shop in manhattan known as java. don't give me any of that bluestem crap. not happening. anyway, the shop is pretty big for a cafe. it is long and somewhat narrow with windows along one wall that look out into an alley with a deck and seating in it. it's actually quite nice if you haven't seen it before. and there are tables that run along with wall. only downside: you smell terrible if you spend too long in there. it's the baking + coffee. not good.

the layout though makes for some interesting seating. if you are at a table by yourself, say reading or something, sometimes you'll end up with another person across from you at another table facing you. maybe they have a laptop or something, but inevitably there will be moments where you are both looking up and you catch each others' eye--much more than at other places with scattered tables. the moment of contact is quickly broken, as it is a strange sort of intimacy with a complete stranger.

even more striking is when there are two people in the table you are facing, but you can still see past the back of the one to the other person facing you. sometimes you catch their eye, even in the midst of them being in a conversation. it is so interesting because you can almost absorb the look they are giving to the person they are sitting with. it's like you are able to become a little bit of who that person is to the other. and just so rarely, sometimes you see the look a woman gives to that man she is deeply in love with. and you catch a piece. and it makes your heart ache. or at least it does mine.

sigur ros

just so everyone knows

i think that personal hygiene products are just hilarious. especially now with all the different ways of marketing. from body wash in a container that looks like an oil can to deodorant spray that will make women tackle you to shampoo that gives women orgasms--it's all pretty ridiculous.

the funny thing is that it works. i remember being on summer staff with a youth group and watching all the middle school boys on a retreat just load themselves up with that terrible axe spray stuff. you could smell them 3 rooms over. which i suppose is better than the alternative with a lot of middle school boys where you still smell them 3 rooms away. but only slightly better. the sad thing is how much more likely i also am to buy a product if it has the simple words "for men" on it. some of it is to avoid smelling girly or whatever. but then i guess it's just an image thing maybe. you all know the rules you have to follow with all of this stuff (or at least the guys out there do).

my shampoo comes close to the edge of those rules. the bottle is fine and it is pretty herbal--which i need because of my sensitive skin. ooo. but the brand is called abba, which is just kind of weird to be associated with a very effeminate pop group. it doesn't smell girly though--at least i don't think so. it's the perfect blend of coconut, lavender, and cherry bark. and it makes my hair not too oily. i would recommend it.

but as i was standing in the shower not too long ago, just after my return to manhattan i noticed something. this is the description of the shampoo of my roommate tyler roark:

Pink bottle.
Title: "Body Envy"
with a fusion of white nectarine and pink coral flower
and then towards the bottom it says, "get a lift in all the right places"

oh tyler. what have you done?

music; heart

every now and then there is a song out there that just reaches you. something about it speaks to you in a way that you can't really describe. it is lyrics that speak to your life and where you're at. it is moving music that swells up emotion and connection to all that is around you. sometimes it's a fun song and you are just filled with such joy and happiness that you dance in your car not caring about the woman and her dog staring at you from the other lane. or you sing it loud so that it will resound in your chest and maybe your heart will know it more fully then. it could be a sappy song about heartbreak that you would be ashamed to admit has been on repeat for days. or anything really. even if it's terribly musically and all those snobs at there shake their heads at you for listening to it (i admit to being on both sides of this at times ;) ).

but then every now and then you find not just a song, but an entire artist who you just have some sort of connection with. it's like half the songs were written directly to what you've experienced, and the other half are telling you what you haven't known yet. the tunes are catchy and solid. and you just fall in love with the music. you probably have a couple of those bands you can think of off the top of your head. sometimes it's your "favorite" bands or sometimes those are different. it's more than just music you like. it's about your heart.

i think i found one of these artists recently. and i am just digging it like crazy. and maybe singing it a lot too. i submit to you that you check out Matthew Perryman Jones. one of his albums is free on noisetrade. i think you'll like it. if you don't you have no musical taste whatsoever.

even the big black dude that changed my oil said it was "a good tune."

this one is about the only non-live recording i could find on youtube, and definitely a good song but not even one of my top favorites. musically maybe, but not lyrically. some other songs have just ridiculously good lyrics. so take this as a starter sample--not something to be satiated with.

Robert Benson

"To embrace one's brokenness, whatever it looks like, whatever has caused it, carries within it the possiblity that one might come to embrace one's healing, and then that one might come to the next step: to embrace another and their brokenness and their possibility for being healed. To avoid one's brokenness is to turn one's back on the possibility that the healer might be at work here, perhaps for you, perhaps for another. It is to turn one's back on another, one for whom you just might be the Christ, one for whom you might, even if just for a moment, become the body and the blood."

from alli rogers' blog

g.k. chesterton

That we all depend in every detail, at every instant, as a Christian would say upon God, as even an agnostic would say upon existence and the nature of things, is not an illusion of imagination; on the contrary, it is the fundamental fact which we cover up, as with curtains, with the illusion of ordinary life. That ordinary life is an admirable thing in itself, just as imagination is an admirable thing in itself. But it is much more the ordinary life that is made of imagination than the contemplative life. He who has seen the whole world hanging on a hair of the mercy of God has seen the truth; we might almost say the cold truth. He who has seen the vision of this city upside-down has seen it the right way up.

elliott smith

been on repeat. no need to watch the video, just the song.

life and death

"Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry."
Col. 3:5

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead."
I Peter 1:3


Life is all about a series of births and deaths. I say births and deaths because it simply isn't so simple as just one of each. And I'm not talking about other people. I'm talking about in just one person's life. It is all about the things you birth and the things you put to death.

Every day is an opportunity to put something to death--an old fading friendship, a propensity to procrastination, that sin that keeps cropping up, that struggling relationship. And every day we have the opportunity to birth new things in our lives--a relationship with that co-worker you've always wanted to talk to, eating more vegetables, beginning your writing habit. But many days pass with little change. Is it because we do not realize the power we have in our own lives?

A lot of talk is made about how little power we have over our lives--how at any moment something can happen that we have absolutely no control over and everything is completely different in a matter of moments. This is true to some extent, and to that we should always keep to our humility. But at the same time the New Testament doesn't quite see it that way. Our life can be taken at any moment sure, but ultimately the Lord is in control. We might cry foul but it was almost more like a non-issue with the early church. Death was a joy. Men sang in prisons. Martyrs raised their eyes to heaven singing in the midst of flames or the Colosseum.

The fact is we have far more control over our lives than we think. We have the power, we have the authority to control our lives. Control sounds negative, but it is rather more like the power to escape being controlled by the evil both around and within us. Are you struggling with despair and fear? Bring about a birth of life and hope into yourself. Are you struggling with a sin? Put to death therefore...

It all sounds so simple. In the past I always wanted to know "but how?" The scriptures just state the imperative, but do they realize how hard it is? How am I supposed to do this? I need a companion book that tells me how to do all the things that are just simply stated in the bible. Two things come to mind.

1. We do not receive because we do not ask. Do you want hope in your life? Begin by asking God for it, and not just in passing. Continue to bring it in prayer and you will be like the man knocking on the door late at night. He will get up and answer because of your persistence. I know it's not that easy, and not all that we ask for do we receive (wait, isn't that contrary to some verse?)--and it will take time. If you're asking for something good from God like hope or joy, he will begin to give it.

2. We give far too much power to our emotions. We say we cannot do something because it is far too difficult. In other words, our emotions complete control us. I'm not saying our emotions are bad--just that they seem to have the final say. In black and white matters we may not be so bold, but in pretty much anything else any idea of what we "should" do is decided by what feels right. Or the feeling is too overwhelming to try and do anything different with it. Many of us live under this oppression without really realizing the full extent of its presence or error.

Those are just two simple things, and they are not the "how." There is no eternal how because there is no formula. That second point especially is a very cultural one, specific (though not exclusive) to our time and place. To some extent we all have to figure out how, and that is done in the present in community, with others. But we must be willing to try, and not let ourselves be ruled by the blowing of the winds. And by winds I mean feelings.

Birth and death. What are you birthing in your life? What are you putting to death? There are so many possibilities for both of those.

But there is another little wrinkle in this pair:

"For Christ's love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again. So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"
II Cor. 2:14-17

Resurrection. Because of who Christ was and is we believe in resurrection. And not just after death, but in the constant and continuing restitution of all that has gone wrong in this cruel world. The temptation in life, especially after a little seasoning, is to give up to the overwhelming death rate we experience in our own lives. We fight for life and new births, but we cannot keep up. We stick to what we know will survive and we stay there.

But we can challenge death. We can believe that resurrection is possible. Not all death is bad of course, but whether it is or not it doesn't have the power. We have the power, because it has been given to us through the authority of Christ. We can look at our lives and what has died. And we can not only look forward but actively seek resurrection of that death in our lives. It may not always rise again to look just like it did. That area/relationship/desire might and really should be quite transformed. It is precisely this transformation that makes not only all things new, but also renewed and full of life--life to the full. Oh and by the way in case you missed it, it is love that makes any and all of this possible. Christ's love and his love in us. It is the only way to true death, resurrection, and life.

"I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds."
John 12:24

nouwen

What is your pain? It is the experience of not receiving what you most need. It is a place of emptiness where you feel sharply the absence of the love you most desire.

You have to begin to trust that your experience of emptiness is not the final experience, that beyond it is a place where you are being held in love. As long as you do not trust that place beyond your emptiness, you cannot safely reenter the place of your pain.

You have to weep over your lost pains so that they can gradually leave you and you can become free to live fully in the new place without melancholy or homesickness.


Your heart is greater than your wounds.

soren kierkegaard--the geese

Imagine what it would be like if geese could talk--then they surely would have ordered their affairs so that they too had their divine service, their worship of God. They would gather every Sunday and listen to the gander's sermon. The gander would dwell on the high density of geese, the high goal for which the Creator had designed them--and each time His name was mentioned the lady-geese would curtsy and the ganders would bow their heads. Their wings would carry them away to distant regions, blissful regions, where they truly belonged, for on earth they were like strangers in a foreign land.

Thus every Sunday. When the service was over the congregation would rise and the geese waddle home. And again next Sunday they would attend divine service--and go home--and that would be that. They would thrive and grow fat, become plump and tasty, and eventually they would be eaten on St. Martin's Eve--and that would be that. Yes, that would be that. For while listening to resounding sermons on Sundays, on Mondays the geese would have a lot to tell each other, among other things what happened to a goose who tried in earnest to use the wings the Creator had given it, destined for the high gaol set before it; yes, what happened to it, the horrors it had to endure. The geese, among themselves, knew all about it. But of course it did not behoove them to speak of it on Sundays, for, as they said, then it would become obvious that our worship actually is a mockery of God and of ourselves.

There were also among the geese a few who began to looked peaked and were losing weight. Of those the other geese said, "Well, now we certainly see where it leads, this wanting to fly in earnest. For because they constantly have this idea of flying on their minds they lose weight, don't thrive, don't enjoy God's grace like ourselves, which is why we grow plump, fat, and tasty--for God's grace makes one plump, fat, and tasty."

And again the next Sunday they would go to church, and the older gander would preach about the high goal for which the Creator (here the lady-geese curtsied and the ganders bowed their heads) had destined them, the goal for which they had been given their wings.

Thus it is with the worship of God in Christianity. Man too has wings; he has imagination. It is meant to help him really to soar--but all we do is play, we let imagination entertain us in a quiet hour, in a Sunday reverie, and for the rest we stay as we were; and then on Monday we regard it as God's grace that we grow plump, fat, tasty and put on an extra layer of yellow fat, save money, acquire prestige in the world, beget many children and are successful--all this we regard as proof of God's grace. But all those who really get involved with God and who therefore--it cannot be otherwise and according to the New Testament it isn't--suffer and look worried, have trouble, toil and affliction--of those we say, "There, it is quite obvious that they don't enjoy the grace of God."

Then when someone reads this he will say, "How fine, how very fine." And that is that--then he waddles home and strives with all his might to become plump, tasty, and fat--but on Sunday the parson delivers a sermon and he listens to it--just like the geese.

george macdonald

I think I shall not ever pray for such;
Thy bliss will overflood my heart and brain,
And I want no unripe things back again.
Love ever fresher, lovelier than of old--
How should it want its more exchanged for much?
Love will not backward sigh, but forward strain,
On in the tale still telling, never told.

God help me, dull of heart, to trust in thee.
Thou art the father of me--not any mood
Can part me from the One, the verily Good.
When fog and failure o'er my being brood.
When life looks but a glimmering marshy clod,
No fire out flashing from the living God--
Then, then, to rest in faith were worthy victory!

'Twixt thee and me there's no division,
Except the meeting of they will and mine,
The loves that love, the wills that will the same.
Where thine meets mine is my life's true condition;
Yea, only there it burns with any flame.
Thy will but holds me to my life's fruition.
O God, I would--I have no mine that is not thine.

In the great glow of that great love, this death
Would melt away like a fantastic cloud;
I should no more shrink from it than from the breath
That makes in the frosty air a nimbus-shroud;
Thou, Love, hast conquered death, and I aloud
Should triumph over him, with thy saintly crowd,
That were the Lamb goes ever followeth.


selections from The Diary of an Old Soul: April.

bon iver

re:stacks

foy vance

Two Shades of Hope

If there’s one thing that I know, It is the two shades of hope, One the enlightening soul, And the other is more like a hang man’s rope, It’s true you may reap what you sow, But not that despair is the all time low. Baby hope deals the hardest blows.

There was once someone I loved, Whose heart overflowed his cup, And his shoes got covered in blood, Oh but he never knew ‘cause he only looked up, Now he was a troubled soul, Who’d known pain more than most I know. Yet it was hope that dealt the hardest blows.

And the girl that holds the hand, Of her somewhat distant man, Though she do everything that she can, Still his heart sets sail for distant lands, And she wonders sometimes if he knows, How she feels like a trampled rose. Baby hope deals the hardest blows.

Well some people think that their sin, Caused the cancer that’s eating into them, And the only way they can win, Is by the healing of somebody’s hands on their skin, And praying… but when the cancer does not go. Surely hope dealt the hardest blows.

Now all these truths are so, With foundations below them, That were dug out in the winters cold, When the world stole our young and preyed on the old, Now hope deals in the hardest blows, Yet I cannot help myself but hope.

I guess that’s why love hurts
And heartache stings
And despair’s never worse than despair that death brings
But hope deals the hardest blows dear
The hardest
Hope deals the hardest blows

olympics - life

in an article in today's paper on the stabbing to death of the father-in-law of US olympic volleyball coach Hugh McCutcheon in China yesterday:

"No, it's not easy to make sense of things. i remember being in Atlanta in 1996--there in the madness near Centennial Park after a bomb exploded and killed two, injuring more than 100. There was this terrible feeling that it was all so pointless--all these sports, all these games--so pointless when you thought about how much pain there is in the world. But then you remember that if you stop the games, you are only left with pain."
--Joe Posnanski

i was in minnesota this weekend. this morning in st. paul visiting a covenant church where a friend of mine is the youth pastor. and i saw something that struck me terribly deeply.

a man in the church, perhaps in his 30s or 40s walked up onto the stage with the help of a cane and a couple people. he sat down next to his wife to talk about faithfulness amidst the discovery of several large tumors in his brain just a few months ago. he talked about being led to seek prayer just before the tumors were found, when he didn't know why he needed prayer--he just felt it. his wife, through her tears, talked about the developments on treatment and a little about their two children.

i don't know what it is like to read that hearing it from me second-hand. perhaps it doesn't particularly strike you, the tragedy of it. there is too much tragedy in the world, so when we encounter it, we shut ourselves off from it. we almost have to in order to make it through. i do it all the time. and i started to do that this morning--i didn't know the guy at all.

but then i looked at him. i pictured what he might look like with hair, dressed up nice like any other middle-aged man sitting in the pews around me (or even as a younger person, like the friend at k-state who had a brain tumor earlier this year). i saw the lines on his face, the eyes that were almost lost amongst all the skin with no hair to offset it. he was holding it all in behind there, back with the tumors.

at the end of the service we gathered around them in prayer. i saw people who had shaved their heads in support. i saw older women weeping and squeezing his hand. i saw people cry out to God with various degrees of boldness in prayer. i saw the church.

i wanted to shout out and pray for this man Rick, whom i'd never met before. i wanted to declare in boldness that through the power of Christ he would be healed that very instant. but what power did i have that many hadn't already prayed with at a healing service held for him recently? and that aside, i completely lacked the faith. what if i said such a thing and i was wrong and he wasn't healed? where i am now, is the holy spirit with me much? i couldn't do it. could you?

a story came to me yesterday. well, to be more honest a title did. we'll see if i write the story, but i'll copyright the title anyway: and the children will play. watching a video showing kids jumping on car sculptures half buried in the concrete parking lot and covered in blacktop, i thought that this is what happens. in any tragedy, in any wreckage, the children will play. they will make it their playground and find a game. they have to, probably because they just cannot process the depth of it all. or to what extent they can, they must play to cope.

maybe posnanski's right, without the games you just have the pain. maybe we need to play. maybe we need to watch the olympics and cheer in the spirit of nationalism--keeping a close eye on that countries medal watch. you know, bragging rights and all. but maybe we really do. maybe we need to play.

i've heard it said that the US, as a country and culturally is like an adolescent. we try to prove ourselves, we are obsessed with sex and cars and the like, etc. and maybe we still want to play like kids (very competitive kids maybe). but sooner or later the games will stop (espn360 aside), and we will know our playgrounds as the wreckage they are. we will be a little older and wiser maybe. and will we be left only with the pain?

when rick and his wife got done sharing in church this morning, a man called out from the congregation, "we love you." and everyone rose to their feet clapping. and rick started crying. he started crying like i've never seen anyone cry before. this wasn't the weeping of heartbreak or mourning. this was something else. it was hard crying, but with no shame. it was filled with fear. yet it was also filled with so much love. he didn't cover his face or wipe his tears. his mouth was open as his chin held up his whole face. i don't know how else to describe it. but it is an image i won't forget.

he was face-to-face with eternity, and he bawled as any of us would. no need for our polished exteriors anymore. it was very human. so many people came around him though. he would not be left alone with his pain. and somewhere in it all, God was there. God the eternal.

most of us don't really give much of a look towards eternity. maybe a sideways glance or lip service. i'm not talking about heaven. the eternal is now, right before us. and we play. or more accurately we watch. and we pay a lot for our coping support, cash and more.

maybe we could take in a little more. maybe we should see what's happening in the new war in georgia, the friend struggling to suffer the aftermath of all the chemo, the family who lost someone recently--or not so recently (it still is hard).

or then again, phelps could get 8 golds and wouldn't that be something to see? it's just 17 days, our problems will be there still in 17 days. so will are friends. and hopefully rick. do we need these games? is it unhealthy nationalism? or is it truly world-uniting? what do you think?

republic tigers

the dark knight

warning: contains all kinds of spoilers. don't read if you don't want to know.

i saw this movie tonight for the second time. it was good to see it again to give things a little more time to sink in and at least let me try to understand and sort through the vast complexity of this movie. it is not only a very engaging and entertaining movie, it is also quiet a film filled with philosophical and artistic depth. granted the film is quite dark, demented, and disturbing at times--but often so is life. that is, if we allow ourselves to see it for all it is, which you could argue is something that this movie does. it may be full of evil, but in reality so is the world. so we should not hide from it, but really learn from it. there is much to learn from this film. still, i've been pretty appalled at the age of some of the kids parents are taking to see this film. there was a 5 or 6 year old girl sitting in the front row tonight. that just isn't right.

well i don't think i'll be able to organize all these thoughts into any flowing semblance, there is just too much there to put it all together. so here they are mostly at random, as they come to me.

heath ledger did an amazing job. i won't be at all surprised if the oscar goes to him. his character was by far the most interesting in the film, and probably one of the most interesting in all movies. he was an agent of chaos for sure. certainly a strong representation of satan--just out there to destroy everything. and the way he works. getting people alone, whispering into them, asking questions, raising their anger and using it against them. its almost like watching the screwtape letters. his tools--knives and dynamite, all about slashing things up and blowing it all away. he was the ultimate deconstructionist--with no leanings or sympathy for the supposed "good" or "evil." he broke down so many of the assumptions of what is good and what is wrong. and in that he exposed the deep flaw of pluralistic morality. which actually is something satan probably wouldn't openly do--it's much better if people don't realize those errors.

in fact the entire film showed that, on every level. "sometimes the truth isn't good enough...sometimes people don't need the truth, they need to have their faith rewarded." that is the final message the film offers as it is climbing to its end. but what is faith if it is in something that isn't true. it's deception. and the people in power are perfectly ok with deception, as long as it will ultimately help things.

on every level the film answers pluralistic morality with pragmatism, with what works. and usually always with what works in the immediate. people start dying, and the presented "solution" is for batman to turn himself in so that's what people demand, despite that it makes no sense. but it will work. people need a hero, so the lie is given because it will work for the good of the city. batman cannot know the truth, so rachel's letter is burned because it will work better for him to believe and have the strength for what he needs to do. which is to become an outcaste because it's what the city needs. it's still power and control, making the choices for what works, it just is supposedly done with good intentions--most of the time. but even that is also undermined.

in that sense they don't trust the people to be able to handle the truth. the truth about harvey would ruin everything, so they lie--for the good of the people. translation=the people cannot be trusted. yet just before there is the boat experiment, which is supposed to prove that people do still have good in them. but they still can't be trusted with the truth, with being able to have hope restored. faith and hope are therefore held up as very fragile things, things that must be shielded from the truth to really survive. unfortunately it's probably actually how a lot of people think and act in this culture, even those who hold their own faith.

the haunting thing is that the points made by the film in the different situations that arise are very realistic. it is probably how people would respond, the assumptions they would make, the action they would follow. you can learn a lot about our culture from this movie.

the film is also one that is very much for our time. it addresses the issue of wiretapping, of doing what is "needed" but "at what cost?" the inability of people to deal with the loss of human life and casualties--as that speaks to the war. when the "rules" are broken how people go crazy. speaks to democracy on the situation on the boat--how that works in theory but then no one will actually go through with it, will do what they need to do themselves. and it takes no sides. it asks the questions, and then shows why many of our given and accepted answers are wrong.

it totally undercuts the idea of schemers and control. how everyone is trying to work out their plans, but how easily those plans can be derailed. how little control people actually have. and that is true. the illusion of control. whether that be through power, or through any sort of rules. everyone will break the rules when people or things they care about are at stake. and that ruins any and all sorts of plans.

that was what brought harvey down. his character took a pretty hard fall from high idealism to sinister evil, and i'm not sure it was developed enough to be truly believable. but in the absence of schemes, when those fail, when the world is cruel he says, the only true morality is blind chance. that is the message of nihilism, as also portrayed in No Country for Old Men with another coin flipping killer. no one wants just chance though. that idea dies if the connection is made.

the decrying voice of the pragmatism of pretty much all of the "good" characters is the little boy at the end saying "but he didn't do anything wrong." right and wrong as typically defined don't really matter anymore though. what matters is that things get better. that the situation is fixed for the time being.

someone cares about right and wrong though. someone out there still wants the truth. is it the younger generations? will they see the horrors of tenderness as morality? that there are no limits to what that can bring--killing for love, stealing for the poor, lying for the better. it may seem like pragmatism, but does it really work? are we smart enough, insightful enough to know what it is we truly need and what will ultimately work? constantly making adjustments along the way? there are no true heroes this movie seems to say. everyone has their limits. everyone can fall, even the best of 'um.

only the truth can constantly endure, because it is just that--the truth. but not truth as a set of guidelines and rules, because that does not always endure. no, the truth as a person. that is the only truly trustworthy answer. though the movie goes to the opposite--in the absence of truth it must be the dark one who is willing to take on the scorn and ridicule to do what is right. maybe that sounds familiar to something like a cross. but is it taken on in the right way? i don't know. not with truth, but seemingly with love perhaps. can love exist without truth? is that just tenderness, which ultimately isn't the most loving thing, though it is seemingly sacrificial? will it ultimately work?

well i guess in the film world we'll have to wait another couple years to see.

the shack

this book is just filled with goodness. somewhere along the line it somehow became controversial in some evangelical circles, though not exactly sure why--i mean if you actually read it. i loved it, every bit of it. hard to read at times for sure, but really wrestles with the deep questions of suffering and God. and unlike some other books that use story as a simply poor shroud to cover a non-fiction writing, this is truly a good work of fiction that has a lot of literary merit.

i don't know if there is better praise than this: "this book has the potential to do for our generation what John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress did for his. it's that good!" ~Eugene Peterson

any of you out there read it yet? thoughts?