hate what is evil.
cling to what is good.
outdo one another in showing honor.
rejoice in hope.
show hospitality.
be patient in affliction.
be faithful in prayer.
bless those who persecute you.
rejoice with those who rejoice.
mourn with those who mourn.
live in harmony.
do not be proud.
do not be conceited.
Do not take revenge.
leave room for God’s wrath.
do not be overcome by evil.
overcome evil with good.
i didn't write any of those words. they belong to another. and no, it's not 1 corinthians; it's romans 12, shuffled around a bit. and it's true. to love and really love, to say that you are someone who loves means putting aside your own desires for those of another. it means letting go of anger and showing kindness. it means rejoicing with someone who is happy when you're not so happy. it means laying aside your joy to mourn with someone who is mourning. it means holding fast to goodness. it means no hypocrisy. it means love is not a feeling. it is action.
i cringe every time i hear someone equate love with a feeling. you're selling yourself short. you're cheapening love. and if there is no action behind the word love, it's not love at all.
this is love in action. this is true, sincere love.
Showing posts with label la parole ecrit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label la parole ecrit. Show all posts
Friday, January 7, 2011
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
chains
i don't know of many who have not heard the quote from John 8 "Then you will know the truth and the truth will set you free." if you read the rest of the context around the verse you get a truer 
sense of the meaning of the verse. there's so much i would love to get into (ie. the section before this where Jesus writes in the sand); but there is much in question of who Christ is in the verses above and below. Jesus is being challenged by the children of Abraham. who are you? right before this verse Jesus says, "If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples." and then after, "I tell you the truth, everyone who sins is a slave to sin. Now a slave has no permanent place in the family, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free then you are free indeed."
the truth Jesus spoke was hard on the ears it fell to. it was difficult to stomach. many denied his claims; this was not the savior they were looking for. he was from a terrible town (does anything good come from Nineveh?); he was meek; he was a carpenter's son. they heard Jesus proclaim, "before Abraham was born, I am!" and they were angered. this was blasphemy to their ears, so they picked up stone to throw at him ( Jesus escaped before the stones were thrown.)
what truth are you denying? are you listening to what you want to hear, pleased by good words? are you embracing a sugar coated lie that looks like the truth because how hard the truth really is?
a favorite quote of mine is from Flannery O'Connor: "The truth does not change with our ability to stomach it." the truth is the truth is the truth. i listened recently to truth be twisted into a lie; originally it was truth and it was truth that was difficult to hear. now after being twisted, it was lighter and sweeter but no longer truth, no longer powerful, no longer potent. it was impotent and weak. it was a lie. it was death. and now, with truth denied, the chains were placed back on.
a dear friend once told me a hard truth i needed to hear... but i did not want to hear it. she told me my apologies were not apologies because i followed them up with the word "but". i was angry, upset. but God used her to convict me. she was right. i listened to this truth; and i tell you, it gave me life, exposed brokenness and pride in me that needed to be addressed, and it improved my relationships and changed me.
the life Jesus is speaking about is the truth of who HE is, a hard truth but it is truth.
"A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic - on the level with a man who says he is a poached egg - or he would be the devil of hell. You must take your choice. Either this was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us." C.S. Lewis Mere Christianity
sense of the meaning of the verse. there's so much i would love to get into (ie. the section before this where Jesus writes in the sand); but there is much in question of who Christ is in the verses above and below. Jesus is being challenged by the children of Abraham. who are you? right before this verse Jesus says, "If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples." and then after, "I tell you the truth, everyone who sins is a slave to sin. Now a slave has no permanent place in the family, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free then you are free indeed."the truth Jesus spoke was hard on the ears it fell to. it was difficult to stomach. many denied his claims; this was not the savior they were looking for. he was from a terrible town (does anything good come from Nineveh?); he was meek; he was a carpenter's son. they heard Jesus proclaim, "before Abraham was born, I am!" and they were angered. this was blasphemy to their ears, so they picked up stone to throw at him ( Jesus escaped before the stones were thrown.)
what truth are you denying? are you listening to what you want to hear, pleased by good words? are you embracing a sugar coated lie that looks like the truth because how hard the truth really is?
a favorite quote of mine is from Flannery O'Connor: "The truth does not change with our ability to stomach it." the truth is the truth is the truth. i listened recently to truth be twisted into a lie; originally it was truth and it was truth that was difficult to hear. now after being twisted, it was lighter and sweeter but no longer truth, no longer powerful, no longer potent. it was impotent and weak. it was a lie. it was death. and now, with truth denied, the chains were placed back on.
a dear friend once told me a hard truth i needed to hear... but i did not want to hear it. she told me my apologies were not apologies because i followed them up with the word "but". i was angry, upset. but God used her to convict me. she was right. i listened to this truth; and i tell you, it gave me life, exposed brokenness and pride in me that needed to be addressed, and it improved my relationships and changed me.
the life Jesus is speaking about is the truth of who HE is, a hard truth but it is truth.
"A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic - on the level with a man who says he is a poached egg - or he would be the devil of hell. You must take your choice. Either this was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us." C.S. Lewis Mere Christianity
Thursday, April 15, 2010
in the presence of grace pt 2
responding to grace
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is Rapidly fadin'
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.
Bob Dylan "The Times They are A-Changin'"
i have been trying to nail down my thoughts on grace through some recent experiences in dealing with the ungracious among us, trying to understand the Grace i live under through Christ, trying to understand how i should respond to the ungracious, my own ungraciousness (yes, i made up a word. it's been done before by brilliant strategery.), what GRACE is, and what the consequences are in not responding to it.
lars von trier wrote Dogville partially in response to hearing Brecht's Threepenny Opera specifically the song "Pirate Jenny". in the song, jenny is abused, overlooked, made to work like a dog, but little do her overlords know that she actually belongs to a pirate ship. the pirate ship will be docking soon, and she sings how these men will get theirs in the end. it's plain and simple revenge.
not responding to grace has nothing to do with revenge. it has EVERYTHING to do with consequence. we live in a society that has taken consequence and almost thrown it out the window with philosophies like, "do what makes you happy" and "do what is best for you".
the God i know and trust in, the I AM, is a God of Grace. there is no doubt about that. he is loving and kind, he is charitable and patient, he is goodness defined. that same God is also a God of justice. many doubt this aspect of who He is because of how much goes unpunished, though reading through the New Testament it states many times, God will judge.
in reading the book of Malachi, they faced much of the same issues and problems as we do. "You have said, 'It is futile to serve God. What did we gain by carrying out his requirements and going about like mourners before the LORD Almighty? But now we call the arrogant blessed. Certainly the evildoers prosper, and even those who challenge God escape.' "
BUT later it continues, "Surely the day is coming; it will burn like a furnace. All the arrogant and every evildoer will be stubble, and that day that is coming will set them on fire," says the LORD Almighty. and then beautifully, "But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings."
this too is grace.
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is Rapidly fadin'
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.
Bob Dylan "The Times They are A-Changin'"
i have been trying to nail down my thoughts on grace through some recent experiences in dealing with the ungracious among us, trying to understand the Grace i live under through Christ, trying to understand how i should respond to the ungracious, my own ungraciousness (yes, i made up a word. it's been done before by brilliant strategery.), what GRACE is, and what the consequences are in not responding to it.
lars von trier wrote Dogville partially in response to hearing Brecht's Threepenny Opera specifically the song "Pirate Jenny". in the song, jenny is abused, overlooked, made to work like a dog, but little do her overlords know that she actually belongs to a pirate ship. the pirate ship will be docking soon, and she sings how these men will get theirs in the end. it's plain and simple revenge.
not responding to grace has nothing to do with revenge. it has EVERYTHING to do with consequence. we live in a society that has taken consequence and almost thrown it out the window with philosophies like, "do what makes you happy" and "do what is best for you".
the God i know and trust in, the I AM, is a God of Grace. there is no doubt about that. he is loving and kind, he is charitable and patient, he is goodness defined. that same God is also a God of justice. many doubt this aspect of who He is because of how much goes unpunished, though reading through the New Testament it states many times, God will judge.
in reading the book of Malachi, they faced much of the same issues and problems as we do. "You have said, 'It is futile to serve God. What did we gain by carrying out his requirements and going about like mourners before the LORD Almighty? But now we call the arrogant blessed. Certainly the evildoers prosper, and even those who challenge God escape.' "
BUT later it continues, "Surely the day is coming; it will burn like a furnace. All the arrogant and every evildoer will be stubble, and that day that is coming will set them on fire," says the LORD Almighty. and then beautifully, "But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings."
this too is grace.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
in the presence of grace pt.1
i have a love hate relationship with the movie Dogville. it is amazing, moving, touching, convicting, true, beautiful. it is also ugly, rough, disgusting, harsh, devastating, hard to stomach, difficult to watch. if you don't like spoilers then don't continue reading. it's a story of a girl that escapes a mob and ends up in a small backwoods town; the townspeople don't know what to do with her, so the scholastic, moralistic lead male, Tom Edison (played brilliantly by Paul Bettany) comes up with a plan, an experiment and life lesson on morality. The girl, Grace, must earn the trust of the townspeople by doing tasks for them. At first the townspeople don't really have anything for her to do. One by one they come around and Grace has a schedule to keep in doing menial tasks for the people. She earns their trust and they vote for her to stay. The police come around with a poster saying that Grace was wanted for participating in a bank robbery, and the townspeople are aware of Grace's innocence but they begin to fear the law for harboring a wanted woman.
Tom comes up with a plan that Grace will do more tasks for the townspeople. They become increasingly demanding and she begins to make mistakes due to an overloaded schedule. The female townspeople and the children become abusive, and the male townspeople begin sexually harassing and abusing her. Grace is enslaved and is made to wear a wagon wheel around and a bell to announce her presence. Tom, the one townsperson in love with Grace and the one male who has not had sex with her, tries to force himself on her and she refuses. Now he decides it is time to call the mob, more in fear of his own lack of morality. The mob shows up cordially greeted by Tom and the townspeople, and we then find out Grace is the mob boss' daughter. He takes her in his car and they discuss what to do. She asks him not to be harsh on the people, but then realizes her standard for herself is much higher than the standard she sets for others. The whole town is completely destroyed.
i love this film because it amazingly illustrates the abuse of grace. yes, grace can be and is abused on a daily basis. there was someone i offered grace to over and over and over. she took it freely over and over. she couldn't pay a bill? i obliged. she needed something from me, i gave. then came the moment i needed her grace in something small, and suddenly judgment and fire were poured on my head. i think of the times i abuse the grace God gives me. "He'll understand", "He knows I struggle with in this area."
"what do we say then? do we go on sinning that grace may increase? by no means! we died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?" romans 6:1. g.k. chesterton wrote, "I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on man unless they act."
i did some research on this film trying to understand it's roots and the author/director. lars von trier is in no way a morally impressive man. in fact, i'm pretty disgusted. his latest film illustrates what earth would have been like if Satan would have created it. no need to see that. but i am still impressed with dogville. it is hard to recommend to others because of how hard it is to watch. but von trier exits the hollywood "all-is-perfect" mentallity, and gives us a picture that is worth more than perfection. it exposes our grossness, our abuses, our iniquity not relishing or beautifying that iniquity but placing a mirror in front of the viewers face to see our own failing. one writer said after viewing the film, "I am ashamed in the presence of Grace".
in the presence of grace, how do you respond? how do i respond?
Tom comes up with a plan that Grace will do more tasks for the townspeople. They become increasingly demanding and she begins to make mistakes due to an overloaded schedule. The female townspeople and the children become abusive, and the male townspeople begin sexually harassing and abusing her. Grace is enslaved and is made to wear a wagon wheel around and a bell to announce her presence. Tom, the one townsperson in love with Grace and the one male who has not had sex with her, tries to force himself on her and she refuses. Now he decides it is time to call the mob, more in fear of his own lack of morality. The mob shows up cordially greeted by Tom and the townspeople, and we then find out Grace is the mob boss' daughter. He takes her in his car and they discuss what to do. She asks him not to be harsh on the people, but then realizes her standard for herself is much higher than the standard she sets for others. The whole town is completely destroyed.
i love this film because it amazingly illustrates the abuse of grace. yes, grace can be and is abused on a daily basis. there was someone i offered grace to over and over and over. she took it freely over and over. she couldn't pay a bill? i obliged. she needed something from me, i gave. then came the moment i needed her grace in something small, and suddenly judgment and fire were poured on my head. i think of the times i abuse the grace God gives me. "He'll understand", "He knows I struggle with in this area."
"what do we say then? do we go on sinning that grace may increase? by no means! we died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?" romans 6:1. g.k. chesterton wrote, "I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on man unless they act."
i did some research on this film trying to understand it's roots and the author/director. lars von trier is in no way a morally impressive man. in fact, i'm pretty disgusted. his latest film illustrates what earth would have been like if Satan would have created it. no need to see that. but i am still impressed with dogville. it is hard to recommend to others because of how hard it is to watch. but von trier exits the hollywood "all-is-perfect" mentallity, and gives us a picture that is worth more than perfection. it exposes our grossness, our abuses, our iniquity not relishing or beautifying that iniquity but placing a mirror in front of the viewers face to see our own failing. one writer said after viewing the film, "I am ashamed in the presence of Grace".
in the presence of grace, how do you respond? how do i respond?
Monday, July 20, 2009
thanksgiving in july
eucharistia
We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder
I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. ~G.K. Chesterton
i'm trying to grasp thankfulness today. gratefulness. why do we say thanks? why do we send thank you notes and flowers and speak blessings? why don't we just accept a gift and leave it at that? why do we say thank you?
older generations are lamenting the fact that the younger generations have lost all proper forms of manners. i have to agree. we have. i have been reading through dear abby and miss manners columns and this is my favorite quote: "The art of writing a thank-you is a social grace that every wise parent should pass along to his or her child."
yes, i learned to say thanks because my parents taught me to accept gracefully though i didn't always do it well. i remember vividly getting a lesson in gratefulness. i was in second grade and we lived in peru. i had just sung in front of the church with a couple of adults. on the walk home with my dad, someone gave me a compliment, and my response was, "no. i wasn't very good," trying to be self-efacing, trying to divert the attention from me. my dad gently corrected me telling me the proper response was a thank you. plain and simple. no one had to tell me i was a good performer. no one was obligated to compliment me; but they did it out of the goodness of their heart. i guess it was more a lesson on receiving gifts but i will never forget what it taught me on the giving of gifts as well.
not only did i learn it from my parents, but i also learned gratefulness from knowing Christ, for, truly knowing him, gratefulness will pour out like a dam undone.
And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
i'm still exploring the concept of gratitude, but i thought i would start by saying thank you. thank you mom and dad for raising me in God's truth and in the love of Christ. for that i am eternally grateful. thank you kara and joel for putting up with me and the many times you have shown grace to me. thank you brie for 19 years of friendship, prayer, and love. thank you molly verdyun and mrs. t and debby polizzi and martha rasco and carla heltzel and johanna oudman for being Godly examples and extending your wisdom and kindness to me. thank you dr. t and david and geno and the beacham family for being steadfast in your faith and leadership. you have been very influential in my life and in my faith. thank you to angela clemens and emily harris and brie and charity and kristy hoffpauir for giving me a roof over my head when i did not have one. thank you jan and jane and kate and stephanie and jodi for your support and prayers and patience with me. thank you caroline and john for supporting me and caring for me when times were hard. thank you jerry goff and tim wallace for being excellent pastors to a silly teenage girl. through your leadership i grew deeper in the knowlege of Christ.
thank you, neal, for your love. you amaze me and words cannot express how grateful i am for you.
thank you Christ for your unfailing love and amazing grace, the gifts you give i do not deserve. thank you God for your sacrifice. thank you that you call me Your own.
We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder
I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. ~G.K. Chesterton
i'm trying to grasp thankfulness today. gratefulness. why do we say thanks? why do we send thank you notes and flowers and speak blessings? why don't we just accept a gift and leave it at that? why do we say thank you?older generations are lamenting the fact that the younger generations have lost all proper forms of manners. i have to agree. we have. i have been reading through dear abby and miss manners columns and this is my favorite quote: "The art of writing a thank-you is a social grace that every wise parent should pass along to his or her child."
yes, i learned to say thanks because my parents taught me to accept gracefully though i didn't always do it well. i remember vividly getting a lesson in gratefulness. i was in second grade and we lived in peru. i had just sung in front of the church with a couple of adults. on the walk home with my dad, someone gave me a compliment, and my response was, "no. i wasn't very good," trying to be self-efacing, trying to divert the attention from me. my dad gently corrected me telling me the proper response was a thank you. plain and simple. no one had to tell me i was a good performer. no one was obligated to compliment me; but they did it out of the goodness of their heart. i guess it was more a lesson on receiving gifts but i will never forget what it taught me on the giving of gifts as well.
not only did i learn it from my parents, but i also learned gratefulness from knowing Christ, for, truly knowing him, gratefulness will pour out like a dam undone.
And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
i'm still exploring the concept of gratitude, but i thought i would start by saying thank you. thank you mom and dad for raising me in God's truth and in the love of Christ. for that i am eternally grateful. thank you kara and joel for putting up with me and the many times you have shown grace to me. thank you brie for 19 years of friendship, prayer, and love. thank you molly verdyun and mrs. t and debby polizzi and martha rasco and carla heltzel and johanna oudman for being Godly examples and extending your wisdom and kindness to me. thank you dr. t and david and geno and the beacham family for being steadfast in your faith and leadership. you have been very influential in my life and in my faith. thank you to angela clemens and emily harris and brie and charity and kristy hoffpauir for giving me a roof over my head when i did not have one. thank you jan and jane and kate and stephanie and jodi for your support and prayers and patience with me. thank you caroline and john for supporting me and caring for me when times were hard. thank you jerry goff and tim wallace for being excellent pastors to a silly teenage girl. through your leadership i grew deeper in the knowlege of Christ.
thank you, neal, for your love. you amaze me and words cannot express how grateful i am for you.
thank you Christ for your unfailing love and amazing grace, the gifts you give i do not deserve. thank you God for your sacrifice. thank you that you call me Your own.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
grace revisited.
mickey myers night falls on jericho street
i love u2's song grace. it is a blanket of comfort as i play it over and over. "what once was hurt, what once was friction, what left a mark, no longer stings; because grace makes beauty out of ugly things." i read an article in Christianity today where Bono speaks on grace. "Grace defies reason and logic. Love interrupts, if you like, the consequences of your actions, which in my case is very good news indeed, because I've done a lot of stupid stuff."
i would like to add a bit more to it. grace interrupts the consequences of death and grime. the cross was an act of Grace, but it was costly. i still have to respond to that grace. i still have to be proactive. otherwise, it cheapens grace, "it is forgiveness without repentance" as Bonhoeffer said.
i have found grace offered to me over and over; but if i don't accept it, move with it, then the beauty of it is lost.
i have found grace offered to me over and over; but if i don't accept it, move with it, then the beauty of it is lost.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
appreciation
“Let us learn to appreciate there will be times when the trees will be bare, and look forward to the time when we may pick the fruit.” Chekhov
a personal mantra of mine has been, "don't take it for granted. ever." because i have, especially in the past. have you ever found yourself looking back after having something and during that time you didn't realize how great it was? one personal example was living in downtown Chicago attending college there. i thoroughly enjoyed myself though i took for granted the opportunity to study there as well as the opportunity to live downtown. i had wonderful professors to teach me and train me, with resources beyond my 19 year old comprehension all at an incredible price (free). but i was depressed and confused and downcast and distracted and 19. i've been offered many opportunities like that and not realized how sweet the deal was.
i've also seen and experienced life without. felt the desert around me. and i have walked through a few valleys, the most recent one being pain. though to Job my life has been sunshine and cauliflower, it hasn't been easy.
the valleys have taught me an overwhelming gratefulness for the seasons of plenty. BUT, in the plenty, i am now grateful for the valley. there has been much to see from down there. much to learn. i read a quote today from the band, Relient K. "...But the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair." and i can say, it was grace that kept me in the valley and grace that led me out. and i don't take it for granted.
Friday, December 12, 2008
everything i needed to know about giving i learned from a turkish bellboy and a mexican cardboard village
it's that time of year where everyone is buying and buying and they don't know why. stores are overcrowded and messy. shoppers are kinda stupid stopping in the middle of the isle stripping little Susy down to see if the pants are going to be long enough next year. driver's are all on the holiday version of road rage.... Seasons Greetings to you too, you no good Fudge Eating Santa's Helper!!!
i heard one complaint this year from a mom who said, "well, no one needs anything!" last year i was pretty sickened by the gifting and holiday glimmering and the smiling and the cheesy movies and the glib seasonal songs. i didn't ask for gifts but i received some incredibly thoughtful and lovely ones. a jane austen cookbook, flannery o'connor books, dickens books and journals, an everyday tea pot, red tea towels. simple gifts of things i love.
but this year, i want to buy gifts. i am a whirl of ideas for someone in particular, and can't wait to shop. and it's not about the buying or the gifts themselves. it's the excitement of giving. i love it. not the money part or the material part. it's the thoughtful part i love especially when it's about love. when i lived in amsterdam, i had to send home gifts to my family making sure the package arrived before Christmas day. it was my first one apart from them. and so i searched for something for each one of them that was special and that tied me to them, that i could tie significance to. and then i wrote a Christmas letter to go with each gift. for my sister, i found jewelry. in her note, i talked the beauty i saw in her. my brother was on a new journey and was learning much through tolkien's books; i found a journal bilbo style.
this year we have wisely budgeted, set limits. i think i could buy and buy, again not for material wealth. for generosity. in 1997 i went to adana, turkey to take an apology from Christians to Muslims on the 900th anniversary of the crusades. there in adana, our bellhop invited us generously to his house. we took up his offer and i cannot begin to tell you the feast we had. i have not seen more food at the wealthiest tables here in austin, and i've sat at a few. we could have eaten for days on what was provided that one single meal. it was overwhelming to the senses. it was generosity beyond any i had encountered anywhere. we ate and ate large portions of cheeses and yogurt and kebab and dolmas and olives and fresh vegetables and pide and fresh fig, tea and coffee and ayran ( i could go on....) then he took us to the beach for turkish dancing and soda and cookies. to use a coined phrase, it was a feast fit for a king. and it was just for six measly americans wanting to bridge hundreds of years of hurt, still learning about gratefulness.
a month after the bellboy roasted us, some other friends came through the town hoping to meet with him. he couldn't have them over; he had spent a month's salary on our single meal.
going way back to 1990, i was on a missions trip in mexico to a cardboard village, helping run a children's Bible program. at the end of the week, the same thing. the village spent a month's salary to feed our team, the best and most humbling meal i had ever feasted on. once again, a third world country out gives the wealthiest nation in the world.
to only be half as generous is something i strive for. the least of these gave more than i can ever comprehend.
freely you have received, freely give.
i heard one complaint this year from a mom who said, "well, no one needs anything!" last year i was pretty sickened by the gifting and holiday glimmering and the smiling and the cheesy movies and the glib seasonal songs. i didn't ask for gifts but i received some incredibly thoughtful and lovely ones. a jane austen cookbook, flannery o'connor books, dickens books and journals, an everyday tea pot, red tea towels. simple gifts of things i love.
but this year, i want to buy gifts. i am a whirl of ideas for someone in particular, and can't wait to shop. and it's not about the buying or the gifts themselves. it's the excitement of giving. i love it. not the money part or the material part. it's the thoughtful part i love especially when it's about love. when i lived in amsterdam, i had to send home gifts to my family making sure the package arrived before Christmas day. it was my first one apart from them. and so i searched for something for each one of them that was special and that tied me to them, that i could tie significance to. and then i wrote a Christmas letter to go with each gift. for my sister, i found jewelry. in her note, i talked the beauty i saw in her. my brother was on a new journey and was learning much through tolkien's books; i found a journal bilbo style.
this year we have wisely budgeted, set limits. i think i could buy and buy, again not for material wealth. for generosity. in 1997 i went to adana, turkey to take an apology from Christians to Muslims on the 900th anniversary of the crusades. there in adana, our bellhop invited us generously to his house. we took up his offer and i cannot begin to tell you the feast we had. i have not seen more food at the wealthiest tables here in austin, and i've sat at a few. we could have eaten for days on what was provided that one single meal. it was overwhelming to the senses. it was generosity beyond any i had encountered anywhere. we ate and ate large portions of cheeses and yogurt and kebab and dolmas and olives and fresh vegetables and pide and fresh fig, tea and coffee and ayran ( i could go on....) then he took us to the beach for turkish dancing and soda and cookies. to use a coined phrase, it was a feast fit for a king. and it was just for six measly americans wanting to bridge hundreds of years of hurt, still learning about gratefulness.
a month after the bellboy roasted us, some other friends came through the town hoping to meet with him. he couldn't have them over; he had spent a month's salary on our single meal.
going way back to 1990, i was on a missions trip in mexico to a cardboard village, helping run a children's Bible program. at the end of the week, the same thing. the village spent a month's salary to feed our team, the best and most humbling meal i had ever feasted on. once again, a third world country out gives the wealthiest nation in the world.
to only be half as generous is something i strive for. the least of these gave more than i can ever comprehend.
freely you have received, freely give.
Monday, April 28, 2008
amber waves of grain
In 1974, the year I was born, the world saw a food crisis of epoch proportions instituting the first ever World Food Conference sponsored by the UN. Thirty-four years later at least thirty-seven nations are now in a major food crisis. Some nations are hitting the panic button as they stop exporting rice and wheat and other staples while the UN and the World Bank wave their hands warning the bans only make the problem worse. Everyone looks for a scapegoat, someone or something to blame. China and India are eating better, one article stated. Free trade-- that's the problem! Bio-fuel, the cause of food prices soaring. Western capitalism is to blame. American agriculture is the culprit, another article read. Meanwhile, the peoples of Mauritania and Indonesia and Haiti and Cameroon are starving. The UN has called a meeting in Bern to address an immediate plan of action as well as the cause. The World Bank has doubled its lending to Africa (where a majority of the nations in crisis are) for agriculture to $800 million, both aiding Africa's problem while possibly creating even more problems down the road (debt debt debt on top of more debt).
A couple of months ago I went to Texas French Bread company to eat a lovely lunch of half a pimento cheese sandwich and a mocha walnut cookie. There was a sign at the register warning patrons that prices were rising due to wheat prices rising. And now, I learn that this staple, this grainy goodness, this symbol of wealth and health, prosperity and fertility, is poison to my body. As wheat is in high demand, its prices soar and there is a world shortage, I can't have my cake and eat it too. My daily bread? Potatoes, rice flour, quinoa.
I do feel a bit Marie Antoinette-ish as I enjoy my rice flour chocolate chip cookie and my corn tortilla breakfast taco. hundreds of millions of the world's poor are starving. I read several articles today to get the big picture of what is going on, and one person had the audacity to say that we ignore the problem and let it take care of itself. Let the poor die so we don't have to feed them down the road. Natural Evolution, he called it. Survival of the fittest, right? The wonderful shock and awe of the Beatitudes would say differently. It's the meek that inherit the earth. As a careless, irresponsible consumer who lives in a wealthy, capitalist, wasteful nation I must ask what I can do, what I can change as I leave my thumbprint not only on my country but on the planet as my decisions and patterns cause a waterfall effect on the global economy.
The World Food Programme
The ONE Campaign
World Vision
Mercy Corps
Thursday, January 17, 2008
$1,000,000.00
there is so much on my mind and heart, so much to write about, poems lingering on the edge of my tongue and fingers, still much sadness and much processing. but today something very rare and very unusual has happened to me.
i touched a million dollars. today. literally. i touched a check for a million dollars. today. with my own two hands. the interest alone on that check will make double my yearly salary. whoa. i love working in philanthropy. we give away money. and some philanthropists give away big money. like 1 million dollars. for good causes. some per
son just sat down and wrote a check with six big zeroes behind a big fat 1. and it wasn't child's play or monopoly money. it was the real thing. not to buy a house or invest in the latest technology. it was given away. just like that. for posterity's sake. not to make a grandchild rich and wealthy or to make a name for oneself. but for the general public to benefit. and again i say, whoa.
so, i of course began to wonder.... if i was given a million dollars just like that what would i do with it? how would i steward it? what would you do with it?
-i would set up a retirement fund for my parents
-i would set some aside for my nieces to go to college
-i would set some aside for investing specifically for charity/missions/ministry and research well what i give to
-i would put some to work in investments
-i would set some aside for adopting a child one day
-i would buy a reliable vehicle for my brother and sister
-i would buy a hybrid vehicle for myself
-i would buy a shotgun to put my current vehicle out of its misery
-i would put some aside hoping that one day i get to have a very simple wedding
-i would find some kind of support to lose that last 35 of hiding weight (yes, i am one of those women always self-conscious of her body and all the perceived imperfections)
-i would go back to school and go to grad school in england
-i would cook large elaborate meals for random people
-i would have a community home in an unknown land to host musicians and poets and writers and artists and travelers and wanderers and the tired and weary and missionaries and thinkers and lecturers and intellects and philosophers and seekers and doers
-i would dress like a true bohemian and pierce my nose
-i would study a country and its people and go live there for a while
-i would take some time out just to write. just write.
-i would spend a day at the strand in nyc buying and giving away books
-i would dream about all the things that need to be done on this earth to bring it closer to what grace and glory look like... para ejemplo, programs for street kids in under-developed nations, ways to get children in third world countries out of the factories and in to childhood, what relief in africa should really look like, how to end the sex slave trade, how to support debt forgiveness for underdeveloped countries and programs to help them develop and maintain budgets and thriving industries, etc., etc...
looking at the list, there is so much of it that can be done without a million dollars! i don't need the million. just kinda need a little faith. so much of it is just dreams and visions, hopes and prayers. my purpose in life, my purpose on this round blue globe is to honor christ. my purpose is to serve him all the days i am given on this planet. that is my call. that is my reason to breathe and walk and live. this opportunity to be a civilian, to be a warm body on a cold cold earth, is a privilege and a grace though some days it feels more like punishment and purgatory. i don't need a million dollars. i've been given so much already. and i ask a similar question in another light, how am i stewarding all i've already been given?
right now someone i know is helping a charitable organization plan to give away $100,000,000.00 over the next few years. now that is.... unfathomable.
i touched a million dollars. today. literally. i touched a check for a million dollars. today. with my own two hands. the interest alone on that check will make double my yearly salary. whoa. i love working in philanthropy. we give away money. and some philanthropists give away big money. like 1 million dollars. for good causes. some per
son just sat down and wrote a check with six big zeroes behind a big fat 1. and it wasn't child's play or monopoly money. it was the real thing. not to buy a house or invest in the latest technology. it was given away. just like that. for posterity's sake. not to make a grandchild rich and wealthy or to make a name for oneself. but for the general public to benefit. and again i say, whoa.so, i of course began to wonder.... if i was given a million dollars just like that what would i do with it? how would i steward it? what would you do with it?
-i would set up a retirement fund for my parents
-i would set some aside for my nieces to go to college
-i would set some aside for investing specifically for charity/missions/ministry and research well what i give to
-i would put some to work in investments
-i would set some aside for adopting a child one day
-i would buy a reliable vehicle for my brother and sister
-i would buy a hybrid vehicle for myself
-i would buy a shotgun to put my current vehicle out of its misery
-i would put some aside hoping that one day i get to have a very simple wedding
-i would find some kind of support to lose that last 35 of hiding weight (yes, i am one of those women always self-conscious of her body and all the perceived imperfections)
-i would go back to school and go to grad school in england
-i would cook large elaborate meals for random people
-i would have a community home in an unknown land to host musicians and poets and writers and artists and travelers and wanderers and the tired and weary and missionaries and thinkers and lecturers and intellects and philosophers and seekers and doers
-i would dress like a true bohemian and pierce my nose
-i would study a country and its people and go live there for a while
-i would take some time out just to write. just write.
-i would spend a day at the strand in nyc buying and giving away books
-i would dream about all the things that need to be done on this earth to bring it closer to what grace and glory look like... para ejemplo, programs for street kids in under-developed nations, ways to get children in third world countries out of the factories and in to childhood, what relief in africa should really look like, how to end the sex slave trade, how to support debt forgiveness for underdeveloped countries and programs to help them develop and maintain budgets and thriving industries, etc., etc...
looking at the list, there is so much of it that can be done without a million dollars! i don't need the million. just kinda need a little faith. so much of it is just dreams and visions, hopes and prayers. my purpose in life, my purpose on this round blue globe is to honor christ. my purpose is to serve him all the days i am given on this planet. that is my call. that is my reason to breathe and walk and live. this opportunity to be a civilian, to be a warm body on a cold cold earth, is a privilege and a grace though some days it feels more like punishment and purgatory. i don't need a million dollars. i've been given so much already. and i ask a similar question in another light, how am i stewarding all i've already been given?
right now someone i know is helping a charitable organization plan to give away $100,000,000.00 over the next few years. now that is.... unfathomable.
Monday, December 17, 2007
a solemn scrooge
(edited three times; final draft 12/19)
twinkly lights, christmas songs, santa claus, wintery wonderylands, sleigh bells, mistletoe, shopping malls, holiday sales, bows and ribbons, presents, decorations, trees, wreaths, little elves--- bah humbug. this year i could do without them all. i've been asked many times about what i want for christmas, and i don't have an answer. i want to just forget it all this year.
this year i can only see the materialism, commercialism, self-absorbed consumerism, selfish ethnocentric arrogance, and a preoccupation with a gluttonous, ravenous, excessive desire for things. i decorate the house every year with garland and candles and a door wreath, i buy a real tree; but this year there is only an advent wreath my roommate made and a fake christmas tree that stands in the corner decorated solely with silly string and marshmallows (long story). i want to sell everything and get rid of all the waste that just takes up space.
this year i can only think of something we discussed at the church i attend now-- advent as a little lent, a time of repentance. i see the depth of fallenness within me and the world around me. i sting with disappointed hope. melancholy creeps in and i respond by wallowing in it. depression calls for fire and heaven to make its claim on this earth.
this year i feel deeply alone. i am about to lose the best roommate i have ever had (a dear friend) to politics and red tape. my singleness feels highlighted by glaring, flashing marquees as those nearest and dearest celebrate with a significant one. i celebrate for them and with them though my heart is cognizant of its longing to be loved.
so, this year, i buy less for others and require less from others. so this year, i repent and confess, forgive, offer grace. so this year, i try and hold my head up knowing i was made to love and appreciate those who have shown love to me.
the advent lament does end. i've been playing jeff buckley's 'hallelujah' all afternoon weeping over brokenness and my own broken-ness. ah, but... there is reason to hallelujah. it may be a weak one right now, but it's a hallelujah.
(i've changed this blog three times. i want to be true and honest to how i was feeling but remain hopeful. but i know there is reason to hope. i cannot deny it though circumstances cloud it. like, for example, there is anticipation. and there is redemption. there is a remembrance that glory fell, grace came, and the heavenlies descended to the dirtiest, grimiest places among the broken. two arms, two legs, two eyes, placenta, and a cry; and love, made perfect, takes his mother's breast in a bittersweet embrace. this is what frees the soul from being eternally locked in a monotonous, drab existence. radiohead- no surprises- shows a resignation to life as it is, an empty happiness. believe me, there are many things i can find joy in and over. but without some kind of saving grace, it is all truly meaningless.)
twinkly lights, christmas songs, santa claus, wintery wonderylands, sleigh bells, mistletoe, shopping malls, holiday sales, bows and ribbons, presents, decorations, trees, wreaths, little elves--- bah humbug. this year i could do without them all. i've been asked many times about what i want for christmas, and i don't have an answer. i want to just forget it all this year.
this year i can only see the materialism, commercialism, self-absorbed consumerism, selfish ethnocentric arrogance, and a preoccupation with a gluttonous, ravenous, excessive desire for things. i decorate the house every year with garland and candles and a door wreath, i buy a real tree; but this year there is only an advent wreath my roommate made and a fake christmas tree that stands in the corner decorated solely with silly string and marshmallows (long story). i want to sell everything and get rid of all the waste that just takes up space.
this year i can only think of something we discussed at the church i attend now-- advent as a little lent, a time of repentance. i see the depth of fallenness within me and the world around me. i sting with disappointed hope. melancholy creeps in and i respond by wallowing in it. depression calls for fire and heaven to make its claim on this earth.
this year i feel deeply alone. i am about to lose the best roommate i have ever had (a dear friend) to politics and red tape. my singleness feels highlighted by glaring, flashing marquees as those nearest and dearest celebrate with a significant one. i celebrate for them and with them though my heart is cognizant of its longing to be loved.
so, this year, i buy less for others and require less from others. so this year, i repent and confess, forgive, offer grace. so this year, i try and hold my head up knowing i was made to love and appreciate those who have shown love to me.
the advent lament does end. i've been playing jeff buckley's 'hallelujah' all afternoon weeping over brokenness and my own broken-ness. ah, but... there is reason to hallelujah. it may be a weak one right now, but it's a hallelujah.
(i've changed this blog three times. i want to be true and honest to how i was feeling but remain hopeful. but i know there is reason to hope. i cannot deny it though circumstances cloud it. like, for example, there is anticipation. and there is redemption. there is a remembrance that glory fell, grace came, and the heavenlies descended to the dirtiest, grimiest places among the broken. two arms, two legs, two eyes, placenta, and a cry; and love, made perfect, takes his mother's breast in a bittersweet embrace. this is what frees the soul from being eternally locked in a monotonous, drab existence. radiohead- no surprises- shows a resignation to life as it is, an empty happiness. believe me, there are many things i can find joy in and over. but without some kind of saving grace, it is all truly meaningless.)
Friday, November 16, 2007
my song is love
thank you, joel, for the mixed cd. my brother knows me well. the music lured me in to a delicious mellow monday. the first song, a message-- lovely. i've been thinking lately about what it really means to love, and it frequently turns me to meditate on the most widely known scriptures on the subject. overused (which waters it down), but good stuff.
patient. kind. does not envy (ouch). it does not boast (?). it is not proud (hmm). it is not rude (okay). not self-seeking (woah). not easily angered. keeps no record of wrongs. keeps no record of wrongs. keeps no record of wrongs. did i say, keeps no record of wrongs (personal reminder)? does not delight in evil. rejoices in truth.
always...
protects
trusts
hopes
perseveres (sigh)
never fails (whew. love wins, so i hear).
one important lesson i have learned through this-- it is completely a choice. a free will choice.
patient. kind. does not envy (ouch). it does not boast (?). it is not proud (hmm). it is not rude (okay). not self-seeking (woah). not easily angered. keeps no record of wrongs. keeps no record of wrongs. keeps no record of wrongs. did i say, keeps no record of wrongs (personal reminder)? does not delight in evil. rejoices in truth.
always...
protects
trusts
hopes
perseveres (sigh)
never fails (whew. love wins, so i hear).
one important lesson i have learned through this-- it is completely a choice. a free will choice.
Monday, October 29, 2007
stream of consciousness on a record player
what is it about a vinyl record that is so wholly comforting? the needle skips over the well worn grooves, grooves that can recount the past and the stories within. carole king's "tapestry" i can play over and over. i think we might be soul sisters though i prefer gilda's "national woman" to the original:) carole and i rode the train together a couple of times from jacksonville to miami as i sat in my lone seat pining for the man who had my heart and then broke it. at the time he was woven in to the words and the music. thirteen years later, carole and i still sing together though the man is no longer. the memories are still there of the clickity-clack clickity-clack hum the tracks made, who i was then, where my heart was, and all the lessons i needed to learn. at the time i was working on a ship stationed in jacksonville, fl. We were preparing to sail to the rebellion-torn, poverty stricken nation of haiti to take in relief supplies and hospital equipment. there were 100 crew members representing 19 different nations. the ship was a forty year old norwegian ferry; "fart" in norwegian means "stop", btw. some reason the tiny cabin i lived in was painted bright pink, and the roommate i shared it with was never there. i would go to johnny rockets at the jacksonville landing for special occasions , and sometimes i kept a stash of oreos in a zip lock for late night snackies. i drank powdered tea and my best friends were dutch and swiss. my theology was being tested through new ideas, new experiences, new people. and in the meantime, my boyfriend from home-- who lived in miami-- broke up with me (i still have a distaste for the florida keys, particularly key biscane). as my heart was breaking and learning to mend, i was being taught to trust and lean on the goodness of God in the heat of trial. praise him no matter what. no matter what. praise him in the bad times, praise him in the good. praise him. just praise. it stuck with me for a while; when i returned back from having my heart pummelled against the waves, i was told by a respected one that i was glowing. it was all in praising God, in trusting him. and then when i got home to texas i threw a tantrum and a pity party and gave up on the praising. bad idea.
carole and i also shared a journey with my sister kara. kara's cd player decided to give out at the beginning of a spring break trip to padre island and south padre island (we liked going to the beach together, going on road trips, etc). so we picked up the tapestry cd case and ended up singing every single song, remembering all the words (kara remembered "tapestry" much better than i did).
carole also reminds me of my mom because mom is the one who owned the 'tapestry' record in the first place. she liked folk music in the 70's and 80's and my tastes have been influenced by that. bread, john denver, carpenters, peter paul and mary, dan fogelberg, etc.... just to name a few.
thirteen years after the 'last train to jacksonville', i am still learning to lean on God, to trust him when circumstances look bleak, when i am ready to put down the armor and sword and crumble into someone's arms, to praise him- just praise him when the heart is weak, to not get caught up in my own mind and desires and wishes and emotions. just praise.
last week when trouble was raining down, i pulled out carole and danced. the sweet sounds of the crackling record reminded me that this is not the end. "way over yonder, is a place that i know, where i can find shelter from the hunger and cold.... i know when i get there the first thing i'll see is the sun shinin' golden, shinin' right down on me."
your kingdom come.
on earth as it is in heaven.
carole and i also shared a journey with my sister kara. kara's cd player decided to give out at the beginning of a spring break trip to padre island and south padre island (we liked going to the beach together, going on road trips, etc). so we picked up the tapestry cd case and ended up singing every single song, remembering all the words (kara remembered "tapestry" much better than i did).
carole also reminds me of my mom because mom is the one who owned the 'tapestry' record in the first place. she liked folk music in the 70's and 80's and my tastes have been influenced by that. bread, john denver, carpenters, peter paul and mary, dan fogelberg, etc.... just to name a few.
thirteen years after the 'last train to jacksonville', i am still learning to lean on God, to trust him when circumstances look bleak, when i am ready to put down the armor and sword and crumble into someone's arms, to praise him- just praise him when the heart is weak, to not get caught up in my own mind and desires and wishes and emotions. just praise.
last week when trouble was raining down, i pulled out carole and danced. the sweet sounds of the crackling record reminded me that this is not the end. "way over yonder, is a place that i know, where i can find shelter from the hunger and cold.... i know when i get there the first thing i'll see is the sun shinin' golden, shinin' right down on me."
your kingdom come.
on earth as it is in heaven.
Friday, September 14, 2007
refuge
the wearied warrior lay his heavy armor down for a moment of relief;he had fought with stalwart tenacity and had the bruises to prove it. there was a blanket of brush hiding him for this one fleeting breath of calm. the relentless enemy sought him night after night in the places where he had hoped to find sanctuary and peace. he knew the battle was not over yet. for this sacred momentary sigh in the lapse of fire gave room to reflection of strategies and schemes, mistakes and corrections, and a great awareness of thirst and pain. he foresaw the battles to come and started up preparing to grasp the hilt of his sword. exhaustion held him back though he was determined to stand and fight. just as he regained strength and prepared to defy this foolish foe, he was struck in his right shoulder by a toxic blade. darkness cloaked the hero.
the assailants congratulated themselves for their cunning mastery of such a man as this; and they left him for his own madness. the wound throbbed and his heart felt despair tinged with sadness; the warrior fell into a foggy stupor.
he wasn't aware of the length of time that had elapsed but as he regained consciousness, he heard the sweet fluent sound of an unadulterated voice. the cantor sang ballads of healing melodies, and he responded to the lyrical hymns awakening new harmony. autumn leaves fell about his head caressing his brow. everything was quiet though a light breeze moved the air with joy and clarity. the warrior sat up to find his wounds mended and his armor beside him. he walked forward, his feet cushioned with every step on the thick grass; further on he found a stream and bathed his face in its crisp water. as he journeyed into this sacred space, the light grew brighter and the songs grew louder. this was the safety, the shelter, the strong tower he had sought day after day. the warrior respired a great sigh; his heart's heaviness could be left here though he still clung to the grief of battle lost. the cantor's voice could be heard again with greater force and poignant energy. the song captured doubt and ensnared sorrow as it penetrated the hero's senses. the battle was not lost. the battle is not over. and victory is guaranteed.
...till I entered the sanctuary of God;
then I understood their final destiny.
the assailants congratulated themselves for their cunning mastery of such a man as this; and they left him for his own madness. the wound throbbed and his heart felt despair tinged with sadness; the warrior fell into a foggy stupor.
he wasn't aware of the length of time that had elapsed but as he regained consciousness, he heard the sweet fluent sound of an unadulterated voice. the cantor sang ballads of healing melodies, and he responded to the lyrical hymns awakening new harmony. autumn leaves fell about his head caressing his brow. everything was quiet though a light breeze moved the air with joy and clarity. the warrior sat up to find his wounds mended and his armor beside him. he walked forward, his feet cushioned with every step on the thick grass; further on he found a stream and bathed his face in its crisp water. as he journeyed into this sacred space, the light grew brighter and the songs grew louder. this was the safety, the shelter, the strong tower he had sought day after day. the warrior respired a great sigh; his heart's heaviness could be left here though he still clung to the grief of battle lost. the cantor's voice could be heard again with greater force and poignant energy. the song captured doubt and ensnared sorrow as it penetrated the hero's senses. the battle was not lost. the battle is not over. and victory is guaranteed.
...till I entered the sanctuary of God;
then I understood their final destiny.
Friday, September 7, 2007
of philosophers and poets
Eliot, I am trying to wrap my mind around you and we are not in unity quite yet. I have great respect and admiration for you but I also desire understanding. I want to be reconciled to you. Will there be time? Will there be time before the taking of a toast and tea? Do I dare disturb the universe? It is impossible to say just what I mean! I formed a loose acquaintance, or rather an awareness of you five years ago through one who was well acquainted with you. Give me Shakespeare any day; but, you, sir... you are the philosopher. And I think it wise we know each other.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow.
I will attempt to know you and hope for a friendship with you. But until your human voice wakes me, I shall drown... myself in Dostoevsky. Please, no more shadows.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow.
I will attempt to know you and hope for a friendship with you. But until your human voice wakes me, I shall drown... myself in Dostoevsky. Please, no more shadows.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
defining beauty
I uncovered beauty this morning, but I thought I would first research beauty to see what the www has uncovered. I googled beauty and clicked on images. What first appeared was pages and pages of women intermixed with pics of beauty treatments and flowers and food and animals. I then wiki'd beauty and found that our online encyclopedia source of all things known and unknown defines it: "Beauty is commonly defined as a characteristic present in a person, place, object or idea that provides a perceptual experience of pleasure, meaning or satisfaction to the mind or to the eyes, arising from sensory manifestations such as a shape, color, personality, sound, design or rhythm". Physical beauty is a predominate theme throughout the definitions I found. Paris sought it in Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world. Beauty pageants run rampant throughout the earth, as our eye looks to quantify "beauty".
Plenty words have been written on the subject and the planet's problematic issues with beauty, so I will not go into any diatribes or soap boxes. Been there. Done that. Schumann, the composer, distinguishes beauty as either natural or poetic. Natural beauty is simply sensual delight. Poetic beauty begins where natural beauty leaves off. Ah, how this poet's soul feasted on those words. In the Old Testament, instances of beauty are first mentioned to describe Sarah and Rebekah and Leah. The first mention of of the word beauty is in Esther and then in Psalms where it is in reference to God. Proverbs addresses it as fleeting. And Peter states that unfading beauty is a gentle and quiet spirit, the closing word on beauty in the Bible.
So, after a very minimal search on a much sought after topic, I will attempt to describe what I saw. Poem to follow.
Plenty words have been written on the subject and the planet's problematic issues with beauty, so I will not go into any diatribes or soap boxes. Been there. Done that. Schumann, the composer, distinguishes beauty as either natural or poetic. Natural beauty is simply sensual delight. Poetic beauty begins where natural beauty leaves off. Ah, how this poet's soul feasted on those words. In the Old Testament, instances of beauty are first mentioned to describe Sarah and Rebekah and Leah. The first mention of of the word beauty is in Esther and then in Psalms where it is in reference to God. Proverbs addresses it as fleeting. And Peter states that unfading beauty is a gentle and quiet spirit, the closing word on beauty in the Bible.
So, after a very minimal search on a much sought after topic, I will attempt to describe what I saw. Poem to follow.
Monday, August 6, 2007
holometabolism
have you ever waited for a monarch to emerge from its chrysalis? i cannot tell you how much
patience it takes to wait for it to happen. my next door neighbor had two monarchs as a gift from a dia de los muertos potluck, and i was so excited to be invited to wait and watch with them. the pupation (hate that word) can take only 2 weeks for the monarch; but there can be a dormancy stage as the pupa waits for the appropriate season. metabolic activity slows down until the environmental conditions are just right. its all about timing. it is a complete and whole metamorphosis, but everything has to happen in its time.
we waited and waited for the lepidoptera to find their escape. i thought it would never happen, waiting around with the patience of a 2 year old. one day i found ruth on the ground on her front lawn, and she called me over. it was happening! the monarch was emerging! even then, there was more waiting. the butterfly needs the struggle of emerging to strengthen its wings. the process cannot be forced or helped; it needs the time to develop. when it emerges, even then there is more waiting. the wings need to dry out before it can fly.
i sat with ruth for about 45 minutes. it was truly an amazing process; a patient process. i could have laid there on their lawn all day long. i was in awe of nature's process. ruth waited for quite a while; i had places to go though i was quite envious of the fact that she was privy to this monarch's maiden flight. when the second monarch emerged, i was there for take off. metamorphosis happens everyday but it held me in astonishment. as my 2 year old niece would say, it is "amaaaazing".
waiting is incredibly difficult but the end result of patience is far greater than forcing and manipulating metamorphosis. anticipation only intensifies the experience. and again i say, waiting is incredibly difficult. but the end result is something whole and complete, strong and flight worthy, awe inspiring and beautiful.
oh, and did i say waiting is difficult? (yes, i am feeling a bit childlike today)
photo by ruth airhart
patience it takes to wait for it to happen. my next door neighbor had two monarchs as a gift from a dia de los muertos potluck, and i was so excited to be invited to wait and watch with them. the pupation (hate that word) can take only 2 weeks for the monarch; but there can be a dormancy stage as the pupa waits for the appropriate season. metabolic activity slows down until the environmental conditions are just right. its all about timing. it is a complete and whole metamorphosis, but everything has to happen in its time.we waited and waited for the lepidoptera to find their escape. i thought it would never happen, waiting around with the patience of a 2 year old. one day i found ruth on the ground on her front lawn, and she called me over. it was happening! the monarch was emerging! even then, there was more waiting. the butterfly needs the struggle of emerging to strengthen its wings. the process cannot be forced or helped; it needs the time to develop. when it emerges, even then there is more waiting. the wings need to dry out before it can fly.
i sat with ruth for about 45 minutes. it was truly an amazing process; a patient process. i could have laid there on their lawn all day long. i was in awe of nature's process. ruth waited for quite a while; i had places to go though i was quite envious of the fact that she was privy to this monarch's maiden flight. when the second monarch emerged, i was there for take off. metamorphosis happens everyday but it held me in astonishment. as my 2 year old niece would say, it is "amaaaazing".
waiting is incredibly difficult but the end result of patience is far greater than forcing and manipulating metamorphosis. anticipation only intensifies the experience. and again i say, waiting is incredibly difficult. but the end result is something whole and complete, strong and flight worthy, awe inspiring and beautiful.
oh, and did i say waiting is difficult? (yes, i am feeling a bit childlike today)
photo by ruth airhart
Monday, May 21, 2007
elm creek lane
After two weeks (actually, more like a month) of quite the relentless schedule, of working and then running to the next thing, i took a weekend off to go home to my parents and relax. my boss closed the office on friday and i only had to stay and wait for the mail. it came and i left! kara asked me to lunch and then hit the road. i stopped to get a "toothbrush" (ie. all the things i forgot to pack) and made it to my folks for dinner. friday night tradition in my parent's house has been the same for 17 years-- burgers on the grill. homemade burgers, good conversation, followed by a movie from the holcombe collection (this friday night feature was "My Fair Lady"). we all crawled in our respective sleeping receptacles, me with Bessie, a nine year old female dachshund, my ever faithful bed-warmer.
Saturday morning has a food tradition as well-- whole grain waffles (and mom makes pancakes for me as waffles are too heavy). i usually add fruit and nuts to mine; bananas and almonds graced the face of my delicious pancake this time around. We sat around together at the table, catching up, joel and i making jokes, and as usual, there was some literary discussion, though it did not spring out of great thought and contemplation. none of us could remember the authors of don quixote or pygmalion, both brought up in relation to friday night's feature. does spain have plains for the rain to remain in?
After breakfast we all headed in various directions; dad to the lawn, joel to corrie's and mom and i to waxahachie for some "antiquated therapy". Waxahachie has always had a quaintness and charm that draws both my mom and me. Grand Victorian-style homes, small town feel, and a sweet downtown square with our favorite-- antique shops. We always hit the same one's searching for that incredible deal. Mom found 7 pieces of 19th century china for 5 dollars, and I found a jade plate for 2 dollars. We had lunch of chicken salad and spinach salad in one of the charming tea rooms on the square, and we discussed how we would like to decorate our houses. Mom bought us fresh linen scented candles with delightful votive holders from the Dove's Nest, a more modern, trendy (and expensive) nick-knack store. Following this well spent morning, we went to pick up a movie for the evening, deciding to purchase 3. To ensure that there were no defects, we had to watch one, Pride and Prejudice. [ Though there are a few scenes that make me whence with disgust at the writing/acting/directing, there are several others that feed my 'artist' and quench the thirst for good art. (overall, i cannot stand the writing of the film in comparison to other austen adaptations, but the cinematography and music delight me to no end.)]
to complete our relaxing and fun-filled Saturday, mom, dad and i feasted on mexican food and retreated to the couches for root beer floats and "Charlotte's Web". A wholesome, well-written movie, it evoked a series of hearty belly-laughs from all sides of the room, and I think we all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly!
I have to interject quickly to explain the importance of these simple facts and my reason for recording such mundane events. The reason is simply that they are simple. they are good. they are comforting. they are true. they are pure. they are home. finding a place where there is tradition, where there are things, events, people, you can count on, rely on-- that is home. I only lived in the house first for the last two years of high school, a few months after one college, and then a couple of years after another. Our other house I lived in from 2 years to 16. But in that yellow house on elm creek lane, some things remain the same and traditions do not change. My parents have shared 37 years of marriage. The creek in the back still rarely fills with water. Sparky, the next door neighbor's yellow lab, still barks all night. Friday and Saturday burgers and waffles still appear. Bessie still greets us with a sweet show of affection-- a wagging tail, humble eyes, licking tongue, and occasionally "happy-pee". Mom still takes me on a tour of the changes and growth of her plants. Dad still readily mentions updates from the missionaries he gladly 'shepherds' through his role of church missions coordinator. The new things, the additions, only add more to this feeling of home and tradition. The 3 adorable puppies dad is raising to be breeding dogs-- they add affection and joy and entertainment. The wisteria mom planted a couple of years ago adds new shade to dad's well built 17 year old deck. The green walls of the reading room that house my grandmother's bed, my favorite room to sleep in during my stay, only add to the warmth and comfort and simplicity of this home.
My favorite new tradition is the Sunday morning traditional tea and scones and conversation. This is where most of our literary discussions occur. Mom is an avid reader, especially of Tolkein and various children's novels. Dad has written some poetry and started a children's book based on stories he told us throughout our childhood. Joel writes and when he takes the time, he also is a great reader. Two years ago on mom's birthday Joel and I took this time to create a birthday gift for mom, Tea with Mr. Tumnus. Paper snowflakes, toast and sardines, and tea with scones, it was a memorable time for us all.
And back to the weekend, this Sunday I did enjoy sitting around the table with everyone with our tea and scones; but sadly there was no literary discussion. We had a guest/ soon to be a family member (Joel's fiance), and so it was not the same Sunday morning discussions. Everyone left and went to church but I stayed on hoping to find time to journal and read 'Artists Way' and write. There were several noisy distractions so I ended up playing with the dogs and grocery shopping for lunch (other wholesome past-times).
I am grateful for this home and my weekend getaway. it was a full and rest-full weekend filled with tradition, simple joys and pleasures, and the company of my parents. I came back with loads of chigger bites and a huge gas bill, but I also came back rested and restored (with my own copy of pride and prejudice as well as a antique $2 jade plate).
Saturday morning has a food tradition as well-- whole grain waffles (and mom makes pancakes for me as waffles are too heavy). i usually add fruit and nuts to mine; bananas and almonds graced the face of my delicious pancake this time around. We sat around together at the table, catching up, joel and i making jokes, and as usual, there was some literary discussion, though it did not spring out of great thought and contemplation. none of us could remember the authors of don quixote or pygmalion, both brought up in relation to friday night's feature. does spain have plains for the rain to remain in?
After breakfast we all headed in various directions; dad to the lawn, joel to corrie's and mom and i to waxahachie for some "antiquated therapy". Waxahachie has always had a quaintness and charm that draws both my mom and me. Grand Victorian-style homes, small town feel, and a sweet downtown square with our favorite-- antique shops. We always hit the same one's searching for that incredible deal. Mom found 7 pieces of 19th century china for 5 dollars, and I found a jade plate for 2 dollars. We had lunch of chicken salad and spinach salad in one of the charming tea rooms on the square, and we discussed how we would like to decorate our houses. Mom bought us fresh linen scented candles with delightful votive holders from the Dove's Nest, a more modern, trendy (and expensive) nick-knack store. Following this well spent morning, we went to pick up a movie for the evening, deciding to purchase 3. To ensure that there were no defects, we had to watch one, Pride and Prejudice. [ Though there are a few scenes that make me whence with disgust at the writing/acting/directing, there are several others that feed my 'artist' and quench the thirst for good art. (overall, i cannot stand the writing of the film in comparison to other austen adaptations, but the cinematography and music delight me to no end.)]
to complete our relaxing and fun-filled Saturday, mom, dad and i feasted on mexican food and retreated to the couches for root beer floats and "Charlotte's Web". A wholesome, well-written movie, it evoked a series of hearty belly-laughs from all sides of the room, and I think we all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly!
I have to interject quickly to explain the importance of these simple facts and my reason for recording such mundane events. The reason is simply that they are simple. they are good. they are comforting. they are true. they are pure. they are home. finding a place where there is tradition, where there are things, events, people, you can count on, rely on-- that is home. I only lived in the house first for the last two years of high school, a few months after one college, and then a couple of years after another. Our other house I lived in from 2 years to 16. But in that yellow house on elm creek lane, some things remain the same and traditions do not change. My parents have shared 37 years of marriage. The creek in the back still rarely fills with water. Sparky, the next door neighbor's yellow lab, still barks all night. Friday and Saturday burgers and waffles still appear. Bessie still greets us with a sweet show of affection-- a wagging tail, humble eyes, licking tongue, and occasionally "happy-pee". Mom still takes me on a tour of the changes and growth of her plants. Dad still readily mentions updates from the missionaries he gladly 'shepherds' through his role of church missions coordinator. The new things, the additions, only add more to this feeling of home and tradition. The 3 adorable puppies dad is raising to be breeding dogs-- they add affection and joy and entertainment. The wisteria mom planted a couple of years ago adds new shade to dad's well built 17 year old deck. The green walls of the reading room that house my grandmother's bed, my favorite room to sleep in during my stay, only add to the warmth and comfort and simplicity of this home.
My favorite new tradition is the Sunday morning traditional tea and scones and conversation. This is where most of our literary discussions occur. Mom is an avid reader, especially of Tolkein and various children's novels. Dad has written some poetry and started a children's book based on stories he told us throughout our childhood. Joel writes and when he takes the time, he also is a great reader. Two years ago on mom's birthday Joel and I took this time to create a birthday gift for mom, Tea with Mr. Tumnus. Paper snowflakes, toast and sardines, and tea with scones, it was a memorable time for us all.
And back to the weekend, this Sunday I did enjoy sitting around the table with everyone with our tea and scones; but sadly there was no literary discussion. We had a guest/ soon to be a family member (Joel's fiance), and so it was not the same Sunday morning discussions. Everyone left and went to church but I stayed on hoping to find time to journal and read 'Artists Way' and write. There were several noisy distractions so I ended up playing with the dogs and grocery shopping for lunch (other wholesome past-times).
I am grateful for this home and my weekend getaway. it was a full and rest-full weekend filled with tradition, simple joys and pleasures, and the company of my parents. I came back with loads of chigger bites and a huge gas bill, but I also came back rested and restored (with my own copy of pride and prejudice as well as a antique $2 jade plate).
Friday, April 6, 2007
forsaken
"My God my God, why hast thou forsaken me" by F. Holland Day 1898the arts and teaching pastor at my church asked me to be one of the seven that reflects on the last words of Christ for our church's Good Friday service. On meditating on the scriptures, this one brought me to my knees. Even Jesus uttered the words, "My God My God why hast thou forsaken me?" I am going to include my reflections; they have been cut down considerably (I think I could have written a 40 minute sermon!) I found so many wonderful words by theologians and wish I could include them all. George MacDonald, a favorite author of mine, experienced more suffering than I think I can ever fathom. He writes a beautiful meditation on these last words (I found it on the NavPress site). and here are mine. thank you, brie, my editor in chief. names have been changed to protect some identities and a sentence or two have been left off for various reasons (at the writer's discretion).
About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? Which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me”.
These are incredibly perplexing words. Martin Luther stated, “God turning his back on God? Who can understand it”? Christ had already suffered greatly through beatings and his wounds, thirst, starvation, sweating blood, taking this “cup”. And now He was partaking in the will of God. He was taking on the sins of the world. And he echoes the words of David in psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest.”
One of the most significant verses in my life has been, “I will never leave you NOR FORSAKE YOU”. When I was barely old enough to speak my mom taught me to memorize bible verses, and after memorizing so many, I won a prize, a plaque with this verse on it. It hung above my light switch throughout my childhood and whenever I was afraid or had a nightmare, I would turn to that plaque to remember His promise. It still hangs in my room today.
There was a time in my life when Christ’s love was so richly poured out over me. His voice was so sweet. Our fellowship was intimate. His intense outpouring of grace touched me and moved me to share His goodness with others. So I decided to serve the Lord in Amsterdam. My first day there was 9/11. My third week brought two minor sexual assaults. And it was almost immediately that I realized God was silent. I didn’t hear his voice anymore. I would cry out and no response was given.
MY GOD MY GOD WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME!
And I was surrounded by real, in your face human depravity. There was my sweet friend from Burundi who was taken by rebels and then was brought to shoot her own parents. Gladys from England whose inner arms were tributes to her multiple suicide attempts. A friend from Nigeria whose family was burned alive in their home by rebels. There was another friend from Thailand who was raped by a woman and spent the next several years sleeping with as many men as possible to attempt to “cure” her homosexual longings. There was the Christian missionary, a man of God who for a brief moment grabbed me in a dark staircase to feed his selfish lusts. In this place, it seemed I was surrounded by death!
And my response was “my God my God why have you forsaken these!”
Even after returning from Amsterdam, God was silent and I seem to find still more suffering, more hardship, more ramifications of this fallen nature.
Four years God was silent. Four years his presence felt distant.. They were 4 years of poverty, of not knowing how I could pay bills and eat, of desperately seeking work. There was relational poverty and intense loneliness. Mostly there was spiritual poverty. I felt abandoned by God. What I did know is that I had previously experienced God’s goodness. I had tasted and seen that the Lord is good. Charles Spurgeon writes, “There are seasons when the brightness of our Father's smile is eclipsed by clouds and darkness; but let us remember that God never does really forsake us.."
The little plaque from my childhood with the verse “Nor forsake you” was still true though through these years it had baffled me. I knew that had to move past feeling and past intellect. I had to embrace trust. Psalm 22 continues with, “ Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One; you are the praise of Israel. In you our fathers put their trust; they trusted and you delivered them. They cried to you and were saved; in you they trusted and were not disappointed.”
In a meditation of these last words of Christ, George MacDonald writes “The divine horror of that moment is unfathomable to the human soul. It was the blackness of darkness. And yet He believed. Yet He held fast. God was still His God.”
Christ entered our sufferings. God entered our sufferings. The raw honesty of the cross is that the punishment for sin is death, utter and complete separation from God, the creator, the author and perfector of life, the Father. He who knew no sin became sin for us. Christ drank the cup, tasted death. God knew separation from God.
Christ called out not about his pain or his suffering; it was great. But he called out for the Father.
He who knew no sin and knew the glory of heaven, knew the deepest sweetness of communion with God, took your death and my death, took on sin and separation from the I Am, so we, the sinners, can fellowship with the Almighty.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
blogging rivendell
this is my induction into the world of blogging. as a "writer" (or at this time, "poser") i thought it would be a good exercise for my mind, skills, etc to take a go at blogging. so, here it goes.
the title? Tolkein's Rivendell encapsulates something (or things), some place, i long for and will search for while on this terra firma. wisdom, healing, growth, authority and power, leadership, discipleship, restoration, beauty, truth, peace and loveliness... only a few of the words that, in my estimation, simply describe Rivendell, or rather what i see in Rivendell and desire from this life.
when i lived in a "little" borrough/big city in Europe, i named my room Rivendell. it was sanctuary. in that tiny attic space barely large enough for one, let alone two adults, i escaped to books, novels, theology, apologetics, children's literature, and several fantastical worlds. it was where i met Bilbo and Frodo and Gandalf for the first time. i decorated my tiny abode with sheer curtains, a few art pieces i had gathered from my travels, a tiny lamp with a lovely red shade, and one single plant, an ivy that flourished and grew throughout my year there.
in one sense, the sense that overwhelmed all others for me during my time there, outside of my door was in no way lovely to behold. when on Christmas morning the first bells i heard were the bells of the prostitutes (rung to alert their pimp when a customer is out of hand) and not the bells ringing from the ancient towers to commemorate the day, i knew i was no longer in "kansas". there was a prevalent soft drug industry which "softened the way" for the very aggressive hard drug industry; there were refugees who could only get jobs in those industries selling on just about every street corner; hopeless story after hopeless story of those refugees; the street kids who couldn't (or wouldn't) stop destructive behaviors; the cries of the broken screaming for mercy; much mockery of my faith; sex "industry" that really more looked like slavery; the lost and discarded whose arms were scarred by suicide attempt after suicide attempt; the sex offenders who groped for free; the lies; the pride; poverty and starvation; the mother wailing for her children as they were taken away because she had no home; the murders not too far from my door; the smell of urine on every street corner; the woman dressed in the finest clothing crawling around on the ground like a dog, blood streaming from her nose, desperately seeking that last coke rock for the next hit; the addicts you thought were on the road to recovery but found wandering aimlessly like zombies through the crowds. this was the brokenness around me, the smell, the taste of.... death. it is no wonder Room #2 was christened after a fantastical place.
in that room and in that place, i began the quest for goodness, truth and beauty. my time there has marked me, changed me and so i endeavor to search for those things. my life, i hope, will be a testimony of that quest. the voyage, the adventure, will be recorded some through these pages. let me now don a scarlet scarf and an Indiana Jones hat, and step out to seek and find that place where elves and dwarfs and man and hobbits meet.
the title? Tolkein's Rivendell encapsulates something (or things), some place, i long for and will search for while on this terra firma. wisdom, healing, growth, authority and power, leadership, discipleship, restoration, beauty, truth, peace and loveliness... only a few of the words that, in my estimation, simply describe Rivendell, or rather what i see in Rivendell and desire from this life.
when i lived in a "little" borrough/big city in Europe, i named my room Rivendell. it was sanctuary. in that tiny attic space barely large enough for one, let alone two adults, i escaped to books, novels, theology, apologetics, children's literature, and several fantastical worlds. it was where i met Bilbo and Frodo and Gandalf for the first time. i decorated my tiny abode with sheer curtains, a few art pieces i had gathered from my travels, a tiny lamp with a lovely red shade, and one single plant, an ivy that flourished and grew throughout my year there.
in one sense, the sense that overwhelmed all others for me during my time there, outside of my door was in no way lovely to behold. when on Christmas morning the first bells i heard were the bells of the prostitutes (rung to alert their pimp when a customer is out of hand) and not the bells ringing from the ancient towers to commemorate the day, i knew i was no longer in "kansas". there was a prevalent soft drug industry which "softened the way" for the very aggressive hard drug industry; there were refugees who could only get jobs in those industries selling on just about every street corner; hopeless story after hopeless story of those refugees; the street kids who couldn't (or wouldn't) stop destructive behaviors; the cries of the broken screaming for mercy; much mockery of my faith; sex "industry" that really more looked like slavery; the lost and discarded whose arms were scarred by suicide attempt after suicide attempt; the sex offenders who groped for free; the lies; the pride; poverty and starvation; the mother wailing for her children as they were taken away because she had no home; the murders not too far from my door; the smell of urine on every street corner; the woman dressed in the finest clothing crawling around on the ground like a dog, blood streaming from her nose, desperately seeking that last coke rock for the next hit; the addicts you thought were on the road to recovery but found wandering aimlessly like zombies through the crowds. this was the brokenness around me, the smell, the taste of.... death. it is no wonder Room #2 was christened after a fantastical place.
in that room and in that place, i began the quest for goodness, truth and beauty. my time there has marked me, changed me and so i endeavor to search for those things. my life, i hope, will be a testimony of that quest. the voyage, the adventure, will be recorded some through these pages. let me now don a scarlet scarf and an Indiana Jones hat, and step out to seek and find that place where elves and dwarfs and man and hobbits meet.
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