Dreamcrossed Twilight

On Thesis Present

2011-11-20T11:25:00.001-06:00

(written last night)

I spent 10 hours in the library today. I won't tell you it was dreadful, because you and I both know that I'm wired to enjoy research until my fingers start twitching from too much typing and my eyes flutter shut. Give me books and journals (and coffee!) and I can be quite satisfied for a very long time.

Well, mostly. Admittedly, it's not quite the same, working through biblical commentaries and articles, as it is to dive headfirst into real literature. I kept stealing glances over at the rack where I knew the Mythlore and Seven journals lived. Does anyone read them when it's not the semester in which the Inklings class is being taught? Not nearly enough, judging by the lack of traffic in that part of the library.

I mean, Revelation is fun, too. But the challenge I find in biblical studies is that the more you research something, the more it spins you in a circle until you are back to a principle that, on the surface, seems nothing at all like the topic at hand. And if this were "just literature," you could make of it what you would and it might not really matter. But it's not.

For example, if I had read Billy Budd and I had decided that Billy is not a Christ-figure, but rather, a moron (which does happen to be a position I hold), the end result would be that I think he is a moron, and that would be that. You can agree with me or disagree with me, and perhaps we might even get into violent arguments about it, but at the end of the day, the only thing that would come of this is that I thought he was a moron and you did not.

Not so with Scripture. With Scripture, you're not just reading for speculation and cerebral exercise--or even to be pointed toward epiphanies of truth (as Azar Nafisi would say). Whatever you conclude is going to have to mean something when it comes to faith and practice. (And everybody said: "Well, crap!")

Case in point: Revelation 17-18. You exit the crazy angels-pouring-bowls-of-judgment-on-the-world scene of Revelation 16 and find yourself face to face with this fancy drunk chick sitting astride a scarlet beast alongside a river. And you think it's all about Babylon. Or Rome. Or some wacko symbolism relating to the future eschatological age. And maybe it is. But...

It's also Isaiah 47. It is so totally Isaiah 47 that it blows your mind when you first start examining the parallels. The harlot representing Babylon, the imagery of rape and degradation, the arrogance that leads to destruction--all the while, a holy God longing to redeem His people.

And then you start digging deeper into Isaiah 47 and realize that maybe it's about Babylon on the surface, the sitz im leben, but really, what it's about is the Exodus. It's like the song that they sang after Pharaoah's army was overwhelmed by the crashing-down-falling waters of the Red Sea. Triumph and exultation. A mockery of the enemy, even. And although many circumstances have changed since the Exodus, the key issues remain the same from Exodus to Isaiah to Revelation, because the heart of the prophet and the heart of the apocalyptic visionary share their purpose in pointing people to a revelation not so much of what God will do but of who He is and how He desires to relate to His people. Which I kind of think is the point.

Tomorrow, I'll have to write up my thesis proposal, complete with all the Greek and Hebrew and limitations and delimitations and such. The inner academic must be loosed. It's going to be a while before I can talk about the subject as freely as I have here. But this is what I find rolling around in me concerning the passages I've selected, and I want to capture these thoughts in this moment so that I can look back as I write this thing and remember the bigger picture.

He is the redeemer, the go-el. Times and circumstances may change, but this does not. We hope in the Resurrection because we still believe in a God who redeems His people.

The Ghost of Thesis Past

2011-08-14T22:15:00.000-05:00

The problem with pursuing a master’s degree in a field that you’re interested in but not dedicated to is that you can make it through most of the program with relatively few hitches, but then, when it comes time to write your master’s thesis, you find that you just don’t even care anymore what you should write about.

Well, ok, maybe that’s not entirely true. Maybe I exaggerate slightly. Maybe I’m lying outright simply because I want your sympathy. I’ll let you decide. :)

See, for those of you unfamiliar with my seminary saga, this isn’t my first attempt at a thesis experience. A couple years ago, before my hiatus from extracurricular academia, I was at the same thesis research stage that I’m at now.

Better, in fact, because I had a topic that I was excited about. I was going to dig deep into Hell and Christus Victor and descensus ad inferos (vs. descensus ad inferna), and it was going to be this remarkable, ground-breaking study that would find its parallels with such works as Piers Plowman and Dante’s Inferno and, last but by no means least, Charles Williams’ Descent into Hell.

Oh, I’m not kidding: from the moment I began my seminary study, I knew where I was heading. I knew what my thesis was going to be centered around, and even though a master’s in Biblical Literature/Judaic-Christian Studies wasn’t exactly a master’s in Medieval Literature, it was going to be good. It was going to connect. It was going to bridge the gap between the real and the ideal in my academic present. I couldn’t wait.

And then life…happened.

And then there was no room in my mind for pondering the mysteries of the Resurrection—or, more precisely, what came before it. It was too much. I broke.

And the topic broke along with me.

Time heals many wounds—a fact for which I remain increasingly grateful. But just as Tolkien’s Frodo would never fully heal from the wound bestowed by a Morgul blade, my thesis topic also seems destined to only exist in its transformed, more wraith-like state. It doesn’t work anymore. It doesn’t look the same to me. I think about it, and I get overwhelmed, and it’s like the ghost of a couple years ago comes back and causes me lose focus.

And it’s easy to come up with excuses not to be focused. I have responsibilities, a department to keep on track. People who need me…people who need things from me. Constant emails. Demands everywhere, and none of them joyfully academic in nature.

But regardless of any of that, tomorrow, I’ll head into that class as a student, and the associate dean over my college will ask me to share what it is that I think I’ll be researching for my thesis. And I don’t have a clue how to answer that question—at all.

Part of me wants to play the game some people play when they want an answer from God and aren’t willing to wait for it. They pull out their Bible, let it fall open to a random page, close their eyes, point blindly to a spot of the page, and voila! There is the answer (whether it makes sense or not!).

Would it be so bad to select a thesis topic that way? Close my eyes and point? Or the modern technologically savvy equivalent: Google “the Bible” and click on “I’m Feeling Lucky”?

[Speaking of lying outright so as to get sympathy, which of course you’re still wondering about, I’ve been re-watching LOST, and I find Ben Linus to be increasingly fascinating, because he does that very same thing. He’s constantly working a story to his angle, but of course, since none of us are inside his head, we never really know when he’s telling the truth and when he’s lying, except when something comes to light later, but then not everything does, and I realize this is a terribly constructed run-on sentence quite off-topic from the rest of this post, but it’s so frustrating to realize that there are things he says that we’re never going to be able to verify—so do you just base everything you believe off the hope that what he says is true, or do you approach it all as a skeptic and never really believe anything?]

I went off topic, but in a sense, I didn’t. If you follow, I’m impressed.

I guess the bottom line here is that I feel a bit lost myself when it comes to this thesis stuff. And…I don’t know. I guess I’m still waiting for someone to tell me that I jumped sideways and that the stuff that’s real already happened.

But I’m pretty sure that motif only works in television.

"To Wish That He Were Not Bad"

2011-05-02T00:20:00.004-05:00

I was watching The King's Speech this evening, and as it drew to a close, I glanced at my laptop screen to see that Facebook had lit up with a storm of posts concerning the possible (at that time) death of Osama bin Laden. A few minutes later, I caught the President's speech, which, really, should not be watched right after you've watched Colin Firth. It was a bit of a clanging gong and crashing cymbal in comparison—let's face it, the President is no Colin Firth—but it did mean something, nonetheless.

Osama bin Laden. Dead. Echoes of 9/11. Justice. Maybe.

There seems to be a flurry of celebration now. On Facebook. On Twitter. On television. Certainly, after nearly 10 years, this is a day that many in the U.S. hoped for and yet (if they're like me) thought might never come. Yet, as flurry heightens to frenzy, I can't help but wonder why our initial reactions to his death are as full of hate as his messages once were. Oh, we wanted him dead, good and dead, and now he is, and he can rot in hell—we say.

I certainly wouldn't want to be him in the afterlife. Something tells me there isn't a host of virgins waiting for him. Something tells me he's in for the sort of torment that not even Dante could have been able to imagine, something that will make even bin Laden's earthly atrocities pale in comparison.

Are we really happy about this? I'm not so sure I am.

This passage from C. S. Lewis' Mere Christianity reminds me to consider my motivations as I celebrate that Osama bin Laden has been killed. Lewis writes:

We may kill if necessarily, but we must not hate and enjoy hating. We may punish if necessary, but we must not enjoy it. In other words, something inside us, the feeling of resentment, the feeling that wants to get one's own back, must be simply killed. I do not mean that anyone can decide this moment that he will never feel it any more. That is not how things happen. I mean that every time it bobs its head up, day after day, year after year, all our lives long, we must hit it on the head. It is hard work, but the attempt is not impossible. Even while we kill and punish we must try to feel about the enemy as we feel about ourselves—to wish that he were not bad, to hope that he may, in this world or another, be cured: in fact, to wish his good. [italics mine]

It does bring me some measure of satisfaction to know that someone who orchestrated the deaths of so many other people will no longer hurt anyone else. And I applaud the hard work, patience, and success of those in our military who did their jobs and risked their lives to make this happen. But I can't cheer right now. It doesn't seem right to rejoice at someone's death—even someone who committed such heinous crimes as bin Laden.

I am pleased that he was brought to justice. But I am sorry that he was a very lost soul.

And I hope and pray that my reaction to this event may somehow remind me to find a way to love the people who sin, just as I hate their sin, just as we who follow Christ are called to do with all people, no matter who they are or what they do.

"It Only Ends Once"

2011-04-27T19:48:00.002-05:00

"It only ends once. Anything that happens before that is just progress."

Lost fans know this scene well. On the eve of my last exam for this master's degree, I find myself reflecting on Jacob's words here (instead of...oh, sigh...studying). It's easy to think that whatever difficult thing you're facing is your finale. At least, I find this to be the case.

But that moment, that struggle, that grief--no matter how significant it may or may not be, it is not the end.

For me, that one thing right now is this exam. Not terribly deep, but that's the real deal. I've enrolled in and subsequently dropped this course twice before, and now I've almost made it to the end. Except...it's not really the end. No matter how I do tomorrow, it's not the end. Maybe it means I don't have to sit in class anymore, but other than that, nothing will really have changed except I'll just be one step closer to the master's degree, which will then put me one step closer to...whatever follows that.

It only ends once. This moment is not that end. No matter what ends up happening.

And maybe you need to hear this as well--I don't know. I need to hear it. I need to write it. Whatever it is that looms before you is not your end. No matter what happens--success, failure; joy, sorrow--you're going to wake up again the next day and you're going to keep walking the path you're meant to walk.

And it's all going to be ok. Really, it is. I say this to myself as much as to anyone else who might read this. It is all going to be ok. All manner of things shall, as Lady Julian so frequently reminds me, be well. There are so many reasons to hope.

Because it only ends once. And that time has not yet come.

A Terrible Good

2011-04-25T00:17:00.000-05:00

‘Tis a dark and definitively stormy night, and I find myself rereading Charles Williams’ Descent into Hell while thunder rumbles with a stirring splendour, rattling the windows and shaking the walls of the house. Fitting, it seems. It’s the sort of night where you might almost expect, reaching out a hand to the empty air, to encounter another being—a doppelgänger, perhaps—or something else dead but not departed.

A rather morbid dread, in retrospect, on the day in which we celebrate the empty tomb.

I wonder if those who were present at the resurrection trembled at a similar clap of thunder before the tomb opened—and how violently the earth must have shaken—and how it must have been to suddenly see multitudes of undead walking about.

The gospel writers say these things happened. I wonder whether it was all as terrifying as it sounds. I rather think it must have been.

“If things are terrifying,” I can almost hear Pauline Anstruther asking, “can they be good?” I echo with Peter Stanhope: “Yes, surely.”

Yet on a night such as this, it doesn’t seem enough to simply cast my vote in favor of the resurrection. Yes, I believe in the resurrection. No, I don’t fully grasp what it means, but I do think it’s more than the terms we like to throw around to define it: “substitution,” “propitiation,” “reconciliation,” “ransom.” Not that these terms aren’t true—not that they don’t help us try to make sense of it—but we spoil the power of the moment (I think) when we limit it to purely philosophical claims.

I hope in the resurrection, but there are aspects of it that do still terrify me—and I hope they always shall. Lightning flashes before my eyes, and I feel the thunder. The very ground beneath me shakes—because God is near.

He is risen. A terrible good.

The Book I Didn't Want to Read

2011-04-18T20:14:00.000-05:00

People often act surprised when I tell them I’ve never read Mere Christianity. Maybe it’s because these days I pose as a seminary person—and all seminary people worth their salt should have read it, right? Quite frankly, it was one of those books I always told people I’d “add to my list” (you know what that means) and then secretly hoped nobody would ask about again.

I mean, really. The minute you start talking about the fundamentals of the Christian faith, you’re going to find disagreement, and if there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s theological bickering. Tell your angels to go dance on the head of someone else’s pin—because I don’t want to hear about it.

Yes, I’m in the seminary. God help me. (Sigh. He does.)

So, I started reading Mere Christianity over the weekend. It’s actually pretty good so far. Really, Jack could just talk all day, and I could listen, and even if I didn’t agree with him, it would still be well worth the intellectual journey.

But even more than that, I feel as though I am surrounded by this ever-deepening sense that I am meant to be reading this particular book in this particular moment. Is that weird? Oh, I certainly think so. Yet it feels…true…which is still…weird.

I don’t know. Does anyone else out there ever wonder if maybe we’re meant to read certain books at certain times, as if to read them earlier or later would be fine but somehow not the impetus to arrive at a moment of destiny in which several internal roads are colliding into one overarching idea brought to a head by that particular book or writer? Am I the only person who thinks about things like this?

As I finish my last real (non-thesis) class for my M.A., I find that I’m actually starting to care about New Testament theology. I still think its Jewish roots are important—nay, essential—but after years of wandering in the wilderness called “I Just Don’t Know Anymore,” pieces of the faith (the “mere” components, as some would venture to call them) are finally beginning to make sense in the greater context. I’m starting to see this crazy beast called “Christianity” a bit more objectively. Historically. Theologically. Experientially, yes. Myth included. “Myth made fact,” some might say. :)

And maybe that means it’s time. Time for Mere Christianity. Time to really start considering some of the things I never wanted to argue about before.

Time at least to find the “wings to fly,” rather than just “merely vans to beat the air.”

Naked in Narnia

2011-04-13T21:28:00.002-05:00

This will be, no doubt, a fairly obvious observation to serious C. S. Lewis scholars, but last night I stumbled upon an idea while reading the Eros chapter of The Four Loves and thought I’d try put that thought together for you, my few but faithful readers.

And who knows? Maybe the search engines will catch this as well, because today, I’m talking about getting naked. Oh, yes.

But not the way you think.

We begin with Lewis’ discussion of eros in The Four Loves. Eros, for those not well versed in the Greek loves, is romantic love. Surprisingly to me, Lewis treats the subject as something neither sappy nor salacious. And as he proceeds to ponder the nature of the sexual act (which he refers to as “Venus”), he delves into a discussion of nakedness that I think will prove useful in a moment.

He writes:

Some will think it strange I should find an element of ritual or masquerade in that action which is often regarded as the most real, the most unmasked and sheerly genuine, we ever do. Are we not our true selves when naked? In a sense, no. The word naked was originally a past participle; the naked man was the man who had undergone a process of naking, that is, of stripping or peeling (you use the verb of nuts and fruit). Time out of mind the naked man has seemed to our ancestors not the natural but the abnormal man; not the man who has abstained from dressing but the man who has been for some reason undressed. And it is a simple fact—anyone can observe it at a men’s bathing place—that nudity emphasizes common humanity and soft-pedals what is individual. In that way we are “more ourselves” when clothed. (TFL 104)

Interesting, right? But not perspective-altering—until I started thinking about this prosaic passage in light of the scene from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader in which Aslan transforms Eustace from a dragon into a boy. Oh, yes.

[And, by the way, if you’ve not yet read Voyage of the Dawn Treader, please consider this my obligatory spoiler alert. Run—don’t walk—to your nearest bookstore or library and let yourself feast upon the countless delights of Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia. Now, back to our story. . . .]

So, as we recall, Eustace Clarence Scrubb is a bit of a whiny brat who stumbles upon Narnia against his will, makes his shipmates largely miserable, and through his greed, ends up being transformed into a dragon on the isle where Lord Octesian died. As those who are familiar with the story will note, he goes about as a dragon for quite some time while the rest of the voyagers try to figure out what to do.

And then it happens. One night, he sees a huge lion coming toward him, and the lion beckons him to follow until they get to a garden with a bubbling well that almost seems like a Roman bath. You know what’s coming, right?

There is a lot that can be said (and, no doubt, has been said) about the imagery in this scene, how it evokes ideas of salvation and redemption and baptism. (And, oh, does anyone else feel that the recent film utterly ruined this scene?) Yes, I see those things, too, but now something different has caught my eye, and it has much to do with the concept of nakedness that we just saw in The Four Loves.

Eustace, as a dragon, is naked—and profoundly aware of it, I think. We see this in the narrator’s description, that he hated his dragon-like form, that he “was almost afraid to be alone with himself and yet he was ashamed to be with the others” (VDT 84).

When I read this, I immediately think of Genesis 3:10, where Adam and Eve hide from God, and when God asks why they are hiding, Adam replies, “I heard the sound of You in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid myself” (NASB).

When Aslan finds Eustace, he bids that he undress. Eustace wisely observes, “I couldn’t undress because I hadn’t any clothes on” (VDT 89).

He realizes, however, that “dragons are snaky sort of things and snakes can cast their skins. Oh, of course . . . that’s what the lion means” (VDT 89). So Eustace begins to tear at his dragon skin until an entire layer has been peeled off. How very satisfying that must feel—to be free from his dragon scales—until he finds himself about to stick an all-too-dragony foot into the water. He tries again, and then, a third time. Still, though each time he sheds another layer of skin, he is unable to free himself from the scales that enshroud him.

You know the rest. Aslan says that he must undress Eustace, and Eustace agrees. The lion’s claws tear deep into the dragon, “so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart,” Eustace tells Edmund afterwards (VDT 90). And so Aslan “peeled the beastly stuff right off” (VDT 90).

It is only as Eustace experiences relief in the water that he realizes he has been turned back into a boy.

I would like to suggest that in this scene, Lewis is lending story to an idea that he will later flesh out (no pun intended) in The Four Loves. Remember, we are not our true selves when we are naked. Neither is Eustace his true self when he is a dragon. He is made “naked” through his greed, transformed into an abnormal state of being. Yet Aslan comes to him and, by removing his dragon-like exterior, changes him so that he may once more have his natural, boyish form.

But even that is not the end of this story:

“After a bit,” Eustace tells Edmund, “ the lion took me out and dressed me—“

“Dressed you. With his paws?”

“Well, I don’t exactly remember that bit. But he did somehow or other: in new clothes—the same I’ve got on now, as a matter of fact. And then suddenly I was back here” (VDT 91).

Aslan transforms Eustace back into his natural form and gives him clothes once more—indicating, I think, that not only has Eustace been redeemed, but he is now more himself than he ever was before.

He is no longer naked. He has been made whole.

The Yoke of the Kingdom

2011-04-09T17:31:00.013-05:00

Shema Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad. Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.

So begins the Shema, the prayer that devout Jews pray each morning and each evening, day after day, world without end.

I’m not Jewish. I suppose, in a sense, this prayer should have no great meaning in my spiritual life, but on certain occasions and in particular seasons, it doggedly hounds my steps—and today is one of those days.

There are three parts, but it’s the first (Deut. 6:4-9) that sticks with me. To paraphrase:

Hear this (and make it real in your life). The Lord is one. Sovereign. Just as He is one, love Him with all your heart—soul—might—everything. Imprint these words on the deepest part of your being—make them the truest part of your existence. Teach them, and speak of them, and think of them in all that you do. Don’t give future generations the opportunity to forget. And let these words be so much a part of your world that they show up even in the external elements of your life (your home, your clothing, etc.).

(Admittedly, a loose translation for the sake of emphasis. You get the point.)

The rabbis call this first part of the Shema the taking on of the yoke of the malchut shamayim, the kingdom of heaven. It is not something that is lightly done. Some find it necessary to close their eyes as they pray this part of the prayer. Most, if not all, advocate cultivating of a certain state of the heart and mind that is focused fully toward God before uttering the words. Why? Because it’s that important. It’s the daily choice: You are my God, and I will be counted among Your people.

As I said before, I’m not Jewish. But something about this seems so right. So natural. There are moments when this prayer feels closer than anything else my lips might knowingly wish to whisper.

Shema Yisrael….

Yet what does it mean to take on the yoke of the kingdom? I’ve seldom found much identification with the yoke image, truth be told. It appears in my mind’s eye as a blistering summer day, a man dripping with sweat, and two dirty, brown oxen, shouldering the burden of a plough as it rips through dry and cracking earth. Not particularly enticing.

And the kingdom? Is it as heavy as the plough, dragging through the untamed ground? And where is it? Here? Somewhere else? Not to mention the exhausting debate in theological circles between the “already” and the “not yet.”

Sifre Deuteronomy tells us, “Receive upon yourselves the kingdom of heaven and reconcile yourselves one with the other in the fear of heaven and conduct yourselves toward one another in loving kindness” (323). I like this because it makes the kingdom seem like a practical thing—something I can be part of.

God’s people, doing God’s will in the earth. Helping. Loving. This is the work of the kingdom.

To take up this yoke is to choose each day whom you will serve. In a sense, I almost don’t think it matters whether you’re Jewish or Catholic or Protestant—the act is the same.

One God. One kingdom. The submission of your life to the work of God in the earth (as it is in heaven).

Shema Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad. V’ahavta eit Adonai elohecha b'chawl l'vav'cha, u'vchawl nafsh'cha, uv'chawl m'odecha.

With all that I am, let it be.

On Rediscovering Purpose

2011-04-03T14:59:00.008-05:00

C. S. Lewis and his friends have captured me once again. And, oh, how I have missed them.

This weekend, I had the privilege of participating in the 14th annual C. S. Lewis and the Inklings Society conference. I almost wasn't going to, you know. I fought it--hard--really, I did. Although I'd considered the possibility of attending the conference as soon as I heard that it would be held in Tulsa, I was fairly positive that there was no possible way that I could write and present a paper myself. Jumping back into grad school this semester after nearly 2 years off has been enough of a battle--there was nothing more that I could give, I was convinced.

Or perhaps nothing more that I wasn't afraid to give.

Of course, my former boss and coordinator of the conference saw things a bit differently. Time after time, he would ask me if I was presenting a paper. I'd decline, and he'd ask again. Pushing, always pushing. But he's allowed to do that. One of the few.

So, of course, I finally caved. "All right," I said. "You win. I'll present something." Knowing that I'd done some previous research on the Arthurian imagery in That Hideous Strength, I submitted a title and hoped for the best.

And, friends, it was meant to be. After six years of wondering, Oh, God, WHY seminary? and Why do I bother with anything academic in a society where getting a job in the Humanities is hardly a "good return on investment"?, I may finally have reached a place where everything makes sense again.

I found myself among friends, fellow scholars and lovers of literature who adored the same books I adored, and what's more, had things to say about these books and writers that I had never even considered. Every presentation, even the mediocre ones, nudged me in the direction of Purpose (yes, capital P).

This is it, I kept thinking. This is where my heart lies. These are the people I want in my world; this is the study I am meant to do. Even if it's not full-time. Even if my contributions are miniscule in light of the greater corpus. This is where I am meant to be.

I find myself particularly thankful for one of our keynote speakers, Andrew Lazo, whose brilliant talks on Till We Have Faces reminded me not only of all the things I have loved and missed about literature (and the Inklings in particular), but also that there really are other people out there who understand.

I feel a bit like Moses, after having come down from the mountaintop. My face is radiant--I'm certain of it--and after so very long, I carry words.

Tomorrow will be tomorrow, creeping in its petty pace towards who-knows-what. I know that. I'm ok with that. Today, I possess the grace to believe that all this sound and fury really does signify something. And, for today, it's enough.

The January Experiment

2011-02-01T22:16:00.006-06:00

I didn't intend to set myself up as a sort of human lab rat, but in retrospect, I suppose that's what happened. When I left for my Christmas vacation, I had come off a couple months of intense stress that, quite frankly, I hadn't managed all that well. I had one goal (other than seeing my family): I was going to rest and de-stress and become human again.

What I didn't count on was my body turning against me.

Although I did get plenty of rest, started exercising again, and ate fairly well (considering), my digestive system decided that it was going to react unkindly to virtually everything that I ate or drank over a number of days.

I suppose I should be thankful for this, since it proved to be the impetus for making a lot of healthy life changes that likely wouldn't have stuck, otherwise.

In the wake of barely eating on New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, it became clear that whatever I was eating/drinking was completely wrong. It was time to start from scratch. Thus began the January Experiment.

The Experiment included the following official goals: to abstain completely from coffee, pop, and fast food; to watch my caloric intake; and to implement a workout program.

I am pleased to report that not only did I succeed in all of these for the month of January, but I now feel better than I have in a long time. Truth be told, I'm not sure I want to switch back from anything that I started in the January Experiment.

I didn't want to post anything on Facebook or tell very many people about the Experiment because I didn't want it to be just another resolution. To me, there is a distinct difference between an experiment and a resolution: an experiment has a clearly defined time frame, whereas a resolution is by nature meant to be infinite.

But I'm pleased and proud at having succeeded for a month on the January Experiment. And I'm thrilled at the money I've saved (which is now being applied to extra payments toward my car).

I think we often tell ourselves that we can't live a certain way because it's too hard. It's too hard to give up fast food and actually eat at home. It's too hard to work out when you're tired after a long day. It's too hard to overcome a caffeine addiction.

But you know what? Tonight, on the news, in the wake of a blizzard, I saw several individuals interviewed who had braved the near-impassible roads for the sake of obtaining a caffeine fix from a local gas station. And I realized: there, but for the January Experiment, go I.

Those Pesky Stalker Credit Card Companies

2011-01-14T23:56:00.005-06:00

I don't know what it is these days, but credit card companies are really starting to annoy me. The problem? They're needy--nay, desperate--like that guy you can never get rid of because he can't take no for an answer.

First, it was Chase. Freedom. Blueprint. I forget what else. Junk mail every single day, promising something, showcasing another. A few advertisements now and then, I could understand, but we've reached the point of mailbox saturation.

More recently, it's one of my own credit card companies. They keep promising that if I'll sign up for certain things, they'll pay me a certain higher cash-back bonus than they typically do. And they keep trying to entice me to use their card more often because I might win a million dollars in a drawing.

Ok, I get the angle. If they can get their customers motivated to use their card more, a couple things happen that benefit them. First, they earn a chunk of change from each business where the card is run. Second, they bet on my paying them interest, or worse, a late fee (two bets which, thankfully, with me, they will lose!).

But what particularly irks me is that they showcase their marketing in a way that actually catches me for a moment and makes me think I want them. Who doesn't want a better chance to win a million dollars? Who doesn't want a higher cash-back reward? Who doesn't want a plan that helps them automatically save when they spend? Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

How very easy it is to whip out the plastic time and again, all for the sake of earning more free money.

Well, I'm tired of hearing about it--I'm tired of my card company--and most of all, I'm tired of Chase and its aggressive marketing. Buzz off, credit cards! It's not you; it's me.

Things We Carry

2010-12-18T20:28:00.006-06:00

It is a little known fact, though no less true for its obscurity, that I have a secret fear of owning anything that I cannot myself carry.

It is completely unfounded and irrational, and try as I might, I have been unable to deduce the true motivation behind this feeling. It remains, this nagging inner longing to be rid of all things that cannot be picked up in a moment and hauled off to someplace new.

You would think that this would mean that I constantly move around, but I don't. I stay--it is my all too frequent mode of operation--and often I stay wherever I stay far longer than I probably should. But mostly, I think I stay because I tell myself that I can leave anytime, knowing, of course that leaving would require me to manage those things that can and cannot be carried.

Lately, this has come to mind because I am trying to sell a television. It is a perfectly fine television but for two minor flaws: (1) I do not use it, and (2) it is too big, bulky, and heavy for me to carry by myself. (The latter, of course, being its primary downside.)

This past summer, I read The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, and one of its section titles is "The Things We Carried." For some reason, this resonates within me when I begin to consider my own uncanny fear.

In the book, the Price family is flying to Africa because the father is determined to be a missionary. As the family prepares for the flight, they realize very quickly that the amount of luggage that they can take with them is extremely limited. They begin to figure out ways around this: wearing multiple dresses on top of each other, sewing scissors and thimbles into their clothing (ah, for the days before mad TSA screenings!), and stuffing items into their pockets and handbags. They carry their lives with them to Africa--or so they think.

And then, in well-crafted irony, they gradually begin to realize that all of the things they thought they couldn't live without are completely unsuited to their new lives. So many things they carried with them--all for nothing.

I think about that when I think about my own possessions, and I wonder whether there is any meaning at all to be found in having things--in having big things--in having heavy things--in having anything at all that cannot be carried.

Perhaps there is no difference between the things we carry and the things we cannot, only the realization that both share the same quality of meaninglessness.

Or perhaps I am just afraid to put down roots.

Valentine's Day

2010-11-06T00:33:00.003-05:00

I watched the movie Valentine's Day this evening--because why NOT make yourself depressed about being single in November as well as February, right? Sigh.

Rilke says, "I hold this to be the highest task for a bond between two people: that each protects the solitude of the other." I'm not entirely sure what he meant by that, but I envy him if he ever found someone to fulfill that expectation.

These two seemingly unrelated statements exemplify the gap between the real and the ideal.

Sometimes I think I hope too hard for something that doesn't exist.

The World Is Too Much With Us

2010-11-01T19:05:00.002-05:00

It's too much, you know. And it all closes in. Or maybe we cause it to close in--that's the part that's less than clear and all too distressing. We spin ourselves in circles, busy with doing, building, earning--but what good is any of it?

Look at what we're losing: the sky, the sea, the feeling that you get when your heart swells because you're looking at something so beautiful that your soul can't endure it.

We don't see things anymore. We just do what we do, oblivious.

I long for my eyes to be opened so I can see things the way they were before everything got so busy, so full. I want to find my eyes wide with wonder at the large-scale majesty of it all. I want to imagine that the sea is indeed its own living force, that it is called to motion or to stillness by the sound of the mighty Triton's horn. I want to believe that if I watched long enough, the god of the sea would arise triumphant from the waves. But I don't believe these things. What I believe is, alas, far too predictable and far too small.

If I saw the world through eyes that valued the strength, power, and beauty that I observed, maybe things would matter again. These things make the world big again, wild, free. Not the ever-shrinking sink-hole that seems to surround me.

The world really is too much with us.... (Thinking of you, Wordsworth.)

Cash Only, Week Two

2010-10-30T10:48:00.002-05:00

Another week has passed, and although my cash-only "experiment" is over, I have a feeling that my cash-only lifestyle is just beginning.

Oh, I don't necessarily mean to say that I will be forever free of plastic, but I am loving the freedom that comes with not having to owe a credit card payment each month. In fact, just this morning, I pulled up the website(s) for my credit card(s) just to look at how little I would be paying at the end of the billing cycle. What a happy thought!

It does somewhat surprise me, the slight gleeful feeling that I get from this. After all, it's not like there was debt involved. I treated credit as debit, for all intents and purposes, paying it off each month. So why, then, does it feel so good not to do it?

Perhaps it is because I don't have to worry about deadlines for payment (or looming late fees if I don't pay on time). When I pay something in cash, it's done. No fees later, no companies tracking what I'm spending my money on. I like it.

Peripherally speaking, I also feel much better to have put myself back on a budget. I had played around with some software that was supposed to replicate the envelope system, but it was terribly difficult to use (and I am quite good with computers and learning new software!). Instead, I opted for Excel. Really, with a few good formulas in place, Excel is perfectly fine for tracking the budget. At least, that's my opinion after one week. We'll see as things progress.

Paying attention to the budget also helps me focus on short- and long-term goals, such as paying off the car and starting to save for retirement.

It's time to be intentional. I'm not a kid anymore; I can't allow myself to keep relying on hope if I care about achieving long-term financial freedom.

The Value of Money

2010-10-17T22:18:00.004-05:00

Well, I have come to the end of my week-long experiment in spending cash only. I realized after the first couple days that although the long-term goal here is greater frugality, for the sake of this experiment, I needed to actually spend money so that I would be able to judge the difference between paying with plastic and paying with cash. Ergo, I stopped hoarding the cash and started allowing myself to spend it.

A few observations follow:

1. Paying for food in cash really makes you think about what it is that you're buying and eating. For example, on a busy night this week, in conjunction with my roommate, I ended up stopping by Hideaway to pick up a pizza. Typically, no big deal (and it's not like I go there very often). But when the guy told me it was $16-something for the medium pizza, I have to admit, I was rather taken aback--knowing, in particular, that there was a Little Caesar's just down the street where I could get a large pizza for $5.

Was it worth it? Yes, in the moment. It was really, really good. And I think there are times when a splurge is ok. But will I think more about where I'm buying pizza or other food-to-go when such occasions arise in the future? You bet I will.

2. Suddenly, coins are valuable. I mean, they're money, so of course they have value. But how many of us stop to think about the value of coins? Rather, we drop them in the drive-through or lose them in the laundry. (Well, I don't, but a lot of people do.) But an accumulation of just a few coins equals a dollar--a whole dollar!--which can also be spent without breaking a bill. This leads to my third observation....

3. It's a lot easier to spend small bills than big bills...and a lot easier to spend coins than any bills. I'm sure someone out there has done a study on this, but for me, it was kind of a different idea. It didn't hurt so much to break a $1, or a $5, but handing over a $20 was a big deal. Ouch! Especially when I didn't get much change back. Suddenly, I started having thoughts of, "Will I need to stop at an ATM before the end of the week? What if I don't have enough left for [fill in the blank]?"

I suppose here is where budgeting makes a difference. Although I didn't go crazy spending money (or probably even spend as much as I likely would have in a typical week), I know I could have been better about planning what money was going to go where and approximately when that expenditure would occur. I still haven't committed myself to the envelope system, but I can definitely see how it would be useful.

4. Eating at home makes a big difference. I packed my lunch every day this week, and I ate dinner at home most of those days as well. The thought of wasting my cash on food that wasn't already in my refrigerator was more than a little distasteful.

5. Paying with cash forces you to have to think. What I mean here is that when you pay for something with plastic, you whip out the card, hand it over, and voila! You have paid. When you pay in cash, you're suddenly confronted with such things as counting. Granted, counting is not difficult, but it's something that has to be done, and since you often don't know the exact amount of a purchase until the cashier has added tax to the bill, it's not always easy to have the exact amount (bills plus coins) ready to be handed over right away. You have to stand there for a couple seconds and fumble with the money until you count out the right amount.

Now is this a big deal? No, not at all. But if you're used to paying with plastic, those extra seconds seem to drag on and on and on....

Same goes for tipping at a restaurant. When paying with plastic, you just put the card on the table, and when the server returns, you have really an unlimited amount of time to calculate the tip. I was at a restaurant yesterday, and suddenly realized that when the waiter set the bill on the table (and the person I was dining with had her card out and ready for her ticket), it seemed that all of a sudden, I had to get the appropriate bills out of my purse so the server could run both tickets at once. And what I wanted to do was give the perfect amount and say, "I don't need change." But I didn't. I felt the haste of the moment and just plopped down a $20 and waited for him to bring me change. Now, could I have asked him to come back after I'd had a minute to prepare better? Certainly. But I was so used to the convenience and relative speed of plastic transactions that it didn't feel right to do so.

6. Some things are still better paid in ways other than cash. For example, as discussed in Dan's comment on my earlier post, gasoline. I didn't have to buy gas this week, but if I had, it would have felt very inconvenient to go into the gas station to prepay and then go back out to pump my gas. I like paying at the pump--a lot. Some people have recommended buying gas station gift cards, while others have advocated using regular debit/credit cards for gas. I can't see myself taking the time to go into a gas station on a regular basis, so I'm pretty sure the gift card idea isn't my best option. But the debit or credit card? Yep.

Another thing you can't really pay with cash is an electric bill, which I did pay this weekend. Granted, I could have driven somewhere in town where I could stand in line to pay in cash, but to me, that is completely counterproductive. This is why having a bank account with online bill pay is so valuable to me. You can pay your bills directly from your checking account, from a single screen on the computer. No late fees, no stamps, no reminders to drive past the post office on your way to work. It's a beautiful thing.

In spite of a few items that are really better off paid using another method, this week of cash-only has taught me that I really do think more about what I'm buying when I pay for items with cash. Although I don't feel the need to throw away my plastic (it is, after all, quite convenient in a pinch), this practice is something I would like to continue in the future, perhaps in conjunction with a better-developed budget.

Shake, Rattle, and Roll

2010-10-13T21:52:00.005-05:00

A little after 9:00 this morning, as I was sitting in my office, the ceiling started to shake. Now, a momentary shake isn't terribly abnormal since my office hangs over empty space above a sidewalk--"this used to be a porch," the facility people never cease to remind us--but the shaking didn't stop right away.

And then the outer wall/window started to make an odd popping sound. I'm still not sure what it was; I'm pretty sure I don't want to know, actually. A moment later, my desk started vibrating and items on my bookshelves started rattling.

My second earthquake.

I'm told that this state has more earthquakes than any other state--even California--though I don't know if this is true. But according to those who tell such tales, most aren't strong enough to be felt. This one was: somewhere between 4.3 and 5.1 on the Richter scale, they think.

Funny thing was, I wasn't afraid. There really wasn't time to be. By the time I knew how to respond to the strange shaking in my office, it was over.

At the same time, in another part of the world, Chilean miners were being rescued one-by-one from their long imprisonment underground. A couple months ago, their world shook as well. I can't begin to fathom what must have gone through their heads each day down there in the dark, especially during those first 17 days, wondering if anyone would believe they were still alive and come find them, wondering if their last breaths would be breathed in stagnant darkness.

Sweet joy of rescue. Sometimes, the shaking does end--and everyone does emerge from the depths, dirty but unscathed. I hold such days close to my heart. They are evidence that good still happens--and that there is always reason to hope.

Day Two of Cash Only

2010-10-12T22:00:00.003-05:00

It struck me today that my little experiment isn't really going to yield the sort of results that will be meaningful. I say this because I started after I already had groceries for the week, and my car won't need to be filled up during this time, either. Also, because I am intent on observing how paying for all purchases with cash will affect my spending habits, I'm pretty sure that I am being more frugal than usual in order to really see if I can do it.

"So what's the point?" I started to wonder. "Is only using cash for the week really a meaningful experiment?"

Well, maybe scientists would fault its construction a bit, but I've decided there is still value in my experiment--if for no other reason than the fact that I am saving money. That's the point, right?

Today I skipped buying coffee and drank a bottled iced coffee that I had purchased some time back. I packed a lunch, and when I was thirsty in the afternoon, I filled my water bottle. Tonight, I cooked dinner and ate at home. No errands today, so no non-food-related desires to spend money.

I realize that some days will include necessary expenses--not all days can go as smoothly as today. But at the same time, going through a day without spending any money brings a good feeling. So far, so good.

Total money spent: $0.00.

My Battle With Budgeting

2010-10-11T20:25:00.004-05:00

I guess you could say I received a pretty good financial education growing up. My parents taught me two very important things: (1) debt should be avoided and (2) living within a budget was not just a nice thing to do, but rather, essential.

As soon as I was old enough to start handling money, my parents taught me their budget system, which I followed to the letter for many years afterward. And then I started grad school, and reconciling my budget started taking too much time, and I stopped.

For the last few years, I haven't bothered. It's been ok. I've still spent less that I've made. I haven't gotten into financial trouble as a result of my laxity, so I haven't been too worried.

But I think maybe there is a better way to live.

I'm trying a baby-step experiment this week: I'm only paying for purchases with cash. Some people say that's a good way to save money because it forces you to be more intentional about what you spend money on. Maybe if I remind myself how good it feels to intentionally save money, I'll want to do more of it.

Today, I only spent $0.27. A good start.

Once Upon a Time, There Was a Dog...

2010-10-06T22:31:00.003-05:00

What a great way to begin a very bad story: "Once upon a time, there was a dog."

Is this a dog story? Is it a story about a person who gets attacked by a dog? Does it have nothing at all to do with a dog, but the dog appears in the first line merely as a hook to grab the reader? There are probably so many ways you could go with that story, but I can't foresee any of them being good.

So why am I writing about a dog? Because I don't know what else to tell you.

I would rather speculate about poorly written dog stories than tell you the real things. Or maybe I want to tell you the real things, but you are Internet (with a capital The), and I can't tell whether you mean to do me harm by sharing my secrets with strangers (or worse, certain family and certain colleagues) or whether you mean to help nurture my creativity back to health by sharing the best of me with a someday-soon-to-be-adoring audience.

You are big, Internet, and so very, very open. And sometimes you frighten me.

In Which I Rant About Plagiarism...Again

2010-04-19T20:49:00.004-05:00

I find it mildly ironic that a comment left on one of my previous posts is from someone advertising a website that writes papers (for a fee) that are guaranteed to be plagiarism-free. I find it even more ironic that the first question that crossed my mind was, "I wonder if they're hiring?"

The thing is, I am tired. Tired of all the cheating. Tired of people who claim to live by a certain moral/ethical code who then have no qualms about having someone else do their work for them, whether that be in the form of lifting information off the Internet and inserting it into a paper (which is just plain stupid) or in a more crafty form that maybe I can't even discern.

I graded some papers today from a student whom I had caught plagiarizing on another assignment previously. All the new papers went through Turnitin.com without any problems, and yet, it irked me that it felt like the student had submitted extremely well-written papers that had no major flaws but yet weren't quite what I had asked for in the assignment.

Truth be told, I asked myself the question: Is it possible that the student got someone else to write the papers? And the realization I came to was that yes, it was possible--but no, I was never going to be able to prove it.

It's things like this that make me wonder what I see in distance education, how it's possible that I could believe in it. (And I do.)

But the problem isn't the distance. God knows, students on campus cheat and/or plagiarize just as much as online students do. And God knows, the people who are determined to do it are going to find a way.

The problem is that there are so many people who care more about turning their education into a commodity than they do about actually becoming educated people. Because once education is comprised solely in a diploma, then it's an easy sequence of steps that will lead a determined individual to achieve that end.

Tragic waste, if you ask me. For all parties involved.

I Think I Have Forgotten How To Be Creative

2010-03-04T21:12:00.002-06:00

Seems crazy, I know. But I've been away from this blog for years, really, and even in that time, there hasn't been much writing. And what little writing there has been has been, well, trite.

I can't exactly remember when I stopped writing, but I distinctly remember when I stopped caring. For so long, I have chosen to bottle up what was in me--perhaps because for a time there was nothing good (or publishable) that would come out, perhaps because I thought the best of me was gone forever.

Time doesn't change everything, but it lends distance and perspective, and for that I am grateful.

Hello, friends. I'm back.

Songs from The Pirate Queen

2010-01-16T15:47:00.005-06:00

You see, I love musicals. So I'm always on the lookout for a new one that I might like. Of course, not living in a city like New York, I don't always catch up as quickly as I otherwise might, but I like to think that even if I'm a couple years behind in discovering a show, that's still pretty good.

Case in point: The Pirate Queen, c. 2007.

I've been casually researching this one ever since I discovered Stephanie J. Block's new album "The Place I Know," which includes a song I had never heard before but now love: "Because I am a Wife" from Alain Boubil and Claude-Michel Schonberg's The Pirate Queen. (Broadway fans of course will of course recognize this famous writing duo as the creators of both Les Miserables and Miss Saigon.)

And yet my research had led to a disheartening end. Not only did the show end quickly after a short and disappointing run on Broadway, but when the show had moved from Chicago to New York months earlier, it lost this very wonderful song that I had so recently discovered. Its replacement ("Woman") is also quite nice, but to me it lacked the power of "Because I am a Wife."

Why, I wonder, would they make such a change? Is it because in reworking the story, the song no longer fit with the plot, as was the case with Alan Mencken and Howard Ashman's "Proud of Your Boy," which was cut from the Disney film Aladdin?

Or was "Woman" truly deemed the better song?

What do you think? Or does anyone know for sure?

Eye Drops and Original Sin

2008-09-29T00:05:00.000-05:00

"Your corneas are so swollen that they are actually tricking your brain into thinking that you can see better with your glasses off than with them on. But that doesn't actually mean that your prescription is wrong. It's probably right, or very close to right, but you won't be able to tell until the infection has cleared."

That's pretty much verbatim what the eye doctor told me on Friday. And the reason why I'm thinking about it doesn't have much to do with the actual issue; after all, I'm on meds and I'm sure the eyes will clear up eventually.

But, as you know if you have read my past notes, sometimes I see things differently (no pun intended!), and when I heard this statement, it immediately made me think about Augustine and his teachings on original sin.

I am incapacitated to the point where I am incapable of seeing correctly. I am incapable of seeing correctly even with the corrective lenses that have been given to me in order to guide me toward healthy and happy seeing. I might think I'm doing ok because I can take off my glasses and see less blurriness, but in actuality, my eyes are messed up and there is nothing that I can do for myself to enable them to see better. I have to rely on the grace extended to me by the eye doctor, who granted me the authorization to obtain the prescription that should fix the problem (as well as the grace extended to me by my employer in the form of a salary so that I can afford to purchase the eye drops).

Same deal with original sin, if you subscribe to Augustine's teaching here. We are born into this world possessing a fallen nature, and thus, we are completely incapacitated to the point of being incapable of choosing God for ourselves. No matter how hard we strive for the good or how close we think we can get on our own, we are profoundly more helpless than we are even capable of ascertaining. Thus, it is His grace, extended to us, that enables us to accept Him.

You may not agree with the theology, and that's ok, but I find the analogy fascinating nonetheless.

Olympic Rewind

2008-09-21T22:23:00.002-05:00

I know that it's been forever since I blogged, and to all of my loyal and faithful fans (ha ha), I do offer my most sincere apologies. While I will attempt to be better at posting current posts, this one is long overdue and must come first.

One sunny afternoon during the Olympics, Becky and I had a discussion wherein we speculated on the randomness of some of the Olympic events and wondered what new events might be added to future games. Out of the midst of such wonderings came a list, "Becky and Jana's Top Ten List of Events That Aren't Currently Part of the Olympics--But Should Be."

1. Blindfolded synchronized standing (balance is everything)
2. Steak knife fencing
3. Individual and team competitive watersliding (pretty much the same as the luge, right?)
4. Pole dancing
5. Guitar Hero
6. City driving (two categories: small car and SUV)
7. Paper airplane toss
8. Bird calling
9. Joust (Who says it's only for Renaissance Faires?)
10. Cow Tipping

There are a few others of honorable (or dishonorable) mention, which did not make the official list for various and sundry reasons and yet are being included on this blog because it's my blog and I can write whatever I want.

11. All-around Wii Sports
12. White board writing
13. Speed pooping

Lastly, we determined that that someone needed to petition the International Olympic Committee to add one final event to the Fencing category:

14. Light saber fencing

Any thoughts on other non-events that should really be added to the next Olympics?

But Can They Do It Barefoot?

2008-08-11T22:01:00.005-05:00

Admittedly, I have never been one to get into Olympic mania. True, I happily watch various events when they're on and I'm home, but I've never been one to schedule my life around the games.

However, I find myself greatly intrigued this time around because I have discovered several events that I didn't even know were events. This has led me to a path of discovery wherein I examined all of the categories of competion.

Yet this in itself is still a little boring. And so, I thought to myself, why not make this interesting?
Since it's the Summer Olympics, and since one of the nicest things about summertime is the ability to avoid wearing shoes, I decided to examine Olympic events in terms of how many of them can be competed in without shoes. Here's what I discovered:

Without Shoes (100 events)
-Diving (8 events)
-Swimming (34 events)
-Synchronized Swimming (2 events)
-Water Polo (2 events)
-Artistic Gymnastics (14 events)
-Rhythmic Gymnastics (2 events)
-Judo (14 events)
-Taekwondo (8 events)
-Beach Volleyball (2 events)
-UPDATED 8-17-08 Rowing (14 events) (I had initially categorized this event as "up for debate," but I just watched the U.S. win the gold in one of the rowing events, and the ladies were wearing socks but not shoes)

With Shoes (167 events)
-Archery (4 events)
-Athletics (Track and Field) (47 events)
-Badminton (5 events)
-Baseball (1 event)
-Basketball (2 events)
-Boxing (11 events)
-Cycling BMX (2 events)
-Cycling Road (4 events)
-Cycling Track (10 events)
-Mountain Bike (2 events)
-Equestrain Dressage (2 events)
-Equestrian Eventing (2 events)
-Equestrian Jumping (2 events)
-Fencing (10 events)
-Football (we Yanks might call it soccer) (2 events)
-Handball (2 events)
-Shooting (15 events)
-Softball (1 event)
-Table Tennis (4 events)
-Tennis (4 events)
-Volleyball (2 events)
-Weightlifting (15 events)
-Wrestling Freestyle (11 events)
-Wrestling Greco-Roman (7 events)

Up For Debate (34 events)
-Canoe/Kayak Flatwater (12 events) (do you really need shoes in a kayak?)
-Canoe/Kayak Slalom (4 events) (do you really need shoes in a kayak?)
-Trampoline (2 events) (official rules allow either socks or gym shoes)
-Hockey (2 events) (because then you have the question: Are skates shoes?)
-Modern Pentathlon (2 events) (no shoes for swimming; shoes for the other activities)
-Rowing (14 events) (do you really need shoes on a boat? Maybe....)
-Sailing (11 events)
-Triathlon (2 events) (no shoes for swimming; shoes for the other activities)

So, ok. It's apparent that there are still more shoed events than shoeless events in the Summer Opympics. What are your crazy Olympic questions?

Passive-Aggressive Microwave

2008-07-09T21:41:00.011-05:00

Not long ago, I read a post on Stan's blog about a site that posts pictures of people's passive-aggressive notes. I thought it was funny, especially in light of the fact that I work with a lot of passive-aggressive people. Hence, I've got a few of my own to share.

Sadly, the signs that were previously on our bathroom doors ("Women ONLY" and "Men ONLY," respectively) were taken down before I remembered to take my camera in to work. It's too bad, because it was really funny to see those signs right below the actual "Women" and "Men" signs.

However, here are a couple shots of the signs that are currently on our office microwave. This is the front:

And here is the sign on top (because 1 sign obviously isn't enough). Note the handwritten comment as well. :)

Early Morning Wake-Up Call

2008-07-06T17:18:00.000-05:00

Picture this: It’s a lovely Sunday morning in your typically quiet neighborhood. You’re lying in bed, deep in sleep, an hour away from the time when the alarm is set to begin rousing you. You are completely lost in your dreams; the world is dead to you.

Until gradually a sound creeps into your consciousness.

It’s the sound of yelling—specifically, a man yelling. It’s not a single yell (how could it be: it woke you, didn’t it?), but rather, a continued stream of shouting from a deep and booming voice. And as your mind begins to shake itself out of sleep world and into reality (or surreality), you begin to recognize what it is that you’re hearing.

“Jesus! Jesus is coming! Arise from your beds, you sleepers! Stand fast against the devil! Jesus! Jesus is coming!”

And yet, even though you understand the words, you’re still not quite sure what parallel universe you have awoken into. You haven’t heard any trumpets sounding, and it doesn’t sound as though the four riders of the apocalypse have appeared in the sky.

Rather, you realize as you drag yourself over to the window, that this is all the work of one large Bahamian-sounding man wearing a red basketball jersey, walking up and down your street.

You find it difficult to reconcile your initial response (an extreme desire to open the door and yell profanities at him, which you thankfully suppress). So you start analyzing, still groggily, the pros and cons of calling the police. You refrain. You wonder if everyone else who hears him will respond the same way.

You wonder how many of the neighbors are awake now—and how many of them are thinking such things as, “Christians are such freaks; what a jerk to wake us all up so early on a Sunday morning!” He keeps going, now shouting something about the glory of God, but only for a time. And it finally ends.

After which you sink back into that sleep which had earlier claimed you.

One of these days, I’ve got to write a book.

In the Immortal Words of Smash Mouth:

2008-07-04T14:28:00.002-05:00

"I get knocked down / But I get up again / You're never going to keep me down."

It's been a rough go of it for a very long time, but today I am embracing the sunshine and remembering that if I let myself be consistently bothered by stupid work politics and other people's inability to treat people with dignity and respect, I will just go through life upset. And that does no one any good.

So, here's to a happier day! ("Holiday...celebrate!") Maybe I'll swing by the water park (thank you, season passes), or maybe I'll just soak up some sun somewhere else. Maybe I'll clean the house...or just maybe, I'll let that wait till tomorrow. Definitely there will be fireworks.

And happiness. Happy Fourth of July, everybody!

The Singing Office?

2008-07-02T01:32:00.003-05:00

So yes, it's 1:30 in the morning, and I really ought to go to bed because I need to get to work early tomorrow to prep for a conference call. Yet I'm trying to get caught up on my grading, and "The Singing Office" is on tv.

Have you ever watched this show? It's hilarious!

They go into a business, audition random people who work there, and then pick five of them and train them to sing and dance and perform something. The unfortunate thing is that some of the people who get picked really can't sing. I mean, to the point of being painful. (Almost like Nashville Star last night--ouch!)

One girl just complained on camera because someone else got part of her solo. But she was terrible! There's no reason why she should have kept her solo; the other girl was much better.

I really think it would be fun to go on this show. Not that I think my co-workers would be game for it, for the most part, but I think it would be way fun.

If "The Singing Office" people came to your place of employment, would you want to do it or would you shy away from it?

Metaphorically Speaking

2008-06-29T02:16:00.002-05:00

“The metaphor you seek
has left the house with the gust
of a whirl-twirled tumble smack
thud, like a breeze escorting a
door, slammed, to the outside.”

I once wrote a poem that began with these words, and I’ve always loved the above lines because of how they roll off the tongue.

Sometimes I wish that every moment—good and bad—had a perfectly corresponding metaphor (or image) that you could pick up out of the blue and say, “Yes! This is what it is. This explains it exactly.”

On Friday, I discovered one of these perfect metaphors to tell my boss. It was about alien spaceships in the movie Independence Day. Don’t think too hard about that one: you’d have to know the situation to get the connection.

But sometimes no perfectly constructed image exists. Sometimes things just are.

As it turns out, things will continue to be for me for this next year. I had hoped for a change, but fortune did not favor me. It’s funny how profound a sense of loss I feel over something I never had to begin with.

And I’m almost beyond words. Right now, the metaphor I seek has eluded me. Like “she” in Eliot’s “Prufrock,” I seem much less in a position to say, “This is what it is,” but rather, “That is not what I meant at all.”

Guido da Montefeltro (in Dante’s Inferno) reminds me:

S'i' credesse che mia risposta fosse
a persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
questa fiamma staria sanza più scosse;

ma però che già mai di questo fondo
non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero,
sanza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

If I thought my reply were meant for
one who ever could return into the world,
this flame would stir no more; and yet, since none—

if what I hear is true—ever returned
alive from this abyss, then without fear
of facing infamy, I answer you. (XXVII, 61-66)

Perhaps I have no answers because those who would hear my reply still live in my world.

Perhaps It's Silly...

2008-06-15T16:08:00.002-05:00

But I can't believe the television gurus of the universe are forcing me to choose between the Tony Awards and Game 5 of the NBA playoffs.

This is wrong, people, wrong!

Ok, carry on with your lives. :)

Considering Pluto

2008-06-12T00:28:00.006-05:00

I really don’t get this whole Pluto-is-not-a-planet-anymore idea.

Oh, I know. You science-y people out there will probably jump on this post and remind me about how the IAU decided to revise the criteria for planethood, and at the end of the day, something about Pluto’s gravity and revolution path caused scientists to say, “Nope, recall all the textbooks and posters. We’re redoing the solar system.” Blah, blah, blah.

I don’t buy it.

Over the weekend, I paid a visit to a science museum that had scale models of the planets hanging from the ceiling in a display. But Pluto wasn’t hanging from the ceiling. It was a gray little ball, stuck, alone, in its very own glass encasement, with a description of why scientists no longer call it a planet.

Something about this strikes me as seriously wrong—or at least, deeply disheartening.

Once occupying the prime space of being the “last” in the solar system, this mass of rock and ice was the embodiment of mystery in the universe. Where was the farthest that you could go? Pluto. Of course, man hadn’t gotten there yet, but it was something to shoot for. Sure, there were other systems and galaxies, but there was something about Pluto that drew the attention of the imagination more than the inexplicably illimitable cosmos.

As a child, I used to imagine that the “air” on Pluto was a foggy purple mist; that it was very cold, but that whenever I visited the planet, my body was able to adapt immediately to the atmosphere; and that I could journey around the entire planet in the course of an hour.

(I also used to imagine that Saturn was peach and that if I landed on it, I would sink through miles and miles of squishy stuff, somewhat akin in texture and mass to peach applesauce, until finally I reached the core of the planet, which was hard like a peach pit. And then I was trapped until the alien residents of Saturn decided that I wasn’t a threat and decided to help me. But that’s another story.)

The thing that gets me is that scientists don’t really know what’s out there. Kuiper Belt. That’s the current story. So there’s more stuff they think they see. Great! But why, I ask you, is it necessary to remove the mystery and beauty of something that, for all this time, we have all believed to be one of the immortal watchers of the solar system? What is accomplished except that we mortals are given greater cause for disillusion with science and its ability to verifiably tell us anything?

In The Discarded Image C. S. Lewis laments the change that the word “know” has undergone as a result of society’s shift towards embracing scientific empiricism—and its subsequent effect upon our ability to perceive reality:

“The mathematics are now the nearest to the reality we can get. Anything imaginable, even anything that can be manipulated by ordinary (that is, non-mathematical) conceptions, far from being a further truth to which mathematics were the avenue, is a mere analogy, a concession to our weakness. Without a parable modern physics speaks not to the multitudes.”

We “know” more facts and figures now. We have instruments to measure density and gravitational pull, and we track planetary orbits with an ease that our Greek fathers could not have fathomed.

But we don’t see the planets. (Or dwarf-planets, if you must.) We have lost the mystery and beauty of these things in our search for some way of quantifying what it is that we see.

And I can’t do it. I won’t fight it (much). But I can’t be one of those people who can let go of Pluto that easily.

"C Fever"

2008-06-05T00:37:00.005-05:00

Many of you know that I teach an online course called Distance Learning Strategies, which is basically a combination of study skills and technology skills, with a lot of goal setting and reflective exercises along the way.

One of the topics mentioned in the textbook is a concept called "C Fever." The idea is that all of your tasks can be broken down by level of priority (A being the highest, C being the lowest). Normally, you would probably have quite a few C-level tasks on your to-do list, while maybe you would only have one or two A-level tasks.

"C Fever" is when you embrace the urge to start crossling all of the C's off your task list. The good thing about this is that your list is getting shorter; the bad thing about this is that you are still not accomplishing your highest-priority tasks.

I really struggle with this. For example, right now I have two MAJOR have-to-be-done-by-the-end-of-the-week-or-else projects to do. ("Only two?" you ask. Well, it's summer. And quite frankly, I was pretty excited today to be able to say that I had finished the last project that was supposed to be done in April.)

There are, of course, many other things that I also need to be doing in addition to these two A-level items, and then there is one particular other C-level project that requires immense effort and time (not to mention: a ridiculous mess in my office), and it's not one of my two A-level tasks, but it affects a lot of other people and they keep pestering me about it.

At what point do you say, "Nope, I'm sorry, but I have an A-level task to do today. Your project will have to wait"? Or can you even say that?

I am profoundly guilty of wanting to cross C-level tasks off my list--not because I feel a compulsive need to do them (though I do), but because I am weary of dealing with people's queries about why whatever project that is most important to them isn't done and when it will be done, etc.

Sometimes I just want to get people off my back. Is that so terrible?

Or is it better to truly stick to my "priorities" and make the rest of the world wait while I finish the task that seems most important to me (or even--let's be frank--the task that leads to the greatest benefit for the university)?

I don't know. It kind of seems like either way you do it, you lose.

Crashing with the Valkyries

2008-05-28T22:00:00.004-05:00

So, this morning, I was listening to the classical radio station on the drive to work, and the DJ informed me of something rather interesting that I had never heard before. He said that some group of people somewhere took a poll of what song was playing on the radio when they got into a car crash, and you know what it was? "The Ride of the Valkyries" by Richard Wagner.

Now, I think this piece of music is great fun, but I'm just trying to wrap my mind around the concept. People aren't getting into crashes while listening to hip-hop, apparently, or rock, or even country. But I tell you what: all you need to do is crank up some opera and it's danger everywhere, folks!

Where Are They?

2008-05-27T22:50:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I wonder about dreams. Not the kind you dream at night after too much ice cream, but the sort that sit under lock and key somewhere on the deep inside, waiting to either be released or locked away deeper.

And it's not so much the dreams that I am aware of that cause me to stay up late at night and ponder. It's the ones that are so far hidden that I don't even know them, maybe wouldn't even recognize them if they showed up on my doorstep.

Because what if they show up, finally, but I don't know that they're mine? What if I cast them aside because I think they are someone else's dreams stowing away on board the ship that sails through the choppy waters of my life?

("That's poetic. That's pathethic.")

I think the reason I am thinking these things is that I am possibly on the verge of change again, though of course nothing is certain. (And let's not forget that I'm currently listening to an 80s song that includes the line, "I was living for a dream...loving for a moment.")

And it causes me to stop and ask the question: What are my dreams? Which ones are actually mine and not someone else's dreams that I have taken upon myself? If I were to take a step outside my present circumstances--the late homework nights, the long work hours that are fulfilling and yet never seem to really accomplish anything that I can stop and celebrate, the lack of a respectable social life because I make choices that cause it to be so--what would I find? Would my dreams be sitting there on my doorstep, waiting? Wondering where I was heading and why I was so convincedly determined to avoid them? Or would they say, "See, you're on the right track. We're right here, and even though you don't see it, you're actually getting closer and closer to us."

You could draw spiritual parallels to this as well, but I'm not in that mood tonight. (I'll save it for my kavanah post that will eventually make it on here.)

When I was younger, I thought this was supposed to happen in midlife. Then, a few years ago, I learned that it could occur at quarterlife. And didn't, for me. So what is this: third life? (Not as cool as SecondLife, apparently.)

And all I want to know is: Are my dreams still out there?

Totally Copying Nicole (Ten Sentence Update)

2008-05-11T00:32:00.005-05:00

Hi friends and family! Gosh, it's been a while since I've blogged, and I'm afraid my mental capacity isn't quite in "creative blogging mode" even now, so I am just going to copy Nicole's idea of the 10-sentence update.

1. Spring semester is over, and I am just so happy to have passed my Greek proficiency (and to have maintained the 4.0 in the process).

2. I am one week into a summer course on Jewish and Christian prayer in the time of Jesus.

3. Everyone who even thinks about praying should read To Pray as a Jew by Hayim Halevy Donin because it is deeply amazing, even though some of the details about synagogue practices can get a bit exhausting.

4. Summer correspondence still isn't finished.

5. I got a sunburn reading (for my class) on the patio this afternoon.

6. I am finally sleeping in my bed again, for the most part, and not in the living room.

7. There is no possible way that I will be able to fulfill all of my May committments and still be able to sleep.

8. No, the awful tornadoes that hit other parts of the state today didn't come anywhere near me.

9. I'm hungry, but really, it would be better to just go to bed at this point.

10. Today is Mother's Day, and I love my mom!!!

I Am Saturated With The Endless Sound

2008-04-19T13:59:00.003-05:00

Well, I wasn't going to post this one quite yet because I still feel like there are some imperfections to be ironed out. But since Nicole tagged me to help celebrate National Poetry Month (April), I decided that since this was the newest poem I had written, I'd go ahead and put it out here. Hope you enjoy!

I am saturated with the endless sound

I am saturated with the endless sound
of anything, nothing
wretched spawn of wasted breath,
volume turned up and voices blaring

Dull mechanical hums, electric current
wrenching distracted immortality
from my feeble grasp

If you squeezed me like a sponge
I would surge with rivers of
nothing, anything,
noise sounds words voices

Nothing from the stillness

Like a shrink on her couch
pencil in hand,
glasses on nose:

I hear the babble
and parrot it back

Yet my heart longs to leap
into the night, letting luminosity unfold
the untold stories of silence

© 2008 Jana Swartwood

"It's What We Call A Hook"

2008-04-08T04:22:00.003-05:00

Yeah. So it's nearly 4:30 a.m., and I have been up since the tornado sirens went off sometime just before 3:00ish. I won't be sleeping until the entire storm has passed (or until I'm at my desk in a few hours...LOL), so I figured now was a good moment to share the insightful weather moment of the day.

I was on Channel 6, which is substandard to Channel 8, but I was watching the big game, so Channel 6 it was. And the guy was talking about the rotation pattern of this storm, and he said, "It's what we call a hook, because it looks like a hook."

Um, DUH! This is the same guy who came up with the brilliant definition of scary clouds.

Anyway, carry on with your...sleep. I'll be here, keeping watch.

Treasures of Clay

2008-04-06T00:12:00.004-05:00

Rooting around in dirt often leads me to theological musings.

I spent several hours today out in front of the house, trying to clear weeds from the flowerbeds. Let me just say that there were a lot of weeds, and while most of them were not deeply rooted, as a whole, they contributed to a monumental task. (Thankfully, I enjoy playing in the dirt when I have time for it, so it was all good.)

As I ripped everything up from the earth, I realized something that perhaps I had known all along but never focused on: the dirt in the flowerbeds was predominantly clay.

Now the funny thing about clay, particularly when it's wet, is that it clumps together. Firmly. Even if it hasn't solidified, you can't crumble it apart like ordinary dirt. And I imagine it's hard to grow anything in clay--at least, not something that requires deep roots.

As I worked with the clay, I began to wonder about the curse of the ground in Genesis 3. I realize that God didn't say anything to Adam about clay--just toil and thistles and such. But maybe He meant to.

In the Talmud and the Old Testament, we see clay as a frequent image of humanity. We were formed from clay. Clay vessels are considered "clean" and worthy vessels in the OT because they are not formed in the same manner as idols. We even see imagery of God as the potter and us as the clay. Even Paul likens the life of Christ inside of us to a treasure in earthen vessels, which, I think you could speculate from historical/cultural context, are probably made of clay.

Did God give us soil of clay in order that we might see it constantly before us and wonder at our own hearts? When I look at the clay in the flower bed, cold and compacted together, I see a mirror image of what my heart so often is. Inpenetrable.

And looking at the clay, feeling the clay in my hands, I want to be different. I want to be that topsoil rich with nutrients where plants are free to grow. I want to crumble in His hands. I want to be more than malleable; I want for Him to penetrate my heart.

Yet I think also of what clay can become, when masterfully crafted and forged in fire to become a worthy vessel. There is such hope for this clay when it is used for a purpose that it is designed to accomplish.

Perhaps I mix metaphors here. But I think there is so much that I still have to learn just from observing this simple substance.

Such stuff, this clay.

Christ is Risen!

2008-03-23T22:03:00.004-05:00

Beautiful Sunday of Sundays, today was the first Easter in many years that I have had the freedom to choose where to go for an Easter service. In years past, I have had worship-team-related committments--some of which have been exciting and fun, some of which have been extremely burdensome. I remember last Easter, when the production was so heartachingly depressing that two straight services of it (plus listening to morning run-throughs) would drive a saint to drink!

What lovely freedom, then, today. My heart led me in the direction of the high church variety: mass at Holy Family downtown, to be precise. The cathedral is a vision of aesthetic loveliness: high, vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows, a pipe organ, an incredible ivory sculture (including the crucifix) up front. The choirs were superb; the organist...beyond incredible. There were moments, during the Latin choral pieces, where if I closed my eyes, I was transported to the Middle Ages. And oh, if only you could have felt the entire cathedral vibrate and reverberate with the strength and power of the organ and choir in the last verse of "Christ the Lord has Risen Today!"

Yet while the music itself was well worth the visit, the most significant part for me was the reverance of the liturgy. A rejection of sin. An affirmation of faith. A proclamation of joy in the resurrection. At once a connection among a community of believers worldwide. As a Protestant--a non-denominational one at that--this is something I feel like I have missed all my life, though I've scarcely recognized it.

Crossing myself with the holy water, kneeling in prayer, singing melodies that echoed through the ages, I half-wondered what it would be like to be Catholic.

How long does it take before the scent of incense evaporates from your nostrils? At what point does this all become commonplace? (I know it does.) And is this the case with any church, any form of worship? Do we simply get so caught up in the doing that we miss the divine?

I rather wonder what the curly-headed child felt, blasted wide-eyed as a wayward drop of water crashed into his face, equally touched as it were by the weight of its symbolism and the love in his mother's hand as she wiped the excess from his cheek.

Bach's Cantata 140

2008-03-22T21:40:00.005-05:00

Can any of you highbrow folk (you know who you are) tell me if there is a definitive recording out there for Bach's Cantata 140 (Wauchet auf...)? I was listening to the St. Matthew Passion this evening and remembered that I love the Cantata 140 as well. But buying classical music in the dark is so scary; you just never know what you're going to get.

In other minutia, I had to run to the mall to get a new garage door opener battery, and while there, I decided to treat myself to some Subway. The guy making my sandwich told me that anything he touched was amazing. I didn't believe him until I took the first bite of my sandwich, but he was right! Absolute best Subway sandwich I have ever tasted in my life--bar none!

Now I'm doing some research and watching the MSU/PITT game on my computer. Technology is amazing, isn't it? I've also been working on a poem, for the first time in forever. Hopefully you'll see it out here sometime soon.

Happy Saturday, my friends!

On Writing

2008-03-16T21:51:00.003-05:00

I just opened up my senior paper for the first time in years. Something about Martin Eden has been pulsing through my veins lately. Hopefully not the tragic part. Though perhaps it's all interconnected; most things seem to be.

On Friday, the honors program hosted author K. D. Wentworth. She writes science fiction, and I haven't read her, but someone I respect greatly in the literary field says her characterization of "the alien" is impressive, so I imagine she's someone worth trying out. (She has a book online if you're curious.)

One of the most interesting things she discussed was the connection between the imagination and the subconscious. In her opinion, the writer has to deal with both sides of the brain. The left side is the inner editor, the inner critic. It is the part of you that tells you every word you have written is absolute garbage. And the right side is the imagination, the subconscious. It is the part that is only excited about its own ideas and brings them to mind at random times, whether you're ready for them or not.

"I'm closer to my subconscious in the morning than I am at any other time of the day," she told us. Because her conscious is not fully awake, the other side can actually break through. (I can relate; I'm so anti-morning.)

"Writer's block," she said, "is really an inability to connect with your subconscious."

And also, "If you find yourself in your bedroom rearranging your socks, then you know that the editor has won." I smile at this because I have a shiny kitchen sink right now for very similar reasons.

But one of the most important things to her about writing was the necessity of making it habitual. Sitting down daily for a period of time, just to listen to the voice within her. And to write it out. Even 1 page a day led to 365 pages written in a year, she calculated, and there is a lot that you can do with 365 pages.

And that is what made me think of Martin Eden and Jack London himself--because that was his philosophy and Martin's as well. Just to do it. As a disipline. To make yourself write, because chances were, something would come of it if you just did it, but if you never wrote anything, nothing would ever come of it.

It didn't work out so well for Martin, of course. At least, not in the end, when he killed himself. (Because he was a capitalist, if you ask Jack, though I'm not convinced that was the entire issue.) Sorry if I ruined the end of a book you'll never read....

There are days when I remember what it was like to sit for hours at the computer and compose something. Sometimes it was good; sometimes it was crap; but the process was beautiful. Therapeutic. Cathartic. Sometimes, in a very real way, it was the working out of my faith. Or the evidence of a journey back.

Sometimes I wonder if my inability to write creatively now, whether due to writer's block or lack of intention to set aside time to just do it, is just as much an inability to connect with God as it is an inability to connect with my subconscious imagination.

After all, at least for me, I hear God most clearly when I'm writing.

I wonder what I'm afraid of.

Evidence That I'm Weird

2008-03-15T20:06:00.000-05:00

Yeah...like you needed more. (Oops, those of you who don't know me well didn't know that, did you? Well, the cat's out of the bag now.)

So, here's the thing. I like iTunes a lot, and one of the many reasons for this is that I can see the date/time that I last played each song. I really don't know WHY this is significant information, but I find it interesting that iTunes wants to tell me, so I pay attention to it.

But that's not why I'm weird.

I am weird because I have a compulsive desire to see that all songs have been played AT LEAST once. It seems WRONG somehow for a song to go unplayed, even if it is a song that I don't particularly like. It's like the song never got a chance to live its life, just sitting there, unplayed.

So on occasions where I'm at the computer for an extended period of time (such as tonight, while I attempt to catch up on my SLLE grading), I find it interesting--no, NECESSARY--to sort songs alphabetically by title and then just go down the list, playing ONLY the songs that have never been played, even if it means listening to weird recitatives from Bizet's opera Carmen or skipping songs I would normally want to listen to.

Am I the only person who does this?

To Trust

2008-03-09T01:34:00.002-06:00

On Tuesday, an orthodox rabbi from Jerusalem visited my Pauline Theology class. (He didn't talk about Paul much, but who cares? How often do you find a strictly orthodox Jew who believes in Yeshua as meshiach and wants to talk to students in a Christian seminary? Not often.... It was very cool.)

He made a statement that has stuck with me through the following days: "The will of God is that we praise Him in all things. Praise doesn't necessarily mean dancing and singing, though it can mean those things. It means calling on God."

He went on to explain that in calling on God in either joy or sorrow, we are acknowledging Him as the sole God who reigns supreme over all things, to whom our worship and prayers are directed. (Shema Israel, Adonai elohenu, Adonai echad....) He is God alone. He is the one who has made all things, and He is the only one with the power to truly fix what has been broken.

Another thing I've been thinking about lately is the idea of the Greek term for "worry." It implies a fracture of the mind, brokenness, splitness. One part of the mind goes one way (toward self, toward worry); another part trusts in God. Again, we've got a reinforcement of the idea that God is one and that as people created in His image, His plan for us is to avoid "splitting" our minds, but rather, to trust in Him with all of our hearts.

I'm not sure how to connect these different thoughts coherently right now (it is, after all, rather late at night). Yet there's something here I (and maybe you) need to get hold of.

Maybe sometimes the most we can do is say, "God, I don't understand what is happening. I need you. Please carry this burden for me." And then we trust. And wait. Maybe longer than we would like, but we do it. And maybe we aren't "happy" about it, and maybe it's ok that we don't have to be fake and pretend to dance all around out of joy when really, we're not terrifically joyful.

But maybe it's ok. To be quiet. To trust. To do what we can do. But to let Him be God.

The Good News

2008-03-02T23:34:00.003-06:00

Just a short note to say thanks to those of you who prayed for me. There's not much that is appropriate to share at this time, but I felt like things went well in the meeting. It was extremely stressful, but everything said (by others and by myself) seemed well-received.

I'm thankful for those in administration who are working to make things better.

No news yet other than that. But I, personally, feel a lot better now that it's over, and I thank you all for all that you are to me. Have a good night!

I Can't Sleep

2008-02-29T00:05:00.003-06:00

For that matter, I can't finish my Greek worksheet, and I still haven't taken out the trash. Tomorrow is a big day. The anticipation is unsettling.

Usually, unknowing is preferable. And then you learn things that you wish you'd never learned, and you long to be able to tell someone how things really were. And then you get the opportunity to tell someone, and the fear is almost paralyzing.

I want them to know how things were. I want them to know. They need to know.

But what good comes of it? In the end, I will go back into my office and still have to face these people, these people who at this time can only be characterized by the query, "Et tu, Brut?" and whom Dante might have even seen fit to freeze in solid ice.

The end is a mystery. Yet the inevitability of all of this is certain. I don't want tomorrow to happen. But it's coming whether I accept it or not....

Please pray, if you think of it.

On Grad School Right Now

2008-02-21T00:09:00.003-06:00

So I opened my Hotmail junk mail, and the first email in the queue was titled, "Five Signs You Shouldn't Go To Grad School."

Is it a sign? Probably not. Did I delete it without opening it? Of course.

But I'm a little burned out. Turned in a paper a week late. Got back an exam with a very un-Jana-like grade. And I don't really care all that much, to be honest.

I think this happens to most people as they progress through a grad program. At least, most of the people I know. You start out with such momentum, and somewhere in that third year, it wanes. You charge through your first language with great joy, only to realize that the second language is nowhere near as fun as the first.

And it's ok. Sometimes you have to push past the things you're not "enjoying" because you're doing something worthwhile, and I feel that this is the case for me.

But at the same time, it would be nice to have a break. If I knew a break wouldn't stop my momentum altogether, that is.

Sovegna Vos

2008-02-05T23:07:00.000-06:00

"Be mindful...." Does Arnaut Daniel (in Purgatorio) seek to warn Dante of the poet's fate--working out his sins in sorrow--or is the reader meant to find hope that the fires of redemption may one day refine him as well?

I've been reading T. S. Eliot's "Ash-Wednesday" again, as it is nearly Lent (athough I do not celebrate Lent in the traditional high-church sense).

It has been a journey of sorts, this once-a-year pilgrimage, and although I feel I shall never fully comprehend the vast complexities of allusion here, each reading brings me one step closer.

Tonight, I am struck by the multiple themes of redemption ("Redeem / The time. Redeem / The unread vision in the higher dream") depicted in the poet's rejection of his former life in anticipation of finding inheritance as one purified and planted in the Garden "where all loves end." It is the seeking of purity rather than the lusts of the flesh; it is a willingness to forget so as to be drawn near to God; it is the never-ending struggle to avoid turning back to what once was.

It is Dante and Beatrice; it is the bones of Ezekiel and the faith of the centurion; it is life and death. It is the rejection of idolatry. It is light and beauty and hope and restoration.

But most of all, it is all the other moments ("Here are the years that walk between"). Sovegna vos. Be mindful.

Eliot gives us images of the "dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying," the space between the yew trees, the interdependency of "now" and "at the hour of our death." All hope (yet also, all uncertainty) hinges on the present. We find ourselves on a desert journey in which we realize all we can do is echo the poet's plea ("Teach us to care and not to care. Teach us to sit still").

Or as C. E. Chaffin puts it: "Teach us to care about others and the kingdom and not to care about ourselves or the result; teach us to wait for your hand, O God."

Just Stuff, I Guess

2008-02-04T20:50:00.000-06:00

So, I'm [not] writing a paper right now, which is why I'm here providing you with semi-conversational things about my day to read as you surf the web. In sum:

It bothers me when people patronizingly ask me, "So, are you a student?" Yes, I'm a student. I'm dressed in a skirt and heels and I'm walking in from the staff parking lot at 8 o'clock in the morning. What gave me away? (The fact that technically, I am taking masters classes, and so technically, I am a student is not the point here. The point is, I have worked here for over 7 years and you have met me before in a professional context and you should know I am not a student.)

I have nothing interesting to say in the book critique that I am supposed to be writing. The book was not altogether amazing. I would prefer, rather, to write a book critique over The Golden Compass. I think it would be altogether much more interesting. And critical. I have never quite understood the concept of writing a book critique over a book written by the instructor of the course. Even if it's only your TA reading the papers. It's kind of limiting. I don't want to diss the professor and have it get back to him. I really don't. But I have critical things to say about the book and if my critique is to be at all, well, critical, then I have a feeling I am going to have to focus on those things. At least, since iambic pentameter is not a viable option.

Despite the previous two items, I am not at all grumpy today. I am quite overjoyed by the beautiful weather and the hope that spring's lovely breath might kiss my face once more. (Even if snow might be forecast for tomorrow.)

Many of you know that this blog was named for a line in T. S. Eliot's poem "Ash-Wednesday." I fully anticipate rereading this poem on Wednesday in commemoration of the day. It's good. You should read it, too.

Ok, I know, I know, I know. I should write the paper. Fine, then. Enough procrastinating. I'll catch you all sometime soon.

Yes, and I still don't know who I'm voting for in tomorrow's electon. Did I tell you that I decided to actually become a card-carrying Republican? I'm really not sure how I feel about that, especially now. If I had gone Democrat, at least it would have been easier to know who to vote for....

Unknowing

2008-01-25T23:15:00.000-06:00

I've been pondering recently the concept of unknowing--not even so much forgetting as just being able to reverse history and eliminate the ability to know what is known.

A few years ago I took a course on medieval literature, and one of the pieces we read was a contemplative work called The Cloud of Unknowing. I admit at the time to having been exhausted by the end of the semester and not reading fully (not to mention, translating the Middle English required more than a little effort), but I have always been intrigued by the concept of its title, the idea that betwixt God and ourselves should be this cloud of unknowing.

The work itself is highly descriptive of the contemplative practice--something that I hope to study in greater depth at a time in my life when Greek is not all-consuming. My favorite quote at the moment: "For why, love may reach to God in this life, but not knowing."

Love, but not knowing. An interesting idea. One, I think, from which our modern minds shy away.

The idea in the work, as I have come to it, is not that we should avoid seeking to know things, or to know God, but rather, that between God and us, there is nothing in our knowledge that will bring us closer to Him. I think the writer here is saying that no matter what we know, or fancy, or imagine, in the end, the only thing that matters to God is the heart, and if we cannot approach Him as God and trust in His knowledge over ours, we will find ourselves far from Him.

Love as the center.

There are days when I wish I could unknow things, not so much in the context of the theological premises from this document that I reference, but in general life and work. I learned something yesterday that stuck another key piece into the hazy puzzle depicting this last year and a half. It fit; it made perfect sense; it was almost all too logical for words (ironically, as these times have defied logic in most other ways).

And yet: I longed for unknowing. To not know something about this person, and this person's interactions with other people, and the ramifications therein, and how they spun out destructively to hurt not only the intended party but peripheral others (such as myself) in the process.

Unknowing. There is a deep secret in the heart of forgiveness that must include some impossible combination of knowing and unknowing. I wonder if I shall ever truly master the art.

Raw Meat

2008-01-13T23:06:00.000-06:00

I find raw meat to be fascinating. Not that I eat it uncooked--ick. But I love its cold, clammy feel and its completely indescribable smell. Maybe it comes as a result of those summers working in a deli and helping out in the meat department years ago. (I can still smell the inside of the case if I close my eyes. Pork chops are the best, followed by ground beef.)

Perhaps each raw meat is indicative of something.

Hamburger, for instance, has always (to me) resembled brains. Raw and bloody, perhaps, but the fruit of someone's former intellect, ground up, sitting in plastic, awaiting my fingers to pry it apart and mold it into something new. And maybe once I eat it, some bit of that creature's knowledge passes to me.

What if?

Entr'acte

2008-01-08T23:20:00.001-06:00

Have you ever wondered what life would be life if each day was its own play, complete with its own Entr'acte?

I started thinking about this today because I spent a lot of time on the computer. I mean, I always spend a lot of time on the computer while at work, but today I had a lot of focused time doing course uploads, which meant that I had the space to set my iPod to shuffle and just work without too many interruptions (while occasionally bobbing my head to the music).

In the middle of one of many course uploads, the song switched to the Entr'acte from the Broadway revival of Flower Drum Song. And it was this that caused me to ask the question at the head of this blog.

I think it would be really cool to go through your day, and all of a sudden, kind of like a lunch break, the lights fade and the orchestra swells into a musical review of the day so far and you get to retreat "off camera" for five minutes. Kind of like a combination of Seinfeld episodes: the one where George has to leave his meetings on a high note and the one where George takes naps under his desk.

So maybe the general conclusion here is that I deeply, subconsciously want to be George Costanza. Either that, or I really like Rogers and Hammerstein and wish that they could join my day more often.

Nose Hair Goodbye

2008-01-06T16:54:00.000-06:00

So I'm sitting in a coffee shop, attempting to get caught up on grading all the work that my distance students submitted before the break. And some (crappy) station from Sirius radio is playing. I don't even know what you'd call the genre of music other than boring, slow songs with just enough of a techno background to sound completely...useless.

Now that I've set the stage, I must mention the song that is currently playing; a song that, in my opinion, should have been named "Nose Hair Goodbye," because these are the words that (to my ears) keep repeating over and over again in it. Nose Hair...Goodbye. Nose Hair...Goodbye.

In retrospect, it's possible that the singer (and I use this term loosely) is trying to croon out the phrase "No Sad Goodbye." But that is a stretch.

I almost prefer "Nose Hair Goodbye," to be honest. At least it is in some small manner creative. And slightly funny.

Nose Hair...Goodbye. Words to live by.

For Those Who Might Wonder

2008-01-03T21:16:00.001-06:00

Hello and happy new year!

The answer to the implied questions (i.e., Is Jana still alive? Does Jana still blog?) is yes. I have just been a bit lazy as of late, and before that, I was a bit crazy with things like ice storms and final exams. The semester ended up well, by the way.

So, here I am, reading everyone's blogs about their resolutions or lack of resolutions or opinions on how one should view a year.

I feel much less philosophical about it. I was happy for the new year because it meant pretty snow, an exciting U of M football victory, and a festive gathering with good friends. And now I'm back (safely, on time, and with luggage to boot, for those of you who might wonder).

Hopefully you'll see more of me during the next year...at least via the blogosphere. And hopefully I'll see more of all of you as well.

In Which I Express My Thanks

2007-12-15T21:26:00.000-06:00

I write this post tonight in the comfort of my warm, well-lit home, with the television on and wi-fi working. It is almost a strange place to be: home. And a strange state: warm. For this was not the norm for the week.

As many of you know, my city was hit with a major ice storm last Sunday and Monday. Although some people had lost power Sunday, I headed to work Monday morning with high hopes of making it through the storm without a problem. But after a long drive through many four-way stops that should have been stoplights, it started to become disheartening. When I made it to work (so thankful that they, at least, had power), I learned that most of my colleagues were without power already. Around noon, I learned that my power had gone out as well. The rest of the day became almost a game to us: who had lost power now? Unlike the students, who wanted us to cancel school during finals week, we were just thankful to have found warm places to crash. Never had our offices seemed so inviting. I stayed late into the night, nearly until it was time for the building to close, simply because I wanted to avoid going home to a dark, cold house as long as possible.

That first night, B and I stayed at home. It was cold, but some residual heat remained initially, so it wasn't unbearable...till morning. You could almost almost say it was like camping, except you had to get up in the morning and try to look presentable without any light or blowdryer. I tried not to complain. After all, there are a whole lot of people in the world who are a lot worse off.

Tuesday was frigid from my first waking moment until the end of the workday. There was really no way to warm myself from the internal chill that had set in during the night, and the thought of spending even one more night in the cold seemed almost unthinkable. But the most amazing thing happened Tuesday afternoon: we were informed that the university was opening up an empty dorm to faculty, staff, commuter students, and their immediate households who did not have power. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance to have light and heat; after all, I myself had exams to study for, and the thought of a warm bed seemed much more inviting than my previous idea of curling up in a sleeping bag on the hard floor of my office, hoping that the security guards wouldn't find me and kick me out into the cold, dark night.

As it turns out, B and I got to stay in my former beloved Braxton Hall, my home away from home for the four years of undergrad. We were even assigned a room on Sigma (though, of course, nobody knew that it was named Sigma except for us). How exciting! Never had I imagined in all my post-undergraduate years that I might again feel excitement at the prospect of living in the dorms. Or eating in the cafeteria. Yet, my friends, there are no words to express the deep and heartfelt thankfulness that I felt, particularly that first night, as I walked into a warm, bright room and unloaded my Greek textbooks to cram for my morning exam.

We stayed in Braxton for two nights, and finally midday on Thursday we regained electricity at the house. It was good to leave, but I will be forever grateful to ORU for opening Braxton up to us. It was one of those surprising things, in the midst of a semester that has given us nothing but turmoil; where we have wondered continually what would happen and whether we would survive it; where we have borne the weight of anger and betrayal and factionism; where we have lost the ability to trust; where we have questioned whether any good remained. But there is a lot of good remaining, and many good people, too. For when we were cold, they gave us shelter; when we were hungry, they gave us warm food; when we were in the dark, they gave us light by which to study. It doesn't make up for everything else that has happened during this hellish semester (or, for me, year), but it is the first tangible step toward healing. And I will always be thankful for it.

It's amazing how heavily hit the town has been by this storm. I've seen my share of ice storms, but I've never seen the devastation that this one has caused. There are so many downed tree limbs that you'd almost think a tornado went through, cutting a path as wide as all of northeastern Oklahoma (and beyond).

During the ice storm itself, you could drive past large trees that were literally bowed down to the ground, under the weight of ice. I snapped a picture of one small tree as an example, but the most moving sight I saw was a large weeping willow, prostrate. I wish I had been able to capture it on film, because I don't think I have words to describe it, but I was overwhelmed by the thought that something so small as rain could bend a large tree to the ground.

It was as though the tree itself was bowing in the presence of something stronger than itself.

And I had to pause and wonder. In this hectic Christmas season, it is so easy to get caught up in the business of shopping and committments and final exams and end-of-year wrap-ups. In a normal round of this, it is easy to think that you are the center of your own world, that it revolves around you and your joys and your problems. How astounding it was, indeed, to be reminded (oh so bitterly) that all of our strength in this world can be brought to a stop in a mere instant, with something as simple as rain, freezing us to the ground like that willow tree, prostrate in the face of a force much larger than us.

Concerning Beowulf

2007-11-25T23:16:00.000-06:00

So a few nights ago, I was standing in line at a movie theater, only to overhear the conversation of a couple behind me, which went something like this:

Woman: How do you pronounce it? Bee-ow-wowlf?

Man: Beowulf

Woman: What's that about?

Man: It's some sort of cartoon.

Woman: But you've heard of it?

Man: It's one of those books you had to read in high school.

Woman: Did you read it?

Man: Yeah.

Woman: What's it about?

Man: I don't know.

Which, of course, prompted me to roll my eyes several times. But it leads me to this question: Have any of you seen it yet? Is it worth seeing? It's so hard to know from the previews. On the one hand, it has a pretty good cast, and the actual story is pretty rockin' (though I must admit an Anglo-Saxon bias on my part...). On the other, the characters are digitalized and I really don't remember the defining characteristic of Grendel's mother being "seductive."

Any opinions?

In the Words of Buzz Bumbleheath

2007-11-04T01:28:00.000-05:00

They STOMPED...THEM...FLAT...YES THEY DID!!!!!

Back to you, Jane.

ps. (Go Blue!)

Overheard Conversations

2007-10-29T00:15:00.000-05:00

It is a curse: the ability to overhear conversations in a coffee shop. Have you ever noticed that? You go to a coffee shop either because you want some peace or because you want to connect with someone. You do not go to listen to other people, yet in such a public atmosphere, it is impossible to avoid it.

This afternoon, I found myself at one such establishment. At the adjacent table: some sort of church youth small group.

They were apparently going through some exercise where they had to write down attributes of God that corresponded to each letter of the alphabet. (To me, a rather lame exercise, but whatever.)

My favorite was X. "Xavier?" one girl asked. "I don't know," said another. "I think Xavier is a university, but I'm not sure if it's in the Bible." *insert my rolled eyes here*

But the one the really got me was J (the best letter of the alphabet, I might add!). One girl said "just." Then the facilitator said, "You know, I prefer 'joyful.'"

And that got me. Not because I have a problem with joy or even with the idea that God might be joyful. He is, after all, the creator of all things. But how simplistic: to reduce the God of the universe to "joyful." Forget "just." Justice is too harsh of a concept in our world. We want justice (and equate it to "fairness" and "equalness") when we feel that someone in our world is amiss in giving us what we think we deserve. And yet I think that, really, we don't want justice.

We are afraid of what it might require of us. We are unsure of the results of true justice. And we don't know how to "identify" with a God whose fairness scares us, of whom we are unsure.

So we cast aside justice in favor of joyfulness.

I Don't Know

2007-10-07T23:06:00.000-05:00

When I was younger, I saw things as very black and white. There was good, and there was bad, and they never overlapped.

This afternoon, I visited a Jewish museum as part of a class activity. There's nothing like reviewing the bare, awful facts surrounding the Holocaust to remind you that if you see injustice being done, you should step up and speak out against it immediately, before it is too late.

But what about when it's something less costly? An ethical dilemma? What if stepping out against it will likely cause greater harm to a greater number of people than not doing so? Do you still take sides against it? Or do you try to reform it from within? Or do you let it go?

And then what if you observe other people who step out against it, but you believe them to be untrustworthy? Do you then believe their allegations? Where do you place your loyalty when neither side is doing what is right?

For, as Shakespeare reminds us, that is the question:

"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?" (Hamlet III.2)

I miss the naivete of childhood.

Aphids, Et Cetera

2007-09-30T23:30:00.000-05:00

A whole bunch of little green aphids were crawling on the other side of the kitchen window as I washed the dishes this evening. They had made it in through the screen, could see the light, and kept bouncing around off the glass, trying to get to it. They looked like I felt: trapped between a seemingly impossible glass wall and a light I feel like I'm meant to reach. Bashing my head against that wall in an effort to change something that isn't going to change...at least, not by my strength.

The only way out was back through the screen they squeezed into in the first place. And then out. At least, for the aphids. I'm not sure for me.

A couple weeks ago, I was informed of something new at work. As if there hasn't been enough change in the last months. A new law, a new plan, a new load of absolutely ridiculous busywork to do. Some of you have heard me rant about it; the others of you are probably thanking your lucky stars that you haven't. :)

It shouldn't have been a huge deal, I guess, but for some reason I got really upset about it. And I've been trying to figure out why. (Partly, yes, because it is seriously the most ridiculous thing ever.) Mostly, I think it's because this new thing forces me to come to terms with the fact that I am doing more than I should be doing. And those things have been slowly sucking my life away for a while now, to the point that it's now becoming noticeable to those few people whom I actually let see the real me.

i'm never sure how to react when people tell me they're concerned that I'm working too hard. Most of the time, I just brush it off and tell them I'm fine, that I'm handling it, that I may not sleep much, but I'm managing.

And usually, I am.

But really, I'm not.

And I can get to the place of admitting it, but I wish I knew where to go from there. I wish I knew what it would be like to be relieved of the pressure. For once, it would be nice to not operate under a compulsion that I must be working at something constantly because I know that even if I do spend all my spare moments being productive, I will never accomplish all that I am expected to do.

But I don't know how to let go.

Quote of the Day

2007-09-20T23:20:00.000-05:00

"Many of us from a Christian background would develop a much different view of the Pharisees if we learned about their teachings from the prayers they prayed rather than from the sermons preached about them in our churches."

Brad H. Young, Meet the Rabbis: Rabbinic Thought and the Teachings of Jesus (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2007), 7.

A Time to Dance

2007-09-16T23:58:00.000-05:00

So tonight, I finished The Life and Teachings of Hillel by Yitzhak Buxbaum.

I was reading about a Jewish celebration during Sukkot called the Rejoicing of the Water-Drawing. The night before this ceremony is filled with a vigil that can only be described as a serious party. It was wild. You wouldn't think so when you read about the hasidim who sing the hymns and praises of God. Until you read that this involved acrobatics. Literally. And juggling of torches. I'm not kidding; Simon ben Gamaliel (the son of Paul the apostle's teacher and a significant rabbinic figure in his own right) would come to the party and juggle eight torches without one touching the other (Sukkah 53a). And that's before you hear about his dance moves that, to me, seem somewhat akin to breakdancing. Then there was another guy, Ben Yehotzedek, who "was famous for delighting everyone with his spectacular acrobatic leaps during the dancing" (Y. Sukkah 5:4).

Hillel the Elder (quite possibly the most influential rabbi in Judaic history) was all about the party, too. He said "that when a Jew's heart was filled with love for God his feet carried him to the Temple; once there and at such a time of celebration, the love in his heart caused his feet to leap and dance" (Buxbaum 258).

To take it a step further, the "rabbis taught that the holy spirit would not descend on a person sad or dull, but only on someone joyful from doing a mitzvah" (Buxbaum 258, referencing Shabbat 30b; [definition: a mitzvah is a deed done for the sake of heaven, which often refers to a deed that shows love and kindness to another person]).

So we've got people who are joyful from doing good deeds for the sake of others, who are drawn to the Temple to rejoice and praise God, and in the midst of all the partying and music and dance, the Holy Spirit would fall upon some of the hasidim (pious ones) and "they [would] become 'vessels' to receive the holy spirit and then poured it forth in inspired teaching to the masses of people" (Buxbaum 259, referencing Ruth Rabbah on 2:9).

(Wow, this kind of sounds like the same Holy Spirit that we Christians think we "own," doesn't it? Hmm.... But I digress.)

And yet the coolest thing about this, at least on the part of the rabbis and the hasidim, was that serious effort was made to convey that all this partying was about God and God alone. It wasn't just about partying. It was about maintaining an inward spiritual focus on God and responding in the only manner even close to expressing how it feels to be doing God's will and worshipping Him within the community of believers. It was authentic. It was the real deal.

Rewind to this morning's church service.

I can't even begin to describe how amazing worship was today, except to paint it in contrast to the utter dryness I've felt over the last several months (not because anything was "bad" about worship, but because...I don't know...I'm just in a weird place right now). Today, for the first time, I left the sanctuary feeling like all the empty places in me had been filled. I was almost lightheaded with joy--and peace, which this time of year is amazingly rare.

I didn't dance; I didn't do any flips or juggle any candles. But somehow, today's time was one where every part of my inner self was crying out to God in praise of His goodness--not for help, but because I couldn't rest until I had spent myself telling Him how great He is! It just kept welling up and out of me, maybe not always loudly, but strongly, even to the point of tears (which for me are also rare). Tears of joy. Of exaltation.

There are things I don't understand with my rational senses. Today was one of them. But it was so cool.

When Buxbaum talks about the rabbis at these festivals, he talks about their dancing, et. al, as a humbling of themselves, ignoring any personal dignity they might have possessed in order to serve God in this other manner. It reminds me of something Gyle said today; it also reminds me of how King David humbled himself dancing in the streets.

There is a time to mourn and a time to dance; we see this clearly in Ecclesiastes. Not all times are for jumping; not all times are for crying; not all times are loud; not all times are quiet. But there are times for each of these.

I'm not great about letting myself go in such moments. I overthink things; I tend to worship very much out of my head and not out of my emotions. I have a hard time standing on a stage and then trying to force myself to do something outside of my inner inclination because it seems like it's the thing to do to support the direction the service is taking. But yet I also wonder and ponder these things, when I see that the great Jewish sages were big enough to make themselves small, to make seeming fools of themselves because they just didn't care what other people thought or even how they themselves felt; they just wanted to give God everything in a moment that warranted such responses.

Hypothetically Speaking...

2007-09-09T23:19:00.000-05:00

Is it legal to shoot a hunting bow/arrow within city limits? Within a neighborhood? In a backyard, aimed at a house?

Just curious.

Connecting Pirke Avot 4:16 to Jesus

2007-09-05T22:57:00.000-05:00

We've been reading Pirke Avot (Ethics of the Fathers) as part of the Introduction to Rabbinic Thought and Literature course that I'm taking this semester. This work is a compilation of the moral and ethical sayings of the 65 rabbis who form the foundation of the oral Torah (Jewish oral teachings).

Today, our mission was to find a passage that stood out to us and see if it had any parallels in the New Testament. I chose 4:16:
Rabbi Judah said, "Be cautious in study, for an error in study may lead to presumptious sin." (Pirke Avot 4:16, trans. Dr. Brad Young).

I think the literal meaning is clear enough. How easy is it to read over a Scripture and think you know what it means without actually studying the context and intertextual implications to try to discover what it was really intended to communicate? In such a case, a person could think he or she is following what the Scripture says, when in actuality, the person may be doing something totally opposite.

There is a story in rabbinic literature where a somewhat unschooled man (an am-haaretz) is walking along and finds a dead body. He picks it up and carries it to the nearest city, thinking that he is doing a good deed, and then when he gets there, he is berated by the rabbis because he has sinned by doing this "good deed." They tell him that he would have done greater honor to the dead man by burying him where he lay (and they present their scriptural support for this). Perhaps this is an extreme example, but it nonetheless illustrates the concept that one can think he is doing what is right, but because he does not actually know what the Bible says about it, he actually ends up doing wrong by presuming that he knows something that he does not actually know.

As I sat in class, staring at this passage from Pirke Avot, another thought came to mind. I remembered Jesus' words to His disciples in Matthew 18:6, where He says,
But whoever causes one of these littles ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a heavy millstone hung around his neck, and to be drowned in the depth of the sea. (NASB)

When I read the statement from Rabbi Judah, I am reminded of my own individual need to approach the Scriptures carefully. Yet when I think about Jesus' words here, it seems that this need to do right by the Torah (Scripture teachings) has implications far beyond those that benefit or harm me as an individual.

My understanding of Scripture is what I communicate to others. Either it will be sound, or it will be faulty. In some part, my level of study determines this. (I believe we are also helped by God, who illumines our understanding of His words.)

Could it be that what Jesus meant here was that His disciples should not cause "littles ones" to stumble by teaching them incorrect things? Is it possible that an element of His teaching here is a motivation for the disciples to soundly study and approach Torah so as to be equipped to present the most accurate picture of its teachings to those who are coming to them?

In Anticipation of a New Year

2007-08-11T23:27:00.001-05:00

The subject of this post makes me think of January snows, and yet here we are in the absolute dog days of August. I can't help but feel similar New Yearsy feelings as I gear up for the fall semester. Tomorrow is the last day before the rush of registration, followed by the rush of classes, followed by the incredible deadlines of all sorts of documents that I have promised to have done (and probably won't have done because of all the impending interruptions that occur during registration week).

But today I bought a pretty pink and green striped notebook and brand new pens. And my textbooks have arrived. So, you see, I am ready for the new year to begin. I will lay aside my Hebrew lexicon (temporarily) to study Greek, and I will become immersed in the words of Hillel and other sages as I study rabbinic thought and literature.

I decided this summer that I would take an extra year to finish my masters. This means there are still three years ahead of me. At first, I wasn't sure about the idea, but it feels very right to do it. And it also means that I will have that last year to mostly focus on writing a brilliant thesis and not have to worry about too many classes interfering with that process.

In reflection, it seems that the past academic year ranks as one of the worst years ever for me. Definitely the worst year on a professional scale. And yet I hold so much hope for the coming year, even if the unknown, unspoken possibility does not come to pass. There is so much good ahead.

And so...I raise my metaphorical glass to toast the new year! May the yet unwished wishes comes to pass...and maybe some of the wished wishes as well. Cheers to all!

Which Jane Austen Heroine Are You?

2007-07-26T00:18:00.000-05:00

Take the Quiz here!

God's Unrelenting Pursuit

2007-07-17T00:38:00.000-05:00

As I sit here, pondering the mysteries of Acts and and listening to Jared Anderson's song "Relentless Pursuit," I am struck anew with the beautiful complexities of the Gospel.

We find ourselves in Acts 15, the Jerusalem Council. Paul and Barnabas have been off on their first missionary journey, and contrary to what I've always thought, all the people who have turned to the message of Jesus prior to Acts 13 are either Jews or (in the case of Cornelius) God-fearers. It is in this journey that a Roman proconsul by the name of Sergius Paulus summons Paul and Barnabas to his court because he is curious about the message that they are preaching. God works a miracle in their midst, and we are told that Sergius Paulus, the first pagan Gentile, believes.

As is the case with anything oustide the status quo, people in the "established" church start to freak out. And all of a sudden, there is a rift in the church so wide that it requires a council of the pro-Gentiles-can-be-saved-by-faith and the pro-circumcision-is-required-for-salvation sects, mediated by the apostles. (What a job to have.)

And they work it out. But what gets me is what Dr. M. asked the class while we were discussing this passage. He queried, "What would have happened if the Judaizers had won? The Gentile mission would have fallen on its face. I'd like to think that God would have had another plan for salvation to be brought to the nations, but it makes you wonder if you and I would be sitting here if it were not for the results of this council."

That's just mind-blowing to me. I, who still wrestle with questions why we don't have to follow the minutia of Torah, why some things from the Torah's teachings are our fixed moral reference while others are not. I, a Gentile, who still can't comprehend why I shouldn't have to be a Jew for God to accept my worship.

But I'm eternally grateful. Because whether I am Jew or Gentile, Jesus has paved the way for God's covenant with Abraham to extend to me as well. "I have found the joy that will last" (thanks, Jared). "In the times when I'm without faith, You are in relentless pursuit of my soul."

On Sermonettes and Marriageability (Because Apparently They're Related???)

2007-07-12T22:34:00.000-05:00

Today was my day to give an 8-minute sermonette (or devotion) on a passage of my choice from the readings for the day. I stayed up way too late last night trying to decide what I wanted to talk about, all the while silently bemoaning the fact that I had to do it at all, since I'm not in this program to become a preacher.

But you can't just tell your prof that all you want to do is write; thanks for the assignment, but it's not going to work out.

The way my prof conducts this activity, we have up to 8 minutes to read, exegete, explicate, and apply the text. After that, we sit down and everyone gets a chance to go around the table and offer a critique.

So I gave my presentation, and then we went around the room. People were both honest and fair in both the positive and negative critiques, and then we got to this one guy. He started laughing to himself, and then said, "I think...no, I'm not going to say it." To which I said, "Oh, just say it!"

"Well, as you were standing up there, it just kind of hit me: She's going to be such an asset as a wife to some guy someday."

It was so, so hilarious! I laughed so hard that I was almost crying. Oh, we laughed so hard because it was just the most completely out of the blue, random thing ever and had absolutely nothing to do with anything. I don't often blush, but I must have been bright red for several minutes afterward.

And then I started to think about it. What did I really think about that comment? I mean, on the one hand, it was flattering. Most girls want to be thought of as marriageable, even if they're not sure what they think about marriage.

And yet, to be honest, there was another side of me that really didn't like it. Didn't like it at all. My inner feminist rose up inside me: What do you mean I'll make a good wife someday? Can't I be something on my own? Are you really complimenting me, because what I'm almost hearing is that I'm an intelligent, capable girl who needs to know her place (which is apparently on some man's arm)?

Nothing against marriage, and nothing but good will toward those of you who are happily married. But in the year 2007, is that really the only thing that I should hope and strive for?

These People Make Me Crazy

2007-07-11T21:52:00.000-05:00

A while back, I blogged about high schoolers who were confused about Jesus being a "Christian." It was pretty disgusting to me, in fact, but I realize now that it's not just high school students. There are also seminary students who are confused by this.

So I'm sitting in class, and we're talking about the practice of casting lots as seen in both the Old Testament and New Testament (and particularly, with regard to the choice of which guy should succeed Judas as the new 12th disciple).

And my classmate (who shall remain nameless) blurts out:

Hey now, let's talk about Jonah! All those guys on that ship. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think they were Christians, but they cast lots anyway.

The correction here, for those who think maybe he was trying to make an intelligent point, is that no, they weren't Christians, because this event occurred way before Christ. And yes, in his tone (and judging from the other sorts of things he says on a regular basis), I really think he didn't know any better.

Discarded Books

2007-06-21T12:11:00.000-05:00

I don't think it's any great secret that I love books. Collecting used books is a bit of a hobby. But what may be less known is the fact that I love seeing what sorts of books people discard.

I was at a Grand Rapids Goodwill store yesterday, and I found the bookshelves to be fascinating. Oh, you have the usual ones that litter nearly every Goodwill or Salvation Army: old John Grishams; hardcover Rush Limbaughs; multiple books on parenting, vitamins, and going through "the change."

And then there are the others. The Hamlets and the Macbeths, no doubt discarded after some high school or college English course had ended. Those are the saddest of all. Great literature, stashed away on a rickety shelf among myriads of books of far lesser quality.

As for me, I picked up a 49-cent copy of Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. And I considered that to be a successful "rescue" mission.

James Brown, Rhythmic Theory, and the “Rite of Spring”

2007-06-13T21:22:00.000-05:00

Last night, as I was driving home from work, I caught an interview on the classical radio station. Normally, I think radio interviews can be kind of boring, but this one was different. This conductor (I forget his name) was going to be conducting Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring,” and he was interviewing James Brown because the music of James Brown was a major influence on the conductor’s theory of rhythm.

Now honestly, I’ve never listened to much James Brown—or much Stravinsky. But the interview was awesome because you had this highbrow classical guy and this old bluesy legend talking shop about the same principles.

The conductor would listen to James Brown and encourage his musicians to check out certain songs to know just how precisely he wanted them to feel and hit the rhythms of Stravinsky. And the radio DJ played various samples from James Brown’s repertoire and from “Rite of Spring” to show us, his audience, the connection.

I can’t even tell you how amazing it was. All of these diverse rhythmic interactions, so seemingly out of place from normalcy and yet so perfectly constructed to fit.

All of a sudden, I have a driving desire to listen to James Brown, not because I haven’t heard any of his songs before, but because after this interview, I am suddenly able to (and hear) the genius in his work that I never recognized before.

Funny how perspective makes all the difference. And how the interaction of two seemingly unrelated musical works can yield such a profound, amalgamated perspective.

I Found The Spider!

2007-06-10T21:06:00.001-05:00

Most of you don't know what that means. And that's ok. Suffice it to say that this is significant progress and I am pleased.

Have a good night!

The Hailstorm

2007-06-10T00:15:00.001-05:00

I got caught out in a hailstorm this evening...one that came out of nowhere. Going home was a grand adventure of trying to drive in nearly impossible visibility (thank God it was a road where there's hardly any traffic), trying to shelter under a gas station (but other cars were taking up more than their share of space, so only the front of my car ended up actually being sheltered from the marble-sized hail), and trying to make it through semi-deep water without any incidents. Oy.

But the most entertaining part was when Becky and I got home and turned on the television. The weather guy was showing a live sky shot on the screen, and with his arrow, he was pointing to some dark, menacing-looking clouds.

"Now these here are what we like to call scary clouds."

That's right, folks. The technical wizards down at the channel 6 weather desk think they can start coining terminology, and the best thing they could come up with was "scary clouds." And it's not like he only said it once. Two or three times throughout his broadcast, he repeated that those were "what we like to call scary clouds."

I just about died laughing. How Oklahoma are we??? :)

The Definition of "Irony"

2007-05-30T22:29:00.001-05:00

On Friday, I will be moving out of my current office and into my former office, which I was forced to vacate about 9 months ago because that was "the only way things were going to be able to work down here."

I think it's hilarious. Either that, or I'm delirious.

Regardless, I get to move into an office that doesn't leak when it rains! It seems that some things are turning around in strange ways that I never expected, even when other things I had hoped for are not going to happen now. Life is funny that way. Balance in the midst of chaos.

I guess you really never do know what is going to happen next. It leaves you with hope. Hope that something new and brighter might really be peeking its head around the corner, even if it's not the specific "new and brighter" something that you had been been keeping your eyes peeled for.

Automatic Updates

2007-05-23T23:11:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed that sometimes your computer gives you a message after it installs automatic updates and then automatically shuts down while you're not looking? This happens to me at work all the time, and actually, happened this afternoon.

The message I received after I rebooted was, "Your computer has installed very important updates."

Ok.... My question is, when will I see a message stating, "Your computer has installed completely unimportant and useless updates that will only slow down your system and crash your hard drive"? Because sometimes...that's closer to the truth.

Randomness From My Time Away From The Blog

2007-05-22T20:03:00.000-05:00

Do you ever just drive along, and all of a sudden, you have this vision of another car coming out of the midst and slamming into the side of your car?

Lately, every time I drive through an intersection, I have that moment. It might have something to do with the fact that someone actually almost did that to me yesterday. Or maybe not. I once knew someone who used to periodically imagine himself driving into head-on traffic. (Of course, I think that was a different issue....)

In other news, I had the weirdest thing happen to me on Friday. I was walking back up to the building after lunch, and this guy that I only kind of know saw me from a great distance. He threw his hands into the air and shouted out, "THERE SHE IS...THE DAUGHTER OF GOD...WALKING ALONG THE HIGHWAY...LOOKING LIKE SHE'S IN THE THRONE ROOM!" What??? What does that even mean? What sort of weirdo says that to someone else?--or no, doesn't just say it, but shouts it???

And lastly, I am watching the finals of American Idol. If you're the type of person who votes, please vote for Jordin and not Blake! He sang like he was tone deaf!!! At any rate, we'll find out the results tomorrow.... Later!

Playing "Survivor"

2007-05-09T22:50:00.000-05:00

I wonder sometimes about life and growing up and what it all means. The current catalyst: today's announcement, some changes on a very high level--changes that are likely to have a significant impact on our course as an institution.

It's too early for me to really have an opinion as to whether the changes are good or bad, but it made me pause nonetheless.

When I was an undergrad student, particularly during my year on the newspaper editorial staff, I had a very low tolerance for political wrangling. The way I saw it (idealistic though it was), people were meant to work somewhere because they believed in their work, they believed they were well-suited for the task, and they were there because they wanted to do the right thing. The way I saw it, once a person's work started focusing on playing politics, the good was gone. I remember a particularly sticky time on the newspaper, where a story got cut for certain reasons of a PR nature and there was all this administrative stuff that happened surrounding it. It was messy. It was near the end of my time there. It dug its claws deep into me, and the scars remain to this day.

I have a vivid picture in my mind of how I saw a certain administrator that day. To be honest, I felt sorry for him, because he really seemed to want to do the right thing, but determining the right thing was so difficult in this situation. His choice was not what my choice would have been--at least, not then. Maybe now. I don't know.

When I started this job, I promised myself that if I ever became like that, torn between politics and doing the right thing, I would quit, because I never wanted to be one of them. I never wanted to place myself within the confines of such ambiguity.

Today's announcement reminded me of so many things, and yet most profoundly, I realized that my biggest concerns had to do with alliances and politics. (Think: Survivor.) "What would these changes mean for me?" I wondered. "Would the unseen thing I hope for still happen?" "Where would favor fall in this new regime?"

And all of a sudden, I realized. I am now that person. Politics matters to me, even though I hate the fact that it does. Favor and influence are fleeting. (But a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised?)

And it's no longer quite so black and white. Playing politics is messy, to be true. But so is not playing the game. Politics screwed me big-time earlier this year. What is a person to do? Not play the game and let it play her instead? Or play (to win) and constantly wonder where your alliances will lead you?

I don't know. But it's no longer as simple as just quitting in the face of political complications. Sometimes doing right by your work necessitates playing politics. And yet I find I really don't know what to do with this realization now that it has occurred.

Playing in the Mud

2007-05-05T23:56:00.000-05:00

When it comes to landscaping and lawn maintenance, most people prefer a mowed lawn and a flower-bed reclaimed on behalf of civilization.

I guess I see their point.

I wonder, though, at our incessant need to tame the flora around us. Do you remember when you were a kid? The most fun places were overgrown, not manicured. You would play hide-and-seek and search out a patch of tall grass to lie down in (they never found you that way).

As adults, our primary focus has shifted from play to work. And so the tall grass no longer fits into our cosmos. We aim for perfection, and we define it as things we can control. So out comes the lawnmower to rid us of our purple wildflowers and dandelion seeds. We trade in our wilderness for an image.

Today I conquered the flower-beds. They were a disgusting mass of vines, weeds, bugs, decomposing leaves, and (I'm afraid) one very disgusting earthworm, which I managed to stealthily avoid. Over the course of the morning, I was pelted by a rock (thank you, lawnmower), scratched, bitten, and progressively covered in mud.

The feeling at the end was tremendous: a greater accomplishment, in many ways, than any of my schoolwork or work-work this semester, because it was real; it was tangible; it actually created a benefit that I could see and touch.

That "accomplishment" of the task should have been rewarding. And yet, inevitably, the only part I truly found joy in was being knuckle-deep in the mud. Playing, once more, as though I were still a little girl.

The Case of the Unfortunate Girl Singing at Starbucks

2007-04-29T23:41:00.000-05:00

It was a bright and sunny Saturday evening in April. Becky and I were at the current favorite Starbucks establishment, minding our own business and studying like mad for our respective finals. Along came a high school girl and her father, with karaoke machine and music stand in tote. And I'll tell you, I got a little excited, because I love hearing good talent showcased in the intimacy of a coffeeshop. And I thought to myself, If she's here performing, then she has to be good. That, my friends, was a very mistaken thought.

In the world of Simon Cowell and American Idol, we have become the fiercest of critics, it is true. But this poor child....

It's not that she was completely tone deaf or devoid of talent altogether. It's that she had no vocal training. And it was hurting her. I mean, absolute lack of breath support, so her higher notes were weak and pitchy. And her lower notes...also pitchy. But the biggest problem of all was that she had no confidence. Confidence overcomes a lot of vocal ills (think: Sanjaya). She was up there at the mic, singing her songs as though she had no emotional expression in them. She wasn't connecting to her songs. They were just notes on a page.

It was painful. But the problem was, we were the only people in the shop except for the workers and her dad. So we had to clap. Every time.

My dilemma here is this: what is a person to do in such a case? I had this compulsive desire to go up to her and give her vocal techniques (which I didn't actually do). Because really, who am I to do that? I'm no expert. I've had just enough training to (hopefully) overcome most of my bad habits. And yet, to simply smile and clap encouragingly felt dreadfully insincere.

I blame her father (in this case). It really looked like he was forcing her to be there. And you could tell that they had spent money on her music because she had written a song of her own (which actually was a fairly ok song if you took her voice out of the analysis) and they had gotten it properly orchestrated and everything.

And all I could think was...why didn't you spend the money on voice lessons instead?

What would you have done? Would you have walked out? Given her vocal tips? Clapped? Not clapped? How do you handle a live situation with a really bad singer when you are practically the only person in the coffeeshop?

Hmm. Maybe I should try to get a Starbucks gig. :)

All-Nighter #1

2007-04-24T06:08:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I'm on the side of morning that I never like to see: the dark side. No Star Wars pun intended. If I've got this straight, I had maybe four hours of sleep Sunday night (the night I intended to pull an all-nighter to write this dang paper and then let myself fall asleep), no sleep Monday night, and now it's Tuesday morning (though it doesn't seem like it yet).

I've got maybe a paragraph left to write...and the bibliography to finish. Then we can cross the Psalms paper off the list.

Tonight I should pull another all-nighter for paper #2, except I don't know if I am capable of staying awake for such a continous period of time. And of course, there's no missing work in April, because the deadlines are worse than anything for my classes.

Every semester, I tell myself that I'm too old for all-nighters...that I'm a grad student, and thus, I should be responsible and do my papers ahead of time so I'm not so close to the wire getting them finished. Every semester, this happens.

So, stay tuned. And please pray for me, if you think of it, that I don't do anything stupid because I'm so tired. Have a happy day!

Two Songs To Add

2007-04-22T01:26:00.000-05:00

Just a quick late-night post to say that I have two songs that I would like to add to the previous discussion of songs that actually convey deep, meaningful spiritual messages.

1. "Anyway" by Martina McBride. (Some of you might know it from American Idol.) Ironically not under a "Christian" label, this song is one of the most powerful, impacting songs I've heard in some time. Because you know what? God is great. And sometimes life's not good. But what do we do? We carry on doing the right things, the will of God, anyway. This is the kind of song we need to sing in church. It's real. It's where we're at. And the message doesn't end on a "this is how I feel and God is floating around somewhere" note. It ends on a "God is bigger than everything else and I am determining to follow Him anyway, even when life sucks" note.

2. "The Blessing" by John Waller. I can't do this song justice without getting into a long theological treatise that nobody wants to read, but I love this song every time I hear it because it has the Abrahamic covenant all over it and nobody ever sings about that. When God made the covenant with Abraham, He used the imperative form of the verb: Be a blessing. The people of God, from earliest times, were called to be a blessing among the nations. This was, like, a super serious thing to the people of Israel. We don't think about that anymore. We just want to be blessed ourselves. Whatever that means. We don't think about God's call for His people to be a blessing. And I love that this song touches on that.

Walking On Broken Glass

2007-04-19T00:06:00.000-05:00

For those of you who haven't heard, yesterday evening I left work and was greeted by this cheery sight.

Yes, another car catastrophe. There's no good way to tell whether it was vandalism, or an accidental incident that wasn't reported, or a rock falling from the sky. (Though no item, such as a rock, was found inside my car.)

I almost don't know what to think anymore when something happens to this car. My initial reaction, when I saw the glass, was to start laughing and say, "Well, that seems about right."

It's perplexing, if nothing else. Thankfully, I was able to take the morning off to get the rear window replaced. The Glass Doctor people were really great; I would totally recommend them.

Weird Questions

2007-04-16T23:05:00.000-05:00

If you thought you were going mad--I mean, you had verifiable evidence to support that claim--what would you do? Would you tell people? Would you ignore it and hope it went away on its own? Would you seek help, and if so, what help?

Or do you think a person even has the capacity to know when he or she is losing mental capacity?

And what is madness, insanity? Is it always bad? Is it sometimes good? Do you think it's purely spiritual in origin? Do you think it's purely physical in origin? Do you think it's a combination of the two?

I've been thinking about this lately. And I don't know. But I know that several of you either studied mental illnesses or deal with them in your line of work, so I'm confident that you have opinions on the subject. So, fire away! I'm very curious.

Do Songs Convict Us Anymore?

2007-04-08T22:45:00.000-05:00

So I just have to ask. Whatever happened to songs that actually meant something and were sung with passion and actually convicted you of something? I think particularly of Christian songs, here. I have been wracking my brain trying to think of a song, any song, that, when I listen to it, actually makes me want to be a better Christian and love God more and live a life that is real and selfless and right.

Not just some namby-pamby song about God. A song that steps on my toes and convicts me of the sin in my life, maybe. Or a song that presents a real, passionate message about God that is not trite and superficial.

And past the 80s, I'm just not sure if there are any. Which seems unfortunate, considering how many songs there are in the universe. Can anyone think of a reasonably modern Christian song that actually (1) conveys a real message and (2) inspires you to live rightly before God?

Dilbert Happiness

2007-04-03T23:10:00.000-05:00

Sometimes reading Dilbert reminds me that I am not alone. So, check these out. (Any connection to real people and/or institutions are purely coincidental, I assure you. And if you believe that, I've got some land in Florida that I'd like to sell you....)

http://www.unitedmedia.com/comics/dilbert/archive/dilbert-20070306.html

http://www.unitedmedia.com/comics/dilbert/archive/dilbert-20070402.html

It's better to laugh, right?

How Not To Witness

2007-04-01T22:06:00.000-05:00

I should preface this post by saying that although I have been a Christian for many years, I have always been a little skittish of street-witnessing. Not that I think it's always a bad thing, mind you, but I just don't always know how effective it can be. And whenever I've been on the other end of it, I've always felt uncomfortable--because no matter what I say, I never feel like I have "convinced" the other person that I really am saved already.

Case in point: B and I were at WalMart tonight. I took a little bit of a jaunt to put the cart away, and when I had finished straightening all the carts in the corral (an admitted obsession), this guy approached me. After 9:00 p.m. in a reasonably dark WalMart parking lot.

He walked up to me, got in my personal space, and asked if he could talk with me for a minute because he really wanted to give me this small paper-looking thing in his hand and tell me about the love of God. I said, "No, thanks," turned, and picked up the pace. He picked up the pace and started to follow after me, asking if I was a Christian and didn't I want to know Jesus? Without pausing in my step, I told him that I was saved, I loved Jesus already, and that I really wasn't interested in the paper that he kept trying to shove at me. "Well, is there anything I can pray with you about?" NO!!! Thankfully, at this point, B was already bringing the car around to where I was, and he turned and walked away.

Now, it's about a 50/50 chance that he was a nice Christian guy trying to get people saved. It's also about a 50/50 chance that he was a dangerous man who was looking to do something bad. Granted, I live in the "buckle" of the Bible belt, and this WalMart was close to Rhema, so the odds are that he wasn't trying to abduct me or steal my purse or anything like that.

But regardless, I think that there are a few lessons that can be learned from this experience.

1. Don't street-witness after dark unless you are in a location where people congregate naturally. A dark WalMart parking lot is an inappropriate place to pick up chicks (I mean, witness to them). Most girls get email forwards every week from friends who are telling horror stories of people abducted or almost abducted in WalMart parking lots. They are warned never to accept "gifts" from a stranger in a parking lot because he might grab them and chloroform them. This makes us naturally skittish (if we're smart), even if we've never had any encounters with weirdos. And for those of us who have had encounters with weirdos...it's even worse. Men, if you approach a girl in a parking lot after dark, particularly if you keep pursuing the conversation when it is obvious that she is trying to get away from you, then you will come off as a scary freak--whether you are one or not.

2. Also, men, please don't single out girls for your witnessing tactics. It's one thing if you are with a girl, or a group of people (read my lips: presenting yourself in a non-threatening manner), but if you are alone, the girl you are talking to will either (a) think you're trying to hit on her or (b) think you're a scary person.

Maybe I watch too many crime dramas on television, but I get a little freaked out when stuff like this happens. I don't have the freedom to have a nice conversation with the person and find out what he's all about. Nor can I present my faith back to him in a manner that will satisfy his urge to really know that I'm saved and that I'm not just trying to say whatever will make him go away. Instead, I am placed in a situation where I feel the need to just "get away," whether I am rude or not.

If this guy really was trying to show me God's love, he failed miserably.

More For The Bus Drivers

2007-03-31T01:22:00.000-05:00

In continuation of my previous post....

School bus drivers would be closely monitored as to their record of promptness and their passengers' achievement of posted objectives. Each year, a national organization would evaluate each school's busing system to determine its effectiveness. Schools whose busing scores fell below a required 70% success rate would lose some of their funding. In some cases, this might mean that bus drivers would have to purchase their own diesel fuel for their respective buses.

One might argue that they shouldn't have to buy fuel with their own money, but the schools would be unable to pay for it, and so if the bus drivers didn't want their scores to fall any lower, they would be forced to do whatever it took to get the kids to school each day, even if it meant fueling their own buses.

No Child Left Behind

2007-03-28T22:54:00.000-05:00

So I was driving to work the other morning, and a glance through my sideview mirror prompted a thought that is probably not completely original but which will be discussed here anyway. It's about all this "No Child Left Behind" craziness.

My proposal is this: if we are so serious about "No Child Left Behind," then I think we need to adopt a policy for school bus drivers. Just think of it! All those yellow school buses with school names in black lettering...and just below it, NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND in red lettering, all caps. Just in case anyone in society might, for a moment, forget the new school bus initiative.

Bus drivers would have an impossibly long list of outcomes that they needed to achieve each day. Maybe each day they could post a sign near their big mirror stating what the children were going to learn on their way to school each day. Before a kid could get off the bus, he or she would have to show mastery of that outcome. Some sample outcomes might be (1) learns not to smoke in the back seats, (2) remembers all personal items when departing, (3) stays seated whenever the bus is moving, etc.

Of course, the ultimate goal of this initiative would involve (obviously) not leaving any children behind. Therefore, bus drivers would have to carefully take attendance as children got on the bus. If a child was not there, the bus driver would need to get off the bus, go to the child's house, and follow up concerning why the child was not on the bus. Of course, the schedule would still need to be maintained so that the other children on the bus would still make it to school on time.

I think it's a brilliant plan to improve education. After all, what's the use of "not leaving them behind" in the classroom if we're leaving them behind at the bus stop?

The Metaphor's Keeper

2007-03-23T22:31:00.000-05:00

1
Like a child she tiptoed, barefoot,
Down the hall with the broken mirror
Persian carpet and dim, dingy lamps

She cocked her head for a moment—
Had he heard her?
Nothing?
Silence.

In shadow she spied her prize: mahogany
At the end of the corridor
(With a gilded knob)

It would be in there, waiting,
If only she could snatch it
Before its keeper found her

Fingertips brushing the knob
Skeleton key in her hand
She paused again, uncertain—
Click.

Greeted by musty air
She drank in the dank death of paper
Decomposing in dark
Silence.

Hurry now, you, she whispered,
For soon he will know
The metaphor is taken

And with trembling hands
She took from the shelf
The smallest of books
Covered in blue with a
Single dark smudge

And in that book a single page
The key to civilization

2
Alarms sounding, lights flashing
Instantly he woke from his
Bleary-eyed web-induced stupor
Spilled his coffee on the keyboard
As the camera caught his “Google” search

ERROR! ABORT!
FIREWALL DISABLED!
SYSTEM COMPROMISED!

And he grabbed his gun,
Racing for the library
Hoping to ward off the inevitable

No one will steal from me, he snarled
The prize must not be loosed
For I am “information”
And I will have constancy
And I will have control
At the hint of a click
Before an original thought
Can form

And I shall bind them to my will;
And they shall seek me
For they will know no other;
The metaphor must die
In its dank, dark grave!

3
Out the window, down the trellis
She flew with the wings of Hermes
Feet padding the lush green grass
In the soft hint of moonlight

Giver of grace to those who might yet hope

Clutched in her hand the precious book
The metaphor finally free from its captor

She ran with all her might
To grant the gift to those yet dying

© 2007 Jana Swartwood

On Healthy Choices

2007-03-22T09:14:00.000-05:00

I ran into one of my classmates a few minutes ago, this dreary Spring Break Thursday morning. After deciding that neither of us had any idea when the Psalms paper was due, I got my raspberry mocha and chocolate chip muffin.

"Breakfast of champions?" he asked. "That doesn't look like a very healthy choice."

"Absolutely," I replied. "But really, when you think of it, it's a whole lot better than the alternative. I could have gotten Combos and Mountain Dew from the Bookstore. But I didn't. This way...I got milk."

I love rationalizing my poor dietary choices. :)

Fun With High School Musical

2007-03-19T20:37:00.000-05:00

Ok, oh my gosh, how much fun did I have tonight? Instead of working on my papers, I decided to watch High School Musical. In a word: fabuloso! I haven't laughed so much in a long time! Once the movie was over, I had to replay the auditions and the call-backs...twice. Seriously, I didn't think there would ever be an audition sequence better than Mr. Holland's Opus, but oh yes, there is!

The special features section tried to teach me some of the dance moves, but you know, they were too boring. So instead, I made up my own dance routine and danced it in the living room with the movie playing. What a rush! Christie, your mom would be so proud! Look out Broadway, here I come!

So, to recap: High School Musical. Fun stuff. Go watch it. Unless you are one of about half the people who I know read this blog, because I know for a fact that you'd hate it. Ha! :)

The Saturday Phenomenon

2007-03-11T15:11:00.000-05:00

Am I the only person who repeatedly falls victim to the Saturday phenomenon? It goes something like this....

You wake up Saturday, thinking of the glorious weekend ahead of you. You manage to fill all of your Saturday either with fun or work (but mostly work). Then, all of a sudden, out of the blue, it's Sunday. And it's as though Saturday never happened.

All you know is that whatever happened on Saturday was a blip on the radar in terms of what you still need to accomplish before the dreaded Monday rolls around again.

This is becoming so common for me that yesterday, my first conscious thought of the day was, "Oh, it's Saturday. Twenty-four hours from now, this day won't have existed."

Blogging, I Suppose

2007-03-08T00:24:00.000-06:00

I'd like to have something new and exciting to write about, but really, there's not a whole lot to say. Today, as for the past several days, I've felt somewhat nauseated. Nausea, in case you wondered, does not lead to motivation...or much of anything else.

However, good things have happened. Congratulations to the ORU Women's Basketball and Men's Basketball teams for winning their respective Mid-Con Conference Tournaments yesterday. Both teams are going to the big dance, baby! I know this is a pretty normal thing for some schools, but for us, well, we're just pretty darn proud and excited. Particularly because this is the second year in a row for the men to go, and last year everyone was like, "Who is this nobody school who accidentally made it into the NCAA playoffs?" This year...who knows?

So, go Golden Eagles! And the rest of life continues now.

Are You Smarter?

2007-02-28T21:35:00.000-06:00

The world of gaming television has been on a downward spiral pretty much as long as I've been alive. Granted, there are a few game shows that have stood the test of time: Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, and perhaps even Who Wants to be a Millionaire (at least, when Regis was there). All other hype aside, these shows require their contestants to know something, and I applaud that.

In the past year, I ran across Deal or No Deal, which I considered to be the all-time low of ridiculously idiotic game shows.

But I was wrong, my friends. Yes, I was wrong. A new low has been achieved in Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader? Have you guys seen this show? It's unbelievable!

Adult contestants have to answer basic questions from 1st through 5th grade curriculum. They get two "cheats" and one "peak," which, as far as I can tell, allows them to ask the 5th grade panel of kids what the answer is or have their partner kid's answer count for them. AND THEY CAN WIN UP TO ONE MILLION DOLLARS DOING THIS.

By answering such questions as, "If you mix equal amounts of red and yellow paint, what color do you get?" and "How many sides does a trapezoid have?" And the excitement--oh, the excitement, when the contestant gets an answer right! It's unbelievable. Yay for me! I'm an idiot with a moronically low comprehension for basic facts and concepts! But I'm on television winning an outrageous amount of money that people ten millions times smarter than me have no chance of winning because they're too intelligent to be picked as a contestant for this retarded show!

And if the contestant loses or drops out? She keeps her money but has to face the camera and say, "I'm not smarter than a fifth grader."

Am I the only person completely stupified by this insanity?

Blondeness?

2007-02-21T23:13:00.000-06:00

So I'm sitting at this (nameless) restaurant, waiting for my order to be finished, and I overhear one high school girl explain to the other how to close.

Girl #1: So you have to put up the "wet floor" sign, but you can start mopping a little before nine. And make sure you wipe off the counters. And it's really important that you fill the ice [in the pop machines] because [insert manager's name here] gets super mad if you don't.

Girl #2: But won't it melt overnight?

Girl #1: Um....no.

OY. :)

Because It's Ash Wednesday

2007-02-21T19:57:00.000-06:00

An excerpt from Section V of T. S. Eliot's "Ash-Wednesday"

If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice

Will the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Resuming Failure

2007-02-09T21:51:00.000-06:00

Just minutes ago, as I was rebooting my computer, I got an error message: "Resuming failure...press any key to continue."

Failure is not something I understand very well. But lately I've been thinking about it. Failure. Inability to successfully complete a task. Losing instead of winning. Getting something wrong. Making a mistake.

We teach a lot about success. It's our goal; it's the American way. Even more than that, at least in church world, we call it our destiny. We teach that God loves us; therefore, He has destined us for success. Even more, we (mistakenly) teach that if people fail, they are somehow not people of faith. That they are somehow substandard individuals and substandard Christians.

You know what? Here's the thing: people fail. All people fail. Even the most seemingly perfect people fail. We may fail in different areas, some more visible than others, but we all fail in some way, probably more often than we would like to admit. I hate it, but it's a fact.

I think we do great harm in teaching people that they can never fail; that they are destined to always succeed; that if they fail, they are less of a person with less faith than someone else.

Failure is how we learn. Failure is how we grow.

My boss (and former English prof) frequently states that "learning is painful." Granted, he says this in part to try to assuage the grief of his panic-stricken students who are experiencing the fruit of his red pen. (He's right; it can be painful.) I think the reason why learning is painful is that we have to experience failure in order to truly learn something.

I think we do ourselves a great disservice in shunning failure. Success speakers like to cite Thomas Edison as an example. After all, he experienced great success in his work with light bulbs and elecricity. The moral of the story, usually, is that you should never give up because if you keep trying, success will come to you. Emphasis on success.

I don't think that's what the story is about. I think it's about experiencing your failures, and feeling the pain of them, and learning valuable lessons from them, and somehow growing into better people who are better equipped to succeed the next time.

"Resuming failure...press any key to continue." Maybe the best we can do is give the failure time to process and then use it as a step-stool as we go on with the rest of our lives.

T. S. Eliot Quote

2007-02-06T23:27:00.000-06:00

"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But of course only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things."

Procrastination, Again

2007-01-30T22:36:00.000-06:00

I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book I don't want to read my book

The thing is, I'm reading this book for one of my classes, and it's a pretty good book, but the reason I'm reading it (right now, as opposed to...later) is that I'm supposed to write a book critique on it.

And I think book critiques are really dumb assignments. I guess my academic career thus far has been a little too rigorous, because I'm always wondering: "What is the point of a glorified book report?" The answer: To prove that I've read the book.

But I find no point in writing a simple summary and response to a book, so instead, my book critique becomes a time when I select an issue and then demonstrate how the issue is dealt with in the book. Which doesn't really fit the definition of "book critique," but it's the only thing I can do that doesn't drive me to the point of beating my head against the wall.

In other news, the Zebra M-301 is the only mechanical pencil in the universe for me. It's metal, lightweight, has a perfect 0.5 lead, has a grip that is not floofy, and has a thin circumference. In short: pefection.

Here it sits, visiting some of my favorite books. (See, it even has good literary sensibilities!) So, in short: buy this pencil today.

The end. :)