New Year's Res

I thought I would slip this in before the Christmas season was entirely over, and I also thought this quotation echoed the heart of someone who knew how to make proper resolutions. Here are the words of Nate Saint:

"As we have a high old time this Christmas, may we who know Christ hear the cry of the damned as they hurtle headlong into the Christless night without ever a chance. May we be moved with compassion as our Lord was. May we shed tears of repentance for these we have failed to bring out of darkness. Beyond the smiling scenes of Bethlehem may we see the crushing agony of Golgotha. May God give us a new vision of His will concerning the lost and our responsibility."  

Surprising Joy

I have been listening to kids’ books in my car. It makes driving around town oh so much more daring-suspenseful-surprising-intriguing! I’m questioning the grammatical stability of that last sentence, but I’ve recently heard others like it, so it must be okay.


Two of the freshly listened to audio books have been from The Series of Unfortunate Events (bks 9 & 10) by Lemony Snicket. These books are witty and cleverly written, but the whole premise behind them is that nothing ever goes right (or ends right) in the books. The three orphans, who are the main characters in the series, continually escape the evil Count Olaf by using their inventive skills, book knowledge and sharp teeth. Nevertheless, I believe I will take a sabbatical from the books- I’m just a little put off with the fact that one the orphans had her sweetheart swept away by a flooded stream… that just seems so depressing. Depressing, but I should have guessed; nothing ever goes right for those orphans.

I think Lemony Snicket’s books get something right, though. It is an underlying principle in the book series that ingenuity comes out of cataclysmic situations, and I think that’s not skewing things too much. It IS probably during the most difficult seasons in our lives that good things are produced, and perhaps even marvelous things, such as prolific literature, invention, art, and sometimes… sometimes even joy. I can think of quite a few occasions where things seemed pretty dismal in my life, but where I also experienced joy at the same time. Weird. Paradoxical isn’t it? Here are the top three personal examples that come to mind as I type this paragraph.

Story #1: When I was in Bogota, Colombia I sunburned so badly that I looked like a lobster. The package deal with this sunburn included heat stroke and a blistered scalp. When things started to heal a day or two later, my skin started peeling like mad. I was a little embarrassed about this, considering that I was in a country where a person’s presentation and appearance heavily mattered, but the job of combing all the dead skin from my hair seemed gargantuan. My friend Jess pulled me aside and painstakingly combed through my hair getting rid of the disgusting dead skin. I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant for her, probably right up there with looking through hair for lice, but she took the time to do it, and even lightened the situation by cracking jokes and making me laugh. It made me happy that I had a friend like her.

Story #2: When I had my wisdom teeth pulled out, I remember sitting on the couch, watching the movie Hot Fuzz and eating a strawberry blizzard, both kindly supplied to me by my parents. Despite looking like a chipmunk and feeling like I had just come out on the unlucky end of a bar fight, I felt very loved and taken care of.

Story #3 A week after I had knee surgery, I fell on a freshly mopped floor at a Forensics and Debate national tournament. I was sick to my stomach- having felt something rip during the fall I was pretty sure I had undone everything the doctors had meticulously accomplished with the surgery. In the ER, while awaiting an X-Ray, I remember giggling with my debate coach, Marla, as the guy in the compartment next door related to a friend how he accidently chopped off part of his finger with a lawnmower. It doesn’t sound very funny right now, but maybe you had to have been there. We also took turns drawing pictures and commenting on the wall charts while we waited. It was a physically painful time, but probably one of the best bonding times I had with that coach.

How about you? What’s your story?

Racing Toward Hope

I am not sure I would recommend the movie Apocalypto to you; even though I definitely consider it a worthwhile flick. Just to put it out there, it’s not for those easily offended by South American Birthday Suits. But if you can take that with a grain of salt, you will find an epic story of a man battling ridiculous odds to stay alive, and to keep his family members alive as well. The gauntlet the hero endures is jaw dropping- spear wounds, arrows through the chest, encounters with a mama jaguar, being stretched out on a chopping block as unfriendly Mayans anticipate non-surgically removing his heart- this all keeps the storyline moving. It seems like at every turn Jaguar Paw, the hero, should be a dead man, but right as you think all is lost, there is a twist in events, or the man himself finds some kind of hidden strength- unnatural endurance to spur him on- keeping him from giving into fear. There was too much on the line for him to give up hope. He craved and clung to it with all his might… and then some.


This thread of an idea, pushing beyond natural human limits for the sake of hope, seems to be a reoccurring theme in my thought life recently. It is everywhere. I see elements of it in the Christmas story, lingering around that One in the manger, with the delicious soft infant skin and the cry of a newborn. Strong traces of it are found throughout Christ’s ministry, culminating to a fever pitch at gethsemane, the cross, and with manic victory at the empty tomb. The crushing weight of Christ’s battles, evidenced in drops of blood on his brow, through an enemy who would not leave him alone during his darkest hours, and through the water and blood that poured out from a broken heart. Death did not just threaten to take him, but actually swept him into that dark stream. Comparing this story to the movie mentioned earlier, I suppose one of the main differences between Christ and Jaguar Paw was that Christ did not just passionately cling to hope. He was, and is hope.

Through the influence of my brother and sister-in-law I have started to listen to a group called Mumford & Sons. There is song written by M & S called The Cave. I have had my computer repeatedly play this tune to me over the last week and a half. Here are a few lines from the chorus that have stuck in my head:

But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

I don’t know about you, but there is a lot in life that seems to be bent on sucking my hope dry. But even with the crushing weight of circumstance, and the internal battles that wage war and leave us sputtering for breath, it is vital that we hold onto hope with all that we got. All that we got… plus some.

Incarnation

"The feed trough was no afterthought. All along God has been doing His best to get next to us, humbling Himself to reach out to us. But nothing can match what happened that night in that Bethlehem cave. There a child was born among 'the sweet breath and streaming dung of beasts' and nothing is ever the same again... once [we] can never be sure where he will appear, or to what lengths he will go or what ludicrous depths of self-humiliation he will descend in his wild pursuit of man."   
      -Thoughts from a Dave Roper book

Twas much that man was made like God before,
But that God should be made like man- much more.           
     -John Donne

Ruined

Last week I was hanging with my family when I heard a dramatic “OH NOOOOO!” come from my 4 year old nephew. I asked him what was wrong, and he feverishly explained “I got snot on my shirt, AND IT USED TO BE MY FAVORITE SHIRT TOO!!!” I looked at the patch on his shirt; casualty of an explosive sneeze. I laughed inside as I wet a paper napkin and dabbed the beloved shirt a few times. The piece of clothing, I believe, was salvageable.


The situation was a little funny, but at the same time, I can empathize with those same kind of panicked feelings. They can pop up unassumingly, catching you off guard during moments of weakness. Sometimes, I will be painting a picture, and the brush will glob on the wrong shade of blue, or accidently smear a crisp line that I had genuinely liked before it was “Ruined”. And I’ll be thinking “AHHHGGH, the whole painting is ruined!” “I’m not an artist; I’m a fake!” “I can’t paint!” So on, and so forth. If you could hear my screaming thoughts at these times, you’d say “pathetic”. Really.

Or sometimes I will get that same panicked feeling when a glass slips out of my hand because I was thinking about other things. By the time I hear the glass shattering I know there is no gluing that thing back together. Ruined. Broken. At least with the painting there was some hope, but this…

Sometimes I wonder if God chuckles at my drama. When I take the time to consider my life, words like “ruined” come all too quickly to my lips. Upsets and mistakes can make a life look unattractive, but life is not ruined no matter how bad it gets. God in his mercy can wash what we claim to be indelible ink. In addition, He gives us new mornings to work with. “Try again” He tells us... and we should.

Listless No More

Here are some of my favorite things, in no particular order:



Bagpipes and snare drums… played outside

Grasshopper cookies made by Keebler. They’re like Girl Scout Thin Mints, but not.

The effect of paint on canvas. Sometimes it does its own thing, and I’m okay with that.

Bubble baths. The type where the bubbles are mighty enough to form a bubble beard… and bubble eyebrows.

*

Tea. Especially on the days I feel cold and shivery.

A musical instrument in the hands of someone who knows how to play well. They don’t have to be a virtuoso necessarily, but someone who plays with heart and skill.

Applepie- homemade, just out of the oven, but cooled off slightly. A little cinnamon… not too much.

Movies that make me laugh, think, or that put some effort into unraveling a good story.

Penguins and Monkeys. Need I say more?

Travel- roadtrips, oversea trips, field trips, DQ trips

Walks- brisk, but slow enough you have time to think, pray or talk

Rollerblading

Super hero movies- Spiderman, X-man, Batman

Well written books

Current favorite color: Emerald. Runner up: Violet. Third favorite color: Bright Orange.

*I was going to put people on the list, but I think that would be kind of a polemic thing to do, because people technically are not “things”… they are… well, people.

The Song of The Redeemed

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have an operatically trained voice. Perhaps you are rolling your eyes right now because you do not particularly care for opera, but picture a voice, YOUR voice, if it could reach earth shattering heights, and depths that would rearrange the bowels of the most sour-faced puddleglum out there. A voice that could NOT sing haphazard karaoke or that could ONLY just manage to squeak out a decent tune every now and again. But a voice that could make the simplest of melodies linger sweetly in the air. A voice that was malleable in your lungs, like clay that could be shaped into whatever you wished, presenting the harmonies in your head on a silver platter. And with garnish at that! And think what it would be like to have ears that matched the voice. Ears that could hear better, more intricate harmonies and that could weave them into complex tapestries with other ethereal voices.


I am hoping my heavenly voice and ears will have that capability someday.

To take this in a slightly different direction, these following verses are of interest to me:

Rev 14:3-5 TLB

3 This tremendous choir-144,000 strong-sang a wonderful new song in front of the throne of God and before the four Living Beings and the twenty-four Elders; and no one could sing this song except those 144,000 who had been redeemed from the earth. 4 For they are spiritually undefiled, pure as virgins, following the Lamb wherever he goes. They have been purchased from among the men on the earth as a consecrated offering to God and the Lamb. 5 No falsehood can be charged against them; they are blameless.

When you think about it, this special choir has some serious competition in heaven, but not even Seraphs will be able to pick up this tune and hum along. It is either off limits to the angels, or maybe they just won’t be able to muster up enough soul to do it justice. It is the song of the redeemed. It makes me wonder what will make this new song so very special. Is it the singers themselves, or is it the song writing behind it? It could just simply be the song writer Himself. Actually I think that will be a big part of what makes it so marvelous. That choir will be singing about redemption from a clear perspective. Not as slaves freshly bought off the market, who treat their master with disdain. The disdain coming from the unarticulated belief that he paid too little for them, not really fathoming the full price of the purchase. And the song won’t come from the lips of slaves who think he paid too much for them. Slaves who do not let it sink in that they are actually worth something now that they are in the possession of the new master. But the song will be uttered from the lips of blood-bought overcomers who finally understand with a clear perspective the astonishing proceedings behind their purchase.

It’s going to be a different show altogether, this upcoming celestial event- new eyes; new ears; beautiful new voices. Aged Instruments that have been through the ringer, and survived. And more than just survived! The individual voices making up the choir are going to make the likes of Sarah Brightman sound like the older version of Janis Joplin in comparison. It's going to be fantastic. Not a spectacle you want to miss!

Veni, Vidi, Vici

I was looking at an html tutorial site, and the three sentences at the top of the page caught my eye and drew out their respective responses (which I have included in ( ) ):
With HTML you can create your own Web site.       (I believe that)




This tutorial teaches you everything about HTML.     (ok... maybe)



HTML is easy to learn - You will enjoy it                 (I doubt it)

I Hear Ya!

     Last night I was talking to a friend, and midway into the conversation I could tell I had completely lost them. Their eyes were semi-glazed over, and I could tell their thoughts were far away; maybe dwelling on a bit of homework, or perhaps setting sail on a dream vacation. I undoubtedly was beating a subject to death; undoubtedly rambling, but afterwards I was just glad I wasn’t spilling my guts, talking about anything of consequence. That could have been really… (raising the pitch of my voice) AWKWARD!

     That incident reminded me of other experiences in my past, but situations that were on the opposite side of the spectrum. Times when I spoke at the podium in the middle of a hot debate, and where I knew that everything coming out of my mouth was being heavily weighed, judged, and possibly skewed in abbreviated form on somebody’s debate flow. I knew my competition was listening to what I said, but usually with the degree of kindness and painful precision of somebody anticipating my immediate death and destruction. It’s good to be heard… I guess.

     A few weeks ago, I shared the story of Elijah on Mount Carmel with my Sunday school kids. The verse that recounts Elijah taunting the Baal worshipers (1 Kings 18:27) always strikes me as funny. I’m sure those prophets were shooting Elijah dirty looks as they were slicing themselves and dancing like they had never danced before. Elijah was suggesting that their god, Baal, couldn’t hear them because he was either deep in thought, busy traveling, on the pot, or taking a nap. The situation would have been worth a picture. It’s definitely funny, but sad at the same time. It is sad because it’s true. Their god couldn’t hear them! Not the handicap you want when you are having a show down between deities.

     To me, one of the most comforting things found in scripture is that our God hears us (Micah 7:7). Not just when we are voicing something interesting. Not just when our life is on the line. And not with the ear of someone intent of doing us in if we don’t say things correctly. And God doesn’t just hear us, He responds too: sometimes by withholding rain, or through the medium of fire and earthquakes, sometimes simply through whispers. And frankly, that’s kind of cool. I like that.

Hmmm... interesting

I am in the throws of looking for a job again- just something part time. I was looking through the classified section of the newspaper when I came across an ad for a secretarial position for a church with ideal hours and pay. I've been skimming their website to see what kind of a place it is, and I thought I'd share a few highlights.

They don't have a purpose statement, but they do have 7 principles they live by:

-The inherent worth and dignity of every person
-Justice, equity, and compassion in human relations
-Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations
-A free and responsible search for truth and meaning
-The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large
-The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all
-Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part

There was a A and Q section for the website, and this one caught my notice:

Q: Is this some kind of cult?

A: No! If anything, it is the opposite of the mind control that characterizes cults.

Does that set your mind at ease? Here's another question. This one is in answer to how I could become a member:

There are two requirements for membership: 1) Sign the membership book, and 2) make a donation with your name attached to it (the amount is up to you). Joining any religious organization is a big decision, so we have literature on the subject, introductory classes, and lots of people who would be delighted to respond to your questions.

So, what do you think? Should I apply? ...and yes, if you guessed it was a universalist church you get the prize for the day.

Pursuant

There is a couple in one of my immediate circles who were just recently engaged. It was a bit of a surprise (to everyone actually, including some of their closest friends) because the couple never dated. Even up to the point where the man popped the question with the ring in hand they were “just friends”. The situation fits them. I am happy for them, and do not want to squelch their unique story, but it definitely reads differently than most romances I have witnessed.

There is something kind of fun about watching a man trying to win a girl’s heart. Some, it seems, use their wits and creativity. Other guys act cocky, or maybe they are just plain persistent, not accepting the word “no” to mean no. For the record, I am not being pursued. I have my theories as to why, of course: too intimidating, not intimidating enough, too tall, too short, I have yellow teeth (I drink a lot of tea *sheepish grin*), too shy, too confident… the list goes on. You may have some of your own theories (family members do not need to comment on this one :p)

However, I think The Art of Pursuing goes up a level in my mind, when the target of the one pursuing isn’t really all that lovely. Or maybe they are lovely, in their own way, but it is not very obvious to anybody else. The pursuit takes place because of some secret phenomenal reason only the pursuer knows. Maybe some witnesses know too, but the reasons behind the pursuit are rooted deeper than surface level.

You are probably familiar with the poem entitled the Hound of Heaven by Francis Thompson. Recently I have been reading a book called Why I Am a Christian, by John Stott, and in his first chapter he talks about how God has been the Hound of Heaven in different individual’s lives. An excerpt from some of C.S. Lewis’ writings stood out to me:

“The prodigal Son at least walked home on his own feet. But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape?... The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation.”

Stott also uses some of Augustine of Hippo’s writings before and after Augustine came to Christ. Here is a clip from that:

“Augustine attributed his experience to the sheer grace that is the free and unmerited favor of God. He claimed that God had quickened all five of his spiritual senses- hearing, sight, smell, taste and touch.

‘You called and cried out loud and shattered my deafness. You were radiant and resplendent, you put to flight my blindness. You were fragrant, and I drew in my breath and now pant after you. I tasted you, and I feel but hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I am set on fire to attain the peace which is yours.’”

C.S. Lewis, Augustine and John Stott all had deep experiences because of the pursuit of the Hound of Heaven. Reading through different accounts of this happening reminded me that God pursues the unlovely, the prodigals and those who are kicking and screaming. Earlier in this post I said I wasn’t being pursued, but in actuality, I guess I am. I am, and so are you.

Timid Prayers

I have issues. Some of my problems stem from verses like Proverbs 15:29, “The LORD is far from the wicked, but He hears the prayer of the righteous.” You get similar verses in the Psalms about God hearing the righteous, and it is also reflected in the NT as well (James 5:16 for an example). The most unnerving aspect of these verses is that I do not FEEL righteous most of the time. Deep down I empathize more with being wicked. This has affected my prayer life. Sometimes I think “How righteous do I need to be for God to really hear my prayers? I know there are cracks in this kind of thinking, but these misgivings have caused me to restructure my moments of prayer. I think, “Well, it’s best to get the dirt on the table to begin with.” Clean vessels pray better, right? I really do believe that is true, but sometimes even after this process misgivings well up. What happened to coming before the throne with boldness? Hebrews 4:16 says “Let us therefore draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and may find grace to help in time of need.” this verse more than hints at the need to approach the throne not as a timid being, overly conscience of imperfection and caked on mud, but as… well, more like a warrior.

I was happy to learn that I was not alone in my mental gymnastics. Andree Seu, one of my favorite journalists, had an article in September’s issue of World magazine that struck a chord with me. She wrote:

“The Lord says when we come to Him we should come ‘without wavering’. What would ‘without wavering’ look like? I know full well what ‘wavering’ looks like: Maybe God is ticked off with me. Maybe God won’t answer because of what I did last night. Maybe I’m not forgiven. Maybe the request I am making is the kind of thing God doesn’t do anymore. Maybe that promise I thought I saw in the Bible pertains to the distant future only. Maybe that miracle was only for the time of Christ. Maybe that verse that looks like a promise is not really a promise but a principle. Maybe I’m not asking according to His will.”

Andree then proceeded to systematically map out verses and reasons why these “waverings” are lame. Highlighting verses that speak about there being a lack of an audience when it comes to condemnation (Romans 8:1, 1 John 3:20), and addressing each of the “waverings” head on.

Last night I went to a prayer meeting to help send off one of my friends to Lebanon. My mind started to wander towards the end of the meeting, and I had to direct myself back to focus. I needed to remember that we were in the middle of a battle and talking to someone omnipotent. The room was full of grey haired individuals; nothing wrong with that; just a little bit of a rough turnout for my generation. And as I looked around the room afterwards, I had to smile, realizing what a rag tag group we were. We didn’t carry the look of an unabashed conquering army, but still, it was an army. And being yanked back to reality during the prayer time, the importance of what we were doing struck me. It made me resolve to throw out the “waverings” as they show their ugly faces. There is quite a bit on the line here: evangelism, the future of the church, and personal growth just to name a few. We, as Christians are indeed at war. We cannot afford to pray like a bunch of pansies. It’s not in the budget, nor has it ever been.

Psalm 145:18 "The LORD is near to all who call upon Him, to all who call upon Him in truth."

Paris Hilton and The Hunger Games

The only reason I will admit to having watched the show is because I was distracting myself. Sometime I feel like I have A.D.D. as I flip through the TV channels at the gym; trying to forget that my muscles are burning, and that I still have 20 minutes to go on the elliptical machine. This particular show was a reality series built around Paris Hilton finding a new best friend (or B.F.F., as the show kept reminding the viewers). At the time, it was hard to decide what bugged me the most about the show. The shallowness of it was definitely screaming for me to change the channel, but the puzzlement over why all those girls would put themselves through the contest kept me glued. The show was down to four contestants, when the camera crew filmed Hilton telling each of them that they were eliminated from the show. Hilton then proceeded to watch each girl during their exit interview after she had left the room, taking note of how sad they were about getting kicked off her show. Hilton then decided based off of the interviews who was really the girl to be weeded out. It seemed like such a classic case of manipulation, ingenious really, but “Ouch!”, so cold and harsh at the same time! It’s like Jr. High all over again, but with America watching.
This show established a new hobby horse for me. It made me start to think that we, as a culture are on our way to the arenas of Rome. I know, there is a big distance between A and B here, but let me explain.
We already know that our reality shows contain manipulation. What is the harm of that? Those girls signed up for it, right? But one of the key elements that makes me squeamish is the disconnect audiences feel toward reality show contestants, and our strong desire for entertainment and distraction (whether it be from sore muscles or just escape from our normal existence). The TV audience has now been programmed to view some ghastly things without flinching. We do not know the contestants personally, even though we might be interested in their character. Stinks to be them… but oh well!
Last weekend I read the Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. It is one of the most suspenseful books I have read in a long time, and it articulates some of the cumulative thoughts and feelings I have had over the last year (since watching Miss. Hilton and her prospective B.F.F.s.) The book is in the category of teen lit, and so it spends some time on a love triangle that still hasn’t untangled itself by the second book (I’m not finished with that one yet), but over all it is a good read. It is insightful about the direction our society is taking. Not only in the sense that the storyline is woven around a reality TV show arena, where kids are forced to kill each other, but The Hunger Games also brings to light the vanity and self focus that often accompanies wealth. While the main character, Katniss, was having to deal with issues like death, shell-shock nightmares, poverty, hunger and being on the government’s hit list, another acquaintance, named Octavia, was living a life of ease in The Capital. Octavia lamented to Katniss the fact that her biggest disappointment in life was having people come to her Birthday party wearing feathers (it was apparently a fashion disaster). The irony is very apparent. This contrast was a reminder to me that as Americans we are rich compared to the rest of the world. If we close our eyes to the distraught, poor and hungry we are no better than Octavia. It was a direct hit between the eyes, but it is a point well taken.

Mmm bueno… Blue Bear is my favorite!

I am about to reveal something shocking (and perhaps EVEN terrifying) about my current living situation. I was opening the freezer drawer to retrieve a can of juice, when… I CAME ACROSS THIS!!!!



I know. That is exactly what I thought! It is not every day you find a frozen bear head in the freezer with the hair still on it, and the eyes and everything in tact! I don’t want you to think we are barbarians, however. There are still some indigenous tribes in the mountains of South America who routinely eat Blue Bear- it's just not commonly found in the United States. I have been flipping through the recipe books, and there is not even one recipe written for Blue Bear head that I could find. I was rather diligent in looking too, perusing many categories such as soups, casseroles, and even pies. My thoughts are, though, with a little hot sauce and some garlic it could turn out okay. If you have ever had this delicacy before, let me know. I am open to new ideas and recipes.

Forward Thinking

Isaiah 25:8-9

He will swallow up death forever;
and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from all faces,
and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth,
for the LORD has spoken.
It will be said on that day,
"Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us.
This is the LORD; we have waited for him;
let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation."

Gut Experience

When I was a kid, one of my favorite sports was soccer. I remember one year especially being the hallmark year for getting the breath knocked out of me with the ball. I am not sure if it was because of the particular group of kids I was playing with, or that my stomach was a magnet for flying objects, or just that my skill level wasn’t quite there yet. But I remember that instantaneous feeling happening frequently in a period of a few months.
There is nothing like getting the breath knocked out of you. When your lungs are feeling collapsed, and when you don’t have any gumption to stand straight anymore. The whole world slows down, your eyes widen, and you focus on just one thing: B-R-E-A-T-H-E.
Last night I auditioned for the Topeka Symphony. I prepared. I practiced for it several hours a day for a few weeks, and felt solid on my repertoire. I came early, and was given the audition spot of number 2, which meant I could go in and get the audition over without waiting until my palms started to sweat first. It was all going well, until I heard the girl in front of me practicing one of the excerpts. Spiccato!? I didn’t know we had to play spiccato!!! It got my heart racing. When it came time to do the blind audition, I started with my most solid piece first. Mozart. I had been playing this certain piece of music since high school. With too much pressure on the bow I started too loudly, I couldn’t keep my intonation centered and clipped my beats- producing wretched rendition of something that sounded decent just 10 minutes beforehand. The following excerpts went better, but the sight reading left much to be desired. Overall I feel like I bombed it. Overall, it feels like I had the breath knocked out of me.
I haven’t heard if I got into the symphony or not, but my gut feeling is that it is a “no”, which is pretty disappointing. But what can you say? That’s life!
I’m going to put this down in my book as a learning experience… another one for this year that cuts deep- another failure; another pummel to the stomach. But there are still a few things left to do. Straighten up. Breathe. Don’t be afraid of the ball.

Raising the Roof

As I was flipping through Time magazine yesterday, a short article on Claremont Graduate University caught my eye. Claremont has now extended its Religious Studies to include the full trio of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. This all under one roof… hmm, interesting. Apparently, by implementing this change it has increased enrollment by 10%, so it’s been alright for the school’s pocketbook. I suppose this change in policy shouldn’t surprise me. After all, we do live in a pluralistic society. We as Americans like convenience. If a student goes to Claremont unsure of whether they want to be a pastor (or priest), Rabbi or Imam, they can decide on their religion conveniently without having to switch schools.
I was curious to what a school’s purpose statement would look like while offering these three religions side-by-side (along with Mormonism). I figured the purpose statement wouldn’t mention Jesus Christ, because Islam wouldn’t see Him as God, and wouldn’t claim He was anything more than a prophet, and Judaism wouldn’t see Him as Lord or king. But if you leave these out of Christianity… well, you don’t really have Christianity anymore, do you?
So I got on Claremont’s Website and found some of the school’s purpose statement. It is as follows:
“The School of Religion wants its students to experience what it means to be both inside and outside a community of faith. We hope to train individuals – students, researchers, educators, and leaders – from a variety of religious traditions and secular perspectives to be able to participate in a civic life of unprecedented religious diversity. The distinctive vision of the school is to create and promote a study of religion that produces graduates who are ‘religious multilinguals.’ We hope this perspective promotes religious understanding and tolerance.”
I feel the statement “We hope to train individuals… to be able to participate in a civic life of unprecedented religious diversity” makes a pretty big claim. The school is aware there is religious diversity in Jerusalem, right? The end sentence I find interesting as well “We hope this perspective promotes religious understanding and tolerance.” It sounds like they have their fingers crossed on that one.

Multiculturalism and multilingualism have their place, but it’s difficult to keep the skeptic in me fully behaved on this one. Yes, people with diverse religions can battle out their differences verbally on the campus greens, and it might give them food for thought on their faith of choice, but it seems like you have to surgically remove the backbone of each of these religions to make it happen cordially. If religious diversity and tolerance are Claremont’s primary aims, I can see this attracting a certain demographic of people, but to upcoming graduate student candidates I would shout "Run away!". Tolerance and diversity have a nice ring to it in an academic purpose statement, but at the cost of throwing away an iron-sharpens-iron atmosphere. Is tolerance and diversity important enough to die for? It is worth thinking about. It might be this generation’s emerging religion.

Single Girl Mentality

It is a verse I remember highlighting in a hot stuffy dorm room at camp; ideal for one of those 5 minute devotionals, and a likely candidate to become cliché, if not treated with care. Proverbs 4:23 Watch over your heart with all diligence, for from it flow the springs of life. Now as I look at that spot in my Bible, the purple pen ink has faded, and the heart sticker placed in the margin isn’t looking so hot. It is peeling at the edge.
I believe the most common take on this verse for girls, if I may so generalize, is that we are supposed to barricade our hearts. This involves resurrecting a chain link fence, and digging a deep mote around the perimeter for a line of defense. And if our hearts get hurt, we tend to kick into high security mode, complete with barbed wire loop-dee-doos, watch towers, illuminating lights and slobbering hounds on steroids. Pity the man that dare take a shot at this! He is going to get scratched by the barbed wire, attacked by those mangy dogs, and most likely have to be Superman in order to succeed on his mission.
I think we have missed the point. I am not proposing that we are not to protect our hearts at all, leaving them unsheltered from the elements. They are not something we want stolen or trampled. On the other hand, we don’t want that organ to become a museum piece either; an artifact that only gets dusted off every few months. Who wants to be guarding a dry well? Our hearts need to be exercised, and more importantly than that, they need to be functioning.
Another verse I’ve been thinking about: John 15:13 Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends. I believe this would hint that love by nature is vulnerable. There is a cost involved here.
In the next week I will have three friends kicking their heels and moving away. It’s not easy to see them go, but I am glad that I have had the opportunity to know them. It isn’t always easy to reach out your hand in friendship to people when you know they won’t be in the same vicinity (or country) for very long, but I think it is important to do so. It goes back to that barricading idea again. Who is really missing out when we don’t love people the way we should? Maybe the answer is more complex than we realize or can know, but we know that we ourselves miss out to a certain extent.
So here again, I write out some rambling for another post. Sorry if it is too preachy or too… something or another. It is just something I have been churning around in my head, and sometimes wonder if any other people feel the same way.

Comparitively Speaking

I believe that one of the main differences between my violin playing and the music of Heifitz, is that he could play a few more notes per second. Who’da thunk, but a few notes here and there make a difference. A different bowing technique, hours of practice, training… cleverness… all play a part in it too. Right?
I was scanning the artwork of Leonardo DaVinci last week. My attention was drawn to the fact that his sketches were pen and ink. Some of his pictures do not contain the fine traces of pencil markings and eraser smears that indicate guidelines for the pen. His sketches were set in stone once the ink hit parchment, and they are beautiful. The lines I put down on paper, including pencil markings, fall short in such a dramatic way of this artist’s masterpieces. The difference between DaVinci and myself is what? A few lines? A different production rate? A few tablespoons of genius?
The fine arts get difficult when we start comparing ourselves to others. Not only do we have our peers to compare ourselves to, but when you reach the position of world renown for your work, you then have the world’s historic musicians and artists judging you through their legacy. Is there an artist or musician who can escape the ruler?
This week I’m playing in a musical. The music is very difficult, and I am trying to rise to the occasion. Today I am working on a section to get it up to the tempo marking of 132. I have it up to 100, which means if I try to play it at rehearsal tonight as is, it is going to flop. It’s just 32 more beats per minute than I have already under my fingers, but it feels as attainable as the stars right now.
I’ve been looking through the notes of the music director from last rehearsal. Most of them say I need to play out and I need more confidence. I sigh as I read these. It feels like the story of my life. I wish confidence could be found in some dusty trunk up in my grandparent’s attic. If you don’t have it, it’s not easy to get.
Well, it’s time to get back to practicing. It is time to let the metronome chirp away, and time to stop thinking about comparison... 132, I’m not afraid of you!... I think.

This year, Spain is king!

I am not one to usually venture into mosh pits, but this celebration would be worth the trip to Madrid. Spain’s World Cup dominance was brilliant; the final game well played. Amidst all of the yellow cards and frustrating gridlock of score during their final match, the team maintained composure and sportsmanship. The game had an interesting twist as well: it wasn’t one of the heavily celebrated macho players, such as Sergio Ramos or David Villa who kicked the winning (and only) goal, but a quieter individual named Andres Iniesta, whose skilled feet secured the victory for his team during the last few minutes of overtime. It was one of the most intense games I’ve seen in a while, and it forced me to walk around the block a few times afterwards to subdue my excitement. Here is a cheer for Spain! Here is a cheer for Iniesta! Well done, I say!

Churnin' out the Paintings

Here are two more paintings that I finished within the last two days. I'm still having issues with taking pictures of them without the glare of the flash, or the fuzz of not having a flash. The painting with the tree, sunset, and birds is a wedding present for my friend Kristin. The second one was for Father's Day, commissioned by a woman who works in ministry alongside her husband on the Washburn campus.

After the Rain

Today I have been puzzling over how to construct a rainbow out of cellophane. The rainbow’s purpose is to help decorate my church for VBS, and will hopefully be accompanying Noah’s Ark, which is planted firmly on the baptismal in the sanctuary (a prop that was masterminded by both of my parents). The rainbow has the capacity to be up to 8 yards in length, so basically the sky is the limit! I have decided that it doesn’t have to be the best rainbow EVER, but I want it to make an impression. I might feel bad if I heard a kid say, in so many words, “I just don’t get it.” It dawned on me today, however, that real rainbows are subtle by nature. Sometimes it takes an extra person in the car to point one out. We know they often appear after the rain, but we are not always keeping an eye out for one. And it is partly for that reason, that hidden, glorious sight, which causes us to sharply inhale and say such words as “Wow!” and “Cool!” when we come across one. It is also easy to reduce rainbows to mere spectacles. It is easy to forget that they are a promise that God is not going to flood the earth multiple times over. It would be pretty rough if we had a world wide flood every few centuries. It would make the rest of the natural disasters look like measly kittens.
This afternoon I came across a verse of a hymn that I had scrawled into my journal:

O joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That man shall tearless be

The verse hit home again today. It was a reminder that we can view God’s promises as mere spectacles, or claim them for what they really are. I just wanted to thank many of you for speaking truth, and pointing out the Lord’s promises to me over the course of the last two weeks. The Lord’s blessing on those who have an eye for spotting rainbows.

In Shape

There is something amusing about watching a small child trying to force a square wooden block into a circle shaped hole. We can contribute their action to a lack of fine motor skills, or the fact that their overall world-wise experience has been short lived. It doesn’t matter how much brute force the child applies to the toy; we know it just ain’t gonna happen.
The comical side to this act dissipates when we see the same action in grown ups. At some level, it does seem like a page out of The Far Side, but deep down we feel “That person should have known better.”
I went up to a cash register last week to purchase a CD. After I dug inside of my purse I retrieved, and proudly presented, a $10 gift card that I had been counting on to acquire the music in my hand. The cashier glanced at it and said “This is a Borders Gift Card”. It took me a second, but suddenly I realized I was standing in a Barnes and Nobles... not Borders. With a Wallace and Grommit grin, I over enthusiastically said “Right!”, and fumbled to quickly stick the card back into my purse. I haven’t ordered an Egg McMuffin at a Burger King as of yet, but I managed to do something equivalent to that.
I have been doing some nail biting lately about what steps to take next with my life. It seems like there are oodles of pieces to fit together and I have no idea how they are supposed to go. I know nail biting isn’t the answer, and brute force probably isn’t the answer either, but I’m running out of time to decide what I am going to do.
For some reason this morning, the story of Abraham’s servant came to mind. Before setting out on his journey to help old Abe find Isaac a wife, he asked the Lord to grant his mission success. And “Ah ha!” the Lord brought along Rebecca, and she watered the camels and everything! The servant still had to make the journey to get to Rebecca’s neighborhood, which probably contained its own perils along the way. The servant still had to take the time to scope out the watering hole and step up and ask his scripted question, but the whole series of events appear like God answered the servant’s request in a very deliberate and clear way.
I suppose the Lord allows some details to seamlessly fall into place. The pieces of Phoenix School of Law, Turkish Schools with art teacher openings, health issues, questions about whether I’m going to be single for the rest of my life, my current job and living situation: these all do not require my brute force baby efforts to “fix” them. I still have to make the journey, I suppose, but there is no use in trying to hammer square pegs into round holes. …After all, this isn’t Borders.

Painting Without Numbers

I've been painting lately. Here is a picture of my latest 30"x40" project. It's not finished yet, but I think I've reached the Staring Stage, where I can look at it from various angles and tweak it as I see fit. Any suggestions are welcome (up until Thursday, and then it is too late... Duhn! Duhn! Duhhh!).

Cordially Declined

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS”: the poignant words uttered by Gandalf as he faced the dreaded fire demon. As the hobbits screamed back with tear streaked faces, Gandalf battled his ominous foe. Even though he was drawing a line to alter the fire demon’s path, Gandalf’s own path was decidedly altered: behind him savage spider-like Goblins, farther back still, a dim-witted (but upset) water monster, and hundreds of miles up a mountain pass not fit for kings (or holiday ski resorts). Even for a wizard this was a serious plight. With a well-aimed wicked lash of the whip, the demon pulled Gandalf down with him into what was practically a bottomless abyss.
I guess all of this to say that Gandalf’s choice A was blocked, so he had to go with what was choice B or C (or maybe even Z).
As some of you know, I was declined entrance into KU’s School of Law. I would not say this was the school I had placed my highest hopes and expectations upon, but still, the way is blocked, and I acknowledge that this is not a good sign. Going to law school has been a large part of my focus for the last nine months, and I suppose the most upsetting aspect of this news is that I don’t have a plan B. I don’t know why, or for who, I need a plan B- is it for myself; my family; for God? I’m not sure; it just seems important right now.

… Hopefully, my fall back plan won’t involve sky diving with fire demons.

Water Water Everywhere

The swimming pool at Kansas Bible Camp provides a crucial, refreshing service to hundreds of giggling/ screaming/ shouting campers every summer. Because it remains coatless throughout the winter, rain water, leaves, frogs and miscellaneous debris combine forces to create murky water in its depths. The concoction is semi-lethal to the swimming pool filter, and so the water from the pool is removed via human muscle and five gallon buckets. I participated in this annual pool-cleaning event last weekend.
There are three aspects to the KBC water displacement process: there is the Scooper, who fills the bucket with water then hoists it up as far as they can to the ledge of the pool, then there is the Watchman, who hoists the bucket out of the pool, and finally, there is the Pourer who pours out the bucket once it reaches ground level. It did not take umpteen buckets of water for me to realize that I was (am) a weak individual, and this activity also helped me remember I had certain muscles that I had forgotten about. After two hours of this service, I was reduced to a haggard Pourer. And finally, towards the tail end of the activity, an individual crouched down by the side of the pool, handing down shaky empty buckets to those below.
This experience made me grateful I’m not a sailor, especially an old time sailor on a sinking ship. It is one thing to be doing this kind of work to the sound of cheerful voices singing catchy songs from Newsies, but to do this while fearing that my sailing vessel was going to plummet into the depths of Davey Jones… WHEW! That would be sobering. As a crew of approximately twenty-five people we displaced several feet of water from that swimming pool, but to have the whole ocean trying to get into the bowels of a ship through some broken boards would be disparaging, to say the least. The salt water would lash against your skin, stinging cuts and open wounds, and find its way into your eyes, mouth and ears. UGHTH! The battering from the ocean would knock even the most experienced sailor off their feet. The raw power of the ocean is startling; who can fight it?
If we tried displacing the ocean’s water in its entirety, it would be a stupid venture. No matter what we would use, it would be more foolhardy than attempting to empty the KBC pool with a handful of sewing thimbles.
Today I was reminded that God’s love is like an ocean. It is vast… it is powerful… and wow... that’s a lotta love!

An Audience Member

For my 24th Birthday two of my Irish roommates took me to hear the virtuoso violinist Benjamin Schmid play Concerto No. 1 by Szmanowski. Our front row seats were almost too close to the Dublin Symphony, if that is possible. As we craned our necks upwards, practically staring up into Schmid’s very nostrils, we witnessed Szmanowski played with zest and precision! Even though my roommates and I were practically sitting at the violinist’s feet, he was oblivious to our presence. He knew we were there collectively, the several hundred “we”, but Schmid could have cared less if the three of us were absent from the concert hall that night.
Or did our presence make a difference to this virtuoso? Come to think of it, we were well behaved audience members. We were not heckling or pummeling rotten fruit at him. We were there to support his playing, and did our best to avoid hindering the fire of his art. In a way, our presence DID matter.
There are many facets to being an audience member. When I was visiting my friend Jess in Columbia, I had the privilege of watching her lead a girl to Christ. Because of the language barrier I was unable to understand every word that was being said, and unable to fully take part in what was happening, but I understood what took place. In a small sense, I got to be part of the event. I witnessed God in action; changing a life; snatching a soul from the damnation of hell.
Several weeks ago I found myself at the doorstep of a woman in her 40s, asking her where she thought she would spend eternity when she died. I was scared, but I got to witness a person who was tender to the gospel, and who readily grasped hold of Christ. God had prepared this woman’s heart before I (and the two other people I was with) had timidly knocked on her door. As I think about this recent experience, I again find myself in the audience seat, and it occurs to me that someone greater than Schmid is playing the tune.

Pottery

This vessel is cracked
Water can only be held within
Halfway up; up to half way down
Yet this bowl can be used
To wash dusty feet

This vessel is scarred
A gash here deep within
A chip here; a chip there
Yet it still has beauty
It reflects another image

This vessel is shattered
Nothing can be held within
A shard here; a shard there
Yet the pieces are to be taken
To make something else

This vessel is sealed
A mystery lies within
Something powerful; something sweet
To be poured out
-HM

Abnormal Weather Patterns

I watched Sunny With a Chance of Meatballs with my neighbor girl last night. Here are a few lessons that my impressionable young mind picked up:

1. Nerds rule.
2. Nerds rock... and rule.
3. If you want to impress a member of the opposite sex build them a giant JELLO house.
3. Food becomes aggressive and intent on self-preservation after undergoing extreme mutation from excessive radiation exposure.
4. Eagles are to wizards what rat-birds are to mad scientists.
5. Man eating chickens can become chicken beating men.

Overall Conclusion: The movie was good, but the book is better.

Snow Drift Synopsis

It was 5:30 in the morning and below freezing. The angle that the car was sticking in the ditch indicated that it would take even more pushing to get it out. Again we pushed; again the tires sped and slipped around in the snow. I spit out the gravel that found its way in my mouth from the spinning tires. This was not the bravo start the girls and I wanted that morning traveling back to Kansas from Teec Nos Pos, AZ. The trip is long enough without the complications of a royally stuck vehicle.
Finally, after 4 hours of delay the car inched its way out of its snow cocoon, and we were free to start out again on our maiden journey. The trip back turned into an even greater adventure as we made our way onto the highway. In addition to getting stuck, our car broke down twice because of a cheeky battery. And because of two inadequate maps and a driver who didn’t know her way, that being myself, we made a wrong turn that contributed an hour or two to the trip. Even though these were frustratingly interesting experiences, I usually tend to dwell on the details of our stuck vehicle at the beginning of the trip more than anything else.
If it hadn’t been for Dale, who ran back the 7 miles to Immanuel mission to get help, the other girls and I would have been in an even more serious predicament. If it hadn’t been for the below zero degree weather sleeping bag that I brought, just because I wanted to try out a Christmas present, things could have been a great deal chillier in the car while we waited for Dale’s return.
Perhaps because of a mixture of rational and irrational fears, I have a fear of being in vehicles that are stuck in one place. I do not like the sound of spinning, slipping tires. I love the momentum of moving forward. And really, who knows how long it will take to get a trapped vehicle unstuck. Hours? Days? Years? Who wants their cute little car to turn into a rusted hunk of metal?
I also have a fear of spinning tires in a not so literal sense. I love the feel of momentum in my life- the thought that I am working towards goals and accomplishing things is invigorating to me. I was talking with a customer the other day, and I was relating to them the importance I felt about moving forward in a direction in life. Their reply to my dissertation was “Yeah, but you work in a drum shop.” All I could do was shrug, because yeah, I can see the irony of that, and yeah, those are the words I hear in my own heart sometimes. But when I seriously think about it, I know that I am taking steps to move forward. I just finished taking a law entrance exam for the second time, I’m also applying to a few colleges and sprucing up some resumes to apply to other jobs. It is hard to know if this is simply spinning my tires, or if I will gain some ground in using my energy towards this. Even though spinning tires isn’t desirable, I know that tires that are moving are at least more advantageous than those that are motionless.
And thinking back to our car stuck in that snow drift, I don’t believe it was really in danger of becoming a rusted hunk of metal. There were four of us girls who strongly wanted it to be out of that drift, and I am comforted by this thought. I have a God who can use immobility, spinning tires and motion to get me where I need to be, and He is not in the habit of walking off and forgetting about people who need help.

Philippians 1:6 For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.

Finally!

Love. Twuuee Love.

I was watching Westside story a few weeks ago with some friends, when one of them piped up and said "They both die in the end, right?" The common consensus was "Yes, they [the lovers] both die." After a pause, another friend remarked "Well, that's dumb." There was a moment of flabbergasted silence, then we all burst out laughing. We could see her point. Short lived love is almost right up there with unrequited love; just not as fashionable as it used to be in Shakespearian times. We would prefer a "Happily Ever After" story over a tragedy.
Some of the greatest love stories in the world are tragic. I admit that. Name off just about any one of them and there is going to be some element of things-gone-awry: one person dying before the other (like in Braveheart), or while they are still too young (Last of the Mohicans, Westside Story/Romeo and Juliet), or separated because of poverty or disease(The Fields of Athen Rye), or separated because of personal issues (Edward Sissor Hands, Pride and Prejudice, You Got Mail).
Of course it is the most heart wrenching of stories when one of the lovers gets left behind by the other lover. When the beloved dies and things are left unsaid; undone; the whole storyline seems shattered. I usually cry when I get to the part in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe where Aslan dies. The White Witch raises her stone knife in one victory blow, then tramps off. Susan and Lucy are left in the dark clueless about what to do next. Their love is lying dead and silent on a stone table. What hope do they have left for the future? Of course, all this changes in the story when dawn has broken.
I'm thankful that the foundation for Christianity isn't based on a tragic love story. Last week I was reminded about the radical aspect of Christ's resurrection. Yes he died, but YES He lives. Christ's followers are not confined to visiting a tomb of a good man or teacher. We're not left expressing our love and devotion to someone who cannot hear us. There are tragic aspects to the redemptive story, but the ending is stellar.

Zephaniah 3:17 "The LORD your God is in your midst, a victorious warrior. He will exult over you with joy, He will be quiet in His love, He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy."