Tommy requested a new blog post, and I was going to make one, but I couldn't. So instead I'm going to describe why I sometimes stop blogging for weeks at a time.
Sometimes it's because I'm busy. Schoolwork piles up, and when I have to schedule in time for roommate conversations and TV, blogging falls off the list entirely.
Sometimes it's because I'm being creative elsewhere. The last couple months I've fallen pretty heavily into poetry, reading some and writing a lot. Most of my ideas or rants get turned into poetry rather than prose, and I'm not brave enough to post them instead of my typical rambling entries.
Sometimes it's because I've got too much going on inside. I can only really discuss thoughts in my blog once I've got a handle on my opinion, or what I learned, or what I want. When I'm in the middle of feeling and learning, as I have been for the last few weeks, it's hard to get anything out. I'm very internal, and that's where I tend to process the big things. I don't mind sharing the trivial things I experience, or the big things that I've understood. But right now, describing what goes through my mind would give too much weight to things I want to avoid, or it would trivialize the things I'm feeling deeply. I'm not ready to open up my vulnerability; I need some armor before writing anything.
I don't foresee what I'm working through to be done any time soon, but I'll try to blog about the more trivial things flitting through my life, like my kiddos who I'm starting to love something fierce, or the hilariously terrifying demon oppression stories Dr. Dickens tells, or how Austin is the city of weird that immediately makes me feel at home. Gotta put in some disciplined writing practice!
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Ash Wednesday
When I was growing up, kids at my school would randomly have smudged crosses on their foreheads every spring. I didn't know exactly what was going on, but I knew they were Catholics. My little Baptist self looked down upon them for expressing their faith in a way different than I understood.
I don't know when things changed, but in recent years, I've been aching to experience the physicality of Ash Wednesday (and other traditions that are a part of the church liturgical year). Turns out I've inadvertently joined a church that feels the same! As a non-denominational church, TFC has embraced this lovely hybridization of faith practices. I have been surprised at how comfortable I feel in a church so unlike anything I've attended. But then I realized something.
When I went to Senegal with a team a couple Novembers ago, I was asked to plan a Sunday service. I put in hymns and praise songs, creedal statements and responsive readings, messages and personal testimonies. I planned a service that looks exactly like TFC. No wonder I feel like I stumbled into my heart by finding this church.
Anyway. I know most people who read this don't participate in the Lenten season, and especially don't do Ash Wednesday. Here is my explanation for why I love it, in hopes that someone else might see the beauty.
For one thing, you're supposed to wear black on Ash Wednesday. I didn't know that, so I walked in wearing a floral shirt, one of maybe ten who were new to the holiday. Ash Wednesday is all about being confronted with God's demand for our holiness, and our confession that we are unable to meet His standards. We publicly confessed our sins by reciting Psalm 51, and we spent time in silent prayer confessing specific sins to God. Then the elders stood at the front of the church, and we went forward. Todd marked me with ash (my sin) in the shape of a cross (my salvation) and said, "For dust you are, and to dust you shall return."
Just as Psalm 51 brings us low in acknowledgment of our sins, then lifts us up in remembrance of God's great mercy and loyal love, so our service ended with the Lord's Supper, a consistent picture of God's great mercy and loyal love. We sang together, we were dismissed, and we all stood around and talked as a family bound by the ashen crosses emblazoned on our foreheads.
I love symbolism. I think there is such power in remembrance and in repetition. As I stood thinking of the sin I will try to eradicate during Lent and the good thing I will try to pick up during Lent, I crumbled a little inside. I knew I would fail. If not during Lent, then almost assuredly immediately after. I know my sins live on, and my good intentions go undone. But then I thought, "Ash Wednesday will come again. In a year, I will be reminded of everything once more. I can start anew next year, and the next."
That's liturgy. It's the constant reminder of promises that so easily get forgotten, and the constant assurance that sanctification is a process.
For a better description of why Lent is so great, try Inexhaustible Significance.
For ideas on what to do for Lent, try Rachel Held Evans.
I don't know when things changed, but in recent years, I've been aching to experience the physicality of Ash Wednesday (and other traditions that are a part of the church liturgical year). Turns out I've inadvertently joined a church that feels the same! As a non-denominational church, TFC has embraced this lovely hybridization of faith practices. I have been surprised at how comfortable I feel in a church so unlike anything I've attended. But then I realized something.
When I went to Senegal with a team a couple Novembers ago, I was asked to plan a Sunday service. I put in hymns and praise songs, creedal statements and responsive readings, messages and personal testimonies. I planned a service that looks exactly like TFC. No wonder I feel like I stumbled into my heart by finding this church.
Anyway. I know most people who read this don't participate in the Lenten season, and especially don't do Ash Wednesday. Here is my explanation for why I love it, in hopes that someone else might see the beauty.
For one thing, you're supposed to wear black on Ash Wednesday. I didn't know that, so I walked in wearing a floral shirt, one of maybe ten who were new to the holiday. Ash Wednesday is all about being confronted with God's demand for our holiness, and our confession that we are unable to meet His standards. We publicly confessed our sins by reciting Psalm 51, and we spent time in silent prayer confessing specific sins to God. Then the elders stood at the front of the church, and we went forward. Todd marked me with ash (my sin) in the shape of a cross (my salvation) and said, "For dust you are, and to dust you shall return."
Just as Psalm 51 brings us low in acknowledgment of our sins, then lifts us up in remembrance of God's great mercy and loyal love, so our service ended with the Lord's Supper, a consistent picture of God's great mercy and loyal love. We sang together, we were dismissed, and we all stood around and talked as a family bound by the ashen crosses emblazoned on our foreheads.
I love symbolism. I think there is such power in remembrance and in repetition. As I stood thinking of the sin I will try to eradicate during Lent and the good thing I will try to pick up during Lent, I crumbled a little inside. I knew I would fail. If not during Lent, then almost assuredly immediately after. I know my sins live on, and my good intentions go undone. But then I thought, "Ash Wednesday will come again. In a year, I will be reminded of everything once more. I can start anew next year, and the next."
That's liturgy. It's the constant reminder of promises that so easily get forgotten, and the constant assurance that sanctification is a process.
For a better description of why Lent is so great, try Inexhaustible Significance.
For ideas on what to do for Lent, try Rachel Held Evans.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
The Oh Hello's
Liz introduced me to this band The Oh Hello's, and they are everything I want to be. Listening to them makes me say things like, "They are speaking my heart and playing my soul!" with a whine and a forehead crashed against the car window.
The thing is, their album "Through the Deep, Dark Valley" is one long song-after-song story. The Christian life story, in fact. The first couple songs are about creation and Eden and falling in love.
("At last, at last, bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh")
Then comes the fall.
("These things that you're after, you cannot control")
Then songs of doubt and despair and hope against hope.
("Father, have mercy, I know that I have gone astray, When I saw my reflection, it was a stranger beneath my face")
Then the rising action, the pursuit of truth and the peace of finding God.
("I was bound and determined to be the child that you wanted, but I was blind to every sign You left for me to find")
And finally, a reprise of the first song, of Eden and rest.
("Still you lead me, never leave me")
On top of some really poetry-soul-inspiring lyrics, the music is freaking fantastic. I am hard core in love, and I desperately want them to perform in Dallas, and also I want everyone everywhere to know of them.
The thing is, their album "Through the Deep, Dark Valley" is one long song-after-song story. The Christian life story, in fact. The first couple songs are about creation and Eden and falling in love.
("At last, at last, bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh")
Then comes the fall.
("These things that you're after, you cannot control")
Then songs of doubt and despair and hope against hope.
("Father, have mercy, I know that I have gone astray, When I saw my reflection, it was a stranger beneath my face")
Then the rising action, the pursuit of truth and the peace of finding God.
("I was bound and determined to be the child that you wanted, but I was blind to every sign You left for me to find")
And finally, a reprise of the first song, of Eden and rest.
("Still you lead me, never leave me")
On top of some really poetry-soul-inspiring lyrics, the music is freaking fantastic. I am hard core in love, and I desperately want them to perform in Dallas, and also I want everyone everywhere to know of them.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Tornado Anniversary
Five years ago, on February 5, 2008, I thought I was going to die. God graciously saved everyone at Union University, though who knows why we were so blessed. Instead of reliving that night, I want to focus on all the amazing things that have happened in my life since then, things I am so grateful to have stayed alive to experience.
1) I moved in with Jennie and Dusty and found sibling-friends.
2) I went to Turkey and was introduced both to the necessity of long-term missions and to the awesomeness of Muslim men and women.
3) I became best friends with Stephanie, who taught me to be spontaneous and shared my love of AVPM and LotR.
4) I moved to Senegal, discovered an unknown fondness for simple living, made many dear friends, and learned to be the healthiest me possible.
5) I saw three of my closest friends get married to wonderful men.
6) I got paid to read books, share books with kids, and create themed parties about books.
7) I owned the perfect cat I had wanted for 23 years, one who was cuddly and loving every time I needed him.
8) I went to Mongolia and learned the benefits of traveling alone.
9) I moved to Dallas where I lived once again with my awesome roommate Liz and began studying at a school that fed my hunger for both knowledge of God and knowledge of people.
10) I've been alive to see so many fantastic movies, read so many fantastic books, and go to so many fantastic concerts. Sometimes the joys in life are simple.
1) I moved in with Jennie and Dusty and found sibling-friends.
2) I went to Turkey and was introduced both to the necessity of long-term missions and to the awesomeness of Muslim men and women.
3) I became best friends with Stephanie, who taught me to be spontaneous and shared my love of AVPM and LotR.
4) I moved to Senegal, discovered an unknown fondness for simple living, made many dear friends, and learned to be the healthiest me possible.
5) I saw three of my closest friends get married to wonderful men.
6) I got paid to read books, share books with kids, and create themed parties about books.
7) I owned the perfect cat I had wanted for 23 years, one who was cuddly and loving every time I needed him.
8) I went to Mongolia and learned the benefits of traveling alone.
9) I moved to Dallas where I lived once again with my awesome roommate Liz and began studying at a school that fed my hunger for both knowledge of God and knowledge of people.
10) I've been alive to see so many fantastic movies, read so many fantastic books, and go to so many fantastic concerts. Sometimes the joys in life are simple.
Monday, February 4, 2013
The Sanctification of Christianity
I love to talk with Roy about what I'm learning in seminary, because as someone outside of Christianity, he points out things I don't usually see and makes me think a lot more deeply. I told him about my latest lecture in Old Testament History, in which Dr. Allman made a case for equating the Genesis 1:28 mandate of humankind to "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground" with the biblical theme of servant leadership. Dr. Allman suggested that perhaps ruling over nature means serving nature--growing plants and caring for animals, helping to make them the absolute best and most beautiful that they can be.
Roy was excited that environmentalism was being taught in a seminary, and honestly, I shared the story because I wanted to impress him. But he then took the conversation in another direction. "It's interesting that Christianity is changing. Do you think culture is changing it? Like, Christians see the culture caring about certain things, so they jump on board? Why else would people have ignored that passage for centuries? Why is it suddenly relevant now? Did people interpret it differently before? Why the change?"
My brother does not cut my faith or my brain any slack. And I'll be honest, in conversations like these, my immediate reaction is fear and an intense desire to defend, defend, defend! But I'm trying to learn to be open and honest about both my beliefs and my doubts. So what I ended up saying was,
"Well, I think some Christians have always cared about nature. But yeah, we've ignored that passage for a long time, or yes, interpreted it differently. I don't know if it's so much culture changing Christianity as it is that culture revealed this problem that Christians had been blind to for so long. And maybe it wasn't a huge issue until lately. The human population just blindly abused the earth, and now we're starting to realize what problems we've caused. When a new problem arises, Christians have to go back to the Bible to see what it says about the issue. Maybe we didn't look too hard at Genesis 1:28 because it didn't seem necessary until lately."
I tend to talk before I know what I'm saying, but as I shared my opinion I realized, wow, yeah, this is definitely my opinion. The thing is, Christians cannot get every issue right. We are probably not even aware of fifty thousand issues we should be dealing with. And maybe that's okay. Maybe we are called to deal with the issues of our time, knowing that as we find the proper worldview about one particular thing, we're missing the boat on many other important conversations.
It reminds me of myself. For most of my time as a Christian, I have wanted to know everything and to act perfectly. It took a lot of humility for me to accept the fact that although I am justified before God, I am still in the process of being sanctified. A process that will not end any time while I'm alive. So if I am an imperfect person struggling to make sense of life and culture and faith, what would a community of imperfect people look like? The Church is simply a mass of people all struggling to make sense of life and culture and faith.
I am on a journey of sanctification, and Christianity is on its own thousands-year journey of sanctification. Sometimes we really look good as the representatives of Jesus, and sometimes we backslide into hatred and worldly pursuits, sometimes for decades in a row.
Although I would still like to be perfect, and I would like Christians as a whole to be perfect, I know neither of those things are going to happen any time soon. The best we can do is deal with the problems of today with as much grace and honesty as possible. I like what Aaron Weiss said in Daniel Radosh's book about Christian pop culture Rapture Ready!:
"Sometimes I see it like a ship that we're all trying to steer together. You set your course for truth, and if you see it going to one side, maybe it's your job to turn right. If you see it going to the other side, it's your job to turn left. I think if there were an overabundance of Christian culture emphasis on giving to the poor, serving the needy, visiting the prisoner and the orphan and the widow, and peacemaking, and so on, and there was never any mention of the need for prayer, the need for meditation, contemplation, fasting, the humility of confessing that ultimately it's not my efforts that are going to bring peace to the world--if the emphasis was flipped, I would probably be preaching more of that, about God's goodness in mysterious and esoteric ways. Whereas what I see is overemphasis on holy talk and I don't see any holy action, so I've got to try and put feet to our prayers, I've got to try to put hands and fingers to language."
Being a Christian is confusing and complicated, which shouldn't surprise anyone. Life is confusing and complicated. None of us have completely figured out how best to live, and well, if you think you have, I would suggest you haven't thought through all the implications of your worldview. Does that mean we should stop pursuing truth, because we can never fully attain it? Of course not. We should reach for truth and wrestle with doubts, all the while giving ourselves, and others, grace.
That's the only way we're going to survive this individual and communal journey of sanctification.
Roy was excited that environmentalism was being taught in a seminary, and honestly, I shared the story because I wanted to impress him. But he then took the conversation in another direction. "It's interesting that Christianity is changing. Do you think culture is changing it? Like, Christians see the culture caring about certain things, so they jump on board? Why else would people have ignored that passage for centuries? Why is it suddenly relevant now? Did people interpret it differently before? Why the change?"
My brother does not cut my faith or my brain any slack. And I'll be honest, in conversations like these, my immediate reaction is fear and an intense desire to defend, defend, defend! But I'm trying to learn to be open and honest about both my beliefs and my doubts. So what I ended up saying was,
"Well, I think some Christians have always cared about nature. But yeah, we've ignored that passage for a long time, or yes, interpreted it differently. I don't know if it's so much culture changing Christianity as it is that culture revealed this problem that Christians had been blind to for so long. And maybe it wasn't a huge issue until lately. The human population just blindly abused the earth, and now we're starting to realize what problems we've caused. When a new problem arises, Christians have to go back to the Bible to see what it says about the issue. Maybe we didn't look too hard at Genesis 1:28 because it didn't seem necessary until lately."
I tend to talk before I know what I'm saying, but as I shared my opinion I realized, wow, yeah, this is definitely my opinion. The thing is, Christians cannot get every issue right. We are probably not even aware of fifty thousand issues we should be dealing with. And maybe that's okay. Maybe we are called to deal with the issues of our time, knowing that as we find the proper worldview about one particular thing, we're missing the boat on many other important conversations.
It reminds me of myself. For most of my time as a Christian, I have wanted to know everything and to act perfectly. It took a lot of humility for me to accept the fact that although I am justified before God, I am still in the process of being sanctified. A process that will not end any time while I'm alive. So if I am an imperfect person struggling to make sense of life and culture and faith, what would a community of imperfect people look like? The Church is simply a mass of people all struggling to make sense of life and culture and faith.
I am on a journey of sanctification, and Christianity is on its own thousands-year journey of sanctification. Sometimes we really look good as the representatives of Jesus, and sometimes we backslide into hatred and worldly pursuits, sometimes for decades in a row.
Although I would still like to be perfect, and I would like Christians as a whole to be perfect, I know neither of those things are going to happen any time soon. The best we can do is deal with the problems of today with as much grace and honesty as possible. I like what Aaron Weiss said in Daniel Radosh's book about Christian pop culture Rapture Ready!:
"Sometimes I see it like a ship that we're all trying to steer together. You set your course for truth, and if you see it going to one side, maybe it's your job to turn right. If you see it going to the other side, it's your job to turn left. I think if there were an overabundance of Christian culture emphasis on giving to the poor, serving the needy, visiting the prisoner and the orphan and the widow, and peacemaking, and so on, and there was never any mention of the need for prayer, the need for meditation, contemplation, fasting, the humility of confessing that ultimately it's not my efforts that are going to bring peace to the world--if the emphasis was flipped, I would probably be preaching more of that, about God's goodness in mysterious and esoteric ways. Whereas what I see is overemphasis on holy talk and I don't see any holy action, so I've got to try and put feet to our prayers, I've got to try to put hands and fingers to language."
Being a Christian is confusing and complicated, which shouldn't surprise anyone. Life is confusing and complicated. None of us have completely figured out how best to live, and well, if you think you have, I would suggest you haven't thought through all the implications of your worldview. Does that mean we should stop pursuing truth, because we can never fully attain it? Of course not. We should reach for truth and wrestle with doubts, all the while giving ourselves, and others, grace.
That's the only way we're going to survive this individual and communal journey of sanctification.
I Abhor Scary Movies
I am the biggest movie wuss in the world. Poor Liz. We have extremely similar tastes in movies, except when she wants to see something realistic and I dig in my heels and refuse. Realistic like Argo or Zero Dark Thirty. Now, I have no doubt those are excellent movies. I even want to see them, but I know I won't be able to handle it. Realistic violence scares the crap out of me. And that terror exponentially increases when it comes to thrillers or horror movies. I can't handle it.
Not that I never tried. During the Indianola mission trip, when I was in middle school, there was a movie night in the Smith's hotel room. Being a fan of the Smiths, I went. Being a stupid middle schooler who wasn't yet self-aware, I stayed even when I found out they were watching What Lies Beneath. (I think that's what it was. It's supposed to be scary for bathtubs the way Psycho is scary for showers. I would google it, but I honestly don't want to see any pictures of horribleness, so I'm just going with my gut memory.)
Well. I couldn't handle it. Fairly quickly I slid off the bed into the two feet of space between bed and wall. I suppose that made me feel walled in and safe in a primal way. But even then I was terrified. So I spun around and sat facing the bedside table rather than the TV. I stayed in the room for the whole movie, not even looking at the screen. What an idiot. Even worse, I still jumped when everyone else did, because I was still terrified even when not watching it.
Yeesh. Also once I had nightmares after watching a preview for a scary movie.
Not that I never tried. During the Indianola mission trip, when I was in middle school, there was a movie night in the Smith's hotel room. Being a fan of the Smiths, I went. Being a stupid middle schooler who wasn't yet self-aware, I stayed even when I found out they were watching What Lies Beneath. (I think that's what it was. It's supposed to be scary for bathtubs the way Psycho is scary for showers. I would google it, but I honestly don't want to see any pictures of horribleness, so I'm just going with my gut memory.)
Well. I couldn't handle it. Fairly quickly I slid off the bed into the two feet of space between bed and wall. I suppose that made me feel walled in and safe in a primal way. But even then I was terrified. So I spun around and sat facing the bedside table rather than the TV. I stayed in the room for the whole movie, not even looking at the screen. What an idiot. Even worse, I still jumped when everyone else did, because I was still terrified even when not watching it.
Yeesh. Also once I had nightmares after watching a preview for a scary movie.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Friends Are Friends Forever If They Insult Each Other
One of my favorite parts about making a new friend is when I insult them for the first time. To be honest, their reaction is pretty indicative of how well our friendship will progress. If they take offense, there's not much of a future. If they laugh, it's gonna be fine. If they whip a witty retort back at me, we are gonna be BFFs so fast it hurts.
I say this because Jennie and Dusty are the absolute best at insulting me, and I love them for it. To be fair, I gave them a LOT of material to work with when I lived with them. Let me take you back, gentle readers, to the summer of 2008. Recently finished with my sophomore year of college and in need of a place in Jackson to stay for the summer, I crashed with the Hughes family.
I had only been there for a couple days when Jennie and Dusty had their friends over for dinner. I was still getting used to this advanced stage of friendship, since before living with them we were best described as close acquaintances. With the appearance of their friends, I was suddenly reminded that they were, in fact, quite a bit older than me. I was intimidated and quiet throughout dinner.
Smiling politely at what someone had said, I raised my glass to my lips. The ice was stuck to the bottom of the glass so I only got water. Just before I was about to set it down, the ice broke apart. The tsunami crashed into my face and soaked my shirt. I set the glass down and stared at everyone with a brightening red face. Everyone stared back at me, then glanced away as if it hadn't happened. Everyone except Jennie. She pointed, actually pointed, at me and burst into loud peals of laughter.
I was absolutely mortified. I beat a hasty retreat after dinner, feigning I still needed to do those Very Important Things on the internet, but I never forgot how Jennie laughed at my misfortune and treated me like a friend rather than a guest. They never forgot it either, those wonderful jerks.
I say this because Jennie and Dusty are the absolute best at insulting me, and I love them for it. To be fair, I gave them a LOT of material to work with when I lived with them. Let me take you back, gentle readers, to the summer of 2008. Recently finished with my sophomore year of college and in need of a place in Jackson to stay for the summer, I crashed with the Hughes family.
I had only been there for a couple days when Jennie and Dusty had their friends over for dinner. I was still getting used to this advanced stage of friendship, since before living with them we were best described as close acquaintances. With the appearance of their friends, I was suddenly reminded that they were, in fact, quite a bit older than me. I was intimidated and quiet throughout dinner.
Smiling politely at what someone had said, I raised my glass to my lips. The ice was stuck to the bottom of the glass so I only got water. Just before I was about to set it down, the ice broke apart. The tsunami crashed into my face and soaked my shirt. I set the glass down and stared at everyone with a brightening red face. Everyone stared back at me, then glanced away as if it hadn't happened. Everyone except Jennie. She pointed, actually pointed, at me and burst into loud peals of laughter.
I was absolutely mortified. I beat a hasty retreat after dinner, feigning I still needed to do those Very Important Things on the internet, but I never forgot how Jennie laughed at my misfortune and treated me like a friend rather than a guest. They never forgot it either, those wonderful jerks.
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