Who is to say that history students in 300 years won’t look back on the 20th century as a blip on the radar of humanity’s progress? Just as most textbooks and teachers gloss over the “dark ages” as a time when quite a few bloody things occurred, some important bits of information discovered and a handful of inventions made their way to the public, the 20th century could be viewed as a dark time before the light of a new millennia.
Ah ha, you might say. Where would the world be without the computer chip, the understanding of DNA and the atom, the internet? It’s only a beginning folks. At the time, I’m certain sailors believed their new gadgets that helped them navigate were the end all of useful inventions. Stretching before the children of the 21st century is a wealth of options, a veritable pirate’s cove of new discoveries.
There are those who bemoan the fate of the world, claiming that global warming or neo-malthusian population shifts will destroy the world for our future children.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Dear Young Life Leaders,
I don’t really know how to begin this, except to say thank you for being who you are. You see, Young Life isn’t really about what you do. Yes, it’s wonderful when you can show up to every game or practice…it’s awesome when you can spend long hours talking over coffee or just hanging out at the beach…and we all know it’s great when you can be there for a kid who needs a listening ear or a helping hand.
All of those things are awesome, but it’s who you are that shapes kids views of Christ. There’s an old Christian anthem “they will know we are Christians by our love, by our love…” and that’s how kids see Jesus in us…by our love. We don’t have time to bend over backward all the time for every kid; we can’t be replacement parents or friends. Ah, but Jesus has given us an amazing gift….we can love kids.
We talk about it a lot in Young Life….loving kids, no matter who they are or where they’re at. But, the truth of the matter is, some kids are more loveable to us than others. We “click” with some kids and roll our eyes at the antics of others. Somehow, we’re thrown into a room full of kids once a week and are given the opportunity to show Christ’s love to them.
We do it through crazy games and songs and heartfelt messages. We do it before and after club, when we’re out doing contact work and when we’re seeking to reconnect with kids who have walked away. We try and compress the gigantic, life-changing power of the gospel into brief messages and short conversations and we hope and pray that God will finish the work we’ve tried to help along.
But, friends, I want to remind you that being a Young Life leader is a privilege. Not only was the life changing work God completed in your life a gift at some point, but who you are today and tomorrow is His gift as well. Jesus said “love one another as I have loved you.” (ref) Every moment we switch into “Young Life leader mode” we’re getting another opportunity to love the kids around us…to love one another. It’s a bit overwhelming to try and love the whole world (the guy at the checkout counter seems a tad removed from my every day existence) but we get to model that love to a few kids.
I hate to break it to you, but God doesn’t need you to save the souls of kids in Orange County. If he chose, the rocks would cry out and sing a song so beautiful the world would have no choice but to listen. But instead, God gives us the honor of being part of the work of redemption. We get to stumble through songs at Club and struggle over the right words for club talks. We get to be a part of a very messy clean up of a very messy world.
This school year you will be tired. You will get sick of kids, sick of leaders, sick of trying to raise money and maybe even sick of God’s call to love those around you. But no matter what you do, no matter how you feel, I want you to know who you are. You are a child of the king, adopted into a family of believers, a great cloud of witnesses who are cheering you onto a lifetime of love. In Philippians, Paul talks a lot about joy in every situation, but one of my favorite verses is about plain old life.
Brothers, I don’t consider myself yet to have taken hold of it, but one thing I do, forgetting what’s behind and straining toward what is ahead….I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus
Friends, there’s a party going on in heaven…no matter how hard it gets, I want to make sure I can bring my high-school and jr. high friends with me, because I want to see them through Jesus’ eyes—through the eyes of a man who loved even though he knew everything that was wrong in the world, through the eyes of a God who created us to be the perfect versions of ourselves, and through the eyes of the one who looks on me and calls me His own.
Audience of One,
Katrina
All of those things are awesome, but it’s who you are that shapes kids views of Christ. There’s an old Christian anthem “they will know we are Christians by our love, by our love…” and that’s how kids see Jesus in us…by our love. We don’t have time to bend over backward all the time for every kid; we can’t be replacement parents or friends. Ah, but Jesus has given us an amazing gift….we can love kids.
We talk about it a lot in Young Life….loving kids, no matter who they are or where they’re at. But, the truth of the matter is, some kids are more loveable to us than others. We “click” with some kids and roll our eyes at the antics of others. Somehow, we’re thrown into a room full of kids once a week and are given the opportunity to show Christ’s love to them.
We do it through crazy games and songs and heartfelt messages. We do it before and after club, when we’re out doing contact work and when we’re seeking to reconnect with kids who have walked away. We try and compress the gigantic, life-changing power of the gospel into brief messages and short conversations and we hope and pray that God will finish the work we’ve tried to help along.
But, friends, I want to remind you that being a Young Life leader is a privilege. Not only was the life changing work God completed in your life a gift at some point, but who you are today and tomorrow is His gift as well. Jesus said “love one another as I have loved you.” (ref) Every moment we switch into “Young Life leader mode” we’re getting another opportunity to love the kids around us…to love one another. It’s a bit overwhelming to try and love the whole world (the guy at the checkout counter seems a tad removed from my every day existence) but we get to model that love to a few kids.
I hate to break it to you, but God doesn’t need you to save the souls of kids in Orange County. If he chose, the rocks would cry out and sing a song so beautiful the world would have no choice but to listen. But instead, God gives us the honor of being part of the work of redemption. We get to stumble through songs at Club and struggle over the right words for club talks. We get to be a part of a very messy clean up of a very messy world.
This school year you will be tired. You will get sick of kids, sick of leaders, sick of trying to raise money and maybe even sick of God’s call to love those around you. But no matter what you do, no matter how you feel, I want you to know who you are. You are a child of the king, adopted into a family of believers, a great cloud of witnesses who are cheering you onto a lifetime of love. In Philippians, Paul talks a lot about joy in every situation, but one of my favorite verses is about plain old life.
Brothers, I don’t consider myself yet to have taken hold of it, but one thing I do, forgetting what’s behind and straining toward what is ahead….I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus
Friends, there’s a party going on in heaven…no matter how hard it gets, I want to make sure I can bring my high-school and jr. high friends with me, because I want to see them through Jesus’ eyes—through the eyes of a man who loved even though he knew everything that was wrong in the world, through the eyes of a God who created us to be the perfect versions of ourselves, and through the eyes of the one who looks on me and calls me His own.
Audience of One,
Katrina
Sunday, August 5, 2007
CREATE
The teacher stood at the front of the classroom, presumably because she planned on imparting nuggets of wisdom to the impressionable youth before her. She turned to the white board behind her and slowly, almost languidly, she wrote 6 letters.
C-R-E-A-T-E.
The students glanced up from cell phone texting and writing notes at the bored. With a smirk one front-row student muttered “so we’re back in kindergarten craft time”
The teacher smiled, confident and content with her work. She reached for the meter stick. The student shuddered, expecting a blow. Instead, the teacher underlined the word, and opened her mouth to speak for the first time that semester.
“This is your syllabus. This word defines this course. If you learn this one thing, I will consider it to be a worthwhile semester.”
Nervous titters echoed throughout the classroom.
“Um…this is World History, right?” the smart-aleck in the first row asked, raising his hand as he grinned at his friends.
“Precisely. The study of History is an act of creation. Understanding is more than simple rote memorization, more than the ability to write a passable essay on past events. It is, and will forever be, an act of creation.”
The students began to pay attention. Several in the back row, consigned to the typical syllabus lecture, sat up and looked interested. A student from the middle of the classroom timidly raised her hand.
“So does this mean we don’t have any homework? Or that we’ll be doing creative histories? Could we do creative writing?”
Several students groaned when she gave possible homework assignments. The teacher smiled and filed away the girl’s face in order to keep track of which students might be needing an extra challenge. With a dramatic pause, the teacher turned away from the class and asked a string of questions that made the highschooler’s heads spin.
“How is a book made? How does one record, report or review an event that they have seen? How do we synthesize the information we know with the information we’ve been told? What’s the difference between learning something and, just knowing it? What have you seen or done that is worth recording for your kids or grandkids? Does a 15 year old’s opinion matter? Whose opinions matter? Who decides what goes into history books for future generations and what is lost forever? Does something have to be written down to leave an impression or memory? Why have we changed? What has changed? Is history fair to everyone or just the winners? What’s the point of history?”
Most of the class had glazed over at question number three, but a few struggled to comprehend, and a few more timidly raised their hands. With a gesture the teacher motioned their hands down.
“I’m afraid these aren’t the kinds of questions we can answer easily---it’s not like Sunday School—the answer can’t always be ‘Jesus!’ but we will look at them, and attempt to understand them as we go through this class—creating our personal stories as we try to grasp the history of our world and the human race.”
A student from the back of the class raised his hand to ask, “So are we going to have homework or not. I figured you should know that the first day you’re supposed to give us our syllabus with the homework for the semester.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that---we’ll create homework and study as we go along---finding what interests you and focusing on the important bits that will help us answer the questions I just asked. We’ll start today with an art project—mainly because I think it will force you to pay attention and you might learn something.”
She walked behind her desk and began pulling out supplies as she talked, a stack of paper, a book and a bag of chalk came out of the cupboard as she finished her introductory lecture.
“You see,” She said as she passed out the paper. “ art has been a huge part of human life since we first showed up on this planet. If you would please split into groups of three…” Her lecture was interrupted by the clamor of desks moving, students whispering and chairs scraping. “Each group will be assigned a project on a different ancient culture. If you get out your books you’ll be able to find out a bit about your culture, and if you search online you’ll find more. This book has an example of their artwork. At the end of this class I want each group to have a few bits of information on their culture and a sketch of what they plan to draw in chalk outside.
“Love is a flame, and the good teacher raises in students a burning desire for his or her approval and attention, his or her voice and presence, that is erotic in its urgency and intensity...the art of teaching consists not only of arousing desire but of redirecting it toward its proper object, from the teacher to the thing taught. Teaching, Yeats said, is lighting a fire, not filling a bucket, and this is how it gets lit.” (43, Love on Campus, Deresiewicz, William, The American Scholar Summer 2007)
Intellectual crushes, brain sex, eros of souls
“Your parents bring you into nature, but your teacher brings you into culture. Natural transmission is easy; any animal can do it. Cultural transmission is hard; it takes a teacher. (ibid 44)
“ what attracts professors to students then, is not their bodies but their souls. Young people are still curious about ideas, still believe in them—in their importance, their redemptive power. Socrates says in the Symposium that the hardest thing about being ignorant is that you’re content with yourself, but for many kids when they get to college, this is not yet true. They recognize themselves as incomplete, and they recognize, if only intuitively, that completion comes through eros. So they seek out professors with whom to have relationships and we seek them out in turn. Teaching, finally is about relationships. It is mentorship, not instruction. Socrates also says that the bond between teacher and student lasts a lifetime, even when the two are no longer together….. The Socratic relationship is so profoundly disturbing to our culture that it must be defused before it can be approached. Yet many thousands of kids go off to college every year hoping, at least timly, to experience it. It has become a kind of suppressed cultural memory, a haunting imaginative possibility. In our sex-stupified, anti-intellectual culture, the eros of souls has become the love that dares not speak its name.”
Why do I want to teach? Because I want to light a flame in my students, whether 5 or 25 that turns them toward the truth.
C-R-E-A-T-E.
The students glanced up from cell phone texting and writing notes at the bored. With a smirk one front-row student muttered “so we’re back in kindergarten craft time”
The teacher smiled, confident and content with her work. She reached for the meter stick. The student shuddered, expecting a blow. Instead, the teacher underlined the word, and opened her mouth to speak for the first time that semester.
“This is your syllabus. This word defines this course. If you learn this one thing, I will consider it to be a worthwhile semester.”
Nervous titters echoed throughout the classroom.
“Um…this is World History, right?” the smart-aleck in the first row asked, raising his hand as he grinned at his friends.
“Precisely. The study of History is an act of creation. Understanding is more than simple rote memorization, more than the ability to write a passable essay on past events. It is, and will forever be, an act of creation.”
The students began to pay attention. Several in the back row, consigned to the typical syllabus lecture, sat up and looked interested. A student from the middle of the classroom timidly raised her hand.
“So does this mean we don’t have any homework? Or that we’ll be doing creative histories? Could we do creative writing?”
Several students groaned when she gave possible homework assignments. The teacher smiled and filed away the girl’s face in order to keep track of which students might be needing an extra challenge. With a dramatic pause, the teacher turned away from the class and asked a string of questions that made the highschooler’s heads spin.
“How is a book made? How does one record, report or review an event that they have seen? How do we synthesize the information we know with the information we’ve been told? What’s the difference between learning something and, just knowing it? What have you seen or done that is worth recording for your kids or grandkids? Does a 15 year old’s opinion matter? Whose opinions matter? Who decides what goes into history books for future generations and what is lost forever? Does something have to be written down to leave an impression or memory? Why have we changed? What has changed? Is history fair to everyone or just the winners? What’s the point of history?”
Most of the class had glazed over at question number three, but a few struggled to comprehend, and a few more timidly raised their hands. With a gesture the teacher motioned their hands down.
“I’m afraid these aren’t the kinds of questions we can answer easily---it’s not like Sunday School—the answer can’t always be ‘Jesus!’ but we will look at them, and attempt to understand them as we go through this class—creating our personal stories as we try to grasp the history of our world and the human race.”
A student from the back of the class raised his hand to ask, “So are we going to have homework or not. I figured you should know that the first day you’re supposed to give us our syllabus with the homework for the semester.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that---we’ll create homework and study as we go along---finding what interests you and focusing on the important bits that will help us answer the questions I just asked. We’ll start today with an art project—mainly because I think it will force you to pay attention and you might learn something.”
She walked behind her desk and began pulling out supplies as she talked, a stack of paper, a book and a bag of chalk came out of the cupboard as she finished her introductory lecture.
“You see,” She said as she passed out the paper. “ art has been a huge part of human life since we first showed up on this planet. If you would please split into groups of three…” Her lecture was interrupted by the clamor of desks moving, students whispering and chairs scraping. “Each group will be assigned a project on a different ancient culture. If you get out your books you’ll be able to find out a bit about your culture, and if you search online you’ll find more. This book has an example of their artwork. At the end of this class I want each group to have a few bits of information on their culture and a sketch of what they plan to draw in chalk outside.
“Love is a flame, and the good teacher raises in students a burning desire for his or her approval and attention, his or her voice and presence, that is erotic in its urgency and intensity...the art of teaching consists not only of arousing desire but of redirecting it toward its proper object, from the teacher to the thing taught. Teaching, Yeats said, is lighting a fire, not filling a bucket, and this is how it gets lit.” (43, Love on Campus, Deresiewicz, William, The American Scholar Summer 2007)
Intellectual crushes, brain sex, eros of souls
“Your parents bring you into nature, but your teacher brings you into culture. Natural transmission is easy; any animal can do it. Cultural transmission is hard; it takes a teacher. (ibid 44)
“ what attracts professors to students then, is not their bodies but their souls. Young people are still curious about ideas, still believe in them—in their importance, their redemptive power. Socrates says in the Symposium that the hardest thing about being ignorant is that you’re content with yourself, but for many kids when they get to college, this is not yet true. They recognize themselves as incomplete, and they recognize, if only intuitively, that completion comes through eros. So they seek out professors with whom to have relationships and we seek them out in turn. Teaching, finally is about relationships. It is mentorship, not instruction. Socrates also says that the bond between teacher and student lasts a lifetime, even when the two are no longer together….. The Socratic relationship is so profoundly disturbing to our culture that it must be defused before it can be approached. Yet many thousands of kids go off to college every year hoping, at least timly, to experience it. It has become a kind of suppressed cultural memory, a haunting imaginative possibility. In our sex-stupified, anti-intellectual culture, the eros of souls has become the love that dares not speak its name.”
Why do I want to teach? Because I want to light a flame in my students, whether 5 or 25 that turns them toward the truth.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Summer Plans
I used to spend my summers walking my pig, cleaning pig pens, showing my pig at the Orange County fair, and napping in pig pens. Summer will never be that cool again.
Not that anyone reads these (hell, I rarely read these) but I'm currently home alone in a very large house with a very disgruntled cat inside, and a very cute dog outside, who, I'm quite certain would destroy the inside of this house if I let her in. She just has these eyes that look at me accusingly whenever I duck inside out of the heat. (I though June was supposed to be gloomy?) It's amusing to type out my impossible-y awesome summer plans as today was my last evening tutoring for the regular school year, and Monday marks the beginning of my life as a SAT/ Critical Reading teacher. Is there anything worse than forcing your children to go to school 4 days a week in the summer? Well, yes, there are children starving in every city of the world, literacy has gone down overall, Bush won't close the borders or end the war, teen suicide and pregnancy have remained stable for the last few years, the aftereffects of *my* hurricane are still devastating, droughts are occuring, the cures for cancer and AIDS respectively are far off and any treatment is far too expensive, genocide, racism, pedophilia, drug wars and murder fill the news.... okay--I concede the point that there are many things far worse than sending one's child to school in the summer, but still.
My Schedule:
Week 1: Teach 16 hrs, Tutor 1-10 hrs, Young Life Campaigners starts!
Week 2: Cabo San Lucas with Erin, read Harry Potter
Week 3: Teach & Tutor, watch Harry Potter, Campaigners
Week 4: Teach & Tutor, Baby Audrey baptised, see Mimi? Campaigners
Week 5: Woodleaf w/ some of my favorite people on the planet!
Week 6: Teach & Tutor, Dale-Bob comes, Campaigners, Kristin & Greg come home from Japan
Week 7: Teach & Tutor, go to CO to see Elisabeth, Mat & little Val @ the Lodge, Campaigners
Week 8: Teach & Tutor, last week of summer for my girls, Campaigners
Week 9: Classes begin @ Pepperdine
Week 10: Begin Student teaching
In other news, there are many people I recognize that I should call or email or hang out with, and I want you to know that I've recently discovered how amazing hiking with Zoe is around twilight, so I have, for all intents and purposes, put any form of social life on hold until it's too hot to hike to the top of my meadow and watch the sun go down. Those of you that I actually call or *gasp* visit, should feel very loved indeed.
Not that anyone reads these (hell, I rarely read these) but I'm currently home alone in a very large house with a very disgruntled cat inside, and a very cute dog outside, who, I'm quite certain would destroy the inside of this house if I let her in. She just has these eyes that look at me accusingly whenever I duck inside out of the heat. (I though June was supposed to be gloomy?) It's amusing to type out my impossible-y awesome summer plans as today was my last evening tutoring for the regular school year, and Monday marks the beginning of my life as a SAT/ Critical Reading teacher. Is there anything worse than forcing your children to go to school 4 days a week in the summer? Well, yes, there are children starving in every city of the world, literacy has gone down overall, Bush won't close the borders or end the war, teen suicide and pregnancy have remained stable for the last few years, the aftereffects of *my* hurricane are still devastating, droughts are occuring, the cures for cancer and AIDS respectively are far off and any treatment is far too expensive, genocide, racism, pedophilia, drug wars and murder fill the news.... okay--I concede the point that there are many things far worse than sending one's child to school in the summer, but still.
My Schedule:
Week 1: Teach 16 hrs, Tutor 1-10 hrs, Young Life Campaigners starts!
Week 2: Cabo San Lucas with Erin, read Harry Potter
Week 3: Teach & Tutor, watch Harry Potter, Campaigners
Week 4: Teach & Tutor, Baby Audrey baptised, see Mimi? Campaigners
Week 5: Woodleaf w/ some of my favorite people on the planet!
Week 6: Teach & Tutor, Dale-Bob comes, Campaigners, Kristin & Greg come home from Japan
Week 7: Teach & Tutor, go to CO to see Elisabeth, Mat & little Val @ the Lodge, Campaigners
Week 8: Teach & Tutor, last week of summer for my girls, Campaigners
Week 9: Classes begin @ Pepperdine
Week 10: Begin Student teaching
In other news, there are many people I recognize that I should call or email or hang out with, and I want you to know that I've recently discovered how amazing hiking with Zoe is around twilight, so I have, for all intents and purposes, put any form of social life on hold until it's too hot to hike to the top of my meadow and watch the sun go down. Those of you that I actually call or *gasp* visit, should feel very loved indeed.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Stagnating?
Some days I long for a really good argument about eschatology or the finer points of sanctification. Every so often I contemplate pulling my dusty N.T. Wright commentaries off the shelf or looking something up in Augustine. At church I take copious notes, reveling in newfound understanding concerning the fruit of the spirit and ponder the implications of the nature of God as seen in Exodus. I plan to write about the brilliant epiphanies I experience while walking my dog through the fog or on a sunny Saturday afternoon.
Instead of the theological pursuits and arguments I love so much---getting to the hows and whys of our beliefs about God---I have spent the last year seeking to live out the simple love of a God I still don’t understand. When faced with arguments as holey as swiss cheese, I smile and bring the conversation back to the gracious gift of God. When faced with an opportunity to give grand advice to kids who would do well to learn from my mistakes, I hug them and pray for wisdom instead.
I don’t really know when it happened, but at some point in the past year I learned how to shut up and keep my hand down. I used to love coming up with a random historical or linguistic tidbit in class to make myself seem smart in class. Now, my conversations center around Kim Possible, Avatar, Harry Potter and Zach Efron (“he’s so dreamy”) and I’m okay with that. My kids think I’m brilliant when I use three-syllable words, they get confused that I keep showing up, keep loving them and keep them around despite my “grown-up stuff.”
Strangely, I don’t feel like I’m stagnating---me who feared stagnation more than anything else! Instead I feel like, well, like a tree planted by still waters---not stagnant waters, but waters so abundant that I know that even a drought won’t drain them. Although I’ve been reading classic literature all year, the last time I opened a theology book for the intent of serious study was the week before graduation. I feel like I’m living the knowledge I learned in school—and even though returning to a life of study sounds good, I feel so….useful
Instead of the theological pursuits and arguments I love so much---getting to the hows and whys of our beliefs about God---I have spent the last year seeking to live out the simple love of a God I still don’t understand. When faced with arguments as holey as swiss cheese, I smile and bring the conversation back to the gracious gift of God. When faced with an opportunity to give grand advice to kids who would do well to learn from my mistakes, I hug them and pray for wisdom instead.
I don’t really know when it happened, but at some point in the past year I learned how to shut up and keep my hand down. I used to love coming up with a random historical or linguistic tidbit in class to make myself seem smart in class. Now, my conversations center around Kim Possible, Avatar, Harry Potter and Zach Efron (“he’s so dreamy”) and I’m okay with that. My kids think I’m brilliant when I use three-syllable words, they get confused that I keep showing up, keep loving them and keep them around despite my “grown-up stuff.”
Strangely, I don’t feel like I’m stagnating---me who feared stagnation more than anything else! Instead I feel like, well, like a tree planted by still waters---not stagnant waters, but waters so abundant that I know that even a drought won’t drain them. Although I’ve been reading classic literature all year, the last time I opened a theology book for the intent of serious study was the week before graduation. I feel like I’m living the knowledge I learned in school—and even though returning to a life of study sounds good, I feel so….useful
Monday, June 4, 2007
Sanding
I spent the afternoon sanding down the front-pieces of my dresser drawers. This ought to have been an easy job, but it wasn't. You see, when I was 14, I decided it would be SO COOL to sponge-paint my bedroom three different colors of blue. And well, a plain white dresser just seemed so sad with all that glorious color, so I painted the dresser drawers as well. Six years later, I was in college and a family friend offered to repaint the drawers back to a respectable white. Unfortunately, because of my poor teen painting skills, and his realization that simply painting the drawers wouldn't cut it, I am currently the owner of 6 blue front-pieces that look like they've been whitewashed. For the last two years, they've leaned against the wall in the back of my closet, and I've been content to live without a pretty dresser.
But, at some point in the last few months, I've brought them out of the closet and laid them on my bedroom floor, convinced that if they annoyed me enough, I would be forced to take action. As I have no responsibilities until 6:00 tonight, my jet-lag excuse is wearing thin, and I was disappointed with today's television line-up, I gathered my supplies and began to sand down the paint.
It really is shocking how much effort it takes to being something back to its original state, and I couldn't help but make a comparison between the paint that was peeling off and my own life. (And, as this is supposedly a blog about theology, I suppose a bit of that wouldn't hurt)
As a freshman in high school, many things seemed like grand ideas. My first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first chance to decorate my room to my heart's content... (All of which terrified my parents) It's been 8 years and I'm still cleaning up the messes. I realized today that, where my heart is concerned, I’ve just been adding whitewash over the original bitterness. I would typically describe myself as only having bouts of bitterness, but I find that instead I've just become excellent at lying to myself, adding another coat of whitewash and moving on.
The paint peeled off, revealing the original white beneath, and I realized that I've been avoiding the sanding process in my own life, claiming my relationships as the one thing I don't need to get around to yet. I thought if forgiveness is like the sanding process.... is it really something I'm willing to do? Remove all traces of the good times and the bad and just, well, forget?
One of the few chapel messages I can recall from my Christian University experience was about forgiveness--claiming that we don't necessarily "forgive and forget," because the pain will be there and we have to learn from our mistakes. At this point, I think I'm going to embrace the sanding method--one in which my Savior sands me down and removes all the whitewashed coats of "I'm okay with it now" and even the underlying layer of bitterness. I'm at a point where I want to forget their mistakes and my own--I want to hear their names and have absolutely no reaction--I want to be free of the bitterness.
Now, that's not to say that I want to go back to the way things were before anything happened. I like who I am, I like that I'm growing into a godly woman. My dresser will never look like it's right out of the factory again; I wouldn't want it to. It has a fun aged feel (that's so trendy these days) and the hours working on it weren't wasted. My drawers weren't able to fix themselves--at no point in the last 8 years were they capable of shaking off the (ugly) paint I applied. I serve a God who is even now peeling off my lies and bitterness and getting to the heart of the matter. I know that one day I will be made new--the equivalent of me going and getting a brand new dresser. Until that day, I pray that small renovations continue to occur; sanding me down into the person Jesus sees me as.
But, at some point in the last few months, I've brought them out of the closet and laid them on my bedroom floor, convinced that if they annoyed me enough, I would be forced to take action. As I have no responsibilities until 6:00 tonight, my jet-lag excuse is wearing thin, and I was disappointed with today's television line-up, I gathered my supplies and began to sand down the paint.
It really is shocking how much effort it takes to being something back to its original state, and I couldn't help but make a comparison between the paint that was peeling off and my own life. (And, as this is supposedly a blog about theology, I suppose a bit of that wouldn't hurt)
As a freshman in high school, many things seemed like grand ideas. My first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first chance to decorate my room to my heart's content... (All of which terrified my parents) It's been 8 years and I'm still cleaning up the messes. I realized today that, where my heart is concerned, I’ve just been adding whitewash over the original bitterness. I would typically describe myself as only having bouts of bitterness, but I find that instead I've just become excellent at lying to myself, adding another coat of whitewash and moving on.
The paint peeled off, revealing the original white beneath, and I realized that I've been avoiding the sanding process in my own life, claiming my relationships as the one thing I don't need to get around to yet. I thought if forgiveness is like the sanding process.... is it really something I'm willing to do? Remove all traces of the good times and the bad and just, well, forget?
One of the few chapel messages I can recall from my Christian University experience was about forgiveness--claiming that we don't necessarily "forgive and forget," because the pain will be there and we have to learn from our mistakes. At this point, I think I'm going to embrace the sanding method--one in which my Savior sands me down and removes all the whitewashed coats of "I'm okay with it now" and even the underlying layer of bitterness. I'm at a point where I want to forget their mistakes and my own--I want to hear their names and have absolutely no reaction--I want to be free of the bitterness.
Now, that's not to say that I want to go back to the way things were before anything happened. I like who I am, I like that I'm growing into a godly woman. My dresser will never look like it's right out of the factory again; I wouldn't want it to. It has a fun aged feel (that's so trendy these days) and the hours working on it weren't wasted. My drawers weren't able to fix themselves--at no point in the last 8 years were they capable of shaking off the (ugly) paint I applied. I serve a God who is even now peeling off my lies and bitterness and getting to the heart of the matter. I know that one day I will be made new--the equivalent of me going and getting a brand new dresser. Until that day, I pray that small renovations continue to occur; sanding me down into the person Jesus sees me as.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Let's Be 'Just Friends'
A Single Woman’s Declaration of Independence (or---the perfect “let’s just be friends” speech)
I choose to live my life as I do. It’s not that I hate men, or kids, or the idea of ever being in a relationship, but those things are not for right now.
It’s really not you, it’s me. I look in the mirror each morning wondering what I’ll be able to do. Yes, I want to look great and feel great about myself, but this is the time in my life where I get to do so very much. I don’t think you would slow me down or hold me back or squash my dreams on purpose, but I know myself, I know that I need a little time to just be me, not to be known as _____’s girlfriend or fiancé or wife.
I don’t half ass things. I’m incapable of it. Right now I’m giving 100% to school, to work, to my friends, to my Young Life girls, to church, and to my family. You deserve more than someone who will come to lean on you because she can’t lean on anyone else.
When I fall in love, it will be forever, or I’ll never fall in love… When I let myself fall, you can bet I’ll fall hard and that guy will be the lucky one who gets all the massages, gets to sample all my baking, gets to (?) laugh with me through all the silly times and all the serious times, and gets all my heart. I’ve saved it. Yes, it’s been battered a bit, torn up a tad and kicked around a couple of times, but it still has the capability of being fiercely devoted, passionate and gentle.
It’s not that I think that I can do better than you. Part of me wonders if there even could be someone out there that could fit me so well, but there’s a part of me that knows that now is not the time. If you’re not the guy God has planned for me to love, then that man must be amazing.
Distance is an issue, and I don’t think it ought to be, at least not with real love. If you’re the one fated to put up with me for the rest of my life I have no doubt that the opportunity will arise for us to grow together, but I can see that that’s not happening anytime soon.
I believe that God has a plan for both of us. I believe that if we live according to his good, perfect and pleasing will, then we’ll both look back on this as a time of growth, not heartbreak.
I choose to live my life as I do. It’s not that I hate men, or kids, or the idea of ever being in a relationship, but those things are not for right now.
It’s really not you, it’s me. I look in the mirror each morning wondering what I’ll be able to do. Yes, I want to look great and feel great about myself, but this is the time in my life where I get to do so very much. I don’t think you would slow me down or hold me back or squash my dreams on purpose, but I know myself, I know that I need a little time to just be me, not to be known as _____’s girlfriend or fiancé or wife.
I don’t half ass things. I’m incapable of it. Right now I’m giving 100% to school, to work, to my friends, to my Young Life girls, to church, and to my family. You deserve more than someone who will come to lean on you because she can’t lean on anyone else.
When I fall in love, it will be forever, or I’ll never fall in love… When I let myself fall, you can bet I’ll fall hard and that guy will be the lucky one who gets all the massages, gets to sample all my baking, gets to (?) laugh with me through all the silly times and all the serious times, and gets all my heart. I’ve saved it. Yes, it’s been battered a bit, torn up a tad and kicked around a couple of times, but it still has the capability of being fiercely devoted, passionate and gentle.
It’s not that I think that I can do better than you. Part of me wonders if there even could be someone out there that could fit me so well, but there’s a part of me that knows that now is not the time. If you’re not the guy God has planned for me to love, then that man must be amazing.
Distance is an issue, and I don’t think it ought to be, at least not with real love. If you’re the one fated to put up with me for the rest of my life I have no doubt that the opportunity will arise for us to grow together, but I can see that that’s not happening anytime soon.
I believe that God has a plan for both of us. I believe that if we live according to his good, perfect and pleasing will, then we’ll both look back on this as a time of growth, not heartbreak.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Beginnings
I came to a rather unfortunate (and slightly terrifying) conclusion yesterday: All of my theology comes from Young Adult fiction like Madeline L'engle books. I say it's a rather unfortunate conclusion, because, well, I did study theology in college, and I'm pretty sure Danielle and I spent a significant amount of time in Philosophical Theology last year questioning our existence, and that means I wasted angst on something that I was okay with.
I suppose it's terrifying because, well, have you read young adult fiction like "A Swiftly Tilting Planet" or ""Many Waters?" It'll screw with your head. :) I guess I mention this because I found my journals from last year. Poor Mallinson, poor Christy, and poor Brian and Dave listened to me waver back and forth between Calvinism and Arminianism, grace and truth, and a myriad of other subjects that are, as Mallinson always said, "play."
One would think I might have figured this out ages ago, I mean, my dad is, as Patrick says "a man's man" whom I adore and love to go explore Catalina and Disneyland with.... In "A Wrinkle in Time" L'Engle talks about Meg's relationship with her dad, "She knew that if her father could not get through the wall he would stay with her rather than leave her; she as safe as long as she was in his arms." (152) I was blessed to grow up with a dad that has lived that out for me, but it's the words of the books I read at age 7 that stuck with me.
When I'm talking to Young Life kids, I don't use the language we bantered about at CCU or in the common rooms at Oxford, I lean heavily on Narnia, and Eragon and the Wallace kids and the Bloodstone Chronicles. My view of the world was shaped by Anne and Laura Ingalls, Mrs Frisby, the Cooper kids and Nancy Drew. I steeped in children's literature, my brush with theology has only lasted a few years.
I suppose it's terrifying because, well, have you read young adult fiction like "A Swiftly Tilting Planet" or ""Many Waters?" It'll screw with your head. :) I guess I mention this because I found my journals from last year. Poor Mallinson, poor Christy, and poor Brian and Dave listened to me waver back and forth between Calvinism and Arminianism, grace and truth, and a myriad of other subjects that are, as Mallinson always said, "play."
One would think I might have figured this out ages ago, I mean, my dad is, as Patrick says "a man's man" whom I adore and love to go explore Catalina and Disneyland with.... In "A Wrinkle in Time" L'Engle talks about Meg's relationship with her dad, "She knew that if her father could not get through the wall he would stay with her rather than leave her; she as safe as long as she was in his arms." (152) I was blessed to grow up with a dad that has lived that out for me, but it's the words of the books I read at age 7 that stuck with me.
When I'm talking to Young Life kids, I don't use the language we bantered about at CCU or in the common rooms at Oxford, I lean heavily on Narnia, and Eragon and the Wallace kids and the Bloodstone Chronicles. My view of the world was shaped by Anne and Laura Ingalls, Mrs Frisby, the Cooper kids and Nancy Drew. I steeped in children's literature, my brush with theology has only lasted a few years.
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