iPod shuffle meme: taken from the 'net
Rules: set your iPod or media player of choice to shuffle and answer each question with the song that comes up! Then repost the answers in a note of your own. No Cheating!
Click on the song titles to see the lyrics.
What do your friends think about you:
And So It Goes (Billy Joel)
Hmmm....interesting...I don't know that I'd mind that...but it seems like it'd be more a theme song for me, rather than others' perception of me. Oh well. I love the song anyway.
What do you dream about:
Everywhere I Go (Five Iron Frenzy)
Ha! For some reason this cracks me up. I dream about a love song made popular by Amy Grant, redone as ska by FIF? Cool. On a more serious note, if you take the words to the song, and the way I always interpreted them(spiritual allegory)....hmmm. Interesting.
What's the theme song to your life:
Million Pieces (Newsboys)
Again, hmmmm, interesting.
What was your high school like:
Walk Through the Fire (Once More With Feeling, from the Buffy Episode)
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So true!!!!!!!! Mot applicable line from the song: "These endless days are finally ending in a blaze!"
How do you feel right now:
I'm Waiting For You (Michael W. Smith)
Hmmm. For one thing, it's weird so many Christian songs are coming up on mine, I actually listen to very few Christian artists.
But this one....does seem to fit my thoughts lately...
When you get older your life will be:
Listen to Your Heart--dance mix (DHT)
Well, that doesn't exactly bode well for my love life, does it?
Your angry song is:
No Rain (Blind Melon)
WTH???? I love the song, but...angry? I knew my emotions were all screwed up but this is ridiculous! :)
Your love song is:
I Lost On Jeopardy (Weird Al)
Yep. I'm completely screwed up. :P
Your happy song is:
Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard (Paul Simon)
I'm really getting worried now..... *whimpers in corner*
How you feel about your boyfriend/ girlfriend:
Rock Around the Clock (Bill Hawley and the Smoots--500 respect points for the reference)
I don't even HAVE a boyfriend, but if I did, I would hope we would want to rock around the clock to some good Oldies.
What your bf/gf [husband] thinks about you:
The Dark Night of the Soul (Loreena McKennitt)
Hmmm......Again, given my thoughts these past few months, this is...interesting.
What your style says about you:
Go and Sin No More (Rebecca St. James)
Um................................No comment.
How is your love life:
Summer Nights (Grease soundtrack)
My music lies! It lies! *smashes Yahoo music player*
Seriously though, that was funny...now to pass it on!
Tagging: Liz, Anne, Andrea, Marcy, and Miriam! Please post a comment on my blog when you've responded.
Thursday, May 17
Sweet!
After taking an online test for reading speed, it looks like I read 600-650 words per minute (average reading speed is 200-250wpm). I bet when I'm really into my groove (which takes about 3 minutes) I'm reading even faster.
That makes me very happy!
Wednesday, May 16
Happy happy happy day!!
Pan's Labyrinth came out on DVD yesterday!!!!!!!! I think I'll make a stop by the store on my way home.....
Tuesday, May 15
Computer help?
Actually, I need help buying a computer. I want a Mac laptop, but I don't want to pay for a new one. Here's my question:
Should I try to get one from eBay? Or other online sites for used computers? Or would that just be a really bad idea?
Monday, May 14
Thoughts on a Sabbatical....
Technically, the sabbatical mentioned here is the one that my parish priest is on right now (thanks be to God! He knows the good father needs a break!) but I have been thinking about some things recently.
First off, this article. I think my dad had me read it when a beloved pastor was attacked when I was in high school (still working on completely forgiving those in our church who did that to him). I highly recommend it; I'm not sure I would have believed that there were such people in the church until I saw them in action myself.
After seeing what happened in that church, I determined that I wanted to fight the CKs whereever they tried to do that sort of thing again. I wanted to do whatever I could to encourage pastors and clergy members; while one compliment or encouragement may not count for much, it is at least something.
I don't know if it works. I do what I can to encourage the priests in my church, but I have no idea if it's effective. I don't know that that matters; every little drop in the bucket helps. I don't know if my parish has any active "clergy killers"-- it's likely, but I certainly don't want to know who they are. But I do know that modern society is not friendly to pastors these days. To cite the previous article, :
"There is a general distrust of authority figures of any kind. There is biblical and theological illiteracy in the pews. This means parishioners do not understand God's purposes, and the dynamics of spiritual leadership. There is a general sense of entitlement growing in the church, in which church members feel entitled to comfort and privilege. And if a pastor does not please them, they are free to criticize and punish. There is a growing business mentality in the church, which says that if the CEO (pastor) does not produce, he should be fired. There is mobility among parishioners. This means they feel little loyalty to the "peace and unity of the church." For they will soon move on, without having to deal with the consequences of their irresponsible behavior. And, as has been mentioned, we are not training pastors to handle conflict, nor support themselves in survival situations."
God have mercy on us.
Tuesday, May 8
Reason #508 why I love my job
The Big Boss just came by and handed me a rubber chicken keychain, and said, "I thought this looked like something you would enjoy!"
Thursday, May 3
The Quotable Roommates:
(this conversation is probably only funny if you've been playing GuitarHeroII for two weeks)
Liz: I still have a set and a half before the final encore on this level....
Joi: Ha! And then you have to play Freebird!
Liz: No! I don't want to think about Freebird! I want butterflies! Butterflies! *flaps arms*
Joi: And then the Freebird will sweep down out of the sky, snatch your butterflies up, and EAT THEM!
Liz: *sings* And the Freebird comes in the NIIIIIIIIIGHT!
(this conversation is probably only funny if you've been playing GuitarHeroII for two weeks)
Liz: I still have a set and a half before the final encore on this level....
Joi: Ha! And then you have to play Freebird!
Liz: No! I don't want to think about Freebird! I want butterflies! Butterflies! *flaps arms*
Joi: And then the Freebird will sweep down out of the sky, snatch your butterflies up, and EAT THEM!
Liz: *sings* And the Freebird comes in the NIIIIIIIIIGHT!
Thursday, April 26
Shamelessly stolen from the Kurt Jester's blog...
- Go to IMDB.com and look up 10 of your favourite movies.
- Post five (5) official IMDB "Plot Keywords" for these 10 picks.
- Have your friends guess the movie titles.
- Then tag three people
- Post five (5) official IMDB "Plot Keywords" for these 10 picks.
- Have your friends guess the movie titles.
- Then tag three people
In random order...
1. Peril / Famous Score / Christ Figure / Undead / Melodrama
2. / Weightlifting / Rain / Mirror Showing Monster
4. Breeding / Psychopath / Sordidness / Hitler Worship / Repellant
5. H.P. Lovecraft / Fire / Mutation / New England
7. Good Versus Evil / Cynic / Humor / Courage / Tyrant
8. Ford Model T / Desert / Car Crash / Secret Past / Loyalty
9. Raven / Hero / Turns Into Animal / Turned To Stone / 14th Century
Good luck! I'm especially interested in hearing your gueses for number 4.....
Tagging: Liz, Andrea, Rachel!
Thursday, April 19
Augh, I've been tagged!!
A - Available/Single?
Single, yes. Available, no.
B - Best Friend?
Rachel!
Single, yes. Available, no.
B - Best Friend?
Rachel!
C - Cake or Pie?
Cheesecake.
D - Drink of Choice?
Hmmmm........non-alcholic would beVernor's; alcoholic would probably be a Mai Thai. Yummy.....
E - Essential Item You Use Everyday?
Comb. When you have 3 feet of hair, it's a necessity.
F - Favorite Color
Purple!!!!!!
G - Gummy Bears or Worms?
Generally, worms. You can tie them up in knots, eat them in sections by color, etc.
E - Essential Item You Use Everyday?
Comb. When you have 3 feet of hair, it's a necessity.
F - Favorite Color
Purple!!!!!!
G - Gummy Bears or Worms?
Generally, worms. You can tie them up in knots, eat them in sections by color, etc.
H - Hometown?
In Texas, Hereford. In California, the whole La Mirada/Fullerton/Placentia area.
I - Indulgence?
Get thee behind me, Tetzel! (50 respect points if you get this joke) *joins in singing with Liz* No you won't get to Heaven....on roller skates...no you won't get to heaven...on roller skaaaaaates...no you won't get to Heaven on roller skates, you'll roll right by those pearly gates....
J - January or February?
February. RAIN!!!!! And COLD!!!!! YAYYYY!
K - Kids & Their Names
None. But I do have two godchildren, one boy in Texas--I think his name is Cody. I've been out of contact with his mom for awhile, so I can't quite remember. And of course, Lucy Motte, the most beautiful baby EVER.
L - Life Is Incomplete Without?
I agree with Liz on this one. But for the sake of difference, I will say...beauty
M - Marriage Date?
3:15 pm the day after never.
N - Number Of Siblings?
1 sister.
O - Oranges or Apples?
Gala apples with cheddar cheese!
P - Phobias/Fears
Money and paperwork.
Q - Favorite Quote?
"Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup."
R - Reason to Smile?
I have a new hat!
S - Season?
Winter!
T - Tag Three People
Rachel, Marcy, and Adam, if he happens to read my blog.
U - Unknown Fact About Me?
Hmmmmm...I could tell you, but then it wouldn't be a secret anymore!
V - Vegetables You Don't Like?
BRUSSELS SPROUTS
W - Worst Habit?
Not exercising and eating total junk,
X - X-rays You've Had?
teeth
Y - Your Favorite Food?
hmmm.....Trader Joe's French Onion Soup? It depends on what I'm in the mood for. Casseroles. I like casseroles.
Z - Zodiac Sign?
Cancer
Wednesday, April 18
Prayer needed
Hello friends;
I would really appreciate it if all of you could be praying for me today. My finances have gotten very bad lately, and it's getting pretty serious. Please pray that I don't panic, and that I can just keep my head and deal with things.
Monday, April 9
You got 100% correct
You are a Church history expert. You know more than the average Catholic. You probably even have a love of Latin. Which your knowledge, you should consider teaching religious education classes, if you don't already.
How well do you know the history of the Catholic Church
Create a Quiz
Which is funny, since I'm an Anglican.
Monday, April 2
Letter from an Anglican to her Catholic and Orthodox Brethren:
As a high church Anglican, I watch the American province of my church fall apart with horror. I grieve for it everyday. And yet, when I hear the mainline Protestant denominations mocking us, it hurts. When I hear my Catholic and Orthodox brothers and sisters using my church as a term of derision, it wounds to the core of my being.
I am writing this, not knowing it any of you will see it, to ask you to please stop chiding us, and start praying for us. How can we mend if you who have remained strong do not pray for us?
We want to be unified again. We want to be strong. We want to be one with you, but right now, we cannot. Are we to be blamed because we will not give up our church for lost? Adding schism to heresy helps no-one but the Enemy. We love our church, its history, ethos, and traditons; we want to bring these things to you as gifts, not as burdens to be disposed of. There is still so much good in the Anglican Communion as a whole: more good than bad, in fact.
We love the Sacraments, and it wounds us that we cannot share in them with you at this time; at the same time, we acknowledge that the differences between us are real, and not to be dismissed lightly in the name of superficial unity. We do, howeve,r have one Lord, one Faith, and one Baptist, one Sacrament of Body and Blood, one apostolic priesthood. We are your brothers, though we have been apart for so long. We are of the same Body.
Hang on to us in your prayers; do not forget us. We love deeply, hope greatly, and believe strongly; pray for us. Help us to keep believing, and to remain where God has put us as salt and light. Stop laughing at our troubles, and try to love us again.
Remember us always to God.
Tuesday, March 27
This is an old story of mine; I'm still working on it, and have nevergotten it right. Maybe it needs to be put into verse, or maybe just images. I'm not quite sure. But here is the latest version of the story, based on the 5 wise virgins and 5 foolish virgins from Matthew.
Rachel had looked forward to this day for as long as she could remember. The wedding day. Not hers, of course: no one had ever sought her out, but the wedding for her best friend. His family had lived next door to Rachel's for as long as she could remember. They'd played in the dusty streets as children; she'd heard him talk about his wedding day for many years. "When I come for my bride, it will be the happiest day in the world," he boasted, "and everyone in town will be there to help me celebrate. Rachel, you'll be sure to come too, right?" She'd promised she would, with all the faith her 9-year-old heart could muster.
The day came when he left, riding off on his father's donkey, to begin to build the house for his bride. When asked--as he often was--who was the lucky girl he'd chosen, his face would break into a huge smile. "She's the most beautiful girl in the world. And when we are married, everyone will see."
Some people expected Rachel to be sad that she was not the bride herself, but she wasn't. "I could never be a bride for him," she confided to her sister. "I'm not nearly good enough for him, and he needs the very best." Her heart ached for him sometimes, but she remembered his generosity and openness, and resolved to give up her friend, so that he might be happy with his bride and family.
Finally, the day of the wedding arrived. Rachel and her four sisters packed their lamps, their oil, and set out towards the house where the marriage party was expected to arrive. The day passed quietly, everyone hushed with expectation. As night drew near, Rachel and her sisters lit their lamps, determined to be awake when the groom arrived. The night dragged on, the stars lifting themselves above the horizon; Rachel sat in the quiet of the night, simply waiting to see the lights of the party coming down the road. In the darkest part of the night, over the horizon, she finally saw a faint glow. It came up the road, and resolved itself into the lights of the party; she could even hear the laughter and shouts of the groom as he made his way to the house. "Quickly!" Rachel shook her sisters into alertness; they began to rummage hurriedly for the small jars of oil for their lamps. A series of quiet wails arose from across the crowded courtyard. Rachel looked over to see a group of girls, lamps sputtering and flickering. "Does anyone have any oil? Our lamps are about to go out!" Rachel's sisters all shook their heads; no-one had thought of bringing more than she needed for her own lamp.
As the procession wound around the house and entered the gates, Rachel hurried across the courtyard and knelt beside the most distraught of the girls. "Here," she whispered, pouring most of her oil into the girl's lamp. "Quickly now, or you'll miss the party!" The girl leapt to her feet with a shy smile and ran inside to join the party. Rachel got up, but as she ran, her own lamp flickered, guttered, and then went out. Looking up, Rachel saw the gates of the house close, and the courtyard was plunged into complete darkness. Only the faintest hint of song leaked through the stone walls and into the silence outside.
Rachel fell to her knees on the hard stones and wept. She had never felt so dark and cold as she did now, shut out from the joy of the wedding feast. What seemed like hours later, she felt a touch on her shoulders, and looked up to see the groom standing there, smiling down at her. "Get up, Rachel, it's time to go in to the feast."
"But...but...I have no light, I cannot go."
He laughed then, eyes alit and dancing. " How can you say that you have no light? Look!"
He pullled her hands away from her face, and as she looked down, she saw a warm light, like a live coal, burning in her heart. The light grew and brightened, casting its glow on the cold pavement of the courtyard.
"Arise, and come away, Rachel. The winter is past, the rains are gone. Come in to the Feast."
As she rose numbly to her feet, he took her hand, and opened the doors, and she stepped into the light, the Bride coming home at last.
Friday, March 23
Cemetery Crawling
Yesterday, I took a half-day off work and went "cemetery crawling" with Father David, my priest. We've both found that there are precious few people in the world who enjoy walking through cemeteries, looking at the tombstones and memorials. Fortunately, I was brought up wandering through old cemeteries, so I'm used to it, and love it.
We actually started off the day, after a long drive down the freeway, at Cotter's Church Supplies. This was a huge store full of just about everything needed for a liturgical church. We were there to look at travelling Mass kits and albs; but while Father David did serious shopping, I wandered over to the art/icon section. I saw one of my favorite paintings there, Dali's The Sacrament of the Last Supper. It's a lovely painting, but I question its appropriateness for church use. I'm still not quite sure why it was there. Same with his depiction of The Christ of St. John of the Cross. But below the questionable artwork, they had a table full of icons.
It's no secret that I love icons. I'm inexpressibly glad that the 7th Council affirmed their use by the faithful. They had most of the standard icons: the Holy Face, the Sweet-Kissing Virgin, Archangel Michael; but they had another icon that I've only seen once---I keep a small version in my purse--the Nymphios(Bridegroom). This is a depiction of Christ with his robe and crown of thorns from the Passion, but he does not sad or beaten. Instead, he holds his head high, and stands with dignity. In this image, Christ is the Bridegroom, and His Passion is His wedding feast.
I love this odd little picture. I'm glad I have a copy of it. Most girls carry a picture of someone they love in their purse; I think that He is probably going to be the only Bridegroom in my life, and so to remeber that--and to learn to love Him better--I carry the icon.
When Fr.David moved over to look at the albs, I started browsing through the vestments, and made a discovery: Modern vestments are REALLY BORING. They tend to be made of cheaper, plain cloth, with abstract designs woved or printed onto them. I found one or two stoles that were of brocade, and a few that had good images embroidered into them, but most were excruciatingly boring (or worse, politcally correct and ugly). Fr. David pointed out that at least when the old-fashioned stuff is out of style, it's cheaper to buy! It seems that truth and beauty go together; when you give up one, you forfeit the other. We must hold firm to both, or risk being both wrong and ugly.
The high points of the trip came after we left the store, and found the cemeteries. The first was Rosedale, just a short drive from Cotter's. You drive along a red brick wall to the entrance, then pass through old iron gates. The gravestones are mostly old, and many are carved and engraved in distinct designs. The ground is a little uneven, so the stones are all pointing slightly different directions, like the masts of ships in a dock. The first grave we stopped at was Hattie McDaniel; the famous African-American actress from Gone With the Wind. Her stone was very simple and plain, without even a date of death on it. Then we walked down the little path to the grave of a lady that Father David knew; he'd been there for her graveside service 18 years ago, but had never been back. It took us a little searching to find the stone, but finally we saw the one we were looking for: Mabel Klint.
After reading a prayer from the BOCP, we stood for a moment, looking at what is probably the only memorial to a saintly lady; I noticed a small spider crawling across the stone. For some reason, that spider was....well, not comforting per se, but...I guess I felt content as I watched it. No matter what I do, whether I follow God with all my heart or fail in every attempt, this is how I will be someday. There will be spiders that crawl across the stone on my grave too...and it's a good thing. I will join the other saints--God willing and God helping--and no-one will remember me. And it is good.
After leaving Rosedale, we consulted the maps and plotted a course to bring us to Holy Cross cemetery, where the Catholic author and film producer Myles Connolly is buried. Connolly is most famous for his book, Mr. Blue, but also worked in Hollywood. In fact, one of his other books, Dan England and the Noonday Devil, was more influential to me than Mr. Blue. Holy Cross is much more organized than Rosedale, and it is pretty, but it just doesn't have the character of Rosedale. The gravestones were all flat and set flush into the hillsides, the lawns were perfectly groomed; again, very nice, but not as...real. Myles Connolly is buried, with his wife, just behind a large statue of the Virgin and Child. It's a very simple stone, with their names and important dates on it. I wondered, while standing there, if anyone else ever comes by to pay their respects. Visiting gravesites isn't done much anymore, except as a tourist attraction. Once they're buried, we forget. And we, in our turn, are forgotten.
I think this is part of why I visit the Hortons every month. I don't want them to be forgotten; as long as I come visit, someone knows their stories, someone remembers what they did, and someone is grateful. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to pass that on to someone else, and they will remember. But even if no-one remembers, and all that the Hortons did is forgotten, it will still stand, and God will remember. And so with me, and so with Blessed Sacrament, and so with the world.
Selah, Amen.
Tuesday, March 20
Monday, March 19
Ok, so hopefully this blogging by email thing will work for me; I hate not being able to blog. I really like this function; it lets me blog at work!
Not much going on today; my shoulder hurts like the dickens whenever I move it. I was sitting on the couch the other night, and when I attempted to get up, my foot snagged on some loose piping on the couch cushion, and I hit the floor pretty hard. I'm grateful that I didn't hit my head, but my shoulder is still having issues from that fall!
I wish I knew why I'm so irate today. I think it's just the whole "I never get to be anywhere quiet" thing; people talk to me all day long at work, then I come home to more noise (usually at least 4 people, often 6, in a little bitty 2-room apartment) and it's NEVER QUIET. I think it's getting to me, so I'm going to try going quiet places after work, instead of heading straight home. It's sad that I can't get any peace and quiet at home, but be that as it may.....
Friday, March 2
Meditations on a sunset
I love sunsets. I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't like them. I remember sitting up on the roof of my house, realizing for the first time how the sunset turns all the houses and trees to gold for a few minutes before the glory fades. And here, where the sunset lingers longer, I love to watch the windows of the houses reflect the glorious final rays of the daylight.
After you watch sunsets for a while, you begin to notice something: if you turn your back to the sun, everything seems full of light. If you face the sun, everything around you is dark.
If you stand with your back firmly to the light, everything around you will reflect the light back, flaming signposts to direct your attention back to the sun. Every created thing tries to reflect the sun, in a desperate attempt to get you to turn around and look into the light; but all too often, we want to look at the reflection in the trees, and grass, and houses, and people, rather than at the light itself.
But when we turn to the light, everything else is dark, and we stand in shadows. We cannot see the glory reflected in anything, and the light itself burns our eyes, so we squint and our eyes well with tears. The world that was so beautiful becomes a valley of the shadow, and we can hardly bear it. But then we lift our eyes to the sun and all the other things fade away. We stand transfixed by the light, souls straining to fly away into the west.
At that final sunset, the trees will shout with the green gold of their leaves, the mountains will boom with the glory of God, and the houses will all burn with the flames of the sun, calling us all to turn towards the light. If we love too much the light of the world, and refuse to turn to the Light, we will go down into the final darkness. But if we lose the glories of this world to turn into the light, all around us will become enveloped in that glorious light, that will have the glories of the sunset, and all the promise of the dawn.
I love sunsets. I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't like them. I remember sitting up on the roof of my house, realizing for the first time how the sunset turns all the houses and trees to gold for a few minutes before the glory fades. And here, where the sunset lingers longer, I love to watch the windows of the houses reflect the glorious final rays of the daylight.
After you watch sunsets for a while, you begin to notice something: if you turn your back to the sun, everything seems full of light. If you face the sun, everything around you is dark.
If you stand with your back firmly to the light, everything around you will reflect the light back, flaming signposts to direct your attention back to the sun. Every created thing tries to reflect the sun, in a desperate attempt to get you to turn around and look into the light; but all too often, we want to look at the reflection in the trees, and grass, and houses, and people, rather than at the light itself.
But when we turn to the light, everything else is dark, and we stand in shadows. We cannot see the glory reflected in anything, and the light itself burns our eyes, so we squint and our eyes well with tears. The world that was so beautiful becomes a valley of the shadow, and we can hardly bear it. But then we lift our eyes to the sun and all the other things fade away. We stand transfixed by the light, souls straining to fly away into the west.
At that final sunset, the trees will shout with the green gold of their leaves, the mountains will boom with the glory of God, and the houses will all burn with the flames of the sun, calling us all to turn towards the light. If we love too much the light of the world, and refuse to turn to the Light, we will go down into the final darkness. But if we lose the glories of this world to turn into the light, all around us will become enveloped in that glorious light, that will have the glories of the sunset, and all the promise of the dawn.
Tuesday, February 20
Lent is almost upon us, and you can smell the anticipation in the air. Oh, no, sorry, that's not anticipation, it's just pancakes.
I don't know if anybody else ever looks forward to Lent, but I do. Sure, the novelty wears off by the second week of it, and it's difficult and uncomfortable. But it's also a nice quiet time, a time of resting and preparing, of thinking and praying. It's nice to be coerced into being quiet and simple for a few weeks. We all benefit from it, even if we don't like it.
So, go to confession tonight, eat some pancakes, and get ready to fast!
I don't know if anybody else ever looks forward to Lent, but I do. Sure, the novelty wears off by the second week of it, and it's difficult and uncomfortable. But it's also a nice quiet time, a time of resting and preparing, of thinking and praying. It's nice to be coerced into being quiet and simple for a few weeks. We all benefit from it, even if we don't like it.
So, go to confession tonight, eat some pancakes, and get ready to fast!
Monday, February 19
I can't believe this.
In my effort to eat more healthy stuff, I've been shopping at Trader Joe's lately. Their stuff is better, cheaper, and tastier than it's grocery store counterparts.
So today, I brought hummus and pita to work with me. As a snack. And I'm enjoying it. This is disturbing.
At least I still hate soy.
In my effort to eat more healthy stuff, I've been shopping at Trader Joe's lately. Their stuff is better, cheaper, and tastier than it's grocery store counterparts.
So today, I brought hummus and pita to work with me. As a snack. And I'm enjoying it. This is disturbing.
At least I still hate soy.
Thursday, February 15
Jo March
Josephine March, from Little Women, is a tomboy who loves writing, acting, and her family. She dreams of seeing the world and publishing her book.
Which Classic Heroine are You?
Huzzah, I LOVE Jo!
Josephine March, from Little Women, is a tomboy who loves writing, acting, and her family. She dreams of seeing the world and publishing her book.
Which Classic Heroine are You?
Huzzah, I LOVE Jo!
Meant to post this in early January, but forgot, of course.
Years ago, when I was a kid at First Baptist Church in Hereford, I remember on church service on the first Sunday of the New Year. Our best soprano sang a song that went to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, but with different words. The pastor dedicated it to all the people from the congregation who'd died the year before, reading their names out to the assembly. I've always remembered the song, memorized it, and sing it with regularity, especially when thinking of those who have passed.
So, this year, I'll post the song again.
For (not all of these have died in the past year, but they're the ones I always remember in prayers of the people at church) : Jim Hampton, Janelle Debris, Irene Pearcey, Gene Ledbetter, Richard Omondi.
It singeth low in every heart,
We hear it each and all:
A song of those who answer not,
However we may call.
They throng the silence of the breast,
We see them as of yore:
The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet
Who walk with us no more.
'Tis hard to pick the burden up
When these have laid it down;
They brightened every joy of life,
They softened every frown.
But oh, 'tis good to think of them
When we are troubled sore;
Thanks be to God that such have been
Though they are here no more.
More homelike seems the vast unknown
Since they have entered there,
'Tis not so hard to follow them
However they may fare.
They cannot be where God is not,
On any sea or shore:
What e'er betides, Thy love abides,
Our God, forevermore.
Years ago, when I was a kid at First Baptist Church in Hereford, I remember on church service on the first Sunday of the New Year. Our best soprano sang a song that went to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, but with different words. The pastor dedicated it to all the people from the congregation who'd died the year before, reading their names out to the assembly. I've always remembered the song, memorized it, and sing it with regularity, especially when thinking of those who have passed.
So, this year, I'll post the song again.
For (not all of these have died in the past year, but they're the ones I always remember in prayers of the people at church) : Jim Hampton, Janelle Debris, Irene Pearcey, Gene Ledbetter, Richard Omondi.
It singeth low in every heart,
We hear it each and all:
A song of those who answer not,
However we may call.
They throng the silence of the breast,
We see them as of yore:
The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet
Who walk with us no more.
'Tis hard to pick the burden up
When these have laid it down;
They brightened every joy of life,
They softened every frown.
But oh, 'tis good to think of them
When we are troubled sore;
Thanks be to God that such have been
Though they are here no more.
More homelike seems the vast unknown
Since they have entered there,
'Tis not so hard to follow them
However they may fare.
They cannot be where God is not,
On any sea or shore:
What e'er betides, Thy love abides,
Our God, forevermore.
Shamelessly stolen from: http://ryandunssj.blogspot.com/
[A is for apparitions - your favorite]: Medjugorje
[B is for Bible - the one you read most often]: NASB, but I have a severe weakness for the Vulgate. Everything sounds better in Latin.
[C is for Charism - the one you would most like to have]: discernment
[D is for Doctor of the Church - your favorite]: Therese of Lisieux!
[E is for Essential Prayer - What’s yours?]: The Jesus Prayer "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Have mercy on me, a sinner."
[F is for Favorite Hymn]: St. Patrick's Breastplate, and Nearer My God To Thee
[G is for Gospel - your favorite author?]: John
[H is for Holy Communion - How would you describe it, using one word?]: Consummation
[I is for Inspiration - When do you feel most inspired by God?]: When I'm doing anything artistic
[J is for Jesus - When did you first meet Him?]: Hmmmm.....don't remember. I got saved when I was about 9, but that certainly wasn't my first encounter.
[K is for Kindness - Which saint or person has most inspired you by their kindness?]: Mother Teresa
[L is for liturgical year - your favorite time in the liturgical cycle?]: Holy Week
[M is for Mary, the Mother of God - Your favorite term of endearment for her]: Mother of Sorrows, and Stella Maris
[N is for New Testament - Your favorite passage]: The part about "to him who overcomes, i will give some of the holy manna, and a white stone with a new name." From Revelations.
[O is for Old Testament - Your favorite Book here]: Job.
[P is for Psalms - your favorite]: 116 "Blessed in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His holy ones."
[Q is for quote - saint quote]: "Sufferings gladly borne for others convert more people than sermons.” Therese of Lisieux (Also, her delightfully childlike "I choose them all!")
[R is for rosary - your favorite mysteries]: The Sorrowful
[S is for Saint - the one you turn to in time of need - not including the Blessed Virgin Mary]: Therese of Lisieux. She gave me a flower once!
[T is for Tradition - your favorite Catholic tradition]: Hmmmmmm.....Not actually being Catholic (Anglo-Catholic Anglican), I'm not sure, but within my own tradition I'd say the colors associated with the different seasons of the ecclesiastical year.
[U is for university - Which Catholic University have you attended or are currently attending?]: None: not actually Catholic! *sheepish*
[V is for Virtue - the one you wish you had]: moderation
[W is for Way of the Cross - Which station can you most relate to?]: Veronica Wipes Jesus' Face
[X is for Xaverian Brothers - Do you know who they are?]: nope
[Y is for your favorite Catholic musician]: Caedmon!
[Z is for Zeal for the faith]: amen!
[A is for apparitions - your favorite]: Medjugorje
[B is for Bible - the one you read most often]: NASB, but I have a severe weakness for the Vulgate. Everything sounds better in Latin.
[C is for Charism - the one you would most like to have]: discernment
[D is for Doctor of the Church - your favorite]: Therese of Lisieux!
[E is for Essential Prayer - What’s yours?]: The Jesus Prayer "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Have mercy on me, a sinner."
[F is for Favorite Hymn]: St. Patrick's Breastplate, and Nearer My God To Thee
[G is for Gospel - your favorite author?]: John
[H is for Holy Communion - How would you describe it, using one word?]: Consummation
[I is for Inspiration - When do you feel most inspired by God?]: When I'm doing anything artistic
[J is for Jesus - When did you first meet Him?]: Hmmmm.....don't remember. I got saved when I was about 9, but that certainly wasn't my first encounter.
[K is for Kindness - Which saint or person has most inspired you by their kindness?]: Mother Teresa
[L is for liturgical year - your favorite time in the liturgical cycle?]: Holy Week
[M is for Mary, the Mother of God - Your favorite term of endearment for her]: Mother of Sorrows, and Stella Maris
[N is for New Testament - Your favorite passage]: The part about "to him who overcomes, i will give some of the holy manna, and a white stone with a new name." From Revelations.
[O is for Old Testament - Your favorite Book here]: Job.
[P is for Psalms - your favorite]: 116 "Blessed in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His holy ones."
[Q is for quote - saint quote]: "Sufferings gladly borne for others convert more people than sermons.” Therese of Lisieux (Also, her delightfully childlike "I choose them all!")
[R is for rosary - your favorite mysteries]: The Sorrowful
[S is for Saint - the one you turn to in time of need - not including the Blessed Virgin Mary]: Therese of Lisieux. She gave me a flower once!
[T is for Tradition - your favorite Catholic tradition]: Hmmmmmm.....Not actually being Catholic (Anglo-Catholic Anglican), I'm not sure, but within my own tradition I'd say the colors associated with the different seasons of the ecclesiastical year.
[U is for university - Which Catholic University have you attended or are currently attending?]: None: not actually Catholic! *sheepish*
[V is for Virtue - the one you wish you had]: moderation
[W is for Way of the Cross - Which station can you most relate to?]: Veronica Wipes Jesus' Face
[X is for Xaverian Brothers - Do you know who they are?]: nope
[Y is for your favorite Catholic musician]: Caedmon!
[Z is for Zeal for the faith]: amen!
Wednesday, January 31
Meditations on Mud (Caves)
Meditation 1: This is actually an entry from my journal while on the trip. It's better with the random little drawing that goes with it, and the formatting is as close to the original as I could get it. Anyway....
into the deep dark of the caves
away from the sun from warmth from life
twisting body bent by the contortions ofthe
cave eating dust and drinking dark
choking on both of them
the occasional glimpse of light
envying those who walk
forever under the sky
and never in the dark
feet trip and slip
dislodged by the same
dust that grinds
between your teeth
weeping but tears
turn into mud
not the mud
that restored
the sight of
the blind but
the mud that
hardens and
imprisons the
mud that is
the cave echoes
scatter bouncing
into nothingness
you begin to forget
the sky and the
sun in the long dark
but wait
to eyes accustomed to shadow the faint light is unbearable will
you turn away into the familiar dark no you decide even if the sun
burns me to ash and the sky press down on me with the weight
of the world i will seek the light scrambling upward hands scraping
through dust and stones you suddenly find your outstretched hand
grasped and pulled up into the light we were watching you they say
you look down and see the ground full of holes beneath you
kneeling down you peer into one and in the gloom you see
another struggling its alright you yell we're here waiting for
you you stand up in the sunlight the dust of the cave still on
your shoulders and look out across the valley the dust shines like
alabaster and the scattered stones gleam like diamonds in the light.
Meditation 2
I admit, I'm prone to seeing life in terms of metaphor. Or, at any rate, expanding random everyday occurances into views on life.
This being the case, here's one thought from the trip.
Fr. David lead the trip, and since he was the only one who'd been to the mud caves, we relied on his guidance. (I'm sure you can see where the metaphor is going already)
But there were two moments that really stood out to me:
The first was in the caves themselves: I had only a candle for light, which was great, but occasionally didn't give quite enough light. So Fr. David was quite often stopping and shining a light in my path to keep me from tripping (I'll let you draw the obvious metaphor)
The other time was outside the caves, when we were all scrambling down the sides of the hills. I slipped on the loose rocks and sand, and almost slid down (it wouldn't have been a bad fall-just a few feet-but still uncomfortable). Fr. David planted his foot right under mine and kept me from slipping.
By now you've figured out the thoughts running through my mind: this is part of the ministry of priests, to shine light into the darkness, and to help those who are slipping into sin. Again, obvious. But a cool image of it, nonetheless.
Meditation 3. Fire on the Mountain
Being in the desert tends to make one think of the imagery and story of the Exodus and the wandering in the wilderness. I love the deserts and high plains; their beauty is subtle, fierce, and wild. The Anza-Borrego was no different, nor was the arroyo in which we were camping. We saw the hills and sand first by moonlight; the hills looked cold and raw, like mountains on some distant planet. The moon shone so brightly it cast shadows on the ground. And God was in the night.
In the warm morning sunlight, the hills looked hot and dusty, as millions of days under the glare of the sun turned everything to fine sand. The scraggly bushes poked forth leaves in varying degrees of verdancy, and God was in the day.
There was no guiding cloud, no pillar of fire by night. But God burned in every leaf on the bush and on the peak of every hill.
Meditation 1: This is actually an entry from my journal while on the trip. It's better with the random little drawing that goes with it, and the formatting is as close to the original as I could get it. Anyway....
into the deep dark of the caves
away from the sun from warmth from life
twisting body bent by the contortions ofthe
cave eating dust and drinking dark
choking on both of them
the occasional glimpse of light
envying those who walk
forever under the sky
and never in the dark
feet trip and slip
dislodged by the same
dust that grinds
between your teeth
weeping but tears
turn into mud
not the mud
that restored
the sight of
the blind but
the mud that
hardens and
imprisons the
mud that is
the cave echoes
scatter bouncing
into nothingness
you begin to forget
the sky and the
sun in the long dark
but wait
to eyes accustomed to shadow the faint light is unbearable will
you turn away into the familiar dark no you decide even if the sun
burns me to ash and the sky press down on me with the weight
of the world i will seek the light scrambling upward hands scraping
through dust and stones you suddenly find your outstretched hand
grasped and pulled up into the light we were watching you they say
you look down and see the ground full of holes beneath you
kneeling down you peer into one and in the gloom you see
another struggling its alright you yell we're here waiting for
you you stand up in the sunlight the dust of the cave still on
your shoulders and look out across the valley the dust shines like
alabaster and the scattered stones gleam like diamonds in the light.
Meditation 2
I admit, I'm prone to seeing life in terms of metaphor. Or, at any rate, expanding random everyday occurances into views on life.
This being the case, here's one thought from the trip.
Fr. David lead the trip, and since he was the only one who'd been to the mud caves, we relied on his guidance. (I'm sure you can see where the metaphor is going already)
But there were two moments that really stood out to me:
The first was in the caves themselves: I had only a candle for light, which was great, but occasionally didn't give quite enough light. So Fr. David was quite often stopping and shining a light in my path to keep me from tripping (I'll let you draw the obvious metaphor)
The other time was outside the caves, when we were all scrambling down the sides of the hills. I slipped on the loose rocks and sand, and almost slid down (it wouldn't have been a bad fall-just a few feet-but still uncomfortable). Fr. David planted his foot right under mine and kept me from slipping.
By now you've figured out the thoughts running through my mind: this is part of the ministry of priests, to shine light into the darkness, and to help those who are slipping into sin. Again, obvious. But a cool image of it, nonetheless.
Meditation 3. Fire on the Mountain
Being in the desert tends to make one think of the imagery and story of the Exodus and the wandering in the wilderness. I love the deserts and high plains; their beauty is subtle, fierce, and wild. The Anza-Borrego was no different, nor was the arroyo in which we were camping. We saw the hills and sand first by moonlight; the hills looked cold and raw, like mountains on some distant planet. The moon shone so brightly it cast shadows on the ground. And God was in the night.
In the warm morning sunlight, the hills looked hot and dusty, as millions of days under the glare of the sun turned everything to fine sand. The scraggly bushes poked forth leaves in varying degrees of verdancy, and God was in the day.
There was no guiding cloud, no pillar of fire by night. But God burned in every leaf on the bush and on the peak of every hill.
Monday, January 29
The Trip
I've been curious about the Mud Caves of the Anza-Borrego Desert for years, but never been there. I started to get really excited the closer we got; I love the high plains and the desert--they have this wild, subtle beauty that takes practice to see.
We got there late, after dark, but the moonlight was so bright we could walk around without difficulty. In fact, I'm glad I saw the hills by moonlight first: it looked like the surface of a distant planet, with ragged hills and stardust spilling down the little valleys. (it was used as the setting for part of the planet Mars in the Starman series; one of the authors was our guide on the trip)
We set up camp and decided to visit one cave before it got too late. We walked a few yards down the road to Plunge Pool, and entered the cave. There weren't enough flashlights to go around, so I got to use a candle instead. Which is great, because I like candles better; I love the dancing flames and the warm light. The cave winds for a few narrow yards before widening out into a cavern, with a skylight 30 feet up. At night, it was completely dark; we put out all our lights, and talked in the dark for a long time. Then we lit our lights, and went back to camp.
We cooked dinner (hot dogs!!) and I discovered that you can, in fact, roast a strawberry over a campfire: it's very good, though you have to be careful, since the fruit gets VERY hot. Fr. David had brought some square handmade peppermint marshmallows, and we toasted a few of those, too. Brian entertained us all by telling a story, enjoying our laughter before realizing that we were laughing more at the charcoal he'd inadvertently rubbed all over his face than at the story. Fr. David brought out The Mad Scientists' Club ---a book that has long been a favorite of mine--and read "The Voice in the Chimney". By the time the story was over, we were all stamping our feet trying to warm up, and shivering.
Everyone froze during the night, except maybe Ashley, who said she was warm. That day was spent clambering around the caves, getting covered in dust, sand, and various scrapes. More on this part in the meditations post. I had enormous amounts of fun finding bits of mica in the rocks and dust on top of the caves, and exploring the great textures left in the mud.
We went back to camp and ate lunch (hot dog sandwiches! A coyote or something had made off with our hot dog buns in the night) then headed out to a few more caves. Brian scared us all by attempting to climb down a cliff wall to another cave opening, but gave up when he saw that it was just too dangerous.
In another cave, we came up into the light in a small hollow. We all sat down to rest, and Ashley and I lay down on a rock, propped our feet up on the far wall, and looked up at the darkening sky. The moon was up, and a jet soared by overhead, leaving a pink trail behind it. We headed back down, and walked back to camp; dinner was chili, with onions and sourdough bread. Fr. David read us "The Strange Sea Monster of Strawberry Lake," my favorite of the m ad Scientists Club stories.
The moon was bright and clear again, and we did some climbing that night by its light on the nearby hills. Ashley and I sat ourselves on top of the hill that overlooked the campsite, and lay on our backs to look at the moon; we even saw a shooting star! I think two bats flew overhead, too.
We all slept warmer that night, and slept well. I woke up briefly in the middle of the night, after the moon had set; the starlight was bright enough to see by! Not as well as the moonlight, but enough.
We got up that morning; I did some drawing and writing, several of the others went for walks. Brian finished up the last chapter of the first Starman book. We packed up camp and headed up to Ghost Mountain, home to writer Marshall South in the 1930's. It's a mile-long trek uphill to get to the ruins of the adobe house, but well worth it. We had Mass in the middle of the ruins, and then headed back down the hill, and headed back towards home. I, unfortunately, got rather carsick, and didn't fell at all well. When we stopped for lunch (my first meal of the day, at 3 pm!) at the Wynola Pizza Express, I could hardly choke down three pieces of my mushroom pizza (which was sad, because it was excellent pizza; I highly recommend the restaurant!) When we got back in the car, Ashley suggested that we read the Gospel of John on the way home: Erin and I took turns reading, while Ashley drove. Due to a bit of a jam on the 91, we actually got to finish the whole book! We dropped Erin off, and drove back to the church, loaded my stuff into my car, and the trip was over!
I've been curious about the Mud Caves of the Anza-Borrego Desert for years, but never been there. I started to get really excited the closer we got; I love the high plains and the desert--they have this wild, subtle beauty that takes practice to see.
We got there late, after dark, but the moonlight was so bright we could walk around without difficulty. In fact, I'm glad I saw the hills by moonlight first: it looked like the surface of a distant planet, with ragged hills and stardust spilling down the little valleys. (it was used as the setting for part of the planet Mars in the Starman series; one of the authors was our guide on the trip)
We set up camp and decided to visit one cave before it got too late. We walked a few yards down the road to Plunge Pool, and entered the cave. There weren't enough flashlights to go around, so I got to use a candle instead. Which is great, because I like candles better; I love the dancing flames and the warm light. The cave winds for a few narrow yards before widening out into a cavern, with a skylight 30 feet up. At night, it was completely dark; we put out all our lights, and talked in the dark for a long time. Then we lit our lights, and went back to camp.
We cooked dinner (hot dogs!!) and I discovered that you can, in fact, roast a strawberry over a campfire: it's very good, though you have to be careful, since the fruit gets VERY hot. Fr. David had brought some square handmade peppermint marshmallows, and we toasted a few of those, too. Brian entertained us all by telling a story, enjoying our laughter before realizing that we were laughing more at the charcoal he'd inadvertently rubbed all over his face than at the story. Fr. David brought out The Mad Scientists' Club ---a book that has long been a favorite of mine--and read "The Voice in the Chimney". By the time the story was over, we were all stamping our feet trying to warm up, and shivering.
Everyone froze during the night, except maybe Ashley, who said she was warm. That day was spent clambering around the caves, getting covered in dust, sand, and various scrapes. More on this part in the meditations post. I had enormous amounts of fun finding bits of mica in the rocks and dust on top of the caves, and exploring the great textures left in the mud.
We went back to camp and ate lunch (hot dog sandwiches! A coyote or something had made off with our hot dog buns in the night) then headed out to a few more caves. Brian scared us all by attempting to climb down a cliff wall to another cave opening, but gave up when he saw that it was just too dangerous.
In another cave, we came up into the light in a small hollow. We all sat down to rest, and Ashley and I lay down on a rock, propped our feet up on the far wall, and looked up at the darkening sky. The moon was up, and a jet soared by overhead, leaving a pink trail behind it. We headed back down, and walked back to camp; dinner was chili, with onions and sourdough bread. Fr. David read us "The Strange Sea Monster of Strawberry Lake," my favorite of the m ad Scientists Club stories.
The moon was bright and clear again, and we did some climbing that night by its light on the nearby hills. Ashley and I sat ourselves on top of the hill that overlooked the campsite, and lay on our backs to look at the moon; we even saw a shooting star! I think two bats flew overhead, too.
We all slept warmer that night, and slept well. I woke up briefly in the middle of the night, after the moon had set; the starlight was bright enough to see by! Not as well as the moonlight, but enough.
We got up that morning; I did some drawing and writing, several of the others went for walks. Brian finished up the last chapter of the first Starman book. We packed up camp and headed up to Ghost Mountain, home to writer Marshall South in the 1930's. It's a mile-long trek uphill to get to the ruins of the adobe house, but well worth it. We had Mass in the middle of the ruins, and then headed back down the hill, and headed back towards home. I, unfortunately, got rather carsick, and didn't fell at all well. When we stopped for lunch (my first meal of the day, at 3 pm!) at the Wynola Pizza Express, I could hardly choke down three pieces of my mushroom pizza (which was sad, because it was excellent pizza; I highly recommend the restaurant!) When we got back in the car, Ashley suggested that we read the Gospel of John on the way home: Erin and I took turns reading, while Ashley drove. Due to a bit of a jam on the 91, we actually got to finish the whole book! We dropped Erin off, and drove back to the church, loaded my stuff into my car, and the trip was over!
Tuesday, January 23
Prayer needed
Hey all, I could really use your prayers right now. Due largely to sleeping on really bad mattresses of late (amongst other things), my back hurts very badly most of the time. It started off with just the occasional pain in the lower right back, but now it's spread to the whole of my lower back and upper legs. It's almost constant pain anytime I'm standing, and anytime I switch positions. Fortunately, I sit down for most of the day at work, but it's definately getting worse. Please pray that I can afford to see a doctor soon, and that I deal with the pain well (instead of being grouchy, which is what I do most of the time. Sigh.)
Hey all, I could really use your prayers right now. Due largely to sleeping on really bad mattresses of late (amongst other things), my back hurts very badly most of the time. It started off with just the occasional pain in the lower right back, but now it's spread to the whole of my lower back and upper legs. It's almost constant pain anytime I'm standing, and anytime I switch positions. Fortunately, I sit down for most of the day at work, but it's definately getting worse. Please pray that I can afford to see a doctor soon, and that I deal with the pain well (instead of being grouchy, which is what I do most of the time. Sigh.)
Sunday, January 21
Love Story
You ever watch those great movies or wonderful old stories? You know, the kind where the great prince is serving as a gardener in the princess' palace, or as a stableboy, or an accountant, or something, and you know the two of them just have to get together, but the princess can't see the true worth of the guy trimming the verge?
I love those stories. They're so....well, so true.
Archetypally, at any rate.
Think about it: we're all living this fairy tale. The soul (which I shall refer to in the feminine case, as that's traditional and works better for the analogy) is a princess, living her life, concerned with all the things of the world. But in the garden, a prince waits: dressed in humble garb, with quiet honesty and integrity. Will she notice Him? Will she cease being drawn into the petty intrigue of the court, and give herself to the Prince, before it's too late?
This is a story that the angels themselves watch with bated breath. The Prince of Peace, king of the cosmos, becomes man, and sets aside His glory. He woos the soul, never by force or showy glamour, but with a fiery love and passion. Will she notice? Will she stop being drawn aside into other affections? Will she stop toying with Him, and finally be His? Or will she spurn Him, and chase after the wind?
"O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above."
You ever watch those great movies or wonderful old stories? You know, the kind where the great prince is serving as a gardener in the princess' palace, or as a stableboy, or an accountant, or something, and you know the two of them just have to get together, but the princess can't see the true worth of the guy trimming the verge?
I love those stories. They're so....well, so true.
Archetypally, at any rate.
Think about it: we're all living this fairy tale. The soul (which I shall refer to in the feminine case, as that's traditional and works better for the analogy) is a princess, living her life, concerned with all the things of the world. But in the garden, a prince waits: dressed in humble garb, with quiet honesty and integrity. Will she notice Him? Will she cease being drawn into the petty intrigue of the court, and give herself to the Prince, before it's too late?
This is a story that the angels themselves watch with bated breath. The Prince of Peace, king of the cosmos, becomes man, and sets aside His glory. He woos the soul, never by force or showy glamour, but with a fiery love and passion. Will she notice? Will she stop being drawn aside into other affections? Will she stop toying with Him, and finally be His? Or will she spurn Him, and chase after the wind?
"O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above."
Thursday, January 18
Monday, January 15
8 Simple rules for watching a movie in a shared living room:
1. DO NOT walk in on the movie halfway through, and continually ask the person watching it to tell you what's going on. JUST WATCH THE FREAKIN' FILM! The person will not mind if you do so, at least not as much as she minds constantly pausing to explain. This goes doubly so if the person watching the movie has never seen said movie before.
2. DO NOT constantly ask what's going on when you've been watching the movie from the beginning. More than likely, the film itself will answer your questions--that's kind of the point. If you don't understand after it's over, then you can ask questions. If you just want a few sentence summary of the film, go read IMDB.
3. DO NOT constantly come through the room, talking loudly or making a lot of noise. The person watching the movie wants to be able to hear it. If you find that they are continually turning the volume up, you are being too loud. (NOTE: This only applies if the person watching the film was there first. If the person talking was there first, the movie-watcher is being rude and gets what she deserves.)
4. DO NOT mock the movie if you notice that the person watching it appears moved by the story.
5. DO NOT talk about bad effects on classic movies. Nobody cares. All past effects are bad by the most recent standards. The Red-Sea-peeling-back on The Ten Commandments is still cool, regardless of looking a little funny.
6. DO NOT mock the acting style in classic movies. A different acting style was in vogue at the time; they would have considered today's actors terrible. Just get in the mindset of the time. It's not that hard.
7. FOREIGN FILMS AND ART FILMS are just weird. Do not ask the person attempting to watch them to explain it. Even if they like it, they won't be able to explain why. If you don't get it, just accept it, and be quiet.
8. IF you don't like the movie, just leave. Don't mock it, complain about it, or try to drown it out. Go read a book. (Again, only applies when the movie-watcher was there first)
1. DO NOT walk in on the movie halfway through, and continually ask the person watching it to tell you what's going on. JUST WATCH THE FREAKIN' FILM! The person will not mind if you do so, at least not as much as she minds constantly pausing to explain. This goes doubly so if the person watching the movie has never seen said movie before.
2. DO NOT constantly ask what's going on when you've been watching the movie from the beginning. More than likely, the film itself will answer your questions--that's kind of the point. If you don't understand after it's over, then you can ask questions. If you just want a few sentence summary of the film, go read IMDB.
3. DO NOT constantly come through the room, talking loudly or making a lot of noise. The person watching the movie wants to be able to hear it. If you find that they are continually turning the volume up, you are being too loud. (NOTE: This only applies if the person watching the film was there first. If the person talking was there first, the movie-watcher is being rude and gets what she deserves.)
4. DO NOT mock the movie if you notice that the person watching it appears moved by the story.
5. DO NOT talk about bad effects on classic movies. Nobody cares. All past effects are bad by the most recent standards. The Red-Sea-peeling-back on The Ten Commandments is still cool, regardless of looking a little funny.
6. DO NOT mock the acting style in classic movies. A different acting style was in vogue at the time; they would have considered today's actors terrible. Just get in the mindset of the time. It's not that hard.
7. FOREIGN FILMS AND ART FILMS are just weird. Do not ask the person attempting to watch them to explain it. Even if they like it, they won't be able to explain why. If you don't get it, just accept it, and be quiet.
8. IF you don't like the movie, just leave. Don't mock it, complain about it, or try to drown it out. Go read a book. (Again, only applies when the movie-watcher was there first)
Thursday, January 11
Entering the Labyrinth
I just went to see Pan's Labyrinth with two of my best friends. Pan's Labyrinth is a foreign film, all the dialogue is in Castillian Spanish (lovely langauge!), and it is a combination war story/fantasy film.
I'm still processing this movie. It's been compared, in terms of emotional impact and brutality, to Schindler's List, and the comparison is not unwarranted. It's not quite so much so as SL, but close enough.
The requirements for watching this film are:
1. A strong stomach. If you can watch Schindler's List, you'll be fine. If you can't handle Schindler's List, watch Pan's Labyrinth at your own risk.
2. An appreciation for good fantasy (MacDonald, Gaiman, etc)
3. A willingness to believe in fairies.
Most reviews of the film spin it as a young girl in war-torn Spain who creates her own fantasy world to escape to. That's a valid interpretation of the film, up to a point; the first half of the movie is unclear about whether or not these fantastic things that Ofelia experiences are real or the product of her active imagination. But at a certain point (the mandrake root screaming) it becomes clear that there is at least a real connection between the two worlds. From that point on, the physical events become harder to explain if Ofelia's world is not real.
It seemed to me that the film had several strong themes: courage, parents and children, humility, and sacrifice. Sometimes the themes ran seperately, but they often seemed to come together into a larger theme (meta-theme?). Specifically, one of the themes seemed to be the courage necessary to willing undergo the humility and sacrifices of being a parent. (All credit on these thoughts go to Rachel Motte, who brought them up. Rachel, blog about the movie soon, I want to hear more!) The viewer is shown a mother without the courage to go through loneliness for her daughter's sake, a son who cannot bear to hear any mention of his father--a man who could die well, and a daughter who will give up everything for her baby brother.
The tagline for the film sums it up the best: "Innocence has a power that Evil cannot imagine." Pan's Labyrinth allows evil to do its worst, and doesn't pull any punches. But it also shows the efficacy of innocence, and leaves the viewer amazed at the power released by sacrifice.
I just went to see Pan's Labyrinth with two of my best friends. Pan's Labyrinth is a foreign film, all the dialogue is in Castillian Spanish (lovely langauge!), and it is a combination war story/fantasy film.
I'm still processing this movie. It's been compared, in terms of emotional impact and brutality, to Schindler's List, and the comparison is not unwarranted. It's not quite so much so as SL, but close enough.
The requirements for watching this film are:
1. A strong stomach. If you can watch Schindler's List, you'll be fine. If you can't handle Schindler's List, watch Pan's Labyrinth at your own risk.
2. An appreciation for good fantasy (MacDonald, Gaiman, etc)
3. A willingness to believe in fairies.
Most reviews of the film spin it as a young girl in war-torn Spain who creates her own fantasy world to escape to. That's a valid interpretation of the film, up to a point; the first half of the movie is unclear about whether or not these fantastic things that Ofelia experiences are real or the product of her active imagination. But at a certain point (the mandrake root screaming) it becomes clear that there is at least a real connection between the two worlds. From that point on, the physical events become harder to explain if Ofelia's world is not real.
It seemed to me that the film had several strong themes: courage, parents and children, humility, and sacrifice. Sometimes the themes ran seperately, but they often seemed to come together into a larger theme (meta-theme?). Specifically, one of the themes seemed to be the courage necessary to willing undergo the humility and sacrifices of being a parent. (All credit on these thoughts go to Rachel Motte, who brought them up. Rachel, blog about the movie soon, I want to hear more!) The viewer is shown a mother without the courage to go through loneliness for her daughter's sake, a son who cannot bear to hear any mention of his father--a man who could die well, and a daughter who will give up everything for her baby brother.
The tagline for the film sums it up the best: "Innocence has a power that Evil cannot imagine." Pan's Labyrinth allows evil to do its worst, and doesn't pull any punches. But it also shows the efficacy of innocence, and leaves the viewer amazed at the power released by sacrifice.
Friday, January 5
This could become a new favorite website.... http://www.etiquettegrrls.com/pages/home.html
If you like Go Fug Yourself, you'll like The Etiquette Grrrls.
If you like Go Fug Yourself, you'll like The Etiquette Grrrls.
Tuesday, January 2
Thoughts on Ecclesiastes:
"3: 9. What gain has the worker from his toil?
10: I have seen the business that God has given to the sons of men to be busy with.
11: He has made everything beautiful in its time; also he has put eternity into man's mind, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.
12: I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live;
13: also that it is God's gift to man that every one should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil.
14: I know that whatever God does endures for ever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has made it so, in order that men should fear before him."
10: I have seen the business that God has given to the sons of men to be busy with.
11: He has made everything beautiful in its time; also he has put eternity into man's mind, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.
12: I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live;
13: also that it is God's gift to man that every one should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil.
14: I know that whatever God does endures for ever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has made it so, in order that men should fear before him."
I used to read this passage with great confusion.Verse 12 does not seem like what you expect to find in the Bible. And hasn't the Teacher just stated that pursuing pleasure is folly?
And then today I realized something: the Teacher is right. Because pursuing pleasure does not bring happiness, nor, in the end, even pleasure. What does make men happy? Walking with God, doing justice, making an honest living, and loving those around them. Man is not happy without God. Man is not happy without work.
There really is a time for everything. A time to work, and a time to rest. A time for fasting, and a time for feasting. We go from one to the other, spring turning to summer, then to fall, and winter, and then back again. Advent becoming Epiphany, then moving to Lent, Easter, Pentecost, and back again. We laugh, cry, rejoice, sigh, rage, and fear. And it is good. Human life, in its smallness and ordinariness, is good. It can be holy, if we so wish. It is mundane, of the earth, and like the earth, it is immense and grand as the ocean, and as small and humble as a grain of sand.
And it's ok that nothing makes sense, or really holds together. Nothing we do or see ever will. And that's alright. That's the way things are (though not how they were meant to be.) We can grieve for what was, what should have been, and give thanks that God did not leave us to it, and that His works are eternal, and He will preserve what is to be perserved.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away: blessed be the name of the Lord.
Thursday, December 28
How Can I Keep From Singing?
Sorry for taking so long to blog again, everybody, things have been crazy.
Lately I've been reading Dr. Reynolds' Christmas blog posts; you can read the latest one here.
I get pretty discouraged sometimes. I feel like I'm made almost no progress in shaping my soul. I still have a hard time saving money, eating right, excercizing, and I still have largely terrible taste in music.
But then I look back to myself in high school, and I realize that I have changed. I'm no longer so angry, or so arrogant. I still struggle greatly with despair, and probably always will, but I now have courage to fight that battle and face that despair.
My tastes in music have definately improved: I can watch opera (still can't listen without the staged visuals) and enjoy it, I like the groups Anonymous 4 and Sequentia, and I love Pachelbel's Canon in D(in fact, that peice is a powerful weapon against despair; its order, structure, and simple melody can snap me out of depression.) I even like a little ballet.
I don't really know what any of this means. Sometimes I think the hardest thing about life is that you just have to go out there every day, and do the same thing. You have to do your duty every day, make the right choices everyday, and be an adult everyday.
The temptation to shirk all that is inescapable at times. You just want to make one bad choice, let one duty slide, act childish for a few hours. We're rarely, if ever, allowed to see how those good choices impact our lives, and the lives of those around us. It seems like life just going along like usual. But when we make the wrong choices, we see how important the right ones were.
C.S. Lewis said "No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down. A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it: and Christ, because he was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is also the only man who knows to the full what temptation means--the only complete realist."
It never feels like a glorious battle. Only a long trudge, fighting against enemies we can't see, and often fighting our own selves.
Yet.....
There is a joy in it all. A song can live in the most downtrodden heart, and all the slings and arrows of fortune cannot take it away.
"My life goes on in endless song
Above earths lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation."
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing? "
While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth."
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock Im clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing? "
When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing? "
In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging,
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?"
Sorry for taking so long to blog again, everybody, things have been crazy.
Lately I've been reading Dr. Reynolds' Christmas blog posts; you can read the latest one here.
I get pretty discouraged sometimes. I feel like I'm made almost no progress in shaping my soul. I still have a hard time saving money, eating right, excercizing, and I still have largely terrible taste in music.
But then I look back to myself in high school, and I realize that I have changed. I'm no longer so angry, or so arrogant. I still struggle greatly with despair, and probably always will, but I now have courage to fight that battle and face that despair.
My tastes in music have definately improved: I can watch opera (still can't listen without the staged visuals) and enjoy it, I like the groups Anonymous 4 and Sequentia, and I love Pachelbel's Canon in D(in fact, that peice is a powerful weapon against despair; its order, structure, and simple melody can snap me out of depression.) I even like a little ballet.
I don't really know what any of this means. Sometimes I think the hardest thing about life is that you just have to go out there every day, and do the same thing. You have to do your duty every day, make the right choices everyday, and be an adult everyday.
The temptation to shirk all that is inescapable at times. You just want to make one bad choice, let one duty slide, act childish for a few hours. We're rarely, if ever, allowed to see how those good choices impact our lives, and the lives of those around us. It seems like life just going along like usual. But when we make the wrong choices, we see how important the right ones were.
C.S. Lewis said "No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down. A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it: and Christ, because he was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is also the only man who knows to the full what temptation means--the only complete realist."
It never feels like a glorious battle. Only a long trudge, fighting against enemies we can't see, and often fighting our own selves.
Yet.....
There is a joy in it all. A song can live in the most downtrodden heart, and all the slings and arrows of fortune cannot take it away.
"My life goes on in endless song
Above earths lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation."
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing? "
While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth."
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock Im clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing? "
When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing? "
In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging,
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?"
Saturday, December 16
Tuesday, November 21
So...yeah, I haven't posted a while. And I probably won't until the end of November for two reasons:
1. NaNoWriMo. It's November. That means 50,000 words in 30 days.
2. Kidney stones. Which still hurt like all heck. I tried to go to work today, I really did. I made it 3 hours, then had to go home again, and have been sleeping and lounging all day. With Vicodin. Which is lovely stuff, truly.
So, yeah, these combine to make me not want to blog right now. Sorry.
:)
1. NaNoWriMo. It's November. That means 50,000 words in 30 days.
2. Kidney stones. Which still hurt like all heck. I tried to go to work today, I really did. I made it 3 hours, then had to go home again, and have been sleeping and lounging all day. With Vicodin. Which is lovely stuff, truly.
So, yeah, these combine to make me not want to blog right now. Sorry.
:)
Thursday, November 9
Thursday, November 2
Morphus Mystics
The other day, someone made a remark, about how what the mystics say is so "amorphus." I suddenly realized that this was, in fact, entirely not true. What the mystics see and talk about is thouroughly solid and real; it is, to be precise, words that are too amorphus (see C.S. Lewis, Perelandra). It's akin to the argument that monastics are escaping from the real world into seclusion and idealism. The whole thing hinges upon what is truly real. If God is real, then the mystics and monastics are realistic. If God is not real, then Wall Street and Madison Avenue are realistic.
One cleric was known to say that becoming a monk allowed him to be at the center of life, rather than at its periphery. As a cynical and hard-headed individual who has been slowly brought into a more mystical way of thinking, I have come to see that this is very true. If I see God more clearly, then I can see everything around me better. If a cloud is in front of the sun, it's a little harder to see the grass.
The mystics are the people with their heads in the clouds, but their feet are very solidly planted on the ground. Because they are focused on God as the root of all being, they can see all beings more clearly.
In addition, if the mystics really were amorphus, they wouldn't all be saying the same things. But they do. They talk about a God who cares, a love that is so real it burns like fire, and a darkness more comforting than the dawn. The more I see and experience, the more I find that they are right. Their map of life, though the road seems to take strange turns and switchbacks, turns out to be more accurate than the Thomas Guides drawn by businessmen who cannot see anything further away than the physical, and so don't even end up seeing the physical world clearly.
The other day, someone made a remark, about how what the mystics say is so "amorphus." I suddenly realized that this was, in fact, entirely not true. What the mystics see and talk about is thouroughly solid and real; it is, to be precise, words that are too amorphus (see C.S. Lewis, Perelandra). It's akin to the argument that monastics are escaping from the real world into seclusion and idealism. The whole thing hinges upon what is truly real. If God is real, then the mystics and monastics are realistic. If God is not real, then Wall Street and Madison Avenue are realistic.
One cleric was known to say that becoming a monk allowed him to be at the center of life, rather than at its periphery. As a cynical and hard-headed individual who has been slowly brought into a more mystical way of thinking, I have come to see that this is very true. If I see God more clearly, then I can see everything around me better. If a cloud is in front of the sun, it's a little harder to see the grass.
The mystics are the people with their heads in the clouds, but their feet are very solidly planted on the ground. Because they are focused on God as the root of all being, they can see all beings more clearly.
In addition, if the mystics really were amorphus, they wouldn't all be saying the same things. But they do. They talk about a God who cares, a love that is so real it burns like fire, and a darkness more comforting than the dawn. The more I see and experience, the more I find that they are right. Their map of life, though the road seems to take strange turns and switchbacks, turns out to be more accurate than the Thomas Guides drawn by businessmen who cannot see anything further away than the physical, and so don't even end up seeing the physical world clearly.
Wednesday, October 18
It just felt so...right. So timely.
Some of that may have been a circumstance of dates. I first came to this church in October, 2006. I began my infamous 2-year project (the Dante quilt) in October of 2004, and took it to the Diocesan Convention that year...which is when I decided to get confirmed. I finished the quilt and got confirmed in October this year.
So I stood in the church Sunday morning, October 15th, all in white (I'm a sucker for good typeology--it had to be white), and knelt before the bishop. I wish I could remember the prayer he said over me, but I don't. That's ok. I remember the strength of his hands on my head, the warmth of the oil on my brow, the nearness of my church family, the hardness of the stone floor through the cushion I knelt on.
It seems to me that all the sacraments, both major and "minor", are the same thing. They are all marriage, in one form or another. Eucharist, Christ joins us to Himself, and makes us one Body with Him. Baptism, when we are made a part of the Bride of Christ. Holy orders: a union with Christ to the exclusion of human marriage. Last rites: preperation to the union with Christ after death. Marriage: an incarnate icon of God's love for humanity. Ordination: I'm a little fuzzier on the image here, but it seems like it is incarnating the image of the Bridegroom to lead the Bride of Christ forward. And finally, confirmation: an acknowledgement of oneself as a member of the Body of Christ, the Bride of Christ. It is a taking of what was given in baptism, and stepping into it fully.
Yes, being confirmed was wonderful, a beautiful thing. In fact, it felt a little...like a wedding.
Monday, September 4
http://www.xanga.com/k_bubba/521479919/well-im-back.html
A thought: yes, Buffy is often about doing what's right, even when it's difficult (though it must be mentioned that the characters often don't do this).
But what seems to me to be a more interesting aspect is that the characters are engaged in a fight that they will never (in fact, can never) win. There will always be vampires, demons, and hellhounds in the Buffy-verse. There's always another hellmouth.
That seems to me to be a more profound way of thinking: instead of doing what's right when it's hard, it's doing what's right when everything is telling you that it makes no difference. When the battle nevers stops.
A thought: yes, Buffy is often about doing what's right, even when it's difficult (though it must be mentioned that the characters often don't do this).
But what seems to me to be a more interesting aspect is that the characters are engaged in a fight that they will never (in fact, can never) win. There will always be vampires, demons, and hellhounds in the Buffy-verse. There's always another hellmouth.
That seems to me to be a more profound way of thinking: instead of doing what's right when it's hard, it's doing what's right when everything is telling you that it makes no difference. When the battle nevers stops.
Sunday, September 3
Disturbing thoughts
I'm not entirely sure that I know how to make/be friends with people. This bothers me, but I'm beginning to understand why that may be the case:
1. Personality problems: I am fully aware of the fact that I tend to be prickly, awkward, and melancholic. This does not easily lead to friendships.
2. Conflicts of interest: I have odd taste in things. For instance, at the used CD store the other day I bought 4 cds: Voices of Light which is artsy and medieval; I'll Lead You Home by Michael W. Smith, a contemporary Christian album; The Long Black Veil by the Cheiftans (Irish band) with other artists; and The Dirty Boogie by the Brian Setzer Orchestra, which is big band plus rockabilly plus hard rock. So yeah, weird tastes and interests.
3. Sheer lack of practice. I realized the other day that I'd spent the 13 years from age 5 to age 18 without many friends of any kind. In fact, I think I only had one real friendship in that time period, and that one was on-again off-again anyway. I just don't know how to be friends with people very well.
There are all of these people in my life, and I'm desperate to tell them how much I like them and want to be around them, but I find myself incapable of doing so. I simply don't know how to tell them. Some of this fear and shrinking may be due to the fact that for most of my life when I told someone how much I liked them, they tended to not speak to me for years afterward (if ever again). The vast majority of my social memories before college are of not being good enough, or pretty enough, or rich enough, or talented enough, or athletic enough, or with the right taste in movies and music. Of being too intense, too smart, too sad, too ecstatic, too bookish, too large, too individualistic, and too shy.
I am beyond grateful for the love I've found in my friends at college and church, but I'm beginning to think that certain parts of me have been damaged beyond repair: 13 years alone is a very long time. I honestly don't know how to let people in; I've never had to do it before. I don't know how to tell people I love them; I've gotten mostly rejection when I tried before. I don't know how to tell people that I want to spend time with them, because I honestly can't believe that they would want to spend their valuble time with me. That sounds pretentious, but it's true: I've tried to believe it, and can't.
I have always resonated to the line in the Evanesence song My Immortal: "there's just too much that time cannot erase." Is that true? Are these things that can only be healed in heaven? Like a bone that's been broken, and healed crookedly?
Dear God, if you want me to get close to other people, You'll have to break down my defenses Yourself; I can't do it.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my roof, but speak the word only and my soul shall be healed.
I'm not entirely sure that I know how to make/be friends with people. This bothers me, but I'm beginning to understand why that may be the case:
1. Personality problems: I am fully aware of the fact that I tend to be prickly, awkward, and melancholic. This does not easily lead to friendships.
2. Conflicts of interest: I have odd taste in things. For instance, at the used CD store the other day I bought 4 cds: Voices of Light which is artsy and medieval; I'll Lead You Home by Michael W. Smith, a contemporary Christian album; The Long Black Veil by the Cheiftans (Irish band) with other artists; and The Dirty Boogie by the Brian Setzer Orchestra, which is big band plus rockabilly plus hard rock. So yeah, weird tastes and interests.
3. Sheer lack of practice. I realized the other day that I'd spent the 13 years from age 5 to age 18 without many friends of any kind. In fact, I think I only had one real friendship in that time period, and that one was on-again off-again anyway. I just don't know how to be friends with people very well.
There are all of these people in my life, and I'm desperate to tell them how much I like them and want to be around them, but I find myself incapable of doing so. I simply don't know how to tell them. Some of this fear and shrinking may be due to the fact that for most of my life when I told someone how much I liked them, they tended to not speak to me for years afterward (if ever again). The vast majority of my social memories before college are of not being good enough, or pretty enough, or rich enough, or talented enough, or athletic enough, or with the right taste in movies and music. Of being too intense, too smart, too sad, too ecstatic, too bookish, too large, too individualistic, and too shy.
I am beyond grateful for the love I've found in my friends at college and church, but I'm beginning to think that certain parts of me have been damaged beyond repair: 13 years alone is a very long time. I honestly don't know how to let people in; I've never had to do it before. I don't know how to tell people I love them; I've gotten mostly rejection when I tried before. I don't know how to tell people that I want to spend time with them, because I honestly can't believe that they would want to spend their valuble time with me. That sounds pretentious, but it's true: I've tried to believe it, and can't.
I have always resonated to the line in the Evanesence song My Immortal: "there's just too much that time cannot erase." Is that true? Are these things that can only be healed in heaven? Like a bone that's been broken, and healed crookedly?
Dear God, if you want me to get close to other people, You'll have to break down my defenses Yourself; I can't do it.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my roof, but speak the word only and my soul shall be healed.
Tuesday, July 18
| Your Famous Last Words Will Be: |
 |
What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?
Thanks to the Anchoress (www.theanchoressonline.com) for linking to this test.
Monday, July 10
Monday, June 26
Pictures of the most beautiful baby in the world can be viewed here: http://comewhatmay.wordpress.com
Yes, I'm biased. It's also true.
I don't normally like babies very much. They cry for no good reason, they never laugh at my jokes, and they look like odd little aliens. But Lucy likes to just look at you, and not cry so much (most of the time), even when she doesn't laugh or smile at jokes she at least as the decency to look at you as if you're the weirdest person in the world, and she's really really pretty.
I am very happy that I get to spend time around Lucy. I've never been around a baby, and it's amazing how fast she grows, and how...individual she is. She's definately her own person, and though she seems to take various traits from her parents, is very very much herself.
Yay Lucy! I can't wait till you're old enough to enjoy elephant jokes!
Yes, I'm biased. It's also true.
I don't normally like babies very much. They cry for no good reason, they never laugh at my jokes, and they look like odd little aliens. But Lucy likes to just look at you, and not cry so much (most of the time), even when she doesn't laugh or smile at jokes she at least as the decency to look at you as if you're the weirdest person in the world, and she's really really pretty.
I am very happy that I get to spend time around Lucy. I've never been around a baby, and it's amazing how fast she grows, and how...individual she is. She's definately her own person, and though she seems to take various traits from her parents, is very very much herself.
Yay Lucy! I can't wait till you're old enough to enjoy elephant jokes!
Sunday, March 12
Brokenness
There are three songs that have been affecting me lately;
1. Bless the Broken Road, by Rascal Flatts
I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you
Chorus:
Every long lost dream lead me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you
I think about the years I spent just passing through
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true
Chorus.
2. Sorrow by Bad Religion
Father, can you hear me? How have I let you down?
I curse the day that I was born,And all the sorrow in the world...
Let me take you to the hurting ground,Where all good men are trampled down,
Just to settle a bet that could not be won,Between a prideful father and his son.
Well you guard me now for I can’t see,A reason for this suffering and this long misery.
What if every living soul could be upright and strong? Well, then I do imagine there will be
Sorrow.
Yeah there will be
Sorrow .
And there will be
Sorrow, no more.
When all soldiers lay their weapons down,
Or when all kings and all queens relinquish their crown,
Or when the only true messiah rescues us from ourselves...
It’s easy to imagine there will be
Sorrow.
Yeah there will be
Sorrow .
And there will be
Sorrow, no more.
There will be
Sorrow.
Yeah there will be
Sorrow .
And there will be
Sorrow, no more.
3. On Distant Shores by Five Iron Frenzy
I have been scarred so deep by life and cold despair,
and brittle bones were broken far beyond repair.
I have leveled lies so deep, the truth may never find.
And inside my faithless heart, I stole things never mine.
If mercy falls upon the broken and poor,
Dear Father, I will see you, there on distant shores.
I have toiled for countless years, and ever felt the cost,
and I've been burned by this world's cold,
like leaves beneath the frost.
On my knees I've crawled to you, bleeding myself dry,
But the price of life is more, then I could ever buy.
If mercy falls upon the broken and poor,
Dear Father, I will see you, there on distant shores.
And off of the blocks, I was headstrong and proud,
at the front of the line for the card-carrying, highbrowed.
With both eyes fastened tight, yet unscarred from the fight.
Running at full tilt, my sword pulled from it's hilt.
Its funny how these things can slip away, our frail deeds,
the last will wave good-bye. Its funny how the hope will bleed
away, the citadels we build and fortify. Good-bye.
Night came and I broke my stride, I swallowed hard, but never
cried. When grace was easy to forget, I'd denounce the hypocrites,
casting first stones, killing my own. You would unscale my blind
eyes, and I stood battered, but more wise, fighting to accelerate,
shaking free from crippling weight. With resilience surpassed,
I clawed my way to you at last. And on my knees,
I wept at your feet, I finally believed, that you still loved
me.
Healing hands of God's mercy on our unclean souls once again,
Jesus Christ, Light of the world, burning bright within our hearts forever.
Freedom means love without condition without beginning or an end.
Here's my heart let it be forever yours,
only you can make every new day seem so new.
My own thoughts: to what extent is brokenness necessary? It seems that I serve a God who prefers to use broken tools. This is both frightening and comforting. I seem to have a break built right in, one that shows no sign of being fixed anytime soon, if at all. Short of a miracle, I will never be able to entirely trust my emotions or perceptions, and the chemical reactions that sometimes go off in my head can affect my reason at times, too. (Fortunately, I still have my stubborness, which has pulled me through more than you might guess.)
2 Corinthians 12:8-10
There are three songs that have been affecting me lately;
1. Bless the Broken Road, by Rascal Flatts
I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you
Chorus:
Every long lost dream lead me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you
I think about the years I spent just passing through
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true
Chorus.
2. Sorrow by Bad Religion
Father, can you hear me? How have I let you down?
I curse the day that I was born,And all the sorrow in the world...
Let me take you to the hurting ground,Where all good men are trampled down,
Just to settle a bet that could not be won,Between a prideful father and his son.
Well you guard me now for I can’t see,A reason for this suffering and this long misery.
What if every living soul could be upright and strong? Well, then I do imagine there will be
Sorrow.
Yeah there will be
Sorrow .
And there will be
Sorrow, no more.
When all soldiers lay their weapons down,
Or when all kings and all queens relinquish their crown,
Or when the only true messiah rescues us from ourselves...
It’s easy to imagine there will be
Sorrow.
Yeah there will be
Sorrow .
And there will be
Sorrow, no more.
There will be
Sorrow.
Yeah there will be
Sorrow .
And there will be
Sorrow, no more.
3. On Distant Shores by Five Iron Frenzy
I have been scarred so deep by life and cold despair,
and brittle bones were broken far beyond repair.
I have leveled lies so deep, the truth may never find.
And inside my faithless heart, I stole things never mine.
If mercy falls upon the broken and poor,
Dear Father, I will see you, there on distant shores.
I have toiled for countless years, and ever felt the cost,
and I've been burned by this world's cold,
like leaves beneath the frost.
On my knees I've crawled to you, bleeding myself dry,
But the price of life is more, then I could ever buy.
If mercy falls upon the broken and poor,
Dear Father, I will see you, there on distant shores.
And off of the blocks, I was headstrong and proud,
at the front of the line for the card-carrying, highbrowed.
With both eyes fastened tight, yet unscarred from the fight.
Running at full tilt, my sword pulled from it's hilt.
Its funny how these things can slip away, our frail deeds,
the last will wave good-bye. Its funny how the hope will bleed
away, the citadels we build and fortify. Good-bye.
Night came and I broke my stride, I swallowed hard, but never
cried. When grace was easy to forget, I'd denounce the hypocrites,
casting first stones, killing my own. You would unscale my blind
eyes, and I stood battered, but more wise, fighting to accelerate,
shaking free from crippling weight. With resilience surpassed,
I clawed my way to you at last. And on my knees,
I wept at your feet, I finally believed, that you still loved
me.
Healing hands of God's mercy on our unclean souls once again,
Jesus Christ, Light of the world, burning bright within our hearts forever.
Freedom means love without condition without beginning or an end.
Here's my heart let it be forever yours,
only you can make every new day seem so new.
My own thoughts: to what extent is brokenness necessary? It seems that I serve a God who prefers to use broken tools. This is both frightening and comforting. I seem to have a break built right in, one that shows no sign of being fixed anytime soon, if at all. Short of a miracle, I will never be able to entirely trust my emotions or perceptions, and the chemical reactions that sometimes go off in my head can affect my reason at times, too. (Fortunately, I still have my stubborness, which has pulled me through more than you might guess.)
2 Corinthians 12:8-10
| 8. | Concerning this I implored the Lord three times that it might leave me. |
| 9. | And He has said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. |
| 10. | Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong. |
God gave Paul a "thorn in the flesh" to keep him from getting too exalted because of the greatness of the revelations given to him. I am not saying that my brokenness is a precursor to great revelations; I highly doubt that! But it does seem to give a picture of God as someone who breaks His tools, so that no-one will be able to doubt who's really doing the work. But He does not ask something that He Himself has not been willing to face; He Himself is broken for us.
So...I won't say "bring it on," because no sane person ever really says that to sorrow and brokenness....but...
May God make me an instrument of His grace. And may He have mercy on my soul, and be my strength in weakness, and my wholeness in being broken.
I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my roof, but speak the word only and my soul shall be healed.
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