Wanted: An Impressive Girl. Simple enough.
-Someone who is creative, but not because she feels she has to be. Someone who creates out of the simple desire to create, not out of some misguided sense of obligation to me
-Someone with enough self-respect to realize that a bar is not the greatest place in the world, and that the people one meets there are usually not much better than scum. Or, perhaps more accurately, the scum on scum's shoes.
-Someone willing to read books with new ideas, things that challenge her worldview, rather than limiting herself to reading things that merely bolster her preconceived notions. And when confronted with something that appears to challenge her worldview, she can look at it objectively without the critical eye of the status quo.
-Someone who thinks enough of me to realize that our relationship is really between us, not between us and the entire world.
-Someone who I can have a good conversation with, staying up all night and even into the morning without one of us dominating the discourse or boring the hell out of the other person.
-Someone who doesn't just succumb to the beat of a song, but analyzes the lyrics and weighs the song on what is said, not just on how it sounds.
-Someone willing to accept that they don't know things, and willing to learn and add to their knowledge.
-Someone I can sit on a porch with and drink lemonade.
-Someone who is beautiful outside because she is beautiful inside.
-Someone who understands that Right and Wrong are just words, and that matters is what you do, not what you say.
-Someone who is a socialite, and welcoming to all, but still thinks highly enough of herself that whatever company she keeps does not alter her state of being.
-Someone with a sense of humor, who does not succumb to the temptation of condescension.
-Someone who is willing to do more than just talk about being classy.
-Someone who does not need to feel the need to embrace feminism or misogyny, but simply is. She is strong in and of herself, and does not need to be told that she needs to work in order to free herself from the oppression of her foremothers (or whatever), or who does not feel the need to stay home chained to the stove. Who does what she does out of a desire to do it, not a need to have a place fulfilled.
-Someone who likes who I am without openly fawning over me.
-Someone who is perfect in her imperfection. Or who is perfect because she is imperfect. Someone whose little imperfections do not grow to consume my image of her in time.
-Someone who does not just vote the party line, but votes her conscience.
-Someone who cares enough to do her makeup, but not so much that she overdoes her makeup.
-Someone who is not afraid of looking stupid because she cannot answer a question.
-Someone who understands that taste is subjective, as are many things in life.
-Someone who would watch a football game on the couch without fully understanding the game, and would ask for explanations and not mind my commentary on the game.
-Someone who has been evading me all these long years, but is out there somewhere.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A Yellow Wood
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;..."
Yes, Bob. I feel you tonight.
Similar to Frost's Traveler in The Road Not Taken, I find myself at a fork in the road, peering down two paths, unsure which one I should take. There are benefits and disclaimers to both paths, and realistically, I cannot travel both. At least, not at the present time.
"Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,..."
There is, it would seem, a high road and a low road in this fork, but who can be sure which is which? On the one hand, one seems to be the high road from the initial vantage point, but who knows what could be accomplished by taking the one that seems to not be the high road? What unknown heights could this "lower" path soar to, given a long enough traverse?
"And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
But knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back...."
Will there be an opportunity to return to take the other path? Life is always flowing forward, not backward, so in the tide of time, odds are I won't be given a chance to pursue the other path once the one chosen is started. Is the unknown something I can afford to forfeit?
Can I live with not knowing what I've given up?
"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
And ultimately, which path will I have been more satisfied with at journey's end? Will my sigh from "ages and ages hence" be a happy sigh or a frustrated one? Will the rocking chair on the porch around the house surrounded by the Elysian field be a place of satisfactory remembrance or one of hesitant, nostalgic memories (nostalgia in this sense being its literal, historic self: nostos--homecoming + algia--pain = the pain of going home)?
And will I keep standing here as seasons continue to go by? Or will I just take a step?
(Thanks to the memory of Robert Frost. May New England never forget you in the autumn months.)
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;..."
Yes, Bob. I feel you tonight.
Similar to Frost's Traveler in The Road Not Taken, I find myself at a fork in the road, peering down two paths, unsure which one I should take. There are benefits and disclaimers to both paths, and realistically, I cannot travel both. At least, not at the present time.
"Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,..."
There is, it would seem, a high road and a low road in this fork, but who can be sure which is which? On the one hand, one seems to be the high road from the initial vantage point, but who knows what could be accomplished by taking the one that seems to not be the high road? What unknown heights could this "lower" path soar to, given a long enough traverse?
"And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
But knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back...."
Will there be an opportunity to return to take the other path? Life is always flowing forward, not backward, so in the tide of time, odds are I won't be given a chance to pursue the other path once the one chosen is started. Is the unknown something I can afford to forfeit?
Can I live with not knowing what I've given up?
"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
And ultimately, which path will I have been more satisfied with at journey's end? Will my sigh from "ages and ages hence" be a happy sigh or a frustrated one? Will the rocking chair on the porch around the house surrounded by the Elysian field be a place of satisfactory remembrance or one of hesitant, nostalgic memories (nostalgia in this sense being its literal, historic self: nostos--homecoming + algia--pain = the pain of going home)?
And will I keep standing here as seasons continue to go by? Or will I just take a step?
(Thanks to the memory of Robert Frost. May New England never forget you in the autumn months.)
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Hell is Other People
Yeah... no kidding...
I find myself frequently disappointed in people. Many people. A lot of the time.
And it's not because I hate people, no far from it. It's because they seem to hate me.
The common denominator in all your failed relationships, despite any protest to the contrary, is you. You can factor in all kinds of defensive little explanations, little things the other person did that drove you away, or at the very least drove the two of you apart, even cop to some small, insignificant piece of evidence that would--MAYBE--explain one failure or two, but when it comes down to it, the only thing that every relationship you have has in common... is you.
I can't help but feel at times like I seem to be the one pouring the most into many of my friendships--driving time/monetary expense, effort at making a get-together happen, blah blah blah. I know that, a lot of the time, it's mere convenience for my friends that I be the one to visit them rather than them visit me, and since they're my friends I'm happy to oblige, but I do often feel like, were the tables turned, anyone that I would want to put in the time/effort to make a visit to me happen wouldn't bother. For whatever reason, I can't be entirely sure. "You never know just how you look through other people's eyes."
But I do often wonder if it's because of me. Am I the one that has to make the effort because, on the other side of things, I'm the undesirable one, and whomever I would be visiting is simply humoring me when I visit them? Am I not worth whatever small effort would have to be put in to, say, make a cup of coffee happen, or a nice stroll around a park, or even something more formal than that? Is the problem with me, rather than with everyone else? The common denominator in all your failed relationships is you, after all...
Perhaps my expectations are too high. I've ranted and raved about people placing expectations on me that I don't feel are warranted or deserved, thus I know how it feels to have someone else put an expectation on you, so am I just expecting too much of my friends? Or, perhaps I should term it, these acquaintances that moonlight as friends, or are just friends in name only?
Meanwhile, days turn into weeks and time becomes infinitely more precious as it slips away. I have one less day than I did yesterday. It's 24 hours that I'll never get back, ever. How much of it was wasted on trying to acquaint with people who weren't worth my time to begin with? How much of it was saved by them not acquainting themselves with me? I can't tell you or anyone how long I have left, and it could be that I'm wasting my precious few hours left on Earth trying to force something to happen that won't.
And do I really want to hear the truth? Do I want to face the harsh reality that, yes, I am hardly worth the time of my friends because of X-Y-Z and they're better off ignoring every advance that I make toward them?
Am I just being paranoid?
Do I need new friends?
Will I ever have any?
Can you hear me?
...Is there anybody alive out there?...
I find myself frequently disappointed in people. Many people. A lot of the time.
And it's not because I hate people, no far from it. It's because they seem to hate me.
The common denominator in all your failed relationships, despite any protest to the contrary, is you. You can factor in all kinds of defensive little explanations, little things the other person did that drove you away, or at the very least drove the two of you apart, even cop to some small, insignificant piece of evidence that would--MAYBE--explain one failure or two, but when it comes down to it, the only thing that every relationship you have has in common... is you.
I can't help but feel at times like I seem to be the one pouring the most into many of my friendships--driving time/monetary expense, effort at making a get-together happen, blah blah blah. I know that, a lot of the time, it's mere convenience for my friends that I be the one to visit them rather than them visit me, and since they're my friends I'm happy to oblige, but I do often feel like, were the tables turned, anyone that I would want to put in the time/effort to make a visit to me happen wouldn't bother. For whatever reason, I can't be entirely sure. "You never know just how you look through other people's eyes."
But I do often wonder if it's because of me. Am I the one that has to make the effort because, on the other side of things, I'm the undesirable one, and whomever I would be visiting is simply humoring me when I visit them? Am I not worth whatever small effort would have to be put in to, say, make a cup of coffee happen, or a nice stroll around a park, or even something more formal than that? Is the problem with me, rather than with everyone else? The common denominator in all your failed relationships is you, after all...
Perhaps my expectations are too high. I've ranted and raved about people placing expectations on me that I don't feel are warranted or deserved, thus I know how it feels to have someone else put an expectation on you, so am I just expecting too much of my friends? Or, perhaps I should term it, these acquaintances that moonlight as friends, or are just friends in name only?
Meanwhile, days turn into weeks and time becomes infinitely more precious as it slips away. I have one less day than I did yesterday. It's 24 hours that I'll never get back, ever. How much of it was wasted on trying to acquaint with people who weren't worth my time to begin with? How much of it was saved by them not acquainting themselves with me? I can't tell you or anyone how long I have left, and it could be that I'm wasting my precious few hours left on Earth trying to force something to happen that won't.
And do I really want to hear the truth? Do I want to face the harsh reality that, yes, I am hardly worth the time of my friends because of X-Y-Z and they're better off ignoring every advance that I make toward them?
Am I just being paranoid?
Do I need new friends?
Will I ever have any?
Can you hear me?
...Is there anybody alive out there?...
Friday, June 17, 2011
Questions from Heaven
We have this image in Christianity of lining up before God, asking Him all the questions that would come to our mind during this life, anything we want to know. For some reason today it occurred to me that the scene might be different, that we might be questioned by God for some of the ridiculous things we've done down here.
Questions from Heaven:
Why would you read My Word as a science book when it is nothing of the sort, and does not even present itself as such? Furthermore, why would you seek to question and damn the work of my servants? Damnation is not your job.
Exactly what was your proof that those 19 people in Salem were witches, anyway?
Didn't I command you to care for the alien at your gates? Or did you miss that part?
Why obsess so much about facts about My Son instead of just doing what he told you, as well as continuing his good work here?
Converting people to Me is a first step, not the whole point. I commanded you to make Disciples, not Converts. When did you decide it was about a body count, rather than about guidance?
I didn't send My Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save it. So why did you spend so much time being judgmental?
Why did you spend so much time in the Psalms, but very little in the Proverbs?
What was all that garbage about the end of the world, anyway? I said My World was Very Good. Why did you spend so little time and effort actually caring for it?
Why were you all so rude to my Chosen People, insulting their faith, misinterpreting their words, twisting their scriptures in your translations, making things fit together that weren't in the text originally?
Why did you think it was good enough to just wait for the Kingdom? Why didn't you feel it was necessary to act?
My Son sacrificed himself to save others. What gave you the right to act so selfishly?
I made it clear that you cannot serve both Me and Mammon. Why did you let it become all about they money you made?
Why did you ignore the second half of the book of Jonah? It's in there for a reason.
What was the reason behind thinking so highly of Job, while fervently denouncing anyone else who had the nerve to question Me? I seem to remember blessing Job, with his doubt and the heinous things he said about me.
Why did you decide to move Daniel from the Writings section to the Prophets section? Kinda missed the point of that book when you did that.
Didn't ANY of you understand Revelation? Your interpretations of it got pretty weird after a while... take it in context, for My sake!
Why did you always shoot someone for choosing to do My Good Work in that country you called America? I'm pretty sure I sent Abe, Jack, Bobby and King for a reason.
Why did you claim to understand Me so well when I'm obviously having trouble understanding what you're all up to?
What part of "turn the other cheek" didn't you understand?
What part of "love your neighbor as yourself" didn't you understand?
What part of "sell all you have and give your money to the poor" didn't you understand?
What part of "it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven" didn't you understand?
What part of "Blessed are the Poor in Spirit...
"Blessed are Those who Mourn...
"Blessed are the Meek...
"Blessed are Those who Hunger and Thirst for Righteousness...
"Blessed are the Merciful...
"Blessed are the Pure in Heart...
"Blessed are the Peacemakers...
"Blessed are Those who are Persecuted because of Righteousness...
...didn't you understand?
Questions from Heaven:
Why would you read My Word as a science book when it is nothing of the sort, and does not even present itself as such? Furthermore, why would you seek to question and damn the work of my servants? Damnation is not your job.
Exactly what was your proof that those 19 people in Salem were witches, anyway?
Didn't I command you to care for the alien at your gates? Or did you miss that part?
Why obsess so much about facts about My Son instead of just doing what he told you, as well as continuing his good work here?
Converting people to Me is a first step, not the whole point. I commanded you to make Disciples, not Converts. When did you decide it was about a body count, rather than about guidance?
I didn't send My Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save it. So why did you spend so much time being judgmental?
Why did you spend so much time in the Psalms, but very little in the Proverbs?
What was all that garbage about the end of the world, anyway? I said My World was Very Good. Why did you spend so little time and effort actually caring for it?
Why were you all so rude to my Chosen People, insulting their faith, misinterpreting their words, twisting their scriptures in your translations, making things fit together that weren't in the text originally?
Why did you think it was good enough to just wait for the Kingdom? Why didn't you feel it was necessary to act?
My Son sacrificed himself to save others. What gave you the right to act so selfishly?
I made it clear that you cannot serve both Me and Mammon. Why did you let it become all about they money you made?
Why did you ignore the second half of the book of Jonah? It's in there for a reason.
What was the reason behind thinking so highly of Job, while fervently denouncing anyone else who had the nerve to question Me? I seem to remember blessing Job, with his doubt and the heinous things he said about me.
Why did you decide to move Daniel from the Writings section to the Prophets section? Kinda missed the point of that book when you did that.
Didn't ANY of you understand Revelation? Your interpretations of it got pretty weird after a while... take it in context, for My sake!
Why did you always shoot someone for choosing to do My Good Work in that country you called America? I'm pretty sure I sent Abe, Jack, Bobby and King for a reason.
Why did you claim to understand Me so well when I'm obviously having trouble understanding what you're all up to?
What part of "turn the other cheek" didn't you understand?
What part of "love your neighbor as yourself" didn't you understand?
What part of "sell all you have and give your money to the poor" didn't you understand?
What part of "it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven" didn't you understand?
What part of "Blessed are the Poor in Spirit...
"Blessed are Those who Mourn...
"Blessed are the Meek...
"Blessed are Those who Hunger and Thirst for Righteousness...
"Blessed are the Merciful...
"Blessed are the Pure in Heart...
"Blessed are the Peacemakers...
"Blessed are Those who are Persecuted because of Righteousness...
...didn't you understand?
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Thoughts from 1:30 on a Sunday Afternoon...
I'm tired. And it's my own idiot fault for being up late last night.
I keep perusing guitar ads and wishing I had all the money in the world to buy all the guitars I want. There's a package on one website for a remake of a '52 Telecaster and a '65 Princeton amplifier, and both sound wonderful. I feel like slipping over to the Gutiarschtadt--I mean, Guitar Center--and giving them a try.
Life is strange, but wonderful. Even despite its being frustrating here and there, and even when things don't live up to whatever seemingly reasonable expectations I'd put on them. I do wish things worked out in reality as nicely as I decide to formulate them in my mind.
And there are plenty of frustrations of late, in a lot of areas. Life is hard and takes a lot of resolve to get through, but like Hemingway wrote, life breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. I like that, a lot. It's Grace Under Fire, something Hemingway was constantly writing about, constantly living out in what he did, and something that I admittedly struggle with. It's accomplishing the impossible because you refuse to give up when things get tough. It's a helluva mantra and a helluva thing to lay before someone, but if more people lived that way, I imagine there would be a lot less complaining, despite perhaps more prevalent and legitimate reason to complain.
What I want is not going to come easy, and I've admittedly wasted a LOT of time in failing to try at it, but that's part of life as well--failing at trying, as much as failing when you try. Yoda once said that there is no Try, there is simply Do and Do Not. You either do something or you don't. Tough love, and a harsh lesson to learn, but I think there's value in a good Try. The above is an attack on the idea of the Try as being fatalistic, something you'll attempt despite your expectation to fail at it. But the good Try is a serious attempt, the willingness to laugh in the face of improbable odds and the temptation to expect failure in the attempt to actually achieve, and is actually a lot closer to Doing than to that failure-oriented try.
In related news, life is hard, get a (bleep) helmet.
I want to take a road trip down what's left of Route 66 someday. I want to drive a vintage or restored '60s Chevy convertible, with the top down, across the Mid- and Southwest sometime, stopping in little Mom-and-Pop places along the way, playing impromptu shows at bars here and there, just to get the atmosphere of a real bar crowd, and put together an album of music based on the live shows and perhaps original material worked out along the way. I want to see that over 2000-mile strip of road along the way, only 80% navigable as it may be, winding its way southwest through Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California; from Chicago to Santa Monica. Main Street, USA; and witness the heartbeat of America as it stands now and stood yesterday.
I don't really want to be famous, I don't want the baggage that would come with that. I'd rather be significant than famous. I would rather have a legacy than fame, because fame is fleeting, while a legacy lasts. I would rather be pertinent and relevant 100 years after I die or make my contribution than have all the money and popularity and attention now, to be stripped slowly away as years are accumulated to my life.
And if my legacy only applies to the few people I've personally helped and/or met along the way, so be it. So much the better.
If I have to die before I get old, I should hope I go after my parents. No parent should have to suffer the ordeal of burying their child, and I would rather have to deal with losing them than ever hope they'd have to deal with losing me. In fact, I hope I outlive you all, so that all of your deaths and the accumulated suffering of loss that would come with them would be my burden alone to bear, my cross to carry. Not that I'm full of myself and high-and-mighty, but I wouldn't wish pain on anyone I know.
There is a man sitting next to me that I'm having difficulty dealing with. Without going into description or making fun, I find it taxing to sit near him or even look at him because of who he is. And I hate that it's that way, because quite frankly, he can't really help who he is, and I know that. I'm trying so damn hard to be the shepherd, as a wise man once wrote. So damn hard. And it's not easy, but then again, I know it's not something I can do on my own. But it still takes effort from me, and I know that. Grace Under Fire, as we've established, is not an easy thing, but it is a good thing. I am far from faultless, and so the faults of others are not really my business, to quote a fellow seeker.
Stevie Ray Vaughan is playing guitar in the background, despite the fact that he's been dead for 20 years. He's still just as good as he was then, and someone that I will freely admit I have tons of respect for as a guitar player. Possibly one of my favorites. He joins my odd list of Favorite Guitar Players, many of whom strangely enough happened to have died. Stevie, meet Harrison, Hendrix and Houser. (and Hennessy? Nah...)
Don't beat me just because I said Harrison. Or panic because I said Houser.
I can't predict what your Hendrix experience will be.
I need to write that book. Seeing in Color will be great and relevant when it is finally written, so I just need to do it already.
That's enough for now. I know not many of you are reading. Thanks anyway, it is appreciated.
I keep perusing guitar ads and wishing I had all the money in the world to buy all the guitars I want. There's a package on one website for a remake of a '52 Telecaster and a '65 Princeton amplifier, and both sound wonderful. I feel like slipping over to the Gutiarschtadt--I mean, Guitar Center--and giving them a try.
Life is strange, but wonderful. Even despite its being frustrating here and there, and even when things don't live up to whatever seemingly reasonable expectations I'd put on them. I do wish things worked out in reality as nicely as I decide to formulate them in my mind.
And there are plenty of frustrations of late, in a lot of areas. Life is hard and takes a lot of resolve to get through, but like Hemingway wrote, life breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. I like that, a lot. It's Grace Under Fire, something Hemingway was constantly writing about, constantly living out in what he did, and something that I admittedly struggle with. It's accomplishing the impossible because you refuse to give up when things get tough. It's a helluva mantra and a helluva thing to lay before someone, but if more people lived that way, I imagine there would be a lot less complaining, despite perhaps more prevalent and legitimate reason to complain.
What I want is not going to come easy, and I've admittedly wasted a LOT of time in failing to try at it, but that's part of life as well--failing at trying, as much as failing when you try. Yoda once said that there is no Try, there is simply Do and Do Not. You either do something or you don't. Tough love, and a harsh lesson to learn, but I think there's value in a good Try. The above is an attack on the idea of the Try as being fatalistic, something you'll attempt despite your expectation to fail at it. But the good Try is a serious attempt, the willingness to laugh in the face of improbable odds and the temptation to expect failure in the attempt to actually achieve, and is actually a lot closer to Doing than to that failure-oriented try.
In related news, life is hard, get a (bleep) helmet.
I want to take a road trip down what's left of Route 66 someday. I want to drive a vintage or restored '60s Chevy convertible, with the top down, across the Mid- and Southwest sometime, stopping in little Mom-and-Pop places along the way, playing impromptu shows at bars here and there, just to get the atmosphere of a real bar crowd, and put together an album of music based on the live shows and perhaps original material worked out along the way. I want to see that over 2000-mile strip of road along the way, only 80% navigable as it may be, winding its way southwest through Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California; from Chicago to Santa Monica. Main Street, USA; and witness the heartbeat of America as it stands now and stood yesterday.
I don't really want to be famous, I don't want the baggage that would come with that. I'd rather be significant than famous. I would rather have a legacy than fame, because fame is fleeting, while a legacy lasts. I would rather be pertinent and relevant 100 years after I die or make my contribution than have all the money and popularity and attention now, to be stripped slowly away as years are accumulated to my life.
And if my legacy only applies to the few people I've personally helped and/or met along the way, so be it. So much the better.
If I have to die before I get old, I should hope I go after my parents. No parent should have to suffer the ordeal of burying their child, and I would rather have to deal with losing them than ever hope they'd have to deal with losing me. In fact, I hope I outlive you all, so that all of your deaths and the accumulated suffering of loss that would come with them would be my burden alone to bear, my cross to carry. Not that I'm full of myself and high-and-mighty, but I wouldn't wish pain on anyone I know.
There is a man sitting next to me that I'm having difficulty dealing with. Without going into description or making fun, I find it taxing to sit near him or even look at him because of who he is. And I hate that it's that way, because quite frankly, he can't really help who he is, and I know that. I'm trying so damn hard to be the shepherd, as a wise man once wrote. So damn hard. And it's not easy, but then again, I know it's not something I can do on my own. But it still takes effort from me, and I know that. Grace Under Fire, as we've established, is not an easy thing, but it is a good thing. I am far from faultless, and so the faults of others are not really my business, to quote a fellow seeker.
Stevie Ray Vaughan is playing guitar in the background, despite the fact that he's been dead for 20 years. He's still just as good as he was then, and someone that I will freely admit I have tons of respect for as a guitar player. Possibly one of my favorites. He joins my odd list of Favorite Guitar Players, many of whom strangely enough happened to have died. Stevie, meet Harrison, Hendrix and Houser. (and Hennessy? Nah...)
Don't beat me just because I said Harrison. Or panic because I said Houser.
I can't predict what your Hendrix experience will be.
I need to write that book. Seeing in Color will be great and relevant when it is finally written, so I just need to do it already.
That's enough for now. I know not many of you are reading. Thanks anyway, it is appreciated.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Life is...
Life is like a river... it has its twists and turns.
Life is like a grapefruit... it takes a while to get used to the flavor and then once you get used to it, it squirts you in the eye.
Life is a highway... I wanna ride it all night long.
Life is like a train... you're stuck on the tracks and it's comin'!
Life is a roller coaster... it has its ups and downs.
Life is a sexually transmitted disease, and GOOD NEWS! it's 100% fatal.
In the season of graduation, I've heard so many comparisons in regards to life. I sat through a ceremony recently where a graduate regurgitated a list of such comparisons that had been fed to her by well-meaning adults trying to lend some (small) semblance of guidance.
And it made me wonder, just what about graduation invokes such comparisons in regards to life? What about that season of one's life makes another want to "help" by making a blanket statement about life in general that's supposed to galvanize a youth into giving it their all?
I suppose if I had to guess, I'd say that the uncertainty of the future lends itself to such a thing, that a high school graduate (or college graduate, or what-have-you) is, at that point, looking out at the future and seeing nothing but a white sheet, a blank canvas without definition. And, admittedly, that sort of thing is frightening. It can be terrifying, really, particularly for a 17- or 18-year-old kid with not much on their mind but what they heard on the radio this morning or what they're having for dinner tonight, or what their friends are doing today. This brings about that well-meaning adult who wants to condense the experience down to a single metaphor, something that the kid can take with them on their journey, some small bit of expectation so that, when life hits one of its many bumps-in-the-road or twists-in-the-river or whatever metaphor we're using this week, they can in some respect say, I was ready for this.
But the condensation of life down into one simple allegory or metaphor or comparison or simile is a bit disconcerting. Life may be like a river, but it may also be like a desert. Life may be like a roller coaster but I'm sure for some it's like a stroll in the park. Life is short, but it's also the longest thing you do. The metaphors conflict--there's no water in the desert. No bumps or sudden twists and turns in the park. And sure, life IS sexually-transmitted and it IS 100% fatal (it sure will kill you), but is it fair to call it a disease?
Life is, I think, like life. That's why we have the word for it. That little four-letter word encompasses so much, from a miracle at the beginning to what we cling to at the end. From something hard to something worth doing. From something fragile and temporary and precious to something cold and long and meaningless. It's so much, from a breath of fresh air to a forest teeming with species of plants and animals, a baby bouncing on a knee and an 80-year-old man playing tennis.
Life is like life, there's nothing else like it. There's not much you can do to prepare for it beforehand, and not much you can undo once it's done. You're given a steady dose over the course of your life and you can't afford to waste any of it. And as imperative as that seems, you also must find time to relax and enjoy it. It's not easy, but nothing ever worth doing has been. And when it comes down to it, it's really all you have.
Life is like a grapefruit... it takes a while to get used to the flavor and then once you get used to it, it squirts you in the eye.
Life is a highway... I wanna ride it all night long.
Life is like a train... you're stuck on the tracks and it's comin'!
Life is a roller coaster... it has its ups and downs.
Life is a sexually transmitted disease, and GOOD NEWS! it's 100% fatal.
In the season of graduation, I've heard so many comparisons in regards to life. I sat through a ceremony recently where a graduate regurgitated a list of such comparisons that had been fed to her by well-meaning adults trying to lend some (small) semblance of guidance.
And it made me wonder, just what about graduation invokes such comparisons in regards to life? What about that season of one's life makes another want to "help" by making a blanket statement about life in general that's supposed to galvanize a youth into giving it their all?
I suppose if I had to guess, I'd say that the uncertainty of the future lends itself to such a thing, that a high school graduate (or college graduate, or what-have-you) is, at that point, looking out at the future and seeing nothing but a white sheet, a blank canvas without definition. And, admittedly, that sort of thing is frightening. It can be terrifying, really, particularly for a 17- or 18-year-old kid with not much on their mind but what they heard on the radio this morning or what they're having for dinner tonight, or what their friends are doing today. This brings about that well-meaning adult who wants to condense the experience down to a single metaphor, something that the kid can take with them on their journey, some small bit of expectation so that, when life hits one of its many bumps-in-the-road or twists-in-the-river or whatever metaphor we're using this week, they can in some respect say, I was ready for this.
But the condensation of life down into one simple allegory or metaphor or comparison or simile is a bit disconcerting. Life may be like a river, but it may also be like a desert. Life may be like a roller coaster but I'm sure for some it's like a stroll in the park. Life is short, but it's also the longest thing you do. The metaphors conflict--there's no water in the desert. No bumps or sudden twists and turns in the park. And sure, life IS sexually-transmitted and it IS 100% fatal (it sure will kill you), but is it fair to call it a disease?
Life is, I think, like life. That's why we have the word for it. That little four-letter word encompasses so much, from a miracle at the beginning to what we cling to at the end. From something hard to something worth doing. From something fragile and temporary and precious to something cold and long and meaningless. It's so much, from a breath of fresh air to a forest teeming with species of plants and animals, a baby bouncing on a knee and an 80-year-old man playing tennis.
Life is like life, there's nothing else like it. There's not much you can do to prepare for it beforehand, and not much you can undo once it's done. You're given a steady dose over the course of your life and you can't afford to waste any of it. And as imperative as that seems, you also must find time to relax and enjoy it. It's not easy, but nothing ever worth doing has been. And when it comes down to it, it's really all you have.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Something to Live For
When I went to college at a small Christian school, there were people who routinely left their car doors unlocked. Their justification for doing so was to ask if locking the door would really keep out a potential burglar who really wanted the car, and then follow up by asking if the door being unlocked would keep God from protecting it, turning their indiscretion into an act of faith.
Which never really followed, at least not to me. If someone doesn't steal your car on a given night, it doesn't really prove that God was protecting it, rather than it proves that whoever would have potentially stolen your car either found one before yours or didn't like yours enough to want to steal it. On the other hand, if said car WAS stolen, it does kind of definitively prove that God wasn't protecting your car that night (I don't know, maybe He was on the toilet?).
And my college was in an area where there was a REALLY high per-capita population of former sex-criminals (rape, child molestation, etc.), which really is similar to forms of theft, when you think about it. These were people who were used to, in a sense, taking things that didn't belong to them for their own benefit. So leaving one's car unlocked in such a place was almost like asking to have your car stolen. Naturally the question that follows is, Why?
And their answer, with arms flung wide for bravado and emphasis (sound and fury), was usually, "Well, if some criminal really wants the car so badly that they'd have to steal it, they obviously need it more than I do, so they can have it."
Which is really nice and faux-generous and anti-materialist and whatever, but it always struck me as being similar to saying, "Well, I'll just take these smoke detectors out of my house, because if God's plan is to kill me in a house fire while I'm sleeping, I wouldn't want to spit in His face by trying to survive."
Which isn't generous, it's fatalist. And it's a horrible way to paint a Christian.
Though it shouldn't surprise me. It's asking for martyrdom, which has been a Christian convention for about, oh, 2000 years now. But seeking out martyrdom is not something that we should strive for, and certainly not something that the God of the Bible wants for our lives.
Yes, martyrdom is very noble. And the reason for that is martyrdom is dying for a belief which cannot be proven, a willingness to stand up in the face of oppression and of uncertainty and say, this is something that I attest to, this is who I am, and I am willing to die to keep it that way.
Which is not what the other things are like. It's thinking you're able to call yourself a martyr by baiting people into wronging you in some way, and then saying that God's with you against the world when the world takes your bait. That's not martyrdom, that's teasing.
And it's a wrong way of thinking. As I've stated before, we all admire martyrs because of the nobility of their death. But the wrong way of thinking is when that admiration translates into thinking that Christianity is something to die for, rather than something to LIVE for.
Jesus did not give his followers the gift of death. He gave them a better way to LIVE LIFE, the life that we've been given quite undeservedly. And rather than living that life in a selfish fashion, watching one's own back and strictly being concerned with one's own physical and spiritual needs, Jesus of Nazareth came to earth and showed the unholy to the holy, showed the lost to the found, showed the hungry to the well-fed, showed the have-nots to the haves. And the life he lived echoes the life that WE should live, one outlined well before Jesus' birth in the words of the prophet Micah:
What does the LORD require of you?:
-Do Justly
-Love Mercy
-Walk Humbly with Thy God
And that's it. Rather than abandon one's car to being stolen by someone who doesn't have, Do Justly by paying attention to their needs and Love Mercy by trying to understand what has put them in such need in the first place. Rather than giving into one's pride and announcing with arrogant certitude that God will protect your car, Walk Humbly with Thy God by thanking Him that He's given you an alarm and locks on your door by using them.
Perhaps someday you will be in an oppressive situation, where someone is ACTUALLY disparaging you and your faith and ACTUALLY has the power to kill you for what you believe. And in THAT day, you can take your stand, your last genuine act of faith, and say to these people that, no, you don't have proof, you don't have a guarantee, but what you're doing is choosing to place yourself over that fence, to cast your lot with Christ rather than with an oppressive world out to destroy what you have hope in. And perhaps in that day, yes, you will be martyred.
But until that unlikely day comes, pray for and visit those in prison. Feed the hungry. Clothe the naked. Heal the sick. Comfort the Mourning. Give of what you have for those who have-not.
And remember, Christianity is not to be thought of as something to die for. It is Something to Live For.
Which never really followed, at least not to me. If someone doesn't steal your car on a given night, it doesn't really prove that God was protecting it, rather than it proves that whoever would have potentially stolen your car either found one before yours or didn't like yours enough to want to steal it. On the other hand, if said car WAS stolen, it does kind of definitively prove that God wasn't protecting your car that night (I don't know, maybe He was on the toilet?).
And my college was in an area where there was a REALLY high per-capita population of former sex-criminals (rape, child molestation, etc.), which really is similar to forms of theft, when you think about it. These were people who were used to, in a sense, taking things that didn't belong to them for their own benefit. So leaving one's car unlocked in such a place was almost like asking to have your car stolen. Naturally the question that follows is, Why?
And their answer, with arms flung wide for bravado and emphasis (sound and fury), was usually, "Well, if some criminal really wants the car so badly that they'd have to steal it, they obviously need it more than I do, so they can have it."
Which is really nice and faux-generous and anti-materialist and whatever, but it always struck me as being similar to saying, "Well, I'll just take these smoke detectors out of my house, because if God's plan is to kill me in a house fire while I'm sleeping, I wouldn't want to spit in His face by trying to survive."
Which isn't generous, it's fatalist. And it's a horrible way to paint a Christian.
Though it shouldn't surprise me. It's asking for martyrdom, which has been a Christian convention for about, oh, 2000 years now. But seeking out martyrdom is not something that we should strive for, and certainly not something that the God of the Bible wants for our lives.
Yes, martyrdom is very noble. And the reason for that is martyrdom is dying for a belief which cannot be proven, a willingness to stand up in the face of oppression and of uncertainty and say, this is something that I attest to, this is who I am, and I am willing to die to keep it that way.
Which is not what the other things are like. It's thinking you're able to call yourself a martyr by baiting people into wronging you in some way, and then saying that God's with you against the world when the world takes your bait. That's not martyrdom, that's teasing.
And it's a wrong way of thinking. As I've stated before, we all admire martyrs because of the nobility of their death. But the wrong way of thinking is when that admiration translates into thinking that Christianity is something to die for, rather than something to LIVE for.
Jesus did not give his followers the gift of death. He gave them a better way to LIVE LIFE, the life that we've been given quite undeservedly. And rather than living that life in a selfish fashion, watching one's own back and strictly being concerned with one's own physical and spiritual needs, Jesus of Nazareth came to earth and showed the unholy to the holy, showed the lost to the found, showed the hungry to the well-fed, showed the have-nots to the haves. And the life he lived echoes the life that WE should live, one outlined well before Jesus' birth in the words of the prophet Micah:
What does the LORD require of you?:
-Do Justly
-Love Mercy
-Walk Humbly with Thy God
And that's it. Rather than abandon one's car to being stolen by someone who doesn't have, Do Justly by paying attention to their needs and Love Mercy by trying to understand what has put them in such need in the first place. Rather than giving into one's pride and announcing with arrogant certitude that God will protect your car, Walk Humbly with Thy God by thanking Him that He's given you an alarm and locks on your door by using them.
Perhaps someday you will be in an oppressive situation, where someone is ACTUALLY disparaging you and your faith and ACTUALLY has the power to kill you for what you believe. And in THAT day, you can take your stand, your last genuine act of faith, and say to these people that, no, you don't have proof, you don't have a guarantee, but what you're doing is choosing to place yourself over that fence, to cast your lot with Christ rather than with an oppressive world out to destroy what you have hope in. And perhaps in that day, yes, you will be martyred.
But until that unlikely day comes, pray for and visit those in prison. Feed the hungry. Clothe the naked. Heal the sick. Comfort the Mourning. Give of what you have for those who have-not.
And remember, Christianity is not to be thought of as something to die for. It is Something to Live For.
Friday, May 27, 2011
The End of the World
Just for the sake of those unaware, the world ended last week.
There was a huge earthquake that threw open all the graves on Earth, and those dead in Christ rose again.
All of the true Christians on earth were raptured up to heaven.
And then the final five months of the world began, with all of those left behind damned for eternity to hell.
But, this is not the first time this has happened.
The world ended in about 2000 B.C. when the Zoroastrians predicted that the world would come to an end.
The world ended in 70 A.D. when the Romans destroyed Jerusalem.
The world ended in 1033 when a few predicted that the second coming would occur a thousand years after Christ's death.
The world ended in 1666 when fires ravaged England.
The world ended in 1776 when doomsayers predicted the American Revolution would incite the end of the world.
The world ended in 1844 when William Miller predicted the Second Coming and sold ascension robes to his followers.
The world ended in 1890 when Joseph Smith turned 85 (well after he was murdered in 1844).
The world ended in 1914 when Jehovah's Witnesses announced that Jesus had finally started reigning in heaven.
The world ended in 1938 when Martians landed in New Jersey.
The world ended in 1970 when Hal Lindsey predicted it would.
The world ended in 1978 when Jim Jones predicted it would.
The world ended in 1988 when Edgar Whisenant predicted it would.
The world ended in 1993 when David Koresh predicted it would.
The world ended in 1994 when Harold Camping predicted it would.
The world ended in 1997 when Marshall Applewhite predicted it would.
The world ended in 2000 when just about everybody predicted it would.
And the world will end in 2012 when the Mayan Calendar comes to a big round number and nobody seems to know how to interpret that except that it's the end of the world.
-----
It's always the End Of The World As We Know It, because the world is always changing.
There was a huge earthquake that threw open all the graves on Earth, and those dead in Christ rose again.
All of the true Christians on earth were raptured up to heaven.
And then the final five months of the world began, with all of those left behind damned for eternity to hell.
But, this is not the first time this has happened.
The world ended in about 2000 B.C. when the Zoroastrians predicted that the world would come to an end.
The world ended in 70 A.D. when the Romans destroyed Jerusalem.
The world ended in 1033 when a few predicted that the second coming would occur a thousand years after Christ's death.
The world ended in 1666 when fires ravaged England.
The world ended in 1776 when doomsayers predicted the American Revolution would incite the end of the world.
The world ended in 1844 when William Miller predicted the Second Coming and sold ascension robes to his followers.
The world ended in 1890 when Joseph Smith turned 85 (well after he was murdered in 1844).
The world ended in 1914 when Jehovah's Witnesses announced that Jesus had finally started reigning in heaven.
The world ended in 1938 when Martians landed in New Jersey.
The world ended in 1970 when Hal Lindsey predicted it would.
The world ended in 1978 when Jim Jones predicted it would.
The world ended in 1988 when Edgar Whisenant predicted it would.
The world ended in 1993 when David Koresh predicted it would.
The world ended in 1994 when Harold Camping predicted it would.
The world ended in 1997 when Marshall Applewhite predicted it would.
The world ended in 2000 when just about everybody predicted it would.
And the world will end in 2012 when the Mayan Calendar comes to a big round number and nobody seems to know how to interpret that except that it's the end of the world.
-----
It's always the End Of The World As We Know It, because the world is always changing.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
These People That I Love
Facebook is another tragic reminder of how short life is.
I mean, I'm glad it exists, I'm glad I'm able to keep in touch with friends from South Africa and Paris and Australia that, honestly, 20 years ago I'd have never really had the opportunity to regularly communicate with. Technology has certainly made our world smaller.
Though one has to admit that, in spite of the world's shrinking, we've now enabled ourselves to live our petty little isolated lives in an even more menial capacity, while using facebook to fool ourselves into thinking we're more important than we really are. We can have 4000 "friends" online and yet still spend a birthday or an evening totally and utterly alone, with not but the buzz of a cell phone or the blink of a computer screen to keep us company. And it's tragic that now we can waste away an evening in an imaginary community online rather than in the imaginary community of Gopher Prairie or Arnette, Texas. There would probably be better and more real company in those places than there would be on a social networking site.
But lately, my mind has been turned to the friendships that are represented by facebook, and how despite the fact that these are really my friends and that I actually do care about them, most of those relationships will never be able to develop deeply because of location, because of time constraints, because of the pursuit of money to survive, because of realism and so many other things that prevent the kind of deep, intimate friendships that I truly believe my friends deserve.
Now whenever I log onto facebook or myspace or friendster or orkot or whatever the blankety blank it is this week, I see these people that I love, most of whom will never be given or will never feel the love that they deserve to feel, will never really know how important/special/awesome they must be in order for me to consider them my friend, simply because I don't have the time to go around making everyone my best friend.
And no one does. Because time is so short.
Like Bill Watterson said, this life is fragile, precious and temporary, and in order to go along with our lives we can't really sit and realize exactly how that is or what that means.
I suppose if time is so short, you have to do all you can with it. There is absolutely none to waste and not nearly enough to do all that you want to do.
This thought is unfinished, but I think it's obvious why. Because life is too short.
I mean, I'm glad it exists, I'm glad I'm able to keep in touch with friends from South Africa and Paris and Australia that, honestly, 20 years ago I'd have never really had the opportunity to regularly communicate with. Technology has certainly made our world smaller.
Though one has to admit that, in spite of the world's shrinking, we've now enabled ourselves to live our petty little isolated lives in an even more menial capacity, while using facebook to fool ourselves into thinking we're more important than we really are. We can have 4000 "friends" online and yet still spend a birthday or an evening totally and utterly alone, with not but the buzz of a cell phone or the blink of a computer screen to keep us company. And it's tragic that now we can waste away an evening in an imaginary community online rather than in the imaginary community of Gopher Prairie or Arnette, Texas. There would probably be better and more real company in those places than there would be on a social networking site.
But lately, my mind has been turned to the friendships that are represented by facebook, and how despite the fact that these are really my friends and that I actually do care about them, most of those relationships will never be able to develop deeply because of location, because of time constraints, because of the pursuit of money to survive, because of realism and so many other things that prevent the kind of deep, intimate friendships that I truly believe my friends deserve.
Now whenever I log onto facebook or myspace or friendster or orkot or whatever the blankety blank it is this week, I see these people that I love, most of whom will never be given or will never feel the love that they deserve to feel, will never really know how important/special/awesome they must be in order for me to consider them my friend, simply because I don't have the time to go around making everyone my best friend.
And no one does. Because time is so short.
Like Bill Watterson said, this life is fragile, precious and temporary, and in order to go along with our lives we can't really sit and realize exactly how that is or what that means.
I suppose if time is so short, you have to do all you can with it. There is absolutely none to waste and not nearly enough to do all that you want to do.
This thought is unfinished, but I think it's obvious why. Because life is too short.
Friday, May 20, 2011
God Helps Those Who...
Think again...
The good news: "God helps those who help themselves" is not a true statement. Never was.
The truth is: God helps those who CAN'T help themselves.
God is not the god of the capable, the rich, the fat and the unconcerned--far from it. God is the God of the disenfranchised, the weak, the weary, the mourning, the incapable, the helpless, the downtrodden and the sick.
Christ didn't hang with the elite, the cream of the crop, and those who had manipulated others to their own ends. He hung down with the freaks and the ghouls, those who had been cheated by those elbowing their way to the top. He hung out with those who had to steal to feed their families, those who had to sell their bodies to survive in the here and now, those who had been exploited to the point of poverty and illness by the rich.
And did he frown on them for their reliance on handouts? Did he scorn them when they asked for healing, or even for money? Did he chastise them for having to do illegal things because of the immorality of those above them?
No.
He loved them. He decided that they were his people--the downtrodden, the poor, the sick, the criminals. He said that the poor would be rich in his kingdom, because they refused to step on their fellow man and had fallen behind. He said those who were quick to listen and learn would inherit the earth, because they weren't so arrogantly certain of themselves and what they attested to. He said that those who were mourning because they couldn't feed their child--they would be comforted despite those who had overlooked them.
Ezekiel 16:49-50 indicates that being arrogant, comfortable, overfed and unconcerned are detestable things in God's sight. That those who decided that their place was secure and they didn't need to care at all for the fate of those around them were to be despised above all men. Because Sodom was so arrogant and overfed, the Lord said, it was destroyed. Ignore the plight of those around you and take whatever you want that doesn't belong to you for your own pleasure, and you'll be destroyed. Pretty harsh lesson.
That's why God is not the god of America.
Those who are overfed and unconcerned cannot count themselves with God, because God doesn't count Himself with them.
God is the God of those suffering in Africa, who lack clean water and are dying from AIDS. God is the God of those in South Asia, where overpopulation kills thousands of children a year. God is the God of those oppressed by tyrannical governments, despots, plagues, fires, earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, inequality, slander and hatred.
God helps those who CAN'T help themselves.
And how does He help them, one might ask?
He's already taken care of that.
And here's a hint: it's your job, Christian.
In Matthew 25, Jesus makes it pretty clear that the Lord's work is to be done by his followers. "Whatever you've done for the least of these, my brothers, you've done for me."
"These are my people...
They are starving...
They are sick...
They are in prison...
They are naked...
Feed them.
Heal them.
Comfort them.
Clothe them.
Because I help those who cannot help themselves."
The good news: "God helps those who help themselves" is not a true statement. Never was.
The truth is: God helps those who CAN'T help themselves.
God is not the god of the capable, the rich, the fat and the unconcerned--far from it. God is the God of the disenfranchised, the weak, the weary, the mourning, the incapable, the helpless, the downtrodden and the sick.
Christ didn't hang with the elite, the cream of the crop, and those who had manipulated others to their own ends. He hung down with the freaks and the ghouls, those who had been cheated by those elbowing their way to the top. He hung out with those who had to steal to feed their families, those who had to sell their bodies to survive in the here and now, those who had been exploited to the point of poverty and illness by the rich.
And did he frown on them for their reliance on handouts? Did he scorn them when they asked for healing, or even for money? Did he chastise them for having to do illegal things because of the immorality of those above them?
No.
He loved them. He decided that they were his people--the downtrodden, the poor, the sick, the criminals. He said that the poor would be rich in his kingdom, because they refused to step on their fellow man and had fallen behind. He said those who were quick to listen and learn would inherit the earth, because they weren't so arrogantly certain of themselves and what they attested to. He said that those who were mourning because they couldn't feed their child--they would be comforted despite those who had overlooked them.
Ezekiel 16:49-50 indicates that being arrogant, comfortable, overfed and unconcerned are detestable things in God's sight. That those who decided that their place was secure and they didn't need to care at all for the fate of those around them were to be despised above all men. Because Sodom was so arrogant and overfed, the Lord said, it was destroyed. Ignore the plight of those around you and take whatever you want that doesn't belong to you for your own pleasure, and you'll be destroyed. Pretty harsh lesson.
That's why God is not the god of America.
Those who are overfed and unconcerned cannot count themselves with God, because God doesn't count Himself with them.
God is the God of those suffering in Africa, who lack clean water and are dying from AIDS. God is the God of those in South Asia, where overpopulation kills thousands of children a year. God is the God of those oppressed by tyrannical governments, despots, plagues, fires, earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, inequality, slander and hatred.
God helps those who CAN'T help themselves.
And how does He help them, one might ask?
He's already taken care of that.
And here's a hint: it's your job, Christian.
In Matthew 25, Jesus makes it pretty clear that the Lord's work is to be done by his followers. "Whatever you've done for the least of these, my brothers, you've done for me."
"These are my people...
They are starving...
They are sick...
They are in prison...
They are naked...
Feed them.
Heal them.
Comfort them.
Clothe them.
Because I help those who cannot help themselves."
Friday, April 22, 2011
The Ninth Decade
The Ninth Decade: A Chill Across My Back
LXXXI
The cold is biting through my coat today,
I feel the chill that rides upon the wind;
The sting of winter blowing in its sway,
An even colder age seems to begin.
I pull my jacket tighter ‘round my chest,
In hopes of closing out the cold around;
I hope that soon the winter finds its rest,
Instead the wind persists in howling sound.
I still hold fast against the freezing chill,
And stand up in the face of winter’s roll;
And even though it beats upon me still,
Surviving is my all-consuming goal.
This winter’s harsh, and steadfast in its press,
But here I am, awaiting its regress.
LXXXII
I see bright patches in between the clouds,
The sun beyond refusing to be dulled;
It’s luminescent ‘neath these winter shrouds,
And still is shining, though this day has lulled.
And though it shines and lights beyond the haze,
Its warmth has still diminished in the fog;
So as the world awaits the brighter days,
The chill is constant under murky smog.
And while some feel refreshed by winter’s chill,
Delighting in the absence of the light;
Most others tremble in the waiting still,
All frozen in th’ encroaching of the night.
See all the people in this world of dun,
Awaiting the returning of the sun.
LXXXIII
I do not like the feeling that I get,
When passing by the road to your front door;
It comes despite the fact my mind is set,
To drop you from my mem’ry ever-more.
The place still sends a chill across my back,
Whenever journeys have me pass it by;
The sorrow then begins a sneak attack,
Commencing with a long and sullen sigh.
You see, the pain, it never really leaves,
It stands diminished, yes, but still in place;
But even as it wanes while soul but grieves,
It oft lays waiting for its horrid chase.
That burden brings to bear a heavy load,
Amazed am I—it waits right by your road.
LXXXIV
I huddle at the heater to stay warm,
The sky outside is still a biting blue;
And storm-clouds out on each horizon form,
I know that colder fronts will soon ensue.
I seek out any refuge I can find,
Preparing for the soon-in-coming cold;
Some haven here, where I can ease my mind,
Protection somewhere from the winter bold.
And yet, there is familiarity,
In witnessing this winter’s slow encroach;
I know them all too well, the sights I see,
That chilly sky and grayest clouds’ approach.
So I await the winds and bitter snow,
And find myself amidst the cold I know.
LXXXV
And as the sun returns to warm the earth,
I still can feel a chill upon the air;
But yet the sun will shine for what it’s worth,
To break the spell of winter’s bleak despair.
The clouds are now no more than wisps of white,
No longer casting shadows on the ground;
For up above, the sun is burning bright,
And shining luminescent all around.
The chilliness still lingers with the sun,
As winter’s berth has not yet passed away;
But I will wait ‘til colder days are done,
And warmer weather comes again to stay.
Although the ides of winter are not passed,
I know this bitter season will not last.
LXXXVI
So I am left alone here in the dark,
And yes, I feel abandoned in the cold;
I glance around while searching for a spark,
Darkness still reigns here, as it has of old.
Suppression of the light continues hence,
Here still I sit, amidst the deep despair;
Even though here I’ve never pitched my tents,
Long have I sat in this place, far from fair.
Over the hills—to travel far I long,
Viewing these lovely lands from far away;
Elation’s what I long for—that sweet song,
Death is all I am promised if I stay.
My wish to leave is nothing but a lark,
Even so, I am trapped here in the dark.
LXXXVII
And then I hear the patter of the rain,
Inhaling scent of contact with the ground;
It’s come to wash the world clean again,
Arriving hence with such a soothing sound.
The chill is soon forgotten in the splash,
The rain can wash the bitter cold away;
And thunder punctuates this tempest’s crash,
A bold announcement of this heav’nly spray.
I catch the first few drops upon my head,
And then I feel it soak across my back;
In its descent, so much is left unsaid,
But my day brightens as the skies turn black.
The pouring rain is driving, driving still,
Yet somehow it has lifted winter’s chill.
LXXXVIII
Now with the feel of verdant spring’s approach,
The bite of winter’s chill begins to lift;
And as the warmth and longer days encroach,
Between myself and cold there grows a rift.
And as the warmer days stretch long and blue,
The cold diminished as the sky goes bright;
And ground absorbs the warm ‘neath vivid hue,
I keep my eyes above, embracing light.
Yet still my mind, it often travels time,
Refusing to forget the chill I’ve felt;
And while perhaps the days have grown sublime,
The past is always there, with what it’s dealt.
And since I can’t go back and change the past,
Its cold effect on me shall ever last.
LXXXIX
I still can feel the chill from darkness past,
When once it would encroach across my back;
For though its presence gone, its touch is vast,
And its effect on me I’ll never lack.
The day is gone when such a feeling foul,
Oppressed upon me with its brutal claw;
But still I feel the echoes of its yowl,
Though I’ve escaped that all-consuming maw.
But I cannot dismiss the feeling still,
Because of its effect upon my self;
By so ignoring such a bitter chill,
I relegate what I’ve become to shelf.
So I will not discount what I’ve become,
By blocking out the chill that change is from.
XC
The sun’s upon my back these warmer days,
And up above the sky is pale blue;
It’s hardly broken by the cloudy haze,
And so I feel refreshed somehow, and new.
A gentle breeze, it blows in with the spring,
It’s caught so softly in the palms of trees;
It helps to cool the heat the sun will bring,
And with this weather fair, I am at ease.
So here I sit, reflecting on what’s been,
A bitter cold that brought me to this place;
From out that test, a new day I have seen,
And here I feel the sun upon my face.
While I am left with mem’ry of the chill,
These warmer days will last, persisting still.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
How I Wish....
Oh, how I wish life were simpler than it is.
I say this about an hour after getting my car jimmied having locked the keys in the ignition. Fortunately I have a friend who works in the establishment I was stuck in front of, so I had a dry place to wait for the tow truck. Life wouldn't be so complicated if we didn't have to lock our doors.
Often I have complaints about people that result in others telling me to cut them from my life. And admittedly, life would be simpler to just cut people out of my life, but life isn't really that simple. It's complicated. And I'm a complicated enough person that just dismissing someone from my life isn't really an option. Perhaps that's a flaw on my part.
I have, admittedly, been down as of late. And some people equate this trait solely to my financial situation, which is an oversimplification. Trust me, I WISH it were that simple. But as things often are, it's not that simple. My frustration stems from more than just the money I don't have in my account. But life wouldn't be so complicated if it were ever just one thing bothering me. Hell, life wouldn't be so complicated if we didn't have to use money for things, either, but that's beside the point.
I hate feeding Mammon under the table while trying repeatedly to convince God that He's number one.
Just finished a chapter in The Once and Future King that details Arthur's childhood, and that in those days, astonishingly, the weather behaved itself. It was exactly as it was supposed to be. Life wouldn't be so complicated if you could predict the weather, and it only rained when you were asleep. Perhaps that's why my mind is stuck on these sort of things.
I hate complication, and yet at the same time, I embrace it as life's necessity. Life is itself complicated. It's not simple. You don't have to look any further than our biology to see that. We are complicated beings, biologically, so it would make sense that whatever life could stem from such beings would be just as complicated.
I don't like both loving and hating a person. I don't like the feeling of not really wanting to talk to someone while at the same time being terrified to lose them altogether. There's a reason they call it being "torn."
I like sad songs. Well, I like well-written sad songs. They actually make me happy. Perhaps it's the idea that I'm not alone in my dissatisfaction, perhaps it's that there's an underlying strength beneath them that empowers me in life. But I like that sort of thing. Sad songs.
And that's complication in and of itself, strength in weakness, power in helplessness. A song that I repeatedly refer to as my "power anthem" is about weakness. The singer makes a declaration of his intent to stand up and be strong, and yet shortly thereafter admits need, the need for help, the acceptance of the fact that he CANNOT do it on his own. I like that.
I've often felt like I've been run dry, and perhaps I have. But I'll survive. I'll get through it. This is not a wall, it is merely a speed-bump, even though it may seem that way, given our ability to complicate things. I'm great at making mountains out of molehills and blowing up a minor setback into a huge attack.
And I hate that complication. Life would be so much simpler without complication.
I say this about an hour after getting my car jimmied having locked the keys in the ignition. Fortunately I have a friend who works in the establishment I was stuck in front of, so I had a dry place to wait for the tow truck. Life wouldn't be so complicated if we didn't have to lock our doors.
Often I have complaints about people that result in others telling me to cut them from my life. And admittedly, life would be simpler to just cut people out of my life, but life isn't really that simple. It's complicated. And I'm a complicated enough person that just dismissing someone from my life isn't really an option. Perhaps that's a flaw on my part.
I have, admittedly, been down as of late. And some people equate this trait solely to my financial situation, which is an oversimplification. Trust me, I WISH it were that simple. But as things often are, it's not that simple. My frustration stems from more than just the money I don't have in my account. But life wouldn't be so complicated if it were ever just one thing bothering me. Hell, life wouldn't be so complicated if we didn't have to use money for things, either, but that's beside the point.
I hate feeding Mammon under the table while trying repeatedly to convince God that He's number one.
Just finished a chapter in The Once and Future King that details Arthur's childhood, and that in those days, astonishingly, the weather behaved itself. It was exactly as it was supposed to be. Life wouldn't be so complicated if you could predict the weather, and it only rained when you were asleep. Perhaps that's why my mind is stuck on these sort of things.
I hate complication, and yet at the same time, I embrace it as life's necessity. Life is itself complicated. It's not simple. You don't have to look any further than our biology to see that. We are complicated beings, biologically, so it would make sense that whatever life could stem from such beings would be just as complicated.
I don't like both loving and hating a person. I don't like the feeling of not really wanting to talk to someone while at the same time being terrified to lose them altogether. There's a reason they call it being "torn."
I like sad songs. Well, I like well-written sad songs. They actually make me happy. Perhaps it's the idea that I'm not alone in my dissatisfaction, perhaps it's that there's an underlying strength beneath them that empowers me in life. But I like that sort of thing. Sad songs.
And that's complication in and of itself, strength in weakness, power in helplessness. A song that I repeatedly refer to as my "power anthem" is about weakness. The singer makes a declaration of his intent to stand up and be strong, and yet shortly thereafter admits need, the need for help, the acceptance of the fact that he CANNOT do it on his own. I like that.
I've often felt like I've been run dry, and perhaps I have. But I'll survive. I'll get through it. This is not a wall, it is merely a speed-bump, even though it may seem that way, given our ability to complicate things. I'm great at making mountains out of molehills and blowing up a minor setback into a huge attack.
And I hate that complication. Life would be so much simpler without complication.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Musing on Music...
It occurs to me that Kurt Cobain would have turned 44 last month. His fatherless daughter is 18, by the way...
I remember someone once told me that it makes sense that 27 would be the age when famous musicians die, since that's the age when your illusions of an idyllic world are finally broken and realize that it sucks to be here (how positive!). In a weird sort of way, though, I suppose it does make sense...
Haven't written any new songs in a while. Part of me wonders if it's just my muse taking a break, or if I just haven't been inspired, or if I've just been too busy running around everywhere trying to please everyone that I don't have time to write anything down. Maybe all of the above?
I'm at Starbucks and one of the baristas is singing a slightly off-key rendition of "I'll Be There" by the Jackson 5 and it's bringing a few things back:
1.) Junior High sucked.
2.) I'd be more in pain if I didn't find her singing so funny.
3.) Michael Jackson, regardless of what has been said of him, was a very talented individual.
The three most beautiful instruments, at least in my mind, are Uilleann bagpipes, Hammond organ, and the cello. Just an opinion.
Show in a few days. Town Pump in Yuba City starting at like 8 or so. Please be there...
I find it interesting that culture often springs up around music. Jazz music has its own culture, as does Rock and Roll, as does Country, as does Christian music. I shouldn't be surprised, music has always been a significant part of world-culture.
We're living in an age of Second-Generation Rock and Roll. The Beatles all have children who are musically inclined, as does Bob Dylan, as do Eddie Van Halen and John Bonham. To a lesser extent, Billy Ray Cyrus. Much, MUCH lesser.
I'm fascinated by the egotism that comes with Rock-Stardom. But it makes sense that if you've got smoke being blown up your rear-end all the time, it would make sense that you'd get a big head about it. And then there's David Koresh...
I'm liking being a bar band, to an extent. We don't play nearly enough cover tunes to make a living as one yet, but as long as we can keep people entertained while we do what we do, I'd be happy about that.
You don't really think about it, but musical theater is an ancient art. Shakespeare used to write songs into his plays. Greek tragedy always involved a chorus who embodied the thoughts of the observer and sang refrains about it.
I think it's funny how when I listen to songs on the radio or wherever, I can sit there and either realize or remember that I know how to play the song, but when I pick up my guitar, it's like my mind goes blank, and I conveniently forget all the songs I know. This happens even when I don't have an audience. Crazy.
All for now. Peace Love and Valvoline.
I remember someone once told me that it makes sense that 27 would be the age when famous musicians die, since that's the age when your illusions of an idyllic world are finally broken and realize that it sucks to be here (how positive!). In a weird sort of way, though, I suppose it does make sense...
Haven't written any new songs in a while. Part of me wonders if it's just my muse taking a break, or if I just haven't been inspired, or if I've just been too busy running around everywhere trying to please everyone that I don't have time to write anything down. Maybe all of the above?
I'm at Starbucks and one of the baristas is singing a slightly off-key rendition of "I'll Be There" by the Jackson 5 and it's bringing a few things back:
1.) Junior High sucked.
2.) I'd be more in pain if I didn't find her singing so funny.
3.) Michael Jackson, regardless of what has been said of him, was a very talented individual.
The three most beautiful instruments, at least in my mind, are Uilleann bagpipes, Hammond organ, and the cello. Just an opinion.
Show in a few days. Town Pump in Yuba City starting at like 8 or so. Please be there...
I find it interesting that culture often springs up around music. Jazz music has its own culture, as does Rock and Roll, as does Country, as does Christian music. I shouldn't be surprised, music has always been a significant part of world-culture.
We're living in an age of Second-Generation Rock and Roll. The Beatles all have children who are musically inclined, as does Bob Dylan, as do Eddie Van Halen and John Bonham. To a lesser extent, Billy Ray Cyrus. Much, MUCH lesser.
I'm fascinated by the egotism that comes with Rock-Stardom. But it makes sense that if you've got smoke being blown up your rear-end all the time, it would make sense that you'd get a big head about it. And then there's David Koresh...
I'm liking being a bar band, to an extent. We don't play nearly enough cover tunes to make a living as one yet, but as long as we can keep people entertained while we do what we do, I'd be happy about that.
You don't really think about it, but musical theater is an ancient art. Shakespeare used to write songs into his plays. Greek tragedy always involved a chorus who embodied the thoughts of the observer and sang refrains about it.
I think it's funny how when I listen to songs on the radio or wherever, I can sit there and either realize or remember that I know how to play the song, but when I pick up my guitar, it's like my mind goes blank, and I conveniently forget all the songs I know. This happens even when I don't have an audience. Crazy.
All for now. Peace Love and Valvoline.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Rain Down on Me...
I love the rain.
I love the rain because it washes the world clean.
I love the smell of sidewalks after the rain; that gravely, wet asphalt scent that lets you know the world has been washed away, that tomorrow everything will be fresh.
It's the patter on the sidewalk that does it for me, particularly in a light rain. It is never a bother to have the rain fall lightly on my capped head as I pace through parks and down city streets, walking past people's lawns and smelling the ground beneath turned to mud, that fertile scent.
The gray sky is always lovely as well, dove-tailing perfectly with the crisp air around, the bite of a wet winter day against your skin, soft and yet persistent.
Maybe it's because it reminds me of home--and not the "homes" that I've grown up in, but home in the ancestral sense, the Emerald Isle... it's called that because it rains so much there that it's always green... maybe some ancient memory is conjured every time it rains, some distant part of me remembers the Old Country and longs for it, and is happy to have some piece of it that I can walk around in, connect to, and call my own, even for just a moment....
Even so, it always makes me think of the world being washed clean, that simple and yet profound thing... the necessary and yet so fragile and precious ingredient for life falling from the sky, sometimes like light kisses on the ground, sometimes in a pounding torrent that reminds us just how important it is, almost that IT is in control rather than ourselves. And yet, even in it's rage, it still washes this world clean.
Thunderstorms are magnificent, especially when coupled with rain. Whenever the thunder arrives I leave my window open at night and listen to it... the splatter of rain on the back porch... the brief flashes of light illuminating even the dark beneath the clouds... the crack and explosion when the burst finally arrives in my yard... and the repeat of the process happening all over again, rain punctuated by ionic exclamation points....
It is simply refreshing. No matter what the world has done to you, whether it's beaten you down or broken your heart or taken all your money away, walking in the rain just washes it away--it washes it clean, and you are new for standing out in it. You can splash in the puddles or avoid them, watch the white blossoms on the newly budding trees wash off their temporary homes like warm snowflakes and scatter on the ground, speckling the ground like rose petals on a bed, nature's expression of its love affair with us.
It is love from On High. It is confirmation From Above that we're still being thought of, still being considered down here in the mud that comes from the rain, still being shown that all the filth in this world can be and will be washed away, and that afterward we will all be clean again.
It is simple and profound. It is two elements fused together, a very simple compound of nature, and it arrives in many different ways, but quite often it is as rain.
And I love the rain.
I love the rain because it washes the world clean.
I love the smell of sidewalks after the rain; that gravely, wet asphalt scent that lets you know the world has been washed away, that tomorrow everything will be fresh.
It's the patter on the sidewalk that does it for me, particularly in a light rain. It is never a bother to have the rain fall lightly on my capped head as I pace through parks and down city streets, walking past people's lawns and smelling the ground beneath turned to mud, that fertile scent.
The gray sky is always lovely as well, dove-tailing perfectly with the crisp air around, the bite of a wet winter day against your skin, soft and yet persistent.
Maybe it's because it reminds me of home--and not the "homes" that I've grown up in, but home in the ancestral sense, the Emerald Isle... it's called that because it rains so much there that it's always green... maybe some ancient memory is conjured every time it rains, some distant part of me remembers the Old Country and longs for it, and is happy to have some piece of it that I can walk around in, connect to, and call my own, even for just a moment....
Even so, it always makes me think of the world being washed clean, that simple and yet profound thing... the necessary and yet so fragile and precious ingredient for life falling from the sky, sometimes like light kisses on the ground, sometimes in a pounding torrent that reminds us just how important it is, almost that IT is in control rather than ourselves. And yet, even in it's rage, it still washes this world clean.
Thunderstorms are magnificent, especially when coupled with rain. Whenever the thunder arrives I leave my window open at night and listen to it... the splatter of rain on the back porch... the brief flashes of light illuminating even the dark beneath the clouds... the crack and explosion when the burst finally arrives in my yard... and the repeat of the process happening all over again, rain punctuated by ionic exclamation points....
It is simply refreshing. No matter what the world has done to you, whether it's beaten you down or broken your heart or taken all your money away, walking in the rain just washes it away--it washes it clean, and you are new for standing out in it. You can splash in the puddles or avoid them, watch the white blossoms on the newly budding trees wash off their temporary homes like warm snowflakes and scatter on the ground, speckling the ground like rose petals on a bed, nature's expression of its love affair with us.
It is love from On High. It is confirmation From Above that we're still being thought of, still being considered down here in the mud that comes from the rain, still being shown that all the filth in this world can be and will be washed away, and that afterward we will all be clean again.
It is simple and profound. It is two elements fused together, a very simple compound of nature, and it arrives in many different ways, but quite often it is as rain.
And I love the rain.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Jonah and his Whale of an attitude problem...
Not sure exactly what brought me to it this morning, but for some reason it occurred to me that my favorite verse in the Book of Jonah in the Old Testament is chapter 4, verse 4, where God asks Jonah if he has any right to be angry.
There's context here, so I'll explain it: We all know Jonah ran from God, right? Took off in the opposite direction form Ninevah to avoid having to do what God had asked of him, which was to minister to those people? Boarded a ship on the sea and ended up thrown overboard and swallowed by a fish? Repented of his running from God and was spit back onto dry land?
That's merely part of the story, not at all the whole thing. What we refuse to read is that he does go to Ninevah and preach, the theme of his message being: God's going to kill all of you in 40 days. Probably not a very popular subject for a sermon. Then he leaves, watches over the city from afar, waiting for the fire-and-brimstone lightshow that he's certain God is going to put on these sinners.
But it doesn't happen. The city repents. The King of Assyria himself announces that this God whose prophet has arrived and foretold disaster needs to be heeded. The king humbles himself before God, and mandates that the people do the same, which probably wasn't hard for them to do, considering the entire population was a bit frightened by Jonah's message. God, moved by this display of repentance, stays His Hand. The lightshow Jonah promised never begins. The city is spared. The people of Ninevah rejoice.
And Jonah, high atop his lonely little hilltop outside the city limits, is pissed.
This resets the story for me. Go back to the beginning, where Jonah runs away. I honestly don't think Jonah was afraid of the Ninevites, which is the cute little cuddly version we were all told at Bible-Story-Time. Jonah simply didn't want to go. He didn't think the sinning Ninevites worthy of a message from God. So he turned the opposite direction.
And boarded a ship, which I think is also significant. Historically, Hebrews were taught to be afraid of the sea. They likened it to the Abyss, or Hell. It was a terrifying place to them that held all manner of beast (like, say, Big Fish), and they did what they could to avoid it. Jonah's act, braving the sea rather than preaching a message to the people, was his way of saying: look, God, I'd rather go to hell than do what You've asked of me. These people are not worth warning. I'd rather you crush them without giving them a fair shake (which lends me to believe that Jonah knew God's penchant for redemption and didn't want to see the Ninevites saved).
Jonah turns his back on God. And ultimately, it ends in disaster, with Jonah thrown into that Abyss, which God rescues him from by sending the Fish. Jonah is given a second chance--redeemed, if you will.
So he's learned his lesson, right? Not quite. You'll notice when he goes to the city, he only tells them that they'll be destroyed. No second option, no mention of the possibility of redemption. Simply: God is going to destroy this place in 40 days. End of sentence, thought, and sermon. You're all going to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. Rather convenient, I think, to leave that part of the message off, especially when preaching to people you don't really want spared. Maybe they'll just continue their wicked ways in light of this horrible God who's threatening to kill them all.
But no, the people DO repent. And God, do they ever repent! They discard all their symbols of wealth for sackcloth. They abandon any notion of hygiene by covering themselves in ash. They throw themselves on the mercy of the court (something which Jonah, in his boating episode, failed to do), and they are spared. God sees that their hearts are sincere.
So, the evening of Day 40 passes, with the frightened people of Ninevah trembling in anticipation of Divine Wrath, and Jonah on the hill, grinning like an idiot waiting to see it. The Sun comes up and it's suddenly Day 41. The city is still there. The people are spared.
Which, if prophecy is purely about prediction of the future, means that Jonah is a false prophet. What he said would happen did not come to pass, and thus he is a liar. So perhaps the idea of prophecy as a foretelling of the future needs to be reexamined, because Jonah is still listed with the Prophets in the Old Testament, despite his wildly inaccurate prediction.
Anyway, Jonah can't help but notice this. Despite the fact that thousands of people have been spared from horrible death, he's all too concerned with his own appearance. He feels he's been made a fool of by God, that the people of Ninevah will be laughing off his prediction rather than rejoicing that they're, you know, still alive. And he gets a wee bit upset with all of it.
Never mind that, you know, two chapters ago, God rescued Jonah himself from death. Jonah's own disobedience is conveniently forgotten in the wake of God sparing these people that Jonah didn't really want spared. So he finds all the more reason to be angry about it, railing on God for making him look like a fool rather than just giving these people what they deserved.
Sounds familiar. Sounds like, maybe, this story was retold generations later by another Jonah of sorts, this man they called Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus also came to rescue outsiders from their sin, people outside the fold; people who had fallen away and people without the Hebrew birthright. And in one of his more famous stories, he echoes these sentiments in the character of the Prodigal Son's older brother. The kid is furious that Daddy killed the fatted calf for the disobedient brother, making the faithful son out to be the fool. And in that story, as in Jonah, the Father Figure says pretty much the same thing: "Do you have any right to be angry?"
The answer is no. And that resounds throughout Christ's teachings, one in particular being about the Plank in Your Own Eye. God is doing work in others, he says, and it's really not up to you what their problems were or are. I'm sure you have plenty of your own problems to deal with.
I suppose the message here is to be graceful. Or, alternatively, in light of the passage in Hebrews 11 where we look at all the Heroes of Faith and their great deeds, the message here needs to be: Don't Be Like Jonah. Preach the good news, but not so that you get the pleasure of seeing those who reject it destroyed. And don't spend all that time lingering on the misdeeds of others. We have plenty within ourselves that needs to be worked out. We've spent enough time running from God, telling Him we'd rather go to hell than obey Him. So now that He's been graceful with us when we were not repentant, shouldn't it also stand to reason that He would also be graceful with others when they are, or even when they aren't? And don't we claim to be like God in that respect, claiming that we want to be like Him in all that we do? Surely no one here is so perfect as to cast the first stone?
Or, to quote my friend Fred Clark: "A happier ending is always available. Ninevah is a great city. Your brother is alive and well. Why miss the party? It's right this way. You know the way, or at least you should. Haven't you been paying attention?"
So it's my opinion that Jonah is not a hero to be admired, but a warning against vanity and haughty behavior. God tends to humble the proud. And sometimes, He does it so simply as to just say, "Do you have any right to be angry?"
There's context here, so I'll explain it: We all know Jonah ran from God, right? Took off in the opposite direction form Ninevah to avoid having to do what God had asked of him, which was to minister to those people? Boarded a ship on the sea and ended up thrown overboard and swallowed by a fish? Repented of his running from God and was spit back onto dry land?
That's merely part of the story, not at all the whole thing. What we refuse to read is that he does go to Ninevah and preach, the theme of his message being: God's going to kill all of you in 40 days. Probably not a very popular subject for a sermon. Then he leaves, watches over the city from afar, waiting for the fire-and-brimstone lightshow that he's certain God is going to put on these sinners.
But it doesn't happen. The city repents. The King of Assyria himself announces that this God whose prophet has arrived and foretold disaster needs to be heeded. The king humbles himself before God, and mandates that the people do the same, which probably wasn't hard for them to do, considering the entire population was a bit frightened by Jonah's message. God, moved by this display of repentance, stays His Hand. The lightshow Jonah promised never begins. The city is spared. The people of Ninevah rejoice.
And Jonah, high atop his lonely little hilltop outside the city limits, is pissed.
This resets the story for me. Go back to the beginning, where Jonah runs away. I honestly don't think Jonah was afraid of the Ninevites, which is the cute little cuddly version we were all told at Bible-Story-Time. Jonah simply didn't want to go. He didn't think the sinning Ninevites worthy of a message from God. So he turned the opposite direction.
And boarded a ship, which I think is also significant. Historically, Hebrews were taught to be afraid of the sea. They likened it to the Abyss, or Hell. It was a terrifying place to them that held all manner of beast (like, say, Big Fish), and they did what they could to avoid it. Jonah's act, braving the sea rather than preaching a message to the people, was his way of saying: look, God, I'd rather go to hell than do what You've asked of me. These people are not worth warning. I'd rather you crush them without giving them a fair shake (which lends me to believe that Jonah knew God's penchant for redemption and didn't want to see the Ninevites saved).
Jonah turns his back on God. And ultimately, it ends in disaster, with Jonah thrown into that Abyss, which God rescues him from by sending the Fish. Jonah is given a second chance--redeemed, if you will.
So he's learned his lesson, right? Not quite. You'll notice when he goes to the city, he only tells them that they'll be destroyed. No second option, no mention of the possibility of redemption. Simply: God is going to destroy this place in 40 days. End of sentence, thought, and sermon. You're all going to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. Rather convenient, I think, to leave that part of the message off, especially when preaching to people you don't really want spared. Maybe they'll just continue their wicked ways in light of this horrible God who's threatening to kill them all.
But no, the people DO repent. And God, do they ever repent! They discard all their symbols of wealth for sackcloth. They abandon any notion of hygiene by covering themselves in ash. They throw themselves on the mercy of the court (something which Jonah, in his boating episode, failed to do), and they are spared. God sees that their hearts are sincere.
So, the evening of Day 40 passes, with the frightened people of Ninevah trembling in anticipation of Divine Wrath, and Jonah on the hill, grinning like an idiot waiting to see it. The Sun comes up and it's suddenly Day 41. The city is still there. The people are spared.
Which, if prophecy is purely about prediction of the future, means that Jonah is a false prophet. What he said would happen did not come to pass, and thus he is a liar. So perhaps the idea of prophecy as a foretelling of the future needs to be reexamined, because Jonah is still listed with the Prophets in the Old Testament, despite his wildly inaccurate prediction.
Anyway, Jonah can't help but notice this. Despite the fact that thousands of people have been spared from horrible death, he's all too concerned with his own appearance. He feels he's been made a fool of by God, that the people of Ninevah will be laughing off his prediction rather than rejoicing that they're, you know, still alive. And he gets a wee bit upset with all of it.
Never mind that, you know, two chapters ago, God rescued Jonah himself from death. Jonah's own disobedience is conveniently forgotten in the wake of God sparing these people that Jonah didn't really want spared. So he finds all the more reason to be angry about it, railing on God for making him look like a fool rather than just giving these people what they deserved.
Sounds familiar. Sounds like, maybe, this story was retold generations later by another Jonah of sorts, this man they called Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus also came to rescue outsiders from their sin, people outside the fold; people who had fallen away and people without the Hebrew birthright. And in one of his more famous stories, he echoes these sentiments in the character of the Prodigal Son's older brother. The kid is furious that Daddy killed the fatted calf for the disobedient brother, making the faithful son out to be the fool. And in that story, as in Jonah, the Father Figure says pretty much the same thing: "Do you have any right to be angry?"
The answer is no. And that resounds throughout Christ's teachings, one in particular being about the Plank in Your Own Eye. God is doing work in others, he says, and it's really not up to you what their problems were or are. I'm sure you have plenty of your own problems to deal with.
I suppose the message here is to be graceful. Or, alternatively, in light of the passage in Hebrews 11 where we look at all the Heroes of Faith and their great deeds, the message here needs to be: Don't Be Like Jonah. Preach the good news, but not so that you get the pleasure of seeing those who reject it destroyed. And don't spend all that time lingering on the misdeeds of others. We have plenty within ourselves that needs to be worked out. We've spent enough time running from God, telling Him we'd rather go to hell than obey Him. So now that He's been graceful with us when we were not repentant, shouldn't it also stand to reason that He would also be graceful with others when they are, or even when they aren't? And don't we claim to be like God in that respect, claiming that we want to be like Him in all that we do? Surely no one here is so perfect as to cast the first stone?
Or, to quote my friend Fred Clark: "A happier ending is always available. Ninevah is a great city. Your brother is alive and well. Why miss the party? It's right this way. You know the way, or at least you should. Haven't you been paying attention?"
So it's my opinion that Jonah is not a hero to be admired, but a warning against vanity and haughty behavior. God tends to humble the proud. And sometimes, He does it so simply as to just say, "Do you have any right to be angry?"
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Ponder...
Not really sure what to write here. I suppose I've made a contract to write by making one of these blogs, but I can't pretend I always know exactly what to say when I decide to sit down and write.
Played with the band today. Tried out a new bass player, my friend John. Felt I was trying to rush though our catalog of material, since we had a limited amount of time, but that will be amended when I get around to traveling to him to work things out and get him a hard copy of some of the weird covers that we do. Perhaps he'll be ready to play the upcoming show on the 11th, perhaps not. Either way, we'll get him our stuff to get it figured out.
A bit down today. Last night became unpleasant before I went to bed, and I'm still dealing with that feeling of unpleasantness. Today hasn't been the Top of the Pops, I suppose.
I'm exhausted, not because I didn't get enough sleep, though I'd have liked to have slept more, but this week has just worn me out. A lot happened that hasn't been too great. Not even my old friend, caffeine, can perk me up this afternoon.
I'm sitting at a Starbucks in midtown, a fairly empty one, waiting for my friends to get back from a birthday party in Gridley. Part of me just wants to head back to my house and pass out for a while. But hiding from the world with sleep is not an answer. It's often a furthering of a problem.
I need to be out of this place. I have been here too long, and it is wearing on me, very much. I've been saying this for years, but words are empty things. If "cool" and "hot" can mean the same thing (good), then language in and of itself is meaningless and words mean nothing when compared to actions. It's time to put that sentiment to use rather than just continually spewing it at no one in particular, namely myself.
But again, empty words.
Show at the Town Pump in Yuba City on the 11th of March, a Friday night. Be there, please. All the bands would love your support.
There are two posters here above me, one for the Veridian Symphony Orchestra and the other for the Yuba City Mud Run. Why do these strike me as opposite ends of the spectrum?
And why do I feel I'm surrounded more by those who ascribe to the latter rather than the former?
I have never been on a mud run. I have, however, been to see the symphony. So perhaps my opinion is somewhat weighted unfairly, but I'm not too excited about a mud run. Apologies to those who are.
My book is kind of taking shape. There are two chapters in the 2.5 draft, and it's finally looking like something that can be published. The rest of the story exists merely in my head, and several of the subsequent chapters in the 2.0 draft have to be re-written from a slightly different stance, but it can and will be finished.
And if you know my pen name, when I do publish it, buy a copy and read it. And tell me what you think.
But this is getting long and is drifting. Aimless like a lot of things. Thank you if you're reading this.
Played with the band today. Tried out a new bass player, my friend John. Felt I was trying to rush though our catalog of material, since we had a limited amount of time, but that will be amended when I get around to traveling to him to work things out and get him a hard copy of some of the weird covers that we do. Perhaps he'll be ready to play the upcoming show on the 11th, perhaps not. Either way, we'll get him our stuff to get it figured out.
A bit down today. Last night became unpleasant before I went to bed, and I'm still dealing with that feeling of unpleasantness. Today hasn't been the Top of the Pops, I suppose.
I'm exhausted, not because I didn't get enough sleep, though I'd have liked to have slept more, but this week has just worn me out. A lot happened that hasn't been too great. Not even my old friend, caffeine, can perk me up this afternoon.
I'm sitting at a Starbucks in midtown, a fairly empty one, waiting for my friends to get back from a birthday party in Gridley. Part of me just wants to head back to my house and pass out for a while. But hiding from the world with sleep is not an answer. It's often a furthering of a problem.
I need to be out of this place. I have been here too long, and it is wearing on me, very much. I've been saying this for years, but words are empty things. If "cool" and "hot" can mean the same thing (good), then language in and of itself is meaningless and words mean nothing when compared to actions. It's time to put that sentiment to use rather than just continually spewing it at no one in particular, namely myself.
But again, empty words.
Show at the Town Pump in Yuba City on the 11th of March, a Friday night. Be there, please. All the bands would love your support.
There are two posters here above me, one for the Veridian Symphony Orchestra and the other for the Yuba City Mud Run. Why do these strike me as opposite ends of the spectrum?
And why do I feel I'm surrounded more by those who ascribe to the latter rather than the former?
I have never been on a mud run. I have, however, been to see the symphony. So perhaps my opinion is somewhat weighted unfairly, but I'm not too excited about a mud run. Apologies to those who are.
My book is kind of taking shape. There are two chapters in the 2.5 draft, and it's finally looking like something that can be published. The rest of the story exists merely in my head, and several of the subsequent chapters in the 2.0 draft have to be re-written from a slightly different stance, but it can and will be finished.
And if you know my pen name, when I do publish it, buy a copy and read it. And tell me what you think.
But this is getting long and is drifting. Aimless like a lot of things. Thank you if you're reading this.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Charlie Brown is a Good Man
Charlie Brown is a good man.
He may be a blockhead, but he is a good man.
He may have been hurt too many times by that football being pulled away, but he is a good man.
He may have hurt others as well, but he is a good man.
He may have taken advantage of others’ trust, but he is a good man.
He may have used others to his own ends, but he is a good man.
He may have chosen some wrong directions or incorrect companions, but he is a good man.
He may feel that what he has to offer the world is greatly underappreciated, but he is a good man.
He may feel worthless at times, but no, he is a good man.
He may feel like he’s going nowhere, but he is a good man.
He may not like where he is, but he is a good man.
And he needs to remember, and remember well, that this is the case—that he is, in fact, a GOOD MAN.
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