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Saturday, November 21, 2009

Matthew 7:1

I had a blast judging today. It was a wonderful feeling to sit in a cold metal chair with no nervous churning in my stomach and watch. Not idly, but watch with an open mind. Not having to think, "That's a good argument, but this would be better." Not having to think, "Oh dear, what will I say in response to that?" When I normally watch a round, I put myself in the competitor's position. But today, I was in the judge's position. All I had to do was listen to what I was told. And comment on it. And of course I was at home passing out criticism.

So, my brother is getting older. He's developing facets of his personality that I just didn't see when he was drooly high-maintenance toddler or a brooding and video games obsessed seven year old. And while I adore my little brother and think he's fantastic, I'm also highly critical of him, always telling him to stand up straight or say please and thank you. I love him, and I want him to be above reproach. I see this so clearly now in my mom, every time she challenges me with her disapproval -- she is disappointed in me because she loves me, and she knows I can be better.

But sometimes I forget this kind of thing is limited in its effectiveness outside the family model. Sometimes it's not just my brother that's the target of my "love-motivated criticism" but my friends get some flak, too. The careless muttered piracy warnings or the over-dramatized rebukes must sound so much like nagging, so hypocritical. I want watch the people I love be refined into their restored image in Christ . . . and somehow I think pointing out the room for improvement will make that happen? I forget that criticism is only encouragement when it's rooted in love. [And I forget that whole bit about sanctification not coming to fruition on this earth. That significant bit.]

While my family understands that I love them, and that I will always love them, and that my criticism is born of this love . . . I can't expect everyone to understand this.

I think, sometimes friends are people we can be human with. Rest in our humanity and how inherently cracked and flawed and not enough we are. And yes, people provide a motivation to pursue righteousness, but those aren't the kind of expectations that produce anything God can use unless they're mixed portion for portion with a Spirit-filled love. That sounds cliche. Terribly cliche. But how else can I describe it? I think, sometimes the best encouragement is less about what you could do better or what you've done well, and more about I understand. Forgive me. I'm figuring out how to love you like I ought to.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Comfort Food

I've been sitting in front of my computer for an eternity, after spending Monday catching up on NaNoWriMo, and Tuesday writing college application essays. [Speaking of which, isn't "Are we alone?" the best personal statement prompt ever?] I was finally waning at eleven last night, and instead of falling directly into bed, I made a stop at my book shelf first.

Understand, I have stacks of books to read. My lit class is working through The Great Gatsby and I'm wrapping up my gender studies exploration with The Feminine Mystique. Mr. Rehmke's sent me a stack of books that I'm supposed to get back to him about, and I have some other classics beside that I need to read to make my book quota for the year. The stack of books next to my bed that have yet to be read is shameful.

And yet, I stopped at my book shelf and grabbed my sad paperback copy of Anne of the Island. The book really is a mess, obnoxious dog-ears, split spine, broken binding and all -- Maggie got her hands on it and destroyed it like she destroys all my books, not that I'm bitter or anything. I don't normally like to read a book more than twice, but I pick up Anne of the Island when I can't be enticed to read anything else and am in desperate need of some literary therapy.

I'm reading it with new eyes, it feels like, thanks to Dr. Thomas C. Foster and NaNoWriMo. The book must be about fifty-thousand words, and I'm wondering if there's anything I can steal from Lucy Montgomery to make my plot less structurally pathetic. [I'm thirty-thousand words in and only twenty-four hours have passed in the story. There's been too much drama for one day. Not to mention excessively stale narration.] Also, Montgomery was a veritable master at tone and imagery.

I'm not sure what I like best about Anne of the Island. Or any of the Anne books. I don't find much kinship in Anne's personality or circumstances, although we do share an INFP connection. There's just something winning about the characters and their stories and the overly flowery [yet somehow not pretentious] prose. That feels silly and excessively girly. Oh well.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Or I'm just a sucker for catchy songs

You guys, I've been on the most wicked, deplorable Jars of Clay kick recently.

I saw them in concert two years ago, and I was kind of irked because they did a Christmas song [nuff said!] and during "Dead Man (Carry Me)" the lead singer was rolling around on the ground, and it was all very uncomfortable to watch. And some Jars of Clay lyrics are just, "Really, man? For cereal?"

Their song "Closer", while an amazing song to novel to, makes me shudder every time I hear the line "If you hemorrhage I'll stitch" because, ew, and I roll my eyes at "You’re the L and the V, I’m the O and the E" because that line is so overwrought it's surprising The Plain White Tees haven't picked it up.

But their lyrics have do have some pearls:

"You never minded giving us the stars, then showing us how blind and unaware of you we are." -Unforgetful You

"Tearful confessions have watered down and broken down the chance for unrequited love to finally reach its wall." -Collide

"I'm doing way too much thinking and it's tearing me apart." -Hand

"I admit that I've loved these chains and crawling around this cage sometimes has its advantages." -Grace

"Deny myself, deny my heart, deny your hand, deny your help and you offer me eternity, but why should I buy that?" -Sinking

"So steal my heart and take the pain, take the selfish, take the weak, and all the things I cannot hide. Take the beauty, take my tears, take my world apart." -Worlds Apart

I love that their songs are honest, and depressing, and genuine. Discouragement is real, and they don't pretend it isn't, and so often they sing songs that articulate exactly what I'm feeling. They sing the truth, and it's refreshing, and in itself that's encouraging.

"Love Song for a Savior" may be a trite, overplayed product of the CCM movement, but I don't care. He is more than the laughter or the stars in the heavens, He is as close a heartbeat or a song on our lips. And someday we'll trust Him and learn how to see Him.

It seems too easy to call You "Savior," and not close enough to call You "God," so as I sit and think of words I can mention to show my devotion, I want to fall in love with You.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Dollar dropping like a lead ballon

Why is love a currency, that it means more the less we say it? That we give love in exchange for love, that love corresponds with gifts and service? Why does love imply cost and value and worth? Why are the well-loved wealthy in spirit, why are those who give love away the richest of all? Why, why is love like a currency, and why do we buy and sell love every day?

There are hardly any leaves on the trees anymore, and I'm staring out the window wondering what it would matter if I could embrace the world with an exponential love . . .

Monday, October 26, 2009

Acts 17:28

I was weary not of existing, but just of living today. I feel the need to do something drastic. To make up for all the things I didn't do and didn't say and didn't think.

Maybe faith is endurance even when your soul is a little groggy.

I've never had an unkind hygienist

I hate going to the dentist. I hate having a bright light shining in my eyes and rubber gloves in my mouth and nice hygienists asking you questions while your mouth is stretched open as far as it'll go. I hate the posters on the walls and the vulnerability of being at the hygienist's mercy. To quote Gurgle in Finding Nemo -- "The human mouth is a disgusting place." I really don't like thinking about it. And so I feel guilty that the place I hate so much is a privilege that so many people don't have. I mean, this is a testament to the fact that I live in a nation of unprecedented prosperity, that when I was given my fluoride treatment I had the choice between four different flavors. This privilege feels hollow.

Actually, can I just say, fluoride is poison. Fluoride is more toxic than lead and only slightly less toxic than arsenic. It accumulates in your body, and the distinction between "safe" and "unsafe" amounts is extremely fuzzy. Why are they making me take this, according to my Google search fluoride isn't even that great for one's teeth! I don't want this stuff in my mouth, even if it is grape flavored!

So I floss now. I mean, I flossed before. Like twice a week. When I wasn't in a hurry to get to sleep, and when I remembered to floss. I know how good flossing is for oneself, that it can prevent heart disease and add up to three years onto your life, and I know periodontal disease is awful and stuff. I just thought flossing regularly was overrated, so I didn't do it regularly. I didn't really get its importance. What's a good enough reason?

I think I must be so wise in my own eyes. I have to know things first hand and for myself before I can see any reason to care. Which means I'm not easily bandwagoned, but, it's a fallacy to treat my own mind as the end of all good reasons. I definitely don't know all that's good for me. I'm struggling with this idea of taking counsel, of taking steps that aren't my own, of trusting other people to tell me what I ought to do. It's a dangerous tightrope. But, the dentist tells me I need to floss every day, and, I can't be an expert on dentistry. I'll trust him, and floss every day. I'll take their toxic fluoride treatments. And I'll be thankful that I have access to experts I can trust.

Sometimes I foolishly wish I knew everything. But it is a blessing to be able to trust.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Proof I AM politically self-righteous.

I registered to vote today.

The nice man behind the counter asked me, "Democrat, Republican, or Unaffiliated?" I glanced at my mom to make sure she wouldn't take my choice as a streak of teenaged rebellion or political self-righteousness. She smirked. "Not registering Democrat? Bad Rhode Islander!"

It wasn't until we left AAA that my realization bloomed.

Unaffiliated?

Really, government?

If I don't subscribe to the two major parties I'm only unaffiliated? It doesn't matter if I do have an affiliation if it's not to the Dems or the GOP?

I guess one can't go listing every party in existence on the voter registration. Obviously.

But "unaffiliated" feels like lying. And stinks of political marginalization.

Careless use of language, government. Very careless.

Go Bull Moose party?

[EDIT: while I'm ranting, people really need to stop using "socialist" as a buzz word. That's not good enough anymore. This isn't the McCarthy era, and the word "socialist" is not a persuasive buzzword anymore, especially when it's a strawman argument. Darned political vocabulary . . .]

He is Not Silent - Out of the Grey

The people said this desert never ends
We have no bread, our throats are dry,
Our heads are heavy and our feet need rest
Has He left us here to die?

And we've forgotten all His words
As if we never heard
We take our hearts and turn away

We wander through this world
In disbelief
Shake our heads at every tear
Searching endlessly
For some relief
Has He left us dying here?

We take our daily bread
And after we've been fed
We take our hearts and turn away

But He is not silent
He is not whispering
We are not quiet
We are not listening
He sends a lifeline
We keep resisting Him
He is not silent
We are not listening

Deuteronomy 30:19-20 "Now choose life, that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life."