"The beautiful is as useful as the useful."

 I'm trudging through the 1000+ pages of Les Mis and am finding it surprisingly good.  The writing is perceptive.  Okay, it's more romantic than realistic, but that's what art does, right?  We need to think about how things could be. It tests our boundaries and questions our ready assumptions.  Literature is a quiet but persistent alarm clock that wakes us up to the possibilities that lie just below the surface of our everyday experience.

I don't just say this on a theoretical level.  Reading Alain de Botton's How Proust Can Change Your Life opened up the possibility of applying good books to my life.  Because a good book can change your life given the opportunity.  I've experienced the barbaric yawp and energy of reading a new book that introduces me to a brand new perspective.  It's amazing!

A good piece of literature, especially one of the long, winding novels of Tolstoy or Hugo or George Elliot, etc., will also wheedle out of you some of the internal struggles I'm working out.  For instance, I'm working out my conflicting ideas and emotions about pretty things.

Even though I agree with my uncle's cheeky observation: "the bishop seems to be the second best person ever to walk the earth." I've had this quotation from Les Mis about the bishop in my mind's slow cooker for the past couple of weeks:

.... The paths enclosed four square plots bordered with box. Mme Magloire grew vegetables in three of these, and the bishop had planted flowers in the fourth.  There were a few fruit trees. Mme Magloir once said teasingly to him: 'Monseigneur, you believe in making use of everything, but this fourth plot is wasted. Salads are more useful than flowers.' 'You are wrong,' replied the bishop. 'The beautiful is as useful as the useful.' Then, after a pause, he added: 'More so, perhaps.' (p. 38)

To overvalue utility and practicality can be dangerous.  That was one of my biggest concerns with public school.  There was so much emphasis on these nebulous yet highly quantified curriculum.  Can a teacher teach character outside of plot?

More recently, I've felt the danger of utilitarianism as I sit in my cubicle for ten-hour stretches.  Dear God, it's soul crushing!  The cream walls, the gray carpet, the felted cubicle, the plastic desk leeches my personality out of me.  I can feel myself turning into a zombie or a ghost.  I need to do more research to decide which one-- or, maybe, it just depends on the day.

So, I've started a campaign of pretty and cheer!  It started with the gnome.  Then, dark chocolate.  Now, we're into $3.99 Trader Joe's bouquets.  Also, a side campaign of a spritz of Chanel's Chance Eau Fraiche to each wrist to add some smell pretty.  And wearing cute clothes and shoes is beating the utilitarian blah's.

My coworkers were poking fun of me... especially the 23 year-old boys. But, they're starting to buy into the cheer and pretty campaign.  One day the boy who sits next to me told me, "I'm going to wear my new shirt tomorrow."  "What color is it?" I asked.  He answered, "You'll have to wait and see."  The shirt was a little Miami Vice for my taste, but it's a start. Before you know it, he's going to have something quirky in his cube too.

The core of my pretty and cheer campaign is my walk during my lunch break.  There's something magical about going outside, watching people and animals, and just enjoying the blue or gray sky, the sound of the water, the excitement of bird sightings.  At the heart of the campaign is worship: awareness of a good God and humbleness and gratefulness.  To quote VH again on the bishop:

He pondered on the greatness and living presence of God, on the mystery of eternity in the future and, even more strange, eternity in the past, on all the infinity manifest to his eyes and to his senses; and without seeking to comprehend the incomprehensible he contemplated these things. He did not scrutinize God but let his eyes be dazzled. He pondered on the sublime conjunction of atoms that gives matter its substance; that reveals forces in discovering them, creates the separate within the whole, proportion within immensity, countless numbers within infinity; and through light gives birth to beauty. This conjunction, this ceaseless joining and disjoining, is life and death. (p.67)

inner yogi conquers sigh

My inner yogi is a contemplative.  She's not prone to competition, contortion, or consumerism.  Not that I've ever heard her talk, but these are facts I've gleaned over the years.

Her inhibition set in on her maiden yoga class in the Student Recreation Center at the college we were attending.  The instructor and I got off on the wrong foot because I asked, "What are your sit bones?" The instructor sighed her disdain, and my friend mouthed to me, "YOUR BUTT."  That was just the beginning.

The instructor circulated like a dedicated mall security guard.  It was intense, and I heard her sigh every time she came by me.  She attempted to give me hints, but stopped trying.  Finally, these words escaped her lips, "You're not even trying."  I was sweating from my attempt at all the insanity, but my bones would crack and my muscles snap before I could pull off some of these feats.  I've never been flexible on any plane of existence.  I've been able to touch my toes with straight legs approximately twice in my life.  From then one, she merely sighed while passing me and my aching body.

But there's no such thing as a mere sigh when it comes to her. Yoga instructors are masters of le sigh: sighing as art form and weapon.  It's all the breathing exercises. There may be an entire class devoted to sighing with a part one and two. It's two-fold power is: 1) it wilts your soul with disdain and disgust and 2) creates smug cloud that affects your oxygen levels much like hiking just the peaks in the Himalayas (if that were possible).  I can't breathe; I'm getting light-headed. Furthermore, le sigh connotes spiritual enlightenment (the instructor's not yours), which is the nail in the coffin of doom.

Perhaps, your defeat is supposed to lead to limpness, which translates into flexibility.  Not so in my case.  I got frustrated-- one might even say "angry", and my inner yogi curled up in the fetal position to die.  Turns out, inner yogi is no feminist.  Inner yogis are not to be confused with pet spider monkeys who aim to please and adore learning tricks.

My inner yogi remained curled up in the fetal position, and I continued making jokes about how much I hate yoga until... OLD LADY YOGA at my local Y.  We're talking roughly a decade. So,  I went to the class because of my weird work schedule, and I was so stiff from sitting so much that I was willing to try anything... even yoga with a defeated inner yogi.

Maybe it was the sweat pants and white tube socks in lieu of lulelemon uniforms.  Maybe the instructor had abandoned the art of the sigh due to all the hearing aids.  Maybe it was my desperation.  But, my inner yogi uncurled herself and lay on the floor and even joined me for sitting crisscross applesauce (even though she did ask, "She means indian style, right?")  She really didn't mind any of the low-key exercises.  Turns out, she's a minimalist who isn't prone to exhibitionism in any form and allergic to sighs.

contact, contact, contact, contact, contact

Did you ever say a word over and over again until you couldn't say it anymore and it seemed completely weird?  Just a normal word--nothing fancy; say, contact or, even, weird.

Or, have you ever spelled a word correctly, and it doesn't look right?  So, you spell it about three or four different ways to see if any of those look correct.   Say, occasion then ocassion then occassion. And, you end up going with your original spelling even though it still doesn't look quite right. Later, you look the word up in a dictionary, and you were right the entire time.

My sister and I would repeat words into oblivion, then dissolve into giggles.  We'd usually be sitting in one of our back bedrooms on pale green carpet next to our beds somewhere in the little kid activity schedule of eating, sleeping, playing, and growing up to be overly analytical.

Sometimes I catch myself doing that same exercise with my life.  Every once and a while, I'll wake up, start up my routine, and it doesn't seem right.  So, I tweak the schedule.  I'll have a cookie for breakfast instead of oatmeal.  Journal more to figure out what's going on. Or... go into full-on existential crisis mode.  Why am I here?  Does my life serve any real purpose?  Do I do anything worthy of my carbon footprint?  (I actually said that to someone yesterday. Oops.)  And, it turns into this dark, soupy mind loop but minus the giggling.

But, full-on existential crisis mode takes a lot of emotional and psychological energy, which leads to an early bedtime or, if I'm lucky, a nap.  Then, the universal elixir, sleep, set things right.  Oatmeal and routine are okay once again.

Oh yeah, back in the saddle

The interview for a part-time teaching gig went swimmingly.  They were pleased that I have all of my teeth, rudimentary understanding of professional attire, ability to speak in complete sentences, and have reasonable mastery over subject-verb agreement.  They were so impressed with my educational background in Classics and History that they asked me if I could teach math.  I responded, "Sure."  But, I added the caveat of up to Algebra-- nothing fancy.  And, they were interested in my teaching ESL.  I feel like I sufficiently described my teaching experiences.  I didn't embellish.  How does one embellish teaching 7th grade at a Title One school?  When it comes down to it: my resume is odd... and getting odder.  But, it fits me.

Seriously, it went brilliantly, and I need to write thank-you notes.

I was the only one reeling from the irony of my 15-minute lesson on Time Management.  When I ran my lesson by the Chief last night, she said that there were perhaps some aspects of the lesson from which I could benefit. Touche, Chief, touche.

****

I've also been working on my lesson and scheduling for the Wednesday night class at my church.  I've been compiling my first hand-out.  So much fun-- it's about common-placing.  So, I'm leading by example.  Here's the blurb I wrote for the bulletin:

Journaling is an active process of connecting versus compartmentalizing: it integrates our thoughts, feelings, actions, prayers, memories, hope, faith, Scripture, news, TV, art.  We're Calvinists; we don't believe things happen by accident.  Journaling is a way to be honest and discover. However, the ability to connect takes effort and practice.  In this class, we'll follow Luci Shaw's Life Path: Personal and Spiritual Growth through Journal Writing.  The class will consist of brief introductions of topics, discussion and practice.

****

I'm getting excited about getting to teach a little.

freedom?!?*

Studying in Canada revealed how profoundly American I am. I think like an American. I have an American attitude: I expect things to be quick and orderly. I don't like people telling me what to do-- I hate being micro-managed. There are certain presumptions that I take for granted because I am American: individual freedom being one of those core values. Hello, Bill of Rights. Hello, Declaration of Liberty!

I used to think that freedom would arrive with adulthood. No more bedtime! No more chores! I could all my money however I wanted! I could eat all the dessert I wanted! No more green peas. I would get to do whatever I wanted and be whomever I wanted to be. Haha... at least for me. Now, it seems that as we age we inevitably move toward more constraints... or at least different constraints. Even more shocking, I'm not sure the constraints are all bad. I'm coming to think independence (as a free-floating state) is an intellectual farce just as autonomy is.

My American and childhood concepts of freedom are small and naive compared to the Christian concept. Os Guiness sees current American culture in the context of a War about Freedom. The Judeo- Christian concept of freedom:

Jewish and Christian freedom has a number of very striking features. It's derived, not self-created. It's relational; it has to be done in community. It's not atomistic and individualistic. And it has a framework of truth—"The truth will set you free." And it's not boundless.

Opposed to:
On the other hand, you have the philosophical revolution that comes out of the Renaissance that humans are capable of creating themselves. You tie that with the scientific revolution, which imagines we can through science create ourselves. And then there is the consumer revolution, where everything is possible through the market and you can be whoever you want to be. You can see how these things have created this incredible sense of infinite possibility. You have profoundly anti-Christian views on freedom underlying so many of the discussions.

Judeo-Christian freedom is derived, relational, done in community, bounded by absolute truth: a meta-narrative rooted in history centered on God. In the Christian faith, we're freed from death and sin in order to become fully, truly human through relationship with Jesus and our neighbors. Whereas, the philosophical revolution conceives freedom in human-centered terms of infinite possibility. I conceptualize this infinite possibility in terms of self fulfillment and reaching potential.

Conflict is eminent. Internal conflict for the American Christian... or Christian American. Christian freedom gives a person an identity as a child of God and a member of the Church; it's a bounded identity. We're called to love... because we are loved. There's a moral aspect to Christian freedom. Modern philosophy says identity is self-created or chosen (I'm straight or gay, Republican or Democrat, my profession, my race, my weight, my marital status). This kind of identity is prone to fluctuate with circumstances.

An added dimension of the concept of freedom is the positive and negative freedom, using Isaiah Berlin's categories*. Os Guinness defines them as:
Negative freedom is freedom from—freedom from oppression, whether it's a colonial power or addiction to alcohol oppressing you. You need to be freed from negative freedom. Positive freedom is freedom for, freedom to be. And that's what's routinely ignored today.

To quote Kierkegaard: How absurd men are! They never use the liberties they have, they demand those they do not have. They have freedom of thought, they demand freedom of speech.

Os Guinness argues (correctly, I believe) that Americans are interested in negative freedom rather than positive freedom. We're more interested in being able to drink a 32 oz Coca-Cola in NYC than we are in the freedom to live a healthy lifestyle. I know I view freedom in more American/negative terms than Christian/positive terms. I can feel my tendency toward negative freedom in my hesitation toward commitments. But, making a commitment to other people forces us to become people and to face our demons that we could easily avoid outside community. We are profoundly social beings; it's in our DNA. The illusion of autonomy is giving us rope to hang ourselves with a freedom unbounded by morality/virtue. Having to create and maintain an identity is a lot of work.

Transformation is a slow process.

* This is a reflection on Christianity Today's Freedom in Balance (interview with Os Guinness)

pomo tribes, etc.

Samuel Salcedo

The universe feels full of surprisingly heavy, sharp objects-- shards of glass.  I keep waiting for life to make sense... to be logical.  But, I'm standing too close to it.  If I could understand then I could control it, right?  Thanks, Descartes, for setting me up for disappointment and a life of low-grade frustration.

Relief came in the form of "aha" listening to James Houston's lecture.  I've been flailing against these ridiculous, nonsensical, purposeless classes that prove nothing but are necessary to certification.  Houston relieved my angst: Postmodernism has returned to a tribalism, and professionalism is the new tribalism.  Overall, I agree with his take from experiencing 1) certification hoops that must be jumped, 2) the existential angst that comes with unemployment (granted I'm prone to all forms of angst in all situations), 3) observing my mom's decision-making process regarding retirement and my friends who've chosen to stay at home with their children.

I listened to his lecture on identity at least three times.  Ontology fascinates and plagues me.  He basically said that people who stick with "what" questions can find answers, and people who ask "why" questions will discover more questions.  What I understood him to say is that there is no I.  Our fierce individualism is a fallacy.  The elemental level of society is not the individual, but the mother and child. We are not islands.  Replacing "we" with "I" has caused of a lot of problems.  "We" has room for love.  "I" will always be pitted against the other.  "We" can be enlarged to the point that "other" no longer exists.  In this sense, All Saints' Day is more important than Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost. All Saints is the answer to Jesus' prayer in John 17.  I'm oversimplifying.

He wasn't limiting or denigrating our personhood, but saying that we are persons only through relationships.  We weren't designed to be individuals.  We are limited in our ability to engage in relationship by our degree of self-knowledge.  We really need to plumb the feelings and memories behind our ideas and attitudes.

We're like Zacheus perched in a tree, wanting to glimpse and experience Jesus from a distance and on our own terms.  That's the blessing and curse of the Christian life: after encountering Christ you cannot remain the same.   To encounter Jesus is to be truly seen and known-- absolute vulnerability in the surest of loves.

But, the fruits of the spirit make sense in the context of relationship when you think about it.  Gentleness, kindness and patience, etc. wouldn't be that necessary on a deserted island.  Self control on the other hand...

It's a beautiful lecture; I'll be contemplating if for a long time.

Accident

Last night I spent 45 minutes parked on an entrance ramp because of an accident. The ambulance had a hard time getting to the crash site. I was annoyed, irritated, irked. I could have reentered the freeway I was exiting if the cars behind me hadn't been driving so quickly. I could have taken another way and be home!

It took talking to my sister to realize I just avoided a major accident myself. I could have been seriously injured with a totaled car. I pointed out I couldn't afford to get hurt right now because I don't have health insurance. She pointed out that apparently I had a much better form of insurance than can be bought.

I get bent out of shape so easily and miss the big picture. Maybe one day my initial reaction will be to say, "Thank you, Jesus." But, then again, that'd require maturity and wisdom. These days, I get maturity and wisdom from outside sources, which is better than not at all. It's a good reminder all my rushing is rather pointless.

Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious-- the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not to curse." Philippians 4:7 (the message)

good news!!!

I received two rejections by noon today. That's nice. Plus, it's a monsoon outside. The sound of the rain woke me up this morning. Yet, a good day because of the really fun first date last night. I'm choosing to think about the positive. Mand, we went to an art museum-- it was so much fun and very funny. I'd been, but he hadn't. He made me notice things that I hadn't before. Then, we drank wine and ate tapas, which sounds really pretentious but was actually a lot of fun.

Lessons I'm learning.
1. Focus on the positive. My uncle reminded me how lucky I am to be in good shape-- to not take my health for granted. And, he's right. Joining the gym has been really good for me. I can have challenges outside of finding a job. And, allowing myself to enjoy last night despite my career being nonexistent; not being defined by circumstance. Life is still good, or, I should say: God is good despite this rather glaring circumstance.

It reminded me of the realization I had in Japan: running is a really cool gift God gave me. Running (and walking) was a total consolation when in Japan; it was an escape. It still is. Plus, it helps me sleep and keeps me sane and fit. I always wanted something flashy-- like singing. But, no. God knows best.

I read this earlier today, and it fits: “In difficult times, you should always carry something beautiful in your mind.”--Blaise Pascal. Then Luci Shaw commented, "Grace in any mode is a form of beauty--undeserved but freely bestowed and available."

2. Patience. All of life is waiting. Last night looking at the art, I experienced again the simple act of waiting. There's something to be said for a little puzzling and interaction with something new. It takes time and reorientation to understand something in its own terms. What was the artist trying to do? I'm learning to presume there's a bigger context than the one I initially considered. The same is true for people and situations. It takes time to figure out what's going on and what God's doing (not that I'll ever figure that out!).

Here's an example: My phone hasn't been working since Saturday. I went to the store to find out how to fix it. The sales people said it was beyond being fixed and the warranty had expired. They told me that I'd have to buy a new phone. I responded that this probably wasn't the best time to hawk me a phone since mine had just broken. In my twenties, I would have just said, "Screw it", thrown the phone away and be without a phone. However, I'm slowly maturing and emailed a former student with my problem. He told me to take out the battery and submerge it in rice for at least twelve hours. I did it for about 24 hours, and, by jove, it works! I wrote back to thank the student. I feel I was being rewarded for being patient.

thanksgiving

"your burdens are light, but your blessings are heavy... almost too weighty to bear." Ordinary Time

One of my favorite traditions at the high school I went was the Thanksgiving assembly. It usually lasted about an hour and a half, which would usually be a bad thing. But, all the girls could get up to the announcement microphone and list the things for which they were grateful. The litany ranged from the prosaic to the profound: gummy bears and four leaf clovers to recoveries from cancer and peace treaties.

This time of year when the days grow short and the night long, the weather cold and gray... one can palpably feel the dichotomy of mirth and misery that is humanity's lot. On the one hand, the weather is dreary, but on the other, how much more enjoyable is a mug of coffee or a cup of soup. And, it feels so delightful to walk into a toasty room after being out in the cold.

One has a decision to focus on the dreary weather or the bright warmth of the fireplace. It's an excellent and much-needed reminder of choice in interpretation of the data of one's life. I'm enjoying St. Paul's writings a lot more because he wrote a lot of them from prison, and I'm finding consolation in this. He wrote: "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about such things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me-- practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you." (Philippians 4:4-9).

This was written by a guy who was unjustly imprisoned and beaten. Paul had a lot of reasons to be bitter, but he wasn't. He wasn't even self-absorbed in all his suffering. He was still focused on his churches. As I look at the list of whatever is true..., it's a long list. I now realize that sometimes you have to look long and hard to discover the redeemable aspect of the situation. Paul's instructions imply a really tough life: the "always", the "everything", "whatever" and "anything" don't leave room for a comfy, safe life. He says our hearts and minds need to be guarded by something supernatural-- that's really intense. And, it also seems we learn the Christian life by imitating and learning from those on the path before us... living and dead.

I heard a sermon on the radio last night by a Baptist minister who was taking the rejoice always verse above and Romans 8:28 "And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those called according to his purpose." He said that Christians kind of use them as proof of how good life is-- along the lines of prosperity gospel. But, he said if you step back and think about what Paul is saying is that God is sovereign and has the power to work good in any circumstance no matter how horrible and dire it is, which is incredibly different than saying God promises believers a good, easy life. Man, look what he did to his own son. But, I also was aware of the kaleidoscope of timing involved in me hearing this sermon so apropos to my situation.

So, although I can't honestly say I'm grateful for being unemployed in a crappy economy, I am grateful for persistent friends who put up with me, for figuring out flaws and illusions in my world view, and the compassion and warmth of a broken heart. I'm learning how little stuff I need. I wouldn't have believed you. My identity is under fire, and that's not all bad, in fact, it's much needed. I have a wonderful family and set of friends who I do not deserve. I can run and walk. I can cook while drinking wine. I have a beautiful dog to pet. Some gorgeous memories to luxuriate in. Friends who have confidence in me despite evidence to the contrary. An excellent spicy pumpkin soup recipe. And, a heart and soul that's being transformed. (Hopefully) I'm becoming more like Charis, Bill, Mandy, Grace, Alvin, Jerry, Mom, etc. and ultimately Jesus.

weirdness and waiting

(spoiler alert: 2+2 remains 2+2; there is no resolution. But, if you're a regular, you're used to it.)

funeral
+job application
+cousin having baby (it's a girl)
+gut-wrenching conversation with a friend with a broken heart
+studying Advent (2 very different wreaths: 1) hope, faith, joy, & love 2) patriarchs, prophets, John the Baptist, Mary)
+Mexican for lunch
+car inspection and tag renewal
=Today

Life is all about weird juxtaposition. The profound and profane all crowded and jostled in the same subway car. Death, birth, bureaucracy, grace, red tape, enlightenment, boredom, laughter, disappointment.

Thought of the day: I've been role-playing through the Advent Cast: Mary, Joseph, John the Baptist, Wise Men, shepherds, etc., trying to unlock the spiritual/practical application of the historical story. (I can't help myself. I spent several semesters studying Lectio Divina.) Mary is self-explanatory-- Jesus lives and grows inside us in a nutshell. I was wrestling with Joseph-- he clearly demonstrates obedience and servanthood. But, upon my conversation with my friend, I think I may see Joseph as the role of the broken-hearted and shattered/unfulfilled-dreamers. Imagine what he must to have gone through if he loved Mary; he arrives at treating Mary with some dignity on his own. However, God doesn't let him off the hook. He's called to go into this continent of self-denial and faith that's far beyond normal expectation. It's like a precursor of the Sermon on the Mount mixed with Job post apocalypse where he gets double the children.

To sum up the rest of this incoherent post I'll quote my mom's response to my blathering on about Advent: "Studying is fun, isn't it?" You may read on if you wish.

There are the three comings Advent celebrates/acknowledges:

1. his arrival into history/incarnation
2. his return/second coming
3. intermediate entrance into our lives

All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it's not only around us; it's within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We're also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don't see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy. -Romans 8:22-5 (Message)

I've learned how much the Advent season holds, how it breaks into our lives with images of dark and light, first and last things, watchfulness and longing, origin and destiny. Kathleen Norris

Ecclesiastes?

I am digging on the OT's wisdom literature right now, especially Ecclesiastes. Granted I'm in a Bible Study on it, but it is amazing stuff! I really think it would be a great starting point for a lot of skeptics. It's eerily modern, and it's got a lot of truth in it. But, Qoheleth says life is pointless outside of God. I think Christian apologists should take note at how seriously he takes the competing views. Q. doesn't get defensive; he just extends them completely through their logical trajectory. Pleasure, hard work, beauty. All meaningless outside of God. So, instead of starting with Jesus loves you; maybe we should start where people are. Because, seriously, who the f cares that Jesus loves you unless you understand what's on the line?

I think I'm onto something here. (I'm always the biggest fan of my ideas; nothing's changed. Nothing is new under the sun!) I think it'd be helpful to believers and unbelievers alike if the church tackled wisdom literature. I think it'd keep church goers a little saltier and give skeptics something they could track with. There are so many laments in the Psalms, but how many are there in modern church services? And, we've got plenty to lament on personal and collective levels.

So, I'm going to dig into Wisdom literature and rave about it to everyone that will listen! Right now, I'm reading through David's life, which goes along well with Ecclesiastes. Life is crazy, and it's easy to lose your bearings.

And, I think I'm going to teach a little seminar on praying the Psalms in December. I'm thinking about how to do it. If you have any pointers, let me know. What is most gripping about the Psalms for you? It's always so bizarre that Jesus prayed them; had them memorized. It's so weird that it's even in there and how rough and tumble the order is. I think I may use Brueggemann's Orientation, Disorientation and Reorientation to order the day. Gratitude, open eyes, open hands, obedient hearts.

fractal geometry musings

I watched this program on fractals last night. Benoit Mandelbrot "discovered" them in 1975 when he worked for IBM. He's a brilliant mathematician who irritated the European establishment; so he said, "Screw you guys. I'm going to America." As I understand it, he came up with an equation that explains repeating patterns in nature and some 19th century math conundrums. Thus, creating fractals. Mandelbrot came up with "fractals" from the Latin for "broken". Geometry and most of math is looking at smoothness; whereas, fractals investigates roughness. It's a way of looking at parts instead of the whole or in relation to the whole. It's a way of applying math to the visual world. Until Mandelbrot's breakthrough.

The two main components my brain latched onto were 1)self-similarity and 2) inter dimensionality because I have a natural fascination with these concepts. (Our mom should have let us play with Barbies so we would have a fighting chance at normalcy.)

Self-similarity is how the whole and the part reflect each other's pattern. For instance, think about an oak tree and a twig from that oak tree. Stand the twig up to mirror the tree. Its branching system is the same just to a different scale. This is true with clouds and blood vessels. And, the larger the system the more efficient it is. A elephant is 200,000 times the size of a mouse but only requires 10,000 times the amount of calories-- which means it's twenty times more efficient. There's a built in economy of scale.

Does self-similarity exist in history? Is there a natural lapping over of micro and macro history? Does my personal history reflect the larger history of the US or according to the Scriptures? Is Yahweh and Israel's relationship the pattern for my relationship with him? Is my identity crisis endemic of the US as a whole?

Then there is inter-dimensionality in respect to fractals. In Euclidean geometry, there are clearly defined dimensions. A line is one-dimensional. A quadrilateral is two-dimensional. A cube is three-dimensional. But, is it possible to for something to exist between two separate dimensions? Fractal geometry says YES! Something can be 2.376-dimensional. The higher the fraction the rougher the edges and closer to the higher dimension. It's a really interesting version of liminality. Liminal comes from the greek for "threshold"; its the space in between two known spaces.

This concept intrigues me because it seems to bridge a link between broken-ness and growth, which I think is true. We know it's true with building muscle and that is why rest is so integral to athletic training. This concept reminded me of my favorite Puritan quotation, "God breaks every heart differently" and the Buddhist concept of a storm breaking before beauty is born. Craziness and broken-ness can be interpreted as progress in some circumstances.

I like how Mandelbrot bent math to fit reality. He didn't adapt nature to a principle but played with the principle until it fit the reality of nature. This is the same reason I'm so much more comfortable with biblical theology than systematic theology. Biblical theology is 3.8976 dimensional to systematic's 3.2374 dimensional. It's rougher but more realistic.

cage match: gutsy v. prudent

"Dream no small dreams, for they have no power to move the hearts of man." - Goethe

I'm full of angst about getting my certification. I could secure my job for next year by enrolling in 5 education classes by June 30th. But, I don't want my job for next year. This whole week I was full of dread about going back. But, it's a tough economy and I have no guarantee for a job. And, I know what it's like to be unemployed.

There's always the option of keeping my job, and letting it be just that-- a job. But, I have no respect for people who treat teaching like that; it's not like you're merely filing papers. I believe it's relational-- even soulful. It requires passion for the student and the material. I feel used (to the point of feeling dirty) and completely unappreciated when I enter the classroom. There's an hour of my day that isn't a fight.

How do you know if you're seeking God's will or calling your desires God's will? How do you know you're being good and true versus being lazy and impatient? And by "you", I mean "me". Three years seems a long time to me, but by Biblical standards, it's nothing. I haven't had some sage say to me, "Young Grasshopper, it's time for you to change jobs."

I am having a change of heart in regards to Charlotte as I mentioned in my previous post. Yet, I'm growing more restless with my job. That's problematic. But, as I was running this evening, I was thinking about having to pry my faith out of the context of the American dream. I so want a good life. But, I want it both ways: I want a comfortable middle class life and a fulfilling job. I want to grow in my knowledge of and relationship with God without any cost or discomfort.

Kierkegaard wrote, "Purity of heart is to will one thing." Monasticism has the idea of singleness of heart, too, even though most people claim it has to do with living alone. (Newsflash: monks have never lived alone-- even the hermits in the desert had lose federations that gathered for worship and functioned as support. And, the hermits were known for their hospitality.)

So just writing these paragraphs has helped me to reframe my question. Maybe I'm too focused on what I'm doing... or not doing, when I should be focused how I'm doing it, with what attitude and for whom. I want it both ways in wanting to be significant by God's standards and by the world's standards. I want to impact people's lives and get a spread in O magazine sharing with people how awesome I am. Some believers manage, but they're few and far between. This reminds me of what my writing prof at Regent would tell us about our writing: "You're in charge of the depth. God's in charge of the breadth."

I want a job that I get my undisclosed strengths. I like writing, reading, thinking, planning, communicating. I also like doing and moving around. The Johnson O'Connor told me that I should teach, write or start my own business. And, they said I should teach adults. So, maybe, once again, I've hit on something. I could volunteer and maybe lead a Bible study at my church for practice. I could look into teaching at Community Colleges and GRE programs and literacy programs.

Prudence used to be girl's name; it isn't any longer. I don't think we see it as a worthwhile character trait anymore. We've replaced prudence with greed and self-reliance, which aren't nearly the same thing.

calendars are a lie!

This week has been delightfully offbeat. Today was a lovely, unexpected kind of day following completely in line with the others. Maybe it's the shiny snow that refuses to melt away. Maybe it's how my week turned out very differently than I anticipated, reminding me how magical and mysterious the future really is. My life isn't measured out in teaspoons, Mr. Prufrock... or little calendar boxes.

Maybe in lieu of the perfect little square boxes, calendar makers should shape divvy up the days of a month like puzzle pieces. No two days the same size or shape to remind us how special Tuesday, January 11, 2011 really was. The blank or metered-out rectangle of a normal calendar gives an illusion of control and boredom. That the days are little dominoes in a row to fall neatly one after the other.

Not that there isn't rhythm and meter in a week. Ritual and repetition are lovely and necessary. I'm not proposing eliminating Monday mornings or Thursday afternoons, but to celebrate them in the same manner the Mad Hatter celebrates unbirthdays. He's right, you know, unbirthdays are rather splendid days.

Maybe I should designate all unbirthdays that fall on Mondays "celebrate a friend" day and write or call one of my friends to tell them how he or she sparkles. Tuesday could be "celebrate a word day" and I could pick a word of the day to run into the ground-- or to say with an accent-- or I could blog it over and over again like "maybe" in this entry. Wednesday could be "celebrate food", and I could decide to eat 100 french fries or to savor a bowl of my delicious pumpkin curry soup. Thursday could be "celebrate music" day, and I could choose a genre or sing along or dance around in my socks. Friday could be "celebrate silly" day and make fun of my ridiculous self all day long or wear a feather in my hair or something else to let people know that my eyes twinkle even when I sleep. Saturday could be "celebrate small tasks" day and turn vacuuming into a game or dish washing into fun. Sunday could be "celebrate rest" day, and I could take a long, luxurious nap!

These are just examples. I could just as easily celebrate running or weather. Imagine how different my mornings would be if I considered inclement weather as adventure instead of imposition. We have a good and gracious God worth celebrating-- and so is his creation. Maybe I need to recalibrate my attitude from complaining and cynical jabs to little outbursts of wonder and awe of the amazing, zany, and exciting things that happen in a day. I get so focused on a door slamming that I don't even feel the orange light of the sunrise streaking through the window. Instead I let the the slam echo in my ears instead of stare in awe at the gorgeous day dawning. I'm so sure I know how my life is going to turn out. God must laugh and shake his head.

For instance today I went into a hen house and rooted around for eggs and talk about African versus Italian bees. Like I saw that coming. Plus I took the verbal section of the SAT and read really interesting excerpts about the fundamental physics. Who saw that coming to someone in her thirties? This was no boring calendar slab. Celebrate surprise! Celebrate strange! Celebrate failed plans!

back to the grind... and all is grist

It's not possible! I'm not going back to work tomorrow! As I gaze out the window, I'm fixated by the rain drops lined up along the electrical wire outside my window. Some look ripe to drop, and the little kid in me wants to watch.

The ordinary raindrops have my ugly black wire into art. The gray and brick background and the white blinds in the foreground display the sparkle of the rain drops. This train of rain drops has been a good reminder of how God works every day. I want a flashy miracle to help me rise above the mundanity. Instead, God brings two commonplace things (rain and wire) together into a temporary piece of art. I can't even grow numb to or tired of its simple beauty. Ah, juxtaposition. There are the human and natural aspect of creation and others too.

And, finally the juxtaposition of holiday and work. Each little raindrop/day of my holiday has plopped off the wire and left me with work tomorrow. I'm dreading the 5:40am alarm! But I will be glad to see my fellow teachers and my students. No doubt my students will be as sleepy as I will be. The first day back from a holiday is usually calm; seventh graders are still asleep. My beautiful, restful holiday will be converted into a little smooth stone of a memory that I can pick up every now and then.

Report Cards

First semester reports are going home this afternoon. I always loved report card day as a kid, but this isn't true for a lot of my kiddies. However, when I was looking at our team's report cards, I was humbled by how well some of the kids are doing in my class. We're talking the awkward, shy, "weird" kids-- they're rocking my class and failing the easier classes. Please don't get me wrong, other kids are failing my class. But, I find it so rewarding to have these social misfits trying and succeeding in my class. It feels like an A+.

Everytime this season comes around, I wish I had the power to issue report cards to more than my students. Say, some colleagues, bosses, businesses, family members and friends. Some cards would let them know what a great job they're doing: "you are so encouraging and kind-- you made my day three times in the past two months". Others would be a swift kick in the butt. Um, you're going to be an acquaintance a long time before you pass to friendship. Conduct needs improvement.

Plus, I'd like the no-nonsense feedback report cards for myself from loved ones, strangers, colleagues. I sometimes give into self-delusion. Apparently, lavendar isn't my color as my brother pointed out, and maybe I'm a little too free expressing my opinions and not so good at hearing others. A list of strengths and weaknesses is good. I always was strong at Language Arts and History but not so much in Math and Science. The trend continues.

phone calls

Kudos to Alexander Graham Bell! The phone is a wonderful invention. I had two lovely conversations last night: one with my sister and another with a friend in Vancouver. That couldn't have happened a hundred years ago. The connections were much needed after a rough day. Teaching is very relational.

I read half of trito-Isaiah (Isa 55-66 or thereabouts). It's pretty intense but very beautiful. Reading the Bible provides context for all the mundanity of life-- there is a big picture-- and our decisions do matter.

I'm in the midst of planning (classes, new jobs?, summer, teaching a class at church, vacations, etc). It's exciting and stressful. A good stress-- I want to make good decisions. I'm straying away from the concept of the right decision in these types of decisions.

potted hands

As I munched on my asparagus, dill new potatoes and garlic herb chicken, I listened to several fascinating conversations. I was sitting next to a hand sculpture who discussed her art, process and comissions. My initial reaction to the conversation was: creepy. Imagine a pair of hands on a table or bookshelf. But, as the discussion developed, I started to think about the differences between male and female hands-- subtle but distinct. Memories of my grandmother's and my dad's hands floated into my head. She chatted about how ever since she started sculpting hands; she'd become aware of how much we use them-- even when we talk. Everybody became more conscious of their hands, but in a good way: using a fork, wiping my mouth, talking.

That was not the only conversation. There were conversations on drumming in Ghana, classical guitar, cooking chicken, compost, Food, Inc., dishwashers, organic, pottery, drawing, painting, Van Gogh, Asberger's, etc. The dinner was delicious and the conversation stimulating. As I sat in the chapel for evening prayer, Irenaeus's "The glory of God is a person fully alive" sprung to mind. The fascinating conversation stemmed from passionate women living life. I was by far the youngest (probably by about 25 years), but I found these women engergizing. Sometimes I dread getting older and lament how I've wasted time, then I come across these house wives, retired teachers, real estate agents that are nothing short of amazing. They took adversity and set backs (cancer, divorce, deaths of loved ones, career loss) as opportunity. After cancer or surgery, some of them started ministries or took Healing Touch. For them, adversity transformed into love and mercy for others instead of bitterness. The only thing they had in common that I could tell was relationship with God. These women's conversation weren't selfish or self-centered. The meal was the communion of saints. This dinner was nourishing and humbling.

The conversations led to self reflection. I'm no potter, no artist, no cook. But, who am I? The thought that popped into my head was studying for 8 hours straight (11am-7pm) this Tuesday. A lot of people couldn't do that. Granted, studying is the antithesis of sexy and seemingly pointless (grammar and classroom management). But, there's always the x factor in our lives: God. I'm nearing the end of Eugene Peterson's exposition of David's Life, Leap Over a Wall, and it's taking root in my mind. Writing about I and II Samuel, he states:

"We're getting a feel for the kind of narrative written here-- an immersion in the human condition with all its glory and hurt, promise and difficulty. But we're never left with mere humanity, mere history. The skill of the narrator keeps us alert to the presence and purposes of God being worked out in this story. We're being trained to read between the lines, for much of this story is implicit. But it's unmistakably there-- David isn't David apart from God. None of us is. Most of what we're reading about in David is God in David....

"The David story is a major means for providing us a narrative context for understanding our lives, in all their complexities as God-shaped.... ...Christians have characteristically lived themselves into the story of David.
As we do that, one of the things we realize is that the Christian life develops organically. It grows from a seed that's planted in the actual soil of our muscles and brain cells, our emotions and moods, our genetic code and work schedule, the North American weather and our family history....

"This is why the David story continues to prove so useful: it doesn't show us how we should live but how we do live" (pp. 137-9).

So reading the story of David this month, including the Psalms, with Peterson as my guide has been therapeutic. It's turned some of my angst into hope and faith... or at least converted the energy. I get frustrated with how utterly puny my life is. Last week, a friend and I started crying because we were laughing so hard from talking about our unexpected (and tragic to the naked eye) lives. But, we can laugh because we know there's more. There is, in fact, a loving, personal and gracious God who is as active in our lives as He was in David's. After all, that's the gospel: "The gospel is never a truth in general; it's always a truth in specific. The gospel is never a commentary on ideas or culture or conditions; it's always about actual persons, actual pain, actual trouble, actual sin: you, me; who you are, what you've done; who I am; what I've done" (Leap p.185).

But, perhaps I should replace "puny" with "small". PD James wrote, "Things good are small and fragile" to defend writing murder mysteries. Being on retreat has been replete with things small and fragile: Queen Anne's Lace, hugs, smiles, walking, naps, blueberries and hammocks. Meister Eckhart wrote, "If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, 'Thank you,' that would suffice." God's as present in my classroom of seventh graders as He is in the potter's studio of clay hands and as He was in David's field of sheep. My challenge is to be alive.

home made

Love's been on my mind lately. More specifically, I've been mulling over the difference between real love and ideal love. While growing up, my mother always said, "You have to accept love the way people give it, and it's rarely the way you'd like." My grandpa bought me Ensure by the case when I was rowing in college because he thought I'd gotten too skinny. He never used the L word; he'd always tell me that he was proud of me.

I realize I'm expecting the wrong thing. Love is newborn awkward-- precious and cute but vulnerable and unruly. It's home-made awkward-- every batch comes out different. It's custom not standardized. It's humble and easily overlooked. It's quiet and gentle making it easily ignored. No soundtracks or sequins or capes to draw attention to it.

For instance, my mom helping me every evening for a week grade papers, plan lessons, organize reviews, pack, clean so that I could go to DC. Her willingness to give up her nights and join with me gave me the energy to plow through the work. And, I enjoyed myself so much-- knowing the cost sweetened the experience.

Then there's E's generosity in sharing her life and house to me for a few days. We shared the old parts of our friendship-- The Olde Brogue, walking, friends and ventured into new territory.

Or the most recent example is J-D and me planning and orchestrating the delivery of the outdoor table and chairs Mom purchased and deemed would fit in my station wagon. (Eyeballing it doesn't always work.) Two trips and 1.5 hours later the apparatus was on Mom's patio.



Then, of course, there's Good Friday and Easter. Nobody was expecting Love (or love) to be so vulnerable and powerful. We celebrate the grace of the cross with pastel bunnies and hot cross buns when it seems splinters and rare meat would be more apropos. Love is both fierce and vulerable, glaring and unpretentious. I'm learning love requires a interpretive mechanism. As I comb through some of my memories, I've recognized points of my history that were infused with love that I was unable to experience at the time. So often the proper responses to love are "yes, please" and "thank you".

This rumination on love also has led to thinking about how I love people. But, that's for another entry.

words heavy and old

"Language reveals the man. Speak that I may see thee," said Ben Jonson. This quotation is a close relation to Lincoln's "It is better to stay silent and let people think you are an idiot than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." As somebody with a big mouth and as a recent recipient of the aftermath of a wagging tongue, I am experiencing the Scripture's truth about talking too much, too self-indulgently.

Wichtenstein wrote, "Words are deeds." And, as I chew on all these words on words, the phrase "pondered in her heart" comes to mind. Mary pondered things in the seat of her motivation, will, emotion and intellect. I play it off as if I'm a "verbal processor" and an extremely slow and inefficient one at that. But, there's something profound at stake that I dismiss too lightly with that flippant retort.

Our language and communication are undergoing a shift. We're converting to movies instead of books. Our spelling, punctuation and grammar are becoming far more casual. We've grown lazy and apathetic even in our vocabulary. Imprecise diction is common. We prefer instant gratification to the painstaking effort of writing precisely what we mean-- txt instead of letter writing. Perhaps there's a degree of inflation involved with the words we encounter on a daily basis. There's no devotion to the family tree of a word, etymology. We're coining words to decipher our advances in technology. But, we're no longer learning Greek and Latin. We're becoming a society of men without chests and ideas without roots (in history).

This afternoon I savored my brother's barb: "Ok, F. Scott. You remind me of a dorm master with no students, how zen like!" I enjoy witty banter as much as the next person. But, is this wrong? Is silly bad? It's just words with a different valence.

I need to be attentive to my words' weight. Venting should probably be directed toward prayer. Venting is self-indulgent in my case. And, as I taught Buddhism today, I thought about how meditation in Christianity isn't a goal of cessation of thought but of transformation of thought. James Houston called it a "psalmic consciousness". We believe our Savior is the Word and we're called to imitate him.

My rambling is a bit ironic considering the subject.