Ramblings of a Reformed Romantic

2011-02-26T12:12:00.000-08:00

Writer's block. I have so many interesting things to discuss in this paper and for the life of me, no idea how to get them out of my mind. Better, I suppose, than having nothing at all to think of or say.

Alliteration, an apropos addition.

2011-02-14T22:30:00.000-08:00

weak, weary, I wilt;
blundering, bumbling, being other than I am;
Sleep, which sometime shuts up sorrow's eyes,
restore my spirit, rekindle the fire, ready me to face the new day.

Yes.

2011-02-03T00:14:00.000-08:00

Beauty.

2011-01-25T20:23:00.000-08:00

Somehow, it seems the harder one strives to achieve this end, the more elusive it becomes. Subtle, gracious, and pleasing, though one cannot always explain what or why a thing delights the eyes. We spend ourselves in vain that we may hear this word in conjunction with our person, "beautiful". For what? For the sake of being a living work of art? A personification of some platonic form, "beauty"? To be lovely is to be loved, we are told, yet more accurate perhaps, to be lovely is to be desired. Who among us can escape the desire to be wanted, even by those we do not care for? Such vanity.

Stay thirsty, my friends!

2011-01-18T16:49:00.000-08:00

Preface:I realize that what I'm about to write sounds excessively nerdy. (shrugs) It's true.

I love my classes this semester. The readings are fascinating, and I can't wait to learn more about them from class. When the lectures end, I'm legitimately a bit disappointed. In my everyday existence, I try to associate things to what I'm studying. There is, I think, a great thirst in my nature to be learning, growing in knowledge. This is not at all to say that I have not done so these last nine months. But there is a unique academic environment that I have been away from and missed more than I imagined. To be fair, I have yet to complete any homework besides readings. I'm sure that by midterms, I'll be as jaded and complaining as ever. But there is a renewed desire to apply myself and glean all I can from my courses that I've never experienced to this degree. (Case in point: I was so happy today walking to my car, I remarked to one of my roommates that I must have a parking ticket on my vehicle. Upon arrival, my prophesy was confirmed. It was only a warning, but it was still quite amusing). There is also a fear in my mind that I'll become so enthralled with learning that it will become an idol (though I'm fairly certain that time may prove this not to be as much a concern as it may now seem). "Knowledge is power", or more accurately perhaps, properly applied knowledge is, but God is the source of knowledge (I could divert here, attempt to define knowledge, truth, and other terms spinning on Ixion's wheel, but good American that I am, pragmatism reigns. God bless the USA). Knowing that our God is the wise God, and that his Word instructs us to be "wise as serpents, and innocent as doves", I press on to grow in the knowledge of him both through studying him and the world he made.

*(yes, I know that title is the Dos Equis slogan. I'm a master bricoleur).

Ah, home.

2011-01-11T21:19:00.000-08:00

Living off-campus is so wonderful. My roommates are sweet, the food is amazing, and the showers aren't cold. For now, that's about all that needs to be said.

Ever have that feeling?

2011-01-02T22:13:00.000-08:00

You know, that nagging one that's telling you you're forgetting something important? Welcome to my last week.

2010-12-26T15:45:00.000-08:00

Looking ahead to the 16+ hour drive back to school this year, it crossed my mind that if it were possible to teleport my car there, I would. It's all gorgeous mountain driving, and I really don't mind the view. It's not like the prairies where if it were legal to set your cruise, an alarm and fall asleep at the wheel, you could. (corn, corn, soy, corn corn, corn, COWS, corn, corn, corn...) I tried to figure out the heart behind my desire to get out of the drive. Is it laziness? Fear? What it boils down to is really frustration that the world doesn't revolve around me, but that's another story. There's impatience in my heart, not content to trust that God's timing (the 16+ hours it will take my car to get there) is what is required of me. So many places in my life I find the same impatience, always wanting to be at the next stage of my life without living the one I'm in. Just wanting to be back to school. Just wanting to be done with my degree. Just wanting to be serving somewhere else, better than where I am. Just wanting to be married. The list goes on. But there's a reason that between point A (where I am) and point B (where I will be), there's a road to travel. This road, these experiences, produce perseverance. This road is a gift that I need to steward well. So I'm praying that God continues to soften my selfish heart, and remind me of his faithfulness. He will complete what he has begun.

Sunrise.

2010-12-26T15:17:00.000-08:00

Today, there was a particularly glorious sunrise. Something I've recently discovered is that as a result of being a nanny and not having to filter my eccentricity for nine months, I sing much more. Because my mind works by association, words remind me of other words, but more often, a word or phrase reminds me of a song. The fact that I've had this stuck in my head all day is a prime example.

2010-12-12T22:07:00.000-08:00

Smooth and cold

scattered on the sand

begging to be thrown

or taken home.

Your brothers and sisters

brighten the shore,

glimmering in the evening light;

a family at peace.

(written long ago when someone dared me to write a poem about a rock)

Pastiche

2010-11-28T19:43:00.000-08:00

Recently, I've really felt the truth of the words, "What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun". It's that sort of postmodern silence; the realization that everything we write is really just a parody, or at best a rearranging of what's already been said. But combined with the challenge of proclaiming to the next generation the glorious works of our God, it makes sense. The story repeats because there is really only one story, conceived with the creation of the world. Let's be storytellers, my friends.

Swingin' at the Donkey.

2010-11-18T21:02:00.000-08:00

I recently was asked to do an interview for my university newspaper, "Balaam's Donkey", and had the privilege of getting to work with a dear friend. Here are some excerpts from the article (read: I'm too busy this month to sit down and write any more than I already have ). It was good to have to write in a more formal style than I typically do here, though a bit frustrating. I've grown accustomed to using the words I like to say what I want, and it's hard for me to hear/see my writing style come out in this piece. It seems a bit...well, dry, but not in a "dry humor" sort of way (if you're reading this, Michelle, I don't blame you for editing it. ;) ). A penny for your thoughts; if it helps, play some classic big band in the background while you read:

Devoted readers of this fine newspaper are no doubt already familiar with Joshua Aitkenhead, the VP of Spiritual Life for Ambrose Student Council. But in addition to his heart for the Lord and desire to see others grow in faith, Joshua also has a passion for spreading joy through swing dancing, and I had the privilege of hearing about how he hopes to share all three with the Ambrose community. But what is swing dancing?

Traditionally done in rotating pairs, swing is a social dance. Rather than being itself a type of dance, swing combines many dances from the 1920s through to the 1940s such as the Lindy hop, the Charleston, Blues, Balboa and Jazz dancing. While the dancers are required to hold hands, swing is comparably low contact, using open formation, as opposed to the closed formation of other more traditional social dances. The eclectic nature of the dance, the simple core step, and the steady backbeat of the music allow for significant freedom and creativity, as well as being forgiving to people who are still learning. After declining in popularity through the 1960s, swing, or neo-swing, made a comeback in urban centers in the late 1990s and seems to once again be here to stay. Calgary is no exception, and swing has also caught the interest of some Ambrose students, Joshua in particular.

Kelsey: “How long have you been dancing, and what made you decide to start?”

Joshua: “Well, I went to my first actual swing dance event last November and started taking lessons at the UofC in January. I've wanted to do swing dancing since my freshman year, but I never had anyone to go with; last year a good friend told me about this (Swing Dance Calgary) and invited me along, so I went.”

Kelsey: “Why swing?”

Joshua: “It just looked fun. Besides I do like to suit up and swing dance encourages that! Also a lot of other types of dances were just too intimate.”

Kelsey: “I have heard you are hoping to start up a Swing Dance club at Ambrose, what do you envision for this potential club, and why have one here?”

Joshua: “Well, first off, I want to spread the love of dance to the students of Ambrose.

Dancing is not only a great way to socialize and work out, but also a great way to have fun without spending a lot of money. Secondly, I want to have people see that dancing can be done as worship and can teach us about our relationship with God. I long for the days when God will lead me perfectly in a wonderful dance where I can show off His majesty without taking away what He has made me to be. Ask me how I feel when I dance.”

Kelsey: “Um...Joshua, how do you feel when you dance?”

Joshua: “I feel like I am living out a beautiful existence. I feel like I am doing something for the woman I am dancing with in that when I execute a move she ends up looking great and I am overwhelmed by the smile that appears on her face. Because it means that whatever is going on right now in her life, she is happy in that moment, and whatever is going on in my life, I am happy that I brought joy to someone else!”

Kelsey: “Why should students care about this group?”
Joshua: “Why? Students should care for a couple reasons: One, not all of us can sing and yet music is prevalent in our worship services. Sometimes I just dance in order to worship in a service (or at least bob up and down). Secondly, dancing is one of the things that are mentioned in the Bible as being a legit worship experience, but Christians often seem to say it’s wrong. I believe Jesus wants to redeem dancing to what it was supposed to be! And most importantly, it’s a lot of fun!”

The Beauty (and Bane) of Blogging

2010-11-09T15:40:00.000-08:00

Think about it. Before this age in history, you needed to convince someone to publish you, or have the ability to do it yourself, to spread your ideas to the world. Well, that or you stood on street corners and yelled. But those people were looked down on. Rabble-rousers. Being quiet and decent was apparently not good enough for them. Even with newspapers, your voice only carries as far as the paper can (and papers come in handy for many things. Hats, brooches, pterodactyls...). Not to mention the cost of publishing. But welcome to the 21st century, where I can see updates of my friend's newborn daughter on the other side of the world while getting live updates of weather (though really, how hard can it be to be a meteorologist in Seattle? "Well, today will be between 40 and 70 F, partly cloudy with a chance of rain"). Provided I've got internet connection, which is still free at libraries in my corner of the world, I could theoretically always be communicating with this strange new online world. And in this world, any of us with a basic computer understanding can write whatever we like and send it to the masses. Our sphere of influence has suddenly increased exponentially, as well as what can have influence over us. We have truly phenomenal access to information in this age. I can search for somewhere I've never been and see pictures of each intersection I have to cross to get there, without leaving my chair and still manage to get lost driving.

Of course, the beauty is that now there's a chance to hear the stories of people who, quite frankly, are ordinary. We get to see the plain exposed in a new light, the everyday told in an unfamiliar way. There's a glorious mess of voices out there, all clamoring for our attention. So many of us writing, some to be noticed, some to promote a cause, some to vent, some to vent about those who are venting, some to complain about people who write sentences without proper structure. As Aristotle says," Democracy arises out of the notion that those who are equal in any respect are equal in all respects; because all men are equally free, they claim to be absolutely equal"; such is the view of writing. Suddenly, there is no filter on what is available, and irrelevant, irreverent writing abounds (of course, that happened long before the internet). Writing is art, and all of us who are literate, artists. Wordsmiths. Blogging just gives us another medium.

Just some thoughts. A suggestion for curing boredom: search quotes on democracy (or any subject, for that matter).

2010-10-26T13:05:00.000-07:00

What is it about foreign things that scare Americans so? For a country populated mostly by immigrants, we seem very quickly to forget our roots. And though we have a poor grasp of our own language, we're very quick to judge other people for knowing less than we do, forgetting that it's not their native tongue. Next time you get impatient with the clerk who is mixing up her verb tenses, by all means, try speaking to her in her first language. We are a people, seeking to distance ourselves from the old world and become new, who have created a culture devoid of grace. No doubt, there is "American" culture. It has a lot to do with the concept of lifestyle. Much of the world can hardly afford to live, let alone choose what they look like while doing it. It is an immense blessing that even the poorest among us has rights, and the ability, through effort, to live and work relatively as they please (I realize this is oversimplified, but as compared to much of the world, this is true). We're just so afraid of being perceived as weird, fearful of things we don't understand and unwilling to expend any effort to explore something new. At no point in history were the greatest nations and prevailing cultures the only ones of interest, yet many Americans act as if ours is, by inherent right of being ours, the best civilization that has ever been. That we are a superpower is too obvious to contest, and I feel immensely blessed to have been born into the nation I was. Otherwise, I couldn't be complaining about it. ;)

All this to say, I got into an interesting discussion about why I listen to foreign music. "You can't understand it, why listen?" was the main point on the opposing side. For one thing, music is sound, conveying more than merely the meaning of words. But even the words have a music to them. Words are sounds. What is poetry? Musical writing, conveying emotions. You dare to claim that music that "sounds weird" to you isn't worth listening to? Fine. Stay in your little world. But I live in a world that isn't mass produced in California and worn by obnoxious suburban white kids. A world with bizarre beauty and sweet suffering. A world where some people are just not attractive, but they are loved instead of mocked. A world where Christ came to seek and save the lost from every tribe, tongue and nation. How can we love our brothers and sisters if we totally ignore them, or worse, look down on them because they're not "like us"? Get off your western high horse and go love your neighbor. Listen to some world music, or if that's too far out, try this. My nanny kiddos absolutely love it. Seriously, it's on repeat.

How to lose weight without really trying.

2010-10-20T22:08:00.000-07:00

Pre-meds.

Levothyroid. I've lost 3 pounds in a week doing absolutely nothing different other than taking a daily pill*. They actually come with a warning because that's a common side effect; it makes sense really, considering it's increasing my metabolism. As annoying as it is to have to wake up, take my meds, and wait 30 minutes before eating, this is a useful side effect. Still waiting for the part where I'm not cold all the time. I have yet to know why exactly my body needs to take these in the first place, but hopefully when the lab results are back in and my ultrasound is done, I'll know what the source of the problem is. For now, it's enough to know that God's in control, and it's a nice reminder that I'm still going to die someday anyway. Thank God! Immortality on this earth would be misery beyond description.

On a completely different note, my most recent musical acquisition: the Japanese electropop group "Perfume", apparently popular among gay people in Japan (in a Lady Gaga-esque way). Yes, I know the vocals are autotuned. Yes, I have translated the lyrics, and though clean, they're not mind-blowingly deep. But they're so unashamedly cute and feminine, and it makes good background music. Blame it on the drugs. ;)

(*disclaimer: These were legitimately prescribed for me by my doctor upon discovery that I was hypothyroid. On her advice, I am taking these and carefully watching my weight)

On a way of life...and a bit of china.

2010-10-17T22:09:00.000-07:00

Spending time away from school has given me a chance to really reflect on what I gleaned from my classes; what was helpful, what was miserable, and what I wish I had tried harder on. Ideally, it will assist me as I plan out my courses for January and will improve my school experience. I'm sure I've grown out of all my bad study habits. That's how these things work, right? And lo and behold, in glorious retrospect, I've come to realize that the core requirements for my school are actually quite helpful (with the exception of Intro.Sociology...that was mildly interesting, but useless). Whatever your major, you need to know what's been done; study history. You need to know how to think and reason ; study philosophy. You need to know how people work and process things; study psychology. You need to communicate your thoughts effectively; study English. You need to know how the world works; study science. "Art washes away the dust of everyday life" and enables us to feel pretentious, so we study fine arts. And in the unique case of my school, you need to know the Word, so you study theology. But you don't study all these things so you can add to your pile of hats, switching between disciplines like changing clothes. Each subject adds to and completes your ensemble (with the exception of the Word...obviously of greater importance than all the wisdom of the world). Besides that, it's a helpful image for me of how learning should be complementary. Having to grapple with opposing ideas and theories, learning how to allow for individual difference, and realizing just how enormous the world is and how small you are, really changes your perspective.

Speaking of feeling small...On my never-ending quest for sea glass, I was beach combing and found this bit of porcelain. Who dropped a dish, when? Did it get thrown overboard? Has anyone else found this, or is it the first time it's washed up? This rectangular piece of stone with random metal in it. What IS it. Who knows if I'll ever know? It's probable I'll never figure it out. But God not only knows, he wrote their stories. Every stone on that beach, every creature skipping in the seaweed, every molecule of water. How can that not be mindblowing? Author of creation. Easy to say, but impossible to fathom. Everything that is, from the natural world, to what we've "created" is known and sovereignly directed by God, the epitome of holism. Want to be well-balanced? Become like Him.

2010-10-15T20:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's a dated music video, but I love the song. There are few artists I know who possess such technical skill and achieve such success while retaining a poet's soul and love of exploring new (and in Sting's case, old) types of music. I will listen to his Christmas album year round without shame. One of many artists I wish was saved, because he would make the best worship songs ever.

Retrospect: backward thinking at its best.

2010-10-06T20:35:00.000-07:00

I wish I could have captured the smell too...nothing like a misty morning rose.

Ironically enough, I've been neglecting my blog, not because I have nothing to say, but because every time I sit down to write, a million disconnected thoughts swirl around wanting to be communicated. I end up staring at the screen trying to summarize my mental millieu and realizing that I ought to sleep.What is there left to be said that hasn't been already? What do I have to add? Nothing. And that's ok. Besides, most people have no concept and history and haven't read any classics. They'll never realize that my writing is unoriginal. ;)

I started this blog in 2008 because frankly, I was bored and needed a creative outlet. Now that two years have passed, it's interesting to look back at how my life has changed, to see how God's worked in my life and family in ways I'd never have imagined or chosen. In retrospect, all my experiences have been preparing me for where I've been led, without fail. You'd think there was some sovereign God graciously foreordaining my life or something.

In all my musings, it was interesting to see the role music has played in my life, how certain artists were on repeat in certain seasons, or even how much easier it is for me to remember lyrics to hundreds of songs than the current ages of my family. Recently, I've discovered a rather logical link between what I listen to prior to going to bed and what I wake up thinking about. The odds are fairly good that if I listen to a song, I'll wake up with it running through my head, even if I don't fall asleep thinking about it (the only exception is Linkin Park...for some reason, they seem to be my default mental soundtrack. Beats me).

...and, the point of this post. Right. The past matters, the present is important, and we need to be proactive about the legacy we're leaving. The people in your life right now are the people that God has put there. The ones that annoy you, the ones you love, the ones you admire, the ones you always feel awkward around, the weird relatives, they're the neighbors you're called to love ( Luke 10: 27). And I feel sorely that I have not been the mirror of Christ that I ought to have been to the people in my life. It's so tempting to live in the moment and keep telling myself that I'll go evangelize and love everyone when I've got the time, or when I'm fully trained (whenever that happens). But I already have the gospel. I have a heartbeat. That's enough. And I don't necessarily need to go to the ends of the earth, I may just be called to go to the end of my street. They need Jesus too! But it's too familiar, too close to home, for me to recognize it for the opportunity it is. So see the opportunities God's given you in your life and be a doer. Soak in the glorious gift of his word and be refreshed, hear his promises and testify to how he's been faithful in your life. What higher calling is there?

2010-09-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

When painting and calligraphy are combined, it's fairly easy to view a work and imagine you could do better. By all means, please do so. So often I see or hear of something and find myself mentally improving on it. This is one of the beauties of living in a highly creative area; it brings out a sort of competitive side to typically mellow artist-types. And with the internet, you don't even have to live anywhere near anyone else to feel that pressure to create something better, just because you can.

Though I wouldn't call myself a perfectionist, I do fairly constantly feel a desire to "fix" things (though I'm not sure how else a perfectionist is defined). I tend towards the mentality that everything can (and therefore should) be beautiful as well as functional. For example, food is necessary for life, but more appetizing if aesthetically pleasing. Hence the whole premise of Epicute. One really doesn't have to spend too much time with a person to know where they stand on this. It's a spectrum, as many things are, and the Japanese do a laudable job of balancing the concepts of beauty and functionality in essentially all aspects of their culture. Our God created a world of beauty, full of things that don't need to be. Really, none of this needs to be. But it is. It has reason and purpose, merely by existing. The world looks different through that lens. If we really believe that even "mistakes" have beauty, how do we treat people who, frankly, are unattractive to society? Can we see the wonder in creation? Will we stop trying to manicure our lawns and let them reflect the climate we live in? (sorry, pet peeve)

To summarize, musing and ranting late at night on a caffeine-free day makes for posts that follow meandering trains of thought.

2010-09-21T23:15:00.000-07:00

In the month, I've suddenly been prone to burst into tears in the midst of conversations. On average, it happens at least half a dozen times a week. I have no idea why. As usual, I blame hormones/sleep deprivation/something in my eye, etc. But God is good. And sovereign over whatever thing it is that makes me cry this time, from talking about child abuse, to hearing some beautiful music. It's a hearty blow to my pride, because let's face it: crying just looks weak. It shows my failure to control my emotions in the socially appropriate way I'd prefer. If someone asks me if I'm alright, I might actually have to explain what's going on instead of being able to convince them that "I'm fine". The ironic part, most of the time, I actually am fine, I'm just having a moment. Guess that's what living with girls does to you. =)

Thoughts on obedience at work...

2010-09-14T11:35:00.000-07:00

The lesson is hard
but oh, it is good;
to do what we are told
when we should.

No ifs ands or buts
proud justification cease!
Trust God is in control;
follow your Sovereign's lead.

Be called a fool;
be thought a child;
in submission is freedom,
slavery's wild.

P.S. Yes, I just sat and tried to make sense of the meter of this "poem"...Better go squelch the formalist in me with some more chocolate.

Why yoga?

2010-09-13T21:04:00.000-07:00

"Royal Dancer" pose...someday, I'll be able to do both hands on my ankle. And pigs will fly.

1. Because you never know when you'll need to do this.

2. I can have a killer workout and feel sore without really ever getting out of breath or disgustingly sweaty.

3. I can do it alone or with others, here, there, and everywhere (in a box, with a fox, in a house, with a mouse, on a boat, with a goat, in the dark, on a train, in the rain...)

4. Cost of yoga equipment = $10. Benefits of doing regular exercise = more energy, flexibility, muscle tone...broken record, I know, but that whole "eat well and exercise" thing isn't that far out.

Of course, I'm not very orthodox in my yoga. I mean, playing swing music and dancing in the middle of an ashtanga vinyasa is hardly clearing your mind. The focus on coordinating breathing and movement has been helpful, and really, it's just more fun to work out this way.

Tweet.

2010-09-09T11:28:00.000-07:00

I write this, sitting in the back of a "train", having to give up my sticky note ticket to my little conductor every few minutes as he returns to the other side of the couch to drive. Apparently, we're going to visit Elmo. Just an average Thursday, really. Only this time, I had the foresight to actually bring something to write on.

Grey fall skies have a surprising beauty, the air is crisp and sweet. And only in Washington does one's lawn and garden look more green in September than it does in May. It's rather bizarre, for the first time I can remember, these seasonal changes aren't welcoming me back to school. Funny how even though I've known this was coming all summer, it's still striking me as odd. And truth be told, I miss it sorely. On one level, it's helpful to know, because once I graduate, I'm going to have to find some other way to meet that intellectual need in my life other than academics. For now, my creativity is being tested as I try to find things to read and write as a challenge And more honestly, my perseverance is tested as I try to actually apply myself to do what I come up with and not just laze around when I get off work.

Sitting around last night, it really occurred to me what an effect living with a temporary mindset can have; how knowing that I'm leaving soon has really brought out the worst of my natural introversion. Sometimes, I don't want to meet new people just because they'll just be more people I'm never going to be around. More people to miss. But the fact of the matter remains, if we're believers, it's never "goodbye", but always "see you later". That's been a great encouragement of late, and a reminder to make what little time I have in each place count. What am I leaving behind? And yesterday, I got a glimpse of the answer.

I was talking to my boss, who attends the small group at house where I live, and she mentioned something about the "Kelsey bird" with a knowing grin. Unfortunately, it would seem I was the only person who had no idea who or what the Kelsey bird was, so I had to ask. Embarrassed, she explained that at small group last night, a friend of mine had shared about how one night, I had asked her if she was really going to let frosting steal her joy (long story). So now, when she's tempted to be frustrated in a circumstance, she gets a "Kelsey bird" on her shoulder that asks her if she's going to let it rob her of her joy in Christ. Granted, my first thought was much more akin to mortification at hearing that this was shared in front of a "small group" of about 40 people I don't really know than joy at hearing people rise up and call me blessed. But on reflection, I realized that by the grace of God, I'm being a blessing. If that's all that they remember about me, if that's what they learn from my life, that's more than enough! So I'm a pestering bird. I'd rather parrot the words of Christ than be a noisy gong.

Why working with little boys rocks.

2010-08-20T14:34:00.000-07:00

Today, I got paid to catch a frog and share the marvels of creation with a small child. I may possibly be spending his naptime playing with said frog. No way to tell, really.

Teaser.

2010-08-19T22:04:00.000-07:00

"She was sure they could amuse themselves for one hour. “After all", she mused, “between the few of them, they should have some imagination to entertain themselves”. It was settled, then. With one last furtive glance, she clasped her coat around her collarbone and snuck out the front door, gingerly releasing the knob to stifle the sound. Her shoulders curled inward, trying in vain to fight the chill of a bitter November evening as she walked en pointe down the stony path".

To explain: I often can't sleep because I have a hard time turning off my thoughts. Simply put, my body is an early riser and my mind seems to think it's a night owl...so the other night, after my body had finally won out and fallen asleep, my mind decided to wake me up with the afore-written lines. Why? Beats me. But I wasn't able to sleep until I finally got out of bed and wrote them down. Literally. Trust me, I tried for over half an hour to ignore it because I thought it was absurd. The worst part is, while it intrigues me, I'm torn about actually developing the thought. I'm not sure I want to create a work of fiction. But it looks like I started to. In my sleep. Ah, the bizarre life of an English major. ;)

On owning a Jeep...

2010-08-19T21:37:00.000-07:00

When I imagined what my first car would be, I always pictured something like this:

Yes, that's a wooden spoiler. Add some bumper stickers/duct tape and this baby's ready to roll...just let me shift to neutral. Ok, now push...

Naturally then, it's been a real blessing to have a car that not only runs, but runs well and is in phenomenal shape. My brothers and I are vainly trying to come up with a name for it, which led us to question: are all ships/cars/planes/vehicles necessarily girls? Because I would tend to give it a female name, but apparently Jeeps are too rugged for that. Who knew? In any case, I'm already enjoying making memories in it. Recently with the 90°F+/32.22°C+ weather, the lack of AC has been felt, but it's just meant that I get to share my eclectic musical taste with all of the highlands. One gentleman in a truck the other day decided to share a particular finger with me while I was stuck at a light playing some Sean Kingston. The best glances, however, come when I'm blasting the public classical station (NPR for the win!).

Recently, in talking to a good friend of mine, we were talking about our struggle for contentment in what seems to us to be difficult situations. To paraphrase, she summarized a particularly hard story by saying, " I've come to the realization that God has given me 100% of what I need for the day"(smiles). Period. This not only led me to thank God for the people like her in my life, but to reflect on how radically different my life could look if I really lived like I believed that was true. I'm a planner, and if I'm not mapping out my goals for the next year, I'm slacking. How is one to balance what wisdom there is in organization with James 4:13-17? What if, instead of whining about being tired, I realized that God has already given me the strength I need? If, rather than wallowing in self-pity, I spent the gift of my time in serving others for the sake of the Gospel?

Tu eres todo poderoso; eres grande y majestuoso; eres fuerte, invensible; y no hay nadie como tu.

On a lighter note...

2010-08-10T19:47:00.000-07:00

2010-08-10T19:43:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've been utilizing naptime at work to get some extra devotional time in, so I've been bringing my Bible to work. Today, I had the older boy on my lap and he saw it sitting on the table and wanted to read. I let him have it, and as he was flipping through it, holding it upside down, etc. I was explaining how this was a special book about Jesus. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He flipped to 2 Kings and stabs a chubby finger at the page. "This is a story about Jesus", he blurts out excitedly. He continues flipping at random, repeating his affirmation in all sorts of other parts of scripture. While literally speaking he was incorrect, I couldn't help but smile at how simple it was for this little boy to get the Truth of the Bible: It's all about Christ, whether it's pointing to his coming, describing his life, or detailing "how then we should live" until his return in glory. I realize that this child doesn't comprehend what he said, and that he will have to be taught the same truth, probably a large number of times, and that alone won't produce a renewed heart. I'm humbled that I can be used to be part of sharing the gospel with him, regardless of the outcome of his life (though I pray that God changes and softens his heart!). I've recently been convicted through various conversations that I'm very lukewarm about sharing the Gospel with unbelievers, not because I don't believe it, but because I'm afraid, lazy, or an infinite number of pathetic excuses. It's true, at this particular point in my life, I'm not really around unbelieving adults, for better or for worse. But I am around children who need to know the deeds of the Lord. Later that afternoon, I read Psalm 71, which has become my prayer, "O God, from my youth you have taught me, and still I proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and grey hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come...you who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth you will bring me up again." Sustain me Lord, that I can share with the world all you've done for me; don't let soulless rocks cry out of your mercies while I, animate and forgiven, remain silent!

Feeling foolish and senseless, yet knowing Wisdom.

2010-08-01T21:25:00.000-07:00

"Hear this, O foolish and senseless people, who have eyes, but see not, who have ears, but see not. Do you not fear me? declares the LORD; Do you not tremble before me? I placed the sand as a boundary for the sea, a perpetual barrier that it cannot pass; though the waves toss, they cannot prevail; though they roar, they cannot pass over it. But this people has a stubborn and rebellious heart; they have turned aside and gone away. . .the prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests rule at their direction; my people love to have it so, but what will you do when the end comes?"

Good idea, oh Lord! (sorry, had to throw that in there)

How much control do even the most powerful and wise of us have over the ocean? Especially in light of the BP blundering, this was a particularly resonating point. How can I fail to trust a God who can sovereignly control the entirety and intricacy of creation with my little life? What true comfort is there in the lie that I'm in control of my future? Yet how much more content we seem to think we would be if God would just let us plan our own lives. What will I do when the end comes? I sincerely hope the Spirit grants me the ability to plead His righteousness and not mine. His track record is a bit better than mine.

Yes, this qualifies as plagiarism...-ish

2010-07-25T17:38:00.000-07:00

As I've gotten older, I've noticed an increase in how engaged I am with what I read. I'm hard on books, scribbling in the margins, folding over pages, and generally making a text my own, just like Ondaatje's patient (kudos to anyone who can explain that reference). Take this as a warning before you loan me any book; it will in all likelihood come back with my thoughts on it inside. Part of the reason I do that is so I can remember the things that stood out to me as I read. I find much of life to be referential, or at least increasingly interconnected. Something I see reminds me of something, which makes me think of something else, reminding me of this one time...and so on. I've found this blog to be a good place to process the thoughts that I have while reading, to get feedback on them. This blog is not a collection of essays, though I have included excerpts from those in the past. The posts are not book reviews, and this is certainly not a daily account of my life, though aspects of those are included as well. Simply put, it's unoriginal and nonacademic, though (I hope) food for thought. It certainly has been for me. So as I set out to write this post, I started by asking myself what may seem a fairly unintelligent, but vitally important question: What am I writing? Fortunately, the answer came quickly (though it took me way too long to get the time to actually write it). So this is a collection of thought-provoking quotations from Vladmir Nabokov's "Pale Fire" and Louis LaAmour's "The Education of a Wandering Man". (Key = Nabokov ; LaAmour; Sturm )

-"When I hear a critic speaking of an author's sincerity I know that either the critic or the author is a fool." The word "sincere" is a bit of a throwaway word, especially when applied to literature...what exactly is is supposed to mean, anyway? Really, all it seems to infer is that the author is trying really hard, despite his work, which seems quite patronizing.
-" When the soul adores Him Who guides it through mortal life, when it distinguishes His sign at every turn of the trail, painted on the boulder and notched in the fir trunk, when every page in the book of one's personal fate bears His watermark, how can one doubt that He will also preserve us through all eternity?...We who borrow in filth everyday may be forgiven perhaps the one sin that ends all sins". Well said, my Russian friend. But can we really be forgiven "the sin that ends all sins"? We're called to use what little life we have to spread the Gospel. Is being done with the troubles of the world really worth the risk that suicide may be an unforgivable sin? Interesting thought.
-"The amusing paradox with these men of action is that they constantly have to endure long stretches of otiosity that they are unable to fill with anything, lacking as they do the resources of an adventurous mind." A good quote for someone who is as easily amused as I am...clearly the only reason other people get bored is that they just have an underdeveloped imagination. ;)
"The one who kills is always his victim's inferior". Always? Often, perhaps. I'm hesitant to make it absolute.
-"We who write fiction are not writing history, yet I do not believe anybody has a right to alter history for the sake of a story. If nothing else, it betrays a lack of creative ability. The actual history is amazing enough and I prefer to put my characters into what is actually happening and let it happen to them." One of the reasons I often prefer to study history rather than read fiction...no author's imaginings compare to reality of human experience.
-" I suppose I was lonely. I know that I often longed for someone with whom I could talk of books, writers, and things of the mind, but that was not to be for a long time, except here and there when I chanced on some other lost literary soul. Loneliness is of many kinds, and the mere presence and companionship of people does not suffice. The people I had been meeting were friendly, pleasant and the salt of the earth, but they did not speak my language. I enjoyed them, but something in me reached out for more." I've often felt this growing up, and now every time I move. Thankfully, I have something LaAmour (coming to manhood in the 1920s) did not: the internet. Makes connecting all those "lost literary souls" so much simpler.
-"One is not, by decision, just a writer.One becomes a writer by writing, by shaping thoughts into the proper or improper words, depending on the subject, and doing it constantly...most young writers waste at least three paragraphs and often three pages writing about their story rather than telling it." I've written so much that fits this description...by the time you finish the introduction, you've lost the reader's interest. Guess I need to practice.
-"It is often said that one has but one life to live, but that is nonsense. For one who reads, there is no limit to the number of lives that may be lived, for fiction, biography, and history offer an inexhaustible number of lives in many parts of the world, in all periods of time." This really relates back to the whole concept of imagination that Nabokov spoke of. On one level, the more you've experienced and know, the more you have to think of; the inverse is also true, as the most sheltered neophyte can amuse themselves for hours with merely an active mind.
It's all about the archetypes, man. ;) There's nothing new under the sun. I used to get upset when a story was predictable, but now I take pleasure in seeing how different writers/playwrights/directors rework and use plot devices to create their works. It's like looking at a painting and complaining that it's composed of merely a canvas, paints, and brushes rather than appreciating the brushwork of the artist, or how they incorporated certain colors and themes to create a unique reworking of the subject. The fact that many artists created sculptures of David does little to diminish the beauty and skill of Michelangelo's.
-"For a writer, of course, everything is grist for the mill, and a writer cannot know too much, sooner or later everything he does know will find its uses. A writer's brain is like a magician's hat. If you're going to get anything out of it, you have to put something in first". Really, this is along a similar vein as the last quote. I did find it interesting that he used a magician's hat...really, it's a bit of an odd analogy. Isn't part of the "magic" of the hat the thought that nothing goes into it, but amazing things come out? But upon further thought, I suppose that's how most of us try to write. We expect to make great work, but avoid the "putting in" of thoughtful research, ample time for reviewing/editing, and so on. This explains several papers I've composed.
-" I have read because I loved reading, and I have learned because I love learning, yet all one needs to know cannot come from books. It can come from sounds and music, from the play of light and shadow, from the people that one meets or those one does not meet". People who are bookish need to get out too. Reading about hiking can't show you the magic of a sunset on a mountainside, or get you in shape.
-" A person or situation can only be understood against the background of its own time." Really, it seems a lot of conflict could be resolved if this were actually followed. Out of context, what makes sense?
-"The idea that it might be fun to get drunk never appealed to me, for I had come to believe I could cope with any situation that might arise if I had my wits about me." So true. It's not necessarily that I'm "too good" to get drunk (or high). I'm just too proud to let myself get into a situation where I'm not in control of my mind.
-"Writing...is a learning process. One never knows enough and one is never good enough". So there you go. I will never be good enough at writing.Thankfully, "all the fitness He requireth is to feel your need of Him".

Posting this makes me groan. You're welcome.

2010-07-13T21:12:00.000-07:00

So a vulture boards an airplane, carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess looks at him and says, “I’m sorry, sir, only one carrion allowed per passenger.”

Two fish swim into a concrete wall. The one turns to the other and says “Dam!”

Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says “I’ve lost my electron.” The other says “Are you sure?” The first replies “Yes, I’m positive.”

Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal? His goal: transcend dental medication.

Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him …….. A super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

And finally, there was the person who sent ten different puns to friends, with the hope that at least one of the puns would make them laugh. No pun in ten did. Almost as lame as the person who posts six hilarious puns in lieu of actual writing. ;)

2010-07-06T20:35:00.000-07:00

For the last week or so, I've been jotting down notes, folding back book pages and making mental notes: "blog about that". Clearly, I've done a phenomenal job of doing it. ;) So in lieu of a long random post (which is coming...), here's a recent recipe that I altered enough to feel fairly confident calling it my own. They're amazing, and surprisingly, vegan (if you make the suggested alterations).

The aptly named "Peanut Butter Oatmeal Cookies" :

-3/4 c. flour

-1/2 tsp. baking soda

-1/4 tsp. baking powder

-1/2 tsp. salt (only if peanut butter is unsalted)

-1/2 c. butter/margarine

-1/2 c. peanut butter

-1/2 c. sugar

-1/2 c. light brown sugar

-1 egg (or 1 banana)

-1 tsp. vanilla

-1 c. oats (or 2 packages of instant oatmeal)

-chocolate chips/nuts to taste

Oven: 350°

1. Soften butter, cream with sugars. Add peanut butter, vanilla, and egg (or mashed banana) and mix. Blend in dry ingredients, and drop in teaspoonfulls onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake for approximately 10 minutes, then remove. Cookies may appear undercooked, but will harden as they cool. Enjoy!

2010-06-25T21:02:00.000-07:00

On a more light-hearted note than some of my recent posts, the highlight of my day is going to bed. Why? Not necessarily because I had to work early today. And it's not even because I'm tired. It's because I know that whenever I choose to wake up, there will be a relatively fresh (just pulled them out of the oven) chocolate cranberry scone for breakfast. Thank God for Saturdays.
( I was going to add an image of a scone, but I couldn't find any that did justice to the ones I just made, so you'll have to imagine how incredible they look and smell.)

Communication matters.

2010-06-21T20:14:00.000-07:00

"The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place". -George Bernard Shaw

We often hear of words getting in the way, of how impossible it is to disclose the deeper feelings within.I always figured that I was doing well in that area. I'm fairly verbose, right? I mean, I blog. Really. Clearly I do just fine at promulgating my thoughts and ideas to people. And in his mercy, God chose to show me how just how poorly I've communicated with the people I care about. He showed me how I've become dangerously introverted with my true feelings out of fear; how I'm not wanting to deal with their reactions, or afraid of hurting their feelings that I'm actually not loving them enough to tell them the truth. Beyond that, I'm just not talking to people at all. It's so easy to just feel too busy/tired/undesirous of burdening anyone else. Moving as much as I have has made this something that feels almost natural. I can love people for the time I'm there, then leave. I'm excellent at severing ties and moving on; my heart has grown calloused and cold, and that's frightening. Is that really the legacy I want to leave? So in the strength of God, I'm working on graciously communicating what's on my mind in ways that edify and inform. And for now, we'll try to hold off on the sarcasm. ;)

Tunage? Please.

2010-06-18T17:19:00.000-07:00

Recently, growing weary of listening to poorly written, theologically weak children's Bible songs at work, I've decided to add in some musical variety at work. We now rotate between "Wee Sing Bible Songs" (Admit it: You listened to those growing up), Disney classics, and the jazz station on the radio/Pandora. The kids (and bear-bear, apparently) love the jazz station as much as I do now. It's both exciting and frightening that they are such great copycats.

I used to wonder why young parents had no social lives (not entirely, but still it seems like something that's fairly easy to keep up even with kids, right?). Now, I'm so tired when I get off work, I don't even want to be around people. Getting to know new people takes time and energy, and I often just want/need to sleep. Admittedly, I think I'm still trying to figure out how to go from being surrounded by college girls last year to now spending the greater part of my life with a toddler and an infant. As much as I love my job, it's nice sometimes to be around people who can count higher than 8. : )

That's one of the reasons I appreciate being able to listen to music at work; it "washes away the dust of everyday life", as Pablo Picasso would say. And when there's good music on, I sing, which brings me joy (not to mention makes me feel ridiculously like Julie Andrews...). I've taken to singing old hymns as lullabies to the infant. Now instead of dreading having to lay him down, I can preach truth to my soul while he cries himself to sleep. Redeeming those moments remind me of why I'm here, where my strength truly lies (hint: it's not in me.).

For the first time in way too long, I knelt in the dark and really poured out my heart to God last night. Today, I haven't been able to get these lyrics out of my head: "What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear! What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer. Oh, what peace we often forfeit; oh, what needless pain we bear! All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer". How many times have you sung those words? Do you feel the wonder of his grace? When was the last time you were amazed that an infinite, holy God knows and cares about your life? You should be.

A dramatic tale of mystery and intrigue; Ne bis in idem

2010-06-15T20:41:00.000-07:00

" Doesn't something tell you that suffering is like life: that there is always something unknown beyond it?"

Alexandre Dumas has done a masterful job of blending a fantastic and engaging story with interesting dialogue and just enough description to satisfy (without getting bogged down in the details in a Tolkienian manner). As George Bernard Shaw was apt to put it, " Dumas was...a summit of art. Nobody ever could, or did, or will improve upon Dumas's romances". While my thoughts upon completion of The Count of Monte Cristo are not as ludicrously flattering as Shaw, I do now foster a warm appreciation for the man and his works. I was pleasantly surprised at the number of thought provoking sections; those are few and far between in most romantic novels. It made me grieve at the cruelty of humanity, my heart broke at, as Shakespeare termed it, the "frailty of woman", I followed the story with bated breath as the count mysteriously acted both as an agent of providence and revenge (Ok, less than bated breath. I knew how it was going to end, but I was genuinely upset to put it down). All in all, a wonderful summer read. ★★★★

2010-06-09T21:38:00.000-07:00

One of my much-neglected projects was looking up the requirements for my program to graduate and comparing them with what my record looks like now that I've got a year finished. Tonight, I finally got to it.
SO...I've still got 48 credits left:
-9 in Religion (Intro to the Old Testament, Intro to the New Testament, and a senior level course of my choice)
-Intro to Psychology (with the venerable Professor A. Ho)
-12 elective credits in English
-9 credits in Art/Science = More choir!
- 15 credits of "Open Electives"
Needless to say, I'm excited to be just under half finished after my first year. Not too shabby. If I were able to afford to do 15+ credits a semester, I'd be done in no time. I would like to be done by the time I turn 21...but we'll see what God has in store.

Let me tell you about my day...

2010-06-08T20:38:00.000-07:00

What have I been up to? Hmm. Well something like this:

6:30: Last time hitting snooze; Roll out of bed, check email (yes, I'm addicted), compose myself for the day and head downstairs for the breakfast of champions: Oatmeal and ginger orange juice (or toast and tea).

8:00: Have finished walking to work; start by feeding the "littler guy" (3 months). We've got between 30 minutes to an hour until the "little guy" (2 years) wakes up, meaning I have no hands instead of just one. I'm really quite amazed at what one can accomplish while simultaneously supporting a child that can't hold his head up...

10:00: With one down sleeping, the older two of us head outside (weather permitting). My main goal: find creative and enjoyable ways to wear him out so he naps better. The damp Washington climate happens to be ideal for slug-hunting, and it's a favorite pastime. Why, just today, we caught over 4 different types of slug. Someday, when he gets older, I'll show him the magic effects of salt on our invasive friends. For now, we content ourselves, he with a stick and slug/mushy pinecone/rock/ball and me with tending to the garden.

12:00: Lunchtime! Fortunately for me, the little guy loves to help in the kitchen. And by "loves", I mean the second I start thinking about making something, he pulls his chair over to the counter and asks to be picked up so he can get in on the action. He's quite the stirrer. A bit picky on textures, but once I started blending things with the hand mixer, I haven't had any trouble getting him to eat anything. I started blending healthy things into my own lunches too. ;) We made pasta one day, and the whole time we were boiling the noodles, he kept wanting to sample them. On the first, totally unprompted, he tasted it, then pronounced with a serious face, "Raw" (and proceeded to do so until it was al dente. That takes skills, people.)

14:00: Swaddled and sleeping boys mean I've got a few hours to catch up on all the messes they've made for the day and do some reading/dinner preparation/organization of the house. I've knocked off quite a bit of reading so far, not to mention the ever-growing flower and herb garden I've got going. It's been fun to do homemaking projects for the mom of the family.

16:00: The boys are up and hungry, so I try to make sure both of them are fed and have clean diapers and finish all projects before their dad gets home. Throughout the day, I take notes, so I hand those off with any explanation, and tap out for the day on kiddo duty.

19:00: Supper! (and yes, it does really look and taste that good. I live with a great cook). Several nights out of the week, there are events going on over/after the meal, but I prefer the nights where I can just chill around the house after being away all day.

23:00: Finally in bed, too late, as usual. Staying up reading will do that...but the sleep feels good. Resting in His grace, and trusting for new mercies tomorrow!

I've been learning a lot, but I think one of the sweetest (and conversely, most convicting) lessons has been getting to see, through "parenting" these kids, a clearer picture of God's nature. Sometimes I get frustrated, "Why can't this kid just trust that I have his best interest in mind? Why can't he just learn these lessons?"...and then I remember my lack of faith, my stubborn and rebellious nature, and I not only have patience, but a heart to see these kids learn to love and rely on Christ. My correction is needed, but it only fixes behavior; their hearts will never change without the grace of God. How can I thank him enough? Speaking of which, I also have a growing appreciation for my parents and their faithfulness in raising us in a intentionally God-centered home. I'm only beginning to realize the blessings that are coming from their willingness to sacrifice a "normal" life for a wartime-mentality, homeschooled home. (shakes head) I've been so thankful recently; I've never been so tired and yet so full of joy. God is good.

My condolences...

2010-06-02T22:59:00.000-07:00

Today, I got to write a letter of condolence for the first time. The very notion seems rather old-school (heck, the fact that I just put a hyphen in "old-school" is in itself rather not in vogue). Really, whatever you seem to write seems trite and inadequate. How does one sufficiently relate how much pain you empathetically feel for the person's loss without sounding like you're being patronizing? How much or how little should you say? Oh, I asked for grace to speak words edifying for the moment. Sometimes, it's easier to just hug someone and hope that the gesture communicates the feeling that your words seem unable to do.

2010-06-01T19:55:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, I couldn't get this song out of my head. I wasn't really in a funk, just physically drained. It's funny though...it only took one song on my classic jazz online radio station after work to totally change my mood. Call me lame, but after trying all day to keep 3 people in order and content, it's so refreshing to just cut loose and be mellow. Yes, I'm more mellow when cutting loose. Swinging music, yes. Rockin'? Heavens, no. I should just pull out my knitting needles and check myself into a nursing home now. ;)

A free cupcake and Russian prose: quite quaint.

2010-05-25T21:59:00.000-07:00

Today, the best cupcake shop in Seattle gave away free cupcakes (no really, it was voted the best, and the taste did not disappoint). Usually, I'm not a big fan of frosting, but this stuff was phenomenal. And free. One of the best things about living in a city has been the giveaways. Stores have so much competition that they often give things away as incentive to customers. Know the city well enough, and you'd never have to pay for food...

"I was not yet used to the rather fatiguing jesting and teasing that goes on among American intellectuals of the inbreeding academic type..." Ha! Well described, Nabokov. I started and am half-way through his curious work of poetry/prose Pale Fire as of this afternoon. Atheistic in worldview, but very well-written and quite enjoyable to read.

Speaking of "quite", today a friend of mine jestingly mentioned my frequent usage of the word. I had never really considered it. It comes naturally, I suppose. "You always sound like you're on an adventure", she told me. That's just how I like to think of my life, though. You never know what tomorrow will bring...how much more adventurous can you get? Upon further consideration, I think "quite" just sounds rather old-fashioned or quaint (quite quaint...that's fun to say).

Boy, oh boy...

2010-05-24T09:48:00.000-07:00

Growing up with four brothers has made me rather comfortable around guys. I've seen all sorts of things, and actually had to get more stitches than some of my brothers. So when the little boy at the house I'm living in decided that he just won't keep his clothes on when he's around me, I had to laugh (quietly to myself...we're trying not to encourage him). Only as a two-year-old can you get away with nudity.

It's really quite interesting. As a nanny, I'm essentially getting paid to be a stay-at-home mom for someone else. So for both the family I'm working for, and the family I'm living with, the kids both have both parents and an extra authority figure to listen to. May God give me grace to steward these children well and join with their parents in bringing them up to treasure Christ above all else.

2010-05-22T16:29:00.000-07:00

Nature lover though I am, I am the sierra club's worst nightmare.

The littlest things captivate my attention, so going on a hike (or really, just existing) provides me with infinite amusement. I try to keep my observations to myself; I've discovered over the years that most people just don't seem to find such "trivial" things interesting. One manifestation of this is my love for all things growing (especially things that bloom). I grew up in my backyards around the world collecting rocks and interesting plants. Needless to say, I tend to take things home with me when I hike. Back when I was homeschooled, I could justify it as a scientific endeavor. But education is a never-ending journey...or perhaps it just feels that way.

I was struck anew on today's hike not only with the grandeur of the mountains, but also with the intricacy and diversity of creation. I kept finding plants that I had never seen before and marveling at their beauty and form. It occurred to me: Not only has God designed that plant, but he has known about its existence. From the beginning of creation, God has designed that type of flower to live in a certain place and fulfill its part of his global purpose. Not only that, but he knows everything about everything. Every salmon in these rivers, God created and knew about. Every ant in the Amazon, God created and knows. That same God chose to make us and though we rebelled, he humbled himself and bore our sins. So easy to say, do we really feel the weight of it? Do we really believe it? How often we feel like we're in control and want God to let us run our lives. If he can take care of this universe, I think I'm fairly safe letting him determine my future. ;)

Things I learned this week:

2010-05-21T22:41:00.000-07:00

One of things I've noticed the most this last year when celebrating holidays away from my immediate family is how far removed we are from my extended family. Watching friends of mine who have lived in a similar area their whole lives, I realize just how much I don't know about my family. So spending the majority of this last week with my grandparents, I've learned some interesting things:
1. My grandfather served three terms during the Vietnam War in the navy (I knew previously that he had been in that war, but I heard many stories these last few days. I am now more sympathetic to his aversion for all things Asian, though it still saddens me).
2. My grandmother's favorite class in university: Russian history. Apparently the professor was quite attractive.
3. My grandfather's baseball hat collection is now about 1000 caps strong (He's always had lots of hats, but I never considered that it was that extensive). He can tell you where he got every single one.
4. For my grandmother's 50th birthday, she partied for three days straight. Too bad I was -3 years old at the time.
5. Just as I did a few years ago, my grandmother severed a tendon in her hand. But unfortunately for her, the doctors she went to in Nebraska did not correctly diagnose the problem until nearly a year later. While the damage could easily be corrected by an easy surgery and some simple physical therapy, she's decided it's too much of a pain and is physically incapable of straightening one of her fingers (her version of this story takes about 45 minutes to tell).
6. My grandfather has children from his first marriage (we just never talked about it...).
7. Both my grandparents are significantly (and rather amusingly) losing their hearing.

To market, to market...

2010-05-16T17:49:00.000-07:00

Growing up in a ministry family means that Sunday is usually the longest workday of the week, and Mars Hill has been no exception. So with limited cars (read "one car"), there's plenty of time to kill between services while waiting for everyone else. One benefit to attending the downtown campus has been the unique urban flavor of both the community and the congregation. I've really enjoyed getting to explore the Belltown area on foot between services. One of my most frequented spots (and perhaps the most touristy/best people-watching place) is Pike Place Market. Part enormous farmers market and part tourist trap, it's a glorious, grungy mix of shops and street entertainers, full of sights, sounds and smells. People gape at the infamous gum wall, take pictures and wait in ungodly long lines at the original Starbucks (though there's another rather old and equally interesting one a block away). Host to a myriad of festivals in the warm weather, the market recently featured a flower fair on Mother's Day weekend, and a wine and cheese sampling fest from farmers/growers across the state. Made me wish I could legally drink in this country. ;) Today, for the first time, I got to take 3 people there and show them around. It was funny, I still feel like such a newcomer myself. Guess I just fit in rather well...what a gift from God.

2010-05-09T23:19:00.000-07:00

As many of you may know, leaving school (and Canada) this year was hard for me. Though initially I despised it and couldn't wait to be back South of the border, the Lord works in mysterious ways. He lead me to Ambrose and provided caring, supportive friends, strength and diligence for the schoolwork that needed to be accomplished, money for housing and tuition, and even good health. I have been blessed and will no doubt continue to be blessed by my time up North, and I'm anxious to return and see what more God has in store for me there. That being said, here's the cliff-hanger that you've all been asking me: Lord willing, I will not be in Calgary when fall semester begins. Clearly, this is not because I dislike it, or because I want to take more time to finish my degree. On the contrary, taking the time to save up money down here where I can work without dealing with complicated government issues will make it far easier for me to stay for the remainder of my degree. Yes, it will mean getting settled then uprooted. Again. But God has provided exceedingly and abundantly more than I can ask, think, or imagine; His words are true and unchanging. I can trust that if He moves me, He will supply my needs. Right now, it just seems that my needs will be best supplied if I'm in my home country for the time being, so I'm staying put.

2010-05-05T16:21:00.000-07:00

Judge not, that you not be judged. For with the judgement that you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure that you use it will be measured to you. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye. -Matthew 7:1-2

As my days are currently filled with work that is rather brainless, though certainly requiring a level of attention, my mind is prone to wander. Tending towards observation, and spending hours making tidy houses into immaculate ones, I notice things. In a harmless way, it is quite interesting to see what one can learn about a person from their house and its contents. Most of our clients are very liberal politically, relatively healthy eaters, meticulous with their yards but poor gardeners, decorate in an artistic but not bohemian way, and have more cats than children (though usually counting their cats AS children). It is exceedingly easy for the imagination to jump from observation to judgement; often I have to remind myself of this passage. Nowhere in scripture am I given the right to judge these people that I know nothing about and criticize them. But it's such a fine line for my fantastical and seemingly tireless mind, and takes a lot of effort not to cross. So I have a tendency to make up stories for each of the houses I clean instead of thinking about the people who actually live there. Needless to say, with how much I love a good mystery, if I let myself imagine that I'm looking for clues, the workday goes much faster. Sometimes, I wonder what goes through my coworker's minds...I imagine it's less trite than mine. It is rather amusing, as I get to know them better, I'm realizing how quiet I can seem. While sometimes, it is amusing to watch them become slightly uncomfortable when I've been silent staring out the window for some time. I suppose if you're not wired that way, it would be hard to understand that quiet doesn't always equal sullen. But usually, I'm just thinking about how cool something looks, or intrigued by some curious thing I've seen.

(In retrospect, stream of consciousness employed in this blog post is less than logical. Oh well).

In other news:

2010-05-03T13:46:00.000-07:00

"What is being home like", you ask. Well, if you add wrestling and BO to this picture, that's pretty much it. ;) We just had a brief discussion about the fact that humans don't lay eggs. I had almost forgotten how odd it is to be a homeschooler. Really, it's not until you leave that you realize how different a homeschool family is (or even how different, and yet eerily similar, homeschool families are to each other). Today, in looking up the Dies irae from Mozart's Requiem for my brother's Latin lesson, I ended up listening to many arrangements of Kýrie on youtube. Simply translated, the phrase "Kýrie eléison" means "O Lord, have mercy". Traditionally, the music accompanying it is gorgeously written in haunting, minor keys. Two examples: Verdi's Requiem and Mozart's version. It is helpful to be getting a refresher on my Latin, though I fear that if I had to conjugate any words, I'd be up a certain unsavory creek without a paddle.

My prayer of late: Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long. Remember your mercy, O Lord, and your steadfast love, for they have been from of old. -Psalm 25:4-6a

John Mayer, you are making me melancholy.

2010-05-01T14:02:00.000-07:00

The fact of the matter is, I miss Julian Hall. I miss being known. Being able to do dishes and see friends, always having shoulders to cry on and women who love me right down the hall. I miss the accountability of my small group; I miss the laughter and the tears. Pathetically enough, I even miss going to class and studying with people.

But enough whining. Perhaps I'm just feeling off because I'm having to fix a jock strap and I'm listening to John Mayer. ;)

Tepid Tea.

2010-04-28T16:22:00.000-07:00

A drizzly day in Fremont, and a steaming cup of green tea. Thoroughly moist and chilled, I duck into a coffee-shop and watch the passersby rush through the rain. My hair, already damp from the morning, now swathes my face in its mischievous tendrils. As jazzy tunes lazily play in the background, I subtly observe the customers who wait out of the rain. Two delivery men grab a quick drink and rush back out to their truck, parked illegally. A sullen young woman sits reading behind me, having just indignantly finished a phone call, which by her body language, went poorly. Nervously bouncing between laptop and textbook, a student bites her nails, anxious either about finals, or facebook (or both. Who knows?). A middle aged couple chatters loudly in their overstuffed armchairs, evidently reminiscing about things deep, things amusing, shared memories of days gone by. The rain has cleared, and the sun makes an effort to show itself. Appreciative, the pedestrians begin to reemerge from their places of refuge and continue on their way, slower now. You can almost see them savoring the sights, the smells, the sounds. Ever steady, the wind blows off the water, bringing in a peroxide blonde tourist and her luggage. The store greets her and her immense, rolling baggage with appraising glances. Embarrassed, she blushes a becoming shade of pink and posthaste, orders her drink and leaves. An elderly man in a baseball cap who carries himself (and admittedly, somewhat resembles a turtle) has been saying something to himself in sign language for some time. Now he sits still, an enormous grin on his face as he reads a battered looking piece of paper with large, round glasses. AH. The girl behind me is upset because she has to read several hundred pages of Tolstoy for class tomorrow. She has cheered up immensely with a phone call from a more sympathetic friend. (glances over at cup) Tepid tea. Time to head out to find adventure.

2010-04-25T20:13:00.000-07:00

It's so hard to avoid hypocrisy. So often I know the right thing to do and don't do it. The mind is willing, but the body is weak...my heart is prone to wander and choose lesser joys over Joy. I can't change on my own. I can't just try harder. I need to surrender my heart and follow God's leading. Praise God for the Spirit's conviction and the grace to continue in sanctification.

Summer reading list

2010-04-24T15:10:00.000-07:00

So far, here's what I've got:

-The Old Curiosity Shop, Charles Dickens
-Lapsing Into a Comma, Bill Walsh
-Les Misérables, Victor Hugo
-Whatever I can find by Agatha Christie
Any suggestions?

A new friend...

2010-04-21T20:08:00.000-07:00

I love plants. Part of it might be some minorly obsessive need to nurture something, a desire to have something that depends on me. Needless to say, when the border patrol decided to confiscate the harmless, healthy plants that have been my companions this last year at school, I was rather upset. I may have cried (I will neither confirm, nor deny that). So after settling in, we set out to go find me a mattress. As Ikea runs typically go, we found something else we couldn't live without: this lovely Phalaenopsis orchid. Since living in the Philippines and having them grow free on trees in the yard, I've wanted to learn to care for orchids. Now I can give it my relatively undivided attention. As plants, they're exceedingly intricate and elegant, yet remarkably simple to care for. It'll be nice to have something so dainty and feminine to remind me of living with 27 other girls, now that I'm back in my testosterone-filled home.

Loading up the old, red backpack.

2010-04-19T08:38:00.000-07:00

Packing up my life and moving again...admittedly, while my heart breaks at the thought of leaving Ambrose and all the friends I've made here, there is some excitement in leaving. Every time I leave, God does amazing things in my life, providing for me in ways I would never even have considered. My comfort zone is pushed and I learn to trust God more, relying on Him as the most stable, constant thing in my life. I don't want to leave, but God will provide. He is good, and he's never failed me yet.

Lit. Crit. Paper complete.

2010-04-14T12:09:00.000-07:00

I can't help but feel a bit like Captain Kirk; I just wrote almost 12 pages on 10 lines of poetry. Mission accomplished. There is still work yet to be done, but the worst is over.

Death by irony...

2010-04-12T15:19:00.000-07:00

Ironically, I'm blogging to take a break from writing. The irony of writing such a long paper on intentionally short works of literature is killing me. ;)
I am tempted to leave this sentence in my paper, "Rather than utilizing unnecessary amounts of signifiers to beat a theme to death, a somewhat apt description of this essay, poets such as Pound carefully chose their words to have meaning". However, I have enough common sense left to know that would be an unwise move. Really, in the words of Bill Nye,“Humor is everywhere, in that there’s irony in about anything a human does". I wish other people realized that...I could speak my mind more often. I see humor everywhere all the time. It's not that I fail to see the seriousness of life, but so many times we make mountains out of molehills. In the grand scheme of things, this paper won't matter. It doesn't affect my eternal destiny. And I've been stressed out about it all semester, especially as the deadline inches ever closer. It's due tonight. It's not going to be done. But that's ok. I'll get docked some points, but turn in something that's actually complete. The dragon of stress cannot steal my joy.

Exerpt from another essay and eating

2010-04-10T11:18:00.000-07:00

" Imagism’s minimalist style as a genre particularly epitomizes reader response, forcing the reader to think about what the laconic words invoke. Because these words carry significance that varies dramatically reader to reader, imagist poetry becomes a relatively simple way to illustrate these sometimes confusing post-structuralist concepts.

As a literary genre, Imagism has its origins in early 20th century France and England. Desiring to rebel against the grandiloquent writing of the Victorians, poets like Ezra Pound sought to employ the imagination of the reader in their writing. By intentionally using what seems a bare minimum of words, the mind is invoked to step in and fill in the gaps in the writing. Rather than painting an intricate mental picture for the reader, the imagist writing presents the reader with a faint outline of a scene, inviting them to bring their own meaning and interpretation to the art. "

This is my favorite section from my longest essay, mainly because it's all my own writing rather than quoting and explaining theorists. It seems like this time of year, people on the floor are either working or sleeping. Personally, I wish I could combine them...then I might get more rest. But to stay true to my title: I am about to engage in the ancient collegial tradition of Ramen noodles (not even, these are the generic, mushroom-flavored "Mr. Noodles" brand). I find that with olive oil and herbs, even instant noodles taste alright. When I get back to Seattle, I'll have posts with thought again. For now, this is a place where my writing doesn't have to be entirely coherent.
(P.S. click on the comic...it's trippy).

Writing about nothing.

2010-04-06T09:02:00.000-07:00

People ask me, "Kelsey, why don't I see you around?". . .Here's some of what I've been up to:

Using comedy, Shakespeare devotes this play [Much Ado About Nothing] to the exploration of this concept of “nothing”. While the word nothing would seem to imply the play is a trifling affair, this “nothing” actually shapes our lives, for they are, for the most part, filled with ordinary occurrences, or nothingness (Goddard, 271). . .Indeed, the whole of Much Ado is a masterful “escalati[on]of recriminations based on purely a chimerical assumption that must eventually be deflated” (Bevington, 221). Claudio and Hero’s naive love, the bickering Beatrice and Benedick, and the people that interfere with their respective stories intentionally employ these very lies, or nothingness created in the character’s minds, to further their own ends. . .This theme of nothingness resonates deep within the reader or observer of Much Ado. William Shakespeare adeptly utilizes what Carl Gustav Jung would later call a “Literary Archetype”, or our “innate, apriori impulses to organize images and ideas; tendencies to produce form, relatable to instincts and representing ‘the precipitate of the psychic functioning of the whole ancestral line, the accumulated experiences of organic life in general, a million times repeated, and condensed into types’ ”(Carl Gustav Jung). Deep within our very being, notions of what should be or patterns of what we deem familiar emerge, categorized by our minds, though often not realized to be existent. Writers create characters using these forms, causing them to be comparable to the archetypes in the reader’s mind. The more one has read, the more archetypes one may recognize and patterns one may observe. While archetypes certainly appear any work, they are perhaps most obvious within the genre of comedy.

The Difference

2010-04-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

While certainly stereotyped, there's truth in this...I probably would just live with the squirrel.

On punctuation, quotation, and tangents

2010-03-30T22:27:00.000-07:00

"An excessive use of exclamation marks is a certain indication of an unpracticed writer or of one who wants to add a spurious dash of sensation to something unsensational". -H.W. Fowler

Or, as Lynne Truss puts it, "In the family of punctuation, where the full stop is daddy and the comma is mummy, and the semicolon quietly practices the piano with crossed hands, the exclamation mark is the big attention-deficit brother who gets over-excited and breaks things and laughs too loudly". Months after starting it, I have finished her book Eats, Shoots and Leaves, and whole-heartedly recommend you read it (especially if you're a grammar stickler; otherwise, much of her humor will probably be lost). As the infamous modernist George Bernard Shaw laments, " The man that cannot see that [the correct example]. . .is the best looking as well as the sufficient and sensible form, should print or write nothing but advertisements for lost dogs or ironmongers catalogues: literature is not for him to meddle with".

"I never have found the perfect quote. At best I have been able to find a string of quotations which merely circle the ineffable idea I seek to express".

-Caldwell O'Keefe

"I improve in misquotation".

-Cary Grant (1904 - 1986)

"People will accept your ideas much more readily if you tell them Benjamin Franklin said it first".

-David H. Comin

"A facility for quotation covers the absence of original thought".

-Dorothy L. Sayers (1893 - 1957), Lord Peter Wimsey in "Gaudy Night"

"I might repeat to myself slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound––if I can remember any of the damn things".

-Dorothy Parker (1893 - 1967)

Joy comes with the morning.

2010-03-30T00:46:00.000-07:00

So I'm noticing that several of my recent posts have been on Tuesdays...keeping with this theme, here's a word from a neglectful blogger.
Currently, my life seems to be ruled by the o'er looming mountain of homework, all to be accomplished before April 9. Between now and then, I have to teach a class period on Orientalism, act out scenes from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, write between 26-32 pages (and research for it), study for and complete 4 finals, a choir concert, and pack up my life and move back to America. I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed. I can't help but return to Romans 8, "What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?. . .Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?. . .No, in all these things, we are more than conquerers through Him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord".

Slacking off and reading short stories in class...

2010-03-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

Today, in one of my lit. classes, I read Earnest Hemmingway's "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place", "The Lamp at Noon" by Sinclair Ross and "Why I live at the P.O." by Eudora Welty. Only Hemmingway was required. It's always severely tempting to have a literature anthology full of classics at your fingertips and be expected to pay attention to the lectures. At this point in the semester, much of the material from one class seems to bleed over to another and focusing is becoming much more complicated. Prime example: I'm writing a paper which will hopefully explore both the concepts and meanings of "nothingness" in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, and how comedy is a fitting medium to discuss these deeper themes by introducing literary critics from my theory course ; We spent this morning's representative literary works class discussing "nothingness" in Hemmingway's work (nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada). Si, "otro loco mas".
Currently posted on my desk is this list:
1. Grades are an illusion.
2. Your passion and insight are reality.
3.Your work is worth more than mere congruence to an answer key.
4.Persistence in the face of a skeptical authority figure is a powerful ability.
5.Fitting in is a short-term strategy, standing out pays off in the long run.
6.If you care enough about the work to be criticized, you've learned enough for today.
It's been rather helpful to remember whenever I start freaking out about the looming mountain of coursework to complete ere the semester ends. Not to mention the old Richard Bach quote that's been on my desk for years now, "Here is your test to find whether your mission on earth is finished: if you're alive, it isn't". It seems there are yet things to accomplish. Now, to get back to writing for school rather than leisure...

In a Station of the Metro (Ezra Pound)

2010-03-23T10:59:00.000-07:00

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet black bough.

This weekend, I saw green grass. In Western Canada, days of rain are uncommon; the dust and dirt never seems to wash away. My heart, with the warmer weather, longs for the earth to spring to life again. I want the cool, damp downpours and the little green buds appearing in the mud. But I must be patient.

In the bleak midwinter

2010-03-17T06:59:00.000-07:00

There was no question at all of a tornado this morning; it was not that sort of tempest. Peering through the window at the flying debris, we anxiously inspected the clouds; billowing crimson and purple and eerily bright, sweeping across the sky as if the wind envied the raging mountain rapids. What my half-awake midwest heart had hoped to be the sound of rain was merely flotsam and jetsam, tin cans blown against stationary objects and the sounds of the construction site in a dry, midwinter storm. I considered my options. The storm was not wild enough to warrant moving to the basement for safety, but the howling wind and clanging rubbish justified the closing of the window, at least so my roommate could sleep.

So I lay, typing in the dark, the sun slowly rising and calming. It blows more gently now, as I sit in the soft light. The phantom, the mysterious night storm, is no more. I wonder if anyone else was awake to view the beauty of the prairie winds.

2010-03-16T16:34:00.000-07:00

The thought process behind writing fascinates me. Any writing I would consider my best has come about seemingly on the spur of the moment or under great pressure ( as in, " Gee, I've got a paper due tomorrow morning, don't I?"). It's well-nigh impossible to replicate these circumstances, and unfortunately, I can't seem to pick which piece of work ends up being of above-average quality. Why is it that sometimes my thoughts seem to flow out in a concise and elegant manner, when at other times I can scarcely construct a sentence? Am I not still myself? Does my mind alter so much? Really, I ought to figure this out before I write the 4 papers I have yet due before the end of the semester.

2010-03-08T14:01:00.000-08:00

"Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit,serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope,be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality.Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.' To the contrary, 'if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.' Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." -Romans 12:9-21

This passage is one of my all time favorites (really, all of Romans is...); it's posted on my wall. The title of the section, "Marks of the True Christian", really challenges and encourages me. When I'm wracked with doubt, it's a reminder that these things are outward evidences of the redeeming work of Christ in my life. When I'm overconfident, it reminds me how short I fall of the glory of God and how much I'm in need of grace and growth. I will never fully succeed in accomplishing this list until I reach heaven, but the Spirit has promised to intercede for me with groanings too deep for words, and the Son's blood has satisfied the Father's wrath. May I never outgrow the wonderful conviction that this passage brings my soul!

On a lighter note, I'm sad to see the end of this Chinook. It was quite the blessing, making my return to Canada after break much easier. But now, the sunshine and warmth are gone and the flakes are starting to fall. A cold wind is blowing, the sky is grey, my window is closed and the space heater cranked to protect my poor little plants. I sit quietly indoors with my tea, happy that I'm not working gloveless at the construction site next door like so many of those poor men. As I was watching out my window, I noticed a small insect, probably one of the first of the year, trapped between my screen and the closed window, trying vainly to escape to the outdoors. How often am I like that little insect, chasing after what I desire or what I think I need rather than laying those things at the foot of the cross and trusting that my sovereign God knows best? (ok, perhaps this isn't a lighter note after all)

Truly on a lighter note, I miss swing dancing. I haven't gone for months now, and my feet start twitching whenever I hear anything with that beat. We'll have to deal with this or I might just spontaneously burst into dance in class sometime.

Restless tonight (to borrow from Alison Krauss)

2010-03-04T00:09:00.000-08:00

Tonight, a group of us were chatting over coffee, when one of us asked, "what are your main values"? This is a somewhat vague question, so we asked her to clarify. Essentially, she was asking us what, beyond devoting our lives to serving Christ and spreading the Gospel, we wanted out of life. What did we desire and value most? It's a thought provoking question, to say the least. My answer centered around two, somewhat related, things.

The first was a desire to help people better understand the world and communicate effectively. God has given me an ability to read, analyze and comprehend; I love helping other people verbalize their thoughts and comprehend texts. Seeing that spark of recognition and joy that comes when someone understands truth they've been struggling to grasp excites me. I love challenging people to use their God-given minds and expand their horizons.

The second is perhaps more selfish (and mildly creepy?): I genuinely enjoy getting to know people because I love the diversity of personality that God has created. I could happily spend the rest of my life hearing everyone's backgrounds and stories, getting to know the intricacies and eccentricities of seemingly ordinary existences. People fascinate me and I love encouraging them to relish in the unique and masterful way they've been designed rather than lamenting what qualities and attributes they may or may not possess.

So what exactly do I value? I'm not sure how to go about naming it, but I'll try: Simply put, I value Truth and individuality. What should I do to make sure those values are reflected in my life? Whatever God calls me to do. If I truly value them, it will be evident...more than that, they will happen, inevitably.

On a different, but relevant note, drinking coffee in the evenings prompts random, late night posts.

Grammar Nazi?

2010-03-03T18:28:00.000-08:00

If you can read the following pictures without wincing, I'm afraid I'll have to shoot you.

What are we smoking?

Does it now?

Which can be applied towards getting your car back.. ...

As opposed to?

Bluntly put, but true...

Not overly proud to be American at this moment.

Probably the best, this community college ad is particularly sad.

Where to start?

...Be back in 5?

Meaning several lads? I'm hesitant to use this restroom...

Last, but certainly not least.

"moan like a lyre. . ."

2010-02-27T10:33:00.000-08:00

So, reading in Isaiah this morning, I was particularly touched by a certain line in chapter 16. Not because it convicted me of sin, but because the beauty of the poetic metaphor used does a wonderful job of describing how my feelings work. Isaiah has spent 10 verses describing the fall of Moab and lamenting for the destruction there. In verse 11, he introduces his simile: "Therefore my inner parts moan like a lyre for Moab, and my inmost self for Kir-hareseth". As I read, it struck me; in my rare sorrow, my depths of emotion, my heart also moans (though I would tend to compare it more to a cello or violin). That's one of the reasons I love stringed instruments so much; I do actually feel the sounds in my heart. It's hard to describe, but I think Isaiah captured it well.

Hiding in my book...

2010-02-26T13:37:00.000-08:00

Today in one of my Lit. classes, my prof. decided to "pick on Kelsey" (she regularly does this with her 300-400 level English students). She then mentioned how I had done a phenomenal job of improving as a writer in the last few months, giving details of my grades from last semester compared to now. Needless to say, while happy that an essay I literally wrote the night before and thought was crap turned out getting an almost perfect mark, I regretted my decision to sit near the front of the class. She continued to lecture the class on how if you pay attention to what your prof. scrawls in the margins, "like Kelsey" (gestures), you too can improve. Ironically, I made the same mistake in the essay I got back today as I did in a previous one I turned in to this same professor...In all honesty, a lot of it has to do with the fact that I put minimal effort into my Literature class last semester because I needed to focus my attention to Biology and Philosophy. Without trying, I still got a B+ in the class, and managed with effort to pass both my hard classes with a decent grade. Granted, I'm working to improve my GPA this semester, and it seems to be paying off...we'll see when I get my midterms back. There are certainly worse things to get singled out in class for.

Gracious Conviction

2010-02-24T22:51:00.000-08:00

So many thoughts in my head tonight, so many things to do, to study for, to write, to think about...but tonight a dear friend graciously convicted me in my small group. She challenged me that really, I have plenty of time on my hands and ought to devote more of it to reading the Word and spending significant time in prayer. I thank God for her and her boldness to say this to me because it's absolutely true. I need to be a doer of this Word and meditate on it day and night. I can grow much in this area. So tonight I'm going to put aside my studying for class to study part of Romans. May God bless the reading of His word, and continue to put these true friends into my life!

Well, that's a new one.

2010-02-21T18:46:00.000-08:00

Because I'm still new in Seattle, I'm often meeting new people. Today, I was talking to an older man who had sat in front of us in church (apparently, he already knew my brothers). After a long and somewhat awkward conversation, his wife joined us. "You're one of the university kids?" I replied in the affirmative. "Where at, and what are you studying?" As I usually do with Americans, I explained that I went to a small Christian University in Calgary, Alberta and was studying English. With a disgusted look, the woman said "that's boring" and turned her back to me, effectively ending the conversation. I ended up talking to her husband for a bit longer, and then thankfully, the service started.

Now I've gotten a wide range of responses to my comment "I'm studying English", but never one quite like this. Typically when people totally disapprove of my major, they sit and lecture me about it. How I'll never get a job that pays anything, how it's a complete waste of my time, how I'm just a nerd, how boys don't like girls that think, etc. At the very least, this woman was brief. Her summary of "your major is boring, therefore, you are as well" is actually mildly amusing. Rather than giving me a patronizing lecture, she didn't even consider me worth her time. Still, it's far better than the hell-fires that I deserve. Thank God that it's about Him not me and I don't have to be wallowing in self-pity or trying to boost my pride from that sucker-punch to the ego.

"...you will soon be brutally reminded that winter is far more powerful than you are awesome"

2010-02-19T18:41:00.001-08:00

I'm not sure how familiar you are with the blog "Stuff White People Like", or its suburban evangelical spinoff, "Stuff Christians Like", but the latter has just had a hilarious guest post from an old neighbor of mine (his blogs include "Twenty-two Words" and "Downhill Both Ways"). As someone who has had to learn the hard way that fashion must be sacrificed to practicality when you have an hour transit commute to church in the winter, it's always amusing/sad to see people who never learned that lesson.

Homework on the Balcony...

2010-02-19T18:31:00.000-08:00

Proof that I was at least once sitting by my textbook on this trip. I have actually accomplished quite a bit of research. Ironically, after reading Freud's "Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis" (having to do with the premises and techniques involved in the interpretation of dreams) I had a rather odd dream. Clearly I'm thinking enough about homework for it to haunt my dreams as well as my waking hours.

Guilty Pleasures?

2010-02-17T11:54:00.000-08:00

Things I have been introduced (or reintroduced ) to this semester:

Coffee. I blame it on Seattle, really. But since Christmas break, I actually can't bring myself to drink crap coffee anymore, meaning the likes of my cafeteria coffee,Tim Hortons, McDonalds, and gas stations all around are now not worth buying ( don't even get me started on industrial-strength Baptist church coffee...). So does that make me a coffee snob? Yep. I guess I'm not ashamed of it.

Lily Allen. I got a few of her albums over break and now I play them rather often. Really, she's rather edgy and profane, what is it I like or find redeeming about her? She's heartless and jaded about relationships, and sings about the bitter reality of sin without calling it that. One of my favorites is a song called LDN...it reminds me of living in downtown Minneapolis.

Eats, Shoots & Leaves. The combination of British humor and elitist grammar jokes makes this one of my favorite books of all time, hands down. I've been reading it in the evenings after homework before bed as my "fun" book. Definitely one that I'd recommend.

Leaving on a jet plane?

2010-02-12T17:29:00.000-08:00

After finally making it through customs and security (which involved everything I brought being entirely unpacked, not to mention a full pat-down) we boarded our little plane on time to depart. It's a rather tight fit, and I'm seated next to a rather large man, or rather, will be when we're allowed to reboard. Yes, we were told to deboard the plane after our rather sheepish pilot announced there was, "a light on on the dashboard that wasn't supposed to be on". So our plane has been towed and we're waiting here to see what the verdict is from the mechanics. Thankfully, I've got no connecting flight, and there's free wi-fi at the airport. I'll amuse myself by observing the other passengers until our plane returns.

(Mmm...smells like cinnamon.)

2010-02-09T22:28:00.000-08:00

In the last 24 hours, I have written 12 pages of text for the same prof. (in three different classes: 2 essays and a midterm). Typically, I have problems filling pages, but God has been good and taken my gift of brevity for the time being. Now all I have to do is make it through the Open House and coast through to the end of the week: then there will be sunshine and flowers and family and good food....(contented sigh). If college wasn't set up with these breaks, I'm not sure what I would have to do to briefly escape school life. Probably exercise or something.

For now, I'll sit with my steaming mug of cider waiting with bated breath for my paper to be reviewed so I can get to bed.

Surely, to be up late is to be up early!

2010-02-09T00:17:00.000-08:00

Because it's early in the morning and I'm still wired enough to be up for hours, here's a post from a neglectful blogger: One recently written, and one written weeks ago. I'm hoping, like Mary Shelley, to receive a literary muse in the middle of the night...or at least mimic her thoughtful expression while sitting at my computer. To begin, excerpts from a recent essay (and if that doesn't bore you to sleep, I can't help you):

Since its publication in 1818, Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus” has both entertained and challenged readers. While at first glance, one may consider this to be a clichéd tale of a hero’s quest to overcome a monster, there is more to this classic novel than meets the eye. Shelley so masterfully crafted the story that it leaves the reader questioning whether there really is a hero at all. This dialogic nature of “Frankenstein” lends the story its beauty and is perhaps its most enduring feature....

The likely candidate for a hero would, of course, be Victor Frankenstein, a brilliant and ambitious young doctor, attempting to discover the mysteries of life. Broken and madly driven by the death of his mother to his unorthodox experiments, Victor forsook domesticity and relationships with the living in the attempt to find a way to cheat death. In an attempt to atone for creating the monster, Victor vainly tries to terminate its existence and save the lives of his loved ones. But one cannot help but wonder how the monster would have acted had Victor fulfilled his duties as father and creator. As the monster says, “...where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses...”(141). Rather than nurturing his creation and training it how to live, Victor failed in his role as a creator by being selfish and worldly in his judgement of his innocent monster...
The logical choice would then seem to be Victor’s tormented creature; oppressed and cast out by mankind, the monster seems to only return evil for evil, and certainly has the capacity for goodness. Despised by mankind, the monster could at least have lived out his days in nature rather than becoming the merciless creature he accused his creator of being. Indulging his vengeful nature caused him to be all the more despicable, precisely as he planned, “I will revenge my injuries: If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear” (173). After Frankenstein’s death, the monster repents of his vendetta and grieves his choice, “Now vice has degraded me beneath the meanest animal...whilst I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires” (273). Seeking satisfaction in the destruction of his creator, all the monster found was more emptiness, and he delights in the thought of ending his long and miserable existence away from the society that made him an outcast.

Who then, is our hero? To whom can we turn for a noble example to follow? I believe this seeming lack of a hero is Mary Shelley’s intention. Drawing from the very real issues of injustice and death in her life, Shelley creates a situation where bad things happen to both to the innocent and the guilty. No level of knowledge or strength can save her characters, only the love and sympathy of their fellow creatures. Devoid of this, Victor and the monster both die miserable and alone. Therefore, the absence of a truly loving figure in “Frankenstein” results in the lack of a traditional hero.

I'm not overly thrilled with it, but I've turned in worse work. I feel I did I weak job of answering the question posed for the essay, "Who is the hero in Frankenstein"...there's so much more to be explored, but I was already over twice the minimum word limit for the essay, so I figured that was enough. And now for something completely different: people watching and musings on gender differences and plants!

Men with flowers are fascinating things to behold. There’s a sort of awkwardness about them. You give a girl a flower, and she looks as natural with it as if she grew up out of the ground herself. The way she holds it, the way she admires its intricacy and scent, as if she could somehow absorb its beauty through examination...even the most nature-despising of women has some appreciation for flowers. And, of course, it must be granted that there are plenty of men that value flowers. But here... are two young men who look like they’d far rather bequeath the gorgeous roses they bear on some lovely lass. It fascinates me how much affinity guys seem to have to appreciate the beauty of a woman, and yet they seem to miss seeing it in everything else.

Reck your own rede.

2010-02-05T15:55:00.000-08:00

Because I'm reading currently re-reading Hamlet, I've been getting to muse over rather familiar passages. It never ceases to amaze me how many phrases that we currently use have their origins in Shakespeare's works. I cannot help but feel the weight of Hamlet's just critiques of my sex regarding the brevity and shallowness of their relational attachments. "Frailty, thy name is woman!" or better yet, "O most pernicious woman! O villain, villain, smiling damned villain! My tables--meet it is that I set down, that one may smile and be a villain". But something that caught my eye more this read-through was Laertes' parting advice to his sister Ophelia regarding the attentions of Hamlet,
"Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain, if with too credent ear you list his songs; or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open to his unmaster'd opportunity. Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; and keep you in the rear of your affection, out of shot and danger of desire. The chariest maid is prodigal enough, if she unmask her beauty to the moon: virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes: the canker galls the infants of the spring, too oft before their buttons be disclosed; and in the morn and liquid dew of youth contagious blastments are most imminent. Be wary, then; best safety lies in fear: youth to itself rebels, though none else is near" ( translation: Guard your heart, and "tender yourself more dearly")

Really, it's interesting. In context, he's just spent many lines explaining how Hamlet is a prince, and she's not in his league, regardless of Hamlet's protestations that he loves her. Ophelia replies somewhat wryly (or at least it sounds that way in my mind when I read it) ,"I shall the effect of this good lesson keep...but, good my brother, do not, as some ungracious pastors do, show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; whilst, like a puft and reckless libertine, himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, and recks not his own rede." (translation: Oh, I will, but make sure you do too!)

Her father Polonius adds his own advice farther down in the scene, "When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows; these blazes, daughter, giving more light than heat--extinct in both, even in their promise, as it is a-making--you must not take for fire." So true...and on a different note, I've always associated the idea of light and heat with Desiring God ministries, so it was funny to see that phrase elsewhere.

Musings on the 29th.

2010-01-29T13:34:00.000-08:00

I am a master of filling my time with good things that ought to be done rather than the things I need to do. I am proficiently skilled at skirting uncomfortable issues rather than addressing them, and can aptly procrastinate even the things I want to accomplish. For example, instead of writing my papers, reading for class, or even replying to the emails in my inbox, I've been enjoying our brief beautiful weather and accomplishing house-keeping errands. (shrugs) C'est la vie. Here are some musings from today (really, they're not about the 29th as much as they merely happen to be on the 29th).

"It is, I think, an indisputable fact that Americans are, as Americans, the most self-concious people in the world, and the most addicted to the belief that the other nations of the world are in a conspiracy to under value them." -Henry James

Perhaps, back in Henry James' day, this was more true. I would argue that now that America has become a leading nation, we don't suffer from this lack of self-awareness. We know what it is to be an American and we're darn proud of it. Rather, it seems to me to be an apt description of the Canadian search for national identity. Interesting to consider, anyway.

On a rather different note, I just learned the origin of the word "sabotage". Apparently, factory workers in the Netherlands, afraid of what the industrial revolution would bring about, took to hurling their wooden shoes (sabot) into the machines so they wouldn't lose their jobs. Unfortunately, this did lead to them losing their jobs, but it certainly makes for an interesting story.

(Where was I going with all this? Oh, right! Nowhere. How refreshing.)

"High Hopes, Low Expectations"

2010-01-26T18:09:00.000-08:00

Funny how that works. If you're one of "those" students that normally do well on tests, there's really little thanks for doing well. But the worse you normally do, the more you seem to be rewarded for putting in a little effort. Working in a group with two particularly lazy guys for an assignment, I can't help but sympathize with Susie's exasperation here (rant finished).

The Fruits of an Absent Mind

2010-01-23T19:13:00.000-08:00

Yes, I doodle on my mousepad. Thank God I don't have to rely on my drawing skills (or lack therof) for an income...talk about starving artist. English pays far better. ;)
And here's a quote I've been musing on since I read it this afternoon, "The mark of an immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one." It's given to the main character in J.D. Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye" by a teacher in the attempt to inspire the young man to work harder in school and do something with his life. Interesting.

What a Morning at Waves!

2010-01-23T11:33:00.000-08:00

In support of our new cafe's "grand opening" (I only mock it because this is the second grand opening), some of our musicians from the school are playing, so we decided to brave the thickly falling snow to come early to stake out some good chairs. Because we were too early for the free drinks (not to mention taking up prime space with our laptops) we decided to at least buy drinks. As I paid for mine, the cashier handed me a voucher, "free rose at the Springborough florist". So, I paid $5 for a drink, some wonderful fresh biscotti, and a fresh red rose. It's amazing how a blooming flower in the midst of a winter storm is so beautiful, so hopeful. And the live music is lovely. A wonderful place to catch up on some reading for class...

2010-01-20T13:15:00.000-08:00

Things that have struck me this last week, of differing levels of seriousness:

-Assisting in communion at the last "Beggars Feast" at school meant I got to spend about an hour singing worship songs while holding a bowl of grape juice and serving people. The symbolism really struck me afresh. Really, at times, it was easy to imagine that I was holding a bowl of blood, which disgusting as it sounds, served to really awaken a much deeper appreciation for the blood that was spilled on my behalf.

-While musing on words, I realized that one could get a run in one's stockings while running in one's stockings (or, as anyone who's worn hose knows, doing just about anything...).

-I really hate being sick, and I think it has to do just as much with the fact that I can't control my sickness as the actual discomfort of illness. Congestion while making phone calls at work is just miserable (or rather, congestion while doing anything is just miserable). Singing in choir without being able to breathe through your nose is hysterically tragic.

-As one of my English profs likes to say, "you can hardly throw a rock in the art world without hitting a gay person", and literature is certainly no exception. I'm slowly becoming convinced that nearly every author alive was queer (or at least wrote about it). Possible exceptions might include Dr. Seuss.

-I am highly fascinated by little things, especially in nature. I'm afraid that without this affinity for the mundane, my life would seem rather boring and tedious. Really, I don't get that bored, there's always something or someone interesting to observe.The iridescence of a peacock feather, for instance.

On the meanings of words...

2010-01-13T12:52:00.000-08:00

Today as I was clearing my table in the cafeteria, I got to overhear a rather interesting conversation. It went something like this:

Guy 1: "I'd love to have a nightgown."

(snickers erupt from the table of guys he's sitting with)

Guy 1: "What?! They're classy! "

After several minutes of trying to defend his seemingly effeminate choice of pajamas, the other guys realized that when Guy 1 said "nightgown" what he meant was "bathrobe" (or dressing gown, or house coat, or whatever they say where you're from). Silly as it may seem, this got me thinking about the meaning of words, the significance a certain utterance carries and the power it has to create specific images and impressions in our minds. While to most of us, the word "nightgown" produces the image of a frilly, victorian sleeping frock, clearly this fellow saw rather different picture. The words we choose to use are perhaps more important than we may think them to be. Or, to use official terminology, the paradigmatic and syntagmatic relationships of the signifiers we utilize in speech can carry extreme significance.

2010-01-12T21:17:00.000-08:00

Ever notice patterns in your life? As believers, we're called to identify and (with God's grace) change patterns of sin in our lives. But what about the things that come as second nature, the habits that aren't really sinful? Ever notice that you seem to end up having frustratingly similar conversations with people? That regardless of your efforts to change, things just keep repeating themselves? It's frustrating. Just another reminder, I suppose, that I really can't do things on my own. (End of rant.)

Welcome to Literary Theory and Criticism.

2010-01-09T14:23:00.000-08:00

I'm a sheep! (or wheat?)

2010-01-08T13:27:00.000-08:00

So my 20th Century Novel class begins with the famous "Mrs. Dalloway" by Virginia Woolf, said to be the most complicated book we will cover in the class. Really, it's fascinating. Some literary genres have aimed to make literature more accessible to the masses, while others argue that removes the true value of the art. Modernism leans towards the former, intentionally complicating concepts, deconstructing norms in the hopes of reaching a new and objective way of viewing our world. It's very introspective and self-centered, often sacrificing the traditional concept of plot for pages that merely follow the scattered thoughts of various characters. This is one of the reasons people have such a hard time reading these authors, though arguably, most of us think in seemingly random trains of thought rather than distinct story-lines. As my prof. has mentioned, these kinds of books tend to separate the literary wheat from the chaff (or sheep from goats...she's used both). If you can survive the classics, you've got a good chance of surviving the program. I made it through Woolf in a couple hours. Yes, it's going to be a hard semester, but this is at least encouraging. I can sympathize with that lamb...there's a lot of uncertainty, but ultimately, I'm secure. It would just be nice to know if I'm going to fall on that rock. ;)

Yet another work blog...

2010-01-08T09:13:00.000-08:00

Hopefully, this one will actually work:
http://kelseysturmambrose.blogspot.com/

Home, sweet, Res.

2010-01-04T13:36:00.000-08:00

The main vibe I've heard most from people returning to residence is, "Man, it's good to be back". Granted, there are some who would have liked a longer break, or who are very sad to leave their families. But most of us were itching to get back to school. Everyone knows the old adage, "home is where the heart is"; when you leave part of your heart with your family and part of it at school, it's just as refreshing to get back to school as it is to be "home". Being in residence without everyone being back just feels lonely, and each time someone else arrives, it's like Christmas morning all over again. I can't wait until everyone comes back (and normally, I'm not the sort of person who feeds off social interactions). Admittedly, I was excited to hear that my classes begin tomorrow rather than on Wednesday...sitting around isn't what I came here to do. And now that I've unpacked and gotten all settled, I'm excited to get back into the full swing of things.
All these musings to say, it's good to be back.

Praying for more brokenness...

2010-01-01T15:01:00.000-08:00

There have been a lot of decisions to be made these last few weeks in my life, and in many of my friend's lives. The new year brings a sweet and challenging season of reflection on the past and planning for the future, and we're all going through it in our own ways. Last night, as I headed to bed, I decided on a whim to ring in the new year with the Word. So, I pulled a "flip the Bible open to a random spot and see what the Spirit shows you", and I ended up reading Isaiah 30-32. The opening words hit me like a train, " 'Ah stubborn children', declares the Lord, 'who carry out a plan, but not mine, and who make an alliance, but not of my spirit..."(30:1). Have we been seeking God in our planning, or have we just been making our lists, weighing our pros and cons and forgetting to live life in light of the reality of eternity? Are we leaning on Him to provide for our needs, or are we proud, trusting in our skills or strength to bring us through? As westerners, especially Americans, we're so prone to believe that if we just work hard enough, everything will work out. Isaiah goes on to say, "Because you despise this word, and trust in oppression and perverseness and rely on them, therefore this iniquity shall be to you like a breach in a high wall, bulging out, and about to collapse, whose breaking comes suddenly, in an instant; it's breaking is like that of a potter's vessel that is smashed so ruthlessly that among its fragments not a shard is to be found with which to take fire from the hearth, or to dip up water out of the cistern...'In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength'" (30:12-15). I need constant reminders that I can't do it on my own, and God has done a wonderful job this year of exposing my own dependence and daily need for mercy (not that he's ever not done a wonderful job). The lie that I can do things on my own is oppressive and burdensome. Finding out that it's a lie is painful, and requires a breaking of my prideful will; a smashing of what I think is my identity until it's so minute I realize I can't even use the shards to "dip up water" from those broken cisterns that I think will satisfy the longings of my heart. It's then, and only then, that I can turn to Christ. We talk a lot about how Christ heals our brokenness; Praise God, He does! But I think we forget the beauty of brokenness. We need the pain that the truth brings. If we spend our lives praying that God will make us comfortable and keep us safe, we'll be devastated and confused to find out that our God is not just some benevolent grandfather that gives us everything we desire and glosses over the reality that we're sinful and fallen. I thank God that he's gracious enough not to let me continue in my stubborn independence. But he doesn't just break us to show us that we're sinful and leave us there to wallow in our nothingness! I love the beauty of that promise, "in returning and rest you shall be saved". What's easier than resting? Seriously. It's such a sweet image of a simple kind of faith. Children have to rest all the time, they trust without foolish anxieties about what exactly their next year will look like, what they'll do for the rest of their lives. We have a sovereign and loving Father in heaven, let's rest in the knowledge that he has a plan. Let's be still and know that He is God.
"Therefore, the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait on him" (30:18). Friends, what better thing can we know that all it takes for God's blessing in our lives is to wait on and follow him?

This cracked me up. Happy New Year, people.

2009-12-31T09:58:00.000-08:00

Learning to read slow...

2009-12-30T13:32:00.000-08:00

As I was going through my list of "blogs to read" recently, I came across this little post. It's interesting to me, because I've never really had problems speed reading with comprehension. I do "hear" things in my head as I read them. I also "see" things in my head as I hear them (as in, when someone's talking, or when I'm writing, I can sometimes literally see the words being typed out in my head). But I appreciate his point, and speed reading just isn't meant to be done with Scripture. I love how the Bible is filled with so many different literary genres (as I've written about before). Poetry is meant to be musical thing, meant to be experienced and savored, just like the rest of the Word.

One Advantage of Reading Slowly

December 29, 2009 | By: John Piper | Category: Commentary

The fact that hundreds of the pages of God’s inspired word are devoted to poetry moves me. One of the effects is to make me aware that God thinks the sound of language matters.
God has blessed and humbled me with the inability to speed read. I read about the same speed that I talk. I hear what I read as I read it. For years I tried not to. Speed reading consultants (I took their courses—in vain.) say that pronouncing the words, even in your head, turns a rabbit reader into a turtle. No use. I’m a turtle.
So I take heart that so much of the Bible is poetry. It is self-evident to me that poetry is not meant to be speed-read, but ordinarily read aloud. So I would encourage you to supplement your speed with slow savoring of the way things are written to be heard.
Consider this observation about what happens when poetry is read aloud and read well by a person who understands it.

“Even after almost three millennia of written literature, poetry retains its appeal to the ear as well as to the eye; to hear a poem read aloud by someone who understands it, and who wishes to share that understanding with someone else, can be a crucial experience, instructing the silently reading eye ever thereafter to hear what it is seeing.” (John Hollander, Committed to Memory: 100 Best Poems to Memorize, 1)

2009-12-28T21:44:00.000-08:00

So the picture quality is poor, but I'm glad the camera captured even a glimpse of how breathtaking this scene was...our Creator is amazing! I'm really looking forward to exploring more of Washington.

2009-12-24T12:24:00.000-08:00

There is, it would seem, a small problem with being flexible and learning to love and be content with wherever you live: You learn to love it. But life is brief, and being pushed out of your comfort zone rarely feels pleasant at first. There is joy in looking back to see how God has provided in the past, and trusting not only that God is unchanging but also merciful.

26 Minutes in Loring Park

2009-12-14T20:30:00.000-08:00

Back when I attended MCTC, I would often venture into the nearby park between or after classes. Because of its location in the heart of the city, it got a lot of traffic and was both a lovely place to watch nature and a fascinating people watching spot. As I was cleaning my room today, I came across a random sheet of writing I did one day sitting on a bench. The style (or perhaps the lack therof) is rather abrupt; quite literally I wrote what I saw as I saw it. It's nothing fancy, just an attempt to capture an afternoon in Loring Park. It brought back all sorts of memories for me, perhaps it will also be interesting to you.

    Strains of a bagpipe lazily drift over the pond. On my ebony wrought bench, I’m surrounded by birds; some in the water, some pecking at the tiny blades of grass for crumbs from some passerby. A bird dives into the grayish-brown water, interrupting the surface for an instant. A brazen young woman entertains a group of young people on the other side of the bridge while two geese slyly inch nearer, nipping the grass. The lewd girl has removed her belt, clambered onto the overturned rescue boat, and whipped mercilessly at an unsuspecting tree. Certain now that I have no food for them, my pair of geese have ambled away back towards the water. The church bell clangs two. Again I try calling Brian’s cell phone; once again my efforts are rewarded with voicemail. The sun has gone behind the clouds and the gentle breeze has become harsher. A balding man in an old leather coat with a cigarette and his miniscule dog have now frightened my bird friends away. They are followed by a large group of boisterous, drunk, men and women. My goose stares in wonder as he is “f-bombed” by a large, black man, and then wanders back shyly my way.
    2:07 and finally my calls are answered. Many middle-aged couples lazily meander around the park, passed by the occasional preppy runner or “pretty-boy” biker. A lovely duck out to dry herself in the sun has upset my goose, and the man and his dog have returned. A man in orange and white starkly contrasts with the soft earthy-browns, greens, yellows and blues of the landscape. A woman walks by in a pair of keens. I have changed out of mine from this morning for my boss's sake.
    2:15 sounds the bell! A young brunette and a man in a tie come over the bridge; her unsuitable stiletto heels clicking noisily. Sitting beside me for a moment, a little boy gives me an appraising glance. At a word from his father, a tall, dark and handsome man with a military air, the boy retreats. Pausing on the bridge for a moment, giving me only time to admire her dark, curly hair and tan suede jacket, a woman moves on, followed by a blond biker in a pink jacket. An older man bikes by as well; he however, has a blackbird perched on his helmet as he crosses the bridge. The waterfowl sound like gossipy old women.
    At 2:26, I leave my bench and head to work.

I know how that guy feels...sort of, anyway.

2009-12-09T08:22:00.000-08:00

The infamous philosophy paper was completed this morning at 8:50 (due at 9:45).

"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"

2009-12-07T20:53:00.000-08:00

If my posts have of late seemed less serious than usual, it has mostly to do with the fact that by the time I'm finished with homework and studying, my poor brain wants a rest from deep thinking (or thinking at all, rather). For example, today, I've been doing Philosophy homework essentially from 10 AM-8:40 PM, stopping only for meals and the story I will now tell.

At lunch today, I went to check my mailbox. There was a letter and a note that claimed I had a parcel at the reception desk. Intrigued, I walked to the desk and promptly presented the slip of paper to the receptionist, who retreated to the back room to find the mysterious parcel. After several minutes, she returned, with a quizzical expression. "Are you sure you haven't already picked it up," she ventured to ask. (Like I would forget picking up a parcel!) Indignant, but trying to remain polite, I replied in the negative and said I would return at a different time to see if it had been found. Later that afternoon, I received an email saying they had found it and it was ready to be picked up, so I bundled back up and walked over to the school, my curiosity once again piqued.

When I arrived, I was handed a mysterious Christmas-y box, approximately the dimensions of a DVD case, containing Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window. So far, I have deduced the following:
1. It is from a Canadian.
2. It is probably not from a girl in residence (we're in the midst of a secret santa exchange, so this would seem to be a logical assumption until one considers that if it were a girl on my floor, she would have had access to my room. Why go through the school instead of just leaving it on my desk?)
3. This parcel was not mailed.
4. This person very much wants to remain anonymous (not only was there no note, it didn't even have my name on it).
5. The very fact that it's Rear Window not only implies it's someone who knows I love Hitchcock and Grace Kelly, but also someone who knows I don't already own the movie. This narrows down the suspect list.
Deduct what you may from all this. I, for one, am too tired to desire a conclusion tonight.

2009-12-04T15:55:00.000-08:00

Having a few minutes between researching my Philosophy paper and editing someone else's paper, I have decided to write. We're in the midst of quite the blizzard; classes are canceled, the concert is postponed, and I have no excuse to procrastinate on my paper any longer. The buses are still running, but the chances of getting off campus get slimmer with every beautiful flake that falls. So I'm bundling up, not for a long winter's nap, but for the accomplishment of much homework in the frigid prayer room. But first, dinner.

Moral lessons from Monty Python: Now THAT'S completely different.

2009-12-03T14:29:00.000-08:00

Mr. Vernon "Hello Madam...(comes in)
Mrs. Long Name "Ah, hello...you must have come about..."
Mr. Vernon "Finishing the sentences, yes."
Mrs. Long Name "Oh...well...perhaps you'd like to..."
Mr. Vernon " Come through this way...certainly."
(from "The Man Who Finishes Other People's Sentences"; Monty Python's Flying Circus)

This is a problem of mine. It recently occurred to me just how arrogant it really is. It's saying, "look, I know what you're going to say, and what I have to say is more important/relevant". Interrupting is so rude. If I really love other people as I love myself, I'll be quick to hear and slow to speak.