Another Man's Treasure

Rachel: “Today I heard a jingling noise in the house and I thought it was you, but no one answered when I called out. I got scared a robber might be in the house so I went into my room, locked the door, lay in my bed, and listened to a sermon.”

Criz: “What if when you had come out of your room our house was empty because everything had been stolen?”

Rachel: “That’d be funny...” (Thinks about it for a minute) “What would they steal? We don’t have anything valuable.”

(both look around the living room for something valuable)

Rachel: “They wouldn’t take our TV... Who would even want that thing?”

(Both look at the TV---an old set from the 90s, probably weighing 100 lbs and taking up the space of one of the first computers.)

Criz: “Yeah, we don’t really have anything worth anything…except maybe that record player. It cost me $30 on Ebay.”

Rachel (nods in agreement and then adds seriously): “It’s probably the most valuable thing in here.”

Criz: “That’s so weird. I mean we have a nice place I think, with cute things, but nothing really that…”

Rachel (cutting in): “…that you couldn’t find at a thrift store.”

(Both laugh and then go and make coffee)

Coddlers

Today I am imagining what it might be like to be an old person, and I am wondering if I will like having young people try to schmooze me just because I am old.

I just spoke with an old lady on the phone and I am afraid that I was a bit of a suck-up. I used the word "ma'am" more than necessary, I explained things overly-thoroughly (can you use those words together?), and I think that in general I was a bit of a 'coddler.'

I am a coddler. I coddled a 70 year old woman.

This needs to stop.

It is kind of you

It is kind of you to be gentle with me.
To speak slowly, in pictures and shadows,
That I might have time to understand.

It is kind of you to deal gently with these deaf ears,
For I hear only through the reverberation of thunderclaps.
And these blind eyes, they see only through the glances of pressed fingertips.

You speak so that I might not be consumed by knowledge too great for me to understand,
Too easy for me to misinterpret,
Sparing me from (mis)leading others,
Stumbling blindly down imprudent trails.

And so perhaps your whispers are a mercy,
Your echoes, a kindness.
Your back to me, a favor,
For who can see the Lord face to face and live?

Let me live Lord, to know you,
Slowly as I grow to meet you,
And turn your back to me if you must so that I might not be consumed.*

And someday perhaps you will speak to me as you spoke to Moses,
My face radiating the encounter of friends.

But until then, move me to know you as I am able,
And I will not begrudge the means---
The means of mercy.

It is kind of you to be gentle with me.
For it is better to live humbly in Mystery,
Than to tread unmercifully in certainty.*

--------------------------------------------------------------

*Inspired by A Cry Like A Bell, Madeleine L'Engle

*Inspired by D. Willard, Hearing God, p.112

"...and it is well that this should be so. The spectacular encounters are obscure in their content and meaning, perhaps for our protection. In general, knowledge tends to be destructive when held by anything less than a mature personality thoroughly permeated by love and humility. That is true even in the secular areas of life. Few things are more terrifying in the spiritual arena than those who absolutely know but who are also unloving, hostile, proud, superstitious and fearful. That Aaron and Miriam could be jealous of Moses is a sure indication that God could not trust them with the kind of knowledge he shared freely with Moses."

sketchy

a sketch from an old notebook

ends and means

Walter Kaufman in Martin Buber's 'I and Thou'

Innumerable are the ways in which I treat You as a means. I ask for your help, I ask for information, I may buy from you or buy what you have made, and you sometimes dispell my lonliness.

Nor do I count the ways in which You treat me as a means. You ask my help, you ask me questions, you may buy what I have written, and at times I ease your lonliness.

Even when you treat me only as a means I do not always mind. A genuine encounter can be quite exhausting, even when it is exhilarating, and I do not always want to give myself.

Even when you treat me only as a means bcause you want some information, I may feel delighted that I have the answer and can help.

But man's attitudes are manifold, and there are many ways of treating others as ends also. There are many modes of I-You.

You may be polite when asking; you may show respect, affection, admiration, or one of the countless attitudes that men call love.

Or you may not ask but seek without the benefit of words. Or you may speak but not ask, possibly responding to my wordless question. We may do something togther. You may write to me. You may think of writing to me. And there are other ways. There are many modes of I-You.

The total encounter in which You is spoken with one's whole being is but one mode of I-You. And it is misleading if we assimilate all the other modes of I-You to I-It.

"The fearsome blessing of that hard time continues to work itself out in my life in the same way we're told the universe is still hurtling through outer space under the impact of the great cosmic explosion that brought it into being in the first place.

I think grace sometimes explodes into our lives like that--sending our pain, terror, astonishment hurtling through inner space until by grace they become Orion, Cassiopeia, Polaris to give us our bearings, to bring us into something like full being at last."

-FB, Telling Secrets

Compass

I have been traveling this way
Too lost to know it’s wrong
I asked you for a map and you
Offered me yours, hand-drawn

On ragged pages, roughly traced
From context being torn
Truth abandoned to mystery,
To mystic paths well-worn

Sextant in deep darkness, useless
Ignorance shrouds the skies
Magnetic forces confounding
This compass speaking lies

Oh compass! Skewed, deceitful tool!
Confusing East and West
But as we have nowhere to go
Perhaps this way is best

An Anthology of Recent Quotes

Christina said she's going to read my blog today and I feel guilty for not having written anything for a few days. boo. So here is an update.

Things that have happened:

1. I went to HEB.

Check-out Boy: “Do you need a carry out?”
C: (stares)
Check-out Boy: “Do you need a carry out?”
C: “No thanks.” (has no idea what a carry out is. what's a carry out?)
Check-out Boy: “Are you sure you don’t want a carry out?”
C: “What is that?” (what is the deal with carry outs?)
Check-out Boy: “When this guy over here carries out all your groceries to your car. Or he can carry YOU and give you a piggy back ride.”
C: “That sounds like the way to travel.”
Check-out Boy: “I’m going to own a grocery store and everyone is going to get carried out on piggy-back.”

2. I talked to Rachel.

R: "It snowed the other day. Shoot! It's bright out! Like an atomic bomb went off!"

3. I talked to my Dad on Valentine's Day.

Dad (answers phone): "Hi Valentine."
C: "Hi Dad."
Dad: "Wish you were here so we could eat chocolates together."
C: "Do you have any chocolates?"
Dad: "No."

4. I talked to Jessica.

C: (looks out the window) "Look at that little dog wearing a jumpsuit! It's so cute! I wish we had a dog...
Jessica: (unimpressed with the idea of a dog) "I just wish I had a jumpsuit..."

That's all I can think of. Oh, except that I was thinking and the next skill I want to develop is being able to tell temperatures. I never know what people mean when they say it's '50 degrees out' or '75 degrees out.' Does that mean wear a tank top? Or a parka? I hope to someday be able to understand what '50 degrees out' means.

And THAT'S all I can think of.

Invincible

I am not an invincible,
Nor was I made to be,
For I am made of simpler stuff,
‘But dust’ and frailty.

The stain of sin on my garment,
Dirt beneath fingernails,
Testify to human weakness,
That over will prevails.

What I would do, I do not do,
What I would not, I will,
Sin lurks over my dying self,
Feasting upon its kill.

Fig leaves I wrap to hide myself,
From your eyes and my own,
Community you provided,
That healing I might know.

But pride, but shame, but fear of light,
Keep closed these heavy doors,
Alone I fight, alone I fail,
In darkness weep alone.

I am not an invincible,
Why do I try to be?
Forgetting I am simpler stuff,
‘But dust’ and frailty.

But You, Eternal, remember,
That I am but a sigh,
Forgive me and restore me to,
Your presence or I die.

Be merciful, I have no hope,
In anyone but you,
I cannot make this deceived heart,
Beat rightfully and true.

I admit weakness stubbornly,
Yet it must now be said,
I am but dust, and ash, and mud,
Without your holy breath.

I am not an invincible,
I will not try to be,
god, when God is living,
Obedient, I cling.

3 Pages

I should be working on homework (story of my life)

And of course, I am writing a blog (story of my life)

Apparently the discouraged perfectionist runs deep.

I have an assignment, a simple one really, 3 pages. how difficult could it be to write 3 pages? All I'm to do is write something about forgiveness and discuss a Bible verse. So of course I have 3 books, 4 journal articles, a commentary, and a sermon pulled up so I can use them as sources. And of course I think I need to pore over, memorize, and understand them all before I can begin writing. And of course I can't.

So here I sit, surrounded with more than I need, unable to utilize any of it because I'm too overwhelmed. So I turn to coffee and facebook, because you don't need a book to make coffee and you don't need to research before using facebook.

So I wonder, is that perfectionistic? Or just lazy? I don't know. Half the time it seems that lazy people call themselves perfectionists in order not to feel guilty for being extraordinary time-wasters. I really do not want to be one of those.

Maybe I nitpick, asking for ideal conditions and thorough knowledge, because I don't trust that I can produce quality material unless it IS last-minute...and searching for ideal conditions (which never appear) push me toward last-minute work.

Absolutely ridiculous. There doesn't seem to be any wisdom in that.

Here are my arguments for a new course of action:

1) I have a brain. Regardless of its IQ, it is capable of writing 3 pages. Regardless of whether those 3 pages are well-written, 3 poorly-written pages are better than 0 well-written pages. I will invest the 1 coin and hopefully I will get 3back.

2) This quote keeps running through my head (thank you Dallas Willard and dear ol' C.S., and I think it applies to homework in many ways): "God has room for people with very little sense, but He wants every one to use what sense they have. The proper motto is not 'Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever,' but 'Be good, sweet maid, and don't forget that this involves being as clever as you can.' God is no fonder of intellectual slackers than of any other slackers. If you are thinking of becoming a Christian, I warn you, you are embarking on something which is going to take the whole of you, brains and all..."

3) I have just downed a mug of coffee and will either be up for the next few hours working on homework...or doing something I 'enjoy' but not being able to 'enjoy' it because 3 pages stand between me and proper enjoyment.

3 pages. 3 pages. 3 pages.

the crisis, part one

What is free will God?
What is it?
They say you gave it to us that we might choose to truly love.
To love truly.
For what is love under compulsion?
What is love without choice?

And when I choose You,
Does that mean I choose
to no longer choose?
Or to choose to choose over and over again the absence of me?

Do I lose all of me in choosing You?
Did you give me free will that you might strip it away?

I do not know!
It does not seem right!
or like You...
To take the fierce and lively soul
and reduce to a stiff butler,
to a mindless automaton.

But sometimes I wonder...
because 'they' (the preachers)
always talk of giving up self.
But didn't you WANT my 'self?'

Oh i am afraid to say it wrong!
i am afraid those who have gone on before
wring their hands in distress!
Should I not become less that You might become more?

But then why would You want me? Am I a conquest?

Are You the scientist, the humanitarian?
Am I to be tamed or civilized...
To be broken like a colt?

But a colt is still a horse is it not, after it is broken?
and is it truly 'broken?'
It is made obedient that it might be made more

Untamed he'd know no bridle,
but he'd also know no love,
and untambed he'd know no bit,
but neither any noble purpose,
or any gentle hand,
any doctor or any mash

a horse is still a horse when tamed---only redirected

but still the question!
Why free will it if it is 'evil'
why 'me' if i am corrupt?
am I 'good' hidden in 'bad?'
must I be sorted?

You say to seek your will--
Can I want to want what
You want?
And will I ever really want it?

Oh God---be near
My head is muddleglum
my thoughts are not wise.

The end of 'the existential crisis, part one'--- known also in some circles as Why C. Is Not A Theologian And Why She Should Read Her Bible More

Testament (coffee table literature)

I found this poem in a book of Kate's on the coffee table.

I liked it so much. Not because it made me feel happy, I mean it DID make happy in a way (mostly it made me feel a little embarrassed), but I've decided I like it because it is TRUE. And the truth I s'pose is good medicine.

I don't want to get cocky thinking I can love God on my own (but sometimes I do). I sometimes think that I'm the one doing all the work towards love (but where do I get the strength and the 'want' to work towards love apart from him?). Really I'm a shabby lover and I think HE knows that (even if I only admit it when it's blatantly obvious...), so he helps me along to love better and to will his will.


Well enough of me putting carts before horses and giving explanations before poems. Here is the poem.

TESTAMENT-

O God
I will do thy will.
I will
to do thy will.

How can my will
will to do thy will?
If I will
to know thy will
then I fall on my own will.
How can I will
to love or to obey?
My very willing bars the way.
Willingness becomes self-will.

O God
if thou will
turn my will to thy will
if thou will
tell me thy will
it will
be in spite of
not because of
my will.

Help me to lose my will.
Each day
let my will die
so will I
be born.
New born will I live
willingly lovingly
and will
will be no more

will be thine
O God
if thou will.

-Madeleine L'Engle