saturday morning. after five days of being raped of all energy and left without a single thought of my own, five nights of being unable to add to any conversation past 6:00 when i get off work… i get to sit. i choose a coffee shop that you wouldn't be caught dead in, coffee is on the list of things that you judge other people for consuming. but i like this place and light floods in from the wall of windows that face east, erasing last night's sins and making the space feel light.
i text you and i order my latte, the one you would make fun of me for. you're not him, but you're comfortable and you fill my time well. we don't have to say or do much, which feels ok, for the rest of my life exhausts me; and that serves as a pretty good excuse to keep a safe distance. you don't really seem to want to do the things i want to do anyway. photo adventures aren't quite as exciting, baseball games completely uninteresting, and i don't want to go to another bike shop, don't want to watch another movie, don't want to listen to the type of music you prefer to play. but you fit nicely around me when i turn away from you and get in a fetal position. sometimes i get the courage to show you glimpses of my heart but get the feeling that you don't understand me fully anyway, can't navigate through my fumbled words, can't finish my sentences like he could. but thats ok, when conversation isn't as fluid or seems too risky, i can shut down, turn my back to you, pull my knees up to my chest. you seem to understand. so we exist, and your lips are soft on my back.
i take my overpriced stimulus to a carefully picked table but as fate would have it, a group of pharmacy students chooses a table next to me in an otherwise large, empty room and quiz each other on pharmacy terms i'm familiar with. suddenly, abruptly and inconsiderate as always, he barges into my peaceful morning. unwelcomed, he haunts me in bookstores, in songs, restaurants, movies, sports statistics, in memories that still take up so much space of my brain, memories that fill multiple cities. shoving nostalgia down my throat. regularly feeling like a multitude of expectant tears could break free on his cue. i can't see his model of car without looking at the driver to see if he's in town. if i'm in his city, i can't help to hope that i'll randomly run into him. eyes constantly scanning. sure to be wearing something he would like, hair worn in a way that would catch his eye. going to places i know that he frequents.
i get put on auto-pilot and can't control my thoughts or actions, why is he still holding my heart and thoughts hostage? as he moves through life unaffected, what's in it for him? is this some kind of joke? i want my heart back. i handed it to him blindly because he asked for it, but i want it all back. mostly, i want my idealism and hope in love back. i want to believe that the beautiful ceremony of christ to his bride can be experienced by humans, and that the moments of reflecting christ's love to each other can outweigh the times we don't. that the intimacy of sex is something to be saved for one sacred relationship and that it all means something. that we won't always give up on each other. that the nice things you say to me aren't lies and are free from selfish motives. that you are capable of grace and patience, gentleness, faithfulness, goodness. i want light and redemption to invade my heart and erase our sins, i want to feel free from him. free from the bitterness and cynicism. i don't want you to be him. i don't want you to give up on me.
he gave up on me, and for now i give up on love. in practice it just doesn't work. we will always fail. that's gospel.
i take a sip of my drink and roll my eyes at your judgement from afar. but you're really quite alluring if i'm honest. i love the way the way you see the world, it's against the norm and refreshing. you are doing beautiful things with your life, living out of convictions and passions and not leaving it up to someone else to change the world. and i really do believe you are changing the lives of the people around you and the city we live in. we want to change a lot of the same parts of people's worlds, in the same way. the same things make our hearts beat faster, we shed tears for the same injustices. you're so talented and are determined to live a creative life, passionate about the way music has changed the trajectory of your life. you are one of the most unselfish, generous people i've ever met. you seek truth boldly and don't settle for easy answers. money is secondary, actually, last on the list and you fight that idol effortlessly. you make me laugh like few others can. your imagination rivals that of a child unfettered by the hard realities of adulthood. i see myself in you; parts of myself i like and want to be and appreciate and respect the ways that you are different. even if you do think coffee is an addictive, mind altering substance.
we can steal a glance when someone is talking and exchange a multitude of words without interrupting. sometimes i do feel understood, like you get me… like you can see through to my confiscated and deficient heart so i try my best to avoid those moments, ignore the glances, change the subject, make a joke. turn my back. i can't risk not being her, the one. if i don't give you enough of me, you won't be able to tell me i'm not her. that's ok. i don't want to be her. i'll pull my knees over my heart, let you put you arm around my waist, kiss my neck. you don't get me but i don't want to be got. i'll love you from a safe distance. i'll finish my own sentences.
but i wish you would answer your phone because it's saturday and i all i want to do is lay in bed with you all day.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
speaking of silence
i splash water out of the pool and onto the concrete. the ants scurry as i watch them with my god-like eyes that hover overhead. within seconds i’ve ruined their small lives; destroyed some sort of a lesser kingdom. i decide it’s good that i'm not the real god, the one who is capable of ruining everything, but out of some sort of kindness chooses not to. i know it’s cruel but i’m sort of okay with it, killing the ants and all. “just cooling them off” i think to myself. the ledge is too hot to rest my arms on and that’s why i’m splashing to begin with. water turns to vapor right before my eyes. don’t even need a stove, just give me a pot and this concrete surface. huntsville feels like orlando in the summer; it feels like a slow melting death. that’s why i’m spending as much time as i can in the pool killing ants and cooling off.
i’ve come to huntsville for the week to see my grandpa. haven’t seen his life since my grandma died.
he’s in the house watching an old western and eating peanuts that sit next to the couch in the fancy dish. he says fancy dishes are for using today, not when you’re in the grave. i like that. i probably won’t have fancy dishes when i grow up, just not that kind of a person, but if i did i'd use them on weekdays and also for holding peanuts. yesterday he convinced me to watch curb your enthusiasm in his matter of fact sort of way. he has that power over me; power that melts my stubborn individuality. he has the same tone he’s always had. it’s the one he used when teaching me about globalization and ray charles and how the stock market works.
after i watch the ants die a dismal death i swim to the bottom of the pool and open my eyes. the chlorine is sharp, but no sharper than it was when i was six or seven or eight. i swirl around and let myself feel as free as i can. without oxygen, i let the invisible balloons inside my stomach inflate. when my face feels tomato red and my lungs get tired i surge to the top. i do back flips and handstands and think about how good it feels to be alone. there is no one to talk to and no one to listen to. i can just be. i am just being. most of the time i forgot how to be. sometimes i get nervous about how good it feels to just sit and think and grapple with the pressure of inviting someone into the very alive world that is my head.
on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays my grandpa plays poker at the elks lodge or at the dive bar on the corner i can’t remember the name of. he gets a coke and rum or some other drink i can’t remember the name of either. says he brought the bartender the good olives, not the cheap kind. brought in a little jar so they could use them when he comes in. he even wrote down how to make his favorite drink on a bar napkin, “now, tape this to the olives so you don’t forget.”
things are different here in huntsville; different from when i was little and he taught me what i didn’t know. his sad, sad, tired-from-all-the-crying-eyes share a story of grief. they tell a story of things i can’t explain. his eyes speak of being lonely and knowing heartbreak.
knowing heartbreak.
legitimate, been married for forty years and now i’m a widower heartbreak. he tells me that he misses my grandma and that he wanders through most days unsure of what to do.
“this isn’t the life i imagined, but it’s the one i’m living.”
i think that’s how most of us live, not in the lives we’ve imagined. not like when the world still felt possible. we forget about the essays we wrote in grade school and just sort of let life happen.
we let life happen. and happen. and happen.
all of it feels very human. all of it feels very mediocre.
on the drive back to the airport i know he’s finally ready to talk. there’s a new honesty in his voice, in his rhythm, in his every word. unedited sentences say more than the theories he knows by name. his splintered heart is a clean break from all the time he has spent teaching me about macroeconomics and the vietnam war. it’s a clean break from all the things that never touched on real life. who he is in huntsville is a beautiful departure from everything i’ve ever known about him.
he’s been silent for nearly a year and maybe that’s why things feel so different, so worth listening to.
he’s spent time in spaces filled with silence and now he knows what he feels. maybe that’s what we’re supposed to do, let the silence of our lives reveal the truth that’s in our hearts. maybe when we close our mouths and feel, really truly feel, vulnerability and transformation can begin.
the quiet prepares the way for the telling, the sharing, and the movement towards understanding. that’s the process of carrying out the pain. we have to know what’s real in our hearts, the culprit for what doesn’t feel good. only in the knowing can we scare away the sorrow. we have to be quiet and slow down from all of our saying. we have to ask the heart what hurts and what really matters.
then we talk and what we say is some kind of medicine.
i’ve come to huntsville for the week to see my grandpa. haven’t seen his life since my grandma died.
he’s in the house watching an old western and eating peanuts that sit next to the couch in the fancy dish. he says fancy dishes are for using today, not when you’re in the grave. i like that. i probably won’t have fancy dishes when i grow up, just not that kind of a person, but if i did i'd use them on weekdays and also for holding peanuts. yesterday he convinced me to watch curb your enthusiasm in his matter of fact sort of way. he has that power over me; power that melts my stubborn individuality. he has the same tone he’s always had. it’s the one he used when teaching me about globalization and ray charles and how the stock market works.
after i watch the ants die a dismal death i swim to the bottom of the pool and open my eyes. the chlorine is sharp, but no sharper than it was when i was six or seven or eight. i swirl around and let myself feel as free as i can. without oxygen, i let the invisible balloons inside my stomach inflate. when my face feels tomato red and my lungs get tired i surge to the top. i do back flips and handstands and think about how good it feels to be alone. there is no one to talk to and no one to listen to. i can just be. i am just being. most of the time i forgot how to be. sometimes i get nervous about how good it feels to just sit and think and grapple with the pressure of inviting someone into the very alive world that is my head.
on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays my grandpa plays poker at the elks lodge or at the dive bar on the corner i can’t remember the name of. he gets a coke and rum or some other drink i can’t remember the name of either. says he brought the bartender the good olives, not the cheap kind. brought in a little jar so they could use them when he comes in. he even wrote down how to make his favorite drink on a bar napkin, “now, tape this to the olives so you don’t forget.”
things are different here in huntsville; different from when i was little and he taught me what i didn’t know. his sad, sad, tired-from-all-the-crying-eyes share a story of grief. they tell a story of things i can’t explain. his eyes speak of being lonely and knowing heartbreak.
knowing heartbreak.
legitimate, been married for forty years and now i’m a widower heartbreak. he tells me that he misses my grandma and that he wanders through most days unsure of what to do.
“this isn’t the life i imagined, but it’s the one i’m living.”
i think that’s how most of us live, not in the lives we’ve imagined. not like when the world still felt possible. we forget about the essays we wrote in grade school and just sort of let life happen.
we let life happen. and happen. and happen.
all of it feels very human. all of it feels very mediocre.
on the drive back to the airport i know he’s finally ready to talk. there’s a new honesty in his voice, in his rhythm, in his every word. unedited sentences say more than the theories he knows by name. his splintered heart is a clean break from all the time he has spent teaching me about macroeconomics and the vietnam war. it’s a clean break from all the things that never touched on real life. who he is in huntsville is a beautiful departure from everything i’ve ever known about him.
he’s been silent for nearly a year and maybe that’s why things feel so different, so worth listening to.
he’s spent time in spaces filled with silence and now he knows what he feels. maybe that’s what we’re supposed to do, let the silence of our lives reveal the truth that’s in our hearts. maybe when we close our mouths and feel, really truly feel, vulnerability and transformation can begin.
the quiet prepares the way for the telling, the sharing, and the movement towards understanding. that’s the process of carrying out the pain. we have to know what’s real in our hearts, the culprit for what doesn’t feel good. only in the knowing can we scare away the sorrow. we have to be quiet and slow down from all of our saying. we have to ask the heart what hurts and what really matters.
then we talk and what we say is some kind of medicine.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
kenzie
“She said her favorite color was black and I knew she was lying.” said Kestae.
“And that’s why you got in a fight?” I asked.
“Well yeah, I sort of just exploded on her for copying me. I don’t care what her favorite color is. I just want it to be her favorite color.” replied the 9-year-old.
There’s a significant part of me that resonates with Kestae- that desperately wants people to like what they like and to be okay with their preferences. On occasion I unabashedly listen to country music and I make no qualms about it. Keith Urban holds a special place in my heart. And you know what, I don’t care how many of my friends think he’s lame, I’m still going to listen with pride and considerable enjoyment. It’s freeing, being able to decidedly like what you like without the need for approval.
I’ve spent a good amount of time thinking about what individualism is and how it fits into community. I’ve wrestled with what healthy individualism looks like and what it doesn’t. Sometimes I have days where my desire to be an “individual” is so strong that I find myself pressing up against anything that my friends like. If everyone is reading Donald Miller, I’m reading Grace Paley. If everyone is listening to Fleet Foxes, I’m listening to, well, Keith Urban. There’s a serious problem with this sort of thinking though- a kin to herd mentality- the person who fights tooth and nail for individualism is actually not an individualist. In fact, the person who has to fight to be different never gets to experience what they want. Fighting is reacting and reacting is not choosing.
Both the conformist and the hyper individualist fall prey to a weak sense of self. Even in high school this was apparent. On one side, there were the kids who wore Abercrombie & Fitch everyday because they just wanted to blend. On the other side, there were the kids who lived in the perpetual state of Halloween because they were so afraid of not being seen. In both instances, you have people who are scared and lost and unsure of what they really want. You have a collection of people who have no idea who they are; perhaps that’s why high school is so toxic for so many. In the end, it doesn’t matter what side you fall on, you never get to be yourself because you’re preoccupied with the pending approval of those around you.
Our responsibility as children of God is to be individuals. I’ll say it again because I believe it so much. Our responsibility as children of God is to be individuals- to wear the names we’ve been given and to live out the vision he has for our lives. I used to think this was wrong, the desire to be uniquely me, but I’ve come to know that if we actually believe in this whole “body of Christ” idea, we’ve got to get serious about becoming the people he’s called us to be. This means embracing who we are and trusting that because of his goodness, we’re significant enough to fit in the grander kingdom picture.
What we are not responsible for is living out the desires of those around us. If we find ourselves only motivated by the efforts and dreams of other people, we’re living a reality that is not our own; we’re vicariously living through someone else. And similar to pageant moms, it’s never a pretty sight. There’s something remarkable about the notion “This is what I wanted because I wanted it, not because it made my neighbors like me.”
The false self, the one that rises and falls on the desires of other men is a pleaser, a hoax, a mere generic. The copied self is a fraud and a lie that’s never going to make you feel okay with yourself. If we aren’t thinking for ourselves we’ll essentially become people who simply act and respond, opposed to people who dream and become. We’ve all been given independent judgment. Don’t be so quick to ignore it for the sake of someone else.
The way I see the world is unique; the way you see the world is unique. Our preferences are of value. The things that we can create with our own two hands are of importance. We can’t go on not knowing who we are, we can’t go on forging the flavor of the week; because if we do, it’s certain we’ll begin to look like the Great Value brand found at Wal-Mart.
Ayn Rand talks about the individual being against the collective. But the more I learn and the more I come to value the individual, the more I see her thinking as faulty. Not only is it faulty, it’s dismal. I believe in a different future for the individualist. A future that says the individual is the collective. The individualist alone is weak, but when a group of people who own their uniqueness join together and share their lives they can become the new collective. The true individualist has no need to fear conformity if they’re really who they say they are. A yellow crayon doesn’t have to run around demanding its color- people just see that it is yellow. It lives in the box with all the other colors and never loses its yellowness. The more important reality is, is that yellow isn’t nearly as beautiful as the palette comprised of the colors of a sunset.
And that’s the vision in all of this- it’s my hope for all of us- that we would become people convinced of our worth and our ability to add to the conversation. That we would be individuals who are the collective.
“And that’s why you got in a fight?” I asked.
“Well yeah, I sort of just exploded on her for copying me. I don’t care what her favorite color is. I just want it to be her favorite color.” replied the 9-year-old.
There’s a significant part of me that resonates with Kestae- that desperately wants people to like what they like and to be okay with their preferences. On occasion I unabashedly listen to country music and I make no qualms about it. Keith Urban holds a special place in my heart. And you know what, I don’t care how many of my friends think he’s lame, I’m still going to listen with pride and considerable enjoyment. It’s freeing, being able to decidedly like what you like without the need for approval.
I’ve spent a good amount of time thinking about what individualism is and how it fits into community. I’ve wrestled with what healthy individualism looks like and what it doesn’t. Sometimes I have days where my desire to be an “individual” is so strong that I find myself pressing up against anything that my friends like. If everyone is reading Donald Miller, I’m reading Grace Paley. If everyone is listening to Fleet Foxes, I’m listening to, well, Keith Urban. There’s a serious problem with this sort of thinking though- a kin to herd mentality- the person who fights tooth and nail for individualism is actually not an individualist. In fact, the person who has to fight to be different never gets to experience what they want. Fighting is reacting and reacting is not choosing.
Both the conformist and the hyper individualist fall prey to a weak sense of self. Even in high school this was apparent. On one side, there were the kids who wore Abercrombie & Fitch everyday because they just wanted to blend. On the other side, there were the kids who lived in the perpetual state of Halloween because they were so afraid of not being seen. In both instances, you have people who are scared and lost and unsure of what they really want. You have a collection of people who have no idea who they are; perhaps that’s why high school is so toxic for so many. In the end, it doesn’t matter what side you fall on, you never get to be yourself because you’re preoccupied with the pending approval of those around you.
Our responsibility as children of God is to be individuals. I’ll say it again because I believe it so much. Our responsibility as children of God is to be individuals- to wear the names we’ve been given and to live out the vision he has for our lives. I used to think this was wrong, the desire to be uniquely me, but I’ve come to know that if we actually believe in this whole “body of Christ” idea, we’ve got to get serious about becoming the people he’s called us to be. This means embracing who we are and trusting that because of his goodness, we’re significant enough to fit in the grander kingdom picture.
What we are not responsible for is living out the desires of those around us. If we find ourselves only motivated by the efforts and dreams of other people, we’re living a reality that is not our own; we’re vicariously living through someone else. And similar to pageant moms, it’s never a pretty sight. There’s something remarkable about the notion “This is what I wanted because I wanted it, not because it made my neighbors like me.”
The false self, the one that rises and falls on the desires of other men is a pleaser, a hoax, a mere generic. The copied self is a fraud and a lie that’s never going to make you feel okay with yourself. If we aren’t thinking for ourselves we’ll essentially become people who simply act and respond, opposed to people who dream and become. We’ve all been given independent judgment. Don’t be so quick to ignore it for the sake of someone else.
The way I see the world is unique; the way you see the world is unique. Our preferences are of value. The things that we can create with our own two hands are of importance. We can’t go on not knowing who we are, we can’t go on forging the flavor of the week; because if we do, it’s certain we’ll begin to look like the Great Value brand found at Wal-Mart.
Ayn Rand talks about the individual being against the collective. But the more I learn and the more I come to value the individual, the more I see her thinking as faulty. Not only is it faulty, it’s dismal. I believe in a different future for the individualist. A future that says the individual is the collective. The individualist alone is weak, but when a group of people who own their uniqueness join together and share their lives they can become the new collective. The true individualist has no need to fear conformity if they’re really who they say they are. A yellow crayon doesn’t have to run around demanding its color- people just see that it is yellow. It lives in the box with all the other colors and never loses its yellowness. The more important reality is, is that yellow isn’t nearly as beautiful as the palette comprised of the colors of a sunset.
And that’s the vision in all of this- it’s my hope for all of us- that we would become people convinced of our worth and our ability to add to the conversation. That we would be individuals who are the collective.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
bam.
brainstorming tats. figuring out how to incorporate these paintings (http://www.brendanmonroe.com/paintings16.html) with a blueprint technical drawing of the tabernacle. i think amanda, who does AMAZING water color tats, will make it look beautiful. http://www.amandawachobtattoo.com/ i'm stoked.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
spring had sprung
spring. it’s my favorite season. change is also one of my favorite things. those two loves have joined together to start a cycle in my life. a natural and obvious pairing as weather change gives nature the opportunity to come back to life. making amends for the cold weather that striped the tress naked. the two reconcile and change comes.
four years ago i had the opportunity to go to africa, i will forever be a changed person because of that trip. i came back with a bigger perspective of the world and saw what life looked like for other groups of people. i saw a lot of brokenness. it was extremely healthy for me to see, and it broke me. three years ago in the spring, my perspective on community outside of america continued to grow and i saw what it looked like in the dominican republic. i went with a lovely group of people that challenged me and probed me to think outside my american bubble. to see beauty and worth in people and seeing god in them and through them in completely new and beautiful ways. i came back a changed person. two years ago, i traveled to europe. i saw and heard so many stories, saw so many beautiful places, met a lot of broken people. last year the spring brought a big change in me moving to Atlanta. this experience broke me once again. i learned a lot of lessons the hard way, but do we ever really learn the easy way?
i’ve come back from these experiences with a fresh realization of the world’s brokenness, of my own brokenness. i’ve felt god close in those times, and he has helped me rearrange the pieces, and build me back up, but slightly changed.
this spring i’ve set out on an adventure. realizing that humans seek comfort and stability, moving back to orlando has forced me out of that and i refuse to settle for comfort. we have to be forced into change, into the uncomfortable. its discomfort that transforms you. and allows your pieces to be re-shifted.
i long to be transformed. permanently and perfectly.
i graduated a year and a half ago. everyone i talk to agrees that this is one of the most confusing and hardest times of one’s life. adults tell me that they’re still trying to figure out what they’re going to be “when they grow up.” unfortunately this isn’t the greatest time in america’s history to be figuring it out. the alternative to not knowing what exactly to do is take a risk and just try out something and hopefully find your niche. but now it’s hard to even find the opportunity. its been a year of bumbling through my days. dreaming and scheming and thinking about options. it would be very comfortable, very “worthy,” very american to default to grad school. that seems the thing to do when you don’t know what to do after undergrad. but i don’t want to just jump into something else. something comfortable.
intentional community is heavy on my heart. it’s the thing that keeps coming back as i search through options and adventures. when i read exodus 36 and acts 2, i can literally feel my heart beat faster. i want to find people that are passionate about making christianity real. i want to see how other people are doing this. i want to hear people talk about attempts, successes, failures. how they do it in the mundane. in the extraordinary. in the everyday. the exodus community came together in the middle of the desert and build a tabernacle, something with the only intentions of glorifying god. they were so generous. so sacrificial.
i want a space for gathering, creating things, sharing those creations, encouraging one another, and collaborating with each other. i want to help reduce the barriers that prevent people from creating. (i.e. lack of space, lack of resources, lack of people who give a crap.) a safe place to create, marked by generous participation with and encouragement of one another, as well as mutual education. i want to reach beyond ourselves in generously meeting the needs of the people of orlando to the best of our ability - impacting their lives through our creations. yeah.
let’s do this.
i'm so thankful for the community i'm in. i know know know that there is purpose in god's timing and placement in conjunction with these ideas. they have been so supportive in the last couple months concerning this and can not wait to walk through this with them and support each other.
four years ago i had the opportunity to go to africa, i will forever be a changed person because of that trip. i came back with a bigger perspective of the world and saw what life looked like for other groups of people. i saw a lot of brokenness. it was extremely healthy for me to see, and it broke me. three years ago in the spring, my perspective on community outside of america continued to grow and i saw what it looked like in the dominican republic. i went with a lovely group of people that challenged me and probed me to think outside my american bubble. to see beauty and worth in people and seeing god in them and through them in completely new and beautiful ways. i came back a changed person. two years ago, i traveled to europe. i saw and heard so many stories, saw so many beautiful places, met a lot of broken people. last year the spring brought a big change in me moving to Atlanta. this experience broke me once again. i learned a lot of lessons the hard way, but do we ever really learn the easy way?
i’ve come back from these experiences with a fresh realization of the world’s brokenness, of my own brokenness. i’ve felt god close in those times, and he has helped me rearrange the pieces, and build me back up, but slightly changed.
this spring i’ve set out on an adventure. realizing that humans seek comfort and stability, moving back to orlando has forced me out of that and i refuse to settle for comfort. we have to be forced into change, into the uncomfortable. its discomfort that transforms you. and allows your pieces to be re-shifted.
i long to be transformed. permanently and perfectly.
i graduated a year and a half ago. everyone i talk to agrees that this is one of the most confusing and hardest times of one’s life. adults tell me that they’re still trying to figure out what they’re going to be “when they grow up.” unfortunately this isn’t the greatest time in america’s history to be figuring it out. the alternative to not knowing what exactly to do is take a risk and just try out something and hopefully find your niche. but now it’s hard to even find the opportunity. its been a year of bumbling through my days. dreaming and scheming and thinking about options. it would be very comfortable, very “worthy,” very american to default to grad school. that seems the thing to do when you don’t know what to do after undergrad. but i don’t want to just jump into something else. something comfortable.
intentional community is heavy on my heart. it’s the thing that keeps coming back as i search through options and adventures. when i read exodus 36 and acts 2, i can literally feel my heart beat faster. i want to find people that are passionate about making christianity real. i want to see how other people are doing this. i want to hear people talk about attempts, successes, failures. how they do it in the mundane. in the extraordinary. in the everyday. the exodus community came together in the middle of the desert and build a tabernacle, something with the only intentions of glorifying god. they were so generous. so sacrificial.
i want a space for gathering, creating things, sharing those creations, encouraging one another, and collaborating with each other. i want to help reduce the barriers that prevent people from creating. (i.e. lack of space, lack of resources, lack of people who give a crap.) a safe place to create, marked by generous participation with and encouragement of one another, as well as mutual education. i want to reach beyond ourselves in generously meeting the needs of the people of orlando to the best of our ability - impacting their lives through our creations. yeah.
let’s do this.
i'm so thankful for the community i'm in. i know know know that there is purpose in god's timing and placement in conjunction with these ideas. they have been so supportive in the last couple months concerning this and can not wait to walk through this with them and support each other.
Monday, March 15, 2010
dear friend,
my previous entry was intended to be a catalyst for me to start writing my thoughts down throughout lent. i placed the dominos too far away from each other. chain reaction failure.
being vegan is hard but my innards appreciate my efforts. there was one week where i worked 50 something hours and the last thing i wanted to do was think about food alternatives, so i caved. it's so unsatisfying. everything in me screams, "this is such a good idea! it will taste so good. be so much easier." i'm wrong every time. i see with fresh eyes how imperfect i am, shocking i know. but gracious, it's not about my effort, not about how good i can be, how much i can deny myself. in my complaints and giving in, i have been praising him so much cause i would be doomed to hell within 24 hours, if that, if not for grace. i need him. every minute.
this, amoung other things, has made me feel like such a little kid lately. sticky hands and drool faced, kicking and screaming against life. except i have the knowledge and reason of a twenty three year old. so i'm having these fits and all the while saying, "shannon, you're being ridiculous right now. you know if you get what you're asking for, you'll be terribly unhappy." i'm begging for wisdom and direction and answers and i get a hint of it and i say, "uh huh, don't want that responsibility, that's too much to ask of me, i can't. i'd rather be unhappily comfortable. thanks anyway."
it's a battle against inadequacy and fear. and again, through my tears and kicks and screams and a tantrum that ranks up there with the spoiledest of kids, i hear god saying to me...
"i like when i get to see who you really are, when you shed the layers of pride and pretense that have protected you all these years. please, i beg, let those dead layers come undone; let them hold you no longer! shake them off, bury them deep, deep down in the dirt.
"i invite you to come and to live; to really live. open your heart and stare at your beating flesh. pound your chest- see that after all this time you can still feel. come and listen; know the things that you have not yet known. be afraid no more. friend, be afraid no more. let yourself be seen- not in good lighting or in premeditated glimpses, but in fullness and even in failure. oh to be human, the fragility of it all!
"postulate yourself in honesty, in humility. won’t you join the rest of humanity?
"come and dance and sing this mysterious song with me. put it all on the line, as you have wished to do for some time. spring is coming, let new life be seen. let yourself love and be loved, for it is the only thing that matters."
being vegan is hard but my innards appreciate my efforts. there was one week where i worked 50 something hours and the last thing i wanted to do was think about food alternatives, so i caved. it's so unsatisfying. everything in me screams, "this is such a good idea! it will taste so good. be so much easier." i'm wrong every time. i see with fresh eyes how imperfect i am, shocking i know. but gracious, it's not about my effort, not about how good i can be, how much i can deny myself. in my complaints and giving in, i have been praising him so much cause i would be doomed to hell within 24 hours, if that, if not for grace. i need him. every minute.
this, amoung other things, has made me feel like such a little kid lately. sticky hands and drool faced, kicking and screaming against life. except i have the knowledge and reason of a twenty three year old. so i'm having these fits and all the while saying, "shannon, you're being ridiculous right now. you know if you get what you're asking for, you'll be terribly unhappy." i'm begging for wisdom and direction and answers and i get a hint of it and i say, "uh huh, don't want that responsibility, that's too much to ask of me, i can't. i'd rather be unhappily comfortable. thanks anyway."
it's a battle against inadequacy and fear. and again, through my tears and kicks and screams and a tantrum that ranks up there with the spoiledest of kids, i hear god saying to me...
"i like when i get to see who you really are, when you shed the layers of pride and pretense that have protected you all these years. please, i beg, let those dead layers come undone; let them hold you no longer! shake them off, bury them deep, deep down in the dirt.
"i invite you to come and to live; to really live. open your heart and stare at your beating flesh. pound your chest- see that after all this time you can still feel. come and listen; know the things that you have not yet known. be afraid no more. friend, be afraid no more. let yourself be seen- not in good lighting or in premeditated glimpses, but in fullness and even in failure. oh to be human, the fragility of it all!
"postulate yourself in honesty, in humility. won’t you join the rest of humanity?
"come and dance and sing this mysterious song with me. put it all on the line, as you have wished to do for some time. spring is coming, let new life be seen. let yourself love and be loved, for it is the only thing that matters."
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
kaleidoscopic
well, hello.
i’ve returned to van gogh’s arles. the house isn’t yellow. it’s not a new city, but familiar. and i’m still sane. but there is vibrancy in color and new community. i don’t love the city, the lights, the landscape. but my community and life is bursting with new sunlight. seismologists are stooped.
as i sat here, phrases perambulated, and i kept thinking, ‘that’s the perfect title.’ but then the bridge got overcrowded and i couldn’t bear to push anyone in the koi pond.
orlando: redeemed. you are enough. don’t fortify the parthenon. he is jealous for me. neither a nebbish. the face that launch’d a thousand ships. vegan, surely not; well, maybe.
and there it stood,
whatever it was, i mistook,
as responsibility.
and when i denied,
myself, my mind,
it became possibility
i’m taking a mini sabbath today to prepare for lent. i’m really excited to take it seriously this year. in the past, i think i’ve tried chocolate and coffee and only once successfully gave up facebook. but it was just to do it, to see if i could. i made it about myself, and depended on myself so i failed or forgot or became self-righteous, complete with the effigy and title of perpetual dictator. equals demise and removes any room for him to move.
but! one big enough to make anthony ray do a double take. lately i’ve been stumbling through the practice of meditating and focusing on the hebrew-like plainchant of getting covered by the dust of His feet. realizing jesus is enough. instead of the customary pursuit of greek education and being a renaissance woman of sorts. the hebrew system pits distribution against accumulation. obedience against information. weakness against strength. dependence against independence. denial against indulgence. righteous against religious. [related side note. genesis 15:6 calls abraham righteous for merely believing the Lord. righteous: morally upright, without guilt or sin. grace! gah.]
that, more or less, sums up why i want to participate in lent this year. i’ve underrated obedience so many times. the paradox in the responsibility of actively denying ourselves of activity, control. he calls us to be holy. living sacrifices. i heard this fact about israelites who brought sacrifices to the temple in good faith but the animal was blemished so the priest couldn’t kill it. but it was blessed so they couldn’t send the animal back with the person. so these blemished animals would spend the rest of their lives at the temple, where god dwelled in the old testament. literally living sacrifices. that’s us. blemished humans that should never stray from the presence of god. and never do because of what christ did. i’m really excited to have 40 days to continue to focus on that chasm. that truth. that gift. that sacrifice.
michael collins didn’t get to walk. there will be frustration in mere observation. in the inactivity. but in a very small way every piece of meat or dairy i deny, i hope to remember remember… that only he is enough. i look forward to the day when christ rose so that we could he could forever dwell within us; and for the picture of what the day will be like when the gates swing open and all will be made new. what a feast it will be; vegan, surely not. well, maybe.
it’s so beautiful how only you can satisfy this heart. [that probably the title that captured my feelings best. but it was too long.]
i’ll drink socrates’ hemlock, if i must.
ka⋅lei⋅do⋅scop⋅ic /kəˌlaɪdəˈskɒpɪk/ –adjective
1. changing form, pattern, color, etc.
2. changeable, fluctuating, protean, variable.
3. indecisive
i’ve returned to van gogh’s arles. the house isn’t yellow. it’s not a new city, but familiar. and i’m still sane. but there is vibrancy in color and new community. i don’t love the city, the lights, the landscape. but my community and life is bursting with new sunlight. seismologists are stooped.
as i sat here, phrases perambulated, and i kept thinking, ‘that’s the perfect title.’ but then the bridge got overcrowded and i couldn’t bear to push anyone in the koi pond.
orlando: redeemed. you are enough. don’t fortify the parthenon. he is jealous for me. neither a nebbish. the face that launch’d a thousand ships. vegan, surely not; well, maybe.
and there it stood,
whatever it was, i mistook,
as responsibility.
and when i denied,
myself, my mind,
it became possibility
i’m taking a mini sabbath today to prepare for lent. i’m really excited to take it seriously this year. in the past, i think i’ve tried chocolate and coffee and only once successfully gave up facebook. but it was just to do it, to see if i could. i made it about myself, and depended on myself so i failed or forgot or became self-righteous, complete with the effigy and title of perpetual dictator. equals demise and removes any room for him to move.
but! one big enough to make anthony ray do a double take. lately i’ve been stumbling through the practice of meditating and focusing on the hebrew-like plainchant of getting covered by the dust of His feet. realizing jesus is enough. instead of the customary pursuit of greek education and being a renaissance woman of sorts. the hebrew system pits distribution against accumulation. obedience against information. weakness against strength. dependence against independence. denial against indulgence. righteous against religious. [related side note. genesis 15:6 calls abraham righteous for merely believing the Lord. righteous: morally upright, without guilt or sin. grace! gah.]
that, more or less, sums up why i want to participate in lent this year. i’ve underrated obedience so many times. the paradox in the responsibility of actively denying ourselves of activity, control. he calls us to be holy. living sacrifices. i heard this fact about israelites who brought sacrifices to the temple in good faith but the animal was blemished so the priest couldn’t kill it. but it was blessed so they couldn’t send the animal back with the person. so these blemished animals would spend the rest of their lives at the temple, where god dwelled in the old testament. literally living sacrifices. that’s us. blemished humans that should never stray from the presence of god. and never do because of what christ did. i’m really excited to have 40 days to continue to focus on that chasm. that truth. that gift. that sacrifice.
michael collins didn’t get to walk. there will be frustration in mere observation. in the inactivity. but in a very small way every piece of meat or dairy i deny, i hope to remember remember… that only he is enough. i look forward to the day when christ rose so that we could he could forever dwell within us; and for the picture of what the day will be like when the gates swing open and all will be made new. what a feast it will be; vegan, surely not. well, maybe.
it’s so beautiful how only you can satisfy this heart. [that probably the title that captured my feelings best. but it was too long.]
i’ll drink socrates’ hemlock, if i must.
ka⋅lei⋅do⋅scop⋅ic /kəˌlaɪdəˈskɒpɪk/ –adjective
1. changing form, pattern, color, etc.
2. changeable, fluctuating, protean, variable.
3. indecisive
Thursday, December 24, 2009
ramblings
a beautiful soul and artist unexpectedly stepped into my life. imparting words which were wrapped in comfort knowing that i was not alone. the very nature of an artist is to teem with imagination and ideas. an unhealthy idealism leads me down unhealthy unceasing paths of what could be. what could be if i could facilitate community with consistency. what beauty could come out of that, in so many different avenues and branches. roadways and foliage bursting with possibility. overlapping and intricately weaved in and out of each other, never choking, merely producing life and more life. life abundant. what if we could love each other. what if i could love. what if we recaptured that which was lost. what if we supported our words with action. what if we were completely selfless. what if we could love.
point is. the source of my frustration lately has been a longing for kingdom come. i’m sick of messing up. but its something that i am naturally inclined to do. which by the way, is frustrating in and of itself, why to we have to be inclined to fail. that’s a shitty plan. i have a big imagination and an idealist, which means even more let downs. maybe naivety has saved me till now. but i’m becoming more and more disappointed as i grow up. i can be in awe of and try to be like a child, but it becomes childish. i’m not a child. we grow up. we have to find a new way to connect. on more realistic terms i suppose.
even adam and eve had an inclination to fail. they lost awe of god. desired to make themselves like god. i recognize that’s what i’m doing. i know my perspective is small and god must be smirking at me thinking me silly and puerile. fine. but it’s a shitty plan.
i feel like i'm in a movie scene. or maybe an actual scene from my own life. where i'm throwing a tantrum. my parents put me in my room. i'm banging against the door, crying until my eyes start hurting. through my cries and screams, i know in my head exactly what i need to do to get out of my room. my parents have told me, past trips to my room and back out reinforce it. how to be free and play again, to escape the isolation. misery feels better though in that moment, i am in complete control of my misery. and its miserable. but i'm so stubborn.
point is. the source of my frustration lately has been a longing for kingdom come. i’m sick of messing up. but its something that i am naturally inclined to do. which by the way, is frustrating in and of itself, why to we have to be inclined to fail. that’s a shitty plan. i have a big imagination and an idealist, which means even more let downs. maybe naivety has saved me till now. but i’m becoming more and more disappointed as i grow up. i can be in awe of and try to be like a child, but it becomes childish. i’m not a child. we grow up. we have to find a new way to connect. on more realistic terms i suppose.
even adam and eve had an inclination to fail. they lost awe of god. desired to make themselves like god. i recognize that’s what i’m doing. i know my perspective is small and god must be smirking at me thinking me silly and puerile. fine. but it’s a shitty plan.
i feel like i'm in a movie scene. or maybe an actual scene from my own life. where i'm throwing a tantrum. my parents put me in my room. i'm banging against the door, crying until my eyes start hurting. through my cries and screams, i know in my head exactly what i need to do to get out of my room. my parents have told me, past trips to my room and back out reinforce it. how to be free and play again, to escape the isolation. misery feels better though in that moment, i am in complete control of my misery. and its miserable. but i'm so stubborn.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
pregnant with possibilities
i've started to break in a series. the beginning materialized in my orlando recoil, overwhelmed by both my options and my limitations. adept and incapable to do anything i wanted. where do i even begin to start over?
it's been one of the few times in my life where i ran to my creativity to express myself. i've never made it to the end of my list of avenues. frankly, i'm scared of letting myself be fully known, letting others feel the weight of who i am, let alone expressing myself in a tangible way. leaving actual evidence. of me. for everyone to judge and analyze.
i suppose i was desperate.
white. blank slate. me.
my train of thought went to plans, layouts, blueprints, notes- scratchings, sketches, brainstorms that take place at a beginning of an idea. all beautiful things in the world started from a blank slate. all inventions, all architecture of antiquity and modern, and on a larger scale- all nature and creation. everything. granted, people and art absolutely do not exist in a vacuum and surely are inspired by something. so it's not perfectly white. (see also: jasper johns' off-white american flag, also a big inspiration.) plus, everything is slightly tainted, unconsciously biased by culture or upbringing and sin. so images appear, transcend, out of this off-white, that's been worked- underlining sketches and scratchings, underlying colors and images. something boldly steps forward. against the white. fighting against nothingness.
i wanted to test out the technique so i started by just doing a plain chandelier. something that i've always found absolutely beautiful, a symbol of elegance. completely ornamental. embellishment. if you're gonna effing light up a place, do it well. do it elegantly. someone set out from nothing, some light bulbs and crystals. all those individually beautiful pieces. together. it was a new idea at some point. and someone had to work, possibly from humble beginnings, to buy it.
i've finished two other small ones, re-working a few big ones, and really excited about one i'm in the middle of. i have an extremely hard time finishing things. but am excited to continue to express this season of life. the idea and technique has evolved slightly, but here's the first, with my camera phone, please excuse low quality and give me a little extra credit, of course you can't get the full effect.
it's been one of the few times in my life where i ran to my creativity to express myself. i've never made it to the end of my list of avenues. frankly, i'm scared of letting myself be fully known, letting others feel the weight of who i am, let alone expressing myself in a tangible way. leaving actual evidence. of me. for everyone to judge and analyze.
i suppose i was desperate.
white. blank slate. me.
my train of thought went to plans, layouts, blueprints, notes- scratchings, sketches, brainstorms that take place at a beginning of an idea. all beautiful things in the world started from a blank slate. all inventions, all architecture of antiquity and modern, and on a larger scale- all nature and creation. everything. granted, people and art absolutely do not exist in a vacuum and surely are inspired by something. so it's not perfectly white. (see also: jasper johns' off-white american flag, also a big inspiration.) plus, everything is slightly tainted, unconsciously biased by culture or upbringing and sin. so images appear, transcend, out of this off-white, that's been worked- underlining sketches and scratchings, underlying colors and images. something boldly steps forward. against the white. fighting against nothingness.
i wanted to test out the technique so i started by just doing a plain chandelier. something that i've always found absolutely beautiful, a symbol of elegance. completely ornamental. embellishment. if you're gonna effing light up a place, do it well. do it elegantly. someone set out from nothing, some light bulbs and crystals. all those individually beautiful pieces. together. it was a new idea at some point. and someone had to work, possibly from humble beginnings, to buy it.
i've finished two other small ones, re-working a few big ones, and really excited about one i'm in the middle of. i have an extremely hard time finishing things. but am excited to continue to express this season of life. the idea and technique has evolved slightly, but here's the first, with my camera phone, please excuse low quality and give me a little extra credit, of course you can't get the full effect.
Monday, October 26, 2009
i think you might. just have to trust me on this one.
god’s language assignment to adam exposed a void. unfolded incompleteness.
in naming creation adam realizes a need. a desire. for relational answering. for intimacy. naming something involves knowing it intimately, it’s an inextricably personal and meaningful process. one that must have taken a long time and a lot of thought.
he nailed it. can you imagine calling a fox by any other name. or a robin, a hippopotamus. or a skunk. you just don’t pull that out. and eventually adam is able to call all of creation by name… but they don’t answer. god chose to construct the story of creation this way. he set him up!
countless numbers of jewish people went without a messiah. without intimacy. set up. adam must have been so lonely. none were like him. none capable of relationship, all of them at the mercy of primal instincts. adam was participating in creation. by himself. incompleteness.
actual story or allegory, either way, exposes god's intentions. brilliance. plan. he's continually creating. it doesn’t stop in genesis. he is shaping us, never a non participant. and maybe, just maybe, beyond my short-sightedness, there is a reason for my state of inefficacy. my feelings of mediocrity. puerility. incompleteness.
in naming creation adam realizes a need. a desire. for relational answering. for intimacy. naming something involves knowing it intimately, it’s an inextricably personal and meaningful process. one that must have taken a long time and a lot of thought.
he nailed it. can you imagine calling a fox by any other name. or a robin, a hippopotamus. or a skunk. you just don’t pull that out. and eventually adam is able to call all of creation by name… but they don’t answer. god chose to construct the story of creation this way. he set him up!
countless numbers of jewish people went without a messiah. without intimacy. set up. adam must have been so lonely. none were like him. none capable of relationship, all of them at the mercy of primal instincts. adam was participating in creation. by himself. incompleteness.
actual story or allegory, either way, exposes god's intentions. brilliance. plan. he's continually creating. it doesn’t stop in genesis. he is shaping us, never a non participant. and maybe, just maybe, beyond my short-sightedness, there is a reason for my state of inefficacy. my feelings of mediocrity. puerility. incompleteness.
Friday, October 23, 2009
i pride myself on my humility
maybe i've become cynical. [i realized the other day during a community night that i felt a disconnect. i've been learning and talking a lot about god but not talking to him. any approach to salvation, which he is playing out every day, that does not eventually become worship becomes distorted and reduced to a concept. a program. a technique. we master it and therefore control it. with intentions of worshiping together, i felt a loss of words during corporate praise and prayer. i've taken control.] all this to say, maybe the following is biased. maybe i’m cynical.
i found myself rolling my eyes at status updates that boast of, "great nights, great friends," "i love my life," "i am so lucky." [preconceived judgments possibly influence some intolerance.] i think, 'yea, so?' these sentiments in my mini-feed and twitter feel forced. seem fake. self-applauding. disconnect.
god is the source of all that is good. everything that's beautiful... wonderful. sorry, i couldn't resist. a dismaying abundance of altruistic phenomenon abides in the everyday. creation is endlessly complex. everyone can and does encounter good things in stunning and variegated ways, there's endless possibilities, literally. accordingly there’s disconnect with differing arrays of happiness. we roll our eyes, even if it's genuine from their end. rare is the discovery and connection with a kindred soul and stumbling upon such confidantes should in fact be celebrated. not everyone would delight in a rare thrift store find or the accomplishment of finishing a difficult run. to truly celebrate the good things you experience with you. to know first hand the feeling, because they’ve felt it. they make you feel like you're not the only one. cause you’re not.
i'm much more prone to comment or "like" or reply to updates concerning upsets, discouragements, sadness, injustices, hopelessness, annoyances. i can relate on a deep level more easily without preclusion. the devil’s imagination is vastly smaller than gods, not as far-reaching, his tools less reverberant. i understand human defense mechanisms, pains, the annoyances, the guilt, the same propensity to sin, same heart ache, same weaknesses, same lies. even if it's not the same circumstances, i have files and files of history of hurts i can pull from. empathize with.
it takes a lot less effort to relate the pains of being human. it takes certain skill to evoke an experience of beauty. god is too vast. ineffable. there's too big of a vocabulary to pull from. masters of written and spoken words chiefly seem to succeed when they evoke those feelings of embarrassment, pain, annoyance, hurt, abandonment. they cause you to mourn with or laugh at shared experiences, but they connect. the pains of being a human.
yes, i just blogged about status updates.
i found myself rolling my eyes at status updates that boast of, "great nights, great friends," "i love my life," "i am so lucky." [preconceived judgments possibly influence some intolerance.] i think, 'yea, so?' these sentiments in my mini-feed and twitter feel forced. seem fake. self-applauding. disconnect.
god is the source of all that is good. everything that's beautiful... wonderful. sorry, i couldn't resist. a dismaying abundance of altruistic phenomenon abides in the everyday. creation is endlessly complex. everyone can and does encounter good things in stunning and variegated ways, there's endless possibilities, literally. accordingly there’s disconnect with differing arrays of happiness. we roll our eyes, even if it's genuine from their end. rare is the discovery and connection with a kindred soul and stumbling upon such confidantes should in fact be celebrated. not everyone would delight in a rare thrift store find or the accomplishment of finishing a difficult run. to truly celebrate the good things you experience with you. to know first hand the feeling, because they’ve felt it. they make you feel like you're not the only one. cause you’re not.
i'm much more prone to comment or "like" or reply to updates concerning upsets, discouragements, sadness, injustices, hopelessness, annoyances. i can relate on a deep level more easily without preclusion. the devil’s imagination is vastly smaller than gods, not as far-reaching, his tools less reverberant. i understand human defense mechanisms, pains, the annoyances, the guilt, the same propensity to sin, same heart ache, same weaknesses, same lies. even if it's not the same circumstances, i have files and files of history of hurts i can pull from. empathize with.
it takes a lot less effort to relate the pains of being human. it takes certain skill to evoke an experience of beauty. god is too vast. ineffable. there's too big of a vocabulary to pull from. masters of written and spoken words chiefly seem to succeed when they evoke those feelings of embarrassment, pain, annoyance, hurt, abandonment. they cause you to mourn with or laugh at shared experiences, but they connect. the pains of being a human.
yes, i just blogged about status updates.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
wild!
collection of thoughts after seeing where the wild things are. combined with thoughts from 'christ plays in ten thousand places' and 'the creative habit' ...
"everything that happens in a day is a transaction between the external world and my internal world. everything is raw material. everything is relevant. everything is usable. everything feeds into my creativity. but without proper preparation, i cannot see it, retain it, use it."
where the wild things are encapsulates all those childhood feelings of wonder and angst. and emotions that you don't quite know how to deal with yet so you wind up on top of the kitchen table screaming at your mother. all those beautiful, imaginative, intense feelings that we've squandered and labeled as maturity. as we get older, we develop competence and gain mastery over ourselves and our environment. we become so absorbed in what were doing, where were going; that god's work, god's creation is forgotten or marginalized. but our minds and imagination are inherently unrestricted and boundless from birth and we’re designed to begin participating in god's creation work.
something in max told him that celebration of creation and of each other was the first step to eliminating sadness, and so a wild rumpus began. a child knew instinctively. a child also innately knew that establishing a common goal for the monsters would bring them together. their community served together and for each other. there are things that are so carnal, so instinctive, so intrinsically life-giving that it can only point to the way things were meant to be. max unhesitatingly and barbarously discerns that.
but max is no savior. he can't live up to it. his ability to control starts to crumble after the early apogee of escaping there. the depravity of humans is beautifully and masterfully revealed.
everything in the movie, like a child, is raw, unfiltered, risky, and unabashedly nonsensical. from the dialogue to the music, it doesn't owe anything to anyone, it's free.
jesus said we can only enter the kingdom "as a little child." we rarely take the time to detach ourselves from the world's way of doing things and from our own compulsions. we take things into our own hands. we are not free to see and respond to who god is and what he is doing. to attend. to adore. as a little child.
"everything that happens in a day is a transaction between the external world and my internal world. everything is raw material. everything is relevant. everything is usable. everything feeds into my creativity. but without proper preparation, i cannot see it, retain it, use it."
where the wild things are encapsulates all those childhood feelings of wonder and angst. and emotions that you don't quite know how to deal with yet so you wind up on top of the kitchen table screaming at your mother. all those beautiful, imaginative, intense feelings that we've squandered and labeled as maturity. as we get older, we develop competence and gain mastery over ourselves and our environment. we become so absorbed in what were doing, where were going; that god's work, god's creation is forgotten or marginalized. but our minds and imagination are inherently unrestricted and boundless from birth and we’re designed to begin participating in god's creation work.
something in max told him that celebration of creation and of each other was the first step to eliminating sadness, and so a wild rumpus began. a child knew instinctively. a child also innately knew that establishing a common goal for the monsters would bring them together. their community served together and for each other. there are things that are so carnal, so instinctive, so intrinsically life-giving that it can only point to the way things were meant to be. max unhesitatingly and barbarously discerns that.
but max is no savior. he can't live up to it. his ability to control starts to crumble after the early apogee of escaping there. the depravity of humans is beautifully and masterfully revealed.
everything in the movie, like a child, is raw, unfiltered, risky, and unabashedly nonsensical. from the dialogue to the music, it doesn't owe anything to anyone, it's free.
jesus said we can only enter the kingdom "as a little child." we rarely take the time to detach ourselves from the world's way of doing things and from our own compulsions. we take things into our own hands. we are not free to see and respond to who god is and what he is doing. to attend. to adore. as a little child.
Friday, August 21, 2009
preterpluperfect
human beings were made not only to believe in god abstractly but to love him supremely, center their lives on him, and build their identities on him. the first commandment, to not have any other gods before him, defines sin as making good things into ultimate things. seeking something else more central to your significance, purpose, and happiness than your relationship with god.
no human relationship can bear this burden of godhood, if your partner is your ‘all’ then any shortcoming in him becomes a major threat to you. in the other person we hope to ride ourselves of our feeling of nothingness, to know our existence has not been vain. we want redemption. needless to say, humans cannot give this.
only if your identity is built on god and his love can you have a self that can venture anything, face anything.
paraphrased bits i learned from tim keller and ernest becker. these words gave me yet another ‘ah ha’ moment. intercedes to illuminate my dark places. i feel so free. this time i feel like these shimmers of elucidation are to foster my heart and mind for something else. as a preventative measure. god whispering, 'this is not the way, follow me.' i might easily confuse this with a way to make foregoing things better. to hold on. but its preterpluperfect. and i'm more than ok with that. finally.
no human relationship can bear this burden of godhood, if your partner is your ‘all’ then any shortcoming in him becomes a major threat to you. in the other person we hope to ride ourselves of our feeling of nothingness, to know our existence has not been vain. we want redemption. needless to say, humans cannot give this.
only if your identity is built on god and his love can you have a self that can venture anything, face anything.
paraphrased bits i learned from tim keller and ernest becker. these words gave me yet another ‘ah ha’ moment. intercedes to illuminate my dark places. i feel so free. this time i feel like these shimmers of elucidation are to foster my heart and mind for something else. as a preventative measure. god whispering, 'this is not the way, follow me.' i might easily confuse this with a way to make foregoing things better. to hold on. but its preterpluperfect. and i'm more than ok with that. finally.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
more than morpheme
this is far too much paint for one to have without actually painting. i have a series in mind that i want to do. and so i will. everyday. for at least an hour. willing to make some mistakes.
one interesting thought that someone pointed out to me about being equally yoked.. i had always seen that being applied to strictly not yoking yourself to an unchristian, if you are a christian. but not as the caliber of christians dating other christians. i can’t expect some amazing man of god to want to be with me if i’m not trying to be the type of woman deserving of that. my yoke does not reach such heights.
Monday, August 17, 2009
brim of utterance
i was riding my bike and almost crashed. it’s weird going from a fixed to a geared bike. i went to brake and push back on the pedals to find that i only coasted. luckily drivers were paying attention this morning.
i had the thought when i felt sweat start to drip due to the brutish florida sun, inattentive and injudicious that the morning hours are reserved for the coolness of day. i saw a woman walking with an umbrella to block the sun, and from the depths of my memory i thought of wearing one of those umbrella hats. my dad is a huge proponent of function over form, the horror of an adolescent girl who walks through those days with, ‘dad! you’re embarrassing me’ at the tip of her tongue. i remember we were at the atlanta olympics, which made me about ten, on the cusp of knowing what was cool and what was very very uncool. dad had already wrecked my image by making us ride our bikes around and being completely unscrupulous scalping for tickets… to events like fencing and boxing nonetheless. all this to say, we bought umbrella hats for the occasion that he thought were man’s best invention at the time. and i remember being horrifyingly humbled at a tennis match where i refused to wear the stupid hat for at least half the match until my face was sunburned and my clothes drenched in sweat, i longed for the shade that the umbrella offered. dad would be so proud if i wore one when riding my bike around lake mary i think.
god is relentless, his love remorseless, he wants our salvation with the determination due its importance. in the past weeks i've asked for a prayerful heart and, the lord striped away the props that i leaned on; for a humble heart, and he gave me humiliations; an increase of faith, he striped me of the safety that i’d identified with faith. i prayed not really believing, or thinking i knew how he would answer me. i shouldn't be shocked at the way he answered me- i gave him a little room to move, and he did. it's no wonder he made that day on the tennis court so blistering hot.
i’ve read that the first conversion is generally characterized by joy and enthusiasm and filled with felt alleviation and a profound sense of god’s presence, the second is marked by dryness, barrenness, desolation, and a profound sense of god’s absence. shamefully i think this might make my third or fourth ‘conversion’ but its an indispensable stage of spiritual growth. a grim realization and acceptance of the fact that i am totally dependent upon god’s love and mercy. he emptied me so that i could become humble and detached, knowing that he hasn’t deserted me but removed obstacles keeping me from a deeper union. without such there could be no movement in love. there is no cheap grace. these only dispose us to prayer, humility, and faith, not just an excuse to wallow in the suffering, self-pity, rebellion, pride or apathy that catenates.
i had the thought when i felt sweat start to drip due to the brutish florida sun, inattentive and injudicious that the morning hours are reserved for the coolness of day. i saw a woman walking with an umbrella to block the sun, and from the depths of my memory i thought of wearing one of those umbrella hats. my dad is a huge proponent of function over form, the horror of an adolescent girl who walks through those days with, ‘dad! you’re embarrassing me’ at the tip of her tongue. i remember we were at the atlanta olympics, which made me about ten, on the cusp of knowing what was cool and what was very very uncool. dad had already wrecked my image by making us ride our bikes around and being completely unscrupulous scalping for tickets… to events like fencing and boxing nonetheless. all this to say, we bought umbrella hats for the occasion that he thought were man’s best invention at the time. and i remember being horrifyingly humbled at a tennis match where i refused to wear the stupid hat for at least half the match until my face was sunburned and my clothes drenched in sweat, i longed for the shade that the umbrella offered. dad would be so proud if i wore one when riding my bike around lake mary i think.
god is relentless, his love remorseless, he wants our salvation with the determination due its importance. in the past weeks i've asked for a prayerful heart and, the lord striped away the props that i leaned on; for a humble heart, and he gave me humiliations; an increase of faith, he striped me of the safety that i’d identified with faith. i prayed not really believing, or thinking i knew how he would answer me. i shouldn't be shocked at the way he answered me- i gave him a little room to move, and he did. it's no wonder he made that day on the tennis court so blistering hot.
i’ve read that the first conversion is generally characterized by joy and enthusiasm and filled with felt alleviation and a profound sense of god’s presence, the second is marked by dryness, barrenness, desolation, and a profound sense of god’s absence. shamefully i think this might make my third or fourth ‘conversion’ but its an indispensable stage of spiritual growth. a grim realization and acceptance of the fact that i am totally dependent upon god’s love and mercy. he emptied me so that i could become humble and detached, knowing that he hasn’t deserted me but removed obstacles keeping me from a deeper union. without such there could be no movement in love. there is no cheap grace. these only dispose us to prayer, humility, and faith, not just an excuse to wallow in the suffering, self-pity, rebellion, pride or apathy that catenates.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
day two
someone invited me to go overseas long-term with a small group of people that i really really admire. my immediate response is to jump on board. is it because i'm running away. is because it's easy. because i'm impatient. i semi-impulsively moved away before, thinking it would be best for me without giving it a second thought. and now i'm back. i don't want to do that again. i don't even know how to sort out my feelings and what god would want.
christine, sally and i were walking in the mall and saw this hurricane experience thing and were to far too intrigued to pass it up. but not quite stupid enough to pay two dollars for it. we ended up sitting in near-by la.z.boys and waited for someone else who was slightly more intrigued to risk the two dollars. or a child who could convince a parent to rob a bank with the right facial expression, tears, or bat of an eye. success. it turned out to just blow wind at the kid for 10 seconds. his assessment, 'my eyes hurt.'
christine, sally and i were walking in the mall and saw this hurricane experience thing and were to far too intrigued to pass it up. but not quite stupid enough to pay two dollars for it. we ended up sitting in near-by la.z.boys and waited for someone else who was slightly more intrigued to risk the two dollars. or a child who could convince a parent to rob a bank with the right facial expression, tears, or bat of an eye. success. it turned out to just blow wind at the kid for 10 seconds. his assessment, 'my eyes hurt.'
Saturday, August 15, 2009
dulcinea
'the signature of jesus' is helping me sort through some things that have happened in the past couple months. speaking straight to my heart. i'm not sure what will happen in the future, and if i'll be given a chance to redeem myself. or if these lessons are to be learned for someone else. i think too much trust has been lost and a desire to move on might be weighing too heavily. regardless, these need to be apart of who i am, always, i cannot be 'successful' otherwise. four things that i can pinpoint that i was lacking... not the only things, but what i identify with so far in the book. these are basically taken straight from it but i couldn't otherwise express with clarity my deficiencies like he does.
one.
the early church was built on small groups of people who came together to support one another in a whole new way of life. these communities should be small enough for intimacy, kindred enough for acceptance, and gentle enough for criticism. egos will collide, personalities conflict, power-brokers intrude, anger and resentment surface, risk is inevitable. there can be no vulnerability without risk; there can be no community without vulnerability, there can be no peace and ultimately no life, without community.
two.
the question at the last judgment was ‘how did you respond to needy brothers and sisters?’ he expects humble apprenticeship and serving love. 'whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' -matthew 25:40. i was convicted of this a little while back in deuteronomy where serving is closely tied with the greatest commandment. you can't separate the two. i lacked that in atlanta and it was detrimental.
three.
"the gentleness of jesus with sinners flowed from his ability to read their hearts and to detect the sincerity and goodness there. behind men’s grumpiest poses and most puzzling defense mechanisms, behind their arrogance and airs, behind their silence, sneers, and curses, jesus saw little children who hadn’t been loved enough and had ceased growing because someone had ceased believing in them." i had forgotten that jesus does that to me and that i should do that to others.
manning uses the story of alonsa (don quixote) and aldonza, a tramp. in delusion alonso treats aldonza as an aristocrat. he calls her "dulcinea," my lady, my sweet little one. this awakens something in her she thought she could never be. she had been dead, frozen, immune to human emotion. but she began to believe that she was dulcinea. we have a powerful impact on others.
four.
"self hatred is an indecent luxury that no disciple can afford. it subtly reestablishes me as the center of my focus and concern. biblically this is idolatry. any spirituality that does not lead from a self-centered to an other-centered mode of existence is bankrupt."
dang manning. dang.
one.
the early church was built on small groups of people who came together to support one another in a whole new way of life. these communities should be small enough for intimacy, kindred enough for acceptance, and gentle enough for criticism. egos will collide, personalities conflict, power-brokers intrude, anger and resentment surface, risk is inevitable. there can be no vulnerability without risk; there can be no community without vulnerability, there can be no peace and ultimately no life, without community.
two.
the question at the last judgment was ‘how did you respond to needy brothers and sisters?’ he expects humble apprenticeship and serving love. 'whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' -matthew 25:40. i was convicted of this a little while back in deuteronomy where serving is closely tied with the greatest commandment. you can't separate the two. i lacked that in atlanta and it was detrimental.
three.
"the gentleness of jesus with sinners flowed from his ability to read their hearts and to detect the sincerity and goodness there. behind men’s grumpiest poses and most puzzling defense mechanisms, behind their arrogance and airs, behind their silence, sneers, and curses, jesus saw little children who hadn’t been loved enough and had ceased growing because someone had ceased believing in them." i had forgotten that jesus does that to me and that i should do that to others.
manning uses the story of alonsa (don quixote) and aldonza, a tramp. in delusion alonso treats aldonza as an aristocrat. he calls her "dulcinea," my lady, my sweet little one. this awakens something in her she thought she could never be. she had been dead, frozen, immune to human emotion. but she began to believe that she was dulcinea. we have a powerful impact on others.
four.
"self hatred is an indecent luxury that no disciple can afford. it subtly reestablishes me as the center of my focus and concern. biblically this is idolatry. any spirituality that does not lead from a self-centered to an other-centered mode of existence is bankrupt."
dang manning. dang.
Friday, August 14, 2009
one more post for today
i have a lot on my mind..
i have been overwhelmed with support and love in the two days that i've been heading back to florida. it really is a beautiful picture of the body of christ. they remind that i'm going to be alright and that i am loved. they also seem to all be on my side. i feel right. i feel justified in my anger. i feel stubborn.
i have promised and intend on seeking god passionately so as to hear his voice on this whole matter. i want to be guided by him. i want to decide and respond with a clear conscience that he is directing me. i've gotten a little boost and reassurance from people that some things i think are true and they agree with me and thats its biblical. i write this to keep myself accountable and to remember that my friends who i deeply love and who are being really great friends do not know whats ultimately best for me. i need gods directing and rebuking and truth above all.
i have been overwhelmed with support and love in the two days that i've been heading back to florida. it really is a beautiful picture of the body of christ. they remind that i'm going to be alright and that i am loved. they also seem to all be on my side. i feel right. i feel justified in my anger. i feel stubborn.
i have promised and intend on seeking god passionately so as to hear his voice on this whole matter. i want to be guided by him. i want to decide and respond with a clear conscience that he is directing me. i've gotten a little boost and reassurance from people that some things i think are true and they agree with me and thats its biblical. i write this to keep myself accountable and to remember that my friends who i deeply love and who are being really great friends do not know whats ultimately best for me. i need gods directing and rebuking and truth above all.
perhaps this is the essence of faith: to be convinced of the reliability of god
throughout his life jesus' words were never those of blaming and shaming, accusing and condemning, threatening, bribing, and labeling. nor should mine. only when we claim the love of christ with heartfelt conviction, this love that transcends all judgments, can we overcome all fear of judgment. as long as we continue to live as if we are what we do, as if we are what we have, and as if we are what other people think about us, we will remain filled with judgments, opinions, evaluations, and condemnations. we will remain addicted to the need to put people in their place.
disservice
i picked back up a book by brennan manning. i record in hopes that i remember a little later in life. in ten days or so.
"our deepest need is for the inexhaustible power of the love of christ. the miracle of christianity is that the need is already met.
"what jesus longs to see in radical disciples is what he saw in little children: a spirit of sheer receptivity, utter dependence, and radical reliance on the power and mercy and grace of God mediated through the spirit of christ. 'apart from me you can do nothing'"
nothing. we cannot even desire god. it requires surrendering daily... daily. to. die. daily. to self-centeredness in all its forms, including self-promotion and self-condemnation. it can't be taken lightly. there is nothing about the life of christ which was mediocre. to follow him is to live and think radically. i realize that i have taken it very lightly in the past few months. not in the past couple days, but months. and i know it would be an extreme disservice if i allowed myself to be with someone who didn't take it seriously. we are not given an 'out' because we're sinners. we are not called to less. we are nothing without him. but that just means i have to rely on him more. not make excuses. how can i expect any relationship, any pursuit, anything, to be fruitful without him.
i love the urgency and seriousness and honesty that you can hear in manning's words. i love his insistence that says it is not a man’s words that measure his faith, but his actions. this stirs my heart. i feel more free. more able. less bound.
"our deepest need is for the inexhaustible power of the love of christ. the miracle of christianity is that the need is already met.
"what jesus longs to see in radical disciples is what he saw in little children: a spirit of sheer receptivity, utter dependence, and radical reliance on the power and mercy and grace of God mediated through the spirit of christ. 'apart from me you can do nothing'"
nothing. we cannot even desire god. it requires surrendering daily... daily. to. die. daily. to self-centeredness in all its forms, including self-promotion and self-condemnation. it can't be taken lightly. there is nothing about the life of christ which was mediocre. to follow him is to live and think radically. i realize that i have taken it very lightly in the past few months. not in the past couple days, but months. and i know it would be an extreme disservice if i allowed myself to be with someone who didn't take it seriously. we are not given an 'out' because we're sinners. we are not called to less. we are nothing without him. but that just means i have to rely on him more. not make excuses. how can i expect any relationship, any pursuit, anything, to be fruitful without him.
i love the urgency and seriousness and honesty that you can hear in manning's words. i love his insistence that says it is not a man’s words that measure his faith, but his actions. this stirs my heart. i feel more free. more able. less bound.
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