July 25, 2006
Getting excited....
This weekend Matthew and I are going with a group to a festival in Stratford, Ontario. There are some great plays on the bill this year. We've got tickets for Oliver, Henry IV, and Twelfth Night, (not all plays are Shakespeare, obviously) and just now I was perusing the website to see if I could find a way to afford adding Much Ado About Nothing as well. It looks like we might be able to get 2 tickets for $20 each, thanks to the fact that Matt is less than 29 years of age. That's an even better rate than what we paid for student tickets for the other plays! I do have to get him a state ID that shows both his picture and date of birth, so we're off to do that bright and early tomorrow. Then we pack up and leave at 3 a.m. on Thursday. I plan to sleep on the bus, believe me!
July 23, 2006
Feelings...
All summer I've been paying attention to feelings. This is not as easy as it sounds, given that I'm an emotion-challenged person who just kind of bulls forward regardless of my own or anyone else's feelings. Isn't life all about "do the right thing"? None of this FEELINGS stuff for me, thank you very much! Of course that's hogwash; we all have feelings whether we pay attention to them or not. So this summer I have been paying attention and have felt a sense of peace and wellbeing that I didn't expect. In my inattention, I had allowed a small pot of discontent to simmer constantly on the back burner--not enough to be called "unhappiness" or to warrant a major life overhaul, just a thumb on the scale that let problems and concerns weigh me down unnecessarily. Paying attention has restored the balance because now I notice and mark and fully live the moments of joy and triumph and peace, too. Now I've got an overflowing cup to go along with my simmering pot!
I've learned a few things about myself along the way. At the heart of my discontent, I've found, is one of two feelings: a feeling of deprivation or a feeling of fear. I've discovered that what's behind that nagging feeling that all is not right in the world is too often a disappointment with what I have--I feel that I don't have enough money or food or time or love or respect or talent. I want more. And yet the wanting more is not so much because the thing itself is inherently good but rather because I expect it to fill up a space where emptiness is causing me pain. It's not that I want the thing itself; it's that I believe the thing is owed me, and the fact that I don't have all I am owed or all I think I need gives me pain. It's the feeling of having a good withheld, like when everybody else gets a piece of candy but I don't. The opposite of feeling deprived is thankfulness, and I need to cultivate it because it doesn't come naturally to me!
The opposite of faith is fear. Sometimes I'll realize that my brow is creased and my hands are clenched and my jaw is tight. Some call it stress, but I'm learning to call it fear. Usually I don't know what I'm afraid of, but I know that my body and heart are sitting at the edges of their chairs, looking out for the worst, anticipating pain or difficulty.
I never thought of myself as fearful or discontent. I was surprised by the hold these have over me, their power in my life--surprised also at the joy of being freed from their power by the forgiveness found in Jesus. He truly does give rest to those who are heavy-laden. I'm feeling that rest so much more now that I'm also letting myself feel the fear and am turning in trust to Him whenever it strikes.
Now I know why David said, "WHEN (not IF) I am afraid, I will trust in you."
I've learned a few things about myself along the way. At the heart of my discontent, I've found, is one of two feelings: a feeling of deprivation or a feeling of fear. I've discovered that what's behind that nagging feeling that all is not right in the world is too often a disappointment with what I have--I feel that I don't have enough money or food or time or love or respect or talent. I want more. And yet the wanting more is not so much because the thing itself is inherently good but rather because I expect it to fill up a space where emptiness is causing me pain. It's not that I want the thing itself; it's that I believe the thing is owed me, and the fact that I don't have all I am owed or all I think I need gives me pain. It's the feeling of having a good withheld, like when everybody else gets a piece of candy but I don't. The opposite of feeling deprived is thankfulness, and I need to cultivate it because it doesn't come naturally to me!
The opposite of faith is fear. Sometimes I'll realize that my brow is creased and my hands are clenched and my jaw is tight. Some call it stress, but I'm learning to call it fear. Usually I don't know what I'm afraid of, but I know that my body and heart are sitting at the edges of their chairs, looking out for the worst, anticipating pain or difficulty.
I never thought of myself as fearful or discontent. I was surprised by the hold these have over me, their power in my life--surprised also at the joy of being freed from their power by the forgiveness found in Jesus. He truly does give rest to those who are heavy-laden. I'm feeling that rest so much more now that I'm also letting myself feel the fear and am turning in trust to Him whenever it strikes.
Now I know why David said, "WHEN (not IF) I am afraid, I will trust in you."
July 13, 2006
The veggies are coming! The veggies are coming!
The fruits (or rather vegetables) of my labors and God's genius are beginning to appear on my dinner table. Is there anything better than homegrown produce? We had our first green beans and cucumbers a few days ago, and I ate the first two perfect cherry tomatoes for breakfast this morning. I don't normally have veggies for breakfast, but on my early-morning walkabout to check the garden, there they were, just waiting for me. Mmmm! Broccoli and beets are on the menu for tomorrow. The beets are somewhat of an experiment; I haven't grown or cooked them before. The growing end of it worked out great--let's just hope the cooking part does likewise!
July 10, 2006
Unsolved mysteries
One weakness (and strength) of systematic theology is its ability to simplify. Difficult truths are made accessible through explanations that capture the big picture, yet there's also a risk of over-simplification. Mysteries can be reduced to propositions, losing in the process their ability to slice through us and awe us and lift us and flatten us.
Thomas Moore talks about this in his book The Soul's Religion. He sees religion as mystery and the faithful as fools--those who are empty enough and open enough to allow a hole through which mystery may enter or be glimpsed. Too much "wisdom" of the "explain everything to the nth degree" sort can at times close the aperture which allows us a supernatural view.
Mystery is both repellent and attractive to me. I see it sometimes resorted to too quickly. Instead of investigating and thinking and struggling through to the deepest understanding possible, we drop questions into a Mystery Box and leave them there. That goes against my grain (which might just mean that my grain is going the wrong direction!) because puzzles are meant to be figured out, right? Tangles, whether of yarn or ideas, are meant to be untangled and restored to some sort of order that doesn't leave one in a jumble of frayed ends and twisted thoughts. That's how it seems to me, anyhow. I don't believe in setting things aside, out of play, out of mind. There definitely are times to humbly accept an incomplete understanding, to not chafe or insist upon answers that aren't forthcoming. The most annoying person in the world is a child who keeps asking and asking and asking, long after it's time to just quit and accept the way things are. Sometimes you have to be okay with not knowing how it all works.
But the questions should stay on the table in play, not be tucked in the background where they cause no ripples. The mysteries shouldn't be forgotten or set aside but should be right in the middle where everyday life can bump up against them. Mysteries should cause detours and bruises; that's what keeps us from thinking this world we've created in our human imaginations is the real thing, the only thing. The things that don't fit sometimes get set aside, shuffled off into a separate Mystery Box as if they are pieces from a different puzzle, not recalcitrant ones from a single gigantic, eight million piece, 3-D, no-picture-on-the-box puzzle.
Theology, in the hands of humans, can become both a stubborn insistence on finding answers that God doesn't offer and a cop-out to put an end to the struggle. Theology (and discussions of it) can become a retreat from complexity. Explaining God to death can be a retreat from complexity. Filling up the Mystery Box and setting it on a shelf till heaven instead of letting the mysteries roam freely in one's life can be a retreat from complexity. But what can we do? Sure and certain doctrines that MUST be held tightly must also be held loosely, not in the sense of doubt or uncertainty, but in the sense of allowing those sure and certain doctrines to mingle and interact and bump into the not-so-sure and not-so-certain parts of God which remain for us mysteries. Too much insistence on explanation or too much avoidance of it might be a symptom of fear of complexity--an inability to accept the complex world the way it is or God the way he is.
Life is not simple. It is indescribably complex. And God is the ultimate complexity. Unfortunately for us, complexity looks an awful lot like chaos, which is anathema to us both as bearers of God's image and usurpers of his authority. Because we see through a glass darkly and at times would prefer to not see God at all, we glimpse only shadows and motion and blurry outlines when we look at God and his activity in this world. We want to tame it, bring order to confusion, control to chaos, to distill reality into simple statements, to sort life into piles (these are the things I know, these are the things I don't; these are the things I let touch me, these are the things I don't) to make it more manageable. That's not bad, necessarily. I don't know that we can help it. But oh what we miss when God is not allowed to be everything he is. Mystery, complexity, order, certainty, paradox--there's no getting away from any of them without also getting away from God.
The questions then: How to run from chaos without running from complexity?
How to pursue order without rejecting mystery?
Yup--life with God is complicated, all right.
Thomas Moore talks about this in his book The Soul's Religion. He sees religion as mystery and the faithful as fools--those who are empty enough and open enough to allow a hole through which mystery may enter or be glimpsed. Too much "wisdom" of the "explain everything to the nth degree" sort can at times close the aperture which allows us a supernatural view.
Mystery is both repellent and attractive to me. I see it sometimes resorted to too quickly. Instead of investigating and thinking and struggling through to the deepest understanding possible, we drop questions into a Mystery Box and leave them there. That goes against my grain (which might just mean that my grain is going the wrong direction!) because puzzles are meant to be figured out, right? Tangles, whether of yarn or ideas, are meant to be untangled and restored to some sort of order that doesn't leave one in a jumble of frayed ends and twisted thoughts. That's how it seems to me, anyhow. I don't believe in setting things aside, out of play, out of mind. There definitely are times to humbly accept an incomplete understanding, to not chafe or insist upon answers that aren't forthcoming. The most annoying person in the world is a child who keeps asking and asking and asking, long after it's time to just quit and accept the way things are. Sometimes you have to be okay with not knowing how it all works.
But the questions should stay on the table in play, not be tucked in the background where they cause no ripples. The mysteries shouldn't be forgotten or set aside but should be right in the middle where everyday life can bump up against them. Mysteries should cause detours and bruises; that's what keeps us from thinking this world we've created in our human imaginations is the real thing, the only thing. The things that don't fit sometimes get set aside, shuffled off into a separate Mystery Box as if they are pieces from a different puzzle, not recalcitrant ones from a single gigantic, eight million piece, 3-D, no-picture-on-the-box puzzle.
Theology, in the hands of humans, can become both a stubborn insistence on finding answers that God doesn't offer and a cop-out to put an end to the struggle. Theology (and discussions of it) can become a retreat from complexity. Explaining God to death can be a retreat from complexity. Filling up the Mystery Box and setting it on a shelf till heaven instead of letting the mysteries roam freely in one's life can be a retreat from complexity. But what can we do? Sure and certain doctrines that MUST be held tightly must also be held loosely, not in the sense of doubt or uncertainty, but in the sense of allowing those sure and certain doctrines to mingle and interact and bump into the not-so-sure and not-so-certain parts of God which remain for us mysteries. Too much insistence on explanation or too much avoidance of it might be a symptom of fear of complexity--an inability to accept the complex world the way it is or God the way he is.
Life is not simple. It is indescribably complex. And God is the ultimate complexity. Unfortunately for us, complexity looks an awful lot like chaos, which is anathema to us both as bearers of God's image and usurpers of his authority. Because we see through a glass darkly and at times would prefer to not see God at all, we glimpse only shadows and motion and blurry outlines when we look at God and his activity in this world. We want to tame it, bring order to confusion, control to chaos, to distill reality into simple statements, to sort life into piles (these are the things I know, these are the things I don't; these are the things I let touch me, these are the things I don't) to make it more manageable. That's not bad, necessarily. I don't know that we can help it. But oh what we miss when God is not allowed to be everything he is. Mystery, complexity, order, certainty, paradox--there's no getting away from any of them without also getting away from God.
The questions then: How to run from chaos without running from complexity?
How to pursue order without rejecting mystery?
Yup--life with God is complicated, all right.
July 09, 2006
Hooray!! I did it!!
I knew if I clicked on enough options and read through every inch of the help files I'd eventually figure out how to get those lost posts to show up. TA DA! Sweet success.
And there you have it--an in-print history of the whiplash this learning curve is giving me--and confirmation that the title I long ago chose for myself is no misnomer. I am indeed a COMPUTER DOOFUS.
And there you have it--an in-print history of the whiplash this learning curve is giving me--and confirmation that the title I long ago chose for myself is no misnomer. I am indeed a COMPUTER DOOFUS.
A learning adventure
Crazy. This blogging stuff is not for the fainthearted. I've been trying for an hour to find a post that the gremlins say I published but which I can't for the life of me get to appear on the blog itself. Let's see how I do with this one.
Now what was that password again?
Well, it's obvious I need to get with the program and post more; when I tried to log on just now, I discovered that whatever password I chose weeks ago when I created this blog had irretrievably slipped through holes in the sieve I call my mind. Passwords are a great idea--they just give me no end of heartburn because I'm always forgetting them, no matter how memorable I try to make them. Trouble is, the requirements are getting too much for me to manage. I mean, I can handle plain old four-character passwords, but when I need to come up with six characters or, heaven forbid, six characters that must be a combination of letters and numbers, too many options open up, guaranteeing that the option I finally settled on will not be an option on which I will ever in my natural life be able to settle on again without artificial mnemonic intervention. So this time I'm breaking all the rules and WRITING THAT SUCKER DOWN. I guess maybe I could come here a bit more often, and that might help, too.
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