Blah.
Okay, I really, really want to get to more posts in my Layman's Theology series but my church has been in the midst of a huge renovation project and I've been helping out a lot.
Whether we're ready for it or not, Quest 4.0 goes live this Sunday so I'll have my nights back to myself again.
I've mainly been helping out with the sound system gear and while I know we can have everything working this weekend, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I wish we had at least one more week to finish the install and tweak everything. (warning, techno-speak ahead) It's a pretty major upgrade - we're going from a sixteen channel, one monitor mix setup to a thirty two channel, four monitor mix plus subs plus sound piped to other rooms in the building. We have far less EQ than I'd like (only one 1/3 band EQ that we're using for mains), far more compression than we need (12! channels), and not nearly enough time to train people on it all.
That said, it's going to be a really sweet system. We've been playing music through the mains while working on the renovation and I've consistently been surprised at how clean our new Mackie S408 loudspeakers (emphasis on "loud") sound.
So stay tuned. And feel free to needle me with nasty comments if I don't get back to posting more entries next week.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
272. an uncensored take on omnipotence
[PREFACE]
Sorry it took so long to get around to posting this but it's a difficult topic and so this entry has gone through a couple of major revisions. I still don't think it's as polished as it should be but I'm tired of working on it and I want to move on to other thoughts in this series.
Please, please, please let me know what you think in the comments section, especially if you disagree.
[END PREFACE]
A Layman's Theology, Part 2.
In the past few years, there is one epiphany I've had about God that has helped me make sense of him and his world and it goes like this:
God is God and can do whatever it is he wants to do because that's what it is to be God.
There are a number of places in the Bible where we are told to fear God. Many modern interpretations of these verses suggest that a better way to understand the way "fear" is being used is to substitute the word "respect." But I wonder if by fear, the writers actually meant, well, fear. I mean, think about the world those writers lived in. There were no scientific explanations for the world that surrounded them. An earthquake was not, as we now understand it, the result of a shift in tectonic plates - it was a terrifying display of powers as mysterious as they were cataclysmic. Also, there were no microbiological explanations for illnesses. Our present day celebration of a child's first birthday harkens back to a time when many babies died in their first months of life (often during childbirth) and so reaching the one year mark was truly a cause to celebrate.
I think it's nearly impossible for us to understand what a terrible and fearsome world this used to be because while we have not been able to domesticate all of the wild powers of this planet (hurricanes for example), we are able to explain their origins and predict the paths of their destruction. We also know how to prepare for the wrath they bring. Also, modern medicine has extended the length and quality of life in ways that no one could have dreamed of two hundred (let alone two thousand plus) years ago and even when cures are beyond the abilities of modern medicine, death and demise are usually able to be explained in clinical terms.
Science has allowed us to subdue much of what used to terrorize by linking causes to effects. This has led to a subconscious intolerance for that which we can't predict or understand and I think this has tainted our view of God. It has led to the view of God where some believe that we can influence or predict the behavior of God the way we do natural, physical phenomenon. Some believe we can do this by praying a certain way (more on this idea further down) or recognizing the signs of the times.
I think it is a mistake to lessen our fear of God the way we've lessened our fear of nature. God is as much of a unexplainable terror today as thunder and lightning were to the disciples. I think the easiest way to acknowledge this is to concede that God is God and can do whatever it is he wants to do.
It's this fear that is the foundation for the wisdom spoken of in Psalms and in Proverbs. Yes, God cares for us and provides for our needs the way he does for the birds and the lilies but he does so out of love and grace, not because he has to.
Let me approach this from another angle.
Normally the sentiment, "God is God and can do whatever it is he wants to do" is compacted down into a single, handy word known as omnipotence and it sounds more innocuous when condensed like that but when you unpack that word, don't you find something like what I just put forward above? So as politically incorrect and cold as it may sound, I really do believe that God does not have to explain himself - the things he does and doesn't do. And while that notion may offend our ideas of freedom and accountability, they don't apply to God because well, who are we to judge?
In Romans 9:14-24, Paul takes on this very idea of God's sovereignty and our disrespect in questioning it. "But who are you, O man, to talk back to God?" Again, as offensive as it may sound to us, we have no right to question God. I mean, sure we can ask whatever questions we want but God is under no obligation to provide an answer.
Think about the Book of Job. Most of that book is made up of Job asking God why a huge set of calamities have plagued him and in the end, does God explain himself to Job? No. He spends four chapters questioning Job, basically asking Job what his credentials are and how they give him the right to question him.
This uncensored view of omnipotence has actually been a boon for me because I spent my formative years as a christian in churches where they preached what I've previously called transactional theology. I would frequently hear sermons where the pastor would say that if you did so and so then God would do such and such. This equation could take the form of the personal, "if you pray for your spouse in a certain way then God will bless your marriage," or the political, "if this group of lost people would just repent from their evil ways then God would bless this nation."
On a personal note, there are two things that I've always wanted from God: to meet and eventually marry my wife and to interact with him in the personal way that I've heard so many other christians talk about. With both of these desires I was told by many church leaders and christian books what I needed to do in order to have God bring these things into my life. But no matter what I tried, I remained single and God remained silent. And for a long time, I beat myself up about this, thinking that I wasn't good enough or trying hard enough or reading the right books because the way I was hearing the advice, it seemed like a sure thing. If I did the proper actions then, like cause and effect, God would respond with the desired outcome. But that's not the way things went down.
It was when I finally realized that God doesn't jump through hoops that I was able to make peace with my situation in life. I came to understand that God is free to impart or withhold whatever blessings he choses and so not receiving what I prayed and tried to work for was not necessarily a result of a lack of some spiritual effort on my part but was merely the way God chose to let my life play out. I was able to relax because as far as I could tell, my being single and not being able to hear from God was not the result of a character flaw or some lack of special knowledge that I wasn't privy to. It was just God's will.
Some might object that such a view of God makes him out to be unfair or cruel or capricious, but how so? I mean, isn't it infinitely more unfair for us mere created creatures to object to the one who crafted the universe, to accuse him of giving us stones when we asked for bread? Isn't it cruel of us to forget our place in God's created order and to criticize him for not acting as we think he should - and this after he left the splendor of heaven to commune with us on this dusty, depraved planet, eventually dying an unimaginably cruel and unjust death for we spoiled creatures.
No, I think viewing God in all of his omnipotent autonomy leads to the opposite view - that any and all blessings he imparts are not something he is obliged to provide, rather they are unfathomably loving acts of infinite, unimaginable kindness and benevolence. Simply put, we don't deserve anything from God (apart from judgement) and so anything we have that is good in our life is there only by his amazing grace.
Thanks be to God.
Sorry it took so long to get around to posting this but it's a difficult topic and so this entry has gone through a couple of major revisions. I still don't think it's as polished as it should be but I'm tired of working on it and I want to move on to other thoughts in this series.
Please, please, please let me know what you think in the comments section, especially if you disagree.
[END PREFACE]
A Layman's Theology, Part 2.
In the past few years, there is one epiphany I've had about God that has helped me make sense of him and his world and it goes like this:
God is God and can do whatever it is he wants to do because that's what it is to be God.
There are a number of places in the Bible where we are told to fear God. Many modern interpretations of these verses suggest that a better way to understand the way "fear" is being used is to substitute the word "respect." But I wonder if by fear, the writers actually meant, well, fear. I mean, think about the world those writers lived in. There were no scientific explanations for the world that surrounded them. An earthquake was not, as we now understand it, the result of a shift in tectonic plates - it was a terrifying display of powers as mysterious as they were cataclysmic. Also, there were no microbiological explanations for illnesses. Our present day celebration of a child's first birthday harkens back to a time when many babies died in their first months of life (often during childbirth) and so reaching the one year mark was truly a cause to celebrate.
I think it's nearly impossible for us to understand what a terrible and fearsome world this used to be because while we have not been able to domesticate all of the wild powers of this planet (hurricanes for example), we are able to explain their origins and predict the paths of their destruction. We also know how to prepare for the wrath they bring. Also, modern medicine has extended the length and quality of life in ways that no one could have dreamed of two hundred (let alone two thousand plus) years ago and even when cures are beyond the abilities of modern medicine, death and demise are usually able to be explained in clinical terms.
Science has allowed us to subdue much of what used to terrorize by linking causes to effects. This has led to a subconscious intolerance for that which we can't predict or understand and I think this has tainted our view of God. It has led to the view of God where some believe that we can influence or predict the behavior of God the way we do natural, physical phenomenon. Some believe we can do this by praying a certain way (more on this idea further down) or recognizing the signs of the times.
I think it is a mistake to lessen our fear of God the way we've lessened our fear of nature. God is as much of a unexplainable terror today as thunder and lightning were to the disciples. I think the easiest way to acknowledge this is to concede that God is God and can do whatever it is he wants to do.
It's this fear that is the foundation for the wisdom spoken of in Psalms and in Proverbs. Yes, God cares for us and provides for our needs the way he does for the birds and the lilies but he does so out of love and grace, not because he has to.
Let me approach this from another angle.
Normally the sentiment, "God is God and can do whatever it is he wants to do" is compacted down into a single, handy word known as omnipotence and it sounds more innocuous when condensed like that but when you unpack that word, don't you find something like what I just put forward above? So as politically incorrect and cold as it may sound, I really do believe that God does not have to explain himself - the things he does and doesn't do. And while that notion may offend our ideas of freedom and accountability, they don't apply to God because well, who are we to judge?
In Romans 9:14-24, Paul takes on this very idea of God's sovereignty and our disrespect in questioning it. "But who are you, O man, to talk back to God?" Again, as offensive as it may sound to us, we have no right to question God. I mean, sure we can ask whatever questions we want but God is under no obligation to provide an answer.
Think about the Book of Job. Most of that book is made up of Job asking God why a huge set of calamities have plagued him and in the end, does God explain himself to Job? No. He spends four chapters questioning Job, basically asking Job what his credentials are and how they give him the right to question him.
This uncensored view of omnipotence has actually been a boon for me because I spent my formative years as a christian in churches where they preached what I've previously called transactional theology. I would frequently hear sermons where the pastor would say that if you did so and so then God would do such and such. This equation could take the form of the personal, "if you pray for your spouse in a certain way then God will bless your marriage," or the political, "if this group of lost people would just repent from their evil ways then God would bless this nation."
On a personal note, there are two things that I've always wanted from God: to meet and eventually marry my wife and to interact with him in the personal way that I've heard so many other christians talk about. With both of these desires I was told by many church leaders and christian books what I needed to do in order to have God bring these things into my life. But no matter what I tried, I remained single and God remained silent. And for a long time, I beat myself up about this, thinking that I wasn't good enough or trying hard enough or reading the right books because the way I was hearing the advice, it seemed like a sure thing. If I did the proper actions then, like cause and effect, God would respond with the desired outcome. But that's not the way things went down.
It was when I finally realized that God doesn't jump through hoops that I was able to make peace with my situation in life. I came to understand that God is free to impart or withhold whatever blessings he choses and so not receiving what I prayed and tried to work for was not necessarily a result of a lack of some spiritual effort on my part but was merely the way God chose to let my life play out. I was able to relax because as far as I could tell, my being single and not being able to hear from God was not the result of a character flaw or some lack of special knowledge that I wasn't privy to. It was just God's will.
Some might object that such a view of God makes him out to be unfair or cruel or capricious, but how so? I mean, isn't it infinitely more unfair for us mere created creatures to object to the one who crafted the universe, to accuse him of giving us stones when we asked for bread? Isn't it cruel of us to forget our place in God's created order and to criticize him for not acting as we think he should - and this after he left the splendor of heaven to commune with us on this dusty, depraved planet, eventually dying an unimaginably cruel and unjust death for we spoiled creatures.
No, I think viewing God in all of his omnipotent autonomy leads to the opposite view - that any and all blessings he imparts are not something he is obliged to provide, rather they are unfathomably loving acts of infinite, unimaginable kindness and benevolence. Simply put, we don't deserve anything from God (apart from judgement) and so anything we have that is good in our life is there only by his amazing grace.
Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
271. truly, a gift from God
Christianity has been under attack by atheists like Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins, and to be fair, I think we deserve it. Let me state unequivocally that I find a literal, seven day account of creation to be indefensible. Likewise, I think the more recent arguments for Intelligent Design, while not as bankrupt as those in the young earth creationism camp, are still woefully eclipsed by the torrential avalanche of evidence that supports good 'ol Darwinian Evolution. So as a christian, I find it frustrating and disheartening to see creationists and ID advocates act as the mouthpiece for the christian position in areas where science and faith overlap. This so often being the case, I think it's no wonder that the church is thought to be populated by anti-intellectual, anti-scientific, Biblical literalists who deserve to be mocked by atheists.
That's why I was thrilled to find this fascinating mini-debate/discussion between host of the podcast, Point Of Inquiry, D.J. Grothe, and Francis Collins, director of the National Human Genome Research Institute. Grothe had Collins on his show to talk about Collins' book, The Language of God, where he talks about the compatibility of science and faith - that choosing one does not mean one has to reject the other.
What I find so refreshing about this discussion is his rejection of dishonest tactics on both sides of the debate between believers and atheists. One of my favorite bits comes about thirty one minutes into the discussion where he talks about how centuries before Darwin and the idea that the universe is billions of years old, Saint Augustine did a close study of Genesis and found that it was not meant to be taken literally. He goes on to say that a strictly literal interpretation of the creation story is a very recent development in the grand scheme of biblical studies.
I really hope to be able to pick up Collins' book soon (that damn budget) because if it's half as thrilling as he is in this debate, it'll be a a book that will knock my socks off.
Again, you can hear the debate here:
http://cache.libsyn.com/pointofinquiry/POI_2007_08_31_Francis_Collins.mp3
That's why I was thrilled to find this fascinating mini-debate/discussion between host of the podcast, Point Of Inquiry, D.J. Grothe, and Francis Collins, director of the National Human Genome Research Institute. Grothe had Collins on his show to talk about Collins' book, The Language of God, where he talks about the compatibility of science and faith - that choosing one does not mean one has to reject the other.
What I find so refreshing about this discussion is his rejection of dishonest tactics on both sides of the debate between believers and atheists. One of my favorite bits comes about thirty one minutes into the discussion where he talks about how centuries before Darwin and the idea that the universe is billions of years old, Saint Augustine did a close study of Genesis and found that it was not meant to be taken literally. He goes on to say that a strictly literal interpretation of the creation story is a very recent development in the grand scheme of biblical studies.
I really hope to be able to pick up Collins' book soon (that damn budget) because if it's half as thrilling as he is in this debate, it'll be a a book that will knock my socks off.
Again, you can hear the debate here:
http://cache.libsyn.com/pointofinquiry/POI_2007_08_31_Francis_Collins.mp3
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
270. a layman's theology
As of late, I've obviously been a very reluctant writer. And while I'd like to feign ignorance, I know exactly why I've been silent. There are ideas I want to write and think about but they're big ideas that will take up a lot of time and words so let me be plain about it: I'm lazy.
But over the past few days, I found a link to an article on Mother Teresa from three different places, and it's this article that has (finally) put me back to working at words. It's a fascinating, challenging article about letters that Mother Teresa wrote to confidants about years of not feeling the presence of God as she ministered to the impoverished in Calcutta - an absence that "seems to have started at almost precisely the time she began tending the poor and dying in Calcutta, and -- except for a five-week break in 1959 -- never abated."
This article resonated with me because I'm one who can't really remember any kind of personal experience with God. Well, I take that back. Something about the gospel presentations I heard back when I was a Sophomore in high school touched a fundamental (poor word choice, sorry...if you don't get it, don't worry about it) part of me such that I decided to...well, looking back now, I'm not sure what it was I was deciding to do, but I knew that I felt a calling to something larger than myself and so I signed on.
What followed were years of trying to figure out how to do this thing called Christianity. I joined Christian clubs, I read Christian books, I (unfortunately) listened to Christian music, I went to church where I helped out in whatever ways I could, I did my best to read my Bible and pray in the morning. Basically, I did all the things that the sermons and the books I was reading told me were the things to do to be a good Christian.
But I never found anything that I would call a relationship.
For a long time this troubled me because talk of "relationship with God" was ubiquitous in Christian circles (at least the ones that I found myself in). It seemed like everybody was chatting it up with God, kicking it with Jesus. I kept trying to figure out what it was I wasn't doing, what it was that I didn't get. There were lots of times when I wondered if I wasn't good enough for God or if he didn't converse with me because of some innate character flaw.
Well, after years of feeling this way, wondering about this whole relationship with God thing and why it was that I wasn't in the loop, I finally just accepted that God does indeed commune with some people in an intimate manner and I wasn't one of them. I suppose I could have come to the conclusion that people who talked about their relationship with God were deluding themselves or that they were using a metaphor in a way that seemed far to literal, but I'd been around too many amazing, sincere Christians who really did seem in tune with something of the divine and I refused to discount their experiences just because I wasn't having them.
My coming to grips with the whole relationship bit is just one of the issues with Christianity that I've made my own peace with. Anyone who's been reading this blog for a while knows that I've asked a lot of questions about Christianity and how I understand it versus the way it was explained to me in the churches I attend years ago. Most of these questions were written in times of great frustration (see blog 179 and blog 201 for examples) but you know, another reason I haven't been writing as much lately is because I've made a kind of peace with all of those old questions.
I don't go so far as to say I have the answers to questions like, "what is the role of the church?" or "what is the Kingdom of God that Jesus keeps refering to?" or even "what is salvation - what are we saved from or saved into?" I mean, there are the shallow, Sunday school answers that go something like, "the role of the church is to worship God," and "the Kingdom of God is what heaven will be like," and "salvation is what keeps us from going to hell," but I was never satisfied with those answers and so I pushed and probed and I blogged and I read books and ever so slowly, I started to find my own answers.
What I hope to do in the coming weeks/months is to share my newfound thoughts on Christianity - how I made peace with the questions that used to plague me. I don't have any format in mind and I don't know what topics I'll cover in which order. Basically I'm going to shoot from the hip and share what comes to mind first and then go from there. It'll probably be a bit wooly and rough around the edges, but I'll do my best.
My hope is that I'll be able to offer some insight for those who are asking the same sorts of questions. I don't claim any kind of authority and I certainly don't have the academic credentials to be taken too seriously but at the same time, I think the gospel that Jesus preached is available to all people - not just those who went to seminary. I guess you could call what I'm trying to do a kind of layman's attempt at constructing a theology that works for him.
Sounds like fun, no?
....don't answer that.
But over the past few days, I found a link to an article on Mother Teresa from three different places, and it's this article that has (finally) put me back to working at words. It's a fascinating, challenging article about letters that Mother Teresa wrote to confidants about years of not feeling the presence of God as she ministered to the impoverished in Calcutta - an absence that "seems to have started at almost precisely the time she began tending the poor and dying in Calcutta, and -- except for a five-week break in 1959 -- never abated."
This article resonated with me because I'm one who can't really remember any kind of personal experience with God. Well, I take that back. Something about the gospel presentations I heard back when I was a Sophomore in high school touched a fundamental (poor word choice, sorry...if you don't get it, don't worry about it) part of me such that I decided to...well, looking back now, I'm not sure what it was I was deciding to do, but I knew that I felt a calling to something larger than myself and so I signed on.
What followed were years of trying to figure out how to do this thing called Christianity. I joined Christian clubs, I read Christian books, I (unfortunately) listened to Christian music, I went to church where I helped out in whatever ways I could, I did my best to read my Bible and pray in the morning. Basically, I did all the things that the sermons and the books I was reading told me were the things to do to be a good Christian.
But I never found anything that I would call a relationship.
For a long time this troubled me because talk of "relationship with God" was ubiquitous in Christian circles (at least the ones that I found myself in). It seemed like everybody was chatting it up with God, kicking it with Jesus. I kept trying to figure out what it was I wasn't doing, what it was that I didn't get. There were lots of times when I wondered if I wasn't good enough for God or if he didn't converse with me because of some innate character flaw.
Well, after years of feeling this way, wondering about this whole relationship with God thing and why it was that I wasn't in the loop, I finally just accepted that God does indeed commune with some people in an intimate manner and I wasn't one of them. I suppose I could have come to the conclusion that people who talked about their relationship with God were deluding themselves or that they were using a metaphor in a way that seemed far to literal, but I'd been around too many amazing, sincere Christians who really did seem in tune with something of the divine and I refused to discount their experiences just because I wasn't having them.
My coming to grips with the whole relationship bit is just one of the issues with Christianity that I've made my own peace with. Anyone who's been reading this blog for a while knows that I've asked a lot of questions about Christianity and how I understand it versus the way it was explained to me in the churches I attend years ago. Most of these questions were written in times of great frustration (see blog 179 and blog 201 for examples) but you know, another reason I haven't been writing as much lately is because I've made a kind of peace with all of those old questions.
I don't go so far as to say I have the answers to questions like, "what is the role of the church?" or "what is the Kingdom of God that Jesus keeps refering to?" or even "what is salvation - what are we saved from or saved into?" I mean, there are the shallow, Sunday school answers that go something like, "the role of the church is to worship God," and "the Kingdom of God is what heaven will be like," and "salvation is what keeps us from going to hell," but I was never satisfied with those answers and so I pushed and probed and I blogged and I read books and ever so slowly, I started to find my own answers.
What I hope to do in the coming weeks/months is to share my newfound thoughts on Christianity - how I made peace with the questions that used to plague me. I don't have any format in mind and I don't know what topics I'll cover in which order. Basically I'm going to shoot from the hip and share what comes to mind first and then go from there. It'll probably be a bit wooly and rough around the edges, but I'll do my best.
My hope is that I'll be able to offer some insight for those who are asking the same sorts of questions. I don't claim any kind of authority and I certainly don't have the academic credentials to be taken too seriously but at the same time, I think the gospel that Jesus preached is available to all people - not just those who went to seminary. I guess you could call what I'm trying to do a kind of layman's attempt at constructing a theology that works for him.
Sounds like fun, no?
....don't answer that.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
269. it begins with a run
I went for a run yesterday.
A small gesture, but a very important one. See, without even noticing it had happened, a few days ago I realized that I had fallen into a rut - a very comfortable, very unproductive rut. I think the whole work situation greased the slide down into this rut, but it hit me after almost two weeknights straight of playing the most inane online games imaginable (playing them night after night until I was too tired to keep my eyes open) that I realized that I needed to make a change. And the run was a small step out of the rut, but it was an important one and it felt good.
But it's just a first step.
Couple other background items before I can get to what's really on my mind.
A few days ago, I took a long hard look at my budget, comparing income to outgo, and it was a sobering experience. I didn't think I was spending that much but I couldn't figure out why I wasn't able to add to my savings account. After running the figures through a basic budgeting program, it became clear to me that I needed to cut way back on my spending if I wanted to purchase some big ticket items I had my eye on.
While working on my budget, I thought about my job and how un-fulfilling (to put it mildly) it was. I thought about quitting and getting a different job and that's when I had another sobering realization.
I don't really know what I want to do after the band thing gets played out. I mean, if I could wave a magic wand and conjure up any career I wanted for myself, I'd make myself a successful writer of short stories and screenplays but I don't have a magic wand and sorcery is generally looked down upon by the church. Now I know I have some regular readers and I'm grateful for their belief in my writing abilities but let's be honest - a writing career is a poor plan B, even if I was as talented as Anne Lamott or as disciplined as Aimee Bender (who writes for "two hours everyday, that's the law"), it would STILL be a poor plan B.
So I started to ask myself, "what am I going to do after the band thing?" And then I went on craigslist to see what kind of jobs were posted and there was absolutely NOTHING I was interested in even trying. I felt like Lloyd Dobler in the movie Say Anything when he says, "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that." And it's not that I'm lazy, I do want to do good work, it's just that I don't know what kind of good work I want to do.
And this seems unrelated, but it leads nicely into what I want to end with. This weekend, I saw the movie Stardust (yes, it was within my budget) with some friends and to be honest, the main reason I saw the movie was not because I thought it was going to be good (I didn't) but because it starred (no pun) Claire Danes (sigh). Turns out, the movie was actually quite delightful - a wonderful story as long as you don't ask too many hard questions at some of the plot turns.
It's a fairy tale, and like many of the genre, it has to do with a boy who stumbles into a situation that is far larger than he is. In this case, Tristan, a humble stableboy, hopes to win the heart of a girl by crossing a wall that leads to a magical kingdom called Stormhold to bring back a falling star but it turns out that the star has turned into a girl named Yvaine. Word gets out around Stormhold that a falling star has landed and two parties set out after it (a prince and a witch) because possessing the heart of a star leads to immortality. Through the course of the movie, Tristan the stableboy becomes Tristan the brave, sword-weilding hero and of course everyone lives happily ever after.
I mention the movie because there's one scene where Tristan and Yvaine are trapped in the brig of a sky pirate. They need to escape but Tristan complains that he's just a regular guy and not up to the task. Yvaine tells him that there are stableboys and then there are people who are only stableboys until they find their true calling and she believes, of course, that Tristan is one of the latter.
Because I was already thinking about my budget and my job and getting myself out of the rut I was in, this bit of the movie really resonated with me. I know there are lots of things I could do after the band, but most of them have to do with "regular" jobs. Way down deep, there's a little mustard seed of hope that believes I can take a bite out of the world, that I can make it better in some fundamental way. And I don't mean playing nice with boxes in a warehouse, I mean Martin Luther and his 95 Theses, Martin Luther King Jr. and his Dream. I mention these two not just because of their related names but also because they made a place for themselves in history by working to make the world a more just and beautiful place - a world more like Eden and less like Babylon. See, I don't want to be great or to be known or famous, but do want to make the world a better place to live and I want to do so in the largest way possible.
And I don't know what that will look like or how I'll get there but yesterday I went for a run.
And that's a manageable start.
A small gesture, but a very important one. See, without even noticing it had happened, a few days ago I realized that I had fallen into a rut - a very comfortable, very unproductive rut. I think the whole work situation greased the slide down into this rut, but it hit me after almost two weeknights straight of playing the most inane online games imaginable (playing them night after night until I was too tired to keep my eyes open) that I realized that I needed to make a change. And the run was a small step out of the rut, but it was an important one and it felt good.
But it's just a first step.
Couple other background items before I can get to what's really on my mind.
A few days ago, I took a long hard look at my budget, comparing income to outgo, and it was a sobering experience. I didn't think I was spending that much but I couldn't figure out why I wasn't able to add to my savings account. After running the figures through a basic budgeting program, it became clear to me that I needed to cut way back on my spending if I wanted to purchase some big ticket items I had my eye on.
While working on my budget, I thought about my job and how un-fulfilling (to put it mildly) it was. I thought about quitting and getting a different job and that's when I had another sobering realization.
I don't really know what I want to do after the band thing gets played out. I mean, if I could wave a magic wand and conjure up any career I wanted for myself, I'd make myself a successful writer of short stories and screenplays but I don't have a magic wand and sorcery is generally looked down upon by the church. Now I know I have some regular readers and I'm grateful for their belief in my writing abilities but let's be honest - a writing career is a poor plan B, even if I was as talented as Anne Lamott or as disciplined as Aimee Bender (who writes for "two hours everyday, that's the law"), it would STILL be a poor plan B.
So I started to ask myself, "what am I going to do after the band thing?" And then I went on craigslist to see what kind of jobs were posted and there was absolutely NOTHING I was interested in even trying. I felt like Lloyd Dobler in the movie Say Anything when he says, "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that." And it's not that I'm lazy, I do want to do good work, it's just that I don't know what kind of good work I want to do.
And this seems unrelated, but it leads nicely into what I want to end with. This weekend, I saw the movie Stardust (yes, it was within my budget) with some friends and to be honest, the main reason I saw the movie was not because I thought it was going to be good (I didn't) but because it starred (no pun) Claire Danes (sigh). Turns out, the movie was actually quite delightful - a wonderful story as long as you don't ask too many hard questions at some of the plot turns.
It's a fairy tale, and like many of the genre, it has to do with a boy who stumbles into a situation that is far larger than he is. In this case, Tristan, a humble stableboy, hopes to win the heart of a girl by crossing a wall that leads to a magical kingdom called Stormhold to bring back a falling star but it turns out that the star has turned into a girl named Yvaine. Word gets out around Stormhold that a falling star has landed and two parties set out after it (a prince and a witch) because possessing the heart of a star leads to immortality. Through the course of the movie, Tristan the stableboy becomes Tristan the brave, sword-weilding hero and of course everyone lives happily ever after.
I mention the movie because there's one scene where Tristan and Yvaine are trapped in the brig of a sky pirate. They need to escape but Tristan complains that he's just a regular guy and not up to the task. Yvaine tells him that there are stableboys and then there are people who are only stableboys until they find their true calling and she believes, of course, that Tristan is one of the latter.
Because I was already thinking about my budget and my job and getting myself out of the rut I was in, this bit of the movie really resonated with me. I know there are lots of things I could do after the band, but most of them have to do with "regular" jobs. Way down deep, there's a little mustard seed of hope that believes I can take a bite out of the world, that I can make it better in some fundamental way. And I don't mean playing nice with boxes in a warehouse, I mean Martin Luther and his 95 Theses, Martin Luther King Jr. and his Dream. I mention these two not just because of their related names but also because they made a place for themselves in history by working to make the world a more just and beautiful place - a world more like Eden and less like Babylon. See, I don't want to be great or to be known or famous, but do want to make the world a better place to live and I want to do so in the largest way possible.
And I don't know what that will look like or how I'll get there but yesterday I went for a run.
And that's a manageable start.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
268. injury plus insult
Another update on the work situation.
So, um, guess who won the Employee of the Quarter award last week? I'll give you a hint: it wasn't me.
Yeah, so last week Harold was christened Employee of the Quarter. Harold: I'll-do-the-easy-work-first-and-hope-that-someone-else-does-the-hard-bit Harold, take-a-break-whenever-you-can Harold, hoard-a-bunch-of-the-blue-carts-even-though-other-departments-need-them-more-than-we-do Harold.
Speaking of blue carts...no, I'll get to that in a second.
First I just want to make something clear. The thing that grinds me the wrong way isn't the fact that I didn't win Employee of the Quarter. I don't care about the award. It's the fact that HAROLD won because if Harold is an example of what my company considers an employee to be lauded, to be identified as a kind of ideal (because that's what these awards are supposed to do right?) then...then..then I honestly don't know what to say. When Harold told me about it I congratulated him with a smile then walked down one of the rows of boxes where he couldn't see me and then I...well, I didn't know what to do because it all seemed so surreal. I just shook my head and went back to stacking boxes.
The rest of the day went by in a kind of daze but late in the afternoon I got a message saying that people had been noticing a number of blue carts in our department - these are heavy duty blue dollies used to move boxes around the warehouse. Late in the afternoon, all the orders that are due to go out the next day get printed out and get distributed among the workers. If you get your list of orders and can't find a cart for yourself then life sucks for you.
In our department, I'd been noticing that we had a surplus of these carts but Harold guarded them jealously and I wasn't about to risk pissing him off by suggesting that we share them. Well, I guess word finally got out to the other departments and the same afternoon when Harold won the EOQ award,I got the message to give up a couple of our carts. I told them, "no problem, I'll wheel them over myself."
Thankfully, Harold had gone home by the time I got the request so I didn't have to tell him we were getting rid of some of our carts but as I was wheeling them out to the department that was requesting them, I noticed a bunch of people giving me stink eye (a Hawaiian Pigeon English term - I think in the mainland it's called the hairy eyeball or the evil eye). See they probably thought that both Harold AND I were hoarding all the carts for ourselves. Thing is, I've never brought a cart into our department, and while I've never actually seen Harold bring a cart into our department, there's only two of us in our department so who else could it have been? Oh, that and the fact that he's told me on a couple occasions that he's grabbed some carts for our section.
So here I am, wheeling these carts out so other people can use them and people are looking at me with a gaze that says, "hey asshole, thanks for finally sharing those with the rest of us." And I wanted to tell them that I wasn't the one stealing them. I wanted to tell them that Mr. Employee of the Quarter was the one filching them but I bit my tongue and just put the carts back where they belonged.
Injury plus insult makes for a pretty severe test of my spreading-the-Kingdom-in-secret philosophy. Truth be told, I've been noticing this week that it's been harder than usual to keep myself motivated enough to work to the standard I set for myself, and it's usually hard enough as it is.
But I've been thinking about the passage in Matthew 11:28-30 where Jesus tells us that his yoke is easy and his burden is light. I notice that he didn't say, "my hammock is comfortable and my pillow is fluffy." Even though he promises rest for our soul, it still requires a yoke and a burden, easy and light as they are.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though that day last week did its best to upset me, I'm soldiering on as best I can.
So, um, guess who won the Employee of the Quarter award last week? I'll give you a hint: it wasn't me.
Yeah, so last week Harold was christened Employee of the Quarter. Harold: I'll-do-the-easy-work-first-and-hope-that-someone-else-does-the-hard-bit Harold, take-a-break-whenever-you-can Harold, hoard-a-bunch-of-the-blue-carts-even-though-other-departments-need-them-more-than-we-do Harold.
Speaking of blue carts...no, I'll get to that in a second.
First I just want to make something clear. The thing that grinds me the wrong way isn't the fact that I didn't win Employee of the Quarter. I don't care about the award. It's the fact that HAROLD won because if Harold is an example of what my company considers an employee to be lauded, to be identified as a kind of ideal (because that's what these awards are supposed to do right?) then...then..then I honestly don't know what to say. When Harold told me about it I congratulated him with a smile then walked down one of the rows of boxes where he couldn't see me and then I...well, I didn't know what to do because it all seemed so surreal. I just shook my head and went back to stacking boxes.
The rest of the day went by in a kind of daze but late in the afternoon I got a message saying that people had been noticing a number of blue carts in our department - these are heavy duty blue dollies used to move boxes around the warehouse. Late in the afternoon, all the orders that are due to go out the next day get printed out and get distributed among the workers. If you get your list of orders and can't find a cart for yourself then life sucks for you.
In our department, I'd been noticing that we had a surplus of these carts but Harold guarded them jealously and I wasn't about to risk pissing him off by suggesting that we share them. Well, I guess word finally got out to the other departments and the same afternoon when Harold won the EOQ award,I got the message to give up a couple of our carts. I told them, "no problem, I'll wheel them over myself."
Thankfully, Harold had gone home by the time I got the request so I didn't have to tell him we were getting rid of some of our carts but as I was wheeling them out to the department that was requesting them, I noticed a bunch of people giving me stink eye (a Hawaiian Pigeon English term - I think in the mainland it's called the hairy eyeball or the evil eye). See they probably thought that both Harold AND I were hoarding all the carts for ourselves. Thing is, I've never brought a cart into our department, and while I've never actually seen Harold bring a cart into our department, there's only two of us in our department so who else could it have been? Oh, that and the fact that he's told me on a couple occasions that he's grabbed some carts for our section.
So here I am, wheeling these carts out so other people can use them and people are looking at me with a gaze that says, "hey asshole, thanks for finally sharing those with the rest of us." And I wanted to tell them that I wasn't the one stealing them. I wanted to tell them that Mr. Employee of the Quarter was the one filching them but I bit my tongue and just put the carts back where they belonged.
Injury plus insult makes for a pretty severe test of my spreading-the-Kingdom-in-secret philosophy. Truth be told, I've been noticing this week that it's been harder than usual to keep myself motivated enough to work to the standard I set for myself, and it's usually hard enough as it is.
But I've been thinking about the passage in Matthew 11:28-30 where Jesus tells us that his yoke is easy and his burden is light. I notice that he didn't say, "my hammock is comfortable and my pillow is fluffy." Even though he promises rest for our soul, it still requires a yoke and a burden, easy and light as they are.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though that day last week did its best to upset me, I'm soldiering on as best I can.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
267. two quotes
Update on the work situation, Harold has inexplicably been doing better. He's been getting more work done and with fewer errors which is a relief to me because a nuclear bomb of a project just got dumped on our section and we both need to be operating at full capacity to get it all done on time.
Maybe this sounds bizarre but even though my job doesn't involve much personal interaction (most of my day is spent with boxes and files), I've come to believe that doing my job with excellence is just as valid a way of spreading the Kingdom of God as any. Here's what I mean.
Being an agent for the Kingdom (aka being a Christian) means making the world around you a bit more ordered and beautiful than when you found it and doing this as often as you can in whatever way you can. I used to think that doing Kingdom work only counted when you were working with people (preferably widows, orphans, and/or the poor). This thought always troubled me because I'm a pretty introverted person - meeting new people stresses me out and I hate making small talk. As an introvert, I used to think that I was useless as a Christian since I don't like talking to people on planes or while waiting in line at the bank or at the grocery store.
I'm not sure how I came to see things differently but I've come to the conclusion that spreading the Kingdom of God involves ANY activity that makes the world look or feel more like it would if the Fall had never happened. For me at my workplace, this means that when I take a few extra seconds (and that's usually all it takes) to straighten up files in a box (instead of leaving them cluttered), I'm doing a bit of Kingdom work. When I tape up a box that's about to fall apart instead of just throwing it back up on the shelf they way everyone else would, that's Kingdom work.
Some might question how doing this very impersonal work counts as fulfilling The Great Commission and while the results aren't as tangible as, say, a Billy Graham crusade, it's the bit of the world where God has placed me and I will tend to it as best as I know how. That is what it is to be a Christian. That is how God's will gets done on earth as it is in heaven.
But, some might object, it's just a box of files.
Yeah, it's just a box of files but you know what? When I initially opened that box of files and saw how messy it was, I felt shat upon because the person who had been at that box last didn't care enough about the next person to leave it in an orderly fashion. I like to think that when I take that little bit of extra time to straighten up the files before putting the box back, that when the next person pulls that box out they will be surprised by how nice it is inside and how easy it is to flip through the contents to find the file they need.
Now our warehouse holds millions of boxes and tens of millions of files so it sounds stupid of me to say that my tidying up the hundred or so boxes per day that I deal with makes any discernible difference. And it's not like people can tell who straightened up a box or even that the box was straightened up at all - for all they know, the box just arrived from the client and so it had never been messy or out of order before they got to it.
True enough but take a look at Matthew 6:1-15 - a portion of the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus outlines the agenda of his Kingdom. There's a lot of talk about not doing things for show but doing things in such a way that only God sees the good that you do. I don't think this doing-things-in-secret only applies to giving alms and praying. I think it applies to each and every area of our lives. Sure, I might never get credit for all the tidying up I do, but it's not about getting credit. It's about doing the right thing even if (especially when) God is the only one watching.
Now before you get the wrong idea, let me confess that I'm not always up to the task. Sometimes because of a looming deadline, sometimes because I'm just too lazy, sometimes because I'm just not in the mood, I do leave a box as messy as when I found it. My bad.
Two quotes that help me work the way that I do:
First, Mahatma Ghandi said, "You must be the change you want to see in the world."
I think of what an amazing place work would be if everyone treated boxes and files the way I do when I am at my best. That would kick ass but I'm not holding my breath.
That's where the other quote keeps me going.
In her book, Plan B: Further Thoughts On Faith, Anne Lamott writes about the nonviolent social activist, A.J. Muste and how during the Vietnam War, he stood outside the White House holding a candle night after night. On one of these nights a reporter asked Muste if he really thought his vigil would change the policies of the United States.
Muste replied, "Oh, I don't do it to change the country, I do it so the country won't change me."
In my previous post, I talked a bit about how I felt like work was changing me into someone I wasn't. Muste's quote is a bulwark against that tide. Maybe no one will ever notice the work I do to keep boxes neat and tidy. That doesn't matter because I'm not doing it to get noticed. I'm doing it so that this relentless, impersonal job doesn't change me. And that's far more important than recognition.
Maybe this sounds bizarre but even though my job doesn't involve much personal interaction (most of my day is spent with boxes and files), I've come to believe that doing my job with excellence is just as valid a way of spreading the Kingdom of God as any. Here's what I mean.
Being an agent for the Kingdom (aka being a Christian) means making the world around you a bit more ordered and beautiful than when you found it and doing this as often as you can in whatever way you can. I used to think that doing Kingdom work only counted when you were working with people (preferably widows, orphans, and/or the poor). This thought always troubled me because I'm a pretty introverted person - meeting new people stresses me out and I hate making small talk. As an introvert, I used to think that I was useless as a Christian since I don't like talking to people on planes or while waiting in line at the bank or at the grocery store.
I'm not sure how I came to see things differently but I've come to the conclusion that spreading the Kingdom of God involves ANY activity that makes the world look or feel more like it would if the Fall had never happened. For me at my workplace, this means that when I take a few extra seconds (and that's usually all it takes) to straighten up files in a box (instead of leaving them cluttered), I'm doing a bit of Kingdom work. When I tape up a box that's about to fall apart instead of just throwing it back up on the shelf they way everyone else would, that's Kingdom work.
Some might question how doing this very impersonal work counts as fulfilling The Great Commission and while the results aren't as tangible as, say, a Billy Graham crusade, it's the bit of the world where God has placed me and I will tend to it as best as I know how. That is what it is to be a Christian. That is how God's will gets done on earth as it is in heaven.
But, some might object, it's just a box of files.
Yeah, it's just a box of files but you know what? When I initially opened that box of files and saw how messy it was, I felt shat upon because the person who had been at that box last didn't care enough about the next person to leave it in an orderly fashion. I like to think that when I take that little bit of extra time to straighten up the files before putting the box back, that when the next person pulls that box out they will be surprised by how nice it is inside and how easy it is to flip through the contents to find the file they need.
Now our warehouse holds millions of boxes and tens of millions of files so it sounds stupid of me to say that my tidying up the hundred or so boxes per day that I deal with makes any discernible difference. And it's not like people can tell who straightened up a box or even that the box was straightened up at all - for all they know, the box just arrived from the client and so it had never been messy or out of order before they got to it.
True enough but take a look at Matthew 6:1-15 - a portion of the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus outlines the agenda of his Kingdom. There's a lot of talk about not doing things for show but doing things in such a way that only God sees the good that you do. I don't think this doing-things-in-secret only applies to giving alms and praying. I think it applies to each and every area of our lives. Sure, I might never get credit for all the tidying up I do, but it's not about getting credit. It's about doing the right thing even if (especially when) God is the only one watching.
Now before you get the wrong idea, let me confess that I'm not always up to the task. Sometimes because of a looming deadline, sometimes because I'm just too lazy, sometimes because I'm just not in the mood, I do leave a box as messy as when I found it. My bad.
Two quotes that help me work the way that I do:
First, Mahatma Ghandi said, "You must be the change you want to see in the world."
I think of what an amazing place work would be if everyone treated boxes and files the way I do when I am at my best. That would kick ass but I'm not holding my breath.
That's where the other quote keeps me going.
In her book, Plan B: Further Thoughts On Faith, Anne Lamott writes about the nonviolent social activist, A.J. Muste and how during the Vietnam War, he stood outside the White House holding a candle night after night. On one of these nights a reporter asked Muste if he really thought his vigil would change the policies of the United States.
Muste replied, "Oh, I don't do it to change the country, I do it so the country won't change me."
In my previous post, I talked a bit about how I felt like work was changing me into someone I wasn't. Muste's quote is a bulwark against that tide. Maybe no one will ever notice the work I do to keep boxes neat and tidy. That doesn't matter because I'm not doing it to get noticed. I'm doing it so that this relentless, impersonal job doesn't change me. And that's far more important than recognition.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
266. work sucks
(Note to self, try writing shorter posts and maybe you'll post more often.)
Lately, I've really been hating my time at work. Mine was never a job I took for fun or fulfillment, rather I purposely took on a relatively menial, brainless job so I could save my creative energies for after work. Thing I've been finding though is that when you spend eight hours per day, five days a week on meaningless work, that meaningless tends to cling to your psyche - kind of like the black alien goo (Venom) that takes over people in Spiderman 3, only without the superpowers or the cool costume.
Now I've been at unfulfilling jobs before but the big difference between this job and those jobs is that I've never felt so unappreciated and unimportant - basically disposable. But honestly, that's not a huge deal. I pretty much expected that. What really grinds me about this job is my coworker - let's call him Harold.
Normally I don't like to dis on people, but the fact is, this guy is unorganized, impatient, selfish, and while I wouldn't go so far as to say he's lazy, he certainly doesn't know how to prioritize. Given the choice between tackling a difficult task with a looming deadline or doing something easier that's due a few days later, he'll take the easy way. Oh, and he likes to start stuff but he doesn't like to follow through and finish. Couple this with his lack of organizational skills and off the top of my head I can name three projects that should have been done from start to finish that were only started.
All this pisses me off because one, it makes me look bad because it looks as if our section doesn't have its shit together and two, it makes my work that much harder because his unfinished projects impinge on my ability to get my own work done.
A few months ago, I would just go in and finish his half-baked projects just to get them off the board but I'm sick of it and I'm not going to keep saving his ass.
But.
But this isn't like me and I don't like what this situation is doing to me.
Normally, I go out of my way to help and at first, that's what I did with Harold. Helping him finish his work made our department look on top of things and it also made work run more smoothly for me (because things were organized). But I started to realize that I was enabling Harold's sloppy work ethic so recently I've started to leave him to his own devices, even if I knew a train-wreck would result, even if I knew we'd both be left scrambling when crunch time came around.
Letting things go to hell like this isn't me and I'm wondering if not being me at work is leading to me not being me outside of work as well.
Here's what I mean.
When Harold does a half-assed job, I suppose it's because he doesn't give a shit. But I do. As a Christian, I work as if I'm working for God, not for my supervisor (Colossians 3:22-24). Now maybe this is taking the idea too far but when I think of "working for the Lord," I lump in the section I work in as a part of that so in a way, when I stop saving Harold's ass all the time and thus let things get a bit more sloppy than I would like (but still within company standards), I feel like I'm not being true to myself or my calling. Does that make any sense?
I suppose I should bring some of my issues up with Harold, but here's the thing. He's been with the company for more than five years whereas I have yet to make one year here. Who am I to tell him how to do his job? Well then I could talk to my supervisor about the situation but it's just Harold and I in our section of the company and if the supervisor comes down hard on Harold because of something I say, that could make a lame work environment downright hostile (did I mention that Harold has a really short fuse?) And again, ratting people out is also not normally a part of my personality and so I feel like I'm stuck in a bind.
(note to self, try writing shorter posts)
Lately, I've really been hating my time at work. Mine was never a job I took for fun or fulfillment, rather I purposely took on a relatively menial, brainless job so I could save my creative energies for after work. Thing I've been finding though is that when you spend eight hours per day, five days a week on meaningless work, that meaningless tends to cling to your psyche - kind of like the black alien goo (Venom) that takes over people in Spiderman 3, only without the superpowers or the cool costume.
Now I've been at unfulfilling jobs before but the big difference between this job and those jobs is that I've never felt so unappreciated and unimportant - basically disposable. But honestly, that's not a huge deal. I pretty much expected that. What really grinds me about this job is my coworker - let's call him Harold.
Normally I don't like to dis on people, but the fact is, this guy is unorganized, impatient, selfish, and while I wouldn't go so far as to say he's lazy, he certainly doesn't know how to prioritize. Given the choice between tackling a difficult task with a looming deadline or doing something easier that's due a few days later, he'll take the easy way. Oh, and he likes to start stuff but he doesn't like to follow through and finish. Couple this with his lack of organizational skills and off the top of my head I can name three projects that should have been done from start to finish that were only started.
All this pisses me off because one, it makes me look bad because it looks as if our section doesn't have its shit together and two, it makes my work that much harder because his unfinished projects impinge on my ability to get my own work done.
A few months ago, I would just go in and finish his half-baked projects just to get them off the board but I'm sick of it and I'm not going to keep saving his ass.
But.
But this isn't like me and I don't like what this situation is doing to me.
Normally, I go out of my way to help and at first, that's what I did with Harold. Helping him finish his work made our department look on top of things and it also made work run more smoothly for me (because things were organized). But I started to realize that I was enabling Harold's sloppy work ethic so recently I've started to leave him to his own devices, even if I knew a train-wreck would result, even if I knew we'd both be left scrambling when crunch time came around.
Letting things go to hell like this isn't me and I'm wondering if not being me at work is leading to me not being me outside of work as well.
Here's what I mean.
When Harold does a half-assed job, I suppose it's because he doesn't give a shit. But I do. As a Christian, I work as if I'm working for God, not for my supervisor (Colossians 3:22-24). Now maybe this is taking the idea too far but when I think of "working for the Lord," I lump in the section I work in as a part of that so in a way, when I stop saving Harold's ass all the time and thus let things get a bit more sloppy than I would like (but still within company standards), I feel like I'm not being true to myself or my calling. Does that make any sense?
I suppose I should bring some of my issues up with Harold, but here's the thing. He's been with the company for more than five years whereas I have yet to make one year here. Who am I to tell him how to do his job? Well then I could talk to my supervisor about the situation but it's just Harold and I in our section of the company and if the supervisor comes down hard on Harold because of something I say, that could make a lame work environment downright hostile (did I mention that Harold has a really short fuse?) And again, ratting people out is also not normally a part of my personality and so I feel like I'm stuck in a bind.
(note to self, try writing shorter posts)
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
265. don tomate
Okay, sorry about that. This has, by far, been the longest stretch between posts I've ever allowed myself. Before this, the longest "break" I took was back in July/August of '06 (see blog 219).
So why the long break?
As strange as it sounds, I've been asking myself the same thing for weeks, because I just wasn't posting and it wasn't that I didn't want to post, it wasn't that I didn't have anything to write about, it wasn't even plain ol' laziness because I did want to write...only, I didn't actually write anything - at least nothing that made it to the posting stage.
And then yesterday at lunch while eating my tuna sandwich and reading The Cannon by Natalie Angier, it hit me. Angier's book is about the fundamentals of the sciences, and it was while reading her chapter on scale and measurement that I realized that I had lost my sense of wonder at the world. And you can't write without wonder. Well, you can but it's not going to be very fun to write and certainly no fun at all to read.
See, Angier was saying something about how so much of our understanding of the world is tied into things that are sized relatively close to us. For example, it's pretty easy for us to understand how large one inch, one foot, or one mile is, even if we don't use a ruler. That's because we're used to operating at a scale where inches, feet, and miles are tossed around all the time. However, when it cones to understanding how small a nanometer is (a human hair is about 80,000 nanometers wide) or that the nearest star to our planet (besides the sun) is Proxmia Centauri - a mere 4.2 light years away (24,000,000,000,000 miles) which is a tiny distance considering that the galaxy closest to ours is 2.5 million light years away.
According to Angier, understanding the world at the nanometer level or the intergalactic level is nearly impossible for us because they are so beyond anything we could ever experience with our limited senses.
Now I can't remember exactly how it was that I went from Angier talking abut scales to my minor epiphany, but I realized that the world has become wonderless. And while I love science (which is why I'm reading Angier's book) and what science has done for the world, I also blame science for sucking all of the wonder out of the world. Because as lovely as sunsets are, they are only so because the sun has to travel through more of the earth's atmosphere while near the horizon. As vital as love feels, it's a chemical process in the brain that leads to strong interpersonal bonds which makes for more successful child rearing - a favorable evolutionary trait (see here).
Take any part of nature or human experience that seems transcendent or worthy of awe and you can find a cold, mechanistic explanation for why or how it makes you feel that way. Is it any wonder that I (and many others, I suspect) have forgotten how to marvel at anything anymore? Doesn't all this scientific rationalism leave us with the feeling that we're naive to be dependent on these sloppy, archaic things called emotions?
You might get the idea that I've been morose and depressed all this time, thinking that science has sucked all the marrow from life, but that hasn't been the case. My emotions have been on an even keel - swinging between doing-fine-I'm-okay to whoopee-let's-go-fly-a-kite. But I think part of the reason I haven't been writing is because this whole science-has-an-explanation-for-everything thing has been a kind of invisible anchor.
To tell the whole truth, it's more than this science thing that's been holding me back. I'll talk about some of these other "anchors" in future posts, but (finally) here's what my little lunchtime epiphany taught me.
I need to find a way back to wonder and beauty and awe. But I can't just jettison what reason and science has taught me. I don't want to retreat into fantasy or absurdity (meaninglessness). But then how do we maintain our humanity in an increasingly mechanized/mechanistic world? And how do we make the case for Christianity when atheism is becoming more popular through authors like Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins? And it's not that they're making new arguments, it's more that the idea of there not being a supreme deity is more acceptable now. How do we go about correcting the injustices of the world (like those perpetrated by, say, the United States) when even in the face of damning evidence of damnable actions, people seem far more interested in Friday's release of the iPhone (and yeah, I want one)?
Big problems, big questions. Small blog. But you (I) have to use what God has given me and so instead of being intimidated by what I'm up against, I need to get back at the business of jousting windmills.
Anchors aweigh!
So why the long break?
As strange as it sounds, I've been asking myself the same thing for weeks, because I just wasn't posting and it wasn't that I didn't want to post, it wasn't that I didn't have anything to write about, it wasn't even plain ol' laziness because I did want to write...only, I didn't actually write anything - at least nothing that made it to the posting stage.
And then yesterday at lunch while eating my tuna sandwich and reading The Cannon by Natalie Angier, it hit me. Angier's book is about the fundamentals of the sciences, and it was while reading her chapter on scale and measurement that I realized that I had lost my sense of wonder at the world. And you can't write without wonder. Well, you can but it's not going to be very fun to write and certainly no fun at all to read.
See, Angier was saying something about how so much of our understanding of the world is tied into things that are sized relatively close to us. For example, it's pretty easy for us to understand how large one inch, one foot, or one mile is, even if we don't use a ruler. That's because we're used to operating at a scale where inches, feet, and miles are tossed around all the time. However, when it cones to understanding how small a nanometer is (a human hair is about 80,000 nanometers wide) or that the nearest star to our planet (besides the sun) is Proxmia Centauri - a mere 4.2 light years away (24,000,000,000,000 miles) which is a tiny distance considering that the galaxy closest to ours is 2.5 million light years away.
According to Angier, understanding the world at the nanometer level or the intergalactic level is nearly impossible for us because they are so beyond anything we could ever experience with our limited senses.
Now I can't remember exactly how it was that I went from Angier talking abut scales to my minor epiphany, but I realized that the world has become wonderless. And while I love science (which is why I'm reading Angier's book) and what science has done for the world, I also blame science for sucking all of the wonder out of the world. Because as lovely as sunsets are, they are only so because the sun has to travel through more of the earth's atmosphere while near the horizon. As vital as love feels, it's a chemical process in the brain that leads to strong interpersonal bonds which makes for more successful child rearing - a favorable evolutionary trait (see here).
Take any part of nature or human experience that seems transcendent or worthy of awe and you can find a cold, mechanistic explanation for why or how it makes you feel that way. Is it any wonder that I (and many others, I suspect) have forgotten how to marvel at anything anymore? Doesn't all this scientific rationalism leave us with the feeling that we're naive to be dependent on these sloppy, archaic things called emotions?
You might get the idea that I've been morose and depressed all this time, thinking that science has sucked all the marrow from life, but that hasn't been the case. My emotions have been on an even keel - swinging between doing-fine-I'm-okay to whoopee-let's-go-fly-a-kite. But I think part of the reason I haven't been writing is because this whole science-has-an-explanation-for-everything thing has been a kind of invisible anchor.
To tell the whole truth, it's more than this science thing that's been holding me back. I'll talk about some of these other "anchors" in future posts, but (finally) here's what my little lunchtime epiphany taught me.
I need to find a way back to wonder and beauty and awe. But I can't just jettison what reason and science has taught me. I don't want to retreat into fantasy or absurdity (meaninglessness). But then how do we maintain our humanity in an increasingly mechanized/mechanistic world? And how do we make the case for Christianity when atheism is becoming more popular through authors like Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins? And it's not that they're making new arguments, it's more that the idea of there not being a supreme deity is more acceptable now. How do we go about correcting the injustices of the world (like those perpetrated by, say, the United States) when even in the face of damning evidence of damnable actions, people seem far more interested in Friday's release of the iPhone (and yeah, I want one)?
Big problems, big questions. Small blog. But you (I) have to use what God has given me and so instead of being intimidated by what I'm up against, I need to get back at the business of jousting windmills.
Anchors aweigh!
Monday, April 23, 2007
264. bravo, genius, bestest of the best!
A couple months ago I wrote about the TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) website (see blog 255). I called it the best website ever. Well I just watched the most amazing talk from this most amazing site. It's been a long time since I've laughed as hard and honestly, I nearly wept at the beautiful truth he was expressing - actually, I think a couple tears squeezed out past my defenses when he spoke about Gillian Lynne near the end of his talk.
Genius. Hilarious. And above all, I think he's absolutely, concretely, indisputably correct.
The guy's name is Sir Ken Robinson and while I'm as straight as Ru Paul isn't, I think I love this man.
(If the video player doesn't appear below, try this link.)
Genius. Hilarious. And above all, I think he's absolutely, concretely, indisputably correct.
The guy's name is Sir Ken Robinson and while I'm as straight as Ru Paul isn't, I think I love this man.
(If the video player doesn't appear below, try this link.)
263. iSuck
Yeah, so I'm bombing big time on my new year's resolution to do some fiction writing everyday for at least thirty minutes. I think the last time I touched the journal (the wonderful MacJournal) where I'm keeping my story bits was last Tuesday.
As usual, little demons of self-doubt are to blame (that and a chronic lack of discipline, aka laziness) which is a shame because for a while, I was really getting back into the groove, coming up with some interesting seed material. But you know, in a backwards kind of way, a successful writing session where I get out some surprising, promising bits of prose can be a detriment because I want to keep working in that rich, fertile space and when I can't find it, I start to think that all I am is a monkey pounding away at the keyboard who occasionally strikes a bit of gold, but only by accident.
Here's what I mean. In that last writing session I mentioned above (the one on Tuesday), I got out some really fun, nice bits of prose. I was pleasantly surprised while rereading it on Wednesday morning. Thrilled, in fact. So that night, I sit down, ready to write and I'm stuck, not so much because I don't have anything to write about but because I want to equal what I had written the night before and when I couldn't, I just didn't write at all.
My band seems to be in a bit of the same predicament. We just finished recording a new song (it's called "With You" and you can hear it on our MySpace site). We're all really excited about this song because it's one of the few where each and every member of the band is one hundred percent behind the sound. See, the musical tastes of the band members vary widely - you'll find very little overlap in our CD collections (everything from Pantera to Iris Dement to British Sea Power). Because of this, there are some songs that appeal to certain members while others are ambivalent about them and there are other songs where the shoes are switched around. "With You" is one of those rare few where everyone is happy with the sound.
Well now we're trying to keep going with songwriting, but some are finding it difficult and I can't help but wonder if maybe we're expecting too much of ourselves too soon - that we want every song to feel as good as "With You" and when we're not getting juiced about new songs that are still in the stew, we get discouraged and frustrated. Maybe we want every song to be as strong as "With You" but the truth of the matter is that for every artist, the only way to get from zero to hit song is to wade through the swamp of mediocrity.
Anne Lamott has a great book on writing called Bird by Bird. Lamott has published six novels but is best known for her spiritual memoirs (she just published a new one called Grace Eventually). Obviously, she knows a little something about writing. Well one of the first chapters in Bird by Bird is called "Shitty First Drafts." Basically what she says is that the road to finished piece of prose runs straight through the wasteland of the shitty first draft and the only way through is to write your way through, no shortcuts, no exceptions.
I suspect that what's hindering me from writing (and perhaps my band as well, though I can only speak for my own writing) is writing something that seems to bypass the shitty first draft stage and then wanting every writing session thereafter to be just as profound and sublime. I don't like the shitty first draft and so when I have a writing session that seems to leapfrog over the shitty bit, I want every writing session to do the same.
What I need to remember is that those juicy writing sessions are the exception, not the norm. I need to remember that the only way to have more of those transcendent moments is to slog through the mediocre, the banal, the trite, and the cliched. I need to be especially on guard and disciplined after a particularly fruitful writing session. I need to remember that the muse is a fickle maiden and the only way to lure her out is to head out to the well everyday and pull that bucket up even when it keeps coming back more mud than water. And when I land a clean, clear bucket-full, I need to remember that more likely than not, the next day's draw will likely be back to miry muck. And even then I need to remember that sometimes there's a bit of gold hidden therein.
As usual, little demons of self-doubt are to blame (that and a chronic lack of discipline, aka laziness) which is a shame because for a while, I was really getting back into the groove, coming up with some interesting seed material. But you know, in a backwards kind of way, a successful writing session where I get out some surprising, promising bits of prose can be a detriment because I want to keep working in that rich, fertile space and when I can't find it, I start to think that all I am is a monkey pounding away at the keyboard who occasionally strikes a bit of gold, but only by accident.
Here's what I mean. In that last writing session I mentioned above (the one on Tuesday), I got out some really fun, nice bits of prose. I was pleasantly surprised while rereading it on Wednesday morning. Thrilled, in fact. So that night, I sit down, ready to write and I'm stuck, not so much because I don't have anything to write about but because I want to equal what I had written the night before and when I couldn't, I just didn't write at all.
My band seems to be in a bit of the same predicament. We just finished recording a new song (it's called "With You" and you can hear it on our MySpace site). We're all really excited about this song because it's one of the few where each and every member of the band is one hundred percent behind the sound. See, the musical tastes of the band members vary widely - you'll find very little overlap in our CD collections (everything from Pantera to Iris Dement to British Sea Power). Because of this, there are some songs that appeal to certain members while others are ambivalent about them and there are other songs where the shoes are switched around. "With You" is one of those rare few where everyone is happy with the sound.
Well now we're trying to keep going with songwriting, but some are finding it difficult and I can't help but wonder if maybe we're expecting too much of ourselves too soon - that we want every song to feel as good as "With You" and when we're not getting juiced about new songs that are still in the stew, we get discouraged and frustrated. Maybe we want every song to be as strong as "With You" but the truth of the matter is that for every artist, the only way to get from zero to hit song is to wade through the swamp of mediocrity.
Anne Lamott has a great book on writing called Bird by Bird. Lamott has published six novels but is best known for her spiritual memoirs (she just published a new one called Grace Eventually). Obviously, she knows a little something about writing. Well one of the first chapters in Bird by Bird is called "Shitty First Drafts." Basically what she says is that the road to finished piece of prose runs straight through the wasteland of the shitty first draft and the only way through is to write your way through, no shortcuts, no exceptions.
I suspect that what's hindering me from writing (and perhaps my band as well, though I can only speak for my own writing) is writing something that seems to bypass the shitty first draft stage and then wanting every writing session thereafter to be just as profound and sublime. I don't like the shitty first draft and so when I have a writing session that seems to leapfrog over the shitty bit, I want every writing session to do the same.
What I need to remember is that those juicy writing sessions are the exception, not the norm. I need to remember that the only way to have more of those transcendent moments is to slog through the mediocre, the banal, the trite, and the cliched. I need to be especially on guard and disciplined after a particularly fruitful writing session. I need to remember that the muse is a fickle maiden and the only way to lure her out is to head out to the well everyday and pull that bucket up even when it keeps coming back more mud than water. And when I land a clean, clear bucket-full, I need to remember that more likely than not, the next day's draw will likely be back to miry muck. And even then I need to remember that sometimes there's a bit of gold hidden therein.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
262. middles and endings
I've been doing reasonably well with my resolution to write more (see blog 259. I've come up with a lot of interesting beginnings, but not a lot in the way of middles or endings.
It's a strange thing, this writing business. To be honest, nine times out of ten as I'm writing, I'm riddled with self-doubt but more often than not, when I return to what I've written a few days or weeks later, I'm surprised at what I've done. This often gives me enough encouragement to continue the work but sure enough, once I've begun again, the doubts return.
It's a pretty vicious cycle. To be honest, I can see why so many writers are driven to drink. It's not easy to make that critical voice shut up. At the same time, I can see why other writers are such egomaniacs. Another way to shut that critical nerve down is to tell yourself that you're amazing, the best writer to ever put pen to page.
Me? Well, I don't drink to excess and I certainly don't have an ego (and damn proud of it). I suppose that's why the disciplined writing approach is the only sure way forward and encouraged by so many writing teachers.
I don't know. I guess I shouldn't be so hard on myself for writing so many beginnings. Maybe it'll be good to have all this seed material for when fresh ideas are nowhere to be found. Maybe that will be the time to write middles and pray for endings.
Writing is strange. There's a lot of faith involved, at least with the way that I write. I never know where a story will end up. I often don't even know what it's about. I just start out with a line or the vaguest notion of an idea. Starting with so little, it's an act of blind faith, believing that a story can be coaxed out of these humble beginnings. It involves a lot of waiting and listening. It involves a lot of trust.
What am I listening for? What am I trusting in? That's hard to describe. Maybe I should talk about the opposite, what it feels like when I'm in the zone.
There are rare moments when the stars align, when the juices are flowing and words are falling from the sky. In times like these, it's like I can't keep up. It's almost like the story is telling itself to me and I just have to get out of the way and try not to interrupt the flow by worrying about spelling or style. It's like each sentence is a key that unlocks the next idea and what I find when the doors fling open is a surprise that makes up the next sentence which, in turn, becomes another key and so on.
Times like that are few and very far between but that's what I listen for, that's what I'm trusting - that the hard headed, inspiration-be-damned-I'mgoing-to-write-anyway approach will wake the muse, draw her out from wherever she hides and that she will sing me a story, toss it into the air like weightless confetti and all I have to do is puck the words out of the sky like so many golden apples.
She hasn't been singing lately but she's been teasing me with hints and beginnings, seeds and clues, fits and starts. It's like I've been given a brief snippet of a melody and I'm trying to place the tune but no matter how hard I wrack my brain, I can't hear the complete song.
But I take what I can get. And I listen. And I trust.
It's a strange thing, this writing business. To be honest, nine times out of ten as I'm writing, I'm riddled with self-doubt but more often than not, when I return to what I've written a few days or weeks later, I'm surprised at what I've done. This often gives me enough encouragement to continue the work but sure enough, once I've begun again, the doubts return.
It's a pretty vicious cycle. To be honest, I can see why so many writers are driven to drink. It's not easy to make that critical voice shut up. At the same time, I can see why other writers are such egomaniacs. Another way to shut that critical nerve down is to tell yourself that you're amazing, the best writer to ever put pen to page.
Me? Well, I don't drink to excess and I certainly don't have an ego (and damn proud of it). I suppose that's why the disciplined writing approach is the only sure way forward and encouraged by so many writing teachers.
I don't know. I guess I shouldn't be so hard on myself for writing so many beginnings. Maybe it'll be good to have all this seed material for when fresh ideas are nowhere to be found. Maybe that will be the time to write middles and pray for endings.
Writing is strange. There's a lot of faith involved, at least with the way that I write. I never know where a story will end up. I often don't even know what it's about. I just start out with a line or the vaguest notion of an idea. Starting with so little, it's an act of blind faith, believing that a story can be coaxed out of these humble beginnings. It involves a lot of waiting and listening. It involves a lot of trust.
What am I listening for? What am I trusting in? That's hard to describe. Maybe I should talk about the opposite, what it feels like when I'm in the zone.
There are rare moments when the stars align, when the juices are flowing and words are falling from the sky. In times like these, it's like I can't keep up. It's almost like the story is telling itself to me and I just have to get out of the way and try not to interrupt the flow by worrying about spelling or style. It's like each sentence is a key that unlocks the next idea and what I find when the doors fling open is a surprise that makes up the next sentence which, in turn, becomes another key and so on.
Times like that are few and very far between but that's what I listen for, that's what I'm trusting - that the hard headed, inspiration-be-damned-I'mgoing-to-write-anyway approach will wake the muse, draw her out from wherever she hides and that she will sing me a story, toss it into the air like weightless confetti and all I have to do is puck the words out of the sky like so many golden apples.
She hasn't been singing lately but she's been teasing me with hints and beginnings, seeds and clues, fits and starts. It's like I've been given a brief snippet of a melody and I'm trying to place the tune but no matter how hard I wrack my brain, I can't hear the complete song.
But I take what I can get. And I listen. And I trust.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
261. free as a bird
First things first.
This is an entry about a "date" I had with Quest Girl (see blog 240 and blog 249 for the backstory). Technically, it wasn't a date. We were just hanging out but for the sake of simplicity, I'm going to refer to it as a date (because typing out "date" is shorter than "hanging out" and easier to deal with grammatically).
Now the reason for this short disclaimer is because there's an outside chance that QG has read, reads, or might read this blog so I want to dot the I's and cross the T's, so to speak.
As for the date itself, I have good news, bad news (sort of), and great news, each of which I'll get to in turn.
First the good news.
I finally worked up the stones to ask her out. Here's a brief account of how it went down. I've been attending what my church refers to as a C-Group (basically a Bible study). Well as it turns out (not entirely by coincidence), I go to the same CG that QG attends (but that's not the only reason I chose that one). Well a couple weeks ago, after the formal part of the study was over, everybody was hanging out, chilling and shooting the breeze. Somehow it worked out that QG and I end up chatting and it was cool. Questions went back and forth and it was fun.
Now all the time we're chatting, I'm thinking that this is the perfect (I mean, tailor made perfect) chance for me to ask her out. I keep telling myself that this is the opportunity I've been waiting for, that it would be so easy, that all I have to do is ask, but every time it's my turn in the conversation to ask a question, I ask about something random like "how long have you worked at the tea shop" or "what's your ethnicity" or "so, do you come here often?" I ask all kinds of questions except for the one I really want to ask.
Well finally she has to go talk to someone else before they leave and so we say, bye, nice to talk to you and go our separate ways.
As you might imagine, all through the drive home I was beating myself up, kicking myself HARD. I couldn't believe myself, how lame, how useless, how stupid and weak I was. There's a Weezer song that's particularly apropos:
What's the deal with my brain
Why am I so obviously insane
In a perfect situation
I let love down the drain
There's the pitch, slow and straight
All I have to do is swing and I'm a hero
But I'm a zero
I almost felt too ashamed to pray but it was all I could do to keep myself from driving into oncoming traffic. But it was hard because I'd been praying for just the kind of opportunity I had that night but I failed, floundered, flunked (and some other words that start with "f"). I felt as if I had let God down again. But I did pray, first for God to forgive me for being such a spineless wuss, then for me to forgive myself for being a spineless wuss, and finally for the backbone to move beyond being a spineless wuss. It was a pretty tortured prayer session for most of the drive home.
And then.
And then it was as if a switch was flipped and everything turned around. Before I realized it had happened, I went from torturous self-immolation to joyous celebration. It hit me that she had sort of come up and talked to me that night and during the course of the conversation, it seemed as if she was asking more than her fair share of questions. In addition, she had mentioned things she'd remembered I'd said in previous weeks at the Bible study. I realized that despite my utter failure at asking her out that night, that I still had a chance - a good chance, in fact.
It's a good thing my roommates weren't home when I got back because I probably would have freaked them out with my fists-in-the-air, end zone victory dance around our living room. I made a stupid spectacle of myself because I felt as if I'd just won the lottery. Not only did I have more than all the encouragement I needed to ask QG out the next time I saw her, I also felt the glow of answered prayer. I mean what else could have brought about such a 180 degree change in attitude?
Well that Sunday rolls around and I've got the butterflies churning inside but I'm determined not to let them stop me. Service ends and I'm talking with a friend when I see her walking out the door. I don't think I properly ended my conversation with whomever I was talking to because I set out after her. We chitted and chatted to the parking lot and as she made for her car, I almost wussed out again but I MADE myself ask her if she wanted to go hangout sometime. She said she didn't want to date but if it was just hanging out then she'd be up for that.
I got her number, we said goodbye, and I walked back to my own car feeling as if I'd swum the Gibraltar Strait, run with the bulls in Pamplona, and scaled Everest. I felt like a bad ass. A couple days later I give her a call and we decided to see a movie, The Namesake starring Kal Penn (Kumar, from the movie Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle).
Okay, so that's the good news. The bad news is. . .
I thought the movie was okay, but it tried to cram too much into too small a space. But that's not the bad news. QG and I grab a bite to eat afterwards (well, I ate, she had already eaten) and we get to talk some more and that was nice. I walk her back to her car and I casually ask if she'd like to get together again sometime. She very nicely, very politely declines, suggesting we just see each other at CG and at church.
That's the bad news but here's the great news.
The amazing, almost too good to be true fact is that I was absolutely, one hundred one percent fine with that. And it may sound strange but I was nearly giddy with delight - not because she said no but because I was okay with her saying no. Driving home, I felt ten feet tall, strong as a herd of wild elephants, and able to leap tall buildings using nothing but my little toe. I felt free as a bird.
See, one of the things that used to cripple me when asking girls out was the fear of rejection. Now unless they're a player of the highest order, every guy feels some ounce of fear when asking someone out. In my case, it used to be a ton of fear because I had a fragile self esteem so when I got turned down, I would crumble into a pathetic puddle of self loathing. When this happened, it would take a while to get back to feeling anything like normal. Of course I hated feeling like that so instead of risking rejection, I accepted the lonely despair of singleness because that felt like bliss in comparison.
So when QG turned me down and I realized that I didn't disintegrate, I discovered that I had become a stronger person. I was no longer the fragile glass man like Samuel L. Jackson's character in the movie Unbreakable or the lonely painter in the movie Amelie, I was Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything, able to ask out the most beautiful girl at school despite the odds against him (because one of the reasons I wanted to ask QG out was because I thought she was prettiest by far at the church).
I don't know if I'm getting across the magnitude of this attitudinal change and how liberating this is for me. Imagine a hydrophobic swimming in the ocean, imagine an agoraphobic going to the mall. This approaches blind man seeing, lame man walking levels. Again, I feel free as a bird - a large bird able to fly intercontinental distances. Maybe even an alien space bird, able to traverse the galaxy.
No, things didn't work out as hoped but that doesn't matter. I've discovered a newfound resiliency. i've learned that I CAN ask out the prettiest girl and that she'll say yes and that even if it never goes beyond the first date, I will survive, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive. I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give and I'll survive.
I will survive!
This is an entry about a "date" I had with Quest Girl (see blog 240 and blog 249 for the backstory). Technically, it wasn't a date. We were just hanging out but for the sake of simplicity, I'm going to refer to it as a date (because typing out "date" is shorter than "hanging out" and easier to deal with grammatically).
Now the reason for this short disclaimer is because there's an outside chance that QG has read, reads, or might read this blog so I want to dot the I's and cross the T's, so to speak.
As for the date itself, I have good news, bad news (sort of), and great news, each of which I'll get to in turn.
First the good news.
I finally worked up the stones to ask her out. Here's a brief account of how it went down. I've been attending what my church refers to as a C-Group (basically a Bible study). Well as it turns out (not entirely by coincidence), I go to the same CG that QG attends (but that's not the only reason I chose that one). Well a couple weeks ago, after the formal part of the study was over, everybody was hanging out, chilling and shooting the breeze. Somehow it worked out that QG and I end up chatting and it was cool. Questions went back and forth and it was fun.
Now all the time we're chatting, I'm thinking that this is the perfect (I mean, tailor made perfect) chance for me to ask her out. I keep telling myself that this is the opportunity I've been waiting for, that it would be so easy, that all I have to do is ask, but every time it's my turn in the conversation to ask a question, I ask about something random like "how long have you worked at the tea shop" or "what's your ethnicity" or "so, do you come here often?" I ask all kinds of questions except for the one I really want to ask.
Well finally she has to go talk to someone else before they leave and so we say, bye, nice to talk to you and go our separate ways.
As you might imagine, all through the drive home I was beating myself up, kicking myself HARD. I couldn't believe myself, how lame, how useless, how stupid and weak I was. There's a Weezer song that's particularly apropos:
What's the deal with my brain
Why am I so obviously insane
In a perfect situation
I let love down the drain
There's the pitch, slow and straight
All I have to do is swing and I'm a hero
But I'm a zero
I almost felt too ashamed to pray but it was all I could do to keep myself from driving into oncoming traffic. But it was hard because I'd been praying for just the kind of opportunity I had that night but I failed, floundered, flunked (and some other words that start with "f"). I felt as if I had let God down again. But I did pray, first for God to forgive me for being such a spineless wuss, then for me to forgive myself for being a spineless wuss, and finally for the backbone to move beyond being a spineless wuss. It was a pretty tortured prayer session for most of the drive home.
And then.
And then it was as if a switch was flipped and everything turned around. Before I realized it had happened, I went from torturous self-immolation to joyous celebration. It hit me that she had sort of come up and talked to me that night and during the course of the conversation, it seemed as if she was asking more than her fair share of questions. In addition, she had mentioned things she'd remembered I'd said in previous weeks at the Bible study. I realized that despite my utter failure at asking her out that night, that I still had a chance - a good chance, in fact.
It's a good thing my roommates weren't home when I got back because I probably would have freaked them out with my fists-in-the-air, end zone victory dance around our living room. I made a stupid spectacle of myself because I felt as if I'd just won the lottery. Not only did I have more than all the encouragement I needed to ask QG out the next time I saw her, I also felt the glow of answered prayer. I mean what else could have brought about such a 180 degree change in attitude?
Well that Sunday rolls around and I've got the butterflies churning inside but I'm determined not to let them stop me. Service ends and I'm talking with a friend when I see her walking out the door. I don't think I properly ended my conversation with whomever I was talking to because I set out after her. We chitted and chatted to the parking lot and as she made for her car, I almost wussed out again but I MADE myself ask her if she wanted to go hangout sometime. She said she didn't want to date but if it was just hanging out then she'd be up for that.
I got her number, we said goodbye, and I walked back to my own car feeling as if I'd swum the Gibraltar Strait, run with the bulls in Pamplona, and scaled Everest. I felt like a bad ass. A couple days later I give her a call and we decided to see a movie, The Namesake starring Kal Penn (Kumar, from the movie Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle).
Okay, so that's the good news. The bad news is. . .
I thought the movie was okay, but it tried to cram too much into too small a space. But that's not the bad news. QG and I grab a bite to eat afterwards (well, I ate, she had already eaten) and we get to talk some more and that was nice. I walk her back to her car and I casually ask if she'd like to get together again sometime. She very nicely, very politely declines, suggesting we just see each other at CG and at church.
That's the bad news but here's the great news.
The amazing, almost too good to be true fact is that I was absolutely, one hundred one percent fine with that. And it may sound strange but I was nearly giddy with delight - not because she said no but because I was okay with her saying no. Driving home, I felt ten feet tall, strong as a herd of wild elephants, and able to leap tall buildings using nothing but my little toe. I felt free as a bird.
See, one of the things that used to cripple me when asking girls out was the fear of rejection. Now unless they're a player of the highest order, every guy feels some ounce of fear when asking someone out. In my case, it used to be a ton of fear because I had a fragile self esteem so when I got turned down, I would crumble into a pathetic puddle of self loathing. When this happened, it would take a while to get back to feeling anything like normal. Of course I hated feeling like that so instead of risking rejection, I accepted the lonely despair of singleness because that felt like bliss in comparison.
So when QG turned me down and I realized that I didn't disintegrate, I discovered that I had become a stronger person. I was no longer the fragile glass man like Samuel L. Jackson's character in the movie Unbreakable or the lonely painter in the movie Amelie, I was Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything, able to ask out the most beautiful girl at school despite the odds against him (because one of the reasons I wanted to ask QG out was because I thought she was prettiest by far at the church).
I don't know if I'm getting across the magnitude of this attitudinal change and how liberating this is for me. Imagine a hydrophobic swimming in the ocean, imagine an agoraphobic going to the mall. This approaches blind man seeing, lame man walking levels. Again, I feel free as a bird - a large bird able to fly intercontinental distances. Maybe even an alien space bird, able to traverse the galaxy.
No, things didn't work out as hoped but that doesn't matter. I've discovered a newfound resiliency. i've learned that I CAN ask out the prettiest girl and that she'll say yes and that even if it never goes beyond the first date, I will survive, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive. I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give and I'll survive.
I will survive!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
260. mixing pop and politics
Mixing pop and politics
he asks me what the use is.
I offer him embarrassment
and my usual excuses
Quote taken from Billy Bragg's great song, "Waiting For the Great Leap Forward."
I've been a fan of Bragg's music since the early nineties. He writes the most amazing love songs with lines like these:
I saw two shooting stars last night
I wished on them but they were only satellites
Is it wrong to wish on space hardware
I wish, I wish, I wish you'd care
and
If you want to talk about it
you know where the phone is
Don't come 'round reminding me again
how brittle bone is
and
I love you
I am the milkman of human kindness
I will leave an extra pint
It's lines like that that first got me listening to his music. But I quickly discovered that he has a very strong, very leftist, political streak to his music as well.
So you bought it all, the best your money could buy
And I watched you sell your soul for their bright shining lie
Where are the principles of the friend I thought I knew
I guess you let them fade from red to blue
In my last post I wrote about how I want to get more intentional about my writing (fiction). And though I didn't share it in that post, I've always wondered what part my writing plays in the grand scheme of the Kingdom of God.
And I think I have a clue.
A few weeks ago on my pastor's blog he put up an entry about Burma. Then earlier this week I saw a report on the situation in Burma on the Frontline World website.
That's when it hit me. Like Bragg, I can intermingle pop and politics, lighter stories about love and life mixed with weightier stories about injustices in the world.
One of my favorite writers comes to mind, the incomparable T. Coraghessan Boyle. His short stories cover a wide range of topics and that tells me that it's more than possible for me to aim wide and to be generous in scope.
There is a danger though. Some of the worst writing emerges when one tries to drape fiction over an agenda. What results is often a clunky, tedious narrative weighed down by its own ideology.
In fiction, the story always comes first. It's been my experience that every time I've started a story thinking I knew where it was going to end up, one of two things would happen. Either I make the story go where I want and it ends up being a worthless rant or I follow the story where it leads and in the best of cases, I end up somewhere I never would have come up with on my own.
One last bit about writing.
I used to think that writing was like a bird who finds a worm sticking its head out of the ground. The bird has to swoop down quickly before the worm can duck his head back into the mud and once it has him in its beak, it has to pull until either it or the worm is spent. What I mean is, I thought writing was a matter of finding inspiration and then tugging on it until I get the whole worm (story) out or I get too tired to continue writing.
I have a new metaphor for the writing process. It's like fishing on the lake of the collective unconscious. You cast out your line and you troll the waters, hoping to land a big one. Sometimes you'll come up empty, but the only way to be there for the big bite is to keep casting that lure out there. In this way, writing is a discipline. The ideas are out there under the water and the only way to fish them out is to be out there every day, luring them out and fighting like mad to land the sucker once inspiration does strike.
I gues I've gone from being a bird to being a fisherman. That's progress, no?
he asks me what the use is.
I offer him embarrassment
and my usual excuses
Quote taken from Billy Bragg's great song, "Waiting For the Great Leap Forward."
I've been a fan of Bragg's music since the early nineties. He writes the most amazing love songs with lines like these:
I saw two shooting stars last night
I wished on them but they were only satellites
Is it wrong to wish on space hardware
I wish, I wish, I wish you'd care
and
If you want to talk about it
you know where the phone is
Don't come 'round reminding me again
how brittle bone is
and
I love you
I am the milkman of human kindness
I will leave an extra pint
It's lines like that that first got me listening to his music. But I quickly discovered that he has a very strong, very leftist, political streak to his music as well.
So you bought it all, the best your money could buy
And I watched you sell your soul for their bright shining lie
Where are the principles of the friend I thought I knew
I guess you let them fade from red to blue
In my last post I wrote about how I want to get more intentional about my writing (fiction). And though I didn't share it in that post, I've always wondered what part my writing plays in the grand scheme of the Kingdom of God.
And I think I have a clue.
A few weeks ago on my pastor's blog he put up an entry about Burma. Then earlier this week I saw a report on the situation in Burma on the Frontline World website.
That's when it hit me. Like Bragg, I can intermingle pop and politics, lighter stories about love and life mixed with weightier stories about injustices in the world.
One of my favorite writers comes to mind, the incomparable T. Coraghessan Boyle. His short stories cover a wide range of topics and that tells me that it's more than possible for me to aim wide and to be generous in scope.
There is a danger though. Some of the worst writing emerges when one tries to drape fiction over an agenda. What results is often a clunky, tedious narrative weighed down by its own ideology.
In fiction, the story always comes first. It's been my experience that every time I've started a story thinking I knew where it was going to end up, one of two things would happen. Either I make the story go where I want and it ends up being a worthless rant or I follow the story where it leads and in the best of cases, I end up somewhere I never would have come up with on my own.
One last bit about writing.
I used to think that writing was like a bird who finds a worm sticking its head out of the ground. The bird has to swoop down quickly before the worm can duck his head back into the mud and once it has him in its beak, it has to pull until either it or the worm is spent. What I mean is, I thought writing was a matter of finding inspiration and then tugging on it until I get the whole worm (story) out or I get too tired to continue writing.
I have a new metaphor for the writing process. It's like fishing on the lake of the collective unconscious. You cast out your line and you troll the waters, hoping to land a big one. Sometimes you'll come up empty, but the only way to be there for the big bite is to keep casting that lure out there. In this way, writing is a discipline. The ideas are out there under the water and the only way to fish them out is to be out there every day, luring them out and fighting like mad to land the sucker once inspiration does strike.
I gues I've gone from being a bird to being a fisherman. That's progress, no?
Sunday, March 25, 2007
259. a new year's resolution...in March
Well, better late than never, no?
Back in blog 257, I shared about some brewing discontent. On the MySpace version of my blog (try this link), someone left a comment asking about my job, about how I've referred to it as a brainless job (see blog 234). She wondered how someone like me (she used the word, "intellectual," but I'm far too modest (and unknowledgable) to claim that title for myself) can find satisfaction at a brainless job and how I should instead be trying to find work more closely aligned to the gifts that God has given me.
And that got me thinking.
Now the first priority in my life right now is the band. However, if rock stardom doesn't happen for us, I really only have one very vague plan B and unfortunately, it's just as risky as the band venture. Plan B is to try to make it as a writer. To be more specific, a short story writer.
With this, and the aforementioned blog comment, in mind, I made a decision. I need to get more serious about my writing.
One of the things I've heard working writers talk about is how one needs a sense of discipline. I, however, have always been a writer who works on inspiration. I wait for the muse to speak and then I try to get it all down before she disappears again. Now if the muse was a regular visitor to my doorstep, this wouldn't be a problem but she hasn't come around lately and I know her to take extended leaves of absence.
Fact is, it sucks to write when uninspired. It's like trying to force yourself to be in love. But it's necessary. All the writers I admire talk about a strict writing regimen. And so, I've decided to take the advice my reader left me and start working at a job that's meaningful to me. To this end, I've decided to make a new year's resolution to write for at least thirty minutes a day, every day. I intend to up this to one hour of writing six months from now (September).
Now I know thirty minutes is pretty small potatoes in the world of writing but one of the things I've learned about setting goals is to start by setting attainable goals. I know I could go all gung ho and resolve to write for at least four hours every day but I know myself and I'd be able to stick to that kind of resolution for about, well, thirty minutes and then I'd give up on it all together. Instead, I'm going to start with thirty minutes work up from there.
This is my third night since making this resolution and while the writing has been rather mediocre (and even that's being generous), it's more fiction than I've written this whole year. I know I've written a bunch of blog entries but they don't count for this. The thirty minutes are to be devoted to writing fiction and while my life does seem surreal at times, my blog entries are not what I want to publish.
Unfortunately, thirty minute writing sessions do not pay very well so I'll have to keep the brainless job in order to pay the bills. Fortunately, one of the reasons I chose the brainless job was so that I'd have enough creative energy leftover after work to do some writing or to make music with my band. Unfortunately, this means I should have no excuse to not write.
Back in blog 257, I shared about some brewing discontent. On the MySpace version of my blog (try this link), someone left a comment asking about my job, about how I've referred to it as a brainless job (see blog 234). She wondered how someone like me (she used the word, "intellectual," but I'm far too modest (and unknowledgable) to claim that title for myself) can find satisfaction at a brainless job and how I should instead be trying to find work more closely aligned to the gifts that God has given me.
And that got me thinking.
Now the first priority in my life right now is the band. However, if rock stardom doesn't happen for us, I really only have one very vague plan B and unfortunately, it's just as risky as the band venture. Plan B is to try to make it as a writer. To be more specific, a short story writer.
With this, and the aforementioned blog comment, in mind, I made a decision. I need to get more serious about my writing.
One of the things I've heard working writers talk about is how one needs a sense of discipline. I, however, have always been a writer who works on inspiration. I wait for the muse to speak and then I try to get it all down before she disappears again. Now if the muse was a regular visitor to my doorstep, this wouldn't be a problem but she hasn't come around lately and I know her to take extended leaves of absence.
Fact is, it sucks to write when uninspired. It's like trying to force yourself to be in love. But it's necessary. All the writers I admire talk about a strict writing regimen. And so, I've decided to take the advice my reader left me and start working at a job that's meaningful to me. To this end, I've decided to make a new year's resolution to write for at least thirty minutes a day, every day. I intend to up this to one hour of writing six months from now (September).
Now I know thirty minutes is pretty small potatoes in the world of writing but one of the things I've learned about setting goals is to start by setting attainable goals. I know I could go all gung ho and resolve to write for at least four hours every day but I know myself and I'd be able to stick to that kind of resolution for about, well, thirty minutes and then I'd give up on it all together. Instead, I'm going to start with thirty minutes work up from there.
This is my third night since making this resolution and while the writing has been rather mediocre (and even that's being generous), it's more fiction than I've written this whole year. I know I've written a bunch of blog entries but they don't count for this. The thirty minutes are to be devoted to writing fiction and while my life does seem surreal at times, my blog entries are not what I want to publish.
Unfortunately, thirty minute writing sessions do not pay very well so I'll have to keep the brainless job in order to pay the bills. Fortunately, one of the reasons I chose the brainless job was so that I'd have enough creative energy leftover after work to do some writing or to make music with my band. Unfortunately, this means I should have no excuse to not write.
Monday, March 19, 2007
258. miscelaneous bits
I'm going to use this post to catch up on some small things that I want to share about - things that are too small to warrant an entire entry of their own.
1. Two summers ago, I traveled down the west coast for a week with my band. We landed in Seattle and during the course of the week we drove down to San Francisco and then to LA. That was a lot of driving and we tried all kinds of different road games and discussions to keep ourselves from going absolutely stir crazy.
I remember one of the things we talked about was concerts. We asked each other, if we could see any band in concert, who would it be. I think I probably answered with the bands Rush, Sheryl Crow, and The Police. Out of the three, the one band I wanted to see most was The Police because their drummer, Stewart Copeland is one of my mostest favoritest drummers of all time. I can't stress how much his playing has taught me about manipulating time on the drum set while still maintaining the pulse and drive that rock music demands.
At the time, I said that even though The Police is the band I wanted to see the most, it's also the band that had the smallest chance of getting back together. At the time, Sting's career was still going reasonably well and I always knew that as long as Sting was doing well by himself that he wouldn't be a part of any kind of Police reunion.
What a difference two years makes. When's the last time you heard of Sting? Was it, perhaps, when the announcement went out that The Police were getting back together for a freaking REUNION TOUR!
Tickets went fast for the show. I think I logged on about two hours after tickets went on sale online and couldn't find a ticket at any price. I was stunned and heartbroken. I checked ebay and discovered that tickets were in the thousand dollar range. I was kicking myself because I thought I had lost my chance to see them in concert.
On a whim, I logged onto Ticket Master again that night and I guess earlier that day the servers were just jammed because I didn't have any trouble at all finding seats. I mean, they weren't the best seats by any means, but there were seats. I ended up taking a chance and buying seats behind the stage. I'm hoping that I'll have a bird's eye view of Stewart Copeland and that I'll be able to watch him do his thing...and maybe even cop a few new licks for myself.
2. Spring is just around the corner and let me tell you, it's a beautiful sight. There are blossoms on the trees and their bursts of color are like fireworks tethered to the ground by bark and branch. It makes me feel giddy.
You know, I just had a thought. It's stupid to have Valentine's during the heart of winter. Spring is the time for love. Someone should start a crusade and have Valentine's Day moved to April, maybe a week after taxes are due as a way to unwind.
3. My band got to play our first show in Seattle. We actually played a couple shows up in Everett at a place called Jimmy Z's, but the other night, we got to play at The Central Saloon in the heart of Pioneer Square which is supposed to be where a lot of live music goes down. We had the midnight slot on a Sunday night so the place wasn't exactly packed with people but I think we put on a kick ass show anyway. I know I had a blast.
Oh and speaking of the band, we have a new bass player. His name is Drew. He's only nineteen but he acts and plays like someone older and wiser. With Drew being nineteen, we actually have a sixteen year span of ages in the band; this in addition to the fact that we have an African-American, two Asian-Americans and now a white guy in the band. We used to joke that if (when) we ever go on tour, we're going to call it the Affirmative Action Tour because we'll sue any club that doesn't let us play for discrimination. We're itching to play and we'll bust out the race card if we have to.
Let's see, was there anything else?
Ah yes.
4. To the guy who borrowed my DVD of Punch Drunk Love back in Hawaii, I hope you know that you've robbed me of one of my favorite movies. I'll probably be buying myself a new copy soon because it's one of those that I never get tired of watching.
Just to make sure of this, I rented a copy from Netflix and sure enough, the movie brought back the same wild and quirky high that it did when I first saw it. And I didn't realize it until I saw the movie again but a lot of my favorite movies have to do with two odd misfits finding one another. Movies like Secretary and Amelie. And I suppose it's because I see myself in these movies. I don't think I'm like most people and I'm not just looking for a pretty girl to go out with. I want to find someone who also feels a bit like a square peg in a round world.
There's this great scene in Punch Drunk where Barry Egan (Adam Sandler) and Lena Leonard (played by the oh, so lovely Emily Watson) are in bed whispering to one another about how much they love the other, and they do so in a way that is bizarre but sweet in a twisted, Hannibal Lecter kind of way:
Lena: You're face is so adorable, your skin and your cheek. I want to bite it. I want to bite your cheek and chew on it, it's so fucking cute.
Barry: I'm looking at your face and I just want to smash it. I just want to fucking smash it with a sledgehammer and squeeze it, you're so pretty.
Lena: I want to chew your face and I want to scoop out your eyes and I want to eat them, chew on them, and suck on them.
Barry: Okay. This is funny.
Lena: Yeah.
Barry: This is nice.
What I find so striking about this scene is how Lena and Barry are able to be their true, strange, slightly bent selves with one another. Not only that, but even though they're saying these outlandish things to one another, they're actually speaking terms of endearment, only they're doing so in a way that is unique to them.
Do you see how beautiful that is? That these two people can say things to one another that most people would misunderstand as horrifying and repulsive but in their minds, these are complements of the highest order. And they get it. They don't hear violence in those words, they hear love but even more important than that, they've found someone who speaks the same skewed language and sees the world through the same skewed lens. They were cut from the same piece of cloth.
Now I'm not about to start talking to women about sledgehammers and eyeballs but I do want to end up with someone with whom I can be my true, not safe for public consumption self. I don't want to have to worry about acting like everyone else. And I want her to be herself as well. I want to meet someone with a few dents and dings, someone a bit off center. I want to let her know it's okay for her to be her oddball self around me.
That's what I see happening in Punch Drunk Love and in Secretary and in Amelie. Oh, and also in American Beauty - the way Jane Burnham (Thora Birch) and Ricky Fitts (Wes Bentley, the kid who was always videotaping stuff) are two misfits who are misunderstood until they find each other.
5. Okay, I think that's all.
Geeze, I thought this was going to be a short, simple post. Here I am three hours later still at it. I better post this sucker before I think of something else to write about.
1. Two summers ago, I traveled down the west coast for a week with my band. We landed in Seattle and during the course of the week we drove down to San Francisco and then to LA. That was a lot of driving and we tried all kinds of different road games and discussions to keep ourselves from going absolutely stir crazy.
I remember one of the things we talked about was concerts. We asked each other, if we could see any band in concert, who would it be. I think I probably answered with the bands Rush, Sheryl Crow, and The Police. Out of the three, the one band I wanted to see most was The Police because their drummer, Stewart Copeland is one of my mostest favoritest drummers of all time. I can't stress how much his playing has taught me about manipulating time on the drum set while still maintaining the pulse and drive that rock music demands.
At the time, I said that even though The Police is the band I wanted to see the most, it's also the band that had the smallest chance of getting back together. At the time, Sting's career was still going reasonably well and I always knew that as long as Sting was doing well by himself that he wouldn't be a part of any kind of Police reunion.
What a difference two years makes. When's the last time you heard of Sting? Was it, perhaps, when the announcement went out that The Police were getting back together for a freaking REUNION TOUR!
Tickets went fast for the show. I think I logged on about two hours after tickets went on sale online and couldn't find a ticket at any price. I was stunned and heartbroken. I checked ebay and discovered that tickets were in the thousand dollar range. I was kicking myself because I thought I had lost my chance to see them in concert.
On a whim, I logged onto Ticket Master again that night and I guess earlier that day the servers were just jammed because I didn't have any trouble at all finding seats. I mean, they weren't the best seats by any means, but there were seats. I ended up taking a chance and buying seats behind the stage. I'm hoping that I'll have a bird's eye view of Stewart Copeland and that I'll be able to watch him do his thing...and maybe even cop a few new licks for myself.
2. Spring is just around the corner and let me tell you, it's a beautiful sight. There are blossoms on the trees and their bursts of color are like fireworks tethered to the ground by bark and branch. It makes me feel giddy.
You know, I just had a thought. It's stupid to have Valentine's during the heart of winter. Spring is the time for love. Someone should start a crusade and have Valentine's Day moved to April, maybe a week after taxes are due as a way to unwind.
3. My band got to play our first show in Seattle. We actually played a couple shows up in Everett at a place called Jimmy Z's, but the other night, we got to play at The Central Saloon in the heart of Pioneer Square which is supposed to be where a lot of live music goes down. We had the midnight slot on a Sunday night so the place wasn't exactly packed with people but I think we put on a kick ass show anyway. I know I had a blast.
Oh and speaking of the band, we have a new bass player. His name is Drew. He's only nineteen but he acts and plays like someone older and wiser. With Drew being nineteen, we actually have a sixteen year span of ages in the band; this in addition to the fact that we have an African-American, two Asian-Americans and now a white guy in the band. We used to joke that if (when) we ever go on tour, we're going to call it the Affirmative Action Tour because we'll sue any club that doesn't let us play for discrimination. We're itching to play and we'll bust out the race card if we have to.
Let's see, was there anything else?
Ah yes.
4. To the guy who borrowed my DVD of Punch Drunk Love back in Hawaii, I hope you know that you've robbed me of one of my favorite movies. I'll probably be buying myself a new copy soon because it's one of those that I never get tired of watching.
Just to make sure of this, I rented a copy from Netflix and sure enough, the movie brought back the same wild and quirky high that it did when I first saw it. And I didn't realize it until I saw the movie again but a lot of my favorite movies have to do with two odd misfits finding one another. Movies like Secretary and Amelie. And I suppose it's because I see myself in these movies. I don't think I'm like most people and I'm not just looking for a pretty girl to go out with. I want to find someone who also feels a bit like a square peg in a round world.
There's this great scene in Punch Drunk where Barry Egan (Adam Sandler) and Lena Leonard (played by the oh, so lovely Emily Watson) are in bed whispering to one another about how much they love the other, and they do so in a way that is bizarre but sweet in a twisted, Hannibal Lecter kind of way:
Lena: You're face is so adorable, your skin and your cheek. I want to bite it. I want to bite your cheek and chew on it, it's so fucking cute.
Barry: I'm looking at your face and I just want to smash it. I just want to fucking smash it with a sledgehammer and squeeze it, you're so pretty.
Lena: I want to chew your face and I want to scoop out your eyes and I want to eat them, chew on them, and suck on them.
Barry: Okay. This is funny.
Lena: Yeah.
Barry: This is nice.
What I find so striking about this scene is how Lena and Barry are able to be their true, strange, slightly bent selves with one another. Not only that, but even though they're saying these outlandish things to one another, they're actually speaking terms of endearment, only they're doing so in a way that is unique to them.
Do you see how beautiful that is? That these two people can say things to one another that most people would misunderstand as horrifying and repulsive but in their minds, these are complements of the highest order. And they get it. They don't hear violence in those words, they hear love but even more important than that, they've found someone who speaks the same skewed language and sees the world through the same skewed lens. They were cut from the same piece of cloth.
Now I'm not about to start talking to women about sledgehammers and eyeballs but I do want to end up with someone with whom I can be my true, not safe for public consumption self. I don't want to have to worry about acting like everyone else. And I want her to be herself as well. I want to meet someone with a few dents and dings, someone a bit off center. I want to let her know it's okay for her to be her oddball self around me.
That's what I see happening in Punch Drunk Love and in Secretary and in Amelie. Oh, and also in American Beauty - the way Jane Burnham (Thora Birch) and Ricky Fitts (Wes Bentley, the kid who was always videotaping stuff) are two misfits who are misunderstood until they find each other.
5. Okay, I think that's all.
Geeze, I thought this was going to be a short, simple post. Here I am three hours later still at it. I better post this sucker before I think of something else to write about.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
257. loneliness and a $11,000 cup of coffee
It's been almost six months since I've made the move to Seattle. And I don't know if it's the seasonal affective disorder syndrome or if it's just taken me this long to get settled enough to feel it, but lately I've been noticing a mild sort of lonely melancholy affecting me from time to time. It's not regular enough to detect any kind of pattern, but it seems to set in around Thursday and Friday - as the weekend approaches.
I suppose this has to do with not having as many friends available for weekend fun, but I've always been one who's been fine with hanging out by myself so that doesn't account for all of it. The bigger, deeper part of it has to do with what I can only describe as a lack of intellectual stimulation.
Now that sounds terribly elitist so let me refine that a bit to say that what I think I'm lacking is access to a circle of friends who share the same taste in books and movies.
But that's not it either.
Maybe it is as simple as a minor case of homesickness.
But I don't think that's it exactly because the only thing I really miss from Hawaii is the food. Although I've found a couple local (Hawaiian) style restaurants, there's nothing like a Sanoya Rahmen (or any other rahmen shops) or Rainbow Drive Inn or even Zippy's.
Maybe it's just a plain ol' spell of the blues.
But you know what I'm afraid of?
What if...
What if my respite from the angst of singleness is over?
For the past year or so, I've been one hundred percent content as a single person. This was a new experience for me because prior to that, the ache and want of singleness weighed on me from waking to waning. It tainted every moment, kept me up at night and made me want to stay in bed in the morning. There was a vacuum, a void within me as if there were a hole where one of my lungs should have been.
But then 2006 rolled around and somehow the emptiness wasn't there anymore. It's not that the old emptiness was filled with some new endeavor or sense of meaning, it just up and disappeared without fanfare or fuss. And it was nice to feel free from the cloud over my head.
I always thought it odd that the loneliness that used to so saturate me just went away. I wondered where it went, what sent it away, would it be back or was it gone for good?
And now I'm wondering it's come out of remission. A few months ago, I wrote an entry where I wrote about a girl who I began referring to as Quest Girl. I titled that entry "oh no, not again" because I suspected that crushing on a girl again might be just the thing that would trigger a loneliness relapse. And maybe that's exactly what happened.
Luckily, even though I'm writing about how some of the old loneliness and longing is back, it's nowhere near as debilitating as it used to be. I hope I never end up as bent and lost as I was at the worst of it (which honestly was almost all the time back then) but honestly, it's odd but it's nice to be feeling something because sometimes the numb of not feeling alone was, well, numbing (sorry, words are utterly failing me here).
I guess what I'm trying to say is that in a way it's nice to be feeling something, muted as it is, rather than the featureless grey of nothing. Does that make any sense?
Maybe my trouble with words has to do with the fact that I've got too much caffeine running through my system right now. See earlier today I read about a new, state of the art coffee brewing machine called the Clover. It retails for $11,000 and it's supposed to bring the precise, repeatable control of the best espresso machines to the brewed coffee process. Now while I enjoy a good cup of coffee (black please - cream and sugar are for deserts recipes), I'm no coffee snob but I just had to see what an $11,000 cup of coffee tasted like so I found a coffee shop nearby that uses the machine and I've been sipping away at it while writing this entry (like most coffee joints in Seattle, Zoka has free Wi-Fi). Actually it only cost me about $4 for 16oz of brew and while it was tasty and nice, it wasn't earth-shattering.
Turns out, I may have just ordered the wrong bean. While walking by, the barista asked me about how I liked the coffee and when I told her I thought it was pretty mild tasting, she suggested I try the Sumatra Lake Tawar next time instead of the Hacienda Alsacia Peaberry that I was drinking. Turns out the Hacienda is their mildest coffee whereas the Sumatra is the boldest and most popular among those who order from the Clover-brewed menu. I probably should have asked her about the choices before I ordered, but I'd always wanted to try a peaberry coffee so I went straight for that one. She actually offered to brew me a free cup of Sumatra since it was slow but I told her I had too much of a caffeine buzz going already.
Seattle is such a cool city.
Don't tell my parents, but a part of me's thinking I might stay up here even if the band thing doesn't work out.
I suppose this has to do with not having as many friends available for weekend fun, but I've always been one who's been fine with hanging out by myself so that doesn't account for all of it. The bigger, deeper part of it has to do with what I can only describe as a lack of intellectual stimulation.
Now that sounds terribly elitist so let me refine that a bit to say that what I think I'm lacking is access to a circle of friends who share the same taste in books and movies.
But that's not it either.
Maybe it is as simple as a minor case of homesickness.
But I don't think that's it exactly because the only thing I really miss from Hawaii is the food. Although I've found a couple local (Hawaiian) style restaurants, there's nothing like a Sanoya Rahmen (or any other rahmen shops) or Rainbow Drive Inn or even Zippy's.
Maybe it's just a plain ol' spell of the blues.
But you know what I'm afraid of?
What if...
What if my respite from the angst of singleness is over?
For the past year or so, I've been one hundred percent content as a single person. This was a new experience for me because prior to that, the ache and want of singleness weighed on me from waking to waning. It tainted every moment, kept me up at night and made me want to stay in bed in the morning. There was a vacuum, a void within me as if there were a hole where one of my lungs should have been.
But then 2006 rolled around and somehow the emptiness wasn't there anymore. It's not that the old emptiness was filled with some new endeavor or sense of meaning, it just up and disappeared without fanfare or fuss. And it was nice to feel free from the cloud over my head.
I always thought it odd that the loneliness that used to so saturate me just went away. I wondered where it went, what sent it away, would it be back or was it gone for good?
And now I'm wondering it's come out of remission. A few months ago, I wrote an entry where I wrote about a girl who I began referring to as Quest Girl. I titled that entry "oh no, not again" because I suspected that crushing on a girl again might be just the thing that would trigger a loneliness relapse. And maybe that's exactly what happened.
Luckily, even though I'm writing about how some of the old loneliness and longing is back, it's nowhere near as debilitating as it used to be. I hope I never end up as bent and lost as I was at the worst of it (which honestly was almost all the time back then) but honestly, it's odd but it's nice to be feeling something because sometimes the numb of not feeling alone was, well, numbing (sorry, words are utterly failing me here).
I guess what I'm trying to say is that in a way it's nice to be feeling something, muted as it is, rather than the featureless grey of nothing. Does that make any sense?
Maybe my trouble with words has to do with the fact that I've got too much caffeine running through my system right now. See earlier today I read about a new, state of the art coffee brewing machine called the Clover. It retails for $11,000 and it's supposed to bring the precise, repeatable control of the best espresso machines to the brewed coffee process. Now while I enjoy a good cup of coffee (black please - cream and sugar are for deserts recipes), I'm no coffee snob but I just had to see what an $11,000 cup of coffee tasted like so I found a coffee shop nearby that uses the machine and I've been sipping away at it while writing this entry (like most coffee joints in Seattle, Zoka has free Wi-Fi). Actually it only cost me about $4 for 16oz of brew and while it was tasty and nice, it wasn't earth-shattering.
Turns out, I may have just ordered the wrong bean. While walking by, the barista asked me about how I liked the coffee and when I told her I thought it was pretty mild tasting, she suggested I try the Sumatra Lake Tawar next time instead of the Hacienda Alsacia Peaberry that I was drinking. Turns out the Hacienda is their mildest coffee whereas the Sumatra is the boldest and most popular among those who order from the Clover-brewed menu. I probably should have asked her about the choices before I ordered, but I'd always wanted to try a peaberry coffee so I went straight for that one. She actually offered to brew me a free cup of Sumatra since it was slow but I told her I had too much of a caffeine buzz going already.
Seattle is such a cool city.
Don't tell my parents, but a part of me's thinking I might stay up here even if the band thing doesn't work out.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
256. on swearing
Anyone remotely familiar with my blog knows that I make frequent reference to previous entries. The main reason I do this is so I don't have to restate or explain something that I've already written about.
Funny thing though, when linking to older blogs, particularly those written before 2006, I'm a bit embarrassed because I used to swear a lot back then (see blog 30 for a particularly egregious example). I remember when I decided to stop swearing so much. It was one of the new year's resolutions I made back in the beginning of '06 (see blog 141) and I've stuck to that resolution pretty well.
But you know, even though I'm glad that I've cleaned up my language, I don't regret writing the way I did back then. See, I really believe that every artist needs to have a generous amount of creative freedom if they are to truly find their voice or their style, and I don't think I'd be the writer I am today if I hadn't allowed myself to swear the way I did back then. I mean even though I don't swear very much anymore, it was an avenue I needed to run down in order to be where I am today.
And it's not the swearing itself that did this, it's the freedom I allowed myself to swear that made room for my development or at least expedited my development. What I mean is, if I hadn't allowed myself to swear, my writing would be tethered to a rule (don't swear) and because of this, the scope of my writing would have been constrained. In fact, now that I think of it, I don't know if I could have adequately voiced the issues and frustrations I was working through. Some might argue that I could have done so using softer language but I think the freedom I felt to express the frustrations I was feeling was directly tied to the freedom I felt to use whatever words necessary.
Let me frame this another way. Someone told me (or maybe I read it somewhere) that a good writer shouldn't have to swear, that they should be able to convey an idea or feeling without resorting to gutter language. I don't think I buy that, but even if it's true, one becomes a good writer only after being a bad writer and maybe the fact that I don't swear much in my blog shows that I've progressed somewhat. But again, I don't think I could have ended up at this point without the freedom to write using more coarse, unrefined language.
For most writers, the swearing thing isn't an issue but for a Christian writer, it's not so simple. A lot of Christians would say that it's wrong for a believer to swear in their writing and for the most part, Christian publishers won't print anything containing the f-bomb or the s-word. But this presents a problem for Christian writers who want to depict the world as it is.
I remember reading a book in high school called This Present Darkness by Frank Peretti. It's a fictional book about the unseen spiritual side of life. In this book, Peretti describes angels and demons warring among us and one thing that struck me as particularly odd was the fact that demons never swore when they spoke. Now I don't know if there are little invisible imps and devils toying with us the way Peretti described them, but if there were, I'm sure they would use words and language that would make a dirty, swearing sailor sound like Mister Rogers. But not in Peretti's world and that makes for demons that aren't quite believable.
Perhaps that's a bad example. Here's a better one.
Back in 2001, David Cunningham (son of YWAM founder, Loren Cunningham) came out with a movie called To End All Wars about Allied prisoners of war who ended up building a railway through the Burmese jungle. In part, it's also a movie about forgiveness. The prisoners endure humiliating and unjust hardships yet they turn the other cheek and go the extra mile.
Both the director, Cunningham, and the screenwriter, Brian Godawa, are Christians and because some of the characters in the movie swear (soldiers in a POW camp swearing, imagine that), Cunningham and Godawa had to explain their word choices to many in the Christian press. It's been a long time so I can't remember exactly what they said in their interviews but basically, they explained that, being a movie about forgiveness, the only way to show the true subversive power and beauty of forgiveness is to show the true depravity and ugliness of what's being forgiven.
An essential component of storytelling is verisimilitude - believability, the sense that a story is set in the real world, not some sanitized or unrealistically utopian one. To place limits on the language that Christian writers/directors/poets/etc. can use is to handicap them, to limit the range of situations they can accurately depict. Not being able to use swear words might be fine if your story is set in an Amish community, but if it's set in a modern urban environment or in a suburb or a rural area - anywhere real people behave like real people - good luck getting anyone to buy into your story.
Of course I'm not saying that swearing is a prerequisite for a believable story, using four-letter words just for shock value or just because one can is almost as bad as not using them for fear of the Christian community's backlash (and yes, I do believe the latter is worse). That said, I truly believe that Christians have the freedom to use whatever language they deem appropriate for their story or screenplay or any other creative work.
One final thought (I have more, but I'll save them for another post), every writer will one day have to account for the way they used their gifts and talents. The writer who failed to reach his/her potential because they limited the scope of their language for fear of the church's reproach is just as guilty of sin as one who recklessly abuses their freedom by spraying profanity where it is unnecessary.
Funny thing though, when linking to older blogs, particularly those written before 2006, I'm a bit embarrassed because I used to swear a lot back then (see blog 30 for a particularly egregious example). I remember when I decided to stop swearing so much. It was one of the new year's resolutions I made back in the beginning of '06 (see blog 141) and I've stuck to that resolution pretty well.
But you know, even though I'm glad that I've cleaned up my language, I don't regret writing the way I did back then. See, I really believe that every artist needs to have a generous amount of creative freedom if they are to truly find their voice or their style, and I don't think I'd be the writer I am today if I hadn't allowed myself to swear the way I did back then. I mean even though I don't swear very much anymore, it was an avenue I needed to run down in order to be where I am today.
And it's not the swearing itself that did this, it's the freedom I allowed myself to swear that made room for my development or at least expedited my development. What I mean is, if I hadn't allowed myself to swear, my writing would be tethered to a rule (don't swear) and because of this, the scope of my writing would have been constrained. In fact, now that I think of it, I don't know if I could have adequately voiced the issues and frustrations I was working through. Some might argue that I could have done so using softer language but I think the freedom I felt to express the frustrations I was feeling was directly tied to the freedom I felt to use whatever words necessary.
Let me frame this another way. Someone told me (or maybe I read it somewhere) that a good writer shouldn't have to swear, that they should be able to convey an idea or feeling without resorting to gutter language. I don't think I buy that, but even if it's true, one becomes a good writer only after being a bad writer and maybe the fact that I don't swear much in my blog shows that I've progressed somewhat. But again, I don't think I could have ended up at this point without the freedom to write using more coarse, unrefined language.
For most writers, the swearing thing isn't an issue but for a Christian writer, it's not so simple. A lot of Christians would say that it's wrong for a believer to swear in their writing and for the most part, Christian publishers won't print anything containing the f-bomb or the s-word. But this presents a problem for Christian writers who want to depict the world as it is.
I remember reading a book in high school called This Present Darkness by Frank Peretti. It's a fictional book about the unseen spiritual side of life. In this book, Peretti describes angels and demons warring among us and one thing that struck me as particularly odd was the fact that demons never swore when they spoke. Now I don't know if there are little invisible imps and devils toying with us the way Peretti described them, but if there were, I'm sure they would use words and language that would make a dirty, swearing sailor sound like Mister Rogers. But not in Peretti's world and that makes for demons that aren't quite believable.
Perhaps that's a bad example. Here's a better one.
Back in 2001, David Cunningham (son of YWAM founder, Loren Cunningham) came out with a movie called To End All Wars about Allied prisoners of war who ended up building a railway through the Burmese jungle. In part, it's also a movie about forgiveness. The prisoners endure humiliating and unjust hardships yet they turn the other cheek and go the extra mile.
Both the director, Cunningham, and the screenwriter, Brian Godawa, are Christians and because some of the characters in the movie swear (soldiers in a POW camp swearing, imagine that), Cunningham and Godawa had to explain their word choices to many in the Christian press. It's been a long time so I can't remember exactly what they said in their interviews but basically, they explained that, being a movie about forgiveness, the only way to show the true subversive power and beauty of forgiveness is to show the true depravity and ugliness of what's being forgiven.
An essential component of storytelling is verisimilitude - believability, the sense that a story is set in the real world, not some sanitized or unrealistically utopian one. To place limits on the language that Christian writers/directors/poets/etc. can use is to handicap them, to limit the range of situations they can accurately depict. Not being able to use swear words might be fine if your story is set in an Amish community, but if it's set in a modern urban environment or in a suburb or a rural area - anywhere real people behave like real people - good luck getting anyone to buy into your story.
Of course I'm not saying that swearing is a prerequisite for a believable story, using four-letter words just for shock value or just because one can is almost as bad as not using them for fear of the Christian community's backlash (and yes, I do believe the latter is worse). That said, I truly believe that Christians have the freedom to use whatever language they deem appropriate for their story or screenplay or any other creative work.
One final thought (I have more, but I'll save them for another post), every writer will one day have to account for the way they used their gifts and talents. The writer who failed to reach his/her potential because they limited the scope of their language for fear of the church's reproach is just as guilty of sin as one who recklessly abuses their freedom by spraying profanity where it is unnecessary.
Monday, March 05, 2007
255. out of my hands
I want to thank everyone who read my little story. I'd like to especially thank those who gave suggestions large and small.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, I had a post up last week that I've since deleted. In it, I shared a short story I'd written that I intended to submit to a short story contest called Daily Sacrament, a short story contest, run by Relief Journal. I've since taken down that post but you can find the original version of the story I submitted here.
Well, I'm finally done tweaking over words and commas and dialogue. I still think parts of it could be better but I found myself making and unmaking edits so often I figured it was time to upload the damn thing and see if it's got wings.
So it's out of my hands now.
Wish me (and the story) luck.
Thanks again for reading.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, I had a post up last week that I've since deleted. In it, I shared a short story I'd written that I intended to submit to a short story contest called Daily Sacrament, a short story contest, run by Relief Journal. I've since taken down that post but you can find the original version of the story I submitted here.
Well, I'm finally done tweaking over words and commas and dialogue. I still think parts of it could be better but I found myself making and unmaking edits so often I figured it was time to upload the damn thing and see if it's got wings.
So it's out of my hands now.
Wish me (and the story) luck.
Thanks again for reading.
Monday, February 26, 2007
254. my state of the soul address
Just a warning, a kind of disclaimer if you will, before I begin. If you're the sort of Christian who likes their belief system nice and tidy - summed up in three Gospel presentation points - then you might want to skip this entry.
What follows (or at least what I intend to write as I begin) is a kind of a personal spiritual State of the Union address - a State of the Soul address if you will. There's a program on NPR called This I Believe. In this program, people from all walks of life share something about what they believe. The program is very diverse. The topics range from what people believe about death, about love, about peace, justice, hope, about a wide variety of topics relating to the human experience. It's an amazing program and I've more than once been driven to tears listening to it because it's people talking from the heart about something they've come to understand (often something at odds with the norm), often through episodes of tragedy.
After listening to an episode, I always think about what it is that I believe about God. The unvarnished, religiously incorrect, honest truth about what I believe about who God is and how he relates to me and I to him.
I'm going to try to do that tonight (or in the next few nights if I don't finish in one sitting) but I must issue another warning before I begin. It's not like I've already got my ideas worked out beforehand. I'm going to be piecing things together as I write them so this entry might jump around a lot and don't be surprised if I contradict myself from time to time. This is almost a kind of stream of consciousness, free writing exercise so don't expect something concise and ordered.
Here we go.
There is one thing I can start with which I know for certain. God is God and can do whatever he wants to do. He's God, that's his right, that's what it is to be God. I don't see how anyone who believes in a Biblical God can dispute that.
Now as obvious as that is, it's something I only came to understand a couple years ago. See, for most of my Christian life, I attended churches that preached what you might call Transaction Theology. This is a view of God that says that X, Y, and Z will happen if you do A, B, and C for God. The most common expression of this theology can be seen in this popular Gospel presentation: "If you accept Christ into your heart, you'll never feel alone again (or) your life will be filled with a sense of purpose and direction (or) God will set things right in your life."
This kind of Transaction Theology was ubiquitous. It was drummed into me at church retreats, in church services, in Christian books, on Christian radio, all over the place. It always took the form of, if you do this certain thing for God then you can expect God to do this other thing in return.
And of course, I wanted to be blessed, I wanted to have God fill the void of loneliness, to give me peace and understanding, I wanted to see my cup overfilled with the oil of joy. And so I did the A, the B, and the C to the best of my understanding and ability and waited for the X, the Y, and the Z, but far more often than not, I'd be left waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting and waiting and waiting.
I've since come to understand that God is not a salesman. His gifts and his blessings are a product of his unearned and undeserved grace, not a result of anything we might do to entice or earn them.
To sum up this first point, maybe I can restate my first idea this way: God is God and there's nothing we can do to make him do what we want him to do. I wish someone would have shared this with me earlier because it would have spared me years of frustration as a Christian.
Well, what does that mean for the act of praying? I mean if there's nothing we can do to earn God's favor and if God can do whatever he wants to do then why pray?
Honestly, I don't know what I believe about prayer. I know prayer is supposed to be central to the Christian life. I know Paul encouraged the Thessalonians to pray without ceasing, and that he told the Ephesians the same thing. I know there are references to Jesus going off on his own to pray (see Luke 6:12, for example). I know all the Christians who ever made a difference in this world would say that prayer was absolutely essential to them.
I also know that prayer has never been easy for me. It's not something that makes me feel closer to God. It usually feels forced and odd. Unfortunately, the only time prayer feels real for me is when either lashing out at God over something I'm frustrated with him about or when I'm asking forgiveness for something stupid that I've done. If prayer is a kind of conversation with the Almighty, then ours is a pretty dysfunctional relationship.
But I try to pray when I can, when it's all I can do. And I suppose I'm glad for this avenue even if I can't always find my way through. I wish I had the kind of vibrant prayer life that I've read about but I'll take what I can get.
You know, I've heard it said that men usually relate to God the way they did with their father. That's certainly been the case in my life. I love my father. He's a hard worker and he always goes above and beyond to make sure the job is done right. He's also very quiet. A whole week going by without he and I saying anything to each other is no big deal. For all the years I lived at home, we never really had much in the way of conversation. Most of what I know of him I overheard in conversations when my uncle and aunty would come over for dinner and they would talk about growing up in Hawaii.
There was a time, maybe ten years ago, when I did try to talk to my father. It was hard. It felt really weird, probably as much for him as it was for me. I can't remember what it was that we tried to talk about, I just know I felt a lot better after it was over, not because I had learned something about him but because the act of talking to him just felt so unnatural and I was glad we were back to our usual silences.
I know he loves me. I've never held anything against him. I've never wished he'd talk to me more. That's just the way it's always been between him and I.
And that's pretty much the way I see God. Well, not exactly. For a long time, I really longed to hear from God. I'd hear all kinds of stories in church about how God told someone to do something or how God led them to do something - all these stories about an intimate relationship with God.
But not anymore. I've come to understand that some people somehow do interact with God in ways that are as real (some of them might say more real) as the way they do with their best friends. I've also come to believe that this doesn't happen for everyone because it doesn't happen for me. And maybe that seems unfair, but as I said above, God is God and can do whatever he wants.
I said I'd do my best to speak the unvarnished truth about what I believe so here it is. I believe all Christians are children of God, that we're all a part of this huge family. God loves us all as his children but he has his favorites. When Jesus was here he had both his inner circle and a most beloved disciple. This all probably sounds harsh, but I believe it's just a messy, earthly way of understanding something that has higher, heavenly design. Maybe some Christians are more needy than others and so God makes himself more available to them. Maybe some Christians have already been blessed with a healthy self-image or they already have a healthy support network surrounding them so God doesn't have to hover as close and micromanage.
Maybe in my case, he wants me to be a voice for those other Christians out there who've heard the same Transaction Theology that I did and are still waiting for their returns to come in. I'm sure they're out there, probably not in churches anymore, but out there somewhere. I don't know if this is the case, but I like this idea because it makes some kind of sense of my life, gives it a purpose. I wish he had taught me this through personal tutoring rather than sending me to Hard Knocks University, but God is God and maybe this was the only way I could have arrived at this understanding.
To sum up, here's what I believe about God.
God is God and can do whatever he wants to do.
Prayer is a mystery.
God has favorites, sort of.
Maybe I'm God's advocate to those who feel spiritually neglected because of some variation of Transaction Theology or to let Christians who also don't hear from God that they're not the only ones.
Not exactly an uplifting state of affairs, but it is what it is. I hope my faith isn't always so bland and mediocre. I don't know.
Just to be clear, I believe in the essential tenants of the Christian faith, essentials that are best expressed in The Nicene Creed. I don't think anything I've written would fall outside of the creeds or (more importantly) anything written in the Bible, but I know I've written things that fall outside the common fundamentalist's understanding of Christianity, but I don't mind that so much.
What follows (or at least what I intend to write as I begin) is a kind of a personal spiritual State of the Union address - a State of the Soul address if you will. There's a program on NPR called This I Believe. In this program, people from all walks of life share something about what they believe. The program is very diverse. The topics range from what people believe about death, about love, about peace, justice, hope, about a wide variety of topics relating to the human experience. It's an amazing program and I've more than once been driven to tears listening to it because it's people talking from the heart about something they've come to understand (often something at odds with the norm), often through episodes of tragedy.
After listening to an episode, I always think about what it is that I believe about God. The unvarnished, religiously incorrect, honest truth about what I believe about who God is and how he relates to me and I to him.
I'm going to try to do that tonight (or in the next few nights if I don't finish in one sitting) but I must issue another warning before I begin. It's not like I've already got my ideas worked out beforehand. I'm going to be piecing things together as I write them so this entry might jump around a lot and don't be surprised if I contradict myself from time to time. This is almost a kind of stream of consciousness, free writing exercise so don't expect something concise and ordered.
Here we go.
There is one thing I can start with which I know for certain. God is God and can do whatever he wants to do. He's God, that's his right, that's what it is to be God. I don't see how anyone who believes in a Biblical God can dispute that.
Now as obvious as that is, it's something I only came to understand a couple years ago. See, for most of my Christian life, I attended churches that preached what you might call Transaction Theology. This is a view of God that says that X, Y, and Z will happen if you do A, B, and C for God. The most common expression of this theology can be seen in this popular Gospel presentation: "If you accept Christ into your heart, you'll never feel alone again (or) your life will be filled with a sense of purpose and direction (or) God will set things right in your life."
This kind of Transaction Theology was ubiquitous. It was drummed into me at church retreats, in church services, in Christian books, on Christian radio, all over the place. It always took the form of, if you do this certain thing for God then you can expect God to do this other thing in return.
And of course, I wanted to be blessed, I wanted to have God fill the void of loneliness, to give me peace and understanding, I wanted to see my cup overfilled with the oil of joy. And so I did the A, the B, and the C to the best of my understanding and ability and waited for the X, the Y, and the Z, but far more often than not, I'd be left waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting and waiting and waiting.
I've since come to understand that God is not a salesman. His gifts and his blessings are a product of his unearned and undeserved grace, not a result of anything we might do to entice or earn them.
To sum up this first point, maybe I can restate my first idea this way: God is God and there's nothing we can do to make him do what we want him to do. I wish someone would have shared this with me earlier because it would have spared me years of frustration as a Christian.
Well, what does that mean for the act of praying? I mean if there's nothing we can do to earn God's favor and if God can do whatever he wants to do then why pray?
Honestly, I don't know what I believe about prayer. I know prayer is supposed to be central to the Christian life. I know Paul encouraged the Thessalonians to pray without ceasing, and that he told the Ephesians the same thing. I know there are references to Jesus going off on his own to pray (see Luke 6:12, for example). I know all the Christians who ever made a difference in this world would say that prayer was absolutely essential to them.
I also know that prayer has never been easy for me. It's not something that makes me feel closer to God. It usually feels forced and odd. Unfortunately, the only time prayer feels real for me is when either lashing out at God over something I'm frustrated with him about or when I'm asking forgiveness for something stupid that I've done. If prayer is a kind of conversation with the Almighty, then ours is a pretty dysfunctional relationship.
But I try to pray when I can, when it's all I can do. And I suppose I'm glad for this avenue even if I can't always find my way through. I wish I had the kind of vibrant prayer life that I've read about but I'll take what I can get.
You know, I've heard it said that men usually relate to God the way they did with their father. That's certainly been the case in my life. I love my father. He's a hard worker and he always goes above and beyond to make sure the job is done right. He's also very quiet. A whole week going by without he and I saying anything to each other is no big deal. For all the years I lived at home, we never really had much in the way of conversation. Most of what I know of him I overheard in conversations when my uncle and aunty would come over for dinner and they would talk about growing up in Hawaii.
There was a time, maybe ten years ago, when I did try to talk to my father. It was hard. It felt really weird, probably as much for him as it was for me. I can't remember what it was that we tried to talk about, I just know I felt a lot better after it was over, not because I had learned something about him but because the act of talking to him just felt so unnatural and I was glad we were back to our usual silences.
I know he loves me. I've never held anything against him. I've never wished he'd talk to me more. That's just the way it's always been between him and I.
And that's pretty much the way I see God. Well, not exactly. For a long time, I really longed to hear from God. I'd hear all kinds of stories in church about how God told someone to do something or how God led them to do something - all these stories about an intimate relationship with God.
But not anymore. I've come to understand that some people somehow do interact with God in ways that are as real (some of them might say more real) as the way they do with their best friends. I've also come to believe that this doesn't happen for everyone because it doesn't happen for me. And maybe that seems unfair, but as I said above, God is God and can do whatever he wants.
I said I'd do my best to speak the unvarnished truth about what I believe so here it is. I believe all Christians are children of God, that we're all a part of this huge family. God loves us all as his children but he has his favorites. When Jesus was here he had both his inner circle and a most beloved disciple. This all probably sounds harsh, but I believe it's just a messy, earthly way of understanding something that has higher, heavenly design. Maybe some Christians are more needy than others and so God makes himself more available to them. Maybe some Christians have already been blessed with a healthy self-image or they already have a healthy support network surrounding them so God doesn't have to hover as close and micromanage.
Maybe in my case, he wants me to be a voice for those other Christians out there who've heard the same Transaction Theology that I did and are still waiting for their returns to come in. I'm sure they're out there, probably not in churches anymore, but out there somewhere. I don't know if this is the case, but I like this idea because it makes some kind of sense of my life, gives it a purpose. I wish he had taught me this through personal tutoring rather than sending me to Hard Knocks University, but God is God and maybe this was the only way I could have arrived at this understanding.
To sum up, here's what I believe about God.
God is God and can do whatever he wants to do.
Prayer is a mystery.
God has favorites, sort of.
Maybe I'm God's advocate to those who feel spiritually neglected because of some variation of Transaction Theology or to let Christians who also don't hear from God that they're not the only ones.
Not exactly an uplifting state of affairs, but it is what it is. I hope my faith isn't always so bland and mediocre. I don't know.
Just to be clear, I believe in the essential tenants of the Christian faith, essentials that are best expressed in The Nicene Creed. I don't think anything I've written would fall outside of the creeds or (more importantly) anything written in the Bible, but I know I've written things that fall outside the common fundamentalist's understanding of Christianity, but I don't mind that so much.
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