Oh friends, I feel as though it's been a while since I spewed my thoughts across the web. Sadly, I have to admit, there has not been much to spew. Last week was definitely an, "Ahhh, quick, quick, finish all the stuff that you didn't get done yet!" kind of week. I finally finished all my thank you notes from graduation and my thank you's for the help with my honors project finally went out. I have also written a draft of my support letter, though I am still waiting to get the OK from SIM to send it out. Also, I got an interview with a temp agency, so they should hopefully start sending me out any day now. All in all, it was a pretty busy week.
So, I would like to annouce that one of my projects this week is putting the finishing touches on my new blog, location classified. No, seriously, I am moving after...what, has it been two years now? Wow, it's high time for a change. So stay tuned for updates about the move, particularly the all-important one that gives the new URL. Also, if any of you are web designers and would like to fly down to Houston to help me put this thing together, please be my guest.
So, the most interesting thing that happened this past week was my discovery of and visit to St. Dunstan's Episcopalian church that's only about fifteen minutes away from my house! Yay! You don't even know what a find this is in Texas. Everywhere you go, Baptist, Baptist, Baptist, maybe some Assemblies of God, some generic evangelical, charismatic huffandpuff, and maybe an occassional United Methodist Church. Everything else is practically non-existant. So to just discover an Episcopalian church so close is an absolute Godsend. So I went there for their once a week noon service in their chapel. It was great! I was a little off-balance because I arrived late and didn't pick up the sheet from the Book of Common Prayer (Ahhhh! The Book! They use the Book! It was so great!) The other thing is that I didn't take communion there because they requested specifically on their website that it was open to baptized believers, which I am not. But that's okay, cause I will be, by and by. Anyway, last Thursday was the feast day of St. Irenaus, and so the priest was talking about St. Irenaus and his teachings and contributions to the church and it was actually really interesting and well put together for a week-day homily in a side chapel (they have a chapel!) which only about 10 other people attended. Anyway, it seems like a wonderful church, though it hardly seems worth it to look into attending any further when I'm only here for another two months and I hardly feel like investing short-term in another church just so I can go away and have everyone forget me so I have to start all over again. Anyway, it seems like an excellent prospect for when I come home again...maybe. Anyway, much excitement. I don't have to become Catholic to be be liturgical!
Huzzah!
S.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Boogie and the Beast
One more tidbit from vacation that I forgot about that I wanted to share: boogie-boarding. Another first from my time in Alabama, and an interesting one at that. The first day that we were down at the beach the waves were so rough that they put up the red flag (hoist the colors!), but pretty much every day after that, the ocean was as calm as candy, and we could go out and float practically as easily as if we had been in our own swimming pool. And it was on these waters that I made my first attempts on the boogie board, which were quite successful, riding into shore on my little board, tho not attempting to stand up on my knees or any such antics, especially as I am not even sure that such things are supposed to be attempted on said board. So anyway, along I went and it was all very jolly.
The next day was our last day of vacation and for some reason the water was suddenly much rougher, not as bad as that first day, but just enough to add some excitement to our usually blase floating. So I decided that this day would be extra jolly for some boarding of the boogie, and off I went, trying to ride into shore on these now extra large waves. But the other difference between this day and t'other is that in the interim, the beach was also much more shelly (as in, covered in little bits of broken up shells, not of or pertaining to Mrs. Salnikov, who should read this post now since I've referenced her in it.) So it was that I found myself, after a few false starts, being thrown onto and dragged across and bunch of sand laced with shell shards by a burly and unforgiving wave. Oh yes. And the other facinating part is that I actually did this a couple of times before I really got slammed down and formed the kindly thought, "Hey, wait, this hurts." The other part of this tale which I have heretofore left out was that I know nothing of boogie boarding, or boarding of any kind when it comes to that. Furthermore, everyone else at the beach was just kind of floating on their boards out beyond the surf, whereas to me it seemed like the logical thing to use the board to ride into shore on the breaking wave, which had worked rather successfully the previous day, but I have also never even seen anyone else riding a boogie board. So it was that, making it up as I went, I ended up coming back out after that last hard knock bleeding somewhat from numerous scratches and scrapes on my left forearm. I would take a picture and post it, but I have waited too long and they are all healing quite nicely and no longer puffy and red. But at the time, there I was with wounded pride and a scraped up arm, riding about in SALT water. I didn't say anything to anyone, feeling sheepish and not wanting to encourage my sister's fear o'the sea by telling her I had gotten smashed by a wave. She noticed a day or so later, but my mom, interestingly enough, has yet to notice all these scratches. And this is the story of how I came to have a most excellent case of...well, if I had been riding a motorcycle I would probably call it road rash so perhaps those in the know would call this "sand rash?" Perhaps they would just call it lame, because I'm pretty sure for this to happen I was doing something that those in the know wouldn't do. If I could just find one of them, perhaps I could ask, but there seems to be a shortage...
Oh, the other funny thing was that the flip flops, that I stole from Maggie which she said gave her scrapes on her feet finally started to do the same to me. I wore them faithfully, if illicitly, throughout Mayterm and Art Reach, even when the sole on the left one started peeling off and I had to fix it with duct tape so I wouldn't trip and fall in front of or on top of the kids, and they never were anything but the kindest most gracious flip-flops. Amazingly, once I added a little stiffening salt water to the strap and some nice abrasive sand, they started to scratch my foot all up. But only on the left side, mind you (which seems to have taken a beating this vacation) while the right foot was unaffected. So I finally broke down and bought some seven dollar flip flops from Old Navy that are very fuzzy and the bottom and have no traction and threaten to kill me when I walk on any smooth surface. The End.
Alright, that's enough posting about vacation already! Can't we get back to the intellectual stuff? We will, we will, no more vacuous vacation posts. Unless I think of something else that's funny, then I'm totally gonna post it because, hey, it's my blog.
Crabs to you,
S.
The next day was our last day of vacation and for some reason the water was suddenly much rougher, not as bad as that first day, but just enough to add some excitement to our usually blase floating. So I decided that this day would be extra jolly for some boarding of the boogie, and off I went, trying to ride into shore on these now extra large waves. But the other difference between this day and t'other is that in the interim, the beach was also much more shelly (as in, covered in little bits of broken up shells, not of or pertaining to Mrs. Salnikov, who should read this post now since I've referenced her in it.) So it was that I found myself, after a few false starts, being thrown onto and dragged across and bunch of sand laced with shell shards by a burly and unforgiving wave. Oh yes. And the other facinating part is that I actually did this a couple of times before I really got slammed down and formed the kindly thought, "Hey, wait, this hurts." The other part of this tale which I have heretofore left out was that I know nothing of boogie boarding, or boarding of any kind when it comes to that. Furthermore, everyone else at the beach was just kind of floating on their boards out beyond the surf, whereas to me it seemed like the logical thing to use the board to ride into shore on the breaking wave, which had worked rather successfully the previous day, but I have also never even seen anyone else riding a boogie board. So it was that, making it up as I went, I ended up coming back out after that last hard knock bleeding somewhat from numerous scratches and scrapes on my left forearm. I would take a picture and post it, but I have waited too long and they are all healing quite nicely and no longer puffy and red. But at the time, there I was with wounded pride and a scraped up arm, riding about in SALT water. I didn't say anything to anyone, feeling sheepish and not wanting to encourage my sister's fear o'the sea by telling her I had gotten smashed by a wave. She noticed a day or so later, but my mom, interestingly enough, has yet to notice all these scratches. And this is the story of how I came to have a most excellent case of...well, if I had been riding a motorcycle I would probably call it road rash so perhaps those in the know would call this "sand rash?" Perhaps they would just call it lame, because I'm pretty sure for this to happen I was doing something that those in the know wouldn't do. If I could just find one of them, perhaps I could ask, but there seems to be a shortage...
Oh, the other funny thing was that the flip flops, that I stole from Maggie which she said gave her scrapes on her feet finally started to do the same to me. I wore them faithfully, if illicitly, throughout Mayterm and Art Reach, even when the sole on the left one started peeling off and I had to fix it with duct tape so I wouldn't trip and fall in front of or on top of the kids, and they never were anything but the kindest most gracious flip-flops. Amazingly, once I added a little stiffening salt water to the strap and some nice abrasive sand, they started to scratch my foot all up. But only on the left side, mind you (which seems to have taken a beating this vacation) while the right foot was unaffected. So I finally broke down and bought some seven dollar flip flops from Old Navy that are very fuzzy and the bottom and have no traction and threaten to kill me when I walk on any smooth surface. The End.
Alright, that's enough posting about vacation already! Can't we get back to the intellectual stuff? We will, we will, no more vacuous vacation posts. Unless I think of something else that's funny, then I'm totally gonna post it because, hey, it's my blog.
Crabs to you,
S.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Snapshots
I am a bit of a sign aficionado from all of my travels, not like the zodiac or anything kooky like that, but you know, road signs, caution signs, store signs, etc. I thought I would post a couple of my favorites from this past trip.
This one is from a restaurant in Biloxi, unfortunately I can't remember the name. It's piratacular.
So, this is pretty much one of my favorite finds ever. We actually saw another grocery store like this, maybe it's a chain? That would be superlative. If you don't get the joke, you should read the Bible. Honestly.
That's all folks,
S.
This one is from a restaurant in Biloxi, unfortunately I can't remember the name. It's piratacular.
So, this is pretty much one of my favorite finds ever. We actually saw another grocery store like this, maybe it's a chain? That would be superlative. If you don't get the joke, you should read the Bible. Honestly.
That's all folks,
S.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Sweet Home Alabama
Well, friends, I am back from vacation, but the pace has not noticeably slowed. Vacation was fun, good to get out of town for a while and down to the beach. We headed to Gulf Shores, Alabama, although it was so similar to last year's vacation that it was hard for us to remember most of the time that we hadn't ended up all the way in Florida. I'll tell you a few things that were different, though. For one thing, the drawl was a lot heavier down there. I think it was funniest on the little kids. Another thing, I guess its cliche to say that people are friendlier down South, but I honestly have found it to be true. Maybe a better word than friendly would be outgoing. People all seem to be in each other's business, in a light way, even amongst strangers. People will admire each other's babies in the elevator, point out nice shoes or purses, discuss the parking situation with complete strangers, I even had a lady ask me the other day for help in how to choose a good grapefruit. It's a bit amazing to me, that people can just start a conversation as if they were old friends. I know that some people might find it grating, but I think its kind of nice, warm, it creates this atmosphere of comfort. I also don't think that people are necessarily cold in the North, it's just a difference of degree and manner of expression.
I think my favorite expression of the neighborhood mentality came every night around 10:00, when everybody from these big, fancy condos would come down to the beach, little kids, old people, middle aged people, teenage couples would all troop down to the beach with their little plastic sand buckets and nets and flashlights and go digging through the sand, looking for crabs. And I don't mean just a few families coming down, I mean there was a bunch of people coming down. I love walking on the beach at night to begin with, it is one of my all time favorite things. The velvet black water, the cool sand, the soft breeze, the little purling ribbon of surf that rides in on the dying wave. The stars and the moon hung hazy in the muggy night. Add to that the laughter of families crowded around holes in the sand and hundreds and hundreds of little flashlights, bobbing like festival lanterns all up and down the beach. It's perfect. We never found any crabs, we only brought our flashlight down once and we had no idea how to look or what we were looking for. Some people were digging up in the dry sand and some people kept scanning the surf like they expected the crabs to ride in on little pontoon boats. My sister kept spotlighting bits of dark sea shells. I don't care if we never found anything, it would be worth it to go "looking" every night for that kind of atmosphere.
We spent about equal parts of time swimming and shopping. There was another outlet mall where we stayed, which is difficult. I liked shopping and to tell you the truth, I needed the clothes and they were way cheap. I just always feel kind of dirty when I spend that much time shopping. Ah well, someday when I have all the clothes I need I can leave this life of sin behind me forever. The other major attraction was Lambert's restaurant, an institution of Foley, Alabama. They have a kind of loose interpretation of "family style" dining, in which servers walk around with different dishes that are up for grabs in any amount, any table, any person, no matter what you ordered, you could sample what they called "pass arounds." Oh, that was the other part of the particularly southern nature of the trip, this was the first time I have ever sampled fried okra or grits. I am now as Southern as a fried green tomato. Yee-haw. Anyway, the major attraction of Lambert's, which brought in crowds for hours long waits, was the "throwed rolls." That's right, you heard me, they had two particular servers who walked around throwing rolls to patrons who had the daring to raise their hand. Some of the timid would wait until they were passing right next to the table, but, I kid you not, you could raise you hand when they were across the room and they would toss it right over to you. Our own Jeanne Hughes accomplished this amazing feat of athleticism right on the spot. They were amazing rolls too, especially with their homemade pass-around apple butter. Great place, that Lambert's. However, we were talking to the lady who passed out the black-eyed peas, and she said that they only let boys have the roll throwing positions. Now, I'll grant you, some of those shots are a little tricky because there's this overhang over the booths that are along the sides, and plastic hams hanging from that...anyway, I guess you had to be there. But still, I think this whole "girls can't throw rolls" thing is an obvious example of blatant sexism. We should write letters! We should call our congress people! Ehhhh...whatever, throw me another roll. And pass the apple butter.
Yours exhaustedly,
S.
I think my favorite expression of the neighborhood mentality came every night around 10:00, when everybody from these big, fancy condos would come down to the beach, little kids, old people, middle aged people, teenage couples would all troop down to the beach with their little plastic sand buckets and nets and flashlights and go digging through the sand, looking for crabs. And I don't mean just a few families coming down, I mean there was a bunch of people coming down. I love walking on the beach at night to begin with, it is one of my all time favorite things. The velvet black water, the cool sand, the soft breeze, the little purling ribbon of surf that rides in on the dying wave. The stars and the moon hung hazy in the muggy night. Add to that the laughter of families crowded around holes in the sand and hundreds and hundreds of little flashlights, bobbing like festival lanterns all up and down the beach. It's perfect. We never found any crabs, we only brought our flashlight down once and we had no idea how to look or what we were looking for. Some people were digging up in the dry sand and some people kept scanning the surf like they expected the crabs to ride in on little pontoon boats. My sister kept spotlighting bits of dark sea shells. I don't care if we never found anything, it would be worth it to go "looking" every night for that kind of atmosphere.
We spent about equal parts of time swimming and shopping. There was another outlet mall where we stayed, which is difficult. I liked shopping and to tell you the truth, I needed the clothes and they were way cheap. I just always feel kind of dirty when I spend that much time shopping. Ah well, someday when I have all the clothes I need I can leave this life of sin behind me forever. The other major attraction was Lambert's restaurant, an institution of Foley, Alabama. They have a kind of loose interpretation of "family style" dining, in which servers walk around with different dishes that are up for grabs in any amount, any table, any person, no matter what you ordered, you could sample what they called "pass arounds." Oh, that was the other part of the particularly southern nature of the trip, this was the first time I have ever sampled fried okra or grits. I am now as Southern as a fried green tomato. Yee-haw. Anyway, the major attraction of Lambert's, which brought in crowds for hours long waits, was the "throwed rolls." That's right, you heard me, they had two particular servers who walked around throwing rolls to patrons who had the daring to raise their hand. Some of the timid would wait until they were passing right next to the table, but, I kid you not, you could raise you hand when they were across the room and they would toss it right over to you. Our own Jeanne Hughes accomplished this amazing feat of athleticism right on the spot. They were amazing rolls too, especially with their homemade pass-around apple butter. Great place, that Lambert's. However, we were talking to the lady who passed out the black-eyed peas, and she said that they only let boys have the roll throwing positions. Now, I'll grant you, some of those shots are a little tricky because there's this overhang over the booths that are along the sides, and plastic hams hanging from that...anyway, I guess you had to be there. But still, I think this whole "girls can't throw rolls" thing is an obvious example of blatant sexism. We should write letters! We should call our congress people! Ehhhh...whatever, throw me another roll. And pass the apple butter.
Yours exhaustedly,
S.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die
There is much to report after this tumultuous week. However, all of that gets put to one side to report that I have finally landed on my new e-mail address. That's at least one less thing to worry about. Like all truly great moments of inspiration, it was a truly obvious solution, beautiful in it's simplicity. The account is all set up, so any time you want to drop me a line, just write me at...wait for it...drum roll please...what? You think I'm just gonna hand out my e-mail address online? I'm not stupid, you know! Fortunately, it's set up so that it forwards from my old account, so if you want the secret revealed, you can just e-mail!
Speaking of communication, I wanted to take a second to say how sad I feel that I haven't had sufficient time to write to those of you who have already written. The week that I got back I was trying to get settled and then this whole past week I've been doing VBS at church. I thought that I would have more time to get things done in the evening, but I was completely exhausted every evening. So, I have grieved in my heart about not being able to reply to any of your wonderful communications. I will worn you right now that the next week does not look promising. We're heading out on vacation tomorrow and we won't be back for a week. But, don't feel bad if you think I'm neglecting you. I'm also not finding a job, not writing my support letter for missions, and not writing the thank you notes for the profs who helped me with my honors project which wrapped up in April or some of those who gave me graduation money. Yeesh. How am I gonna relax with all this hanging over my head, I'll never know.
So how was the VBS? Well, it was...something else. I feel like any experience you end by getting a cold/flu/allegy thing is an experience where some things should have been different. I have to say, somehow it was really, really difficult this week. The most difficult ArtReach yet, in fact. Everything seemed to be so hard, just getting out of bed and going in the morning seemed to be difficult. The kids were difficult, staying up and cheerful all the time was difficult, being what felt like the only person willing to be a disciplinarian was difficult. I swear, sometimes I felt more like a prison warden than a kid's camp worker. It's hard to enjoy yourself when you feel like you're just there to keep control.
This might sound a little strange, but the hardest day for me was definitely Thursday, the whole salvation message, gospel preaching, sports themed tracts day. It brought a lot of questions to the fore for me, about the nature of salvation and how it should be presented to kids. Ever seen the documentary Jesus Camp? It wasn't like that this week, but I feel like that movie is so important because it is a stark reminder of how easily children can be manipulated. Maybe we have this idea that they are young and pure and innocent which enables them to accept Christ because they haven't got our barriers. Maybe it's easy for them because if you put an idea in their head they want to go with it, they want the pat on the head, the comfortable feeling of having done what's expected. And then there's the whole content issue, the old ABC's of salvation that we tote out year after year with tons of people and have printed on God only knows how many pieces of literature. Is that stupid thing even biblical? I am so far from thinking that this is the preferred method of teaching people, I am not even sure that it could be legitimate. How could there be this one way that every one is guaranteed to get in if you say these exact words? Doesn't that smack far more of magic than religion, let alone relationship and life transformation? Is that all there is, admitting and believing? Could that alone get you into heaven? Does it even matter, in that case? Is it possible that these young kids could really even understand what is meant by sin? And, there were two kids in my group who went off with the volunteers to accept Jesus, but I feel almost positive that one of them was just going because his friend was going. He didn't even raise his hand until he looked up and saw his friend going off, and then suddenly he wanted to become a Christian. How could that be a functional method of inducting people into the church? Didn't Jesus himself say something about counting the cost?
And yet, at the same time, I don't want to say that Christianity is not for children, that it is something that is only for those who can grasp it rationally. And it seems that there should be something simpler for children, perhaps simpler is not the right word, but obviously you can't really explain anything to a kid the same way you explain it to an adult. But I feel like the way that you would explain something to a kid is actually very revelatory, because it shows you what you hold to be most important in whatever you're trying to get across. You can't really hide your agenda among complexity the way you can when talking to adults (academics in particular). I guess what I'm trying to get at is that it's all very well and good to say let's throw out the Roman's road, ABC's, little formulaic method of salvation, but what is the alternative, for adults or for children? Once again, I have no answers. And you, think about this seriously! No fortune cookie friends, no easy answers!
Let me know when you've solved it. We'll have a race. Winner gets a ticket to heaven...
S.
Speaking of communication, I wanted to take a second to say how sad I feel that I haven't had sufficient time to write to those of you who have already written. The week that I got back I was trying to get settled and then this whole past week I've been doing VBS at church. I thought that I would have more time to get things done in the evening, but I was completely exhausted every evening. So, I have grieved in my heart about not being able to reply to any of your wonderful communications. I will worn you right now that the next week does not look promising. We're heading out on vacation tomorrow and we won't be back for a week. But, don't feel bad if you think I'm neglecting you. I'm also not finding a job, not writing my support letter for missions, and not writing the thank you notes for the profs who helped me with my honors project which wrapped up in April or some of those who gave me graduation money. Yeesh. How am I gonna relax with all this hanging over my head, I'll never know.
So how was the VBS? Well, it was...something else. I feel like any experience you end by getting a cold/flu/allegy thing is an experience where some things should have been different. I have to say, somehow it was really, really difficult this week. The most difficult ArtReach yet, in fact. Everything seemed to be so hard, just getting out of bed and going in the morning seemed to be difficult. The kids were difficult, staying up and cheerful all the time was difficult, being what felt like the only person willing to be a disciplinarian was difficult. I swear, sometimes I felt more like a prison warden than a kid's camp worker. It's hard to enjoy yourself when you feel like you're just there to keep control.
This might sound a little strange, but the hardest day for me was definitely Thursday, the whole salvation message, gospel preaching, sports themed tracts day. It brought a lot of questions to the fore for me, about the nature of salvation and how it should be presented to kids. Ever seen the documentary Jesus Camp? It wasn't like that this week, but I feel like that movie is so important because it is a stark reminder of how easily children can be manipulated. Maybe we have this idea that they are young and pure and innocent which enables them to accept Christ because they haven't got our barriers. Maybe it's easy for them because if you put an idea in their head they want to go with it, they want the pat on the head, the comfortable feeling of having done what's expected. And then there's the whole content issue, the old ABC's of salvation that we tote out year after year with tons of people and have printed on God only knows how many pieces of literature. Is that stupid thing even biblical? I am so far from thinking that this is the preferred method of teaching people, I am not even sure that it could be legitimate. How could there be this one way that every one is guaranteed to get in if you say these exact words? Doesn't that smack far more of magic than religion, let alone relationship and life transformation? Is that all there is, admitting and believing? Could that alone get you into heaven? Does it even matter, in that case? Is it possible that these young kids could really even understand what is meant by sin? And, there were two kids in my group who went off with the volunteers to accept Jesus, but I feel almost positive that one of them was just going because his friend was going. He didn't even raise his hand until he looked up and saw his friend going off, and then suddenly he wanted to become a Christian. How could that be a functional method of inducting people into the church? Didn't Jesus himself say something about counting the cost?
And yet, at the same time, I don't want to say that Christianity is not for children, that it is something that is only for those who can grasp it rationally. And it seems that there should be something simpler for children, perhaps simpler is not the right word, but obviously you can't really explain anything to a kid the same way you explain it to an adult. But I feel like the way that you would explain something to a kid is actually very revelatory, because it shows you what you hold to be most important in whatever you're trying to get across. You can't really hide your agenda among complexity the way you can when talking to adults (academics in particular). I guess what I'm trying to get at is that it's all very well and good to say let's throw out the Roman's road, ABC's, little formulaic method of salvation, but what is the alternative, for adults or for children? Once again, I have no answers. And you, think about this seriously! No fortune cookie friends, no easy answers!
Let me know when you've solved it. We'll have a race. Winner gets a ticket to heaven...
S.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
The Quest
So, I have been trying and trying to think of an e-mail address that I can be satisfied with, one that is creative and catchy and uniquely me. I've come up with a couple ideas, but every time I think of something that I can be satisfied with, it's already taken! Annoyance is within me...
I only have until August to come up with something. And, knowing me, I will not rest until I have discovered something absolutely perfect. Stupid g-mail. Cramping my style...
I only have until August to come up with something. And, knowing me, I will not rest until I have discovered something absolutely perfect. Stupid g-mail. Cramping my style...
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Clean Sweep?
This wild weekend was the great garage sale of '07. Heather and her friend were doing most of the organization since they're planning on going on a missions trip to England and they're still trying to raise money. (speaking of which, keep checking the mail for an opportunity to support ME on my missions trip to Nigeria!) This is going to really shock you, but a garage sale, outside, in June in Texas, is not the greatest idea anyone's ever had. Surprisingly enough, it gets hot...really, really hot. We actually ended up quitting by two o'clock each day, which is new for me in my career in garage sales. So, my sister skipped out on the second day, leaving me and my mom to hold down the fort. We had a lot of hispanic people visit us, and the strange thing that I noticed is that no one would come for about an hour, then all of a sudden like four cars would pull up and a bunch of people would pile out. We sold a fair amount of stuff, although there was at least an equally fair amount of stuff that didn't sell.
It was good to clean out the house, whether the stuff goes to goodwill or we're able to sell it. Come home to find out that there's nowhere to put the stuff from school because of all the old stuff that never got moved out...of my room or the rest of the house. I don't think I've gone through most of my stuff since before I left for college, so I've come to find that there's all this crap that I shouldn't even own. I haven't lived here officially for four years, so I guess I could just come home from school and dump more stuff here without having to worry about what to keep and what to get rid of. So I feel like I don't even have room to open a box, let alone unpack one.
There has been a quandry for me since I've come home, what to keep and what to throw away. There has been so much stuff accumulated in the course of my lifetime that really wouldn't have a place in any sort of apartment I would have in the future. Stuff that doesn't even have sentimental value, it's just stuff. Why keep it? So I am going to try to get rid of everything I can bear to part with. I believe in simplicity, although it's hard for me to understand what that means. I generally spend most of my time falling to one extreme or the other, asceticism and guilt or indulgence and rationalizing. How to negotiate the fine line? I...uh, don't know. Any thoughts, beyond the life purging garage sale in which nobody buys your stuff.
It was good to clean out the house, whether the stuff goes to goodwill or we're able to sell it. Come home to find out that there's nowhere to put the stuff from school because of all the old stuff that never got moved out...of my room or the rest of the house. I don't think I've gone through most of my stuff since before I left for college, so I've come to find that there's all this crap that I shouldn't even own. I haven't lived here officially for four years, so I guess I could just come home from school and dump more stuff here without having to worry about what to keep and what to get rid of. So I feel like I don't even have room to open a box, let alone unpack one.
There has been a quandry for me since I've come home, what to keep and what to throw away. There has been so much stuff accumulated in the course of my lifetime that really wouldn't have a place in any sort of apartment I would have in the future. Stuff that doesn't even have sentimental value, it's just stuff. Why keep it? So I am going to try to get rid of everything I can bear to part with. I believe in simplicity, although it's hard for me to understand what that means. I generally spend most of my time falling to one extreme or the other, asceticism and guilt or indulgence and rationalizing. How to negotiate the fine line? I...uh, don't know. Any thoughts, beyond the life purging garage sale in which nobody buys your stuff.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
And the one who has eyes to see...
Tonight I was out walking for just a wee smidgen of time. It was very good for my soul. Mostly, since coming home, I have felt rather aimless, like I had a whole plethora of things to do, but none of them really mattered in the grand scheme of things, so why bother. It is good to have quiet time to reorient my mind and remember that my life is more than watching TV while waiting for the Big Adventure to start. One of the things I already miss about Houghton is how cut off from nature I feel here. There are no woods, no creeks to splash in, no wildflowers. But it has been good to discover what a vital thing it is to me to connect to the nature that is here. To touch and name the plants and trees, to smell the flowers that are close enough to the sidewalk that I most likely won't get accused of trespassing, to see and hear the birds, without whom the world would feel such a dead place. It is a necessary part of my life to notice things. People laugh because I do things so slowly, from walking to making a sandwich. But I feel like everything I do could be so rich, and becomes rich, when I stop and invest myself fully in the experience. I want to see everything, smell everything, whether it's the mustard on my toasted bread or the jasminy-flowers down by that person's mailbox. I want to remember the lights on that porch, that broken bird's egg, that pine cone. I want to feel the difference in the wind when the weather's changing, to outrun the storm cloud and yet not fear the rain.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Long Road Home
The Great American Road Trip has ended. My mom keeps asking if it was everything I expected, which was hard to say because I'm not really sure what I was expecting. But it was a great trip, I am so glad that I had the chance to do something on my own. I think that was the best part, to be able to plan the trip on my own, to be alone, to prove that I can be independent. To drive through a storm and hydroplane and not let the car get out of control. To change the CD, or plug in my i-pod without crashing the car. To drive with my knees while I put my hair up. To have the windows down as much as I wanted and the music up as loud as I wanted. I feel like a long road trip is also just the kind of thing that one ought to do once graduated from college. Isn't that in the great American dream somewhere? I wanted to have time to spend alone, to think and process, although I feel like there wasn't as much of that as I expected. If I have learned anything in the past few months, it's that although you can resist repressing your emotions, you really can't force them to surface when you think you're ready to handle them. They hide. They resist control. They'll let you face them when they're ready, and not before. Besides which, how do you begin to understand such a huge change? College is over for good. I can never go back to that life again. Hmmmm...words, words, words.
As to the trip itself, there's not much to say and there are a million things to say that I could never record. How do you put down hundreds of miles of our great nations landscape into a few electronic lines? I know that my words will not be sufficient. Well, I think Pennsylvania and Ohio win for the most construction zones and the most roadkill. I think Kentucky was my favorite traveling over all, not at all what I expected: horse farms and low hills and the whole bit. It was actually a lot more big wooded hills and misty valleys. The whole state looks pretty much like my idea of Sherwood Forest. I got stuck in inexplicable traffic outside of Little Rock, Arkansas, which is not my idea of the most happening town. All of a sudden we were locked up, not moving, bumper to bumper, for about half an hour, and then all of a sudden we started moving again. So, what, a herd of cows perhaps? Big storms outside of Nashville and then another classic Texas thunderstorm once I got back in the state. Way to welcome me home, Mother Nature.
Now the part that everyone has been waiting to hear about, the shady Motel 6 that I ended up staying in. I was going to be staying in a hostel in Nashville, but I ended up staying with a family friend unexpectedly, which was great. So I pulled in to the Motel 6, which was in a fairly nice neighborhood. The first thing that happened was that I ended up being in line for a very long time behind a very angry contractor who was trying to rent about 10 rooms for guys he was working a job with. He kept pulling out his cell phone and swearing at his guys because they couldn't find the motel or because they accidentally checked into the wrong one. By the time they were through working on all the paperwork and getting the right rooms (smoking or non-smoking? first floor or second floor? double-room or single?) I had been waiting there for about 20 minutes. When I finally got to the room, the first thing I noticed was the smell. I have learned that at Motel 6, it hardly matters whether you choose smoking or non-smoking because I feel like the room would smell the same regardless. I was on the first floor, and the door opened right onto the parking lot, which made me rather nervous in thinking about spending the night there...fast asleep...vulnerable and helpless...yeah. The other brilliant thing I did was spend the evening watching Mission Impossible II on the TV. This was kind of dumb to begin with because I haven't even seen the first Mission Impossible, but I was bored and everything in the vicinity was closed at 8:00 at night. Now, keep in mind, I don't usually have a problem with scary movies. I can pretty much watch whatever I want without being troubled. Unfortunately, I did not take into account that I was staying all by myself in a strange place that was kind of creepy to begin with into the bargain. So, for the first time in my life, I found myself really kind of wanting to just turn the movie off, but feeling trapped because if I didn't find out how it ended, I would be haunted for the rest of my days, wondering if Tom Cruise's little woman died from that chimera virus. I made it through to the end, but I feel pretty well satisfied not watching any more Mission Impossible for awhile.
Until the next adventure (and it won't be long!),
S.
As to the trip itself, there's not much to say and there are a million things to say that I could never record. How do you put down hundreds of miles of our great nations landscape into a few electronic lines? I know that my words will not be sufficient. Well, I think Pennsylvania and Ohio win for the most construction zones and the most roadkill. I think Kentucky was my favorite traveling over all, not at all what I expected: horse farms and low hills and the whole bit. It was actually a lot more big wooded hills and misty valleys. The whole state looks pretty much like my idea of Sherwood Forest. I got stuck in inexplicable traffic outside of Little Rock, Arkansas, which is not my idea of the most happening town. All of a sudden we were locked up, not moving, bumper to bumper, for about half an hour, and then all of a sudden we started moving again. So, what, a herd of cows perhaps? Big storms outside of Nashville and then another classic Texas thunderstorm once I got back in the state. Way to welcome me home, Mother Nature.
Now the part that everyone has been waiting to hear about, the shady Motel 6 that I ended up staying in. I was going to be staying in a hostel in Nashville, but I ended up staying with a family friend unexpectedly, which was great. So I pulled in to the Motel 6, which was in a fairly nice neighborhood. The first thing that happened was that I ended up being in line for a very long time behind a very angry contractor who was trying to rent about 10 rooms for guys he was working a job with. He kept pulling out his cell phone and swearing at his guys because they couldn't find the motel or because they accidentally checked into the wrong one. By the time they were through working on all the paperwork and getting the right rooms (smoking or non-smoking? first floor or second floor? double-room or single?) I had been waiting there for about 20 minutes. When I finally got to the room, the first thing I noticed was the smell. I have learned that at Motel 6, it hardly matters whether you choose smoking or non-smoking because I feel like the room would smell the same regardless. I was on the first floor, and the door opened right onto the parking lot, which made me rather nervous in thinking about spending the night there...fast asleep...vulnerable and helpless...yeah. The other brilliant thing I did was spend the evening watching Mission Impossible II on the TV. This was kind of dumb to begin with because I haven't even seen the first Mission Impossible, but I was bored and everything in the vicinity was closed at 8:00 at night. Now, keep in mind, I don't usually have a problem with scary movies. I can pretty much watch whatever I want without being troubled. Unfortunately, I did not take into account that I was staying all by myself in a strange place that was kind of creepy to begin with into the bargain. So, for the first time in my life, I found myself really kind of wanting to just turn the movie off, but feeling trapped because if I didn't find out how it ended, I would be haunted for the rest of my days, wondering if Tom Cruise's little woman died from that chimera virus. I made it through to the end, but I feel pretty well satisfied not watching any more Mission Impossible for awhile.
Until the next adventure (and it won't be long!),
S.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Wasted
So, about an hour ago, I remembered with annoyance that the only things of consequence that I've written on this blog all semester have been about John Eldredge. This is not proper. I thought musingly of writing something decent for your starved spirits, but then was attacked and sucked in by the daimones of Facebook, and now, an hour later, I have accomplished nothing. Then it took me like 15 more minutes to sign in because it's been so long that I've forgotten my username and password to get in here.
But, there is now no time to chat because I have promised myself in the most graphic terms that if I do not organize my notes for this paper before dinner, I will be flayed alive. I suppose the Facebook daimones would have to do it...
With greater than usual self-disgust,
S.
But, there is now no time to chat because I have promised myself in the most graphic terms that if I do not organize my notes for this paper before dinner, I will be flayed alive. I suppose the Facebook daimones would have to do it...
With greater than usual self-disgust,
S.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
A Jot
So, I do still have thoughts about good old WAH. Actually, it's a thought, a final little thought, and unlike Eldredge I will put it in terms of my personal experience rather than that of all women in all places and all times forever (modernist!). One of my favorite lines from this book is, "You'd have to admit that a Christian woman is...tired." I relate to this so much, in fact it's probably what I related to most in the entire book, in speaking not just of Christian women but of many women's experience. But for me, the reason behind it is this: I am really, really stupid when it comes to letting anyone help me with anything ever. A lot of times I find myself carrying a lot of burdens (in terms of workload, chores, busyness, whatever) but I would never dream of sharing this with someone and asking for help. I either think, Oh, I can handle this on my own, or I somehow expect the other people around me to know that I need this kind of help (the latter I find most infuriating). Then I get a bee in my butt because I'm supposedly handling so much and no one is stepping up to help me or even really taking notice. Clearly, if the people surrounding me were truly caring and supportive, their telepathy would kick in to circumvent this. So I get a chip in my shoulder and take up even more of the burden to justify my new position as martyr: "Well, fine, I guess I'll just handle this too since nobody else seems to be willing to do anything. Not that they would do it as well as I would anyway. I guess I just have to do everything around here. That's fine, that's the way it always ends up, isn't it? In the end, you're alone, just you against the world. Well, fine, I don't need anybody anyway."
In terms of general competancies, I feel like I've proven myself pretty well. I know that I know how to mow the lawn, hang a picture, fix the toilet, check the oil in my car, teach someone how to ride a bike, fix most problems with an average printer, and even how to build a fire without starter fluid and how to build a shelter in the woods out of found materials. (Yeah girl scouts!) So I feel like there is no doubt that I am able to do these things. So I guess my hope is that I would not be threatened if someone (man or woman) were to offer to do them for me? Sometimes, like most humans, I want to be big and strong and save the day and do the thing and show that I've got what it takes; and sometimes, like most humans, I just want someone else who's willing to take care of me. If I could let them. We'll see.
So my conclusion is that yes, women are tired, and I would chalk some of that up to the passivity of men and I applaud old John boy for encouraging them to take initiative and be actively looking for ways to help others, but I would also say that people like me, particularly women like me, need to learn to be able to ask for help.
Phew, that it is, I promise. (I think.) Seriously, I am so tired of talking and writing and thinking about this book. But, wait, now people might actually start reading these posts and want to object to what I've said and then I'll have to defend it and we'll have to discuss...crap. Oh well. But at least you, oh internet universe, will not have to put up with more typings on this subject matter from me. Unless somebody makes some really good point and I need to clarify my position. Or if somebody makes a really bad point and I want to anonymously make fun of them. Or if I just feel like it. So don't think of it as a promise, think of it as a highly conditional statement that makes no guarantees about future events.
But, before I close the door on Wild at Heart, I thought some of you might like a fair, enlightened evaluation of the book and its effects from someone who was not me, so I have provided you with a link below to a helpful and informative article from "a good source for Christian news." Enjoy, my little scallops... :-)
http://larknews.com/february_2005/secondary.php?page=3
Yours captivatingly,
S.
In terms of general competancies, I feel like I've proven myself pretty well. I know that I know how to mow the lawn, hang a picture, fix the toilet, check the oil in my car, teach someone how to ride a bike, fix most problems with an average printer, and even how to build a fire without starter fluid and how to build a shelter in the woods out of found materials. (Yeah girl scouts!) So I feel like there is no doubt that I am able to do these things. So I guess my hope is that I would not be threatened if someone (man or woman) were to offer to do them for me? Sometimes, like most humans, I want to be big and strong and save the day and do the thing and show that I've got what it takes; and sometimes, like most humans, I just want someone else who's willing to take care of me. If I could let them. We'll see.
So my conclusion is that yes, women are tired, and I would chalk some of that up to the passivity of men and I applaud old John boy for encouraging them to take initiative and be actively looking for ways to help others, but I would also say that people like me, particularly women like me, need to learn to be able to ask for help.
Phew, that it is, I promise. (I think.) Seriously, I am so tired of talking and writing and thinking about this book. But, wait, now people might actually start reading these posts and want to object to what I've said and then I'll have to defend it and we'll have to discuss...crap. Oh well. But at least you, oh internet universe, will not have to put up with more typings on this subject matter from me. Unless somebody makes some really good point and I need to clarify my position. Or if somebody makes a really bad point and I want to anonymously make fun of them. Or if I just feel like it. So don't think of it as a promise, think of it as a highly conditional statement that makes no guarantees about future events.
But, before I close the door on Wild at Heart, I thought some of you might like a fair, enlightened evaluation of the book and its effects from someone who was not me, so I have provided you with a link below to a helpful and informative article from "a good source for Christian news." Enjoy, my little scallops... :-)
http://larknews.com/february_2005/secondary.php?page=3
Yours captivatingly,
S.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Deeper into the Wild
The next installment in a continuing saga...shorter too, I think.
I think one of the biggest…not problems, but questions that I had about this book is why this whole idea about adventure and fairy tales and rescues should be what determines our standards for men and women. Where do these ideals come from? I don’t think of fairy tales as the archetypes of humanity, but rather the inventions of a time very close to ours that romanticizes the way that things used to be. I don’t know that there was ever a time when gallant men rode around on horses rescuing beautiful women. We romanticize old battles, the idea of chivalry, but we don’t have any idea of what these things actually used to be like. So I would agree that these stories have a powerful influence in our culture (after all, I am a writing major, and far be it from me to belittle the power of narrative) but I feel that these stories are not based in any kind of historical truth, that there’s no way we can return to this kind of lifestyle because there is no “there” to return to.
I would agree that in the past men had a more clearly defined role, perhaps even a more active role in some sense, but I don’t think it was a more adventurous role by any means. I think for the greater part of history, the mass of men and women have lived very mundane lives, caught up in mundane tasks of day to day labor, family and finances. So why should we pursue these kind of ideals when they are not based in or really functional in our actual lives? Why do we have these desires in the first place? I don’t think their burnished on every man and woman’s heart, spanning time and place. I think they have far more to do with Western culture than with God or our original design, so perhaps E. is right when speaking to how we ought to deal with them, but I really have to question his assessment of their source. But this is also part of a more general, nitpicky kind of problem that I had with E’s language throughout the book. He speaks so generally and so certainly about how this is always true for every man and woman, and after a while, this overbearing confidence gets really obnoxious, like “Hey buddy, have you asked every single man or woman whether this is the case?” But maybe that’s just me…
The other thing that I found really…interesting is E’s out of hand dismissal of how much gender roles are shaped by society and how much they are biological. To quote his book: “Permit me to bypass the entire nature vs. nurture ‘is gender really built in?’ debate with one simple observation: Men and women are made in the image of God as men or as women…Gender simply must be at the level of the soul, in the deep and everlasting places within us.” Is it just me, or are there about four million unexamined presuppositions in that “one simple observation?” It seems as though Eldredge would deny that there is any difference in genders that is derived sociologically rather than spiritually. I really have a problem with that. I think in recent years there has been so much debate about all of these and so many pushes towards thinking that a lot of gender is sociological that it is in a way popular or cool to declare that one thinks that there are really no integral differences between the genders beyond the physical. And because of that popularity, I would feel a lot more comfortable saying that I think that gender is basically a construction, but I don’t want to do that just to be in conformity to popular notions.
On the other hand, I am really not comfortable with making an assertion like “women tend to be nurturing, while men tend to be aggressive.” (this just as an example of the other camp, not exactly of what E. is saying). So I am really not sure where I fall in the whole nature vs. nurture debate, but I feel like it’s pretty evasive and unfair to just avoid the entire thing, to dismiss it even, particularly if you then go on to make lots of statements about the way that every man or every woman is or what they want, just seems to set you square on some very shaky ideological ground. I think that there are definitely patterns in gender roles, that men tend to be one way or women tend to be one way, but I just don’t think it ever makes demographical sense to start talking about the way that all people are. I also think that there are differences between men and woman that are deeper than merely physical, but I don’t know that I would be comfortable to start pointing out exactly what differences those are, even among my own social group, let alone for all men and women. I think that E. needs to avail himself of what my A.P. American History teacher called “the merits of ‘many’.”
I also have trouble saying that men ought to acquiesce to, or even actively pursue living the way that their natural, “God-given” inclinations would lead them. I have lots of natural inclinations that I am pretty sure that I should just leave alone. For example, I am naturally inclined to be greedy, I am naturally inclined to put other people down so I can get ahead, I am naturally inclined to be neurotic. I don’t think that being naturally inclined towards something necessarily disqualifies something as a guidepost towards how we were meant to live, but I certainly don’t think that that alone would merit some inclination to be declared God-given and noble.
Are you'ns tired of this already? Because believe it or not, I think I have enough thoughts for one more post. So children, which would you rather have, a great lapse in posting or vacuous posts or an inundation of legnthy and semi-thoughtful work? You buttered your bread...
S.
I think one of the biggest…not problems, but questions that I had about this book is why this whole idea about adventure and fairy tales and rescues should be what determines our standards for men and women. Where do these ideals come from? I don’t think of fairy tales as the archetypes of humanity, but rather the inventions of a time very close to ours that romanticizes the way that things used to be. I don’t know that there was ever a time when gallant men rode around on horses rescuing beautiful women. We romanticize old battles, the idea of chivalry, but we don’t have any idea of what these things actually used to be like. So I would agree that these stories have a powerful influence in our culture (after all, I am a writing major, and far be it from me to belittle the power of narrative) but I feel that these stories are not based in any kind of historical truth, that there’s no way we can return to this kind of lifestyle because there is no “there” to return to.
I would agree that in the past men had a more clearly defined role, perhaps even a more active role in some sense, but I don’t think it was a more adventurous role by any means. I think for the greater part of history, the mass of men and women have lived very mundane lives, caught up in mundane tasks of day to day labor, family and finances. So why should we pursue these kind of ideals when they are not based in or really functional in our actual lives? Why do we have these desires in the first place? I don’t think their burnished on every man and woman’s heart, spanning time and place. I think they have far more to do with Western culture than with God or our original design, so perhaps E. is right when speaking to how we ought to deal with them, but I really have to question his assessment of their source. But this is also part of a more general, nitpicky kind of problem that I had with E’s language throughout the book. He speaks so generally and so certainly about how this is always true for every man and woman, and after a while, this overbearing confidence gets really obnoxious, like “Hey buddy, have you asked every single man or woman whether this is the case?” But maybe that’s just me…
The other thing that I found really…interesting is E’s out of hand dismissal of how much gender roles are shaped by society and how much they are biological. To quote his book: “Permit me to bypass the entire nature vs. nurture ‘is gender really built in?’ debate with one simple observation: Men and women are made in the image of God as men or as women…Gender simply must be at the level of the soul, in the deep and everlasting places within us.” Is it just me, or are there about four million unexamined presuppositions in that “one simple observation?” It seems as though Eldredge would deny that there is any difference in genders that is derived sociologically rather than spiritually. I really have a problem with that. I think in recent years there has been so much debate about all of these and so many pushes towards thinking that a lot of gender is sociological that it is in a way popular or cool to declare that one thinks that there are really no integral differences between the genders beyond the physical. And because of that popularity, I would feel a lot more comfortable saying that I think that gender is basically a construction, but I don’t want to do that just to be in conformity to popular notions.
On the other hand, I am really not comfortable with making an assertion like “women tend to be nurturing, while men tend to be aggressive.” (this just as an example of the other camp, not exactly of what E. is saying). So I am really not sure where I fall in the whole nature vs. nurture debate, but I feel like it’s pretty evasive and unfair to just avoid the entire thing, to dismiss it even, particularly if you then go on to make lots of statements about the way that every man or every woman is or what they want, just seems to set you square on some very shaky ideological ground. I think that there are definitely patterns in gender roles, that men tend to be one way or women tend to be one way, but I just don’t think it ever makes demographical sense to start talking about the way that all people are. I also think that there are differences between men and woman that are deeper than merely physical, but I don’t know that I would be comfortable to start pointing out exactly what differences those are, even among my own social group, let alone for all men and women. I think that E. needs to avail himself of what my A.P. American History teacher called “the merits of ‘many’.”
I also have trouble saying that men ought to acquiesce to, or even actively pursue living the way that their natural, “God-given” inclinations would lead them. I have lots of natural inclinations that I am pretty sure that I should just leave alone. For example, I am naturally inclined to be greedy, I am naturally inclined to put other people down so I can get ahead, I am naturally inclined to be neurotic. I don’t think that being naturally inclined towards something necessarily disqualifies something as a guidepost towards how we were meant to live, but I certainly don’t think that that alone would merit some inclination to be declared God-given and noble.
Are you'ns tired of this already? Because believe it or not, I think I have enough thoughts for one more post. So children, which would you rather have, a great lapse in posting or vacuous posts or an inundation of legnthy and semi-thoughtful work? You buttered your bread...
S.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Oh So Wild
Brace yourselves for a very long post...the first thing that I have for you tonight is another installment on the continuing saga of Me and My Wallet. So, I returned the call to the good folks at Chipotle and asked that my wallet be sent to my school address because I figured whatever shipping mode they employed would be too slow to get it back to me by the time I left for school. But my mom really didn't want to go to the DMV to secure a new driver's license for me to use to get on the plane back to school, so she called them, asked if the wallet still had my driver's license (it did) and asked that they ship it to Houston when she found that they were planning to overnight it. So all that Saturday, we sat about the house, waiting for the wallet to show up, which it never did. So I had to go through the complex process of using alternate forms of ID at the airport, and I still have no wallet, since we had to wait until it got to Houston and then have my mom ship it to me at school! I will be glad as a turnip to have that thing back though, come to find it comes in mighty handy.
So, at long, long last, this post is the first in a series of reflections I am writing about Wild at Heart. The series thing is simply because I have too gosh darn much to say, so I thought I would make it a little easier by breaking it down. And hence, installment one:
“Every man was once a boy. And every little boy has dreams, big dreams: dreams of being the hero, of beating the bad guys, of doing daring feats and rescuing the damsel in distress.” Or so sayeth John Eldredge, recently acclaimed for his book Wild at Heart. For those of you who don’t run with the evangelical crowd, this book is a runaway bestseller in Christian bookstores across the nation; a book which attempts to address the deepest desires of a man’s heart, the very core of masculinity. I think those of you who read this blog know that I was attempting to delve into this book simply because it is such a phenomenon in evangelicalism, and if everybody is talking about something, I have a yen to know what it is and why. Furthermore, my friends and I argue about or at least jokingly reference this book pretty consistently, and as someone has astutely pointed out to me, it’s not such a good idea to do this with a book you haven’t read. Fair enough. Furthermore, I have a personal interest in this whole idea of gender roles and what they are and what they mean and how we live them out. So, for all of these reasons, I set myself to the task of digging into this most excellent book to try to discern what this kooky guy is trying to say.
Now, right away I came up against an interesting problem: I am not a man. Shocking, I know, but definitely kind of sticky when I am reading a book by a man, for a man, about men’s issues. Again and again I come up against my own ignorance: these are my perceptions, these are things that I’ve observed as I look at and talk to men. So many times I find myself looking at one of Eldredge’s observations and thinking, “Well, this is what I think about it, but I don’t really know” or “This is also true for me, but perhaps for a man they feel this or think this in some elevated or intense way?” So I guess I just want to state from the beginning that I acknowledge my own ignorance and the limitedness of my experience. And I welcome feedback, especially from guys, as to whether or not the things I am saying, or the things that Eldredge says are true. Because, at least I like to idealistically think, I really want to know what is “true” here, not just hear myself talk.
Okay, with all of the preliminaries out of the way, here we go…
This may sound ridiculously basic, but I think E. really has his finger on something just by pointing out that there seems to be a problem with American men. What kind of problem? I could point out the incredible statistics about absentee fathers and husbands or violent crime, or I could just point out about four gazillion couch potatoes, workaholics, road ragers, or weekend fishermen that seem to characterize the American male. I do not in any way agree with E’s allegation that the women’s movement has in some way demanded the feminization of men, but I think that it has introduced an extremely strong element of confusion into what it means to be a man today. If the message to girls is “You can be anything you want to be,” I think the message to guys has, through silence, turned into “We don’t know what the heck you’re going to be.” In the light of the old elephant in the room syndrome, just to stand up and say, “Hey, this isn’t right!” is the first step that must be taken before anything can be done. And I guess you could say that there’s no problem with anomie, that this allows everyone the freedom to choose whatever they want to be, but I think that anyone, in light of this lack of clear leadership, would just slump passively into…whatever. People don’t have freedom to choose when there are no clear options.
Another of the elements of E’s argument is the idea that all men desire an adventure to participate in, something to challenge them. But at the same time, they resist entering into this adventure because their deepest fear is that they will be proved inadequate, that they will be shown to not be enough for their calling. This is an interesting argument because I think I would say that there are many people, both men and women, who desire to do something larger, particularly in the domestic suburban setting, in a dead-end job that they hate, with a home life that is tense and too busy. And I think that this whole idea of impostership is really endemic to most Westerners, that they have a fear that they will someday be unmasked, that their achievements will be proved fraudulent. So I guess this would be one area where I felt really inadequate to evaluate whether this is simply a human desire, since it seems obvious to me that anyone would want to ride bareback on a beach rather than stare at the gray walls of their cubicle for one more day. But I said to myself, maybe this is something that men want particularly strongly, stronger than women could possibly dream, not being men themselves. So I guess I will leave you to arbitrate whether or not E. was right on this point.
I think that E. may have his finger on something with this whole idea of adventure, but I also think he seems to have presented adventure as an alternative to responsibility, or more particularly duty. He seems to have an idea that duty or moral responsibility is something that men are saddled with, or that the church treats these things as the chief end of man, to borrow from the catechism when really it is to follow these deep desires in their hearts to run off and be William Wallace. I am personally of the opinion that fulfilling his duty, living according to his obligations and sticking to his word are some of the most important things that a man can do. A word that I found conspicuously absent from E’s book is the word “honor,” an omission I found puzzling, since I would rank it extremely high in a list of “things a man ought to be.” Maybe the word is too obscure to be of much use to contemporary men, but to me it seems to be a fairly essential idea to me, one that is eschewed in favor of the pursuit of one’s adventures and dreams. To me this seems like it could easily be used as license, not to become men, but to remain as boys, preoccupied with doing what makes them excited or happy rather than what they see around them that needs to be done, that needs to be taken care of.
But, in my continuing effort to be fair and balanced, I think the other thing in E’s book that is really useful is his urging that men be able to acknowledge their own woundedness. I think it has been a great injustice to men that they have been taught that in order to be men they need to just “suck it up,” deny or forget or ignore whatever has bothered or truly hurt them in favor of being seen as a tough or macho man. I feel that this is not good for anyone, that to suppress feeling of pain turns them into anger or withdrawal. Why is it that uncontrolled rage is not condemned as unmanly when so many other displays of emotion are? This is important too because I think that in order to overcome woundedness, the wound must be acknowledged and dealt with or no growth will come of it; it will become not just a scar, but a burden. I think it takes infinitely more courage to acknowledge one’s wounds and deal with them than to just stuff them and move on, so I do applaud E. for encouraging men to move forward in this area.
Okay, okay, enough all ready! Until next time, my wild little friends...
S.
So, at long, long last, this post is the first in a series of reflections I am writing about Wild at Heart. The series thing is simply because I have too gosh darn much to say, so I thought I would make it a little easier by breaking it down. And hence, installment one:
“Every man was once a boy. And every little boy has dreams, big dreams: dreams of being the hero, of beating the bad guys, of doing daring feats and rescuing the damsel in distress.” Or so sayeth John Eldredge, recently acclaimed for his book Wild at Heart. For those of you who don’t run with the evangelical crowd, this book is a runaway bestseller in Christian bookstores across the nation; a book which attempts to address the deepest desires of a man’s heart, the very core of masculinity. I think those of you who read this blog know that I was attempting to delve into this book simply because it is such a phenomenon in evangelicalism, and if everybody is talking about something, I have a yen to know what it is and why. Furthermore, my friends and I argue about or at least jokingly reference this book pretty consistently, and as someone has astutely pointed out to me, it’s not such a good idea to do this with a book you haven’t read. Fair enough. Furthermore, I have a personal interest in this whole idea of gender roles and what they are and what they mean and how we live them out. So, for all of these reasons, I set myself to the task of digging into this most excellent book to try to discern what this kooky guy is trying to say.
Now, right away I came up against an interesting problem: I am not a man. Shocking, I know, but definitely kind of sticky when I am reading a book by a man, for a man, about men’s issues. Again and again I come up against my own ignorance: these are my perceptions, these are things that I’ve observed as I look at and talk to men. So many times I find myself looking at one of Eldredge’s observations and thinking, “Well, this is what I think about it, but I don’t really know” or “This is also true for me, but perhaps for a man they feel this or think this in some elevated or intense way?” So I guess I just want to state from the beginning that I acknowledge my own ignorance and the limitedness of my experience. And I welcome feedback, especially from guys, as to whether or not the things I am saying, or the things that Eldredge says are true. Because, at least I like to idealistically think, I really want to know what is “true” here, not just hear myself talk.
Okay, with all of the preliminaries out of the way, here we go…
This may sound ridiculously basic, but I think E. really has his finger on something just by pointing out that there seems to be a problem with American men. What kind of problem? I could point out the incredible statistics about absentee fathers and husbands or violent crime, or I could just point out about four gazillion couch potatoes, workaholics, road ragers, or weekend fishermen that seem to characterize the American male. I do not in any way agree with E’s allegation that the women’s movement has in some way demanded the feminization of men, but I think that it has introduced an extremely strong element of confusion into what it means to be a man today. If the message to girls is “You can be anything you want to be,” I think the message to guys has, through silence, turned into “We don’t know what the heck you’re going to be.” In the light of the old elephant in the room syndrome, just to stand up and say, “Hey, this isn’t right!” is the first step that must be taken before anything can be done. And I guess you could say that there’s no problem with anomie, that this allows everyone the freedom to choose whatever they want to be, but I think that anyone, in light of this lack of clear leadership, would just slump passively into…whatever. People don’t have freedom to choose when there are no clear options.
Another of the elements of E’s argument is the idea that all men desire an adventure to participate in, something to challenge them. But at the same time, they resist entering into this adventure because their deepest fear is that they will be proved inadequate, that they will be shown to not be enough for their calling. This is an interesting argument because I think I would say that there are many people, both men and women, who desire to do something larger, particularly in the domestic suburban setting, in a dead-end job that they hate, with a home life that is tense and too busy. And I think that this whole idea of impostership is really endemic to most Westerners, that they have a fear that they will someday be unmasked, that their achievements will be proved fraudulent. So I guess this would be one area where I felt really inadequate to evaluate whether this is simply a human desire, since it seems obvious to me that anyone would want to ride bareback on a beach rather than stare at the gray walls of their cubicle for one more day. But I said to myself, maybe this is something that men want particularly strongly, stronger than women could possibly dream, not being men themselves. So I guess I will leave you to arbitrate whether or not E. was right on this point.
I think that E. may have his finger on something with this whole idea of adventure, but I also think he seems to have presented adventure as an alternative to responsibility, or more particularly duty. He seems to have an idea that duty or moral responsibility is something that men are saddled with, or that the church treats these things as the chief end of man, to borrow from the catechism when really it is to follow these deep desires in their hearts to run off and be William Wallace. I am personally of the opinion that fulfilling his duty, living according to his obligations and sticking to his word are some of the most important things that a man can do. A word that I found conspicuously absent from E’s book is the word “honor,” an omission I found puzzling, since I would rank it extremely high in a list of “things a man ought to be.” Maybe the word is too obscure to be of much use to contemporary men, but to me it seems to be a fairly essential idea to me, one that is eschewed in favor of the pursuit of one’s adventures and dreams. To me this seems like it could easily be used as license, not to become men, but to remain as boys, preoccupied with doing what makes them excited or happy rather than what they see around them that needs to be done, that needs to be taken care of.
But, in my continuing effort to be fair and balanced, I think the other thing in E’s book that is really useful is his urging that men be able to acknowledge their own woundedness. I think it has been a great injustice to men that they have been taught that in order to be men they need to just “suck it up,” deny or forget or ignore whatever has bothered or truly hurt them in favor of being seen as a tough or macho man. I feel that this is not good for anyone, that to suppress feeling of pain turns them into anger or withdrawal. Why is it that uncontrolled rage is not condemned as unmanly when so many other displays of emotion are? This is important too because I think that in order to overcome woundedness, the wound must be acknowledged and dealt with or no growth will come of it; it will become not just a scar, but a burden. I think it takes infinitely more courage to acknowledge one’s wounds and deal with them than to just stuff them and move on, so I do applaud E. for encouraging men to move forward in this area.
Okay, okay, enough all ready! Until next time, my wild little friends...
S.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
"Is this a kissing book?"
So chums, as you might have guessed I am lounging in the comfort of my humble abode, watching good old Princess Bride. I miss all of you because I am watching it alone and...no one gets me. Except my friends. Oh, teen angst. I love this movie a great deal. Why am I able to watch it again and again, and still love it just as much each time? Eldridge would say that it is because it captures the true deep desires of my heart which I long to enact in the realm of actual life. I am not so sure.
Gasp, is she finally going to talk about Wild at Heart tonight? No, no, it would be cute to write about it while watching a movie like Princess Bride, but I am too unfocused and it is a bit too late to embark on this epic post. The reason that I am posting is to tell you that *more gasping* Chipotle called today to say that they have my wallet! Oh happy day! I wonder if my moneys are still in there? If they aren't I guess we'll know that those Chipotle employees are up to no good. So, now the question has become, how on earth, where on earth did they manage to find the wallet?
Another question which has long plagued me, why does Buttercup leave Wesley outside the Fire Swamp?
Gasp, is she finally going to talk about Wild at Heart tonight? No, no, it would be cute to write about it while watching a movie like Princess Bride, but I am too unfocused and it is a bit too late to embark on this epic post. The reason that I am posting is to tell you that *more gasping* Chipotle called today to say that they have my wallet! Oh happy day! I wonder if my moneys are still in there? If they aren't I guess we'll know that those Chipotle employees are up to no good. So, now the question has become, how on earth, where on earth did they manage to find the wallet?
Another question which has long plagued me, why does Buttercup leave Wesley outside the Fire Swamp?
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
A Puzzling Whodunit
I have been mostably sick all day. I am much confused as to the cause. Maybe it's that darned egg-nog rearing its ugly head again. I thought originally it was the combined effect of my dad's cats and Hope's family's cats causing my allergies to act up and what not. Scratchy throat, sneezing, coughing, that kind of thing was all it was at first, for a couple of days. All seems innocuously cat related, doesn't it. But then, the day that we were leaving, I started to feel worse, stuffy nose, dizzy, achy and the like, which has continued all day today. So I generally acted like a lump and layed around and watched stupid sitcoms on TV and took an obscenely long nap. This is all very funny because mostly I am just telling myself that it's all psychosomatic and if I would just get up and get going, I would be fine. But then I go off and sleep for many hours, is this proof of some actual ailment?
So, I just got back last night from our trip to Omaha which was pretty crazy. I was supposed to spend one night and an afternoon with my friends, but the night that I was staying over at Hope's house, the driving rain changed into driving snow which lasted into the next day. The roads were too bad for me to get back to my Dad's house across town for New Year's Eve so I was with my friends for an extra night for a marathon knock-down-drag-out-down-and-dirty game of Apples to Apples (and I am oh so proud to report that yours truly emerged victorious from the fray). Those of you from Western New York might not think this unusual at all, but it doesn't really happen in Omaha all that often that there is so much snow that you can't get around, so that was interesting. Eddius had a hotel room because he's allergic to cats (like yours truly) and so me, Hope, Francis, and Eddius crashed there for New Year's Eve.
We wanted a little bite to eat so we headed on over to the old Chipotle for some chow. So there I was, I just ordered a drink, I took out my wallet, paid with a 20 cause that's all I had, put the change back and then suddenly, by the end of the evening, the wallet was gone. Let me clarify: my wallet is at least an inch thick, the restaurant was so small that we could see basically the entire place from where we sat. Only a few people came in after us. I was certain that I had the wallet when I went in and certain that I did not have it when I came out. We duly interrogated all the Chipotle employees, but they insisted that they had not seen hide nor hair of my wallet. So where the heck did it go? I had thought it was with me in my purse the whole time, which was only an hour or so, I wasn't bumped into by any dubious strangers, there was no opportunity at which the stupid thing could have been taken, so I really don't know what happened. My charismatic upbringing leads me to believe that dark spiritual forces have interfered with my financial well-being by snatching the wallet. But I don't buy it. I just cannot for the life of me figure out what happened. I canceled my check card so the greatest loss I suffered was forty bucks and all of my Australian money, which is the loss that I am most upset about, except for the loss of the wallet itself which was real leather and cute. So this was the most bizarre, non-serendipitous thing which happened the entire trip. And that, dear friends, is the only story you're going to hear tonight.
Mazel Tov,
S.
So, I just got back last night from our trip to Omaha which was pretty crazy. I was supposed to spend one night and an afternoon with my friends, but the night that I was staying over at Hope's house, the driving rain changed into driving snow which lasted into the next day. The roads were too bad for me to get back to my Dad's house across town for New Year's Eve so I was with my friends for an extra night for a marathon knock-down-drag-out-down-and-dirty game of Apples to Apples (and I am oh so proud to report that yours truly emerged victorious from the fray). Those of you from Western New York might not think this unusual at all, but it doesn't really happen in Omaha all that often that there is so much snow that you can't get around, so that was interesting. Eddius had a hotel room because he's allergic to cats (like yours truly) and so me, Hope, Francis, and Eddius crashed there for New Year's Eve.
We wanted a little bite to eat so we headed on over to the old Chipotle for some chow. So there I was, I just ordered a drink, I took out my wallet, paid with a 20 cause that's all I had, put the change back and then suddenly, by the end of the evening, the wallet was gone. Let me clarify: my wallet is at least an inch thick, the restaurant was so small that we could see basically the entire place from where we sat. Only a few people came in after us. I was certain that I had the wallet when I went in and certain that I did not have it when I came out. We duly interrogated all the Chipotle employees, but they insisted that they had not seen hide nor hair of my wallet. So where the heck did it go? I had thought it was with me in my purse the whole time, which was only an hour or so, I wasn't bumped into by any dubious strangers, there was no opportunity at which the stupid thing could have been taken, so I really don't know what happened. My charismatic upbringing leads me to believe that dark spiritual forces have interfered with my financial well-being by snatching the wallet. But I don't buy it. I just cannot for the life of me figure out what happened. I canceled my check card so the greatest loss I suffered was forty bucks and all of my Australian money, which is the loss that I am most upset about, except for the loss of the wallet itself which was real leather and cute. So this was the most bizarre, non-serendipitous thing which happened the entire trip. And that, dear friends, is the only story you're going to hear tonight.
Mazel Tov,
S.
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