Flirtation Geru

This one's for you, Jen W. Most of you have heard how my romance-baning became instant urban legend the day a nice guy tried to offer me some yellow wildflowers and the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "Are they going to shoot poisonous barbs at me?" My feminine wiles, if I have any, manifest themselves more often by accident than by design and tend to be incredibly counter-productive for me. They have never yet produced reciprocal liking in any of the few guys I have developed a romantic interest in and they apparently work cruel wonders on some truly decent guys I am really not compatible with or interested in. Sindy once told me that this phenomenon was not actually a curse, but a protection from God so I wouldn't get entangled in a relationship prematurely. For the most part, I'm content with that. I have been blessed with many meaningful, deep friendships with my family and female friends. I can remain focused on my studies and I am free to make my own academic and career choices to a degree that my "claimed" friends cannot. It also helps that the unknowing targets of my affection typically move away or start dating someone else within weeks of my meeting them. Quite fortunately, I have maintained an awkward relational distance from pretty much everyone in the Young Adult group at my church so there's no fear of any of them reading the following. Quite unfortunately, I have maintained an awkward relational distance from pretty much everyone in the Young Adult group at church, including he who shall not be named because I actually developed a crush on him, something that happens VERY sporadically with me. Or to me, as the case may be. This un-named person first captured my notice because he tied my mom's shoe for her. I also learned that he loves to travel, works in construction, prefers organic foods, and is Nolan-like in his spontaneous enthusiasm for random opportunities like learning German from the senior's German bible study group or reorganizing the defunct church library. I'm a sucker for out-doorsy extroverted guys who are sweet to older women because they can be and love the written word. Three weeks later, he felt called by God to move back home to another province to be with his dad, who was really ill. Protection of family, spiritual maturity, and obedience to God's will are also really attractive to me. But half a year went by with no indication he would ever be back and I took it as a sign that God was telling me to get a better grip on reality: I'm not rally even an acquaintance to him, I still haven't finished my BA, and I may well be moving to another province in another year to begin work on my Master's and PhD. Then, last week at church there was this hairy, blonde, tanned, friendly guy happily mingling with the Young Adults group like a long-lost friend. He expressed stunned pleasure at the news that two of his friends had gotten married since he'd last saw them. I haven't been a part of the GIC young adults group very long and I'm certainly no consistent participant now that I have joined, so I assumed he was one of the elite who had been a part of the church forever and had moved away for college or something. Feeling characteristically awkward around the whole group and too sleep-deprived to bother pushing myself out of my introverted silence, I retreated with Sam to find mom so we could go home. Mom, however, was detained, so I told myself to suck it up and go mingle with people in the lobby. I dropped off a belated birthday present with Karla, then went to wish Rena a happy birthday with a mental note to make her a gift as well. While chatting lightly with Rena, Jen and Josh, the happy new couple, also came over to join the conversation and that is when I found out that the hairy guy was he who shall remain un-named. Darn, he looks lovely, I decided (non-verbally, don't cry) upon a brief glance where he stood talking to a group of people. But I have issues inviting myself into group conversations even when I'm good friends with those involved and that is definitely not the case with anyone at that church so I maintained my distance. When I glanced again he was gone and I felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Soon after, mom reappeared and we headed together for the exit. Dang nam it, he's standing on the landing in front of the door, I realized all too soon. It's ok, Faye. Just say, "Hey ____, welcome back." You can do casual and non-stalkerish. Nooooo I can't. It's partly the un-named's fault. He destroyed the rote response protocol by first turning away from his conversation with an old man to give my mom a hug and then picked up the keys she dropped on the floor with a cheerful, "Here, let me get those for you". Then he quickly turns to me, exuberantly lifts his right arm over his head for an exaggerated low-five (which I did manage to reciprocate) and beams, "Hey, Buddy!" And at that moment, my brilliant, witty mind, which is usually my secret pride and joy, vacated my body and its imbecile replacement spluttered out, "I'm a girl!" Gee thanks, Tips. Like I'm four years old again and it's really important to assert that fact of biology to others because the baby pink shirt with rhinestones and the apple-sized growths on my chest somehow might not make that point self-evident. "You don't like 'buddy'?" he asks, surprised. Now deeply empathising with River's character in the movie Serenity as she weeps, "Please God, make me a stone," my befuddled mind's replacement searches for some Clueless era attitude and responds, "Um, no-o." Unfazed and irascible, the un-named pushes, "How about 'Poncho', then?" Poncho? Poncho?! As in the name of that horrible little self-absorbed but emasculated terrier in the Pooch Cafe comic strip that I always hope will be eaten alive by angry hornets? I will beat your friendly face in with my shoe if you ever call me that! "Ok," I hear myself agreeing congenially, "I can live with Poncho." Suddenly his eye-brows knit together and the un-named is looking intently at my face: "Do you wear contacts? You have really blue eyes." Completely thrown off my casual groove now, I mumble, "No contacts," and immediately want to beat my head against a wall because I always wear contacts, they're just not coloured. "I don't remember them being blue," he frowns, then he suddenly turns and dashes up the staircase calling over his shoulder, "Sorry, I gotta go catch the Jankes before they leave!" I stand on the landing a minute more, dazed and mute before I follow my mom out the door. Outside, my mom bursts into laughter at me and Sam frowns at her, confused as to what's so funny. I sigh. Why? Why, God, why? Why must I turn into Rainman around guys I really like? Why can I not either shut up or speak intelligently? God laughed. Then he made me look up 2 Corinthians 12:1-10.

Shiny Red Ball

In a devotional book I can no longer remember the title of, Max Lucado wrote an anecdote about his toddler at a ball pit park. It was this cool wading pool filled with those hollow plastic base-ball-sized balls that come in a rainbow of colours, characteristically found in child-friendly places like Chucky Cheese. The pool was for "children under 12 only" and its crowning jewel was a launcher in the center where children could set one of the plastic balls and have a great puff of air send it flying. Max' youngest daughter stood up to her neck in the pit of balls and therefore had difficulty moving through it, although it was clear she intended to get to the ball launcher in the center of the pit. Making her movements more difficult, however, was her insistence on trying to hold several of the red plastic balls she found at the edge of the pit. Without her arms for balance, the dear little half-pint sunk below the surface of the balls, couldn't get up again, and was wailing inconsolably. Max tried to instruct her from the side to release the balls and just use the ones closer to the launcher but she was not to be dissuaded. She was convinced the shiny red balls in her hands must be far superior to any elsewhere in the pit. So he sent her older sister to try to get her to release the balls so she could get back onto her feet and to the center of the pit. This resulted in a submerged cat-fight which had other parents beginning to stare. Finally, Max looked at the lifeguard on duty and was given permission to enter the ball pit to retrieve his now very unhappy toddler. Pulling her out where she could see and breathe again, Max eased the troublesome balls out of his daughter's hands and carried her to the center, where her older sister was able to demonstrate how to use the launcher with equally shiny red balls found right beside the launcher. Problem solved. I've been thinking about that story a lot lately. And about the shiny red ball in my hand God's asking me to release. Oh, ok. And the shiny pink one, too. The red ball is a summer 2008 3 week trip to Israel and a one-week stop in Ethiopia with one of my favourite Professors and a few of my closest friends from school. I want to go. I want to acquaint myself with the world in the company of someone who sees it clearly and already knows it better than I do. I want to see how much everything and everyone in Bethlehem and Jerusalem has changed in just one year, I want to taste the alien strangeness again and be shocked once more to realize how interconnected and similar we are. I want one last wild adventure before I'm locked into another 4 or 5 years of studies to complete my Masters and PhD in Counselling Psychology. I thought I could do it. I discovered, miraculously, enough funds left over from last year to pay all of the next year's tuition so if I could just make enough money this summer and during the school year I could afford to go again. Things seemed to be going my way: group homes run by the foster care group my parents belong to were desperately looking for relief workers and were offering $14.50 per hour. After pushing myself hard for a month to get my driver's license, I had all the requirements. I even had references from several friends who already work there and an impressive reference from the DC where I volunteer. Not only would it have been the most money I've ever made, but the job is related to counselling psychology (a definite plus for acceptance into grad school) and the shifts are flexible enough that I could have full time work in the summer and part-time work in the fall and winter when I go back to school. But they never called for an interview. I even re-applied. Still nothing. I didn't get it. Fortunately, God is good about dropping me hints. I have been working 3-4 days per week at my boss' house doing landscaping, renovations, and the usual house-keeping duties while waiting to hear from a real job. I'm starting to loose my mind from boredom and quiet but at least I get to be outside and using my muscles for a change. As an added bonus, my friend Jen lives in walking distance of my boss and encouraged me to just come sleep over at her house in between shifts so I wouldn't have to cross the city on public transit so much. Spending time with Jen and her kids has been the high-light of my summer. They just let me be a part of the family for a while. I earn my keep by tidying Jen's kitchen or bribing her children to do their chores by rewarding them with tickles and spinning them around up-side down. In return, I get free meals; a rich new understanding of the demands of raising children (particularly if you're a single parent); hours of intimate conversation ranging in topics from spiritual oppression in our childhood and teen years to hopes and plans for the future to how the big bang/evolutionist principles and creationism are really compatible, not competing theories; and Jen is teaching me how to play DDR. Jen also gave me the best recipe for chocolate chip cookies EVER. Score! The more time we spend together, the more similar we discover ourselves to be. So it should probably come as no surprise that Jen's shiny red ball incident was what helped me clue in to my own. Jen's shiny red ball was a job teaching aerospace science to grade 6 kids over the summer while her kids were away at their dad's. Jen's working on her teaching degree and so any experience related to the field that will help pay her tuition and living expenses is golden. This job was to be even more golden because it required Jen to work with the age group she prefers in the subject she prefers doing programming work her degree prefers. But then the unexpected occurred: Jen's kids were staying with her for the summer. This meant half of her pay would go towards child care instead of towards tuition, and she must somehow deal with the strain of caring for 2 highly unhappy children at the end of an entire day spent with other people's children. Jen's heart was with caring for and enjoying her children but her head knew she needed the money and the good reference from the job she had already accepted. She wanted advice on what to do and I couldn't give her any. But I suddenly realized that if she chose the job I could offer her the only thing I had at the moment: time. I could stay at her house and be available to look after her kids as needed. In the end, God told Jen to let go of the job and trust him to get her the funds she needs. She resigned and the next day her church offered her a large scholarship to use as needed. My help was no longer needed. But the idea that I might need some extra time for something crucial this summer remained. The crucial thing was identified as I began researching possibilities for grad schools and their entrance requirements. I need an undergraduate thesis. Thus, I found myself applying and being accepted for one of the exclusive independent research studies spots I had so feared and avoided. Essentially, this is a one year project in which I conduct my own research under a supervising professor (a master-apprentice relationship, of sorts) and then write a very long paper about it and present my findings to the entire psychology department at the end of the year. I have the summer to learn everything there is to know about the topic of my study, then summarize it into a review of the literature and a detailed research proposal that will be submitted to an ethics committee for approval prior to commencement in September. I also booked my GRE (graduate requirement exam?), which is like an SAT only harder. I'm supposed to be memorizing classical Greek and Latin keywords; lists of words only a GRE examiner has ever heard of and their general meanings; mathematics and science I haven't touched since high school; and generally practicing how to make it through a timed computer exam that becomes harder the more questions I answer correctly. More time to prepare is better than less. Getting a mindless, very part time job is probably a good thing. I will probably cut back to just 1 or 2 days of work per week for the summer, in fact. God seemed to reinforce his 'no' to the whole working-for-Israel-money-thing further by sending me large scholarships to help with tuition this year. Now I' suppose I will save up for graduate studies and living expenses in another city. So good-bye shiny red ball. I'm going to graduate studies instead. And the shiny pink ball? I'm not telling you about that.

Kisses from the Sky

Life is stressful and I'm tired out from always being two steps behind no matter how much stuff I do to be on time. I whined about it to God on Monday when I had some time to kill waiting at a doctor's office. His answer was to give me 30 unadulterated minutes of pouring rain that I got to just sit and watch and hear and smell while sitting on a giant brick planter waiting for a DC training session to commence.

I love the rain. I love watching it, hearing it, being in it. The Great Love Affair between the skies and the earth: Alternating passion, tenderness, hesitancy, insistence, rage, joy, sorrow. The first drops come inconsistently- the sky feeling out the earth he loves. Then, the clouds moan and all appearance of constraint is thrown off The sky pours himself out on the earth: millions of drops hurtling to the ground with all their might; A brief bounce back, no more than half a second- nothing in comparison to the fall- then the water swallows the earth in an all-embracing touch like a child flinging himself into his mother's open arms after a day's separation, or like lovers in a clandestine affair reunited in secrecy's safety. There is no surface where they do not meet, no space left untouched or unaffected. At times, the rain tries to slow down, to draw back, to catch his breath again. But his target is irresistible; she pulls him back to her in full force once again. Yet even the greatest, the most passionate of lovers must part. There are limits to how much love one can give, limits to how much intimacy one can absorb. So the earth holds the sky in her heart only. Later, their love will be made manifest to the world through the tangible green, and purple, and pink, and white, and yellow, and red, and orange, and blue life explosions that burst out in joy and contentment. So happy to be alive. The skies bid farewell gently- the rain falls softer now, sad to leave, but he must, he must, he must... Adventure calls to him, a desire to travel to the unknown, to prove himself. And she has secrets to keep, new facets to reveal to the careful seeker because she's always changing. She has children to nurture, bratty though some have become. That's ok. He'll discipline them when he comes home. He'll break their pride if she asks.

I'm Not Sweet

It's been over a month since I've done something stupid or ridiculous. I haven't become horribly lost and disoriented, walked into any blatantly immobile objects, spilled or drooled all over myself at inopportune moments, or nearly run over any pedestrians while driving. My life had become so normal I was just beginning to wonder if I would have to change my whole self concept when finally God rescued me from boredom on Wednesday night. Since I'm only working 3 days a week right now, Tuesday night I was allowing myself the distraction that is facebook, this time experimenting to see if I could check my messages without linking directly from an email that says I have a message, when suddenly facebook has my entire email contact list with checkmarks beside every name asking if I want to invite everyone I've ever met onto facebook. "Aaaaaaaaah!" I cry and my hand jerks the mouse to click "cancel"... and misses. Instead, I hit the "send" button. "AAAAAAAGGGGHH!!!" I scream. But there is no option to take it back and facebook gives me no message letting me know who all I have accidentally invited to the socialization black hole. I decide it might have all been a horrible hallucination produced by my subconscious fears and go back to responding to emails. The next morning as I am preparing to leave for work, Chasey looks up from the computer and politely thanks me for the invitation but informs me that he is not interested in joining facebook. My stomach experiences a strange dropping sensation similar to that of the dread I feel prior to driving exams, starting a crazy shift at the DC, or standing on the field with a new team to play soccer for the game start. No. It cannot be. I imagined I did that. But I did do it. And what do you know but the first thing my coworker/friend Jen says when I arrive is, "Faye, I'm sorry but I've heard what a time sucker Facebook is and I'm really not interested in joining." Before I can give a sympathetic response my boss walks in to the room and adds that he really likes my profile picture. "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" I have present and past employers, professors, and mere acquaintances on that contact list and if my brother, friend, and boss all got that cursed email, then so did everyone else! Darn you, stupid facebook! I only joined at the ardent urging of two friends from Jr High who insisted you were small and private! And do you know who I never talk to on facebook now? Denise and Sarah, the girls who insisted we would keep much more regular contact if I joined. Instead, I spend hours of my time responding to every hello or identified photo from people I went to school or church or work or volunteering or youthgroup with since I was 5 years old because I'm a pushover and I can't say, "No, I don't want to be your friend so please go away" to anyone! DON'T JOIN FACEBOOK. IT IS A CULT THAT WILL SUCK YOUR BRAINS AND SENSE OF TIME OUT. DO NOT GIVE IN TO CONFORMITY. JUST SAY "NO". Anyways, that was Wednesday. Then on Friday I arrived for work at noon and was sent to my boss' garage to put primer on a board I had apparently painted the wrong side of (given that the board is geometrically semetrical I still really don't understand how this matters but I'm not going to argue over additional hours). I was nearly done when suddenly the can of primer slipped from my fingers, threw a geyser of paint up into the ceiling and across the board, saw horse, floor, and me, then miraculously landed (slightly dented) right- side up on the floor beside me. I immediately start laughing. And, what do you know but my boss just happened to come check on my progress right at the moment the can of paint slipped from my fingers so he witnessed the entire thing. My mind somewhat returning, I try to curb my laughter and look remorseful since I did just splatter paint all across his garage but after the stupified look started to melt into a grin I gave up the futile attempt and started laughing again. After scooping paint off the cardboard layed beneath the saw horses the board was resting on to finish my task, I head inside for the shower my boss graciously offered me. I looked in the mirror and started laughing again (which caused my boss to burst out laughing the next room over). I regret to inform you that although I actually had a camera in my backpack with which I might have taken an excellent self-portrait, I had already stripped out of my paint sodden clothes before I thought to take a photo and didn't think it appropriate to go wandering my boss' house naked in pursuit of posterity. So the moral of the story is: "Sweet" is still not an accurate descriptive word for me. I may happily continue to use the more appropriate God-provided self-portrait of myself as a very clumsy dashound puppy tripping over her own feet and ears in a sunny field of daisies. Oh yeah, that reminds me: I totally drooled on myself later that afternoon when greeting one of my boss' renters as I was trimming the grass. It feels good to be myself again.

Lay Me Down

Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the LORD my soul to keep And if I die before I wake I pray the LORD my soul to take.

Day 3 since the end of classes for the 2006-2007 school year. I haven't begun applying for full-time work for the summer yet, but I will next week. I'm feeling both excited and hesistant to begin playing soccer again in May. I know it's only a rec league, but I still like to perform at my best and I know I won't be. After two years of doing nothing but figurative running around, my physical stamina is shot.

"But my child, let me give you some further advice: Be careful, for writing books is endless, and much study wears you out."

Ecclesiastes 12:12

Last semester nearly killed me. By the time I finished exams I was sick, sleep-deprived, socially isolated, and depressed. It was a miracle of God that I felt so refreshed after just a few weeks off for Christmas because my break really wasn't particularly restful either. I went back to school for my Winter semester with a very tentative hope that I would manage my schedule better- very carefully scheduling in a routine of exercise, personal devotions, work, homework, volunteering, and church (not neccesarily in that order). I did ok for the first half of the semester, but I must be honest and tell you that the second half of the semester was painful. I have never had a heavier homework load in my life. By the last month of school I had to give in to reality and completely cut off work at my job and volunteering. I also stopped showing up for the Young Adults group at church that I recently joined, cut time with God and everyone else to a few minutes a day, and I just worked. In the end, I cut classes for an entire week and worked from 8 am until 12 pm or 1 am on 2 papers due the same week, then I worked 4 days straight with 6 hours sleep to finish my last final project, leaving me one day to sleep before cramming for 5 hours before my first two exams on Friday. Afterwards I went out for coffee with my friend Laurie, who is moving to BC, before we headed to the church for a fundraiser Mexican dinner. Purely by chance we met Amy there, so we all ate tacos in support of Sam, who will be going on a mission trip to Mexico this summer. Saturday I crammed for a few hours again, wrote my third exam, bought some groceries, cleaned my house, went half-way to a Young Adults event before giving up and coming home to study before Val came over to hang out. Sunday I skipped church and studied, then prepared food and the house for an all-girls tea party send-off for Val, who is moving to Saskatchewan on Friday. The tea party was splendid. Following tea and crumpits, we (Val, Sam, Melanie, Amy, and I) watched Pride and Prejudice (darn I love that movie). Afterwards, while Val took a nap and Amy studied, I took the dog for a walk and fought off feelings of loneliness. Lastly, we all headed out with Paul (Val's "interest") to Whitespot to scout out Melanie's "interesting" male friend from work while eating supper together. It was fabulous fun and I was able to bury my sorrow for a while. Monday I studied all day, then wrote my exam at 6:30pm. I'm pretty sure I bombed it but that's ok because I suspect the rest of the class did as well so the Prof will likely have to curve our grades again. At home I found Amy stressed out about some nasty rumour-mongering organization confusion thing going on in the Scotland church she is leaving to become a part of so I prayed with her and sang her my mom's old lullaby, "Angels Watching Over Me". Tuesday I bummed around the house for the morning cleaning and reading the comics until Charis came over to watch Pride and Prejudice with me again (yes, I'm an addict now). Charis and I went to the Young Adults bible study together (good times), then at 11:30 pm Melanie and I went to the airport to collect our parents from their 25th Anniversary vacation. Wednesday was a weird mixture of helping Amy pack until we (Mom, Dad, Mel, and I) put Amy on her flight to Scotland in the afternoon, then making birthday dinner for my mom. I didn't want to watch The Devil Wears Prada after supper so I went to my room to be irresponsible and read my first non-scholastic novel since before the Winter semester until 2 am Thursday. At 3 am Melanie woke me up crying from the worst nightmare of her life (featured 4 demons suffocating her), so we prayed together and I sang "Angels Watching Over Me" again until Melanie felt better and went to the kitchen to go read John. Anyways, the point is: I think the constant motion of schoolwork kept me too distracted to feel overwhelmed with loss of people going away, while attempts to have as many shining memories of time spent together as possible before they left kept me from drowning in my work. Now both partings and school are over and I can't run anymore. I don't feel empty, depressed, or burnt out, just sad. Brandston has this song on their Send Us a Signal album called, "Just Breath". I've been listening to it a lot this year. The lyrics are as follows.

Remember your choice. I can hear your voice still. You had your fill of those little reminders. There's only bills and sleeping pills. What if they're right? Note to self: This isn't living. This is merely existing. Breathe, c'mon breathe, just breathe. "It'll all be better soon." You say as you cross the room. To pull up the shade. Please don't. Please don't for my sake. My early morning eyes just can't take light right now. Just can't take life right now. So turn out the light. Just close the lid and seal me in. I'll sleep for days and days on end. Leave me lie here in this coffin. I'll breathe only half as often. Turn out the light. This isn't living. This is merely existing.

It's the best representation of depression I've ever heard and I understand it better than ever this year. But that's not how I feel. Not this time. God surprised me this time. As I took the train home from my last exam to face my goodbyes, I heard Job 1:21 instead.

He said, 'Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; Blessed be the name of the LORD.'

Garbage-Picker God

I was walking home from the c-train station again today when I happened to notice a flattened pop can laying beneath a stream of melted snow in the gutter. Elated, I picked it up. [Some of you are wrinkling your noses already, I know. Well, get over it. Dirt only hurts you if you eat it, stuff it in your ears or eyes, rub it in an open wound, or if it's radioactive.] Cut up, paint faded off, covered in a blackish mixture of car oil, grease, and dirt, dripping a mystery icy-cold brown liquid: my treasure. Some people play video games where they must search for power-enhancing mushrooms; I hunt for salvageable garbage that can be recycled or reused. This particular former beverage container has been embedded in a sheet of dirty ice for the last 3 months. Every day I would see it, pull on it to see if it would come out, and leave empty-handed...until now! I cheerfully pinched the thing between two half-frozen fingers and proceeded on my journey. Before long, I came to the parking lot of the Vietnamese Church near my home. I absolutely love that church. I love the fact that they're expanding and not white- not that I dislike Christians who are white, I'm just delighted by how God likes to surprise us by using people we least expect to do great things. Many western Christians have in the past and do currently think of Asia and Africa as the places where we must send missionaries to convert the heathens. In fact, some of the largest churches in the world exist in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. Moreover, they're crazy passionate and persistent because they're accustomed to exercising their faith in the midst of adverse conditions (ex. poverty, hostile governments). Anyways, the Vietnamese Church's parking lot was covered in a wet blanket of virgin fresh snow. I LOVE fresh snow in the city. I don't care if it inconveniences everyone- it makes our bland, ugly, barren winter city beautiful again. The grime on my trashed possession seemed to cling all the uglier in contrast with the whiteness of the snow and I felt compelled to clean it. Unfortunately, this required that I sacrifice 2 fistfuls of the beautiful snow to scrub the stubborn dirt out of the myriad metal crevices. It caused me sorrow to see the formerly white particles splat blackened on the pavement, forever marred. Pollution is icky that way: it's never really gone, just relocated. It struck me as ironic that recycling carries a cost to the environment. On the one hand, this can will be melted down, it's impurities will be burned off, and then it will be formed into something new and useful again. On the other hand, the snow will quickly melt into water, and will carry all the spilled oil, gasoline, grease, and dirt from the pavement to our sewers, which will in turn carry the nasty mixture to the Bow River, where it will poison anything other than algae living there. And as I took my last steps across the parking lot, I realized I had just seen redemption.

Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. -Isaiah 53:4-5

I've been collecting recyclable drink containers as long as I've been in school. In fact, 2 months ago I was reading one of my ancient journals and found the exact date when I was first told that the other children in my elementary school thought I was a "garbage picker". It was so weird reading it. It's been more than 10 years since that day and I still call myself by that name- I had no idea why until I read my own childhood account, long forgotten. I'm older now and the title doesn't sting as much as it did then. I can even call myself an educated environmentalist, if I prefer. But the more important thing is: God's a garbage-picker, too.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation... -2 Corinthians 5:17-18

Heart of Fear

Today I am Theodan, King, asking "Who am I, Gamli?" War is upon me, whether I want it or no, and it's hard to remember the strength in my hands when I hold my sword. Today I am Arwyn, and there is still hope, but there are so many futures; and so much evil I don't want to know. I see myself walking in forests of fall trees with the ghosts of the children who still might be. I wish I didn't know what I already do. My sun is setting, but it isn't complete; There's a time for rejoicing but first we will weep. A sense of urgency grips me, and ambivalence. Now I take my last breath, say good-bye to the geese; I pick up my cross and I enter the plunge.

Some lighthearted irony to break things up

So last night my mom was trying to look up words that did not describe the hero in her latest romance reading material and I was surprised to discover that she did not already know what the word 'sonorous' meant. However, I was still more surprised to learn that I didn't either. Here it is, from the Gage (2000) Canadian Dictionary: 'Phonetics. having a certain degree of resonance or vocalic quality. Vowels are more sonorous than sonorants; sonorants are more sonorous than obstruants.' Thanks, I'll keep that in mind in case I ever become a contestant on some Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? knockoff. The best part, though, was when I was relating this same story to Amy this morning and we decided to look up other related and equally ridiculous words such as soniferous. Amy gleefully danced around the living room singing, "I'm soniferous, I'm soniferous!" and to my delight, she really was.

The Black and the White

It's like The Beetles singing "All the Lonely People," (where do they all belong?); and like Hugh Grant's Island man character in About a Boy; It's like Cain in Genesis, with the sins of rage and jealousy knocking at his door; and like the Phoenix begging Wolverine: "Save me" in The Last Stand; It's like C.S. Lewis' "Dwarves-for-Dwarves" in The Last Battle, and like Solomon despairing: "Meaningless, meaningless, everything's meaningless" in Ecclesiastes; It's like The virgins with the oil lamps, waiting for the bridegroom to come, and like the whole world's collective reaction to first evidence of Jewish Holocaust It's like Oliver Twist, whispering, "Please, Sir, I want some more" in Dickens' novel; and like Matthew Good Band chanting the lyrics to "Load me up"; It's like The separation of the sheep from the goats when the Son of Man comes, and like God's offer to Israel to choose life or death again in Jeremiah's time; It's like black and white after the grey. It was an interesting day at the Distress Centre today. I nearly missed my shift because I rebelled against God and went back to bed instead of staying up to talk to him and start my day's toil at the U of C looking up information on stalking for my next school paper. I'm glad I went. Would you believe just 5 hours will afford me the rare opportunity to hear stories from bored, friendless, and healthless seniors tired of life; a brother of modern day pre-murderer Cain with a predecessor Melissa Hawach family tale; an MXPX "On the Outs" subject candidate; A Frank McCourt mother, except she had all girls, wasn't Irish, and isn't dead yet (no idea if her name was Angela); and a harassed intellectual with an overinvolved mother who has the mind of IT from Camazotz in Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time. Would you further believe that from all that I suddenly understood the significance of why the chapter 24 good fig-bad fig analogy is given to Jeremiah after the Life-and-death prophecy in chapter 21? Now that you're thoroughly confused by all my DC, movie, music, novel, world history, current events, and biblical scripture references, allow me to explain. Since about the beginning of February this year, I have been slowly walking through the passages of Jeremiah with God using the Lectio Divina (method outlined in an earlier post). I try to read each chapter at least twice: once in the morning along with Zondervan's Handbook to the Bible to help me understand the cultural and historical context, then again in the evening to process and shake off the day's experiences. There have been more than a few days where I definitely did not follow this ideal pattern to my day (Tuesdays and Thursdays frequently lack more than one reading due to a certain 8:15 am class I have...), and the days where I entirely skip quiet time spent with God are the days where I really miss God everywhere else too. The point is, my original motivation for reading Jeremiah was to ask God if I really had to stay at Gateway International Church with my parents, and if so, why? My early assumption when God invited me to read Jeremiah was that God was going to make me a Jeremiah-like prophet to the *social-skills-challenged and stereotypically conservative evangelical* church members. Um, not so much. As everyone knows, an analogy is only convincing to the degree that the situations or objects being compared are similar. In this case, I needed to know how similar our church population is to Judaic and Israeli society at the time of Jeremiah. Not very. In fact, it's not a fair comparison. First, society is not static. It changes as the people within it make decisions impacting its institutions and governments, which in turn impact and change society. Judah goes through 5 kings in Jeremiah's lifetime, and becomes progressively more evil as time goes on (with a slight reprieve under Josiah's reign). Gateway has gone through no changes in leadership since I started attending it faithfully in January. Second, Jeremiah knew the people he was talking to: he cried because God sent dire warnings and curses to areas where his own family lived. He often had to prophesy to his own friends and people he was well acquainted with. In contrast, I really don't know the people of Gateway. They're not mine. I don't know their names, their struggles, their strengths, their personalities, what they do with their time outside of church, or what their favourite flavour of icecream is. Therefore, it is unreasonable to meaningfully compare the experiences of my 4 years of sporadic, limited time spent in Church with Jeremiah's 4 decades spent immersed intimately in all affairs of his culture. This made me wonder if I should instead be comparing my whole society (The Western World, Canada) to the Jews of Jeremiah's time. Some things are similar, sometimes. On one hand, God calls his people to give up many things, including pride, arrogance, power, injustice, idolatry, and dependence on human acts such as ritual, treaties, and strategies. These sound pretty descriptive of here to me. On the other hand, God also lists as major grievances that Judah was practicing human sacrifice (7:31, 19:5), and that there was not a single honest person among them. We don't make it our practice to burn our children alive, and individuals who do are generally punished severely by the government with the explicit approval of the citizens. Our society has definitely run to many other gods, such as oil, gas, wealth, and happiness, but there are still more than 2 people who seek God. Thus, the "don't pray for these people anymore," command really doesn't apply to me. I have a theory. It goes like this: in terms of morality, there are many "grey" actions in the world. Some are truly grey, in that they have no inherent meaning in them, either good or bad (ex. hair length/colour). Face it, God likes variety in nature. Some practices only appear grey due to a confounding marbling of black and white swirls, and this is the moral state I believe most societies undulate in with various ratios of white:blackness dependent on the overall combined frequency of their constituting members' relations with each other, God, and the environment. God gives us a lot of mercy in the grey areas, continually sending us verbal and physical commands, warnings, and encouragements to clean up our mixed acts. But there are limits. There came a point where God told Jeremiah to stop praying for his people, because his mind was made up. God gave them a final ultimatum: life or death. Those who surrendered to Nebuchadnezzar would live. Not an entirely happy life: they would be taken as captives to a foreign land to live as second-class citizens, but if their children learned from their parents' mistakes, they would at least get the chance to go back. Those who fled to Egypt or stayed in the city of Jerusalem would die by famine, sword, or disease. They'd crossed the point of no return, where the only way to separate the white from the black was to disperse and destroy them completely. They chose by their own actions. Likewise, we are continually given commands, warnings, and encouragements to do what is right, with some of our choices culminating in a point of no return, a deciding battle. Parkdale EMC hit one of those points. We chose death and were dispersed to try again somewhere else. Choosing to ignore those communications or to put them off, is a decision with a real consequence. Am I moving towards the black or the white? Can I see the distinction between the two where it is confused in the world? Do I seek God's help in pulling it apart and encouraging the white to grow? Do I help others to do the same? Wow, it's been 2 weeks and I can't remember why I started writing this post. Anyways, my fast from Starbucks is over now but I still haven't figured out what I'm supposed to be doing at Gateway. I feel bitter and irritated about the church's inability to be with people outside their 'perfect' circle but Amy advised me to focus on loving the young adults group before I try to teach them, to make them my own. God keeps telling me the same thing so I guess I'll start by trying to hang out w/ them a little more often...

A Time to Give Up Searching

Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 6 There is a time for everything and a season for every purpose under heaven... A time to search and a time to give up searching; A time to keep and a time to throw away. Well, I finally had to let go, to give up searching. I waited patiently, then I searched with all my heart, soul, and mind. I begged, moaned, cried, and pleaded with God to help me find the objects of my quest. I was even planning a very biblical, "Rejoice with me, for I have found my lost _________". But alas, it was not in God's will. Instead, I had to give up searching. That's right, after a month of wracking my brain and calling every concievable place I might have been, I gave up searching for my miserable keys and started replacing them all. You were all waiting for something really profound, weren't you?! Well too bad. I have no time to be profound. I'm too busy locking myself out of my house...or my mailbox as the case may be. Ironically, the most expensive key to replace thus far has been my school mailbox key at $10, the replacement for which works, kind of. And oh what mail I've been missing out on: now I too can invest in realestate! Or, I could if I would stop having to pay to replace all my lost keys. Stupid leprechauns.

Responsibility: what's that?

"Responsibility: what's that? Responsibility: not quite yet! Responsibility: I don't want to think about it. We'd be better off without it. I don't want to think about it." -Reliant K Greetings and salutations in the new year. Has anyone read Cyler's New Years Resolutions posts? They're innappropriately labeled but that's what they are. I'm really proud of him for making New Years Resolutions. Particularly because he made clear, objective ones with a semi-structured time line. Any good cognitive behavioural therapist will tell you that life change is more likely to occur if you have clearly defined, reasonable goals that can be reached through a series of clearly defined, small steps. Good work Cyler. I made no such official resolutions. Why? I don't have any great reasons, really. Partly, I'm just rebelling against the system: I hate making resolutions for the sake of making resolutions. If there's something in my life or self that I feel needs changing, I'll make a plan to change it at the time it comes to my attention. Unfortunately, I'm also lazy: I'm sick and tired of making resolutions. There's always something in my life that needs tweaking and my thumb, quite frankly, is getting sore. Especially since I seem to make the same resolutions with slight variations to their method over and over again. This is largely because I tend to break my resolutions. And, being the coward that I am, I'd rather make no promises whatsoever than make good promises and then mess up on them. And, whispers my poisonous mind, at least if I mess up on resolutions only I know I have, no one will notice. But. There's always a but. But, I finally found time to read the lectio for the fourth Sunday of Advent, as provided by my religious prof, Charles, from the Christian calandar. The lectios were Luke 1:26-38a and Matthew 1:18-23. These are the accounts of the Angel Gabriel coming to visit Mary and Joseph, respectively. Common words spoken to both: "Do not fear." I love Mary. I love her because she's real. Her initial reaction at seeing an angel is not the storybook child's response of, "Wow, you're pretty! Can you brush my cheeks with the feathery soft tips of your golden wings as you stand guard over my bed at night to protect me from closet monsters, unfinished homework, and bad dreams, pleeeeease?" Rather, Mary is described as feeling "confused and disturbed" at the angel's arrival (verse 29). As in: "Oh no, what the duece are you doing here and what is this going to cost me?" That's very comforting to me. I can empathise with cautious people. I am one. Then Gabriel states "For nothing is impossible with God" (verse 38). Mary absorbs that. She responds, "I am the Lord's servant. May everything you have said about me come true." And that is why Mary is also my heroine: Mary knows who she is. She knows that she, Mary, is not God, but that God is good and powerful enough to be her LORD. She knows that she'll be with God on this unusual journey of motherhood and that means she'll be more than fine, no matter what happens to her or what people say about her. She knows that life apart from the will of God is no life at all. Can I say I know that? My mind says it's logical. But my heart gets confused and disturbed when I try to repeat those two simple sentances: "I am the Lord's servant. May everything you have said about me come true." I want to change that "I am" in the first sentance into "I'll try to be" or "I'm thinking about being" or "I guess I might be"or "Sometimes I will be". I want the second sentance to promise to give me everything I ask for. And I want a time-table added on. I want it to tell me, "Faye, your husband's name is going to be Michael. You'll meet him tommorow; he's an architect with an excellent sense of humour, musician skills, and a love of the out-doors who thinks you're the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth. You are going to become a mother in exactly 4 years and 38 days; your first-adopted child will be called Taheerah. She's an orphaned child from Palestine- you'll meet her in May 2008. You're going to save Jane Smith's life on October 24th, 2015 at 2 pm- make sure you take the c-train that day. Also, you're going to become filthy rich by the time you're 30: make sure you buy a hybrid car before 2009." But. But faith doesn't work that way. God didn't say anything about when his promises to me will come about, or in what order. He never promised to give me absolutely everything I ask him for. Nolan recently paraphrased Graham Cook as saying, "Sometimes God gives me visions of my future with him to inspire me to work towards that reality sooner rather than later. Time doesn't really exist for God: a thousand years is a day to him. Consequently, God doesn't see me as I am now, but as I will be when I am perfected in Christ." So, I am instead required to say: "I am the Lord's servant. May everything you have said about me come true." I have to say it because God's timing and plans are perfect and he'll let everything be exactly as he said when he thinks I'm ready.

Silencio: Too Much and Not Enough

I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but I have been taking a Prayer Paths to God course this Fall. It mostly looked at ancient and old ways of thinking about and practising Christian prayer, but we also got to try prayer techniques out in 3 prayer practicums. The first one was at the Mount St. Francis Retreat Centre (just outside Cochrane) on 1 November 2006, where we practised the lectio divina for 50 minutes on Hebrews 11. The second practicum was in the side chapel of Central United Church along 7th Avenue on 8 November 2006, where we practised the lectio divina again, this time with Revelations 1:3-8. The third prayer practicum was also at Central United; we practised the lectio divina with Revelations 22:1-18. Just to give you some background, lectio divina is latin and translates as "holy reading." Depending on who you talk to, this system of praying with scripture has between 4 and 6 steps. I'm a geek, so I'll tell you all 6. The first step is SILENCIO (silence). Silence is used to prepare the heart for spiritual reading. This step involves an inner shift from control to receptivity, from information to formation, from observation to obediance (Nienkirchen, 2006). In our prayer practicums, we usually spent about 5 minutes just releasing all distracting thoughts and emotions during this time, then a few more minutes inviting the Holy Spirit to come and be with us and to speak to us. The next step is LECTIO (reading). Here, you choose a short portion of scripture (usually) or spiritual writings (ex. Augustine, Luther, or Richard Foster probably count as "other") and read it over while listening attentively to the Speaker. You are attuned for any particular verse or words that snag your attention. Step 3 is MEDITATIO (reflection/repetition). This involves prayerful reflection on and/or repetition of those wee little bits of reading that you felt called to in LECTIO. You use your imagination and intellect to personally enter the Word. Meditatio calls for an openness to receiving a Word addressed to YOU. Step 4 is ORATIO (praying). This is entrance into prayer of the heart born out of the LECTIO (Nienkirchen, 2006). Here, response is given to spontaneous moving of the Holy Spirit. You return back to those wee little bits of lectio every now and again to refuel your heart and stay on track, undistracted. Step 5 is CONTEMPLATIO (beyond words). At this point, prayer becomes more grace than discipline (Nienkirchen, 2006). It is characteriszed by "being" more than either "thinking" or "doing". You experience deep interior silence, something that goes beyond words. You feel wrapped in divine love yourself and this cultivates true compassion for others. I don't think I hit this phase until the third prayer practicum. It hasn't happened since, probably because I am not nearly as disciplined in my individual "holy reading" as I was in a group lead by someone. Step 6a is INCARNATIO (living). Espoused by Luther as TENTATIO (temptation/trials), this is the practical living out of the text in everyday life, amid the distractions of temptations and trials inherent in the world outside monasteries. Alright. Now the juicy part: the visions and lecutions God gave me during each of these lectio divina experiences and how God has begun explaining them to me. Prayer Practicum 1. Lectio: Hebrews 11

My Prayer. God, I don't really understand the last verse of this chapter but the rest seems pretty straight forward. Death, faith, and life are all very connected. We cannot experience life without giving up control over it, dieing in faith so that You, God, will restore us. The only death to be feared is the death of our faith itself.

So, what are you trying to keep control of in your life, Faye? What do you need to let die?

Lord, search me and know me. Nothing specific is coming to mind, although I feel that there are things there. Please make them clear to me when the time is right. Then give me faith, God, because I don't know if I could do what the faithful who have come before me did: particularly the sawed-in-half-thing; that's a really disturbing thought, actually. Hey! Fear of being vulnerable! That's what I'm holding onto!

Yes, you were right when you were scanning possibilities earlier. It wasn't B. himself you were holding on to (you let him go, as told). It is the fear of being vulnerable and open and then being rejected or hurt by B. or any other potential husband he symbolizes to you. That is what you are holding on to.

Prayer Practicum 2. Lectio: Revelations 1:3a, 3b, 5, 7, and 8.

I saw... Rev. 1:3b: I saw white-robed angels who were standing on the clouds pouring out the bowls of judgement in the final days of earth. I also saw a young Asian-American man standing in an empty dug-out pool. He was staring up at a gooey, sticky, grey membrane above his head. He reached up and touched it with his left hand and was disgusted by its texture as it stuck to his fingers. He presses up on it harder regardless, breaking it open like a water sac breaking in child-birth. He emerges reborn into a cold, dark, and barren wilderness.

I thought... Rev. 1:3b: I thought about the similar biblical phrase, “The Kingdom of heaven is near,” and how Christ brings earth and heaven into fusion now and in the future. Others prayed about the urgency of the times, how time must be sanctified because the end is near. My friend Jen prayed that leaders would reach out to the spiritually dead who do not know you.

My prayer. God, please give us more accurate prophets for our generation, ones who will speak your scriptures.

Prayer Practicum 3: Lectio: Revelations 22:1, 5, 7, 18

Prior to commencement of the lectio divina I felt somewhat directionless, as if I was unsure where I wanted to go. I saw myself walking along 7^th Avenue beside Jesus. He tossed his cloak on me so that I could cover my sins and weaknesses. It was a red cloak. After this vision, I felt tranquil, curious, and relaxed. I remained in that state throughout the entire lectio divina: a pleasant change from the previous prayer practicums.

In Rev. 22:1: I saw myself standing in a large, flat, mowed grass field just outside the wall of heaven. There are no trees, dwellings, or anything verticle whtsoever marring the landscape's flattness. I was standing beside a very tall, sandy-blonde haired angel with glowing gold eyes who had the build of a warrior and was clothed in a white robe, sandals, and a bronze-coloured belt. Definitely no harp or wings. At first, standing next to the perfect angel, made me feel unworthy, dirty, and ashamed of myself for all my past sins. But the angel was not a condescending angel and he made me feel welcome, protected.

Running in a perfectly straight line through the centre of the field and into the walled city was a narrow but deep river with dark blue waters. The Angel and I were standing on the west side of it; he with his back to the wall of the city, and I facing the angel and the wall. We walked closer to the water and I peered over the edge into the water and discovered it to be so dark and deep that I could not see to the bottom. I felt curious about this River of Life, but I was hesitant to explore it because I was a guest in God's kingdom and I didn't want to cause damage to something that did not belong to me. When I looked up again, there was a narrow wooden boat, pointed in the front and flat in the back, with two paddles for rowing, floating in the water a few feet away from me. I backed away a few feet lest my temptation overcome me and I get in the boat and go where I am not permitted. Then Jesus appeared, crouching on the edge of the river with a wry grin on his face. I came a little closer and he cupped his hand in the water, then splashed me with water to let me know that I am cleansed and I can touch the water without contaminating it. I had permission to be refreshed. I felt relieved, free to be myself and to experience the river with all senses. My intrigue uninhibited, I walked to the water's edge again to touch the water. It felt cold and wet; refreshing. I dove in and almost reached the bottom. To my surprise, the water was packed with life below the surface: there were brightly coloured fish, plants, and anenomies. Then I came back to the surface, where only the angel was waiting for me.

Rev. 22:5: Initially when I heard this reading, I remembered myself standing in the fields of River's Edge Bible Camp, staring up into the night sky with rapture at the falling stars. I thought about the freedom of feeling unself-conscious when I am temporarily invisible to all judgemental eyes because the night's darkness hides my appearance. I mourned the loss of the beauty of the stars at night, and the feeling of safety in anonymity I had in the darkness. Then God comforted me with thoughts of the things that will replace the night. I saw myself back at the river's edge, sopping wet from my swim (no James Bond wardrobe for me). The angel gestured an invitation by sweeping his arm toward the boat still floating in the water. I got in and the river's current carried the boat forward. Inside the wall, the river was graced on both sides by beautiful gardens of different styles. Further back from the river and hazy to my vision were elegant mansions that reminded me of Viennese apartments. I could not see far from my spot on the river and my boat did not travel very deeply into the city, but what I saw was dazzelingly bright and beautiful. I thought about how, in contrast to darkness, sunlight allows everything to be seen as it is. I remembered one of my chemistry classes and being taught about the molecular components of colour and how bright sunlight makes coloured objects so much more vibrant. The boat soon stopped beside an English-style garden, where a park bench was positioned underneath some sort of weeping willow tree. I saw two women sitting on it, chatting and smiling. I realized God is our rest, so we will not need to sleep in heaven. We will never be alone, will no longer be anonymous strangers to each other because of the constant mediating presence of God.

Today. So today when I was going through a lectio about Nicodemous, I got caught on John 3:5-8. Jesus answered, “I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, 'You must be born again.' The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” God nudged me. Look at your note in the margin: “see Ezekial 36:25.” Ezekiel 36:25-27: “I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your impurities and from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws”. Now do you understand your visions, Faye?

I'm starting to. There is a humility, a vulnerability in being born. Infants are helpless. But they are also blameless, and entirely dependant on their carer's love, understanding, provision, and protection. We're celebrating Advent now, which most Evangelicals recognise as a time to remember Christ's first coming, born as a helpless baby from a virgin teen-age mother. But traditionally, Advent was also a time to look to the 2nd coming, the end, which Christ described as coming soon. In the end, we will not be fit to join Christ in heaven unless we become vulnerable infants, born again in the Spirit. And we cannot save this generation unless we learn to suckle from the Word of God like a baby at her mother's breast. Prayer: ecumenical, sustained, and humble. Why are we not doing it?

Hurt:

How Learned Helplessness Enables You to Become a Perpetual Victim I feel hurt. There's not really any good reason for it. My week's been decent. I finally handed in the evil paper that was due a week ago; I got a very cool last second interview with some Mormon missionaries for another paper due this week; I've finished reading the book for a book report due today; I went out to see Christmas lights with Amy and Becky last night and my life-long dream of actually walking among the lights along 14th street was finally fulfilled because the gate was open; my mom made the best turkey pot pie ever last night; I had fun washing dishes while listening to my dad try to instruct Melanie and Chasey on how to play together harmoniously; and Melanie and I had fun mocking the latest fashion trends from Paris and beating each other up while listening to Flogging Molly. My weekend really wasn't bad either. I finished my paper; voted; briefly ran into Nick, Lauren & Nathan, Mark & Karen, and Charis, none of whom I've seen in a while; I went to my school Christmas banquet with my friends, then we hung out at Moxie's afterwards; I blissfully slept in on Monday. But little papercuts that didn't bother me at the time feel like they've become infected or something. I was kind of surprised when I wasn't all that wounded after getting blown off by my "date" for the banquet I payed $20/ticket a month in advance for. I just decided it was my friend's loss. I was more just irritated that I'd also forgotten about the banquet so I'd missed out on all the hours of girly interaction getting ready for it with my friends. And, being someone with a "slow-to-warm-up" temperament, arriving almost 2 hours late in the company of my mother (who is very cool and kindly offered to come w/ me in my friend's stead so I'd have a ride down there) with no prep time kinda threw me off for the rest of the night. It was fun and I'm sure I looked like I was having fun but it didn't feel fun because I felt out of place, like I was still missing something. Then on Monday one of my best friends called to cancel a hang-out we'd planned for that day. Again, I was ok. I knew it wasn't personal, she was just tired from lack of sleep. But it stings today. It's partly just a generalized reaction to an old injury, I suppose. From early in my childhood to this day, one of my greatest fears has been rejection. Specifically, making a clear, hard effort to offer my friendship to someone else and then having that person ignore it or fail to reciprocate bites deeply. I've never admitted it, but I actually flinch inside every time one of my siblings plays this (predictably) ridiculous song by Weird Al that goes, "Pizza Party at your house: I stopped, just to check it out. 32 larges with extra cheese, what a shame no one came." It's a parody, for crying out loud! You can't take something seriously that has an end verse beginning with: "Oh, why'd I have to go and get myself de-capitated?"! But I guess it just comes too close to the truth for me. I actually have many memories of similar situations happening to me (that is, I have experience in planning parties and inviting 20+ people and having none of them show up, not in getting decapitated). Maybe I'm really just mad. Sigmund Freud believed that depression is really just hurt transformed into anger towards the self. This theory has not found much imperical support through research but it seems to fit in my case. Last night I was reading The Way of the Pilgrim, which is the first-person account of a Russian pilgrim on his travels as he seeks to learn how to pray without ceasing. It is written in a soft, laid-back, descriptive story-telling style somewhat similar to C. S. Lewis' The Narnian Chronicles or J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. Not extremely fast-paced or emotional material. Yet it made me sooooo irritated. I wanted to stomp on the Pilgrim, but I don't think I'd find it all that satisfying because he's the kind of meekly heroic character that would just lie there and take it quietly, then pray for me and go on limping joyfully down the road with his blasted Bible, Philokalia, and bread crusts. How the duece does someone live for decades on a diet that consists of nothing other than stale bread crusts and water while traveling hundreds of miles on foot wearing only dirty rags year-round in Siberia?! And why is everyone he meets either entirely amiable and good or entirely selfish and evil? Why the deuce don't they or the annoyingly humble Pilgrim ever stumble in their journeys toward deification/sanctification or towards attaining unceasing interior prayer of the heart? And why the deuce am I taking 4 more 300 and 400 level courses next semester when I already feel spiritually dead, socially isolated, artistically empty, mentally exhausted, physically deteriorated, financially drained, and psychologically harrassed from doing the same this semester, darn it? I know that I need to learn how to pray without ceasing in order to remain in Christ's presence but I am never going to learn how to pray without ceasing without a spiritual leader and without considerable time to develop the habit and I have NEITHER! [Gollum style: Ghaaaaaaaaaaaaa!] Ok, I'll admit it: I'm jealous. I'm jealous and I'm mad. I'm jealous of the annoyingly humble Pilgrim who heals instantaneously from injustices and hurts caused by other people and I'm jealous of my older brother living in a prayer house where he is practising what I so desperately need to learn experiencially and I'm mad at God for not being able to get through my busy thoughts to remind me why it is, exactly, that I'm working 12 hours a day, 6-7 days a week, to get done all the things I have to do to finish my degree and start the next one. Why do I have to destroy myself to live a meaningful life later? I don't know. I'm not sure anyone can tell me, or if I'm even asking the right question. I just feel like I'm running in a circular gauntlet: I'm hurting but I see no healthy options in any direction. It's not really anyone's fault, it's just that I don't know how to get out. Or maybe I don't want to get out or I'm not sure I'm supposed to get out. And reminding myself that "I can't do everything" is not encouraging anymore. I want to know what I can do.

"Everything is meaningless," says the Teacher, "completely meaningless." Keep this in mind: The Teacher was considered wise, and he taught the people everything he knew. He listened carefully to many proverbs, Studying and classifying them. The Teacher sought to find just the right words to express truths clearly. The words of the wise are like cattle prods- painful, but helpful. Their collected sayings are like a nail-studded stick with which a shepherd drives the sheep. But my child, let me give you some further advice: Be careful, for writing books is endless, and much study wears you out. That's the whole story. Now here is my final conclusion: Fear God and obey his commands, for this is everyone's duty. God will judge us for everything we do, including every secret thing, whether good or bad. -Ecclesiates 12:8-14

Our Brothers Who Art in Bethlehem

I never did write my "Why the Palestinians are Angry" post. I'll do it soon: I found the disk of political maps I was looking for. Think of this post as a preview: the following email is regarding a Christian Palestinian family who live in the West Bank, our back yard while we were staying at Tantur in Israel. The Zoughbis have a 7 floor guest house in Bethlehem, which also acts as the base of their small house church, House of Bread.

Greetings, all.

I was forwarded the following information
about the Zoughbis yesterday.  Charles
and I wanted to forward it to you to
request your prayers on their behalf.
Since all of you are intimately connected
to them and familiar with their living
situation, you will be able to identify
with this frightening experience. Issa and 
Diana faithfully present the love of Christ
to their community and I know how 
devastated they would be that their church 
sanctuary would be violated by violence.
Please be prayerful for them and their 
children, for all in their community and 
country in these difficult days.  Be
discerning in what you write if you should
email them  -security is always a concern
and communications may be monitored.
I am sure your prayers and encouragement,
however, would be received with gratitude.

I think of you all with fondness and
sweet memories of our journey together!

G. N.

On Nov 20, 2006, at 6:31 PM, C.
R. wrote:

At midday today L. and I left the Zoughbies
house to go and help Odette 'spring clean'.
At 12.30 we heard alot of shooting about 200
metres from Odettes house.  Diana Zoughbie
rang and told us not to return to the house.
The Israelis were surrounding the house opposite
Isa and Diana and the whole area was blocked
off.  During the afternoon, much shooting
continued with four explosions.  At 7pm we
rang Diana to find out what was happening.
She answered the phone in a quiet voice and
did not say alot, apart from not to return at
the moment.  A little later one of Odettes
friends called and advised that it may be
safe for us to go back to the Zoughbies.
We went as far as Manger Square and saw that
we could go no further.  We spoke to some
local Muslim shop keepers we have got to
know, and they said that one man is dead,
10 more injured and the man the Israelis
were searching for had given himself up.
After waiting half an hour, the Israelis left
the area and we were allowed to proceed the
50m downhill walk to our flat.  The road was
in complete darkness, and covered with rubble
from the explosions.  Cars had been hit with
windshields broken.  When we got to Isa and
Diana we were so pleased to see that they
were ok.  We then realised why Diana had been
so quiet when she answered the phone.  The 
soldiers had forced the front door of their 
house and used two of the levels for the 
duration of the 7 hour siege to overlook the
house opposite.  There were many bullets on
the floor.  They had used the Sunday school
and the church.  Diana and Isa had to remain
in the bedroom for 7 hours and hid in the
bedroom in darkness, some of the time under
the beds.  None of the children could get
home from school and so Isa and Diana were
separated from their son, Rajaee who is 14.
Isa and Diana are visibly shaken by the 
whole thing, as their house of God has been 
used as a hideout for the Israeli soldiers...
they were given no choice in the matter.
As we returned to the house there were many
hundreds of people outside and a TV crew.
People come to survey the damage.

This is now the second time in less than 
three weeks, that the Israeli soldiers 
have entered Bethlehem to take whom they beleive
to be terrorists. We are not in a position to
comment. What we can comment on is what we
see.... the destruction, chaos, disruption,
loss of life.

L. and I are both shellshocked, and
question the methods the soldiers use. An 
already thoroughly damaged economy and society 
is punished even further.  As Christians it is 
hard to live here, see these things and not 
feel a sorrow for the ordinary people here.

C. & L.

Cruella Devil is Back

Karl Marx, in his 1844 Alienated Labor, stated: "Nature is the inorganic body of a man, that is, insofar as it is not itself a human body. That man lives from nature means that nature is his body with which he must maintain a constant interchange so as not to die. That man's physical and intellectual life depends on nature merely means that nature depends on itself, for man is a part of nature. "When alienated labour alienates (1) nature from man, and (2) man from himself, his own function, his vital activity, it also alienates the species from man; it turns his species-life into a means to towards his individual life...work, vital activity, and productive life itself appear to man only as a means to the satisfaction of a need, the need to preserve his physical existence. But productive life is species life." Marx believed that every species is defined as much by its physical characteristics as by its function (work) in the ecosystem; accordingly, Marx' assumed that humans' defining feature is our drive to work, to create, for more reasons than mere survival. We create according to the rules of beauty, aesthetics, humour, mood, as much as we create according to pure usefulness. Therefore, the problem with global industry, or industrialization in general, is that it creates the illusion of there being no connection between the materials and labour used in production and the products you buy, and no connection between your work and your life or your identity (what Marx calls species life). That social theory lesson done, let me show you a good example of how this disconnect between raw materials and finished product, and between identity and job, can become disturbingly dehumanizing.

Existentialism

Dear friend, I'm sorry things aren't going right I know they never are 'Cause you're never up and you're always down and you're drunk from spinning around But you're never here and you're always there I don't know how to show you I care You say you need to run to New York State in January You liked it before: I'm sure it'll make you better But before you go thought I'd try to show you my theory in a letter: There's illusion in a place it's just conceiling the pace your soul runs when you're hiding When you're home At home where you're never up and you're always down and you're drunk from spinning around But you're never here and you're always there I don't know how to show you I care Right now when you're on my couch but you're at the mall four years ago with the guy and you're still asking why Why can't I reply? It's not my house where you stall Fierce Shae you're just not when you are I'm scared driving in your car I don't deny it's partly from your maithre I hear you cry And I feel my heart die 'cause I think I've got the answer And you're never up and you're always down and you're drunk from spinning around But you're never here and you're always there I don't know how to show you I care Where are you, where are you, where are you? When are you, when are you, when are you? Who are you, who are you, who are You? Truth is we both need to stop, just be silent: Let God speak I know it's ironic listening to me on my soapbox My actions show there's a leak from theology to vivo- iconic But I'm never up and you're always down and we're drunk from spinning around Well I'm never here and you're always there I don't know how to show you I care

I actually wrote this as a song for a friend but any knowledge of music composition I ever had from playing trombone in jr high band has long since dissapeared so the odds of my writing the music are low. In addition, perpetual presentation anxiety assures me there's no way I'm recording my voice. Thus, if anyone ever comes up with music to match my lyrics' mood let me know: I'd be very interested in knowing if it sounds the same as what is temporarily in my mind.

On Language

Brief interruption in the HTEWF series, which I shall one day finish when I'm not writing scholastic papers. I just wanted to say that language, words, are magical. Having no inherent meaning of their own, they only come to life when we paint our ideas onto them. That said, I will now share with you all the unreadable, I mean, increadible thrill and joy of research in theoretical psychological therapy. First, from Carl Whitaker, John Warkentin, and Nan Johnson's article, A Philosophical Basis for Brief Psychotherapy, I give you this excerpt: "The orientation of the therapist largely determines the depth to which the therapeutic relationship can be used by the patient. It is necessary to clarify the functional limits of the interview-situation to reduce the need for conscious techniques by the therapist. The unconscious of the therapist can thereby be released to relate more freely to the unconscious of the patient. Therapy limited in this way, to dealing only with the emotional and symbolic aspects of the relationship, can be adequate in itself to effect a successful therapeutic outcome. The criteria for this success are measured in terms of change in the patient's orientation and not by any overt change in behaviour or symptomatology. It becomes apparent that in this sense, any patient can be helped." Wow, that's great! Now I can totally see why therapy should be made brief. Now, the next gem is from Approaching the individual, approaching the system: A constructivist model for integrative psychotherapy by Guillem Feixas: "The role of premises in social systems (mainly families) was suggested by Bateson (1972, 1979) and has been a central tenet in constructivist family therapy. Cecchin (in Boscolo et al., 1987) asserts that 'the biggest shifts in family therapy come when you succeed in operating at the level of deep premises' (p. 89). Penn (1985) also considers premises as central issues for the system's change because it is an 'inclusive contextual idea in a system that seems to organize or contrain behaviours linked to a problem' (p. 302). This position is also congruent with Bogdan's (1984) elaboration of Bateson's (1972) 'ecology of ideas' in the sense of a system in which a reciprocal confirmation of ideas is given so that 'the ideas of each member lead him to behave in ways that confirm or support the ideas of every other family member' (p. 376)." Thanks, I'll stow that one away.