People have been coming up with analogies to explain life forever – life is like a box of chocolates, life is like a tube of toothpaste, life’s a dance, life is a highway – and the list goes on. I suppose everyone sees life a little differently since I’ve never personally experienced a cocoa-flavoured fluoride-paste kind of day. I have, however, come up with a bit of a metaphor that fits my present paradigm.
Life is like an orchestra; one director, hundreds of instruments, thousands of parts, all working together to create a single, masterful, marvelous piece of music. Our director – the conductor, composer, producer and audience – has poured out His heart into writing each musician their own unique part. He knows the score inside out, and is acutely aware of everything going on in His music. He can hear every harmony, every perfect progression and movement, every vibration of our instrumental voices... and every wrong note we play.
Life would be so much easier if we were contented with playing the music given to us, but we musicians are a prideful, fickle bunch; generally unsatisfied with playing second fiddle, second horn or third clarinet, whatever the case may be. The fact is that our parts come on a cycle and we won’t always get the melody that we think we deserve. The fact is that sometimes the music we play is designed to compliment or emphasize another part. The fact is that we don’t know what’s coming. We don’t know the score.
You see, there is no time to practice for this performance. Life is 100% sight reading. As long as you pay attention and play your part with passion, flipping pages and changing keys as directed, you’ll be fine; if you’re flat once or twice, the piece will continue unharmed. It’s in the whole-note moments when the pace and slows and the melody mellows that we musicians get fidgety. It’s when we think the piece is getting a little predictable that we find ourselves in trouble. We get distracted, disengaged and restless, and just when you think you’ve got it figured out, He triples the tempo and gives you a solo! You’re left struggling to catch up, and usually looking foolish.
But when the music works... when everyone is completely engaged and we are playing together without competition or envy or spite, when we are perfectly tuned and when the balance is right... those are the moments that make everything worth it; tension evaporates as the glorious tapestry of harmony, melody and counter-melody overwhelm the senses. There is nothing else in this world that can compare to a well played life.
Block out the distractions in your life that are drawing your attention from your sheet music, listen carefully to the parts being played around you and make sure that you are keeping in tune and in rhythm with them; but most importantly and above all else, keep eye contact with your conductor. He is the one who will guide you through the rapid and the slow, the tricky and simplistic. He knows what you are capable of, and though he won’t write you something that you can’t handle, He loves to challenge and surprise. He’s conductor, composer and fellow musician; guiding us all through the symphony of life.
Saturday, 7 June 2008
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall. Appraise Me.
Long before Snow White’s queen stared enviously into her looking glass and begged the infamous question, people have been seeking their mirror’s approval. At some point in history, people discovered that “what’s on the outside” counts for something in this world. In today’s culture, internal things, however brilliant or beautiful, rarely capture any attention if the wrapper is pale or plain. As frequently as we remind ourselves to act to the contrary, we are all guilty of judging the book by its cover. Eventually, the cover becomes our focus, in fear that the contents will be left to collect dust on a forgotten bookshelf if the binding goes unnoticed too long. And so, we decorate, sculpt, colour and modify; then we rush to the mirror to be appraised.
How do I compare? It’s a dangerous question that too often leads into a judgmental and destructive emotional darkness. Competition is an addictive habit that is easy to begin; often the rivalry is subtle and internal. Am I better than I used to be? Am I more attractive? More intelligent? Slowly, naturally, others enter into this comparative mental dialogue. Am I as beautiful as that girl? Do I have more skill than he does? Who is stronger? Faster? Smarter? Eventually the conversation you are having within your mind spills out through your lips and into the world. Why can’t I be like them? Why am I so flawed? Why was I made this way? I am ugly. I am dirty. I am stupid. Still, we turn to the mirror for our affirmation. It reveals what we expect to see and what we are looking for. It clarifies, sharpens, emphasizes. It agrees.
I am guilty of seeking the opinions of the wall mirror (as well as a few other reflective surfaces that I pass by during the day), and I have slipped into the trap of appearances. For the past few months I have been bowing to the will of my mirror, and when I fall short of her expectations I feel even less beautiful, less valuable and more depressed than before.
When God designed the world so long ago, He did not create a mirror. There are no verses in Genesis that state, “And God said, let there be a large mirror in front of which man and woman will criticize themselves and each other. Let there be high and low fashion, separation of social classes and media, with which all people will discover and interpret their worth. And there was evening and there was morning, the first civilized day.”
In reality, be it Old Testament or modern life, the heart of God is avidly opposed to this kind of analytical attitude. He reminds us over and over that the world we cling to so desperately is a temporary and liquid place, that our worth and eternal value is completely internal, that His opinion is the only one that matters and that he created us with direct purpose, exactly to the blueprints he designed for our lives. “Do not consider his appearance or his height. The Lord does not look at what man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” “Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair or the wearing of gold jewellery and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” “For you created my innermost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” It’s so simple.
How often we complicate simplicity.
From time to time, the mirror still catches my attention. Every once in a while she pinches my ego or bruises my pride, but I’m learning to let most of her criticism roll off my back. As a Christian, my significance comes from God, and I already know what he thinks of me. I know that I am loved; a passionate, profound, self-sacrificing affection that runs so much deeper than this skin I am so worried about. God doesn’t need fancy cover art to pick up a book and crack the spine; He just wants to read a good story. I have a feeling he’s going to like mine. After all, He wrote it.
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
Chicken
Stop. You have already decided what this note is about. I dare you to tell me otherwise. You have, and you know it. You are not different or unique in this conclusion jumping; everyone does it. We assume immediately that we are somehow in-the-know, that we have the answers and that we can instantly understand. Ha! Wrong. You are wrong. It’s all about context.
You thought that this was a note about chicken. Dear reader, I have misled you. Do you feel betrayed? Are you frustrated, confused, amused, bewildered? Are you mildly uncomfortable, sitting there in the awareness of your psychological exposure? I know you, because you are like me... I know how you think. I can read your actions... I can anticipate your thoughts. That's how I caught you. Yes, you have been caught in my trap.
This has been a lesson in assumption.
Be careful what conclusions you jump to. Be careful what you assume, what you expect, what you are looking for. Sometimes reality can take you by surprise.
You thought that this was a note about chicken. Dear reader, I have misled you. Do you feel betrayed? Are you frustrated, confused, amused, bewildered? Are you mildly uncomfortable, sitting there in the awareness of your psychological exposure? I know you, because you are like me... I know how you think. I can read your actions... I can anticipate your thoughts. That's how I caught you. Yes, you have been caught in my trap.
This has been a lesson in assumption.
Be careful what conclusions you jump to. Be careful what you assume, what you expect, what you are looking for. Sometimes reality can take you by surprise.
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
A Racing Mind
Suddenly you can feel the adrenalin whooshing through your veins as your mind races and your work takes shape. The clock is counting down with an impossible acceleration, and you hear someone shouting out the remaining time, from some distant place.
Twenty minutes… Thirteen minutes… One minute.
Your brain is screaming, trying to output as much information as physically possible as your body is desperately fighting to keep up. One final thought, one final line, and…
Time.
Time is up. Time is out. Time is gone. At last.
There is no turning back and there’s no way to redo, repeat or revise.
You are finished.
If you’re looking for a thrill, forget roller-coasters or high speed racing… just try to write a fifty-minute essay on a story you’ve never read. It can really get your heart going! Oh, the thrilling, adventurous life of an English major. There’s nothing else quite like it.
Twenty minutes… Thirteen minutes… One minute.
Your brain is screaming, trying to output as much information as physically possible as your body is desperately fighting to keep up. One final thought, one final line, and…
Time.
Time is up. Time is out. Time is gone. At last.
There is no turning back and there’s no way to redo, repeat or revise.
You are finished.
If you’re looking for a thrill, forget roller-coasters or high speed racing… just try to write a fifty-minute essay on a story you’ve never read. It can really get your heart going! Oh, the thrilling, adventurous life of an English major. There’s nothing else quite like it.
Statement of Belief and Contract of Faith
I have recently been challenged to define my faith in a concrete and tangible way, and to articulate exactly what it is that I believe. This is what I have formulated. It does not completely explain every element or aspect of what I believe as a Christian; it does, however, provide an official and formal summary of my personal faith. (I’m sure it will also start a few conversations this week.) So, world, here it is; my faith in a nutshell.
I believe that God is the ultimate, exclusive, triune God of everything known and unknown. I believe that the Father, Son and Spirit work together in perfect and independent unison to accomplish God’s mysterious will, which is only understandable through his divine revelation. I believe that God created everything, both seen and unseen, as recorded in Genesis. I believe that He creates every person individually and with specific purpose – not only what we are, but also who we are. I believe that every human being, every culture and race and religion, came from Adam and Eve, who came from God. I believe that through Adam and Eve, and through the choices that we have made by our own free will, have chosen to live in disobedience and rebellion of God’s laws; furthermore, I believe that even a single violation of this law bears the heavy and divinely just consequence of eternal separation from God, and the sentence of eternal death, to be served out in hell. I believe that God holds people to a standard of absolute perfection that we cannot meet because of our decisions to sin, and that the only way to restore our perfection in the eyes of God is through the physical sacrifice of life, ultimately our own. I believe that God, through Christ and because of His incomprehensible mercy, created a single alternative to this physical and spiritual capital punishment for sin. I believe that God, taking on human form, came to earth to settle our debts. I believe that the blood of Jesus Christ replaced our blood once and for all, and that God accepted his sacrifice as an all-encompassing payment for all of the sins of every person, throughout history, past, present and future. I believe that Jesus lived a sinless, radical life for God, that he was murdered by crucifixion and that he was physically dead for three days. I believe that this death was temporary, and that he rose from death after those three days. I believe that he remained on earth, completely alive, for 40 days after his resurrection, appearing to many people and teaching and training his disciples before his ascension into heaven where he has ruled with the Father ever since. I believe that the Spirit was sent to us as a comforter and spiritual support after Christ left earth, and that God in all three forms is still very active in our world. I believe that the free gift of Christ’s sacrifice does not mean that following his footsteps to heaven is a cost-free journey: Christ calls us to take up our cross and follow, to be living sacrifices, and to serve in a variety of ways. I believe that being a Christian means more than simply identifying ourselves with his life; it means putting ourselves – our lives, our goals and our families – our everything second to His anything. I believe that being a Christian means a life of permanent and willing service to God. I believe that being a Christian means living like Jesus did, striving to imitate how he acted and who he was; it means believing what he said was true, and then taking that belief into reality, transforming thought into action and actively following his example. I believe that God created the church as a family, designed to support, encourage, defend, convict, correct and hold each other accountable to the hope and truth we profess. I believe that the responsibilities of the church as a whole and all Christians individually are to first: love God, second: love each other and third: share the good news and ultimate truth with the world. I believe that the Bible is the word of God, preserved as the divinely inspired written word of God’s people. I believe that it is historically accurate and that it should be interpreted literally and taken seriously.
I am defined by my faith. I have found who I am in my relationship with God. Here, before the world and God Himself as my witness, I confess that I believe these statements to be true, and that I will live my life by them. I ask you to hold me to them. I ask you to keep me accountable. This is a contract of faith, one that I have signed before, at various points throughout my journey and relationship with God. I sign it again, renewing my vow: I am a Christian, and I will follow.
I believe that God is the ultimate, exclusive, triune God of everything known and unknown. I believe that the Father, Son and Spirit work together in perfect and independent unison to accomplish God’s mysterious will, which is only understandable through his divine revelation. I believe that God created everything, both seen and unseen, as recorded in Genesis. I believe that He creates every person individually and with specific purpose – not only what we are, but also who we are. I believe that every human being, every culture and race and religion, came from Adam and Eve, who came from God. I believe that through Adam and Eve, and through the choices that we have made by our own free will, have chosen to live in disobedience and rebellion of God’s laws; furthermore, I believe that even a single violation of this law bears the heavy and divinely just consequence of eternal separation from God, and the sentence of eternal death, to be served out in hell. I believe that God holds people to a standard of absolute perfection that we cannot meet because of our decisions to sin, and that the only way to restore our perfection in the eyes of God is through the physical sacrifice of life, ultimately our own. I believe that God, through Christ and because of His incomprehensible mercy, created a single alternative to this physical and spiritual capital punishment for sin. I believe that God, taking on human form, came to earth to settle our debts. I believe that the blood of Jesus Christ replaced our blood once and for all, and that God accepted his sacrifice as an all-encompassing payment for all of the sins of every person, throughout history, past, present and future. I believe that Jesus lived a sinless, radical life for God, that he was murdered by crucifixion and that he was physically dead for three days. I believe that this death was temporary, and that he rose from death after those three days. I believe that he remained on earth, completely alive, for 40 days after his resurrection, appearing to many people and teaching and training his disciples before his ascension into heaven where he has ruled with the Father ever since. I believe that the Spirit was sent to us as a comforter and spiritual support after Christ left earth, and that God in all three forms is still very active in our world. I believe that the free gift of Christ’s sacrifice does not mean that following his footsteps to heaven is a cost-free journey: Christ calls us to take up our cross and follow, to be living sacrifices, and to serve in a variety of ways. I believe that being a Christian means more than simply identifying ourselves with his life; it means putting ourselves – our lives, our goals and our families – our everything second to His anything. I believe that being a Christian means a life of permanent and willing service to God. I believe that being a Christian means living like Jesus did, striving to imitate how he acted and who he was; it means believing what he said was true, and then taking that belief into reality, transforming thought into action and actively following his example. I believe that God created the church as a family, designed to support, encourage, defend, convict, correct and hold each other accountable to the hope and truth we profess. I believe that the responsibilities of the church as a whole and all Christians individually are to first: love God, second: love each other and third: share the good news and ultimate truth with the world. I believe that the Bible is the word of God, preserved as the divinely inspired written word of God’s people. I believe that it is historically accurate and that it should be interpreted literally and taken seriously.
I am defined by my faith. I have found who I am in my relationship with God. Here, before the world and God Himself as my witness, I confess that I believe these statements to be true, and that I will live my life by them. I ask you to hold me to them. I ask you to keep me accountable. This is a contract of faith, one that I have signed before, at various points throughout my journey and relationship with God. I sign it again, renewing my vow: I am a Christian, and I will follow.
Friday, 21 March 2008
Center Stage
Life is an improv. There is no written script for daily conversation and no time is allotted for practice or preparation of dialogue; we have to rely on each other for inspiration and co-operative creativity. Not everyone, however, can provide that necessary counterpart. There are people in life that can completely deflate self-confidence. You know the kind... a heckler. Everyone faces them, and for the most part, we face them alone.
But life was not designed to be a solo act – great improv happens in groups or teams or pairs: the set up to your punch-line, the laugh track to your slap-stick, the clever banterer, the matched wit. Someone you can trust without hesitation or reservation, someone who will laugh at your bad puns and meet them with and equally horrible joke, someone to join you on stage and face the audience side by side, someone to fight off the hecklers, someone to spark your imagination.
I’ve found one of these people; my best friend. We are an amazing improv team. She is the superhero to my sidekick and the background music to my rock-opera solo. We work, and I have taken to the stage with her many a time... but eventually she will go on tour with the man(ager) of her dreams and I'm a little worried that I will be left on the street corner with a couple of old jokes and a guitar I can’t play... unless...
What I need is a partner in crime; someone who would be willing to join my act and come with me on a tour of my own. I’ve been running informal casting calls my whole life, but I’ve decided to stop the hunt. Take down the signs, gents; no more interviews. This is improv, after all, and you can’t force funny... funny just happens. Humour either works or it doesn’t. People fit or they don’t, you can’t change their style any more than you can change your own, so I don’t know why I’ve been trying so hard for so long. That’s the whole point of improv, isn’t it? You don’t have to try, you just are. You don’t write lines, you just start talking and the show moves forward. I know that I will eventually discover my hilarious, talented, quick-witted equal and together we will rock this life. Until then I will build up my act, learning and teaching and sharing the spotlight with all of the other comedians I know.
But life was not designed to be a solo act – great improv happens in groups or teams or pairs: the set up to your punch-line, the laugh track to your slap-stick, the clever banterer, the matched wit. Someone you can trust without hesitation or reservation, someone who will laugh at your bad puns and meet them with and equally horrible joke, someone to join you on stage and face the audience side by side, someone to fight off the hecklers, someone to spark your imagination.
I’ve found one of these people; my best friend. We are an amazing improv team. She is the superhero to my sidekick and the background music to my rock-opera solo. We work, and I have taken to the stage with her many a time... but eventually she will go on tour with the man(ager) of her dreams and I'm a little worried that I will be left on the street corner with a couple of old jokes and a guitar I can’t play... unless...
What I need is a partner in crime; someone who would be willing to join my act and come with me on a tour of my own. I’ve been running informal casting calls my whole life, but I’ve decided to stop the hunt. Take down the signs, gents; no more interviews. This is improv, after all, and you can’t force funny... funny just happens. Humour either works or it doesn’t. People fit or they don’t, you can’t change their style any more than you can change your own, so I don’t know why I’ve been trying so hard for so long. That’s the whole point of improv, isn’t it? You don’t have to try, you just are. You don’t write lines, you just start talking and the show moves forward. I know that I will eventually discover my hilarious, talented, quick-witted equal and together we will rock this life. Until then I will build up my act, learning and teaching and sharing the spotlight with all of the other comedians I know.
Friday, 7 March 2008
Job and the Bet with God
The spiritual realm and the physical world are intimately connected. Histories and traditional legends worldwide recount the direct relationship that these dimensions share, and the complexity of movements between them. In the Judeo-Christian religious history, this cross-over or flow-between concept is understood from a time even before time began. God, the origin and epitome of everything visible and invisible, created the heavens and the earth (Genesis 1:1). Everything, therefore, is understood to be within God’s control, under His authority and vulnerable to His influences.
The biblical account of history spans just over four thousand years, and throughout the text of scripture, God speaks with his people and indeed all of creation in a wide variety of ways; in Genesis alone God delivers his message face to face and voice to voice, through a flame-engulfed shrub, through dreams and visions, in a pillar of fire and one of cloud, through prophets, by global flooding and literally written in stone. As His people develop new ways to ignore Him, barricade Him outside of their lives and intentionally misinterpret what He is saying, God continues to find more and more creative ways to communicate with the ever-expanding human race.
Though God is the only omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent force acting in and on our world, He is not the only supernatural being that the inhabitants of our planet have to worry about on a daily basis. Angels and the rebellious, fallen angels (more commonly referred to as demons) live in a world that is both parallel to and intermingled within our own. Angels are the physical and tangible presence of God and act as his messengers. Demons account for a third of the original angels, thrown out of heaven after their prideful attack on God’s spiritual kingdom. Traditionally, the angels are associated with the skies and spaces ‘above the world’ and demons are linked to the seas and deep places ‘under the earth’. Biblically, both angels and demons have equal access to our world, and often work directly with (and within) people.
In the book of Job, we are given a rare and incredibly unique insight into the methodology of our spiritual counterparts in creation. We listen in on a brief and bantering conversation between the extreme definitions of our moral scale, God and Satan.
“The LORD said to Satan, "Where have you come from?" Satan answered the LORD, "From roaming through the earth and going back and forth in it." Then the LORD said to Satan, "Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil." "Does Job fear God for nothing?" Satan replied. "Have you not put a hedge around him and his household and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, so that his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land. But stretch out your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse you to your face." The LORD said to Satan, "Very well, then, everything he has is in your hands, but on the man himself do not lay a finger." Then Satan went out from the presence of the LORD.” (Job 1:7-12)
After a few seconds of heavenly bragging and demonic criticism, we witness the unbelievable; not only does God allow Satan to meddle with Job’s life, but he puts forward what can easily be interpreted as a challenge to ‘give it his best shot’ with the sole condition that Satan is not to physically harm the man. That is a dangerous amount of creative licence to give to someone with Satan’s personality.
The official Hebrew definition of “Satan” is “Accuser” or “Adversary”, but it may be just as true to characterize him as a malicious extremist. Within the chapter, Job goes from being the “greatest man of all the people of the east” to having nothing; in a matter of minutes he loses five hundred yoke of oxen, five hundred donkeys and three thousand camels to raids and thieves, seven thousand sheep and their attendants burn alive in a rain of fire, and Job’s seven sons and three daughters are crushed and suffocated in the collapse of their home. In every case a large number of servants are also killed, with the exception of one from each situation, as a messenger. Satan took everything from Job in one fell swoop. The power of the supernatural, exposed for what it is: terrifying.
Job is shocked to the core of his being and in his pain and grief, begins to act quite strangely; he does not curse or blame God for this uncalled for punishment, but instead he “got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised"” (Job 1:20-21). Few people would react to their heartache with declarations of joy and hope.
This response irritates Satan’s obviously competitive and prideful nature. He had underestimated Job’s commitment to his God; the kind of faith and devotion that the human heart is capable of is certainly a force to be reckoned with. Satan and God re-negotiate the terms of their agreement during a familiar exchange of words. God extends Satan’s infliction permission to Job’s body, but Satan must let him live (Job 2:3-6). Quite sure of himself this time, Satan proceeds to cover Job’s body in sores and boils, in an attempt to plague him into cursing God, but Job holds fast.
It is during this time of elongated physical torture that the people in Job’s life begin to offer their advice. Within the arguments made by his wife and three friends, we observe the fundamental, instinctual question of life that everyone must at some point face: WHY?
It is the battle of the question “WHY?” that is at the core of Job’s story. The reason that this particular tale fascinates the human imagination is that, for the first time in biblical history, the answer to the question “WHY?” is revealed, in the spiritual bet and conversation. To the reader, it is an explained motivation, as ‘unfair’ as it may seem; to Job, who lives in constant external and internal anguish, the whole situation is incomprehensible. So, when no explanation was offered by God, Job and his companions struggle through the process of finding an answer by their own means, based on their deductions and assumptions of the case at hand. Their conclusions are as limited, incomplete, and human centred as each individual person, by no fault of their own; these answers are the only ones that they can come up with and understand, and they are echoes of the conclusions all men and women draw in such situations.
Job’s wife condemns his stubbornness, and in frustration and despair of her own (as she has also just lost ten children and all of her worldly possessions), she appeals for him to “curse God and die” rather than continue to suffer (Job 2:9). The response of Job’s wife is quite typical of people who don’t try to justify or explain what happens, but quickly surrender to internal defeat. Her advice to Job is to “give up, give in and get it over with”, as she has done. This solution does not satisfy Job, and he continues to seek out a resolution through God-directed prayer and human-directed inquiry.
Eliphaz, the first of Joe’s friends to speak up, diagnoses the problem in a way that simultaneously protects God and condemns Job. He bases his inferences on the human concept of divine justice; God rewards for good and punishes for bad. Under this law, if Job is suffering, he has done something wrong, after all, “Who, being innocent, has ever perished? Where were the upright ever destroyed?” (Job 4:7). According to Eliphaz, bad things happen to good people because they’re not actually good... if bad things are happening, it’s your fault, not God’s. The fundamental flaw in this situation is that Eliphaz, as with all humans, naturally begin with people and expand to God instead of working from God first. Because God is the origin, the creator and the master, we cannot correctly assume that He works within the laws that He created for us. So often we forget that God is outside of law; He is just, but He is not bound to justice, and certainly not our imperfect definition or interpretation of what justice is. Job rejects Eliphaz’s analysis because he is completely convinced on his own innocence (and rightly so, as it was because of his model citizenship that he was originally targeted).
Bildad settles his stance between Eliphaz and Job; he believes that Job is innocent of wrong, and he also trusts God to act in accordance with justice and rightness. His advice is encouraging, but not immediately constructive or helpful; “wait it out, eventually things will start looking up, as long as you remain faithful” (Job 8:6). This is the passive-optimistic approach to problems... the “don’t worry, be happy” philosophy of life. After his conversation with Bildad, Job confesses that he fears direct confrontation with God, and is therefore trying to figure out his situation independently from God (Job 9:15). He cannot conform to Bildad’s paradigm because he is still actively trying to solve the problem. And so, his quest continues.
Zophar is the last to offer Job his two cents on the subject. He explains that Job’s focus is off center; if Job can stop trying to figure out the cause of his life’s ruin and start putting the emphasis back on God, he “will surely forget [his] trouble, recalling it only as waters gone by. Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become like morning. [He] will be secure, because there is hope” (Job 11:16-18). Alas, Job is once again unsatisfied with the advice of his companions. He is unready to let go of this grudge against God, and at the root of his indignance stands his own ignorant pride.
“But I have a mind as well as you; I am not inferior to you. Who does not know all these things? I have become a laughingstock to my friends, though I called upon God and he answered — a mere laughingstock, though righteous and blameless! Men at ease have contempt for misfortune.” (Job 12:3-5)
Job is overwhelmed by frustration and defeat. He completely disregards all of the advice from friends and family alike as foolish lies (Job 13:4-5), and proceeds to make his case to everyone, heavens included. Over and over his friends appeal to Job’s common sense; however, no sense can be talked into this man; he is heart-set on bringing this issue face to face with God, whatever the consequences. Eventually, “these three men stopped answering Job, because he was righteous in his own eyes” (Job 32:1). Elihu, another man who had been listening to the banter of the four men, takes over in the lecture and council of Job; his words, however, fall upon deaf ears and a closed mind.
“Then the LORD answered Job out of the storm” (Job 38:1).
God makes no effort to sugar coat his message. He gets right to the point in a massive, dramatic, wonderfully sharp, almost sarcastic way; “Where were you?”, “Who do you think you are?”, “Do you even know who you are talking to? I AM GOD! You are speck!” (Job 38-41).
God never explains his bet with the Devil, or any of the spiritual context. Job never gets to know why his life was unravelled. Job asked “WHY” and God answered with “WHO”. “WHY” isn’t the point of the story; God is. He is the answer to the important question, and the question asked will change based on the answer you receive.
The epilogue to this story is short and strange. After God finished putting Job back in his rightful, humble position, He turned his attention to Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, demanding sacrifices and offerings because they had not spoken truthfully or completely about God, as Job had (Job 42:7-8). Job, restored in God’s eyes (after a lot of prayer for himself and his friends), was given twice as much property as he had had before Satan stepped into his life. He had seven more sons and three more daughters, and “after this, Job lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation. And so he died, old and full of years” (Job 42:16-17).
God jump-started the physical and the spiritual realms at Creation, but that was obviously not the end of his impact upon them. He is outside of law and outside of time, but his fingerprints can be found all over the universe, and in every ‘insignificant’ event of our lives. Job’s story gives the Judeo-Christian believer an insight into the mind and the heart of their God; all-knowing, all-powerful and ever-present. It also provides a unique view of the spiritual attacks that Jews and Christians face because of their obedience. This story shows us a mirror to human reaction when something happens that can’t be, or will not be, explained. And, ultimately, it answers the question WHO... who will win the petty disagreement over a single man, and who will win the ultimate battle over the entire race...
But that’s what happens when you bet with God.
The biblical account of history spans just over four thousand years, and throughout the text of scripture, God speaks with his people and indeed all of creation in a wide variety of ways; in Genesis alone God delivers his message face to face and voice to voice, through a flame-engulfed shrub, through dreams and visions, in a pillar of fire and one of cloud, through prophets, by global flooding and literally written in stone. As His people develop new ways to ignore Him, barricade Him outside of their lives and intentionally misinterpret what He is saying, God continues to find more and more creative ways to communicate with the ever-expanding human race.
Though God is the only omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent force acting in and on our world, He is not the only supernatural being that the inhabitants of our planet have to worry about on a daily basis. Angels and the rebellious, fallen angels (more commonly referred to as demons) live in a world that is both parallel to and intermingled within our own. Angels are the physical and tangible presence of God and act as his messengers. Demons account for a third of the original angels, thrown out of heaven after their prideful attack on God’s spiritual kingdom. Traditionally, the angels are associated with the skies and spaces ‘above the world’ and demons are linked to the seas and deep places ‘under the earth’. Biblically, both angels and demons have equal access to our world, and often work directly with (and within) people.
In the book of Job, we are given a rare and incredibly unique insight into the methodology of our spiritual counterparts in creation. We listen in on a brief and bantering conversation between the extreme definitions of our moral scale, God and Satan.
“The LORD said to Satan, "Where have you come from?" Satan answered the LORD, "From roaming through the earth and going back and forth in it." Then the LORD said to Satan, "Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil." "Does Job fear God for nothing?" Satan replied. "Have you not put a hedge around him and his household and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, so that his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land. But stretch out your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse you to your face." The LORD said to Satan, "Very well, then, everything he has is in your hands, but on the man himself do not lay a finger." Then Satan went out from the presence of the LORD.” (Job 1:7-12)
After a few seconds of heavenly bragging and demonic criticism, we witness the unbelievable; not only does God allow Satan to meddle with Job’s life, but he puts forward what can easily be interpreted as a challenge to ‘give it his best shot’ with the sole condition that Satan is not to physically harm the man. That is a dangerous amount of creative licence to give to someone with Satan’s personality.
The official Hebrew definition of “Satan” is “Accuser” or “Adversary”, but it may be just as true to characterize him as a malicious extremist. Within the chapter, Job goes from being the “greatest man of all the people of the east” to having nothing; in a matter of minutes he loses five hundred yoke of oxen, five hundred donkeys and three thousand camels to raids and thieves, seven thousand sheep and their attendants burn alive in a rain of fire, and Job’s seven sons and three daughters are crushed and suffocated in the collapse of their home. In every case a large number of servants are also killed, with the exception of one from each situation, as a messenger. Satan took everything from Job in one fell swoop. The power of the supernatural, exposed for what it is: terrifying.
Job is shocked to the core of his being and in his pain and grief, begins to act quite strangely; he does not curse or blame God for this uncalled for punishment, but instead he “got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised"” (Job 1:20-21). Few people would react to their heartache with declarations of joy and hope.
This response irritates Satan’s obviously competitive and prideful nature. He had underestimated Job’s commitment to his God; the kind of faith and devotion that the human heart is capable of is certainly a force to be reckoned with. Satan and God re-negotiate the terms of their agreement during a familiar exchange of words. God extends Satan’s infliction permission to Job’s body, but Satan must let him live (Job 2:3-6). Quite sure of himself this time, Satan proceeds to cover Job’s body in sores and boils, in an attempt to plague him into cursing God, but Job holds fast.
It is during this time of elongated physical torture that the people in Job’s life begin to offer their advice. Within the arguments made by his wife and three friends, we observe the fundamental, instinctual question of life that everyone must at some point face: WHY?
It is the battle of the question “WHY?” that is at the core of Job’s story. The reason that this particular tale fascinates the human imagination is that, for the first time in biblical history, the answer to the question “WHY?” is revealed, in the spiritual bet and conversation. To the reader, it is an explained motivation, as ‘unfair’ as it may seem; to Job, who lives in constant external and internal anguish, the whole situation is incomprehensible. So, when no explanation was offered by God, Job and his companions struggle through the process of finding an answer by their own means, based on their deductions and assumptions of the case at hand. Their conclusions are as limited, incomplete, and human centred as each individual person, by no fault of their own; these answers are the only ones that they can come up with and understand, and they are echoes of the conclusions all men and women draw in such situations.
Job’s wife condemns his stubbornness, and in frustration and despair of her own (as she has also just lost ten children and all of her worldly possessions), she appeals for him to “curse God and die” rather than continue to suffer (Job 2:9). The response of Job’s wife is quite typical of people who don’t try to justify or explain what happens, but quickly surrender to internal defeat. Her advice to Job is to “give up, give in and get it over with”, as she has done. This solution does not satisfy Job, and he continues to seek out a resolution through God-directed prayer and human-directed inquiry.
Eliphaz, the first of Joe’s friends to speak up, diagnoses the problem in a way that simultaneously protects God and condemns Job. He bases his inferences on the human concept of divine justice; God rewards for good and punishes for bad. Under this law, if Job is suffering, he has done something wrong, after all, “Who, being innocent, has ever perished? Where were the upright ever destroyed?” (Job 4:7). According to Eliphaz, bad things happen to good people because they’re not actually good... if bad things are happening, it’s your fault, not God’s. The fundamental flaw in this situation is that Eliphaz, as with all humans, naturally begin with people and expand to God instead of working from God first. Because God is the origin, the creator and the master, we cannot correctly assume that He works within the laws that He created for us. So often we forget that God is outside of law; He is just, but He is not bound to justice, and certainly not our imperfect definition or interpretation of what justice is. Job rejects Eliphaz’s analysis because he is completely convinced on his own innocence (and rightly so, as it was because of his model citizenship that he was originally targeted).
Bildad settles his stance between Eliphaz and Job; he believes that Job is innocent of wrong, and he also trusts God to act in accordance with justice and rightness. His advice is encouraging, but not immediately constructive or helpful; “wait it out, eventually things will start looking up, as long as you remain faithful” (Job 8:6). This is the passive-optimistic approach to problems... the “don’t worry, be happy” philosophy of life. After his conversation with Bildad, Job confesses that he fears direct confrontation with God, and is therefore trying to figure out his situation independently from God (Job 9:15). He cannot conform to Bildad’s paradigm because he is still actively trying to solve the problem. And so, his quest continues.
Zophar is the last to offer Job his two cents on the subject. He explains that Job’s focus is off center; if Job can stop trying to figure out the cause of his life’s ruin and start putting the emphasis back on God, he “will surely forget [his] trouble, recalling it only as waters gone by. Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become like morning. [He] will be secure, because there is hope” (Job 11:16-18). Alas, Job is once again unsatisfied with the advice of his companions. He is unready to let go of this grudge against God, and at the root of his indignance stands his own ignorant pride.
“But I have a mind as well as you; I am not inferior to you. Who does not know all these things? I have become a laughingstock to my friends, though I called upon God and he answered — a mere laughingstock, though righteous and blameless! Men at ease have contempt for misfortune.” (Job 12:3-5)
Job is overwhelmed by frustration and defeat. He completely disregards all of the advice from friends and family alike as foolish lies (Job 13:4-5), and proceeds to make his case to everyone, heavens included. Over and over his friends appeal to Job’s common sense; however, no sense can be talked into this man; he is heart-set on bringing this issue face to face with God, whatever the consequences. Eventually, “these three men stopped answering Job, because he was righteous in his own eyes” (Job 32:1). Elihu, another man who had been listening to the banter of the four men, takes over in the lecture and council of Job; his words, however, fall upon deaf ears and a closed mind.
“Then the LORD answered Job out of the storm” (Job 38:1).
God makes no effort to sugar coat his message. He gets right to the point in a massive, dramatic, wonderfully sharp, almost sarcastic way; “Where were you?”, “Who do you think you are?”, “Do you even know who you are talking to? I AM GOD! You are speck!” (Job 38-41).
God never explains his bet with the Devil, or any of the spiritual context. Job never gets to know why his life was unravelled. Job asked “WHY” and God answered with “WHO”. “WHY” isn’t the point of the story; God is. He is the answer to the important question, and the question asked will change based on the answer you receive.
The epilogue to this story is short and strange. After God finished putting Job back in his rightful, humble position, He turned his attention to Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, demanding sacrifices and offerings because they had not spoken truthfully or completely about God, as Job had (Job 42:7-8). Job, restored in God’s eyes (after a lot of prayer for himself and his friends), was given twice as much property as he had had before Satan stepped into his life. He had seven more sons and three more daughters, and “after this, Job lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation. And so he died, old and full of years” (Job 42:16-17).
God jump-started the physical and the spiritual realms at Creation, but that was obviously not the end of his impact upon them. He is outside of law and outside of time, but his fingerprints can be found all over the universe, and in every ‘insignificant’ event of our lives. Job’s story gives the Judeo-Christian believer an insight into the mind and the heart of their God; all-knowing, all-powerful and ever-present. It also provides a unique view of the spiritual attacks that Jews and Christians face because of their obedience. This story shows us a mirror to human reaction when something happens that can’t be, or will not be, explained. And, ultimately, it answers the question WHO... who will win the petty disagreement over a single man, and who will win the ultimate battle over the entire race...
But that’s what happens when you bet with God.
Thursday, 28 February 2008
The Wake Up Call
For a few seconds I thought that the deafening, high pitched screech was part of a dream; by the time I realized that I was definitely awake, I was wishing that the alarm had been a figment of my imagination.
After weighing my options (facing the wintery darkness outside or staying inside with the heat no matter how hot it got) I grumbled internally and made my way to the kitchen. My roommates and I worked our way around the apartment collecting jackets, boots and scarves, mumbling mildly profane curses at the still-screaming alarm on the wall. “Fire” becomes an equally resentful curse to any other four-letter-word you could think of at 12:43am. As we followed a few other students outside and did our best to zip out the cold, we could just barely hear the sirens over conversation and chattering teeth.
A few minutes later, a fleet of fire trucks could be seen flying up College Drive. After speeding into the parking lot (and clearing the huddling mass of students a little further away from the doors), uniform-clad firefighters slid out of their seats and sauntered casually into the building.
Admittedly, we could spy no smoke and we didn’t feel like there was an impending doom, but a little get-up-and-go would have been nice. We waited. Sooner or later one of two things was bound to happen; either the building would burst into uncontrollable flame and all of our possessions would be scorched, or they would let us go back inside. Either would have been fine with me... both options would be warmer than shivering ourselves into mild hypothermia, and I’m sure I could have used the excuse “the fire ate my homework” at some point. Finally, after each of the four fire trucks had stood vacant for a while and the police SUV had lapped the parking lot, we were called inside. We waved a sarcastic farewell to each vehicle as it passed the double doors and rode off into the distance.
If the fire had been a real one, I’m sure the spin of this particular entry would be incredibly different. I am thankful for people who are willing to do what I am not always ready to. There are few things that could drag my butt out of bed and across town at 12:43am, and a false alarm is not one of them. But what am I willing to react like that for? A friend in need would get me up. I would run across town for anyone in my family... but what about a stranger?
People will ask “Where’s the fire?” if they catch you in a hurry. Most of the time it’s not a fire that has you on the move, but something did get you motivated. God used to make me move like that. I used to talk about Him to people as though I could be saving their lives... like the Fire was real. Somewhere along the road I started believing that people were calling in false alarms. If firefighters stopped responding whenever they thought they were unnecessary, people would burn and die. I have become a lazy firefighter. Am I responsible for the fires that are set? No, they are not my fault; however, I can be held responsible if I don’t take action to stop them from growing, and try to stomp them out.
In Ephesians 6:13-18, we are given spiritual battle equipment in the armor of God: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes of readiness and peace, the shield of faith, the sword of the spirit and the helmet of salvation. In today’s world, I think we need to add a few more elements to our God gear: the hydrant and hose of love. God made love to be under pressure within us, and also to have an explosive reaction to our world! When we tap into the love of God and aim our lives at people, they will get blown away. There is no way I’m going to sit on that truck anymore. Fire or no fire, this world is about to get soaked.
After weighing my options (facing the wintery darkness outside or staying inside with the heat no matter how hot it got) I grumbled internally and made my way to the kitchen. My roommates and I worked our way around the apartment collecting jackets, boots and scarves, mumbling mildly profane curses at the still-screaming alarm on the wall. “Fire” becomes an equally resentful curse to any other four-letter-word you could think of at 12:43am. As we followed a few other students outside and did our best to zip out the cold, we could just barely hear the sirens over conversation and chattering teeth.
A few minutes later, a fleet of fire trucks could be seen flying up College Drive. After speeding into the parking lot (and clearing the huddling mass of students a little further away from the doors), uniform-clad firefighters slid out of their seats and sauntered casually into the building.
Admittedly, we could spy no smoke and we didn’t feel like there was an impending doom, but a little get-up-and-go would have been nice. We waited. Sooner or later one of two things was bound to happen; either the building would burst into uncontrollable flame and all of our possessions would be scorched, or they would let us go back inside. Either would have been fine with me... both options would be warmer than shivering ourselves into mild hypothermia, and I’m sure I could have used the excuse “the fire ate my homework” at some point. Finally, after each of the four fire trucks had stood vacant for a while and the police SUV had lapped the parking lot, we were called inside. We waved a sarcastic farewell to each vehicle as it passed the double doors and rode off into the distance.
If the fire had been a real one, I’m sure the spin of this particular entry would be incredibly different. I am thankful for people who are willing to do what I am not always ready to. There are few things that could drag my butt out of bed and across town at 12:43am, and a false alarm is not one of them. But what am I willing to react like that for? A friend in need would get me up. I would run across town for anyone in my family... but what about a stranger?
People will ask “Where’s the fire?” if they catch you in a hurry. Most of the time it’s not a fire that has you on the move, but something did get you motivated. God used to make me move like that. I used to talk about Him to people as though I could be saving their lives... like the Fire was real. Somewhere along the road I started believing that people were calling in false alarms. If firefighters stopped responding whenever they thought they were unnecessary, people would burn and die. I have become a lazy firefighter. Am I responsible for the fires that are set? No, they are not my fault; however, I can be held responsible if I don’t take action to stop them from growing, and try to stomp them out.
In Ephesians 6:13-18, we are given spiritual battle equipment in the armor of God: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes of readiness and peace, the shield of faith, the sword of the spirit and the helmet of salvation. In today’s world, I think we need to add a few more elements to our God gear: the hydrant and hose of love. God made love to be under pressure within us, and also to have an explosive reaction to our world! When we tap into the love of God and aim our lives at people, they will get blown away. There is no way I’m going to sit on that truck anymore. Fire or no fire, this world is about to get soaked.
Thursday, 14 February 2008
Let’s Talk About “Soap”
What makes a really good soap? Is it the texture, the smell, the colour, the fresh feeling of being clean again? I think it is the unique combination of all of these elements that attracts people towards a certain brand of soap, and makes favourites out of a select few.
Personally, I’ve always fancied mint scented soaps. I know, mint isn’t a common sudsy smell, but for some reason mint is my kind of bar. But it’s hard to find a good mint-scented soap, so when I find one that suits me, I tend to get pretty attached... as long as I’m the only one using it.
I’d like to think it’s a respect thing, but if you boil it down it’s probably pride. Whatever the core motivation, I can’t use exactly the same kind of soap as anyone else. I like my scent to be somewhat exclusive, and I’m a little possessive about my soaps, with one exception.
I have a friend. She’s amazing and beautiful, and I look up to her in many ways. We have a similar taste in soaps, both oddly attracted to mint. I’ve always thought she made good soap selections; similar to mine, but the brand was different. Recently I discovered she had switched brands. You can always tell when someone starts using your soap, and (though I’m not proud of it) I often find myself wafting the air to make sure no one around me smells quite the same. She started to. Unfortunately, it smelled pretty good on her.
I decided to ask her about the soap. I was sure I already knew, but then sometimes your senses can mislead you. Well, she was indeed using the same soap. At first I got a little territorial over the scent... after all, it was a good mint and not easy to come by... but after a time of listening to her talk about this soap, how it had kind of grown on her, how clean it made her feel, how much she liked the texture, aroma, colour, packaging... almost everything about the soap, and some things I had not even noticed about it myself, something inside of my sudsy soul told be to back off. She liked the soap in a way I couldn’t, and it was actually a much better soap for her than it was for me.
So, the soap I’ve been using isn’t one I really want to use anymore, partly because a shared smell loses some of the lustre and appeal a special soap has... but mostly because her friendship is far more important than any kind of soap. Now I’m keeping my eyes and my nostrils open for a different lathering agent. I still like my mints, but I’m going to have to find another brand... or maybe it’s time to try out something completely different, like orange or vanilla scented soap. For the time being I’m going back to the standard Ivory, the soap-scented-soap. It may be a while before I can find a satisfactory replacement for that last mint one; or maybe I’ll find the perfect kind in Wal-Mart tomorrow, who knows? Right now I’m trying to be satisfied with just being clean.
Personally, I’ve always fancied mint scented soaps. I know, mint isn’t a common sudsy smell, but for some reason mint is my kind of bar. But it’s hard to find a good mint-scented soap, so when I find one that suits me, I tend to get pretty attached... as long as I’m the only one using it.
I’d like to think it’s a respect thing, but if you boil it down it’s probably pride. Whatever the core motivation, I can’t use exactly the same kind of soap as anyone else. I like my scent to be somewhat exclusive, and I’m a little possessive about my soaps, with one exception.
I have a friend. She’s amazing and beautiful, and I look up to her in many ways. We have a similar taste in soaps, both oddly attracted to mint. I’ve always thought she made good soap selections; similar to mine, but the brand was different. Recently I discovered she had switched brands. You can always tell when someone starts using your soap, and (though I’m not proud of it) I often find myself wafting the air to make sure no one around me smells quite the same. She started to. Unfortunately, it smelled pretty good on her.
I decided to ask her about the soap. I was sure I already knew, but then sometimes your senses can mislead you. Well, she was indeed using the same soap. At first I got a little territorial over the scent... after all, it was a good mint and not easy to come by... but after a time of listening to her talk about this soap, how it had kind of grown on her, how clean it made her feel, how much she liked the texture, aroma, colour, packaging... almost everything about the soap, and some things I had not even noticed about it myself, something inside of my sudsy soul told be to back off. She liked the soap in a way I couldn’t, and it was actually a much better soap for her than it was for me.
So, the soap I’ve been using isn’t one I really want to use anymore, partly because a shared smell loses some of the lustre and appeal a special soap has... but mostly because her friendship is far more important than any kind of soap. Now I’m keeping my eyes and my nostrils open for a different lathering agent. I still like my mints, but I’m going to have to find another brand... or maybe it’s time to try out something completely different, like orange or vanilla scented soap. For the time being I’m going back to the standard Ivory, the soap-scented-soap. It may be a while before I can find a satisfactory replacement for that last mint one; or maybe I’ll find the perfect kind in Wal-Mart tomorrow, who knows? Right now I’m trying to be satisfied with just being clean.
Tuesday, 12 February 2008
My Smile
I can’t stop smiling.
I don’t know if it’s because of who he is or who He is.
I see Him in him. In the way he speaks, in the pattern of his words, in the passions of his heart. Through his life I see His life. It’s in the way he starts the conversation when both our heads are bowed. It’s the way he continues it when we open our eyes and return to time and its reality.
And the smiling goes on.
Somehow everything he says comes back to what He says. It’s amazing how often he talks about Him! He’s so obviously at the core of his life. It’s inspiring. It’s contagious. It’s convicting, in a wonderful way.
And I just can’t stop smiling.
I don’t know if it’s because of who he is or who He is.
I see Him in him. In the way he speaks, in the pattern of his words, in the passions of his heart. Through his life I see His life. It’s in the way he starts the conversation when both our heads are bowed. It’s the way he continues it when we open our eyes and return to time and its reality.
And the smiling goes on.
Somehow everything he says comes back to what He says. It’s amazing how often he talks about Him! He’s so obviously at the core of his life. It’s inspiring. It’s contagious. It’s convicting, in a wonderful way.
And I just can’t stop smiling.
The Hypocrite’s Tear
Do your homework. Get more sleep. Love thy neighbour. Simple phrases of pass-along advice that cycle though our lives, through our lips and into the world. Again and again we collect and repeat, like well-meaning parrots that hear but cannot truly listen to the words. Good advice becomes conversational formality and meaning is lost.
If you do not do your homework and you do not get your sleep you will suffer the consequences. If you do not love thy neighbour... If you do not love... You will suffer and I will suffer. Hypocrites are not born of a malicious intent to deceive... Liars are. Hypocrisy is born from other forms of death: idleness, carelessness, hopelessness, laze and abandon: afflictions and infections of the spirit that move into our habits and patterns. We mean what we say, but we do what we like and so often those are not the same.
I am like you. I say “forgive” and cling to a grudge. I say “don’t judge” and categorize, stereotype, underestimate and jump to conclusions. I pray and I condemn. I hug and hit. I am a fallible, pathetic, vengeful hypocrite. The tears of a hypocrite are unbearably bitter and full of sorrow, when the point of realization finally comes and the deep, internal understanding of life can no longer be ignored. The overwhelming shame and grief of this position… it makes you feel naked, worthless and hollow. All you can do is cry. All you can do is cry the lonely, mournful, empty hypocrite’s tear.
Thank God for the irrational love of God.
Thank God for Christ. Thank God for an infallible friend and companion who understands what it feels like to be publicly exposed, openly mocked, spiritually burdened and ultimately betrayed. Thank God for knowing what it feels like to sit alone in the pit of despair… and for sharing what comes next.
The hypocrite’s tear falls onto the shoulder of an incredible man. He collects our tears of pain, fear, discouragement, shame, spite, doubt, brokenness and depression as they fall, and trades for the hope and joy and love of God. That is what comes next for the hypocrite… Joy! Love! Peace!
Well, that’s what can come next.
The tears are yours, and you decide how to spend them. You can suffer alone forever, if you would prefer. You can chose to stay wrapped up in despair and shame, if you’re more comfortable in the cold and in the dark… but the next time that this hypocrite’s tear falls, it’s going to be one of burden-less joy.
If you do not do your homework and you do not get your sleep you will suffer the consequences. If you do not love thy neighbour... If you do not love... You will suffer and I will suffer. Hypocrites are not born of a malicious intent to deceive... Liars are. Hypocrisy is born from other forms of death: idleness, carelessness, hopelessness, laze and abandon: afflictions and infections of the spirit that move into our habits and patterns. We mean what we say, but we do what we like and so often those are not the same.
I am like you. I say “forgive” and cling to a grudge. I say “don’t judge” and categorize, stereotype, underestimate and jump to conclusions. I pray and I condemn. I hug and hit. I am a fallible, pathetic, vengeful hypocrite. The tears of a hypocrite are unbearably bitter and full of sorrow, when the point of realization finally comes and the deep, internal understanding of life can no longer be ignored. The overwhelming shame and grief of this position… it makes you feel naked, worthless and hollow. All you can do is cry. All you can do is cry the lonely, mournful, empty hypocrite’s tear.
Thank God for the irrational love of God.
Thank God for Christ. Thank God for an infallible friend and companion who understands what it feels like to be publicly exposed, openly mocked, spiritually burdened and ultimately betrayed. Thank God for knowing what it feels like to sit alone in the pit of despair… and for sharing what comes next.
The hypocrite’s tear falls onto the shoulder of an incredible man. He collects our tears of pain, fear, discouragement, shame, spite, doubt, brokenness and depression as they fall, and trades for the hope and joy and love of God. That is what comes next for the hypocrite… Joy! Love! Peace!
Well, that’s what can come next.
The tears are yours, and you decide how to spend them. You can suffer alone forever, if you would prefer. You can chose to stay wrapped up in despair and shame, if you’re more comfortable in the cold and in the dark… but the next time that this hypocrite’s tear falls, it’s going to be one of burden-less joy.
Friday, 18 January 2008
In an Instant
In only one instant she could lighten a moment
Brighten a circumstance and bring out your best
She was goofy and fun - she made everyone laugh
With the way that she acted, the way that she dressed
In only one second your day was improved
Because of her smile, her inspiring craze
She could catch you off guard with one conversation
Your life could be changed - she's an intricate maze
In only one hearbeat your life's steady rhythm
Is thrown to the ground and the knife starts to twist
Impossible - not real - you're angry, upset
The finger gets pointed then turns to a fist
In the blink of an eye it all changes again
You're numb and quiet, reflective in thought
A silver lining peeks through the thick rain clouds
You begin to dwell on memories forgot
In an instant you get it, you know you'll move on
You'll learn from her life and help her friends out
Remember to love and be patient with tears
Because maybe that's what this whole thing is about
January 18th, 2005
For one amazing friend and three beautiful souls
Brighten a circumstance and bring out your best
She was goofy and fun - she made everyone laugh
With the way that she acted, the way that she dressed
In only one second your day was improved
Because of her smile, her inspiring craze
She could catch you off guard with one conversation
Your life could be changed - she's an intricate maze
In only one hearbeat your life's steady rhythm
Is thrown to the ground and the knife starts to twist
Impossible - not real - you're angry, upset
The finger gets pointed then turns to a fist
In the blink of an eye it all changes again
You're numb and quiet, reflective in thought
A silver lining peeks through the thick rain clouds
You begin to dwell on memories forgot
In an instant you get it, you know you'll move on
You'll learn from her life and help her friends out
Remember to love and be patient with tears
Because maybe that's what this whole thing is about
January 18th, 2005
For one amazing friend and three beautiful souls
Thursday, 17 January 2008
Curing the Common Cold Shoulder
Encouragement is a powerful thing. A supportive embrace, a kind smile and a hopeful conversation are expressions of love than can be found in many friendships, especially after a traumatic or upsetting time; but not everyone has someone to talk to. There are those of us who go for hours or days staring in silence at the ground as we walk through the city. Some of us are going through a depression, most of you are tired and everyone is busy. Are there people here that love you? Do you have someone that will ask you how you’re doing and wait for a real response? Is there a door you can knock on, a person you can call, a place to call home? If your answers are yes, I hope you understand the blessing; it’s a gift you can share in so many ways. If any of your answers were no, this article is written to you, as a simple word of encouragement.
To the lonely; you are not alone. Hundreds of people on campus are dealing with this problem on so many levels, and you are (ironically) united with others through your solitude. Tough it out, my friend... loneliness is temporary and it will pass in time. Being alone or single is not synonymous with being incomplete or worthless. Take the extra time to explore who you are. Pick up a new skill, find a hobby, do your homework! There are some things that you can’t do when you’re surrounded by people, or in a relationship. Smile, be inspired, and embrace whatever situation you are in. The silver lining is somewhere on those rain clouds – but sometimes you have to be right in the downpour before you can see it.
To the weary; take a deep breath. This is a cost-free, risk-free treatment for emotional, mental and spiritual infections. Just breathe. Forget for a moment the test you failed, the friend you ticked off, the shift you were late for, the bus you missed... and just breathe. If you need meds, take them. If you need sleep, get it. If you need a break, just sit. Take a walk instead of a rush, take a bath instead of a shower, watch TV for an hour or two, I won’t tell your professors. So much of the sickness we go through starts with us in the first place. Find and maintain some balance in your life. Take a few deep breaths – then see how you’re feeling.
To the rest of you; say good morning. Smile. Make some eye contact in the hallway. Look at the people around you and actually see them. Hand out compliments like they’re free. Talk and listen. Make a phone call. Read a comic book. Break your routine for a while and do something for the fun of it. Go out of your way to make someone’s day – It might just make yours.
To the lonely; you are not alone. Hundreds of people on campus are dealing with this problem on so many levels, and you are (ironically) united with others through your solitude. Tough it out, my friend... loneliness is temporary and it will pass in time. Being alone or single is not synonymous with being incomplete or worthless. Take the extra time to explore who you are. Pick up a new skill, find a hobby, do your homework! There are some things that you can’t do when you’re surrounded by people, or in a relationship. Smile, be inspired, and embrace whatever situation you are in. The silver lining is somewhere on those rain clouds – but sometimes you have to be right in the downpour before you can see it.
To the weary; take a deep breath. This is a cost-free, risk-free treatment for emotional, mental and spiritual infections. Just breathe. Forget for a moment the test you failed, the friend you ticked off, the shift you were late for, the bus you missed... and just breathe. If you need meds, take them. If you need sleep, get it. If you need a break, just sit. Take a walk instead of a rush, take a bath instead of a shower, watch TV for an hour or two, I won’t tell your professors. So much of the sickness we go through starts with us in the first place. Find and maintain some balance in your life. Take a few deep breaths – then see how you’re feeling.
To the rest of you; say good morning. Smile. Make some eye contact in the hallway. Look at the people around you and actually see them. Hand out compliments like they’re free. Talk and listen. Make a phone call. Read a comic book. Break your routine for a while and do something for the fun of it. Go out of your way to make someone’s day – It might just make yours.
Saturday, 12 January 2008
Jesus, Socrates and Two Cups o’ Joe
[Jesus is ordering his medium double-double from Tim Horton’s when Socrates pipes up from further back in the line. After both retrieving their drinks, they sit down at a corner table to talk. It is true that these men did not meet in our reality and if a meeting were to have occurred it would likely have been in a philosophical arena and not a 21st Century coffee shop; however, if two historical characters as important as Christ and Socrates were to meet at random in our modern age, then Tim Horton’s is almost certainly the place. For the purposes of this script, both Socrates and Jesus will be speaking modern, Canadian English. Direct quotes are in italics, the rest is creative licence, historical speculation and original insight. Jesus quotes from Colossians 1:15-17 & Ecclesiastes 8:17. Socrates quotes from various places in Plato's Apology.]
“...Yes, and if you could double cup it for me, please. It’s a long way home. Thank you.”
“Jesus Christ! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here.”
“Well, well. Socrates, how’ve you been doing? Keeping yourself out of trouble?”
“Just the opposite, though it was not my intention. It seems that you can’t say anything anymore, without being tattled on to the ‘authorities’, or have someone twist your words.”
“Amen to that.”
“I really can’t believe how quickly gossip can spread through Athens. Dionysus would be proud of how dedicatedly the grapevine is kept up in Greece. Publicly criticize one religious or political figurehead and suddenly you’re corrupting the youth! I have many enemies of the worst and most dangerous kind in the public sphere of Athens, and unfortunately it is this that will be my destruction if I am destroyed in the long run. The people and not my ‘faults’ will condemn me, because gods know I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Believe me, I can sympathize with you on that point. The Jews and Romans alike have been trying to kill me for years, but they could never settle on a good enough excuse. Finally they picked up on the fact that I claimed to be God, and got me to trial on that, though it was a wobbly prosecution throughout the entire proceedings, and almost got thrown out three times.”
“Demigod.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said God – as though it was singular – you should have said demigod, or spirit, diamon, even theos.”
“No, I meant God: singular, all powerful and exclusive. And I am the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. By me all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by me and for me. I am before all things, and in me all things hold together.”
“Interesting idea, but I have a few problems with that little speech you just gave. It sounds to me like you’re speaking over your own head.”
“Socrates, your method only works to a point. I, unlike any peer or professional you have met and analysed so far, cannot speak over my head or beyond my years to the point of fault. I’m God. My breadth of experience is infinite, which is more than you can or have thus claimed.”
“You’re right... I neither know nor think I know. But you speak as though you know, but of things that are not meant to be known.”
“If you do not know of these things which I claim to know of, how can you be sure that I do not know of them? You contradict yourself, Socrates. You say you do not know and yet in your doubt of my wisdom and understanding you are automatically claiming personal knowledge. Tisk, tisk my friend.”
“Now this has become twisted gibberish and doublespeak.”
“Welcome to the proverbial ‘other side of the fence’ for is this not the exact type of logic you turn on others?”
“You’re good, Jesus. You can manipulate a conversation as well as I can and attract an unequalled crowd, it’s true. It seems whether in Judea, Athens or this little coffee shop, people like to hear the cross-examination of the pretenders to wisdom; there is an amusement in this for many. I am more than seventy years of age, and I have seen a few things in my time. I might, perhaps, fancy myself wiser than other men, but I have never claimed supernatural wisdom... because I have it not myself. Holding to this understanding, your argument is somewhat futile. You’re proving something I have already admitted true. How insignificant a position, to prove the obvious.”
“No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun. Despite all his efforts to search it out, man cannot discover its meaning. Even if a wise man claims he knows, he cannot truly comprehend it. I am just a man to you, Socrates. Unless you can ever see me as more than that, our conversation is a circular stalemate.”
“In that case, friend, my coffee has been cooling far too long and I really should go... people to see and all that. But I appreciate the conversation, even if we never get anywhere. For as long as I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of Philosophy.”
“Glad to hear it. Anything less would have been a disappointment from you.”
“So, the hour of departure has arrived, then. Until our next conversation, Christ.”
“Until then.”
“...Yes, and if you could double cup it for me, please. It’s a long way home. Thank you.”
“Jesus Christ! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here.”
“Well, well. Socrates, how’ve you been doing? Keeping yourself out of trouble?”
“Just the opposite, though it was not my intention. It seems that you can’t say anything anymore, without being tattled on to the ‘authorities’, or have someone twist your words.”
“Amen to that.”
“I really can’t believe how quickly gossip can spread through Athens. Dionysus would be proud of how dedicatedly the grapevine is kept up in Greece. Publicly criticize one religious or political figurehead and suddenly you’re corrupting the youth! I have many enemies of the worst and most dangerous kind in the public sphere of Athens, and unfortunately it is this that will be my destruction if I am destroyed in the long run. The people and not my ‘faults’ will condemn me, because gods know I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Believe me, I can sympathize with you on that point. The Jews and Romans alike have been trying to kill me for years, but they could never settle on a good enough excuse. Finally they picked up on the fact that I claimed to be God, and got me to trial on that, though it was a wobbly prosecution throughout the entire proceedings, and almost got thrown out three times.”
“Demigod.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said God – as though it was singular – you should have said demigod, or spirit, diamon, even theos.”
“No, I meant God: singular, all powerful and exclusive. And I am the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. By me all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by me and for me. I am before all things, and in me all things hold together.”
“Interesting idea, but I have a few problems with that little speech you just gave. It sounds to me like you’re speaking over your own head.”
“Socrates, your method only works to a point. I, unlike any peer or professional you have met and analysed so far, cannot speak over my head or beyond my years to the point of fault. I’m God. My breadth of experience is infinite, which is more than you can or have thus claimed.”
“You’re right... I neither know nor think I know. But you speak as though you know, but of things that are not meant to be known.”
“If you do not know of these things which I claim to know of, how can you be sure that I do not know of them? You contradict yourself, Socrates. You say you do not know and yet in your doubt of my wisdom and understanding you are automatically claiming personal knowledge. Tisk, tisk my friend.”
“Now this has become twisted gibberish and doublespeak.”
“Welcome to the proverbial ‘other side of the fence’ for is this not the exact type of logic you turn on others?”
“You’re good, Jesus. You can manipulate a conversation as well as I can and attract an unequalled crowd, it’s true. It seems whether in Judea, Athens or this little coffee shop, people like to hear the cross-examination of the pretenders to wisdom; there is an amusement in this for many. I am more than seventy years of age, and I have seen a few things in my time. I might, perhaps, fancy myself wiser than other men, but I have never claimed supernatural wisdom... because I have it not myself. Holding to this understanding, your argument is somewhat futile. You’re proving something I have already admitted true. How insignificant a position, to prove the obvious.”
“No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun. Despite all his efforts to search it out, man cannot discover its meaning. Even if a wise man claims he knows, he cannot truly comprehend it. I am just a man to you, Socrates. Unless you can ever see me as more than that, our conversation is a circular stalemate.”
“In that case, friend, my coffee has been cooling far too long and I really should go... people to see and all that. But I appreciate the conversation, even if we never get anywhere. For as long as I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of Philosophy.”
“Glad to hear it. Anything less would have been a disappointment from you.”
“So, the hour of departure has arrived, then. Until our next conversation, Christ.”
“Until then.”
Friday, 11 January 2008
Defeater of the Algonquin Bear
I have maintained the suspense of my story for far too long. My physical and emotional therapy has been quite the process and only now that I have broken through the shock of this traumatic event do I feel ready to give the full account of my face.
Last year was one of great transition and change in my life. Although the vast majority of this movement was positive, I was completely overwhelmed by the thoughts of my recent past that I quickly set out to clear my head the best way I know how – direct contact with the natural world – but I got a little more contact than I was expecting.
I drove up to Algonquin Park, borrowed the necessary cross country ski equipment and headed out on my thoughtful excursion. I am by no means a natural athlete, and before long there were some too-toned spandex-clad competitors quite ready to pass me by. I tried to get off of the trail as quickly and smoothly as possible when awkwardness got the best of me and before I knew it, I was falling sidelong into the snow. It is ridiculously difficult to put yourself upright after falling on skis, so to avoid adding unnecessary frustration to my already fatigued and hungry body, I unclipped my feet and stood on the path, thankful to be in just my boots again.
Not yet ready to return to the skiing, I played a short game of personal I-Spy until a cave, not 20 feet from where I was standing, caught my attention. Curiosity usually overrules common sense in my life, and so it didn’t take me long to decide that spelunking would be much more fun than another round of the park with my poles.
The cave itself wasn’t very deep – 15 feet maximum – but it was a good shelter from the snow and the sun, so I grabbed my granola bar and began to unwrap it when I was suddenly aware of a mysterious presence. It wasn’t a sound, per se, but chills shot up my spine and my eyes grew very wide as I turned, looking over my shoulder to the back of the cave. There, with dark, angry, wild eyes was a bear! A huge bear, at least three feet tall!
I was in such a state of shock that I began to think crazy things; the first was how bizarrely similar this situation was to the childhood song “I Met A Bear”, and the second, prompted by the first, was to run. I ran. I ran screaming, out of the cave, past my skis and to a protective looking maple tree. I would have continued to run, except trees require climbing and not running, so I climbed as fast as I could, which was, admittedly, not very quickly thanks to the slippery ski-boots and my out-of-shape shape. I don’t know if this has yet occurred to you, but bears can also run. This concept had eluded me earlier as it was not noted in the aforementioned song, and so I was unprepared for a pursuit of any kind, but less the frightening and violent one that followed. Though I thought I was high enough to be safely out of danger from the three foot tall beast, I was apparently still in range of its giant, clawed paw when it stood up and fully extended its reach. I was caught in the face by a bear!
Needless to say, my nerves were completely shot at this point. I was so stunned by my encounter that my consciousness was affected, at least in part, because it was a long time later that I came to my senses and found myself to be leaning no longer against the large trunk of the maple, but against my own van! The same two spandex skiers that had passed me before were now standing over me, offering blankets for my shivering back and towels for my bleeding face. They had called the park’s patrolman to help me home, but I assured them I was fine and after an hour of attentive supervision and some refreshing conversation, I drove the journey home.
What a traumatic event, but what an incredible story. I would be tempted to send it in to the Toronto Star... if there was even a grain of truth in the tale.
The real story is much less interesting, but I have been told that it is pretty good, as non-fiction goes: New years eve I picked a fight with a couple of 11-ish year old boys, who I have to admit are stronger than they look. I threw them into the snow a few times, but the majority of the battle I spent on my face in a snow-bank, or on my back with snow being thrown at me. It was one of these latter moments that another little guy friend of mine thought it would be a really good time to head down the hill on his toboggan. Long story short, I got my face run over by a seven year old and his sled.
So there you have it, folks. The fiction and the truth, for you to chose.
Props go to Tim Beckner for the story idea, to Tyler Ouderkirk for the scar tissue, and special thanks to Jamison, Bryce, Colin and Cammie for the take down. No wildlife was harmed during the writing of this piece. The author of this story does not condone the use of spandex in any way.
This has been a Fartoomuchtimeonyourhands Production.
Last year was one of great transition and change in my life. Although the vast majority of this movement was positive, I was completely overwhelmed by the thoughts of my recent past that I quickly set out to clear my head the best way I know how – direct contact with the natural world – but I got a little more contact than I was expecting.
I drove up to Algonquin Park, borrowed the necessary cross country ski equipment and headed out on my thoughtful excursion. I am by no means a natural athlete, and before long there were some too-toned spandex-clad competitors quite ready to pass me by. I tried to get off of the trail as quickly and smoothly as possible when awkwardness got the best of me and before I knew it, I was falling sidelong into the snow. It is ridiculously difficult to put yourself upright after falling on skis, so to avoid adding unnecessary frustration to my already fatigued and hungry body, I unclipped my feet and stood on the path, thankful to be in just my boots again.
Not yet ready to return to the skiing, I played a short game of personal I-Spy until a cave, not 20 feet from where I was standing, caught my attention. Curiosity usually overrules common sense in my life, and so it didn’t take me long to decide that spelunking would be much more fun than another round of the park with my poles.
The cave itself wasn’t very deep – 15 feet maximum – but it was a good shelter from the snow and the sun, so I grabbed my granola bar and began to unwrap it when I was suddenly aware of a mysterious presence. It wasn’t a sound, per se, but chills shot up my spine and my eyes grew very wide as I turned, looking over my shoulder to the back of the cave. There, with dark, angry, wild eyes was a bear! A huge bear, at least three feet tall!
I was in such a state of shock that I began to think crazy things; the first was how bizarrely similar this situation was to the childhood song “I Met A Bear”, and the second, prompted by the first, was to run. I ran. I ran screaming, out of the cave, past my skis and to a protective looking maple tree. I would have continued to run, except trees require climbing and not running, so I climbed as fast as I could, which was, admittedly, not very quickly thanks to the slippery ski-boots and my out-of-shape shape. I don’t know if this has yet occurred to you, but bears can also run. This concept had eluded me earlier as it was not noted in the aforementioned song, and so I was unprepared for a pursuit of any kind, but less the frightening and violent one that followed. Though I thought I was high enough to be safely out of danger from the three foot tall beast, I was apparently still in range of its giant, clawed paw when it stood up and fully extended its reach. I was caught in the face by a bear!
Needless to say, my nerves were completely shot at this point. I was so stunned by my encounter that my consciousness was affected, at least in part, because it was a long time later that I came to my senses and found myself to be leaning no longer against the large trunk of the maple, but against my own van! The same two spandex skiers that had passed me before were now standing over me, offering blankets for my shivering back and towels for my bleeding face. They had called the park’s patrolman to help me home, but I assured them I was fine and after an hour of attentive supervision and some refreshing conversation, I drove the journey home.
What a traumatic event, but what an incredible story. I would be tempted to send it in to the Toronto Star... if there was even a grain of truth in the tale.
The real story is much less interesting, but I have been told that it is pretty good, as non-fiction goes: New years eve I picked a fight with a couple of 11-ish year old boys, who I have to admit are stronger than they look. I threw them into the snow a few times, but the majority of the battle I spent on my face in a snow-bank, or on my back with snow being thrown at me. It was one of these latter moments that another little guy friend of mine thought it would be a really good time to head down the hill on his toboggan. Long story short, I got my face run over by a seven year old and his sled.
So there you have it, folks. The fiction and the truth, for you to chose.
Props go to Tim Beckner for the story idea, to Tyler Ouderkirk for the scar tissue, and special thanks to Jamison, Bryce, Colin and Cammie for the take down. No wildlife was harmed during the writing of this piece. The author of this story does not condone the use of spandex in any way.
This has been a Fartoomuchtimeonyourhands Production.
Monday, 31 December 2007
The Twelve Paragraphs of Christmas
Twelve months, eleven new chords, ten classes, nine amazing friends, eight (thousand) bus rides, seven new recipes, six shades of blonde, five role changes, four seasons, three addresses, two homes and one year. The transformations that have taken place in my life have been vast and intricate, as well as generally entertaining. From New Year’s to New Year’s I have gone through a physical, emotional, spiritual and intellectual metamorphosis. I started in January as a nervous, uncertain high school girl; now as I emerge on the other side of December, I am shaking of the last of my cocoon to reveal the confident, God filled woman I have become. Let me show you how I got these wings.
January was the grand finale of a different life. Returning to high school without most of my friends and seniority privileges was exactly the motivation I needed to realize that I didn’t want to be there anymore. After my exams, I waved a cheery farewell to four and a half years of comfort zone, packed up my bags (and boxes and crates and backpacks) and moved on – half way down Muskoka Road 10, to MBC.
February and March were filled with a completely foreign and wonderful kind of education. I rejoined the world of wintery outdoor activity and sport – a world that I had neglected for far too long – by learning snowboarding, cross country skiing, ice climbing, dog sledding, winter camping, skating, snowshoeing, hiking and a wonderful variety of other ways to spend some quality time with the snow.
In April I repacked my life into a much smaller suitcase and flew with my team to Costa Rica. What an amazing time in my life! I learned so much in that place. I saw so much, did so much and was taught so much. From repelling a waterfall to painting a house, from hiking for miles and miles at a time, to sitting in stillness and silence for hours; these are the lessons that I took away from my trip. In what free time I could find, I picked up and developed many important skills including journaling, water conservation and euchre. When we flew home I brought back so much more than I went with, but not in material possessions. I left part of my heart in that country, but I was given so much love and insight and experience that I think it was a fair exchange.
May and June were spent blowing leaves, planting flowers and getting ready for the summer. I made more new friends, attempted (with no success) to learn yet another language, got very dirty on more than one occasion and frequently drove a truck. I learned a lot about me during this time and settled into a rhythm of life that was finally my own.
That rhythm was pretty short lived because as June ended, chaos began. It was a beautiful, exhilarating, noisy chaos: dozens of staff, hundreds of kids and thousands of opportunities to have a blast doing what I love to do. I supervised people but I witnessed lives. It’s the most amazing feeling, to participate in the life of another person and know that you have changed them in a positive way. Naturally there was drama and conflict, but the troubles that were introduced by the summertime sun are far outweighed by what has come of it; a million memories for the photo album of my mind.
August gave way to September and my life changed again. Frosh was certainly a shock to my system after six months of a completely different atmosphere, but I pushed through it and really got into life at University. Yes, I go to class (and learn much more than I thought I could), I cook my own meals (and have yet to poison myself), I keep my room “relatively clean” and I’ve even been to the bar (though it’s definitely not my style), but it’s my church that’s holding me together and keeping me strong while I’m at Nipissing. Friends and church and God... it’s a pretty good system... you should try it some time!
My life at school is so much better than I ever could have planned. I’m so at peace there, and it has quickly become a home to me... small-h-home, that is! So when it came time for a three week vacation to capitol-h-home, I was almost nervous to return. Life wasn’t at a standstill while I was at school... my family was still going, living and changing without me... but when I got here, I found out that this was still home too. Home: such a funny concept. Where you hang your hat, or where you keep your heart? Maybe it’s a balance of both.
So now, the year has come to a close. Only six hours remain until we welcome into our lives 2008 and all of the craziness that it is certain to bring. What will the next 12 months hold for me? Who will I be next New Year’s Eve? So much anticipation and excitement! If 2008 can even come close to the standards of 2007 in my life, next year is going to be an unbelievable ride. Twists, turns, loops and surprises of all kinds! I can hardly wait!
Six more hours.
January was the grand finale of a different life. Returning to high school without most of my friends and seniority privileges was exactly the motivation I needed to realize that I didn’t want to be there anymore. After my exams, I waved a cheery farewell to four and a half years of comfort zone, packed up my bags (and boxes and crates and backpacks) and moved on – half way down Muskoka Road 10, to MBC.
February and March were filled with a completely foreign and wonderful kind of education. I rejoined the world of wintery outdoor activity and sport – a world that I had neglected for far too long – by learning snowboarding, cross country skiing, ice climbing, dog sledding, winter camping, skating, snowshoeing, hiking and a wonderful variety of other ways to spend some quality time with the snow.
In April I repacked my life into a much smaller suitcase and flew with my team to Costa Rica. What an amazing time in my life! I learned so much in that place. I saw so much, did so much and was taught so much. From repelling a waterfall to painting a house, from hiking for miles and miles at a time, to sitting in stillness and silence for hours; these are the lessons that I took away from my trip. In what free time I could find, I picked up and developed many important skills including journaling, water conservation and euchre. When we flew home I brought back so much more than I went with, but not in material possessions. I left part of my heart in that country, but I was given so much love and insight and experience that I think it was a fair exchange.
May and June were spent blowing leaves, planting flowers and getting ready for the summer. I made more new friends, attempted (with no success) to learn yet another language, got very dirty on more than one occasion and frequently drove a truck. I learned a lot about me during this time and settled into a rhythm of life that was finally my own.
That rhythm was pretty short lived because as June ended, chaos began. It was a beautiful, exhilarating, noisy chaos: dozens of staff, hundreds of kids and thousands of opportunities to have a blast doing what I love to do. I supervised people but I witnessed lives. It’s the most amazing feeling, to participate in the life of another person and know that you have changed them in a positive way. Naturally there was drama and conflict, but the troubles that were introduced by the summertime sun are far outweighed by what has come of it; a million memories for the photo album of my mind.
August gave way to September and my life changed again. Frosh was certainly a shock to my system after six months of a completely different atmosphere, but I pushed through it and really got into life at University. Yes, I go to class (and learn much more than I thought I could), I cook my own meals (and have yet to poison myself), I keep my room “relatively clean” and I’ve even been to the bar (though it’s definitely not my style), but it’s my church that’s holding me together and keeping me strong while I’m at Nipissing. Friends and church and God... it’s a pretty good system... you should try it some time!
My life at school is so much better than I ever could have planned. I’m so at peace there, and it has quickly become a home to me... small-h-home, that is! So when it came time for a three week vacation to capitol-h-home, I was almost nervous to return. Life wasn’t at a standstill while I was at school... my family was still going, living and changing without me... but when I got here, I found out that this was still home too. Home: such a funny concept. Where you hang your hat, or where you keep your heart? Maybe it’s a balance of both.
So now, the year has come to a close. Only six hours remain until we welcome into our lives 2008 and all of the craziness that it is certain to bring. What will the next 12 months hold for me? Who will I be next New Year’s Eve? So much anticipation and excitement! If 2008 can even come close to the standards of 2007 in my life, next year is going to be an unbelievable ride. Twists, turns, loops and surprises of all kinds! I can hardly wait!
Six more hours.
Monday, 10 December 2007
Two A.M. Decisions
There is good reason for avoiding any kind of activity at 2am; your mind is not as lucid as it is in daylight, your thought processes slow dramatically and every consequence has a huge effect on your entire state of being. It is very easy to cry at 2am.
Maybe the internet got the hiccoughs and you lost an hour of work in 18 seconds. Perhaps iTunes will only play heartache break-up country music songs, or you didn’t get that e-mail you weren’t expecting. Traditionally trivial events can suddenly mutate into uncontrollable monsters of ridiculous irrationality; however, strange and wonderful things happen at 2am, and in personal experience they are almost worth the trouble.
You see, in a strictly metaphorical (and slightly metaphysical) sense, the mind can be stretched and moulded like intellectual plasticine. At 2am the brain is uniquely malleable, having already been prepared for mental manipulation through natural exhaustion. There are thoughts and ideas locked within the mind that are completely inaccessible at any other time... unfortunately, they often take a great deal of translation and explanation before any real value can be associated with this raw material.This may be one of those unpolished excavations of my mind. Perhaps I am blinded to it's faults because it is mine, but I happen to believe that this particular piece of writing is brilliantly insightful... and now it's almost three!
Maybe the internet got the hiccoughs and you lost an hour of work in 18 seconds. Perhaps iTunes will only play heartache break-up country music songs, or you didn’t get that e-mail you weren’t expecting. Traditionally trivial events can suddenly mutate into uncontrollable monsters of ridiculous irrationality; however, strange and wonderful things happen at 2am, and in personal experience they are almost worth the trouble.
You see, in a strictly metaphorical (and slightly metaphysical) sense, the mind can be stretched and moulded like intellectual plasticine. At 2am the brain is uniquely malleable, having already been prepared for mental manipulation through natural exhaustion. There are thoughts and ideas locked within the mind that are completely inaccessible at any other time... unfortunately, they often take a great deal of translation and explanation before any real value can be associated with this raw material.This may be one of those unpolished excavations of my mind. Perhaps I am blinded to it's faults because it is mine, but I happen to believe that this particular piece of writing is brilliantly insightful... and now it's almost three!
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
Fable and Frame
History is in the eye of the beholder and everything has a story to tell. It is our purpose and responsibility to discover, understand and reveal the contexts that make the record worth reading, the art important enough for an audience and the simple pieces from the past deserving of a second glance. If this is true history, then every person contains within their mind a museum of memoirs and masterpieces; the only thing they lack is the frame.
The gallery of my life is filled with fables and frames. Each great hall is painted with memory and the displays within them seem to dance, being constantly restored and revised to tastes of the master curator in my mind.
The welcoming foyer introduces my life in a colourful presentation of material art; a pocket sized camera sits on a table that is so flooded with printed pictures that they seem to have spilled over the edges and onto the floor. This collection of photographs allows any attentive observer to witness the world through my eyes, which is certainly a unique perspective. This camera has followed me everywhere, capturing the beauty of the common and mundane. From bus stop to snowfall, these simple images are the tangible evidence of an artistic soul.
The second exhibition continues the theme of creativity that is found in all aspects of my life. A bookshelf filled with dusty books stands dramatically against one wall. Many other people have inspired my life in a variety ways, but none more, perhaps, than the written words of friends and heroes. Sherlock and Shakespeare have both influenced my thoughts and my vocabulary; however, there is a different book that has been opened much more often than the others. Simply bound, it is a story of mystery, history, comedy, romance, adventure and action. It is the only book in my collection that contains my own scribbled thought or emphasis in ink because there is no sense in maintaining the physical purity of such a work; unlike the others, this narrative was not intended to be read, but to be lived. Here, in the museum of my life, it lies open to a page that is both underlined and highlighted in florescent pink: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Perhaps this is my fable… or perhaps this is truth…
The focus of the final room is lighter and louder in nature than any of the previous displays. This room, like my life, is filled with music. In a cycle of forty-nine genres and eighty-three hours, the soundtrack of my life entertains everyone I meet; and yet, the goal of my life is not to entertain, but to inspire, teach, inquire, reveal, explore… to make history, true history, and share it.
The gallery of my life is filled with fables and frames. Each great hall is painted with memory and the displays within them seem to dance, being constantly restored and revised to tastes of the master curator in my mind.
The welcoming foyer introduces my life in a colourful presentation of material art; a pocket sized camera sits on a table that is so flooded with printed pictures that they seem to have spilled over the edges and onto the floor. This collection of photographs allows any attentive observer to witness the world through my eyes, which is certainly a unique perspective. This camera has followed me everywhere, capturing the beauty of the common and mundane. From bus stop to snowfall, these simple images are the tangible evidence of an artistic soul.
The second exhibition continues the theme of creativity that is found in all aspects of my life. A bookshelf filled with dusty books stands dramatically against one wall. Many other people have inspired my life in a variety ways, but none more, perhaps, than the written words of friends and heroes. Sherlock and Shakespeare have both influenced my thoughts and my vocabulary; however, there is a different book that has been opened much more often than the others. Simply bound, it is a story of mystery, history, comedy, romance, adventure and action. It is the only book in my collection that contains my own scribbled thought or emphasis in ink because there is no sense in maintaining the physical purity of such a work; unlike the others, this narrative was not intended to be read, but to be lived. Here, in the museum of my life, it lies open to a page that is both underlined and highlighted in florescent pink: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Perhaps this is my fable… or perhaps this is truth…
The focus of the final room is lighter and louder in nature than any of the previous displays. This room, like my life, is filled with music. In a cycle of forty-nine genres and eighty-three hours, the soundtrack of my life entertains everyone I meet; and yet, the goal of my life is not to entertain, but to inspire, teach, inquire, reveal, explore… to make history, true history, and share it.
Monday, 12 November 2007
Emotional Blither
So much of my world seems distorted today. My mind is blurred. My actions unmotivated and separated from me in an indescribable way. My imagination is rebelling against my schedule and what I know I must do. I don’t want to write, but all I can do is write. Write and think.
I feel restricted by my language; the limits of explanation have been explored by many before me, exhausting expression. And now, sitting here so still within my body and so unsettled in my mind, these words seem stale and insufficient. How can I even begin, when I am already frustrated, fighting for the words to articulate my thought? How can I speak with honesty when I am already so disappointed by my efforts? Perhaps it is my skill and not my language that is at fault.
Pero, en español, todas palabras explican más, simplemente porque cuando una persona escucha el idioma, hay un cambiar en el corazón y el alma, y no solo en su pensó. Hay comunicación de verdad. La persona a la persona, y palabras a palabras, tambien.
Why is it so impossible to relate to the world in my native tongue? Why do my words mean so much more to me when so few can understand what I am trying to say? There is no release from this kind of constriction. It’s like being tied in an artistic straightjacket. If only I could write with tone and action. If only you could read my emotions along with my words. Then I could tell you something. Then, perhaps, you could understand what I am thinking, and what I’m trying to say here. But it means nothing; all of these words mean nothing and have explained nothing, though I’ve said so much.
After reading through this, I bet you’re almost as frustrated and disappointed by my explanation as I am. But sometimes this is what words are... meaningless, disappointing, emotional blither.
I feel restricted by my language; the limits of explanation have been explored by many before me, exhausting expression. And now, sitting here so still within my body and so unsettled in my mind, these words seem stale and insufficient. How can I even begin, when I am already frustrated, fighting for the words to articulate my thought? How can I speak with honesty when I am already so disappointed by my efforts? Perhaps it is my skill and not my language that is at fault.
Pero, en español, todas palabras explican más, simplemente porque cuando una persona escucha el idioma, hay un cambiar en el corazón y el alma, y no solo en su pensó. Hay comunicación de verdad. La persona a la persona, y palabras a palabras, tambien.
Why is it so impossible to relate to the world in my native tongue? Why do my words mean so much more to me when so few can understand what I am trying to say? There is no release from this kind of constriction. It’s like being tied in an artistic straightjacket. If only I could write with tone and action. If only you could read my emotions along with my words. Then I could tell you something. Then, perhaps, you could understand what I am thinking, and what I’m trying to say here. But it means nothing; all of these words mean nothing and have explained nothing, though I’ve said so much.
After reading through this, I bet you’re almost as frustrated and disappointed by my explanation as I am. But sometimes this is what words are... meaningless, disappointing, emotional blither.
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
Five Reasons to Build a Snowman
For a child, the idea of grabbing a toboggan or building a snowman seems to be a mandatory and automatic response to winter’s chill; but for some terrible and undefined reason, this instinct seems to leave during adolescence, and when a person is attacked by the self-awareness of maturity, snowplay is almost frowned upon. This attitude of anti-silliness is spreading like an infection through the veins of College and University society and has begun to affect even the High School subculture. If this continues unchecked, we are actively putting the children of our communities at dangerous risk of adopting the same “crazelessness” that has already rooted itself so deeply in our lives. If something doesn’t change, fun as we know it may be lost.
But there is hope. We can make a difference. If we act now, we may be able to preserve what little simplistic joy is left in our world. The fight against the humbug of winter begins with you. The fate of fun rests in your mitted hands.
If you remain unconvinced of the severity of this cause, please, read on and carefully consider the following medical and scientific claims supporting snowplay and its many advantages. Each has been cleverly fabricated to initiate a radical movement outdoors, so if at any point while reading this you are overcome with an undeniable need to don a toque and pair of gloves, by all means conclude this article at another time and go throw a snowball at your friend. Literature can wait. The world cannot.
#1. It’s good for your body – Hitting someone with a snowball is an excellent release of many kinds of stress, at a chemical level. (Being hit by a snowball increases your situational awareness and potentially primes your reflexes for a victorious reaction, which is something to keep in mind when ambushed.) As far as a cardiovascular workout is concerned, chasing and being chased are among the top motivational exercises, and the cold air works your lungs in a way that simply cannot be obtained on a treadmill.
#2. It’s good for your brain – Buildings are psychological prisons and seriously hinder the development of certain skills, such as creativity and mental flexibility. Deny your mind no longer! Sculpt, design, craft and build! Snow and ice are wonderful artistic mediums. Find the natural inspiration you’ve been lacking.
#3. It’s good for your love life – Romance is strongly correlated with the atmosphere created during a snowfall; therefore, spending time with someone outside in the snow will increase your seasonal attractiveness by up to 60%!
#4. It’s good for the environment – The ground is much more receptive to flowers in the spring if it has been moved around during the long winter months. Walking on (or digging in) the snow shifts the position of the grass and flower bearing land, softening it in a uniquely agricultural manner. When the snow melts, it is obvious which areas of a lawn or park have been played over and which have not.
#5. It’s good for the economy – When people spend time outside, hot chocolate sales skyrocket! Marshmallows and cookie mixes receive similar profit spikes; but without the recent demand created by outdoor activists, there is simply too much supply. Do your part to keep Christmas from becoming a confectionary Black Tuesday.
You’ve heard all of the evidence and you’ve seen the reports. Now, go. Give Jack Frost a hug and embrace the kid in you. For our culture, for the children, for fun: go and play.
But there is hope. We can make a difference. If we act now, we may be able to preserve what little simplistic joy is left in our world. The fight against the humbug of winter begins with you. The fate of fun rests in your mitted hands.
If you remain unconvinced of the severity of this cause, please, read on and carefully consider the following medical and scientific claims supporting snowplay and its many advantages. Each has been cleverly fabricated to initiate a radical movement outdoors, so if at any point while reading this you are overcome with an undeniable need to don a toque and pair of gloves, by all means conclude this article at another time and go throw a snowball at your friend. Literature can wait. The world cannot.
#1. It’s good for your body – Hitting someone with a snowball is an excellent release of many kinds of stress, at a chemical level. (Being hit by a snowball increases your situational awareness and potentially primes your reflexes for a victorious reaction, which is something to keep in mind when ambushed.) As far as a cardiovascular workout is concerned, chasing and being chased are among the top motivational exercises, and the cold air works your lungs in a way that simply cannot be obtained on a treadmill.
#2. It’s good for your brain – Buildings are psychological prisons and seriously hinder the development of certain skills, such as creativity and mental flexibility. Deny your mind no longer! Sculpt, design, craft and build! Snow and ice are wonderful artistic mediums. Find the natural inspiration you’ve been lacking.
#3. It’s good for your love life – Romance is strongly correlated with the atmosphere created during a snowfall; therefore, spending time with someone outside in the snow will increase your seasonal attractiveness by up to 60%!
#4. It’s good for the environment – The ground is much more receptive to flowers in the spring if it has been moved around during the long winter months. Walking on (or digging in) the snow shifts the position of the grass and flower bearing land, softening it in a uniquely agricultural manner. When the snow melts, it is obvious which areas of a lawn or park have been played over and which have not.
#5. It’s good for the economy – When people spend time outside, hot chocolate sales skyrocket! Marshmallows and cookie mixes receive similar profit spikes; but without the recent demand created by outdoor activists, there is simply too much supply. Do your part to keep Christmas from becoming a confectionary Black Tuesday.
You’ve heard all of the evidence and you’ve seen the reports. Now, go. Give Jack Frost a hug and embrace the kid in you. For our culture, for the children, for fun: go and play.
Monday, 5 November 2007
More to Remember
Armistice. Do you recognize this word? Do you know what it means? Eighty-nine years ago, this word would have defined your future. It would have meant the end of torture and death and daily fear and unbearable heartache. This simple phrase, armistice, would have been your life.
Perhaps our generation is too far removed from World War One to genuinely appreciate the sacrifices made by those people, soldiers and families. Maybe we can’t understand Flanders Fields the way that we should. But we can remember – not Canada’s distant national history, but the heroes of our personal world. We remember what we can remember.
From the overseas terrorism in Iraq through the homicides of Toronto and even closer to home, we have modern enemies to fight and heroes to honour. Remembrance Day is no longer limited to the military because war is no longer bound to the battlefield. Ribbons and poppies have been transformed from a symbol of death to one of human unity. We are all affected by war of one kind or another. November 11th has become an opportunity to celebrate the victory and mourn the cost of all war, together, as a global nation. Yes, we still stand in silence and reverence at 11:00 every year. There are parades and ceremonies and trumpet solos and speeches. These things are important. But we have more to remember. This year these traditions are echoed by international prayers for protection and courage for the people around the world who continue this fight for freedom and peace today… and tomorrow.
The war to end all wars did not conclude every battle and conflict; however, the legacy of memorial celebration that began in 1918 has survived, blossoming into something much larger than the poppy.
Perhaps our generation is too far removed from World War One to genuinely appreciate the sacrifices made by those people, soldiers and families. Maybe we can’t understand Flanders Fields the way that we should. But we can remember – not Canada’s distant national history, but the heroes of our personal world. We remember what we can remember.
From the overseas terrorism in Iraq through the homicides of Toronto and even closer to home, we have modern enemies to fight and heroes to honour. Remembrance Day is no longer limited to the military because war is no longer bound to the battlefield. Ribbons and poppies have been transformed from a symbol of death to one of human unity. We are all affected by war of one kind or another. November 11th has become an opportunity to celebrate the victory and mourn the cost of all war, together, as a global nation. Yes, we still stand in silence and reverence at 11:00 every year. There are parades and ceremonies and trumpet solos and speeches. These things are important. But we have more to remember. This year these traditions are echoed by international prayers for protection and courage for the people around the world who continue this fight for freedom and peace today… and tomorrow.
The war to end all wars did not conclude every battle and conflict; however, the legacy of memorial celebration that began in 1918 has survived, blossoming into something much larger than the poppy.
Thursday, 25 October 2007
Two Broken Hearts
“You are not left out” he said.
“I’m calling you aside.
I simply miss your company
And want you to confide.
We used to talk so much,” he said,
“But now your time’s too tight.
Why was I the one you chose
To ignore tonight?
You used to love so much,” he said
“You didn’t used to care
What other people thought of you.
This change just isn’t fair.
Open up your heart of lead,
Stop holding back on me.
I want to be the one to fill
Your life. Why can’t you see?
You’re already loved,” he said
“Can I not satisfy?
Don’t tell me you don’t need me, love
Please, don’t make me cry.
I want your love, my love,” he said
“And I will wait right here
Though broken by your broken heart
I will not disappear.
You are not alone,” he said
“I’ll never leave you out.
All heaven knows I miss you, love
I’m miserable without.”
“I’m calling you aside.
I simply miss your company
And want you to confide.
We used to talk so much,” he said,
“But now your time’s too tight.
Why was I the one you chose
To ignore tonight?
You used to love so much,” he said
“You didn’t used to care
What other people thought of you.
This change just isn’t fair.
Open up your heart of lead,
Stop holding back on me.
I want to be the one to fill
Your life. Why can’t you see?
You’re already loved,” he said
“Can I not satisfy?
Don’t tell me you don’t need me, love
Please, don’t make me cry.
I want your love, my love,” he said
“And I will wait right here
Though broken by your broken heart
I will not disappear.
You are not alone,” he said
“I’ll never leave you out.
All heaven knows I miss you, love
I’m miserable without.”
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
A Crime of Passion
I am falling in love. I am falling in love with a man I hardly know, and yet I feel like I have known him the whole of my life. He is a clever, confident and compassionate guy with an energy that is unbelievably contagious. He is gentle with people and bold with words. He has this uncompromising and captivating presence that you simply can’t ignore. He's the kind of person you can tell anything and want to tell everything. Anyone would fall for this guy, and indeed many have. He's quickly becoming a huge part of my life and my time, and somehow I know this is only the beginning of our relationship.
But who is this man, who has captured my attention so completely? Many of you have already met him, in one way or another. Some have passed him by unknowingly, and for you I am genuinely disappointed, because you have missed out on an amazing soul. Some have had a reaction similar to the one I have described here, which is much more than a simple collection of words. To you I smile, because the connections to him and to each other give us a unique context for all other relationships. But who, you ask, is this man? This intriguer of hearts? His name is Jesus.
Don't roll your eyes or write me off just yet, because this is potentially the first time you have been introduced to him in this light. Jesus isn't always the quiet, meek man seen in paintings. In fact, he was, generally, much the opposite. Artists have been tragically misled in this way. He is a passionate leader; a king in the front lines, showing us exactly how to fight. He is a rebellious activist, exposing flaws in the government and arguing with religious figureheads, forcing them to look either foolish or weak. He performed miracles, not magic. He taught with the power of experience, far beyond his years. Who wouldn't be attracted to this guy? Or, perhaps it is easier to say, who wouldn't be threatened by him? That's why he died. Not because he was wrong, but because the people couldn't control him any other way. Their only solution was murder. The funny thing is that it didn’t work.
But who is this man, who has captured my attention so completely? Many of you have already met him, in one way or another. Some have passed him by unknowingly, and for you I am genuinely disappointed, because you have missed out on an amazing soul. Some have had a reaction similar to the one I have described here, which is much more than a simple collection of words. To you I smile, because the connections to him and to each other give us a unique context for all other relationships. But who, you ask, is this man? This intriguer of hearts? His name is Jesus.
Don't roll your eyes or write me off just yet, because this is potentially the first time you have been introduced to him in this light. Jesus isn't always the quiet, meek man seen in paintings. In fact, he was, generally, much the opposite. Artists have been tragically misled in this way. He is a passionate leader; a king in the front lines, showing us exactly how to fight. He is a rebellious activist, exposing flaws in the government and arguing with religious figureheads, forcing them to look either foolish or weak. He performed miracles, not magic. He taught with the power of experience, far beyond his years. Who wouldn't be attracted to this guy? Or, perhaps it is easier to say, who wouldn't be threatened by him? That's why he died. Not because he was wrong, but because the people couldn't control him any other way. Their only solution was murder. The funny thing is that it didn’t work.
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
The Herstory of Vidvid's Kingdom
Once upon a time in a far away land 330 kilometres from our reality, lived a beautiful girl. In fact, this girl was so stunning that almost everyone called her Rae, because she glowed like there was always sunlight dancing through her body. In fact, Rae physically and emotionally lightened any mood, even on one of her bad days, which were few and far between. In her constant bliss, Rae had become easily distracted. Especially by a certain charming young man she knew. His name was Vidvid. He was also a prince.
Vidvid was naturally attracted to Rae, like so many others in the kingdom. Though she was not rich, she was amazing in other ways, and widely considered an honorary princess, of great value to the whole country and kingdom. This makes sense to very few people, until they have met Rae in person and then it was obvious. After a person had met her, she was suddenly of great value to them too. Needless to say, Rae was treasured. She was also treasured by the prince.
But this prince had a secret. He was terribly weighted by this secret, even though it was really nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, some would have been proud. You see, part of this high class prince was not born a prince. Part of him was born a cowboy. He loved country music and loved to dance in lines with other cowboys. He even loved to wear a cowboy hat and pretend to know how to use a lasso. But he was still incredibly ashamed of this lifestyle and hid it from the public as a sort of guilty pleasure. No one from the kingdom knew. Not even Rae. Especially not Rae.
And yet, the prince could not get enough of the classic country guitar, so he commissioned a place where he could howdy his way to happiness. He built a ranch. Underground. He called it The RAE: The Ranch At Elderberry. It would have been a terrible acronym, if it did not also remind the fair prince about Rae. But it did, so the prince Vidvid spent all of his spare time at the ranch, which was whenever he was not running the country or hanging out with Rae... at a very respectable, polite distance.
One fate full day, Rae was leading a library and museum tour as part of her volunteer program within the kingdom. She lead the group of 23 children through the palace and the castle. As was her custom on days that she was running late, Rae took a shortcut to the down town museum, taking the opportunity to show off some of the castle’s ancient secret passageways along the way. But this day, Rae's mind was distracted by thought of an early morning breakfast rendezvous between Vidvid and herself. So, when she had always turned left at the end of the long underground hall, she turned right without realizing it at all. Suddenly a dead end snapped her back into reality. Rae was lost.
And so were 23 frightened, screaming children. Somehow, it did not occur to her to bring a flashlight to the tunnels and passageways because she knew her way so well that she could navigate not only in the dark, but with a blindfold on. This was the first time that she really felt lost of afraid. So, instead of turning back and trying to find her way, she did what anyone in her position would do. She joined the kids and started to scream.
The dead end whooshed aside and there, standing as a silhouette to an otherwise blinding lighted doorway, was the prince. The prince was standing in the otherwise blinding doorway, wearing a cowboy hat; and cowboy boots; and spurs. The twanging music came blasting through the door. Vidvid looked at Rae. Rae looked at Vidvid. The kids looked back and forth. Everyone just looked. Then the looking stopped and the laughing began.
The kids were laughing because they had never seen anyone ever wearing a cowboy hat that wasn't in a movie and they thought it looked quite hilarious. Rae was laughing because she had just been rescued in the depths of a dungeon by a handsome prince. The poetic irony was just about perfect for a story of some kind. Vidvid was laughing because he was so embarrassed about the whole thing that he was sure he would fall over or fall apart if he didn't do something, and bursting into tears didn't seem like something that a prince or a cowboy would do. So everybody laughed.
Finally, Vidvid let everyone into the Rae Ranch. Then he got the band to play a very special song. In fact, it was such a special song that it must remain unnamed to preserve the sacredness of it's meaning. The important thing is that the prince finally made his move, rodeo hat and all. After dancing and singing it out for over three hours, the prince was overcome with boldness. He marched his parade of children and his lovely princess up into the sunlight of the kingdom. The band followed, and suddenly country music was everywhere! Within a week the crown was replaced with the wide rimmed cap of the cowboy and everyone was line dancing up and down the streets of Elderberry and beyond! And as for Rae? Well, she's singing and dancing and lighting up the world to this day... Vidvid's world at least!
The very end.
Vidvid was naturally attracted to Rae, like so many others in the kingdom. Though she was not rich, she was amazing in other ways, and widely considered an honorary princess, of great value to the whole country and kingdom. This makes sense to very few people, until they have met Rae in person and then it was obvious. After a person had met her, she was suddenly of great value to them too. Needless to say, Rae was treasured. She was also treasured by the prince.
But this prince had a secret. He was terribly weighted by this secret, even though it was really nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, some would have been proud. You see, part of this high class prince was not born a prince. Part of him was born a cowboy. He loved country music and loved to dance in lines with other cowboys. He even loved to wear a cowboy hat and pretend to know how to use a lasso. But he was still incredibly ashamed of this lifestyle and hid it from the public as a sort of guilty pleasure. No one from the kingdom knew. Not even Rae. Especially not Rae.
And yet, the prince could not get enough of the classic country guitar, so he commissioned a place where he could howdy his way to happiness. He built a ranch. Underground. He called it The RAE: The Ranch At Elderberry. It would have been a terrible acronym, if it did not also remind the fair prince about Rae. But it did, so the prince Vidvid spent all of his spare time at the ranch, which was whenever he was not running the country or hanging out with Rae... at a very respectable, polite distance.
One fate full day, Rae was leading a library and museum tour as part of her volunteer program within the kingdom. She lead the group of 23 children through the palace and the castle. As was her custom on days that she was running late, Rae took a shortcut to the down town museum, taking the opportunity to show off some of the castle’s ancient secret passageways along the way. But this day, Rae's mind was distracted by thought of an early morning breakfast rendezvous between Vidvid and herself. So, when she had always turned left at the end of the long underground hall, she turned right without realizing it at all. Suddenly a dead end snapped her back into reality. Rae was lost.
And so were 23 frightened, screaming children. Somehow, it did not occur to her to bring a flashlight to the tunnels and passageways because she knew her way so well that she could navigate not only in the dark, but with a blindfold on. This was the first time that she really felt lost of afraid. So, instead of turning back and trying to find her way, she did what anyone in her position would do. She joined the kids and started to scream.
The dead end whooshed aside and there, standing as a silhouette to an otherwise blinding lighted doorway, was the prince. The prince was standing in the otherwise blinding doorway, wearing a cowboy hat; and cowboy boots; and spurs. The twanging music came blasting through the door. Vidvid looked at Rae. Rae looked at Vidvid. The kids looked back and forth. Everyone just looked. Then the looking stopped and the laughing began.
The kids were laughing because they had never seen anyone ever wearing a cowboy hat that wasn't in a movie and they thought it looked quite hilarious. Rae was laughing because she had just been rescued in the depths of a dungeon by a handsome prince. The poetic irony was just about perfect for a story of some kind. Vidvid was laughing because he was so embarrassed about the whole thing that he was sure he would fall over or fall apart if he didn't do something, and bursting into tears didn't seem like something that a prince or a cowboy would do. So everybody laughed.
Finally, Vidvid let everyone into the Rae Ranch. Then he got the band to play a very special song. In fact, it was such a special song that it must remain unnamed to preserve the sacredness of it's meaning. The important thing is that the prince finally made his move, rodeo hat and all. After dancing and singing it out for over three hours, the prince was overcome with boldness. He marched his parade of children and his lovely princess up into the sunlight of the kingdom. The band followed, and suddenly country music was everywhere! Within a week the crown was replaced with the wide rimmed cap of the cowboy and everyone was line dancing up and down the streets of Elderberry and beyond! And as for Rae? Well, she's singing and dancing and lighting up the world to this day... Vidvid's world at least!
The very end.
Saturday, 6 October 2007
Paper Cuts
Shot down. Shut down. Put down. Belittled. Ignorant. Inferior. Wrong.
This is who you are in conflict. This is what happens when your ideas are too different. When the swords meet and you’ve been stripped of your armor there is no defense. It doesn’t take long for their blade to find your heart when it’s on paper. Everyone knows that paper cuts hurt. Some don’t know how deep they are.
This is who you are in conflict. This is what happens when your ideas are too different. When the swords meet and you’ve been stripped of your armor there is no defense. It doesn’t take long for their blade to find your heart when it’s on paper. Everyone knows that paper cuts hurt. Some don’t know how deep they are.
Thursday, 27 September 2007
The Monstrous Green-Eyed Monster
Jealousy is a very strange thing. There is no other feeling that compares to the bitterness that leaches onto a jealous heart. The emptiness refuses to fill with any kind of supplement, stubbornly demanding whatever you can’t have.
Envy can attack from anywhere and by anyone, and though some of its forms are abstract and vague, there are a handful of sources that become blatantly obvious as time passes us by. My heart and my ego were afflicted this afternoon by a revelation of a terrible kind. I am jealous of my best friend’s boyfriend.
For some, this climax is perhaps slightly disappointing, because I am not jealous of him, per se, but of the time he gets to spend with her. It sucks. With no eloquence of speech, that is exactly how I feel. I cannot explain why I feel and think as I do, I can only describe how. How doesn’t help my problem; but neither would any answered question about it. I just miss her, clear and simple.
If I had the decision, I probably would not have placed us 330 kilometres apart for so long. Unfortunately, I am unable to reorganize the globe, for all of the times I’ve tried. I know in my mind that it is a good thing – an important, necessary, growth full thing – to be away. My heart doesn’t seem to care about what my head says.
So, to the ‘him’ in all of this, know that you’ve got unique and coveted access to something that is so valuable, beautiful, lovely, fabulous and so many other adjectives that you will discover as time goes on. Know that she’s in high demand in many contexts, and loved by SO many hearts. Be careful and care full. You’re an envied man.
Unspoken
Have you ever wanted to tell someone all of the ridiculous, unnecessary details of your life? To explain the things that have happened in your day that are mundane or strange and have them listened to, without a critical or belittling stare? If only we were encouraged to share our lives with one another in this way. If only I could express, without fear of judgment (or worse, indifference) the smallest aspects of what occurs in my mind. I could speak of the importance of my stocking rebellion this morning and the bitter consequences my toes are now facing. I would tell the world of my camera's dead battery and the artistic frustration I feel at present, as I glance over top a colourful forest of leaves. I would explain that my thoughts are flying in and out of movie plot lines, leaving crossed images of knights and pirates and ballrooms. I could tell you of the three hour class that felt like nine, and the intriguing creatures I penciled during that time. There are metaphors everywhere. Life seems incredibly symbolic this afternoon. But I can't tell anyone this. No one wants to listen. We're all too busy for this kind of thought. So I keep silent, without a whisper of conversation at this depth. Thought is a blissful and lonely place to spend so much time.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
Shelf of Memories
Memory, memory. How often does the mind begin to wander and dream, dancing on thought and emotion of past experience and event? From this waltz with time we eventually awaken, though still dwelling on a rediscovered something from the past. Every reflection is archaeology of the mind. We can come across anything, really; a trinket of history or a lost civilization of sensation and idea. There is so much that we bury in time. But time has its consequence; no ruin can ever be truly restored.
The excavation of the mind is founded upon a bittersweet philosophy, in the sense that some of our histories have buried and suppressed with good reason. If the world discovered Pandora’s Box, it would be best to leave it alone and avoid a present day re-enactment of this legendary disaster; however, everyone has a box like this. It is our hiding place of terrible confessions and actions that at some point diseased and tormented our personal world. Leave these destructive memories to rest under their stones. Pain is not the aim of this dig.
Our purpose here is to uncover the neglected, not the rejected. The idea is to dust off what has been shelved for too long; to remember the glories of the past, for surely everyone has something worth reliving. A happy thought, however distant, is found in even the greenest of Grinches.
There is an obvious place to begin, or perhaps it is only obvious to a heart that has been somewhat void of such an attention. I have no embers or ashes of a love that is my own, in one sense and context. In another, my life has been so blessed and so full that my shelf of love seems to be many layers deep in many places. It was the spark of one of these smaller loves that began this exploration of my memory only an hour ago. A relatively short acquaintanceship in the grand scheme of time, though it has had a lasting impression on me. This memory is a beautiful, musical, colourful blur and blend of conversation and local adventure. There are others woven in to this memory, whom I will never forget, or something more true, whom I will continue to remember. It was a time in my life of leisure and laughter and love, of a kind. Is there anyone else who can claim this memory? Yes. Smile that kind of smile when you think of me and I’ll be blessed for a lifetime.
This is a single frame in the film of my mind, and each picture has a story worth sharing, for another time and place.
What does your memory say about you? At what point do you pause first when you search your mind? What piece of the past is on your heart in a heartbeat? Memory expresses what is inside of the soul. Sometimes what you find yourself looking at is a shelved trove of treasures. Sometimes it’s a box of secrets. Maybe it’s time for you to do some digging and rediscover the world under the dust.
The excavation of the mind is founded upon a bittersweet philosophy, in the sense that some of our histories have buried and suppressed with good reason. If the world discovered Pandora’s Box, it would be best to leave it alone and avoid a present day re-enactment of this legendary disaster; however, everyone has a box like this. It is our hiding place of terrible confessions and actions that at some point diseased and tormented our personal world. Leave these destructive memories to rest under their stones. Pain is not the aim of this dig.
Our purpose here is to uncover the neglected, not the rejected. The idea is to dust off what has been shelved for too long; to remember the glories of the past, for surely everyone has something worth reliving. A happy thought, however distant, is found in even the greenest of Grinches.
There is an obvious place to begin, or perhaps it is only obvious to a heart that has been somewhat void of such an attention. I have no embers or ashes of a love that is my own, in one sense and context. In another, my life has been so blessed and so full that my shelf of love seems to be many layers deep in many places. It was the spark of one of these smaller loves that began this exploration of my memory only an hour ago. A relatively short acquaintanceship in the grand scheme of time, though it has had a lasting impression on me. This memory is a beautiful, musical, colourful blur and blend of conversation and local adventure. There are others woven in to this memory, whom I will never forget, or something more true, whom I will continue to remember. It was a time in my life of leisure and laughter and love, of a kind. Is there anyone else who can claim this memory? Yes. Smile that kind of smile when you think of me and I’ll be blessed for a lifetime.
This is a single frame in the film of my mind, and each picture has a story worth sharing, for another time and place.
What does your memory say about you? At what point do you pause first when you search your mind? What piece of the past is on your heart in a heartbeat? Memory expresses what is inside of the soul. Sometimes what you find yourself looking at is a shelved trove of treasures. Sometimes it’s a box of secrets. Maybe it’s time for you to do some digging and rediscover the world under the dust.
Thursday, 20 September 2007
The Ultimate Art(ist)
The afternoon view from my window
Outweighs any human design
Colours untameable
Untouched
Unexplainable
From the hand of an artist divine.
If you sat beside me and gazed through this pane,
You could not see the same as I do
For the way that I see
Is unique
Just to me
And mine is an intimate view.
To witness the art of an artist
Is to jump right inside of a soul;
Thought and emotion
Opinion
Devotion
Small pieces defining the whole.
This is the view from my window.
Art from the heart of my God;
He is untameable
Incomprehensible
Beautiful, unique and unflawed.
Outweighs any human design
Colours untameable
Untouched
Unexplainable
From the hand of an artist divine.
If you sat beside me and gazed through this pane,
You could not see the same as I do
For the way that I see
Is unique
Just to me
And mine is an intimate view.
To witness the art of an artist
Is to jump right inside of a soul;
Thought and emotion
Opinion
Devotion
Small pieces defining the whole.
This is the view from my window.
Art from the heart of my God;
He is untameable
Incomprehensible
Beautiful, unique and unflawed.
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
Shakespeare Exposed
Is there truly great symbolism hidden deep within the writings of Shakespeare? When he wrote, did he pause and analyze his words for musical meter and flow? Did he ponder the seven possible meanings or interpretations of each beautiful phrase? When this ancient English playwright scrawled out his observations of life, did he ever suspect that his expressions would be twisted and picked at for hundreds of years to come?
Authors write to express, to cause someone to stop and think, or sigh in relation, or evoke something of conviction -- not to be grammatically criticized and critiqued. Art loses it's beauty when it is simplified or summarized the same way that a joke ceases to be funny if explained, or a magic trick loses its impressiveness when the illusion is revealed. If mystery is lost, only knowledge remains. Knowledge is not beautiful -- it is only functional.
Shakespeare's art was one of subtlety. It is filled with imagery and laced with depth, but the balance is delicate, and meant for those with ears to hear it. He wrote in levels so that people of any intellectual standing could appreciate it. Common or king, there's something for everyone, but not everything to any.
I believe that we are doing Shakespeare an injustice by exposing his craft with such a matter-of-fact method. If we are to continue to breakdown every thought and symbol, is there nothing we can do to protect or at least acknowledge the original mystery? Can we not leave anything to individual interpretation? Let imagination fill in what eludes the mind.
Authors write to express, to cause someone to stop and think, or sigh in relation, or evoke something of conviction -- not to be grammatically criticized and critiqued. Art loses it's beauty when it is simplified or summarized the same way that a joke ceases to be funny if explained, or a magic trick loses its impressiveness when the illusion is revealed. If mystery is lost, only knowledge remains. Knowledge is not beautiful -- it is only functional.
Shakespeare's art was one of subtlety. It is filled with imagery and laced with depth, but the balance is delicate, and meant for those with ears to hear it. He wrote in levels so that people of any intellectual standing could appreciate it. Common or king, there's something for everyone, but not everything to any.
I believe that we are doing Shakespeare an injustice by exposing his craft with such a matter-of-fact method. If we are to continue to breakdown every thought and symbol, is there nothing we can do to protect or at least acknowledge the original mystery? Can we not leave anything to individual interpretation? Let imagination fill in what eludes the mind.
Saturday, 8 September 2007
Spoiled
I need to write. I need to express the thought that is flooding my entire being at this moment and, though my topic may seem superficial, hear me out. I may surprise you. I may disappoint, convict or please, but whatever the response, I must first explain.
I just got my iPod.
Ah ha, you think, she is going to brag or rave or ooze all over us, talking about just how amazing this little device is, and how terribly unlucky or unworthy I am to not have one.
Wrong.
I met my iPod this evening with mixed feelings. I was, of course, both expecting and anticipating its arrival, as I had, only days before, ordered it online. With space for 7000+ songs, it is a classy iPod in black, and it literally has my name on it. I fell in love at once. Or perhaps, I fell in lust.You see, I have always wanted an iPod. Always wanted, never needed. Until about two weeks ago, I had never thought of actually purchasing such a thing, and even when my sister’s red Nano was delivered, I suppressed my envy and eventually forgot all about it. Suddenly, in the rush and thrill of leaving for school, a passing conversation caught my subconscious consumer off guard.
“Do you want an iPod?”
I didn’t know that was an option! My response was immediate. In fact, my mind had nothing to do with what my mouth said. Reason and thought were abandoned at the verbalized opportunity to own, for myself, such a prestigious possession. “Yes!” I replied.
Thus my present situation. Only moments ago, a Kleenex-sized box sat on my bed. I also sat on my bed. I took a deep breath, and about 20 seconds later the packaging had found a new home on my floor (next to a few socks and an earring) and I was caught in the deadlock stare of this mysterious machine. Silence overcame both of us, and just as I thought I was going to defeat the threatening gaze of my iPod, something tapped. Something tapped, aggressively, violently, at the back of my mind. “Why do you have this,” it demanded. “You don’t need it and you know it. It’s a little bit ridiculous that you bought it anyway. What now, girl?”
I recognized this voice. It was my white shoulder angel. You know the kind. You may call it something else, but we all have them. Mine is white and cartoon and usually disappointed or peeved. “It’s like this,” I explain. My thoughts are a little bit shaky at this point; cartoon projections so close to your face are even more intimidating than the exceptionally clever iPod. Somehow I find my voice. “An iPod is a very useful thing. It memorizes music better than I do, and I can record myself whenever I have a completely brilliant idea. Therefore, my iPod is an educational aid, not a westernized cultural fad”. I winked at my shoulder angel. He didn’t seem convinced.
So we cut a deal. I told him I would write out the whole drama (while still claiming my sanity), and leave it to my mind for a while. I do like my iPod. We’ve made friends and are going out for a stroll in the morning after I fix it up with a tune or two. I like that I bought it for myself and that it bears my full name and an important personal reminder. The flustration will pass. And yet, something remains subtly unsettled in my mind. Perhaps it is the fact that I am completely under the spell of the media, or the realization of such a fact. Whatever it might be, whatever your mind is concluding from this tale, the story’s been told. I leave you with one last thing and it is simply this: enjoy being spoiled.
I just got my iPod.
Ah ha, you think, she is going to brag or rave or ooze all over us, talking about just how amazing this little device is, and how terribly unlucky or unworthy I am to not have one.
Wrong.
I met my iPod this evening with mixed feelings. I was, of course, both expecting and anticipating its arrival, as I had, only days before, ordered it online. With space for 7000+ songs, it is a classy iPod in black, and it literally has my name on it. I fell in love at once. Or perhaps, I fell in lust.You see, I have always wanted an iPod. Always wanted, never needed. Until about two weeks ago, I had never thought of actually purchasing such a thing, and even when my sister’s red Nano was delivered, I suppressed my envy and eventually forgot all about it. Suddenly, in the rush and thrill of leaving for school, a passing conversation caught my subconscious consumer off guard.
“Do you want an iPod?”
I didn’t know that was an option! My response was immediate. In fact, my mind had nothing to do with what my mouth said. Reason and thought were abandoned at the verbalized opportunity to own, for myself, such a prestigious possession. “Yes!” I replied.
Thus my present situation. Only moments ago, a Kleenex-sized box sat on my bed. I also sat on my bed. I took a deep breath, and about 20 seconds later the packaging had found a new home on my floor (next to a few socks and an earring) and I was caught in the deadlock stare of this mysterious machine. Silence overcame both of us, and just as I thought I was going to defeat the threatening gaze of my iPod, something tapped. Something tapped, aggressively, violently, at the back of my mind. “Why do you have this,” it demanded. “You don’t need it and you know it. It’s a little bit ridiculous that you bought it anyway. What now, girl?”
I recognized this voice. It was my white shoulder angel. You know the kind. You may call it something else, but we all have them. Mine is white and cartoon and usually disappointed or peeved. “It’s like this,” I explain. My thoughts are a little bit shaky at this point; cartoon projections so close to your face are even more intimidating than the exceptionally clever iPod. Somehow I find my voice. “An iPod is a very useful thing. It memorizes music better than I do, and I can record myself whenever I have a completely brilliant idea. Therefore, my iPod is an educational aid, not a westernized cultural fad”. I winked at my shoulder angel. He didn’t seem convinced.
So we cut a deal. I told him I would write out the whole drama (while still claiming my sanity), and leave it to my mind for a while. I do like my iPod. We’ve made friends and are going out for a stroll in the morning after I fix it up with a tune or two. I like that I bought it for myself and that it bears my full name and an important personal reminder. The flustration will pass. And yet, something remains subtly unsettled in my mind. Perhaps it is the fact that I am completely under the spell of the media, or the realization of such a fact. Whatever it might be, whatever your mind is concluding from this tale, the story’s been told. I leave you with one last thing and it is simply this: enjoy being spoiled.
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