And More!

Jimmy's artsy B&W shots.

More

I'm starting to get that weird-somewhat-desperate-spend-every-minute-and-make-sure-to-record-it-by-taking-lots-of-pictures mode. Three days, people.

(Leah, I'm saving up until I have a lot of time because I'm having some really intense emotions about leaving you... I don't want to have just a casual conversation... but I do care... so I'll call.)

(And CW seriously call me, dude. I'm LEAVING.)

Happy Christmas! 06

PJ's, playing guitar, hiking with ridiculously enormous backpacks, practicing with all of our weapons (except Joy-the-pacificist, of course), playing basketball, grillz, dancing around like maniacs, eating copious amounts of food, stockings = McCarty Christmas.

Happy happy happy.

(Grumpy, sleepy, dopey, doc...)

A change

Well I'm kind of annoyed.

It is going to be virtually impossible to blog on two different things all year! I have this blog and my WR blog. But this blog I like because it's archived back so far. Hm. Conundrum. (ha, that rhymes).

Well, for this one at least I'm just going to copy and paste. So this same blog is on both sites. And before I put it on here let me just say I am LEAVING for a year in like 8 days... so if we haven't talked in a while PLEASE call me to say goodbye! And if I don't answer... well... you know how it goes. Leave a message. I'm going to be really really responsible this week.

Home Stretch

One by one I'm closing out the details of my life... saying goodbye to precious people, once again preparing to spend great lengths of time on anti-malarial medication... my heart is both under attack and in desperate anticipation... I'm dreaming of Africa - of hot wind and the grit of sand in my teeth... I'm thinking of the unparalleled feeling of novelty and excitement when I step off a plane into a new place...

It sounds like I'm getting ready to go on a mission trip.

As I've visited and reflected one thought has struck me. There are two very distinct versions of Christianity and I witness both in people I know. There is one version of Christianity that is very good - good church attendance, good deeds, good prayer life, good theology, good fellowship. There is nothing overtly amiss in this practice of Christianity. But there is something intentionally escapist. There is a neglect of radical sacrifice; of violence, of death to self. Sometimes I say to myself, "I wish I could be a good Christian." Those who know me know that I don't fit the stereotype well. I wish I could go through life and think God is good and do enough and be satisfied.

But I can't.

And this is why: I'm a haunted woman.

I'm haunted by the faces I can put on poverty; of the names I can put on suffering and martyrdom; of the sallow cheeks, the dry and cracked skin, the embrace, the hot breath, the flowing blood, the hate-filled eyes... these are not abstractions to me. I am haunted by the reality of the lost and dying and I cannot ignore the responsibility that this knowledge gives me.
And this is why I will go and I will live and I will die for this cause. This is why I will forego other dreams, alternative life-plans, ambitions, goals... I surrender them. Because those concepts are people and those people mean too much.

That's why I can't just be good.

"...the kingdom heaven suffers violence, and violent men take it by force." (Matt. 11:12, KJV)

Eyes

I read this book called "Lullabies for Little Criminals" by Heather O'Neill.
It was an amazingly non-judgmental, first-person narrative of a 13-year old girl living with a junkie dad, on and off the streets, practicing juvenile prostitution, run-ins with social services, etc. It's set in Montreal. It's really powerful.
I don't give children enough credit. Their perspective is so paradoxical: wise and yet naive. They see a lot and understand a lot... but their labels are so different than our own.

Here's the quote that encapsulates O'Neill's goal to me -

"He said that if you were able to look at the crows really closely, you would see that their eyes were stolen baubles, like buttons or marbles. To get real eyes, they had to steal them from children. Older people's eyes were too set in their ways of looking and would be no good for a crow. That's why people wouldn't let their children out after dark. The crow who stole the eyes of a real child was king. With a piece of plastic they could just see what was in front of them, but with a child's eyes, they could see the whole world."

I wonder what Mitchell's eyes are seeing right now -- he's coming over to me for a hug every thirty seconds. He's grouchy.

(I realize that this blog has become a book review. It's just that my own thoughts are too muddled with the stress.)

It is never fun to die.

Last night as I did devotions I picked up Tozer's book "The Pursuit of God."

This quote needs no introduction or qualification -

(from the chapter, "Removing the Veil")

"One should suppose that proper instruction in the doctrines of man's depravity and the necessity for justification through the righteousness of Christ alone would deliver us from the power of the self-sins, but it does not work that way. Self can live unrebuked at the very altar. It can watch the bleeding Victim die and not be in the least affected by what it sees. It can fight for the faith of the reformers and preach eloquently the creed of salvation by grace and gain strength by its efforts. To tell the truth, it seems actually to feed upon orthodoxy and is more at home in a Bible conference than in a tavern. Our very state of longing after God may afford it an excellent condition under which to thrive and grow.

"Self is the opaque veil that hides the face of God from us. It can be removed only in spiritual experience, never by mere instruction. We may as well try to instruct leprosy out of our system. There must be a work of God in destruction before we are free. We must invite the cross to do its deadly work within us. We must bring our self-sins to the cross for judgment. We must prepare ourselves for an ordeal of suffering in some measure like that through which our Savior passed when He suffered under Pontius Pilate.

"Let us remember that when we talk of the rending of the veil we are speaking in a figure, and the thought of it is poetical, almost pleasant, but in actuality there is nothing pleasant about it. In human experience that veil is made of living spiritual tissue; it is composed of the sentient, quivering stuff of which our whole beings consist, and to touch it is to touch us where we feel pain. To tear it away is to injure us, to hurt us and make us bleed. To say otherwise is to make the cross no cross and death no death at all. It is never fun to die. To rip through the dear and tender stuff of which life is made can never be anything but deeply painful. Yet that is what the cross did to Jesus and it is what the cross would do to every man to set him free."

A Melancholy Glamour

Isaiah 42:6b & 7 - "I will give you as a covenant for the people, a light for the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness."

This makes me think of Plato's Cave allegory - all are hidden, chained in this darkness... it is familiar and it is comfortable... the shadows seem real and satisfactory - it is enough of a life. Then, this nagging voice, this freed comrade beckons them into the unknown beyond. But it is frightening; the light outside hurts the eyes; alarms the senses.

It is so easy to sit in the dungeon - in the impenetrable fortress of my own version of truth and refuse fresh light.

I glamorize this darkness. I sit here and enjoy my agony, crying, "Why don't you take away my pain, God?" I scream, "It hurts so much!" The not knowing, the blindness, the darkness... "Why do you hide your face from me?" He's silent. So silent.

I glamorize the darkness I tend toward but even as I do it my spirit craves life.

"Ladies and gentlemen/People of the darkness/You've been running for a very long time..."
(Jason Upton - "Psalm 2:12")

Living in peace with the mysteries and shadows of life and hiding behind them are two very different things. When I choose the latter I forfeit the joy of discover and the exposure of my own soul to trasnforming truth.

"Search me and know me, O God."

It is so 'natural' to slide into easy, comforting thoughts; repetitious, logical living; perfunctory but peaceful religion.

It is completely terrifying to contemplate the reality of God.

"Some say 'I'm a man of the evening.'/Others say, 'I'm a lady of the night.'/But God says, 'I'm your Creator,'/And nobody's faster than the speed of light/I'm calling." (ibid)

I can settle down in darkness - grasping small joys - or I can brave the blinding light and receive joy that is unspeakable and full of glory.

"...he who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen."
(I Timothy 6:15b-16)

Lingering questions

This is something I need to spew and see what response it gets.
I'm wrestling though this big-time.

(I suppose this ultimately stems from questions about the origin of evil - for background).

My thought: pre-fall creation wasn't static but dynamic, with potential to grow & reproduce. In other words, God didn't create a final product; he created the "first batch."

My question, then: did creation (animals, plants, the ecosystem, as it were) ever exist without death? Because that cycle and decomposition - fertilization - new life - is an integral part of the system as we know it empirically and scientifically (and experientially, for that matter).

(The concept of death -> life and that cycle is rife through creation... it's the very essence that allows the ecosystem to perpetuate itself and thrive.)

Unfortunately, it seems that most people's definition of pre-fall creation excludes any allowance for dynamism (especially anti-evolution thinking). Man couldn't die yet... but if man's decomposition is part of the "circle of life" - how is that possible? Can creation exist independently of human death?
If creation never existed without this death then spiritism, animism & the eternality of anything other than human beings is philosophically & logically impossible. (T or F?)

Implications: 1. spiritism ("mother nature" etc) and eternal spirits existing in plant and animal life is discredited. 2. we, as caretakers over our dominion of the earth, are responsible first and foremost (on a social level probably) to preserve and defend the *systems* and maybe not the *specifics* of nature. So, it's not so much this species or that region... it's the entire motion of creation, of which we and all living things are a part, and in which death plays an integral part.

We live in a society that is hell-bent (haha) on preventing death... but death is natural and necessary.

So where did death come from?
How did death work in the garden?
And is physical death really part of the curse?

I know this was all over the place. I'm crazy.

I have decided

to be content with the decisions of authority.

It is becoming relatively normal for me to be content with the circumstances of my life over which I have complete control. Ha ha. It never occured to me before that the discipline of contentedness might supercede that position... until yesterday.

I have been PO'd big time with certain decisions that AIM (missions organization) has made concerning my trip next year. (I've used words like "infuriated" just to shed some clarity on my feelings.) They're decisions that really matter... and I think they made the wrong decision.

But here's the rub: will I miserably rebel or joyfully submit? UGH I HATE that choice. But it's one I make either consciously or unconsciously and one that will have lasting consequences.

So last night I gave up.

It's humbling and embarassing to admit my sin but I long for a pure heart before God... and this submission is an elementary step to holiness. So I let go. Who I will be with next year is in the hands of God. I acknowledge that and receive the decision as coming from his hand.

I will give thanks to the Lord for he is good.

So. Onward.

Thanksgiving 05!

Day 1.

Irreducible?

This is a bit overdue but perhaps this thought is all the better for its percolation in my heart.
I read this book called I Saw Ramallah by Mourid Barghouti. He is Pakistani writing during Israeli occupation. He spends most of his life fleeing - a wanderer and perpetual immigrant. Because of Israel's destruction of his homeland he finds he really has nowhere to land. He marries an Egyptian woman, has a child (whose ethnicity is... what? he wonders) but is always moving away from them due to deportation issues, etc.
The unifying thread of this work, in my mind, is one statement he repeats over and over as he encounters the many threatening, challenging, discouraging, joyous realities of life.

"Life will not be simplified."

I often wish it would be. I wish there were a finite number of elements I could master understanding of and then be done with novelties. It would be so much... easier... and so much less breathtaking... if life could be simplified. It not only cannot, but, as Barghouti says, it will not be simplified. It will not be less than what it is. Lamentably, what it is includes the mountains, the valleys, the joys and the sorrows, the pain, the horror, the ecstacy...

It is the journey of life created by a God who sometimes seems cruel for engineering this version of reality, this set of unending circumstances; a journey created by a God who also seems wonderful for this version of perpetual discovery, unquenched precociousness...

Unanswered questions.
Unsatisfied desires.
Unsimplified.
(Does that require infinitude?)

"The French are ... Harry"

(don't read that "the French are hairy" because it's this inside joke... ok?)

So I was watching the movie Gigi. It's fabulous.
There is this one part where Gaston goes to his uncle in a rant after having been rejected by Gigi. He says,

"I tell you, Europe is breeding a generation of vandals and ingrates. Children are coming into the world with ice covered souls and hatchets in their hands. And before they have finished they'll smash everything beautiful and decent."

His uncle replies: "Have a piece of cheese."

That is so French. It humorously sums up so much of the way the French deal (or don't deal) with problems.

A really good book with pretty thorough insights on the French (specifically Parisian) worldview is Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik.

Funniest line in Gigi: Her aunt saying of her, "such stupidity is without equal in the entire history of human relations."
That's so something a McCarty would say. drama.

Glitter

At the moment I am having glitter lotion spread all over my calves by a 2 year old. I enhaled practically my weight in glitter today making fairy paper dolls (and the corresponding wardrobe). We had no temper tantrums all day. Sometimes things do seem to sparkle... even if only for a moment.

The quote

(photo by Mikhail Evstavief - of a cellist playing in a partially-destroyed national library in Sarajevo; 1992)

Well, I've kind of chosen a random quote and I'll explain why: I think the question of "what's to be done about wide-scale human rights crises?" is inevitably tied to the questions of good and evil, and, ultimately, the nature of God. Where is God present in these maladies? Why does God allow such rife, manifest evil? Why does God not right the wrongs? These are pretty basic, common questions. But I think that the best summary of Bill Carter's musing and searching in Bosnia can be found in his early ideas of looking for God. We want to see God - so we look in every nook and cranny that we can... and it discovers to us... something visceral and real and horrifying and immanent and beautiful and...

"Beginning at a young age I had a tendency to look for God in the oddest of places. It all started when the preacher said God was everywhere, he was even there when you were sleeping. Especially when you were sleeping. This kept me awake for years.

"I would eyeball the inside of decaying fruit and peer down gopher holes. I would search birds' nests, spiders' webs, and ant colonies. Sometimes I'd follow my brother when he sleepwalked onto the lawn. That seemed otherworldly.

"Then the preacher, who had fat fingers and breath that smelled like mildew said, 'Every step you take God is walking that path with you.' Every step? This made walking slightly daunting. Once after school I went into the field to find a piece of wet ground. Walking slowly, with my eyes closed, I took a few steps and stopped. I opened my eyes and spun around to watch the footprints rise up from the mud and slowly disappear. Maybe that was the Holy Spirit following me. I don't know."

(Fools Rush In by Bill Carter).

So what are we looking for?

And, more, what are we seeing?

Because it's only what you really see;

What you really find

That fuels the fire

Of inquiry, and curiosity

And compels you

To effect change

Because the face of suffering

Is not anonymous anymore

It is no less than your very own.

Fools Rush In

So the Bosnian War. Why are we so ignorant of the dynamics of post-communist countries? Well, there's the obvious answer of censorship... but I think it is more often a situation of wilfull ignorance. We choose to be uninvolved, detached from the suffering of people. That's probably just a form of self-preservation. There is an intense and troubling helplesness that can take hold of someone who is viewing large-scale human rights violations or crises. I mean, what can we really do?

So I read this book (Fools Rush In) by Bill Carter. He's the guy who made the documentary "Miss Sarajevo" - for a reference point. Most of us have heard of that. Anyway, he weaves this story of his own journey into Bosnia, his quasi-humanitarian work, his personal journey & demons... it's well done.

I'll quote from it when I get the book back tomorrow.
But the real question for today is: what can be done? What is our moral/personal/national responsibility? How can we help people (like the Sudanese or North Koreans) without it simply being self-gratifying (but ineffective). I mean, the UN, the US Gov., and probably a great deal of humanitarian aid agencies really just slap a band-aid on the scalpel wound of human suffering. They ship in food but it doesn't get to the people (duh)... so we can at least say we're trying? We do "what we can" even though it's not working (and maybe hurting) because when we put our heads on our pillows at night we don't want to dream about the starving people of Kosovo, Russia, N. Korea, S. Africa, the Congo, Sudan, Tibet, Cuba, etc. Should our troubled minds be shut off? Should we try to drown our concern because "what can I do?" Obviously not. Well, effort isn't effectiveness and people need help. So, what then?

(CW sorry I haven't called you back).

Babies

Babies are sick... it seems like all of them at the same time. Yesterday I just cried. Mitchell has an ear infection, Hollis just had his surgery, Malea's nose is runny, etc. etc. etc. Even Jaret seems to be having a really hard go. It just kills me. I want to be magic. I want to be Mary Poppins and give them a spoonful of sugar, yummy medicine, tuck them in and make them all better. Why can't I make them better? It makes me so sad.

(Although I do have to say today God gave me joy in my heart in spite of it all. Plus I got my first unsolicited "I love you" from Hayes... we were eating lunch and she just looked at me and said, "Joy, I love you." She's coming along. My precious girl.)

'tis so sweet?

So the song says that trust in Jesus is sweet.

Maybe one day I'll agree but I have to admit that, while it's not necessarily torture, it is hard.
Slowly but surely my life is reducing - the days I have left till WR, the time I have to make money, the distillation of thoughts & feelings that have long percolated in my semi-consciousness, demanding release...

I was reading Psalm 81 and verse 10 struck me: "Open wide your mouth and I will fill it."
I immediately got a visual image of baby Mitchell. When he's in his little chair and I'm feeding him, he will look around the room and get distracted... but as soon as he's done swallowing, even if he isn't looking at me, he opens his mouth for the next bite. Of course I am there, ready, spoon filled, waiting for him to open his mouth so I can give him more food. I love it when he eats. I love it when he's satisfied and laughs at me, and (his newest trick) claps his little hands.
I think this is what God means to say with this verse on his provision.

"And which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him?" (Matt 7:10-12).

This childlike dependence is the essence of trusting God. Effort doesn't allow me to reach this place... surrender does. And that's hard: because I can't make it happen, I can't control the process of my sanctification by building virtues into my life... I can't have my way in my timing...

I can't do it. I need God. I can't make it. I need God.

I really want to be in a sweet place of dependence and trust... I'm not there yet. But everyday I think I yield a little more.

Really really ridiculously white thighs

So apparenty I am related intimately to the David Beckhams of Port Charlotte. They are getting so cool. Yikes. I can't keep up!

(Nick got kicked out of the game AND put in the newspaper for some slide-tackle move - kicked out of the game! Yeesh! He really is my brother.)

Jimbo

So cute. So fun. You are such an amazing man! I love you so much and am so proud to call myself Jimmy's little sister. I'm looking forward to being around you more next year!

The rest A's

I'm bored of this self-evaluation thing so I'm just gonna finish up. I just got this weird jolt of energy/nerves about World Race. YIKES. This is so really happening. Yikes yikes yikes. I think I feel excited - which is great. And I need to get serious about fundraising because... well, I have no money. So. God help me.

2. I am afraid of - failure... further, imperfection. I'm afraid of screwing up.
3. On a daily basis, I need - alone time, moments with God, and perspective.
4. I am good at - leading (projects), school/academics, working with kids, discipline, expressing myself in words.
5. I am bad at - organization, money stuff, negotiation, diplomacy.
6. I believe (with all of my heart) - in God, in eternity, in the spirit world, in my family's love.

Moi in a nutshell. Kinda.

Answer 1

"I understand life when________."

I think this means, "what do I touch base with to remind me of reality... who I really am and where I really fit in this world?"

And the answer to that is my family.

I don't say God because God can be very confusing... very big and very mysterious. He doesn't always "bring me home" in the sense that I feel safe and at peace.

But my family does.

One conversation with Mom and life starts making sense again. One hug from Dad and it's really actually okay. One crazy laughing session with my brothers or a gossip session with Faith and I remember who I am and where I fit.

Dad, Mom, Jimmy, Fatz, Nathey, Snook and Soo. My luvelies.

Home base.

Stuff of life

I think we all know that we are some kind of mosaic: a compilation of our many - sometimes varied or contradicting - thoughts and experiences. The puzzle pieces that make us up, at some point, become either obvious or obviously ignored by us. It's "the unexamined life is not worth living" concept.
So lately as I've engaged in World Race and talked with new people I realize something: I don't know how to explain myself anymore. I've distanced myself from consistent psychological self-evaluation (which has been good). I think, though, that I need to nail down a few things before I initiate what will surely be the most stressful experience of my life.

So here are the questions I want to ask & answer:

"I understand life when__________."

"I am afraid of__________."

"On a daily basis, I need_________."

"I am good at___________."

"I am bad at___________."

"I believe (with all of my heart)__________."

I think those're the basics. I'll start thinking them through. I actually might not mind comments on this post if anyone wants to share their own musings.

Sounds like blasphemy, sure nuff.

So I'm in year 2 of my obsession with African-American literature... finally getting around to the more popular novel stuff. In incredible similarity with my recent epiphanies I read this:

(enjoy it and think of it in this context: two black women talking, impose the accent, etc.)

Quote -
You telling me God love you, and you ain't never done nothing for him? I mean, not go to church, sing in the choir, feed the preacher and all like that?

But if God love me, Celie, I don't have to do all that. Unless I want to. There's a lot of other things I can do that I speck God likes.

Like what? I ast.

Oh, she say. I can lay back and just admire stuff. Be happy. Have a good time.

Well, this sound like blasphemy sure nuff.

She say, Celie, tell the truth, have you ever found God in church? I never did. I just found a bunch of folks hoping for him to show. Any God I ever felt in church I brought in with me. And I think all the other folks did too. They come to church to share God, not find God.

"The Color Purple" by Alice Walker
(this won the Pulitzer Prize)

My advice? Read this book.

Begin again

Divinely, Dr. Smiley was at my parent's house this weekend. I even took Monday as a personal day... and I'm beginning again. I feel free from my fear: fear of regret, fear of decision-making, fear of judgment. Everyday I can wake up and begin again. He is and He loves me. That is the biggest question I could ever ask ("am I loved?") and the answer is emphatically, YES. I receive that truth. I will fight the good fight... the good fight, btw, is the fight you win.

Here's the story of my life: I will live, then I will die and be with Jesus forever. Everything in the interim is adventuring with Jesus.

Peace? Indeed.

This song speaks - go listen to it if you can at Keyofdavidministries.com

"I will not fear as I wait for the dawn/You keep on holding my hand/
I'm crying out from the depths of my soul/In words I just can't understand/
You have set my feet upon a rock that's not moving/
You have placed a song of hope in my heart and I'm singing/I'm playing/

Lord, do not hold back your lovingkindness/
Lord, do not hold back your mercy/
You are the way and the truth that guides us/
Everyday you are the one who preserves me/

God the great Artist designed you and me/With his will and purpose in mind/
But I keep on striving and trying to be/Someone I've made with my pride/
Now the fires of hell burn hot and try to destroy me/
I run to your will, O God, I know you'll restore me/And reform me/

Lord, do not hold back your lovingkindness/
Lord, do not hold back your mercy/
You are the way and the truth that guides us/
Everyday you are the one who preserves me."

"40" by Jason Upton

"Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us."
Psalm 62:8

How I feel

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH uggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr uuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I mean, seriously. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

"how do you feel?" .... "an-gry."

(Chris Farley right before he destroys a whole restaurant after being served Columbian decaffeinated coffee crystals rather than regular coffee...)

This has been a "surprise, you're drinking decaf coffee crystals" kinda week. Yuck.

A million colors

Laura and I had some great conversations last night. On the way home I was listening to Katie Melua's new cd and this really struck me. Ethics... morality... standards... such a challenge to navigate in a postmodern (or neomodern for Jesse etc.) society.

If a black man is racist/Is it okay?

If it's a white man's racism/That made him that way?

'Cause the bully is the victim/They say

By some sense they're all the same

'Cause the line between
Wrong and right

Is the width of a thread

From a spider's web

The piano keys

Are black and white

But they sound a million colors

In your mind

I could tell you/To go to war

Or I could march for peace/And fighting no more

But how do I know which is right?

And I hope he does when he sends you to fight

'Cause the line between

Wrong and right

Is the width of a thread

From a spider's web

The piano keys

Are black and white

But they sound like a million colors

In your mind

....Remember forever the guns and the feathers in time

"Spider's Web" by Katie Melua
(on album "Piece by Piece")

Can I just say

I am friends with some of the most amazing people alive. Laura came in town last night from Pennsylvania... I got to talk to Nick and Jesse... I just saw Leah, CW and my brother... I really am in relationship with awesome individuals. I like that they are all their own brand of eccentric, artsy, intellectuals... I like that they would love each other if they ever met... I like that they are really true friends, that they value the depth of relationship I crave, that they are invested in the exchange of ideas and art... they care deeply about the apparent chaos of society's current philosophy and have wild dreams for its revolution or improvement... God is with them... and through them God is with me.

I really really love you guys.

Bone weary

(photograph by EW Carter - you should check him out, some of his stuff is this haunting Victorian era-esque portrayals)

I'm tired. I've been traveling like a crazy person and, while I love it, I'm so so so tired. Part of it is staying up through the night talking with Leah, part of it is sleeping in beds of questionable hygiene in random hotels in SC, part of it is hanging out and having fun and for that I have no excuse, part of it is sleeping two nights with a 2 year old who rivals a thrashing alligator in her sleep and a 7 month old who likes to snuggle aka drool exessively and hit his head repeatedly on the headboard... and part of it is emotional.

I always say to my kids when they cry or whine, "life isn't easy for a little guy" because, however easy their lives may seem, they really aren't. Imagine not being able to say how you feel or explain why you're crying. You can't help yourself to what you want or even ask for it. That's not easy.

I think the same kind of compassion needs to be extended to us, as adults, toward ourselves: "life isn't easy for..." me? Well, anyone really. Life isn't easy because there is love and disappointment and exhileration and sorrow and these extremities, vital as they are, only contribute to the weariness we can feel. Experience is wearying.

I think this may be why the Sabbath is mandated. It also may be why on the 7th day and in the ultimate Sabbath of heaven, the rule is rest. We need to rest.

So, I'm going to watch Harry Potter today and only exercise for 30 minutes and NOT feel guilty about it.

I miss my mommy.
I miss Leah (oh, and if you're reading this, I think you have my camera).

Love you all so much.

Song for the moment -

"But I look at you warm in your dream/While your mobile dances above/And I think to myself it's a beautiful night/And I know everything's gonna be alright/Yes, now I know, it'll be alright."

"Everything'll be Alright (Will's Lullaby)" by Joshua Radin

Hannah banana bobana

My friend. I love being a kid with her and making jewelry and gossiping about Hannah Montana. I mean. This is cool stuff. :)

Blank and the giant

"The woman that I love is forty feet tall..." -Citizen Cope

The first line of this Citizen Cope song haunts me. I like this thought. It is so meaningful and invasive. Instantly my heart feels it... the disproportionate reality that clashes with my expectations of what people should be... my consistent (and not always beneficial) obsession with things and people "larger than life."

(photo from movie adaptation of Dickens's "Great Expectations")
It's so easy to fall in love, so easy to stay in love, with an illusory idea or person. It is that one, that giant or giantess...

I'm in love with that.

Incidentally, this song is called "Pablo Picasso" - as we all know, I'm completely obsessed with Picasso right now... his perception of reality was just this skewed... light, dark, swirls, colors, marred visions of reality, mixed-up images of humans, breasts, eyes, noses all out of place... too big, too strange to be real. That's what life looked like through his eyes.

Bigger than real. More than normal. Beyond rational? Brave, beautiful... like, for instance, 40 feet tall...

"... she's a movie star, she's all in the papers and everywhere I go, people hand me quarters/And they pat me on the back, they treat me like I'm famous/I never leave her side, 'cause dude it can be dangerous/And when the night arrives the light hits her features and/...."
(more of the CC song)


Wreaked. Marred. Squabble but it's what I see.

The point...

...of that last post was basically this: I realize that both viewpoints presented were largely unrelated. The philosophical underpinning of my comments and musings was this: everyone needs a purpose to get behind. Beyond a "spiritual calling" I think that having a purpose, something to fight for, is necessary to living a passionate life.
And here's the thing (where I think Greenpeace has helped me) - the motivation for effecting change is the betterment/improvement/conservation/preservation of one's environment. Whether we are believers fighting for the Kingdom of God or environmentalists fighting for the beauty of the earth, we align ourselves with causes that are meaningful, both intrinsically and which assign our lives deeper meaning.

It is not just the calling of some but really the need of all to become involved with a cause. The causeless are aimless and aimless people are dissatisfied and unfulfilled. Extreme? But I think true.

Does that make more sense?

Greenpeace

Late but here nonetheless...
It's still a bit obsessing (?) to me...

Here are two different views:

1. From the Greenpeace (history of) book. This begins with Canadian ecology and runs through whale defense and forest support, etc. The major history.
This is rather lengthy but worth the read:
"World changers, artists, and social misfits stumble upon history and make the best of it. Or they make a mess of it. In either case, they 'touch the flesh of the matter,' as Greenpeace strategist Ben Metcalfe once dreamed. Or they discover the soul that has no name and enter the eternal battle between spirit and matter. They're on spirit's side but in matter's grip. 'Imagination is seizing power,' proclaimed the Paris students in 1968. 'Our tears prove we are connected to the suffering of others,' said pacifist Joanna Macy. We shall not be moved. Blessed are the peacemakers. Let freedom ring.
World changers aren't planners. The planners come later, with critics and social philosophers to mop up and win awards. Bureaucrats arrive to invent systems. World changes are the mothers weary of seeing their children abused and fathers who have had enough of petty tyrants. Rosa Parks, the seamstress who refused to sit in the back of the bus. Jesus. Buddha."
(Greenpeace.... by Rex Weyler)

A different vantage point:


“We wrestle to free ourselves from macrocharity and distant acts of charity that serve to legitimize apathetic lifestyles of good intentions but rob us of the gift of community. We preach we prophesy, and dream together about how to awaken the church from her violent slumber. Sometimes we speak to change the world; other times we speak to keep the world from changing us. We are about ending poverty, not simply managing it. We give people fish. We teach them to fish. We tear down the walls that have been built around the fish pond. And we figure out who polluted it.We fight terrorism- the terrorism within each of us, the terrorism of corporate greed, of American consumerism, of war. We are not pacifist hippies but passionate lovers who abhor passivity and violence. We spend our lives actively resisting everything that destroys life, whether that be terrorism or the war on terrorism. We try to make the world safe, knowing that the world will never be safe as long as millions live in poverty so the few can live as they wish. We believe in another way of life- the kingdom of God- which stands in opposition to the principalities, powers, and rulers of this dark world.”

Shane Claiborne’s book “The Irresistible Revolution”

There're people in this world - I am in relationship with some of them - who are willing to do whatever it takes, to join whatever cause is most effective, to live their every breath for the sake of oppression, preservation, redemption.
I once heard a friend claim that war is the absolute opposite of God's will because it destroys human life, animal life, and destroys the earth. What could be worse?

There is so much to say. But what makes me really glad is that, ultimately, the Kingdom of God underpins every redemptive sentiment. So I at least know I am right there. God is the ultimate redeemer. We're in. So do what we know to do... at least as much as we know thus far.

“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” James 1:22

Save the whales etc.

"Soldiers dying of leukemia because people are dumb----". -Leah on hydrogen bomb testing north of New Zealand back in the '70's.

I'm reading the history of Greenpeace. So much to say but not yet... it's still percolating. The hippies and the hobos - I want to be among them. These are the people who are moving and shaking. I have a great quote to tell you when I get my book back.

For now, it's a little crazy/amazing to me how many of us (my friends, that is) are on the same wavelength with this stuff. Two major quotes to come and then I need phone calls.

Hell or highwater

8/1/06

"I can see a light that is coming
For the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these struggles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise you
Still I will praise you

Oh no You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me."

Part of "You Never Let Go" by Matt Redman (on Passion 06)

Exodus 14:10-14 -
"10 As Pharaoh drew near, the Israelites looked back, and there were the Egyptians advancing on them. In great fear the Israelites cried out to the Lord. 11They said to Moses, ‘Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, bringing us out of Egypt? 12Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, “Let us alone and let us serve the Egyptians”? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.’ 13But Moses said to the people, ‘Do not be afraid, stand firm, and see the deliverance that the Lord will accomplish for you today; for the Egyptians whom you see today you shall never see again. 14The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.'"

Whoa.
How often do we - because of its accompanying suffering and sacrifice - question whether or not we really want salvation? I mean, the idea of freedom from slavery is alluring... who wouldn't jump at the idea?
But then I find myself standing in an impossible situation - an impass on one side and an enemy on the other... and I don't feel so free and I certainly don't feel safe.

God alone is my hope.

right where He wants me to be but I have to admit to frequent second thoughts.

But I've made my decision.
And I'm going with God...
He is truly my only hope
And my salvation.
Blind faith is over-romanticized
Very terrifying
And here I stand
Completely in the dark
My only hope is that pillar of fire in the distance.

Ah.

So he has made a way for me -
Be it through the water and wilderness -
Onward I go.

Joy

Oh joy.
That's often said as a kind of sigh. (I'm admittedly not a huge fan of that fact, or the word "killjoy" but that's besides the point)
Mom used to grab me and do the "dance of joy."
Joy is said to be the more enduring feeling of elation - as opposed to fleeting happiness. Most of us spend our lives seeking it...
Hoping that one fabulous person, one perfect situation, one anticipated moment will leave us with an aftertaste of joy.
The hope of joy fuels our ambitions - everything from weight loss (when I'm thin I'll be joyful) to career goals (when I succeed I'll be approved of... and people who are approved of are joyful). It's a kind of contented satisfaction. Peace with who I am and peace with the world.

And this much I know. These past two weeks have been really chaotic - my world turned upside down almost thoroughly. My house is empty, my heart is recovering from a major blow, Leah's been out of town, the family's been in transition... uncertainties at every turn and enough pain for complaint or at least stress. That's the scene but here's the surprise: I have joy.

Somewhere deep enough is a reservoir of joy within me that is sustaining me. I am not losing hope. I am not losing life or perspective or energy. I am very much okay. More than fine. And I am that way because I have joy.

Surprising. Pleasing. Bit of a shocker but I'll take it.

Not even

My week of "dealing with this" is almost up. And I'm allowing myself one week. One week to over-eat and sulk and feel sorry for myself. Sorry that it is completely over. So completely. So tragically. I kept this tiny little door of opportunity open for him and now even that door is so irrevocably shut that I have no words. I just sit on the stairs and cry. It's like all of the fates (or divine providence, I suppose) collaborated to make it completely impossible for me to even go back. It would be unethical for me to try... because he should be with someone else and make a family. And so I will step out forever.

I've always said that nothing but the deepest of love could ever inspire me to marry.
Now I must recognize that not even the deepest of love can convince me to stay.

Strange.

"Baby says I can't come with him/And I had read all of this in his eyes/Long before he even said so why go I asked/You know and I know why/And it'll be just as quiet when I leave/As it was when I first got here/I don't expect anything/I don't expect anything/Take care I've been hurt before/Too much time spent on closing doors/You may hate me but I'll remember to love you/And goodbye don't cry/You know why."

"Quiet" by Rachael Yamagata

Plaid and paisley

We are the intersection
Of so many different things
Stripes and solids
Shapes and irregularities
But nevertheless
In my mind at least
It works
Some kind of intricate pattern
No one could really have planned
But somehow comes together
As though a greater hand
Formed us
So that one without the other
Would be incomplete
Sometimes we clash
But always,
When a broader perspective is gained
End up wearable

My brothers are necessary. Every disappointment in romance, every disillusionment with gender roles, every rant on the feminization of men or society's screwed-up views of masculinity leads me to the comforting thought that somewhere, out there, are four men. Real, blood-and-guts, ballsey men who are brave and beautiful... strong and sensitive... knowledgeable and teachable.

None of us are yet what we will be
But I know that when we are
They will be
Always and forever my standard
For what men should be.

I love you guys. Thanks for being my precious baby boys.
(my little smoocher kooker kinser lover wover dudies kissey kissey moonker woks)