This is a sad blog. Consider yourself warned.
The past several days have given me ample food for thought as well as time to think; 1000+ miles of driving will do that for a person. And in my travels, I see something consistent within our culture as a people.
We strive to fill our lives. With what? Just about anything. Depends on who one is. But have you noticed, in our quest to become more efficient, we have simply become more busy? There are tools, facilitators, that people invest in to keep themselves organized. And yet, as we invest in more and more of these time-saving devices, we find ourselves running out of time. Again and again. Despite our best efforts, our lives become busier. What gives? That is the quest to save time. A quest that seems to be a failure; for when we find we have time to spare, we fill it with something else.
Even our leisure is exhausting. Have you noticed this? I just took a two-week vacation. I'm tired, man. Lots of fun; but not relaxing at all. Have you ever heard someone say, "I need a vacation to recover from my vacation?" How often do we become stressed because of something we're doing on our "day off" and so get bent out of shape because of that? We have to make time to relax; and even then, we can't relax because we are oppressed by all the things we're putting off or ignoring so we can "relax."
And what about the quest for identity? Geez, it's hard to be a well-differentiated American. 24/7, society screams impossible ideals at us and then castigates us for not living up to them. Have you noticed this? A teenage girl is supposed to be pretty, wear stylish clothes, be thin as a rail, have a boyfriend, possess a perfect complexion, etc. And if she falls short, she is rejected. A man is supposed to be a hardened warrior, capable of taking down a pack of wolves with his bare hands; a scholar, knowledgable about all aspects of life; an innovator, someone who lives on resourcefulness; a thinker, capable of accurately assessing difficult situations and responding accordingly; and a listener, someone who can meet the emotional needs of his spouse and family. Where are these people, these ideals? Hint: they don't exist except in ad campaigns.
But we must be our own individual! So we strive to create a personal style, a personal code, something to set ourselves apart from the pack; and in so doing, we find that we only imitate others in countless ways. We buy because we want to imitate those who have; we work long hours because we want to be like those who have money. We work out (granted, it's good to be healthy... duh) because we believe we will fit into culture better if we are fit. How much of what we do is simply because we think that we will be more accepted if we do this or that? "Hey, you! You need to be your own person! And to help you do that, we're mass-marketing this stylish new car that can be yours for only thousands of dollars!"
Which brings me to another thought. The quest to buy and to have has surpassed the quest to save and prepare. Have you noticed this? The concern is always with the immediate, not the long-term. Can't afford it? No sweat. There's a credit card for that. Credit wrecked? No sweat. We won't check it. The important thing is for you to have stuff, and we will do what it takes to make sure you have your stuff. (Until someone gets tired of not being paid, anyway.)
They're even selling us on stuff we don't need! Does my razor really need a small motor in it? C'mon, seriously. What's wrong with the unmotorized one? Nothing, except for the fact that it doesn't have a motor. (Let's ignore the fact that it does the job just fine without one.)
I'm glad that phones are becoming smarter. They do make life easier. They also make it easier for random crap to invade your life. How many times have you entered a coffeeshop and seen two people sitting at the same table, not saying a word to each other, but messing with their phones? Texts, emails, random apps doing their thing, all demanding your ever so precious time. Time that you're running out of.
So where are we going? We're on a quest to fill our lives with stuff. To fill our lives with people, our bank accounts with money, our homes with things, and what do we have to show for it? Read the papers.
Broken marriages and failed relationships. Pyramid schemes and identity theft. Debt, destruction, and thieves. So we purchase items or invest time to protect these things; and the cycle repeats itself.
Don't get me wrong; some things are necessary. Positive relationships are important and should be fought for. Money is needed to survive and should be earned. We need a roof over our heads and amenities to get by. But at what point do we start serving our lifestyle? Or our desired lifestyle?
Or when do we ever raise the question? It's easy to pull the trigger on a new tshirt and ignore the 15 I already have sitting in the drawer. It's easy to overcommit myself to people because I'm scared of "letting someone down" or because I'd rather not face the consequences of simply saying, "No." It's easy to buy a new computer because the one I have is a year old (forget the fact it still works fine). These things we do without thinking.
And I wish that we would stop and ponder. In 2004, over half of college undergraduates had four or more credit cards; they had an average of $2200 in debt per person. The average cardholder is expected to owe well over $6000 by 2010. It takes an average of 330 hours to repair the damage done from identity theft. Over a million kids each year watch their parents get divorced. Nearly 10% of the nation's population suffers from depression; depression among children rises by 23% every year. Nearly 7 million people will suffer from panic attacks in 2009; I am among that number.
What's wrong with us?
We, as a culture, as a nation, as a people, are spinning, spinning, spinning out of control. We will feed on ourselves until there's nothing left and we self-destruct. We get so caught up in ourselves, our lives, our things, our busy-ness, and our incessant, manic compulsions for bigger, better, more, that we can't even see that we're slowly killing ourselves.
Can we learn to slow down? Can we learn to relax? Can we learn to seek others first and not ourselves? I hope so... And I hope we will see sooner rather than later.
Told you this was going to be sad.
Father, forgive us... For we do not know what we do.
8.11.2009
6.10.2009
Dispatches from the Kentucky Frontier
A few dispatches from the boondocks of Kentucky, brought to you via Pony Express via the interwebs:
- I'm spending the summer in Kentucky this year; I'll be working about 30 hours a week at Starbucks. I've got a couple of days off every week to do whatever manner of nothing that I desire. No classes this summer. It's time for a break. :)
- Whenever I come back to Tulsa, I appreciate the coffeeshops there. Not just because they're awesome, but because they have no equal out here. KY seems to be late on riding the coffeeshop train. There are two main types that I've noticed here so far; the yuppie coffeeshop and the grungy coffeeshop. Unfortunately, there seems to be no middle ground. Also, never have I ever been handed a drink with a rosetta poured in the foam. Not here. Local roasters are difficult to find. The one coffeeshop that I look forward to going to happens to be in the state capital, about 45 minutes away. It's an independent coffeeshop that shares space with a vintage bookstore. I could burn many hours and dollars there. And have, actually. So be grateful, Tulsa-ites; you guys are spoiled. :)
- Attending a denominational church has brought a new perspective to my understanding of how church happens. Something about Saturday Night that I have always enjoyed it its freedom. Freedom to order the service and revel (yes, revel) in alternative forms of worship; freedom to embrace the different, the uncomfortable, and the unexpected. In my current church (a traditional United Methodist congregation), "mixing it up" means that we alter the service order, or pull something different from the book of worship. I frequently wonder if it has ever occurred to them to look for expressions outside the worship book; surely it wouldn't be too hard to find ones that would be compatible with the Methodist tradition. However, this is simply not part of the process. It seems that more effort is spent changing individual words from hymns and other such minutinae instead of pursuing orthodox alternative methods of worship (which, with some prodding, this congregation would appreciate). It simply doesn't occur to the denominational mindset to look beyond the denomination for ways to worship God. Grr.
- I've gotten into Robert Ludlum as an author lately. He was the guy that penned the original Bourne books (The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultimatum); and as good as those movies may be, the books are far, far superior. Go read 'em. Of his works, I have also finished The Holcroft Covenant and The Icarus Agenda. High recommendations on both.
- Remember the ORU Honor Code? Asbury Theological Seminary has one too; it's known as the Ethos Statement. However, the Ethos Statement is about to change; for the first time in seminary history, students will be allowed to consume alcohol. Restrictions do exist, of course; the campus itself will remain dry and "moderation and discretion" are encouraged in all other places. The predominant theory is that the school changed Ethos so that enrollment would go up; like so many other places, the seminary has hit hard times. However, even though the student community has called for this change for some time, the denominational old guard (especially Wesleyans and others who believe that drinking is a moral evil) will be sure to disagree. This raises the question for some: did the seminary sell out to the prevailing winds of culture and the spirit of the world under the pressure of difficult times? This I can't say for sure; all I know is that now I can enjoy my occasional Guinness with a clear conscience. Hallelu!
- Theological question for the masses: What is the role of the Holy Spirit in the Crucifixion and Resurrection? We seem to pay natural attention to the Father and the Son in these events, but what about the Holy Spirit? I'd like to hear your thoughts...
- In an effort to stay more in touch, I am strongly considering adopting other mediums of communication... I picked up a Skype account yesterday, and I am also looking into (gasp, perish the thought) Twitter. Shortly after I get Twitter, I will escort myself out behind the barn and bludgeon myself repeatedly with an old 2x4 for selling out.
- As of late, I have also been making a partially concerted effort to stay up to speed on some television shows. I have finished Season 4 of The Office and am also getting into Castle and Fringe. I also have an interesting amount of curiousity regarding Dollhouse. I'm open to other recommendations as well, except Lost. Don't get me started on Lost.
5.22.2009
Through Hell and Back
So as promised, here is the story of my semester. It's a long story; if you don't want to read it all, or simply don't care, that's fine by me.
Many of you have heard that this has been a hard semester for me. However, up to this point, I can count on one hand the people who have heard all the details of it. It's been rather traumatic, and I am only just beginning now to feel that I can look it in the eye and recount it.
For I feel that I must recount it; it's not a tale of woe, or a passive plea for pity. It's a story of God working in spite of circumstances; a story of pain, power, messiness, and miracles. I do not want anyone to read this and feel sorry for me; if I wanted your sympathy, I'd simply ask for it. Either way, I don't feel sorry for myself. Instead, I hope that you would read this and see God's hand at work and be encouraged to look inside your own situation to find his grace there in ways that you haven't seen before; I would also encourage you to expect grace in times when you feel it the least. This is why my story must be told.
The semester began in January with a girl. She's a great girl and I fell for her. It's not necessary to go into all the details; suffice it to say that it didn't work out. I will also say that she is a wonderful person and that I do not bear her any ill will. Feelings get involved in relationships, and that makes things hard. It's not anybody's fault, though.
So that was something emotional to grapple with; and somewhere in processing that, I took a drive in the beautiful countryside of Kentucky. I hoped to get some clear direction from God on how to handle this situation; and while I did not receive any direction, I did receive a hug from my Creator and the assurance that whatever happened that it would turn out okay. I thought that word was for this specific situation; I was wrong.
Also in this time, I began to develop chest pains. My chest would feel tight and I would experience shortness of breath on occasion. I knew something was wrong, but not being the brightest star in the sky, I didn't do anything about it. This will come into play later.
After the situation with the girl came to some resolution, I began to experience some trouble with school. Due to an upcoming trip to Israel, I had to take online classes; unfortunately, I didn't get that figured out until two days before drop/add closed. I couldn't order books for my classes until the first week was over. So coming off of a tough relational issue, I found myself three weeks behind in my classes. My books came in and I made everything up; 1500 pages to read, 20 pages to write, and 20 hours of work outside of that. 4 hours of sleep a night, and I was caught up in a week. However, I was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally.
This was about a week before I headed to Israel. One night, I got a call from my boss at work informing me that a co-worker had been murdered. Even though he and I were not close, I was in no shape at this time to deal with something like that. He was a good guy; very nice spirit. He had been raised in the church, but had abandoned it and was searching other avenues of faith and belief. I had the opportunity to speak with him about spiritual matters on occasion, and I always found those discussions uplifting and challenging.
He had become involved in a romantic relationship with another man (whom we found out later had violent tendencies) and over time became impressed with the need to break the relationship off. He went to a public place in broad daylight to break up with him; the other man pulled a gun and shot him twice in the middle of a crowded parking lot at three in the afternoon.
Stuff like that doesn't happen. Never have I prayed before that God would have mercy on someone's soul; never ever would I have thought that such a prayer could be genuine or heartfelt. And yet, such was my prayer.
This same weekend, my car broke down to the tune of $2300. I could give you a laundry list of what was wrong with it, but that's not important. It was just another thing that had gone wrong in 2009. So I was leaving for Israel early next week; fortunately, my warranty provided for a rental while my car was in the shop and my car was ready the day before I left for Israel.
And here, things started to get better. I had received an unexpected scholarship this semester that gave me another $1000 to play with; I hadn't spent it and was kinda pondering how to. I got the bill for my car and found that after the warranty I had to pay about $950. Kapow! God is good. I also got a rental for the time that my car was in the shop. Not bad.
So the next day I went to Israel for two weeks, which was great. At this point I just needed to get out of town for a while. My dad (a doctor) looked me over regarding the pains and said there was nothing wrong. In Israel I got to take a small break from schoolwork; however, this was not a stress free time by any stretch of the imagination. I was still a basket case, just somewhat removed from the basket.
I returned to Wilville feeling somewhat better, but utterly disgusted at the fact that I had to return at all. I did not want to be back at all. At this point, I was associating bad things with the place where I lived, and I just wanted to be somewhere else. Nothing bad happened to me in Israel; I just wanted to be someplace that I knew bad things didn’t happen all the time.
About a week after I returned, my chest pains started to get worse and worse. Couple that with making up time in class (again) and my stress levels went up. One evening, my neck locked up, I got lightheaded, my left side started to tingle, and I started feeling nauseous; so I flipped out and went to a local urgent care center because I thought I was having a stroke or a heart attack.
Turns out that I wasn’t; the doctor basically said that it was an allergy/stress attack and sent me home with a prescription for an albuterol inhaler. But it got me thinking…
I just had a panic attack. I’d heard stories of people who had panic attacks. I was not one of those people. Until now. What’s wrong with me? What’s going on? I took the rest of the weekend off from homework and began to take a solid, hard look at my life and what I was doing to ensure that I wasn’t overworked. Certainly a step in the right direction.
Then I went home the following weekend; my sister’s high school play was that weekend, and I wanted to see it. Home was so good; it seemed like every interaction I had there was sent by God. There was peace in Tulsa. You could have told me that it was God’s will for me to stay here, forget my education and settle, and I would have believed you and done it. But some great conversations with friends convinced me otherwise. Dad also worked on me again; he discovered some stuff that he had missed the first time around and spent a couple of hours working on my chest wall. Turns out that I had some trauma that had caused my chest to lock up and my ribcage to tighten; thus the pain and shortness of breath. He unlocked all the tightness and I felt GREAT for the first time in 2009.
I had ceased to care about class; I just wanted to finish the semester and call it done. I was a C student for the first time in my life; and also for the first time in my life, I didn’t care about the grades that I got. I just wanted to be done. And yet God showed his grace here as well; I have received one final grade back already, and I know for a fact there is no way that I earned the grade that I got. On the assignments that I turned in for other classes, it seemed that God took my shoddy work and multiplied the quality of it so that I got better grades than I deserved. Not bad for someone who has ceased to care.
I finished the semester two days ago; the past week involved 30 hours of work, 10 pages of research, 500 pages to read, and two tests to take, but God saw me through.
I also got the statement from my insurance company regarding the visit to the ER. It cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $2000 for it all; insurance paid about $1200 and was able to negotiate away another $250, so I’m currently liable for about $550. That’s still a lot for a student, but not bad.
And now the story gets really cool. I sometimes forget which weeks I get paid at my job, so I just pick up a check whenever I remember to. And so, from time to time, I have checks left over. Before I came to Tulsa for my little sister’s graduation, I stopped in at work to pick up my tips and see if I had any checks that I could deposit before I left town. As it turns out, I did. Two checks. Totaling…
$550.
Wow.
So that brings us up to the present. As I said at the beginning, this story is not to ask for pity. I don’t need pity, nor do I want it. Instead, this story is a testament to God working in my life in spite of overwhelming circumstances. It is a tale of restoration and redemption. It is also a story to encourage.
I have always been overwhelmed by the power of grace. When we least expect it, it shows up; and sometimes when we don’t think it’s there, it is actually there more than we realize. That is my story.
Many of you have heard that this has been a hard semester for me. However, up to this point, I can count on one hand the people who have heard all the details of it. It's been rather traumatic, and I am only just beginning now to feel that I can look it in the eye and recount it.
For I feel that I must recount it; it's not a tale of woe, or a passive plea for pity. It's a story of God working in spite of circumstances; a story of pain, power, messiness, and miracles. I do not want anyone to read this and feel sorry for me; if I wanted your sympathy, I'd simply ask for it. Either way, I don't feel sorry for myself. Instead, I hope that you would read this and see God's hand at work and be encouraged to look inside your own situation to find his grace there in ways that you haven't seen before; I would also encourage you to expect grace in times when you feel it the least. This is why my story must be told.
The semester began in January with a girl. She's a great girl and I fell for her. It's not necessary to go into all the details; suffice it to say that it didn't work out. I will also say that she is a wonderful person and that I do not bear her any ill will. Feelings get involved in relationships, and that makes things hard. It's not anybody's fault, though.
So that was something emotional to grapple with; and somewhere in processing that, I took a drive in the beautiful countryside of Kentucky. I hoped to get some clear direction from God on how to handle this situation; and while I did not receive any direction, I did receive a hug from my Creator and the assurance that whatever happened that it would turn out okay. I thought that word was for this specific situation; I was wrong.
Also in this time, I began to develop chest pains. My chest would feel tight and I would experience shortness of breath on occasion. I knew something was wrong, but not being the brightest star in the sky, I didn't do anything about it. This will come into play later.
After the situation with the girl came to some resolution, I began to experience some trouble with school. Due to an upcoming trip to Israel, I had to take online classes; unfortunately, I didn't get that figured out until two days before drop/add closed. I couldn't order books for my classes until the first week was over. So coming off of a tough relational issue, I found myself three weeks behind in my classes. My books came in and I made everything up; 1500 pages to read, 20 pages to write, and 20 hours of work outside of that. 4 hours of sleep a night, and I was caught up in a week. However, I was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally.
This was about a week before I headed to Israel. One night, I got a call from my boss at work informing me that a co-worker had been murdered. Even though he and I were not close, I was in no shape at this time to deal with something like that. He was a good guy; very nice spirit. He had been raised in the church, but had abandoned it and was searching other avenues of faith and belief. I had the opportunity to speak with him about spiritual matters on occasion, and I always found those discussions uplifting and challenging.
He had become involved in a romantic relationship with another man (whom we found out later had violent tendencies) and over time became impressed with the need to break the relationship off. He went to a public place in broad daylight to break up with him; the other man pulled a gun and shot him twice in the middle of a crowded parking lot at three in the afternoon.
Stuff like that doesn't happen. Never have I prayed before that God would have mercy on someone's soul; never ever would I have thought that such a prayer could be genuine or heartfelt. And yet, such was my prayer.
This same weekend, my car broke down to the tune of $2300. I could give you a laundry list of what was wrong with it, but that's not important. It was just another thing that had gone wrong in 2009. So I was leaving for Israel early next week; fortunately, my warranty provided for a rental while my car was in the shop and my car was ready the day before I left for Israel.
And here, things started to get better. I had received an unexpected scholarship this semester that gave me another $1000 to play with; I hadn't spent it and was kinda pondering how to. I got the bill for my car and found that after the warranty I had to pay about $950. Kapow! God is good. I also got a rental for the time that my car was in the shop. Not bad.
So the next day I went to Israel for two weeks, which was great. At this point I just needed to get out of town for a while. My dad (a doctor) looked me over regarding the pains and said there was nothing wrong. In Israel I got to take a small break from schoolwork; however, this was not a stress free time by any stretch of the imagination. I was still a basket case, just somewhat removed from the basket.
I returned to Wilville feeling somewhat better, but utterly disgusted at the fact that I had to return at all. I did not want to be back at all. At this point, I was associating bad things with the place where I lived, and I just wanted to be somewhere else. Nothing bad happened to me in Israel; I just wanted to be someplace that I knew bad things didn’t happen all the time.
About a week after I returned, my chest pains started to get worse and worse. Couple that with making up time in class (again) and my stress levels went up. One evening, my neck locked up, I got lightheaded, my left side started to tingle, and I started feeling nauseous; so I flipped out and went to a local urgent care center because I thought I was having a stroke or a heart attack.
Turns out that I wasn’t; the doctor basically said that it was an allergy/stress attack and sent me home with a prescription for an albuterol inhaler. But it got me thinking…
I just had a panic attack. I’d heard stories of people who had panic attacks. I was not one of those people. Until now. What’s wrong with me? What’s going on? I took the rest of the weekend off from homework and began to take a solid, hard look at my life and what I was doing to ensure that I wasn’t overworked. Certainly a step in the right direction.
Then I went home the following weekend; my sister’s high school play was that weekend, and I wanted to see it. Home was so good; it seemed like every interaction I had there was sent by God. There was peace in Tulsa. You could have told me that it was God’s will for me to stay here, forget my education and settle, and I would have believed you and done it. But some great conversations with friends convinced me otherwise. Dad also worked on me again; he discovered some stuff that he had missed the first time around and spent a couple of hours working on my chest wall. Turns out that I had some trauma that had caused my chest to lock up and my ribcage to tighten; thus the pain and shortness of breath. He unlocked all the tightness and I felt GREAT for the first time in 2009.
I had ceased to care about class; I just wanted to finish the semester and call it done. I was a C student for the first time in my life; and also for the first time in my life, I didn’t care about the grades that I got. I just wanted to be done. And yet God showed his grace here as well; I have received one final grade back already, and I know for a fact there is no way that I earned the grade that I got. On the assignments that I turned in for other classes, it seemed that God took my shoddy work and multiplied the quality of it so that I got better grades than I deserved. Not bad for someone who has ceased to care.
I finished the semester two days ago; the past week involved 30 hours of work, 10 pages of research, 500 pages to read, and two tests to take, but God saw me through.
I also got the statement from my insurance company regarding the visit to the ER. It cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $2000 for it all; insurance paid about $1200 and was able to negotiate away another $250, so I’m currently liable for about $550. That’s still a lot for a student, but not bad.
And now the story gets really cool. I sometimes forget which weeks I get paid at my job, so I just pick up a check whenever I remember to. And so, from time to time, I have checks left over. Before I came to Tulsa for my little sister’s graduation, I stopped in at work to pick up my tips and see if I had any checks that I could deposit before I left town. As it turns out, I did. Two checks. Totaling…
$550.
Wow.
So that brings us up to the present. As I said at the beginning, this story is not to ask for pity. I don’t need pity, nor do I want it. Instead, this story is a testament to God working in my life in spite of overwhelming circumstances. It is a tale of restoration and redemption. It is also a story to encourage.
I have always been overwhelmed by the power of grace. When we least expect it, it shows up; and sometimes when we don’t think it’s there, it is actually there more than we realize. That is my story.
4.30.2009
From the Deck...
Sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been a hell of a semester, and when the summer starts I'll take a couple of hours to blog it out and tell you about it.
But today, I'd like to share an experience that happened to me just a few minutes ago.
Every so often, I get a craving in my spirit for silence. Not just quiet, but silence; I can stand the white noise of the world. Cars driving past and birds singing are no problem. It's the people that get under my skin. Conversations, laughter, comments in passing... Suddenly the world is filled with people who have no desire except to hear their voice echo in the otherwise clean and pristine air, people who feel that the space they walk through is an empty void best handled by a boost in personal volume. And these people, whether they be friends, family, or otherwise... When the fit takes me, they all grate against the fiber of my being.
So this afternoon I sought refuge in a bowl of ice cream, my iPod, and the back deck which just so happens to look out across a cow pasture. Bono was singing "Walk On," the wind was playing with my hair, and I had successfully escaped the hubbub of the indoors. As I was thoughtfully letting a lump of Mocha Madness melt in my mouth, one cow looked at me.
This cow was set apart from the group; the closest one to me, away from the herd. The rest of the cows had their heads buried in tufts of grass, concerned only with their next bite; this cow had locked eyes with me. As we continued to hold each other's gaze, thoughts began to flow...
"I like this cow. He and I are similar; trying to break away from the bunch, not conforming to what the rest of the herd is doing. Seeking a home in the outdoors, looking for meaning beyond the fences which hold us back. This is a good cow."
As my personal reverie continued, I began to feel a kind of kinship with this creature. "This cow knows me," I thought. "This cow gets it."
I broke away from the beast's gaze and pushed some Mocha Madness around in my bowl. I looked up; the cow still stared me down. Then, ponderously, he lowered his head to the grass and sniffed. Looked back up; looked back down, then methodically walked away. The rest of the herd absentmindedly followed, noses still buried in the grass. "Huh," I thought. "How cool is that."
And at that moment I realized what an awkward thing it is to have a cow icily glaring at you while you eat a dairy product.
But today, I'd like to share an experience that happened to me just a few minutes ago.
Every so often, I get a craving in my spirit for silence. Not just quiet, but silence; I can stand the white noise of the world. Cars driving past and birds singing are no problem. It's the people that get under my skin. Conversations, laughter, comments in passing... Suddenly the world is filled with people who have no desire except to hear their voice echo in the otherwise clean and pristine air, people who feel that the space they walk through is an empty void best handled by a boost in personal volume. And these people, whether they be friends, family, or otherwise... When the fit takes me, they all grate against the fiber of my being.
So this afternoon I sought refuge in a bowl of ice cream, my iPod, and the back deck which just so happens to look out across a cow pasture. Bono was singing "Walk On," the wind was playing with my hair, and I had successfully escaped the hubbub of the indoors. As I was thoughtfully letting a lump of Mocha Madness melt in my mouth, one cow looked at me.
This cow was set apart from the group; the closest one to me, away from the herd. The rest of the cows had their heads buried in tufts of grass, concerned only with their next bite; this cow had locked eyes with me. As we continued to hold each other's gaze, thoughts began to flow...
"I like this cow. He and I are similar; trying to break away from the bunch, not conforming to what the rest of the herd is doing. Seeking a home in the outdoors, looking for meaning beyond the fences which hold us back. This is a good cow."
As my personal reverie continued, I began to feel a kind of kinship with this creature. "This cow knows me," I thought. "This cow gets it."
I broke away from the beast's gaze and pushed some Mocha Madness around in my bowl. I looked up; the cow still stared me down. Then, ponderously, he lowered his head to the grass and sniffed. Looked back up; looked back down, then methodically walked away. The rest of the herd absentmindedly followed, noses still buried in the grass. "Huh," I thought. "How cool is that."
And at that moment I realized what an awkward thing it is to have a cow icily glaring at you while you eat a dairy product.
1.04.2009
Upon Iconoclastic People
So, some time ago a friend told me about a particular view held by theologian Colin Gunton... The view that people are, by nature, "iconoclastic." They break whatever image and conception you may form of them over time, for people are created in God's image. I thought it sounded like a neat idea and decided that I probably believed it.
I went home a couple of weeks ago. I always look forward to going home. It's great to see family and friends. Of course, the time spent will not be enough and there will be some disappointments as to someone I didn't get to see or spend as much time with, but that's part of the game. For a number of reasons, I was really looking forward to this particular visit; and so, expectations were set quite high.
How did it go? Iconoclastically smashing.
I got to meet up with a bunch of people; a dinner here, a coffee there, a lunch with someone else. Most of these meetings took place with friends that I have known for years. When you sit and catch up with someone, you continue to learn about them; you hear about their current life situation and in turn how they deal with their present circumstances. This speaks of their character and what kind of person they are; and regardless of how long you've known someone, people will be full of surprises.
Circumstances change. Some friends got married; others became parents. Others grew to the point where I now must look up at them a bit. Some friends moved away from Tulsa and just were passing through during the holidays, just like me.
I got surprised a good deal on this visit.
Some people greatly impressed me and I wanted to spend more time with them in the hopes that a bit of their awesomeness would rub off on me before the clock ran out. Some people I just met, or reestablished contact with, and desperately want to grow the relationship however I can because they're simply too cool to let go.
Other people were disappointing, to put it nicely; "utter let-down" may be a more accurate phrase. I'm not sure what went wrong, but there were several experiences where I came away from seeing someone thinking, "This isn't the person I knew..." I saw things in particular people that caused me to lose respect for them.
And I don't know how it happened. You can meet up with someone that you greatly respect and admire and just listen to them; and somehow, by the end of the time, you're wondering what in the world happened to the person that you thought you knew so well. Were they hiding inside all the time, just waiting to pop out when you weren't looking? Maybe it's a matter of perspective; a few more years and experience could change one's viewpoint. What if it's pride - a bit of self-righteousness and the innate desire to be better than those around me? A bit of everything, perhaps?
I don't know... As I sit here and type this, I hope you can see what I'm driving at. I try not to deal with people in a callous way; I don't want to judge my experiences with others by some sort of mental scorecard. I don't sit and rationally listen to a person and think, "This person is worthy of more respect than I currently have for them; therefore, I shall give it." No! You just sit down and aim to have a good time; and when the encounter has ended and you're walking back to your car, you're left with an impression of the encounter, positive or negative. "That was really fun; I need to hang out with her more often," or "Geez, that was a bust. I may not do backflips to hang out with him again..." Again, that's more of an impression of the encounter than a rational, calculated response.
And so, I have more impressions than responses. Some impressions were extremely positive; others were spitting distance short of depressing. All were, by nature, iconoclastic.
My impressions of people are not final; they are subject to change, by default. When I interact with a person, it's like my mind pulls out a sketch of them and goes to work. The pencil flies over the paper, shading, adding details, rounding shapes, clarifying points of ambiguity; sometimes, the pencil gets flipped and the eraser flutters over the sketch, doing away with slipped strokes and poor portrayals, softening hard lines where strong definition may not exist. When I meet someone new, I start from scratch; when I meet up with an old friend, I pull their picture out of the stack and resume work on it. The longer I know someone, the less my mind adjusts his or her picture; sometimes, the mental artist will sit back and wait for an inconsistency to present itself. When it does, the picture is corrected as it can be; and so the process subconsciously repeats itself ad infinitum. While art can come by rational calculation, it stems from impressions - and impressions make, shape, frame, and change the pictures I have of others.
I suppose one could ask the question, are impressions accurate? Eh... I don't want to address that here. I'm only outlining my process, not deciding whether or not my process is correct. ;)
The pictures will never be done; but in my mind, some became more beautiful this past week. Others lost a good deal of luster. And with the shoe on the other foot, I can't help but wonder... Was the experience as joyous/disappointing for them as it was for me? Maybe I'll never know... But I would ask this of you...
Please don't finish your sketch of me. The subject matter is rather fluid.
I went home a couple of weeks ago. I always look forward to going home. It's great to see family and friends. Of course, the time spent will not be enough and there will be some disappointments as to someone I didn't get to see or spend as much time with, but that's part of the game. For a number of reasons, I was really looking forward to this particular visit; and so, expectations were set quite high.
How did it go? Iconoclastically smashing.
I got to meet up with a bunch of people; a dinner here, a coffee there, a lunch with someone else. Most of these meetings took place with friends that I have known for years. When you sit and catch up with someone, you continue to learn about them; you hear about their current life situation and in turn how they deal with their present circumstances. This speaks of their character and what kind of person they are; and regardless of how long you've known someone, people will be full of surprises.
Circumstances change. Some friends got married; others became parents. Others grew to the point where I now must look up at them a bit. Some friends moved away from Tulsa and just were passing through during the holidays, just like me.
I got surprised a good deal on this visit.
Some people greatly impressed me and I wanted to spend more time with them in the hopes that a bit of their awesomeness would rub off on me before the clock ran out. Some people I just met, or reestablished contact with, and desperately want to grow the relationship however I can because they're simply too cool to let go.
Other people were disappointing, to put it nicely; "utter let-down" may be a more accurate phrase. I'm not sure what went wrong, but there were several experiences where I came away from seeing someone thinking, "This isn't the person I knew..." I saw things in particular people that caused me to lose respect for them.
And I don't know how it happened. You can meet up with someone that you greatly respect and admire and just listen to them; and somehow, by the end of the time, you're wondering what in the world happened to the person that you thought you knew so well. Were they hiding inside all the time, just waiting to pop out when you weren't looking? Maybe it's a matter of perspective; a few more years and experience could change one's viewpoint. What if it's pride - a bit of self-righteousness and the innate desire to be better than those around me? A bit of everything, perhaps?
I don't know... As I sit here and type this, I hope you can see what I'm driving at. I try not to deal with people in a callous way; I don't want to judge my experiences with others by some sort of mental scorecard. I don't sit and rationally listen to a person and think, "This person is worthy of more respect than I currently have for them; therefore, I shall give it." No! You just sit down and aim to have a good time; and when the encounter has ended and you're walking back to your car, you're left with an impression of the encounter, positive or negative. "That was really fun; I need to hang out with her more often," or "Geez, that was a bust. I may not do backflips to hang out with him again..." Again, that's more of an impression of the encounter than a rational, calculated response.
And so, I have more impressions than responses. Some impressions were extremely positive; others were spitting distance short of depressing. All were, by nature, iconoclastic.
My impressions of people are not final; they are subject to change, by default. When I interact with a person, it's like my mind pulls out a sketch of them and goes to work. The pencil flies over the paper, shading, adding details, rounding shapes, clarifying points of ambiguity; sometimes, the pencil gets flipped and the eraser flutters over the sketch, doing away with slipped strokes and poor portrayals, softening hard lines where strong definition may not exist. When I meet someone new, I start from scratch; when I meet up with an old friend, I pull their picture out of the stack and resume work on it. The longer I know someone, the less my mind adjusts his or her picture; sometimes, the mental artist will sit back and wait for an inconsistency to present itself. When it does, the picture is corrected as it can be; and so the process subconsciously repeats itself ad infinitum. While art can come by rational calculation, it stems from impressions - and impressions make, shape, frame, and change the pictures I have of others.
I suppose one could ask the question, are impressions accurate? Eh... I don't want to address that here. I'm only outlining my process, not deciding whether or not my process is correct. ;)
The pictures will never be done; but in my mind, some became more beautiful this past week. Others lost a good deal of luster. And with the shoe on the other foot, I can't help but wonder... Was the experience as joyous/disappointing for them as it was for me? Maybe I'll never know... But I would ask this of you...
Please don't finish your sketch of me. The subject matter is rather fluid.
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