That's a line from the Requiem from the Book of Common Prayer. I like it.
A personal side effect of going to funerals is that I being to think about what I have for posterity. I always end up thinking I should start writing more. Since, in childhood, I periodically destroyed everything I produced, there's really not much that remains. Good luck to whoever writes my memoirs.* All they'll have to go on are this blog, facebook, a few documents on ye olde laptop, journals starting in 2007, and possibly some random letters I've composed. I've been thinking about writing more letters (I love love love writing/getting letters) and maybe composing them on carbon paper so that if anyone writes back, I'll know what I said. Thank you, 21st century, for my three-second attention span.
I've been thinking about sending flowers to people who are still alive to appreciate them. I've been thinking about the kinds of things I'll want people to say when I die. I've been thinking about when I'll sit in the "reserved for family" section, sending off the ones I love best in all the world.
I should go check out that carbon paper and price flower deliveries. (The kitchen needs to be cleaned too, but that's way less interesting.)
*No one's going to write my memoirs. I'm pretty sure.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Excepting this, I am beyond excited about the approach of Fall.
There are no shoes in my closet that meet both of the following requirements:
- are NOT flip-flops
- do NOT cause me great blistery pain.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
A Little Light
I tried to leave my apartment today to run errands. I had to go back twice. Twice.
That's just gross.
There's banana bread baking in my oven and I'm about to go have an overdue catch-up session with a Good Friend.
That's just perfect.
(I make killer banana bread.)
My roommate just opened the blinds. It's so amazing what a little light can do.
That's just gross.
There's banana bread baking in my oven and I'm about to go have an overdue catch-up session with a Good Friend.
That's just perfect.
(I make killer banana bread.)
My roommate just opened the blinds. It's so amazing what a little light can do.
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Wax On, Wax Off
Still trudging through Hebrews.
My students handed in their first papers yesterday. The first sentence of the first paper I read goes like this:
"...Both the protagonist of the stories long for their mothers through their tail."
I'm hoping he meant "tale."
This is the kind of writing that gets you out of high school and accepted into college? Apparently. Have I got my work cut out for me. They are good kids--they participate. They just can't write. Yet. They will.
This could be one of those days where I get sucked into an introspective whirlpool of reminiscence about my walk as a follower of Christ and my thoroughly inadequate demonstration of what that is. I know I'm not where I could be. I know I have a long way to go. I know--nothing.
I'm walking in the tension between knowing that God is Himself, and knowing that I am myself. The stress--the opposite pulls--of living for Jesus through the body of Colleen. I don't want to say anything here about how I need to violently revolt against my flesh, or how Jesus is all the victory I need, but not because those things aren't TRUE--they are. I don't want to post a dozen paragraphs of them because they are just words. They're too pat, too cut-and-dried, for what this life actually is, in the marrow of it, and words are not enough.
This blog is not enough. Nothing I write will ever, ever be enough to communicate the hardship and the immense worth of signing your life over to Jesus Christ. So what am I doing with my time? I've devoted the past five years to words (seventeen students will undergo my red pen today because they can't use words properly). But outside of the artificial strictures of academia--what is it for?
I find that I constantly question the value of my knowledge, of all the criticisms and alternative reading methods I've stored up. Most of the time--in all honesty--though it's fun for me, it seems essentially useless. A means to an end. I'm here for the experience and for the degree. Pragmatism. But the knowledge I acquire to achieve that end--what good is it?
I can't sit around and theorize or ask answerless questions for the rest of linear existence. As much as I'd like to throw an existential tantrum and refuse to do anything more until all my questions have been satisfactorily answered, those papers aren't going to grade themselves, and I get paid to do it. I used to have a large box in my mind labeled "Things I Know." It used to be crammed quite full, but now the items within are so few I could keep them in my pocket.
I know that my work here is not wasted. I don't understand how, but I understand that God doesn't call us to do things so that we can trash them. And now I need to go put that transitory, inadequate knowledge to use so that Steve never uses "tail" for "tale" again.
My students handed in their first papers yesterday. The first sentence of the first paper I read goes like this:
"...Both the protagonist of the stories long for their mothers through their tail."
I'm hoping he meant "tale."
This is the kind of writing that gets you out of high school and accepted into college? Apparently. Have I got my work cut out for me. They are good kids--they participate. They just can't write. Yet. They will.
This could be one of those days where I get sucked into an introspective whirlpool of reminiscence about my walk as a follower of Christ and my thoroughly inadequate demonstration of what that is. I know I'm not where I could be. I know I have a long way to go. I know--nothing.
I'm walking in the tension between knowing that God is Himself, and knowing that I am myself. The stress--the opposite pulls--of living for Jesus through the body of Colleen. I don't want to say anything here about how I need to violently revolt against my flesh, or how Jesus is all the victory I need, but not because those things aren't TRUE--they are. I don't want to post a dozen paragraphs of them because they are just words. They're too pat, too cut-and-dried, for what this life actually is, in the marrow of it, and words are not enough.
This blog is not enough. Nothing I write will ever, ever be enough to communicate the hardship and the immense worth of signing your life over to Jesus Christ. So what am I doing with my time? I've devoted the past five years to words (seventeen students will undergo my red pen today because they can't use words properly). But outside of the artificial strictures of academia--what is it for?
I find that I constantly question the value of my knowledge, of all the criticisms and alternative reading methods I've stored up. Most of the time--in all honesty--though it's fun for me, it seems essentially useless. A means to an end. I'm here for the experience and for the degree. Pragmatism. But the knowledge I acquire to achieve that end--what good is it?
I can't sit around and theorize or ask answerless questions for the rest of linear existence. As much as I'd like to throw an existential tantrum and refuse to do anything more until all my questions have been satisfactorily answered, those papers aren't going to grade themselves, and I get paid to do it. I used to have a large box in my mind labeled "Things I Know." It used to be crammed quite full, but now the items within are so few I could keep them in my pocket.
I know that my work here is not wasted. I don't understand how, but I understand that God doesn't call us to do things so that we can trash them. And now I need to go put that transitory, inadequate knowledge to use so that Steve never uses "tail" for "tale" again.
Retrospective
I had a conversation with my little brother last night that led me to go back and read all--yes all-- of my posts here since the inception of this chronicle some five years ago.
Reading it was embarrassing. I said some stupid stuff. This medium of communication is such a strange one--if I wanted to, I could go back and cover it all up. delete it, or change what I said then to better suit what I feel now, or how I desire to be perceived. I'm not going to do that--but there's nothing stopping me. I could take them down, then, the sidebar reminders of past pomposity or clumsiness.
But it's good for me to remember where I've been. Good to see what I've come from. Good to remember some of those highs and lows. And, barring everything else, it's a perspective check, for if I'm ever so foolish as to think I've arrived anywhere.
Reading it was embarrassing. I said some stupid stuff. This medium of communication is such a strange one--if I wanted to, I could go back and cover it all up. delete it, or change what I said then to better suit what I feel now, or how I desire to be perceived. I'm not going to do that--but there's nothing stopping me. I could take them down, then, the sidebar reminders of past pomposity or clumsiness.
But it's good for me to remember where I've been. Good to see what I've come from. Good to remember some of those highs and lows. And, barring everything else, it's a perspective check, for if I'm ever so foolish as to think I've arrived anywhere.
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
She Stews
Reading slowly helps. Who knew?
(this from the child who used to read four and five novels a day.)
So. Does this sound familiar?
and now...
Well.
Candor. I let myself off the hook too easily. At the moment, I'm writhing inches above solid unembarrassed ground; but then, all of this book is making me squirm.
Ugh. What do I do with this?
On to Chapter 6.
(this from the child who used to read four and five novels a day.)
So. Does this sound familiar?
"Yes, this is all very elementary stuff. I've spent the past years analysing Victorian social conventions and women's literature and not studying theology and sanctification and justification and doctrinal issues. As a PK who's spent most of her Sundays in a church, maybe I should be embarrassed that I'm still making these kind of baby steps. Maybe I should be. I'm not."It should. I wrote it a day or two ago. And then I read this:
For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the first principles of the oracles of God; and you have come to need milk and not solid food.
For everyone who partakes only of milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, for he is a babe.
But solid food belongs to those who are of full age, that is, those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil. (Heb. 5.12-14)
and now...
Well.
Candor. I let myself off the hook too easily. At the moment, I'm writhing inches above solid unembarrassed ground; but then, all of this book is making me squirm.
Ugh. What do I do with this?
On to Chapter 6.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
He Brews
Every night, before I go to bed, for a few months now, I've read at least a chapter of the Bible. New Testament, specifically.
Considering where I started (Matthew) and where I am (Hebrews) and how fast I read some of the books (Acts took about two days), I know I have missed days--probably many--but this is still the longest stretch of disciplined commitment to the Word I've yet experienced in my 23 years, and my however many of those spent identifying as a Christian (we'll leave the hairy question of when exactly "identifying" properly changed to "being" or "living" or even "believing", since that's not one I'm interested in [or really capable of] addressing at the moment).
I started, as I said, in Matthew. I loved the Gospels. Really loved them. I found that I had a different interrogative for each book: How? Why? And in the case of John, What?! I lingered over the Gospels, I admit. I didn't want to finish them. Here was Jesus, himself. His own words. Not the extrapolations of generations of followers, but him. And yes, I know that the gospels weren't jotted down during Jesus's sermons, like notes in a class lecture. Nonetheless, I didn't want to leave the Gospels. I didn't want to leave Jesus.
I know that that sounds irrational, but I'm the kind of literature student who connects irrationally with fictional characters on a printed page, much less Real ones. I envied the disciples, fiercely. I wanted (and I'd forgotten about this until just now, sitting on my couch and writing this while consuming half of an excellent omelet) so badly to have my own experience of that Jesus that I reread chapter after chapter, verse after red-inked verse, reading his words out loud to better understand what he might have been saying (which he said, of course, in the King's English).
Leaving the Gospels was eased somewhat by the adventure of Acts, which was so exciting that I burned through it like I was getting paid. But then my headlong course hit Romans and I bounced off of it like I'd hit a wall.
So for the past few months I've been making more laborious process through the pauline epistles. There have been amazing moments there, too. In the spirit of candor, however, it's just easier for me to read story than philosophy. So it's taken me more effort to read these; effort that has, until now, been quickly rewarded with some illumination, some conviction, some healing, some breaking. For some reason I felt as though I were reading II Corinthians for the first time. Ephesians knocked the wind out of me. It was great. Everything was great. I felt--come on, candor, out with it-- like I was getting what I deserved-- what I'd "earned." Effort in, Enlightenment out. Isn't that how it works?
Well, sure. Except last week I read Hebrews.
And this week I'm reading Hebrews.
And I'll probably be reading it next week.
Look, Hebrews has some famous moments: The "faith" chapter--what self-respecting church kid can't quote it? And more. So this is not a book without signposts for me, points that I hit in unfamiliar reading territory that tell me, "oh, this is where I am. Now I know what he's talking about." Except that on my first read-through of the book none of those registered. I just felt lost.
I read Hebrews in only a few days, a few chapters at a time, hoping that if I read long enough, everything would make sense. I hit chapter 11 without a clue as to what had come before. True, I could have finished it up, marked the mental notch, and moved into James, but I didn't.
So now I'm on my way through it again. I've been hovering around the early chapters, rereading 4 and 5 last night. Along the way I ran across one of those signposts I must have either missed or glossed over the first time:
"For the word of God [is] quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and [is] a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart."
Ow. There's something that made sense. I still didn't quite get why the author was telling us to labor to enter in to rest--
"Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things [are] naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.
"Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast [our] profession. For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."
Nope, still don't get the rest (no pun intended) of chapter 4. I don't understand why such importance is being placed on the idea of the sabbath, of God's first and eternal rest, or why there needs to be such emphasis on the issue. But.
I think maybe the whole thing hinges on that last clause:
to "find grace to help in time of need."
Yes, this is all very elementary stuff. I've spent the past years analysing Victorian social conventions and women's literature and not studying theology and sanctification and justification and doctrinal issues. As a PK who's spent most of her Sundays in a church, maybe I should be embarrassed that I'm still making these kind of baby steps. Maybe I should be. I'm not.
This is, as discoveries go, probably minuscule. I can live with minuscule. I still don't get Hebrews. the more I read the less I think it's at all possible for me to live the kind of life I've signed up for, and that's the point: it's not possible. I can't live the way I want to. many people have discoursed about that topic much more eloquently than I'm capable of doing, so I'll leave it at that. I can't live how this book is instructing me to. I don't have the capacity to do it.
"Let us therefore come boldly before the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."
and all I can think, reading this, is,
OK.
Considering where I started (Matthew) and where I am (Hebrews) and how fast I read some of the books (Acts took about two days), I know I have missed days--probably many--but this is still the longest stretch of disciplined commitment to the Word I've yet experienced in my 23 years, and my however many of those spent identifying as a Christian (we'll leave the hairy question of when exactly "identifying" properly changed to "being" or "living" or even "believing", since that's not one I'm interested in [or really capable of] addressing at the moment).
I started, as I said, in Matthew. I loved the Gospels. Really loved them. I found that I had a different interrogative for each book: How? Why? And in the case of John, What?! I lingered over the Gospels, I admit. I didn't want to finish them. Here was Jesus, himself. His own words. Not the extrapolations of generations of followers, but him. And yes, I know that the gospels weren't jotted down during Jesus's sermons, like notes in a class lecture. Nonetheless, I didn't want to leave the Gospels. I didn't want to leave Jesus.
I know that that sounds irrational, but I'm the kind of literature student who connects irrationally with fictional characters on a printed page, much less Real ones. I envied the disciples, fiercely. I wanted (and I'd forgotten about this until just now, sitting on my couch and writing this while consuming half of an excellent omelet) so badly to have my own experience of that Jesus that I reread chapter after chapter, verse after red-inked verse, reading his words out loud to better understand what he might have been saying (which he said, of course, in the King's English).
Leaving the Gospels was eased somewhat by the adventure of Acts, which was so exciting that I burned through it like I was getting paid. But then my headlong course hit Romans and I bounced off of it like I'd hit a wall.
So for the past few months I've been making more laborious process through the pauline epistles. There have been amazing moments there, too. In the spirit of candor, however, it's just easier for me to read story than philosophy. So it's taken me more effort to read these; effort that has, until now, been quickly rewarded with some illumination, some conviction, some healing, some breaking. For some reason I felt as though I were reading II Corinthians for the first time. Ephesians knocked the wind out of me. It was great. Everything was great. I felt--come on, candor, out with it-- like I was getting what I deserved-- what I'd "earned." Effort in, Enlightenment out. Isn't that how it works?
Well, sure. Except last week I read Hebrews.
And this week I'm reading Hebrews.
And I'll probably be reading it next week.
Look, Hebrews has some famous moments: The "faith" chapter--what self-respecting church kid can't quote it? And more. So this is not a book without signposts for me, points that I hit in unfamiliar reading territory that tell me, "oh, this is where I am. Now I know what he's talking about." Except that on my first read-through of the book none of those registered. I just felt lost.
I read Hebrews in only a few days, a few chapters at a time, hoping that if I read long enough, everything would make sense. I hit chapter 11 without a clue as to what had come before. True, I could have finished it up, marked the mental notch, and moved into James, but I didn't.
So now I'm on my way through it again. I've been hovering around the early chapters, rereading 4 and 5 last night. Along the way I ran across one of those signposts I must have either missed or glossed over the first time:
"For the word of God [is] quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and [is] a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart."
Ow. There's something that made sense. I still didn't quite get why the author was telling us to labor to enter in to rest--
"Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things [are] naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.
"Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast [our] profession. For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."
Nope, still don't get the rest (no pun intended) of chapter 4. I don't understand why such importance is being placed on the idea of the sabbath, of God's first and eternal rest, or why there needs to be such emphasis on the issue. But.
I think maybe the whole thing hinges on that last clause:
to "find grace to help in time of need."
Yes, this is all very elementary stuff. I've spent the past years analysing Victorian social conventions and women's literature and not studying theology and sanctification and justification and doctrinal issues. As a PK who's spent most of her Sundays in a church, maybe I should be embarrassed that I'm still making these kind of baby steps. Maybe I should be. I'm not.
This is, as discoveries go, probably minuscule. I can live with minuscule. I still don't get Hebrews. the more I read the less I think it's at all possible for me to live the kind of life I've signed up for, and that's the point: it's not possible. I can't live the way I want to. many people have discoursed about that topic much more eloquently than I'm capable of doing, so I'll leave it at that. I can't live how this book is instructing me to. I don't have the capacity to do it.
"Let us therefore come boldly before the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."
and all I can think, reading this, is,
OK.
El Anochecer
The weather we've had recently is the kind that makes me absolutely the happiest kind of person i can be.
Reaching fall is like coming home.
The windows are open and the air conditioner's off. O gladness.
Reaching fall is like coming home.
The windows are open and the air conditioner's off. O gladness.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
new month
September came while I sat on the couch, feet propped higher than hips on the chair set up for that purpose.
It's going to stay for a few weeks. I don't know how much we'll see of one another...but Spetember has a way of getting in there, even when I'm rude enough to let it sit unnoticed for a few hours while I go about my busywork.
It's going to stay for a few weeks. I don't know how much we'll see of one another...but Spetember has a way of getting in there, even when I'm rude enough to let it sit unnoticed for a few hours while I go about my busywork.
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