Scars of Compromise

The intro to the fourth postsecret book talks a bit about what the artist, Frank, desires this sharing of secrets to initiate/fuel/accomplish.  It says that people tend to identify with postcards that they read – a string of the personal variety is gently tugged in them, requesting a stop at the next intersection.  We read the confessions of others and think, “yeah, me too…”

It didn’t take me past the second page of my new book to pause on an adult’s scratchy pen over a photograph of a  Haloweened little Batman-girl.  “I was only 5 the first time I compromised my beliefs in an attempt to impress a boy” 

I’ve always done that.  Surely at small ages like 5 and 7 and 9 and 11.  But also through high school and big time at 18.  And even after the new me at 20 and at 21, too.  It’s not always religious, we have beliefs and assumptions, a threshhold of preunderstandings that we kinda navigate life by.  I think I’ve bent and broken most of mine as I think through the years.  And I’m the product of this cycle that I imagine myself, 23, finally removed from.

In scores of shameless college visits to play soccer on scholarship, there was compromise to get me home.  After the longest game of red-or-black in that old house in Eastown, there was bloody, heartbreaking compromise pouring out the open window with every gust of wind.  It only takes a second to justify what he may mean.  And then, somehow, he just never does.  But the scars of compromise build their thick, smooth tissue over the consequences anyway.

Sure, I wish I could take some of it back, but my scars won’t leave my skin.  The change I can make lies in patterns. And my patterns don’t compromise like that anymore.

Blessed

Tags

blessed, blessing, Christian, Christianity, definition, English, etymology, God, history, pagan, perspective, religion, words, worldview

The adjective “blessed” has a trillion parts to its definition, as most English words these days.  I gravitate to the familiar synonyms, phrases like: sacred, holy, worthy of adoration or worship.  I’m looking through the lens of a worldview that trusts that God Almighty gives and takes away.  So He’s the dude doing the blessing.   Thus, my innards get slipknotted when folks are blessing and gettin’ blessed outside of the sacred.  How dare they?  It’s true, though, there’s some skewing of perspective in my preunderstood approach.

So it goes, the etymological history of ‘blessed’ tells are pretty tight-knit story.  It originally comes from an Old English verb which means, to bless, wish happiness, consecrate.  The Germanic equivalent connotes a consecration with blood, like a Catholic-style sprinkling, I imagine.  The Anglo-Saxons used the word [and consequently the process] in pagan services, worshipping false gods and forces, and “blessing” the folk with symbolic things like animal blood.  Here’s the switch: when those very people, the old school pagan worshippers, converted to Christianity, the word “blessed” became somewhat syncretistic, acquiring slightly new meanings as the translations of the Latin Bible began to have an influence. 

Brilliant! [light bulb turns on]  So connotation for ‘blessed’ tends to be Biblical, not because it began that way and was defined as such, but because it was a tag-along into new ventures after already having held meaning.  So when we’re blessed by the sovereignty of God in various ways, it’s legit.  We’re not sprinkled with anything, but the positively connotated term is true.  Our situation has become more holy and happy because of an outside force.  But my investigation has broadened the boundaries.  Because, I guess, since ‘blessed’ came from pagan roots, pagans can be blessed just as well.  A blessing doesn’t necessitate the inclusion of God, even though every time I use it, it will include such an assumption.  To be blessed separate from the power of God just refers to the way something is favored or fortunate, brought increased happiness or content.  Something that urges thankfulness.

Still seems odd to me to be thankful to nothing.  Can thankfulness have no direct object?  I suppose it can, but I’ll assure that mine never will.  My thankfulness will always have direction.  My blessings will come from somewhere.

Rainbow

I saw a double rainbow once.  I only ever saw it once on this simple walk in the city.  I wanted to tell you about how God promised Moses that He’d never wipe out the earth again, like He did with the Flood.  About how, since Christ, God has a whole new way of dealing with His children – there wasn’t this kind of grace in the Old Testament, when Moses was God’s hombre.  Grace is unlike anything we’re willing to do as humans, it’s contrary to our nature.  Even when I think I could, my aspirations cower beneath what Christ did, something like a bug in my shadow.  God’s promised us a lot of things, oddly without mistake so far.  That’s why I believe Him.  That’s why I’m thrilled and squealing about the rainbow.  But it’s all you see, just some colors in the sky. 

Reconciling Truth

I’ll tell you one thing, truth isn’t being reconciled in my life very much lately.  I voluntarily plead ignorance on just about everything tonight.  Humility’s not something that comes easy for me, but I’m such a broken mess that it’s about the only thing I can hang my hat on right now. 

There is truth.  There are things that are absolute.  There’s a historical Jesus who came to a real earth and died a real death to change the world.  True things don’t have to make sense to me, because my mind isn’t the quintessential example of genius (believe it or not).  But not every truth, every Bible concept or lesson is clear cut and cleanly overlapping with the rest of life.  I’m all in on the truths.  Scientific, Biblical, Street Smarts – I’m a hundred percent for the things that are true and real.  But I’m struggling with the truths that aren’t manifesting in my life.  The truths that sit stagnant in me as head knowledge, but where no turn of my life allows them to show themselves as real and operable truths.

It’s Christ’s desire for my life to be a testimony, yes sir.  For my love to manifest as an overflow of Christ’s perfect love for me, and to actualize in my actions towards others.  Yep, I’m on board with that.  Try, even, to do it from time to time.  I also know about risk, about temptation, and guarding my heart.  I remember learning the hard way in the very beginning of my belief.  I carried so much baggage from my old lifestyle into my relationship with Christ, for a long time I didn’t see what was wrong with situations that didn’t directly garner a checkmark under the “sin” column.  But I know better now.  At least a little. 

But what of the times when embodying one truth is to the disobedience of the other.  What if they play the hero AND the villian?  Who wins?  It’s not as easy as a multiple choice test, surely not.  But I’m struggling with the silence.  Why so silent, so still, when all I need to see is one situation where these things interact so I can make a choice and GO!?

When truth fails to reconcile, I don’t quit believing in truth.  What a mess.  And horrible snap decision.  Instead I wait, like I have been.  I wait for two years, maybe wait for more.  I soak my scarf around my neck with the heartbreak of waiting while I drive home in the snow.  And all I’m saying is that my sadness is turning to anger, because I’ve never waited so long for something and my patience isn’t built to last.

Love Wins

Tags

Christianity, emergent, emergent church, faith, God, Jesus, Jesus Christ, love, religion, Rob Bell

Relational Concepts [relationalconcepts.org] just put out a new article on the phrase sprawled across Michigander bumper stickers and the ideas behind it. Does love really always win?, I remember asking when I lived in Michigan and saw the stickers all the time. My mind skipped to Jesus turning the tables in the temple, wondering if love was winning there, or if Jesus had another immediate purpose, or if that isolated incident was far out of context, or if choice D, all of the above would be right-er…

It’s a mushy view of the Gospel that love always wins. Imbalanced at the least, I’d say (like ragamuffin).   It’s oversimplifying to a fault.  And it’s sort of a reconstruction of the image of Jesus Christ, which is severely detrimental to Christianity because people don’t have a solid picture of the historical Jesus as it is.  Why y’all gotta go messing it up further?

Love is one characteristic among many that needs to be balanced and in solid interaction with the rest of God.  I won’t ever lie to you, unbelieving friend, and tell you that it’s all gonna be okay, or that I’ll be there no matter what, or that love wins with this God I love, all the time.  I’d rather give you a Bible and let you see the full story for yourself.  Start in the gospel of John, maybe.

I largely digress…

Belief

Tags

Belief, Chronicles of Narnia, John Mayer, Lucy, lyrics, music, Narnia, songs

live video of John Mayer \”Belief\”

Is there anyone who ever remembers/Changing their mind from the paint on a sign?
Is there anyone who really recalls ever breaking rank at all/For something someone yelled real loud one time?

Oh everyone believes/In how they think it oughta be
Oh everyone believes/And they’re not going easily

Belief is a beautiful armor/But makes for the heaviest sword
Like punching underwater/You never can hit who you’re trying for
Some need the exhibition/And some have to know they tried
It’s the chemical weapon/For the war that’s raging on inside

Oh everyone believes/From emptiness to everything
Oh everyone believes/And no one’s going quietly

We’re never gonna win the world/We’re never gonna stop the war
We’re never gonna beat this/If belief is what we’re fighting for
We’re never gonna win the world/We’re never gonna stop the war
We’re never gonna beat this/If belief is what we’re fighting for

Is there anyone who you can remember/Who ever surrendered with their life on the line?

We’re never gonna win the world/We’re never gonna stop the war
We’re never gonna beat this/If belief is what we’re fighting for
We’re never gonna win the world/We’re never gonna stop the war
We’re never gonna beat this/If belief is what we’re fighting for

Na na na na…

What puts a hundred thousand children in the sand?/Belief can, belief can
What puts the folded flag inside his mother’s hand?/Belief can, belief can.

***          ***          ***          ***          ***

These lyrics are brilliant.  Such a perfect blend of straight truth and thick metaphors.  So seamless, the two, that every time I just barely think I’m on his page, that I know what he’s talking about, he throws in another image that doesn’t quite fit my hypothesis.  And I’m tossed back and forth between searching for meaning and searching for life experiences to illustrate what I think I know.

It’s very strange to talk about something so ambiguious as ‘belief’ without giving it a positive or negative label.  Maybe he does ascribe to a side with, “It’s a chemical weapon”, or “Belief is a beautiful armor”.  But, which?

The hundred thousand children in the sand reminds me of the two soldier statues outside of Calder Art center at GV.  When David came to visit school, he and my artist roommate told me about a massacre, some sort of genocide-ish event in the East a while back (remember, history is a bit of a weak spot, to say it gently).  They buried the enemy in what would be their tombs, with only their heads above the sand.  Then they came across with sieve-like tools and beheaded an entire race or army or people.  The edges of the story are blurring with time.  Are these the same hundred thousand children that the belief in some cause killed?

“Belief is a beautiful armor, but makes for the heaviest sword.  It’s like punching underwater, you can hit who you’re trying for”.  I have no idea what that means, but if I had to guess, he’s calling it a crutch.  He’s saying that it’s worthless.  Even when belief hands the woman the flag in honor of her deceased army son, belief is just something to lean on, and nothing but a pain in the neck to fight for.

If John Mayer speaks well about belief, as he presents himself lyrically here, then I’m made to wonder about Queen Lucy (the smallest of the Narnian Kings and Queens) and why she’s always right with her believing.  I watched the second on the Chronicles of Narnia movies last night and after also having seen the first, I’m a little astounded by how Lucy’s curious instincts win her the victory.  She’s the faith of a child.  And she proves her mighty, brave, powerful (if egotistical) brothers and even her graceful, wise sister, essentially wrong in the way she trusts.

Her mantra believes in belief.  Does it make a difference that the things she trustingly believes in turn out to be true?  Sure it does, but the knowledge of that isn’t hers until it’s over, and the lack of knowledge doesn’t stop her.

If fear or doubt had kept Lucy from believing Mr. Tumnus in the first movie, or from believing that Aslan was going to help them in the second, then the Narnians have nothing to hangs their hats on.  Lucy’s belief was foundational for the victory of the ‘good guys’.

Maybe it’s not belief that murders and kills, maybe it’s malice and violence.  If fighting for belief seem arbitrary and futile, maybe it’s not true, the belief.  Fighting for truth doesn’t fail in the areas John Mayer’s belief does.  At least, I don’t believe so.

Wielding Words Well

Tags

atheism, Christian, Christianity, God, Jesus Christ, words, writing

I won’t ever go into professional blogging.  I’ll mess around with it some more, but I won’t stay here.  I’ll never stop crafting words, and finding new tools to use, but it won’t likely be on your computer screen.  Books and bundled things are becoming slowly old school, but whatever I do will make a pass at keeping the offline alive. 

And though I worked for Expedia for about as long as it took me to realize that selling those knife sets in high school was a scam, I don’t think I was very good at those online summaries either.  Here, however, if a writer who knows the tone, the ins and outs of the demands of online writing.  Writers, take note(s).  Atheists, rebut if you must, but you should also be taking notes.

This kid’s brilliant : Jim on science and religion via Barnes and Noble excursion.

Circle Back

Tags

Lucky Boys Confusion, lyrics, music, pop, rock, Shockstars, songs, the insecurities

I’ve been stuck on the tempos, on Adam’s harmonica solos or the energy in the drum beats dropped, on Stuhby’s powerful, conceited vocals, shadows of unAmerican accent – and certainly on certain sets of lyrics, those most honest and vulnerable. Sure, I came on the scene years ago for their party rock sound and all that the atmosphere brings. Now the under 21 shows are obnoxious and irritating, downright terrifying. An angry puffer fish to me. But what’s the draw that lingers in my ears? Why when all my underground rock bands, Chicago-born or otherwise, have grown weary to my ear, pleasure expired, do I return to Lucky Boys Confusion, and Stuhby’s sideprojects (the short-lived Shockstars, the insecurities) with shameless anticipation?

I can’t quit on lyrics like this: “God fearing world, I’m so afraid to enter/
Haven’t decided what to do/After life, after death uncertain/Choose your side before they’re dropping the curtain“.  “Something to Believe” ends in truth, without the capital T.  He doesn’t subscribe.  He wonders and dabbles, and asks a few of the questions that matter, but ultimately he’s scared to move and stays where it’s comfortable, in more of the same.  Something about that vulnerability captivates me.

Part of it is surely my inclination, as a writer at heart, to tune my ear to the words that aren’t always forefronted.  My ear creeps underneath the guitar that drives the melody, pulling apart chord progressions to get to the words that give meaning to that 4 and a half minutes.  I’m moved, most often, by the journey the words take, the canvases they coat, the paths they wear down on the way to the end.

When the insecurities’ “Me and Mona Lisa” is stuck in my head all day, is that catchy pop melody the fix I need to return to 70’s rock, southern blues, Christian anything, and a sporadic Backstreet Boys throwback jam?  Or will I always be hung indefinitely on those lyrics, the upbeat pop rhythms just garnish on a lyricist I can’t grow out of…?

Dependant and Cancerous

Tags

body, cancer, death, disease, family, Gram, grandma, memories, memory

I was reminded today of my first (?) true publishing credit, Clean.  That essay about body and my Gram.  It was so soon after she died that I first drafted that, hmm.  I remember writing sections on that stupid vinyl corner couch that we had in our “E5” townhouse.  Seems like a forever or two ago. 

A few things bother me about that essay, though.  The first is that it’s not very good.  Sure, it has its moments as most legitimate writers can pull off in anything they write, but all things considered, it’s sort of amateur.  Which is fine, I guess, because I am (still).  But it bothers me to know I could have done better.  I could have handled the close friend connection better, but I remember being so stuck on the details of Whitney because my Gram always asked about her and my camp friends, but mostly about her.  The sentences are wordy, and I’ve learned a bit how to reign in my serious obsessions with description and detail since.  The focus could be more pinpointed, either the fear of cancer, or the time with Gram and the woman that she was, or my journey to learning beauty.  It just seems to spread a little bit thinly across too many things.  I digress…

I was surprised the have evoked a small cup of tears when I re-read the piece tonight.  The parts that tugged insistently on my memory were the descriptions of those 10 days between the Dr. O’Reilly visit and when she died in the sunflower room.  I remember everything the way I’d like to remember my dreams, vivid, in color, sequentially, and like it was literally last night.  The sitting in the too-small corner of the bed and listening to advice on how to live my life was a more valuable 15 minutes than anything I can think of.  I remember the move to the brown chair beside the bed – 30 minutes maybe to move less than 2 feet.  And the last day, when she hadn’t eaten for some time, the one bite of banana cream pie – not even able to try to key lime, though she insisted it was delicious.   That was our Christmas party, the pie day, can you believe that?  I still cannot believe the Lord gave us that week and a half.  I wonder why?  Because that wasn’t the regular Gram, loud and playing games, fixing things in the kitchen, telling jokes and using words like ‘bonnet’ and ‘carriage’ far past their time.  But it was also kind of eternal to see her so calm and peaceful, gentle and still making fun of her sons.

Plus, I’ll never stray from my understanding that it was all orchestrated to fit our family back together like puzzle pieces, having strayed far from the box.  Since I had been small, I was silently aching from violent severance in too many directions, as far as that family goes.  The Healer has such an orderly way about Him.  I wonder where my cousins are fitting in to that, even now?

Aside from latent memories and a few fresh tears, I read headlines like, “Report: Cancer to become world’s leading killer”, and “Antiperspirant Increases Risk of Breast Cancer” from this organization and that agency.  I guess the shocking facts and the ever-elusive cure for cancer don’t much phase me because if one thing in that essay were true without moving or twisting of the facts, it’d be that I think it’s probably already in me.  The stealth image of cancer lurking unknown inside my body is the scarier of this mess of feelings.  The suspense can handicap you if you let it.  But it hasn’t and I won’t.  It’ll be a pain, and I’ll cry a time or two, but a part of me hopes not get any gruelling treatment.  Another part wants to keep it secret, not tell anyone to avoid the pity that accompanies disease ,which I loathe.  Will my Mom undergo it all first, or don’t they say it skips a generation?  The lurking in her body might be a deeper pain than the idea of it living in me.  I’m still the little girl who can’t do a thing without her Mom, and…

Just The Way You Like It

Tags

choice, God, Heaven, Hell, Israel, Jesus, Jesus Christ, pride, Ravi Zacharius, salvation, stubborn

If a person is determined to have it his or her own way, then to be in the presence of God would be Hell… If you reject God in this life, then you would reject him in a million lifetimes, because it’s clear that it is all about you… RAVI

If you’ve ever read one of his books, certainly if you’ve heard him speak…Ravi’s likely right.  But it still takes a bit for that to settle without indigestion in my stomach.  All the pleas for a melting heart, a crushing blow to the brick wall of stubbornness in him, a softening of her pride – making her feel safe not small in humility, can be legitimately changed over time or in a REM cycle, car crash, blackout, or messy trip.  I trust that.   

Or. . .that stubborn pride can be his truest heartbeat.  The deepest love of her soul can be self-satisfaction. 

And, as with Israel in her rebellion, the Lord gave her kings when she wanted kings, judges when she wanted judges, adultery when she wanted that, too.  None of it good, and here is she, still estranged from Him because of that stubborn will.   

What a mess when certainty and tunnel-visioned ignorance stomp the pursuit of truth into the curbs and gutters of this alleyway life.  I sometimes wish they didn’t want the things I don’t.  And hate the things I love.  But, sick truth is, that kind of heart unchanged will never want to live with me in the glory of eternity. 

I always picture them regretting their absence of choice, but I’m wondering if it will be regret.  Or if the cursing with just get louder, as if it’s the fault of the God who doesn’t exist.