Jamais Vu (Part 2)

Last night I came across Psalm 147 and had to laugh about the timing with the Olympic Games, since that passage contains the verse that Eric Liddell so famously quoted in Chariots of Fire:

His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse,
nor his delight in the legs of the warrior;
 the Lord delights in those who fear him,
who put their hope in his unfailing love.  (Psalm 147:10-11)

But just a few lines down, as the Psalmist is describing the works of the Lord in the natural world, he or she writes something I had never noticed before:

¹⁵ He sends his command to the earth;
his word runs swiftly.
¹⁶ He spreads the snow like wool
and scatters the frost like ashes.
¹⁷ He hurls down his hail like pebbles.
Who can withstand his icy blast?
¹⁸ He sends his word and melts them;
he stirs up his breezes, and the waters flow.

Simply by including the possessive pronoun, the Psalmist reminds us that everything in the world is God’s, even the weather.  The wind and the hail and the hot and the cold and each little raindrop that falls from the sky—they are all God’s.  How much more so, then, every little action we make during the day?  Every word we say?  Every attitude we posses or thought we have or move we make?

I think it is a wonderful reminder that every last thing in this world is under God’s dominion—and we are its stewards.  If that’s not a tremendous reminder of the importance of being trustworthy in the small things so that He may entrust us with the greater things, I don’t know what is!

Feel-Good Friday

No, this isn't any kind of political statement about the on-going Chick-Fil-A kerfuffle.

I just love Grover and this is an especially nice way to start out the morning--especially in the spirit of international cooperation with the start today of the 2012 Olympic Games.

Or something like that. Mostly, I just wanted some Grover in the mix.

"Pure poetry!"

I'm sorry!

I want to apologize for the lack of updates over the past few days.  I have a couple of deadlines I'm pushing to make for work both self-imposed and publisher-imposed.  To make it up to you, however, please allow me to suggest that you:1) leave this site
2) head directly over to Google
3) type in "Where is Chuck Norris?"
4) click on the first result
5) laugh your fool head off.

Maybe that will tide you over until the next Feel-Good Friday tomorrow.

Praying in Pencil

I think better in pencil.  I always have.  While pens are preferable for writing letters or taking notes at meetings or even writing grocery lists, when it comes to creative endeavors, such as outlining a story or imagining some dialogue I’ve not yet plugged into a scene or trying to figure out a timeline within the narrative story arc, I find I do it best with pencil.  I think it’s because a pen is so permanent—so set, so unchangeable without crossing something out and leaving a big, inky scar on the page.  Graphite, on the other hand, is more of a suggestion, a placeholder for our thoughts that can be erased and written over if a better idea comes along.

It occurs to me that our prayer life can be the same way.  Too often, I think, we approach God with prayers written in pen:  dark, inky statements that sink and bleed into the fibers of the paper—unchangeable and inflexible . . . at least, not without having to endure some cross-outs.

But if we approach our prayer life with a pencil (a soft lead that leaves a bold, confident line is absolutely fine), I think we are getting closer to the heart of prayer.  We are allowing God, “the author and perfector (or editor) of our faith,” the opportunity to erase and recraft them in a far gentler and much more pleasing manner.  As Stephen Crotts once wrote: “God has editing rights over our prayers. He will . . . edit them, correct them, bring them in line with His will and then hand them back to us to be resubmitted.”

The pen may be mightier than the sword, but the pencil-written prayer is greater than them both.

Feel-Good Friday

You're welcome.

Stuff I Wish I'd Said

"Prayer of Abandonment" - Thomas Merton

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain
where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,
and that I think I am following your will
does not mean I am actually doing so.

But I believe
the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire
in all I am doing.

I hope
I will never do anything
apart from that desire.
And I know if I do this
you will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.

I will trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear,
for you will never leave me
to face my perils alone.

Jamais Vu (Part 1)

(Jamais vu is, essentially, the opposite of deja vu--it is seeing something familiar as if experiencing it for the first time.  There is a wonderful example of it in The Sun Also Rises when Jake describes  walking down the mainstreet of his town after a concussion in a high school football game and everything looks foreign...  Okay, I'm getting off-topic.  The point is, we all occassinally come across passages of scripture that we may have read dozens of times and they suddenly stand out to us with new significance.  I hope to share some of my own jamais vu expereinces on this blog.)

As the city wall of Jerusalem was being rebuilt following in the Babylonian Captivity, Nehemiah, verse 3:12 notes: “Shallum son of Hallohesh, ruler of a half-district of Jerusalem, repaired the next section with the help of his daughters.”  I stumbled across this verse about a year ago and was surprised that I’d never really thought about it before.  It’s just a simple mention, obviously, but it was significant enough to the author that he note the participation of these women.

What is, perhaps, equally as significant, is that the writer makes no further comment—that is, the women seem to have completed the job put before them without any of the drama and jealousies that so often seem to accompany stories about sisters, be they biblical (Leah and Rachel) or literary (King Lear) or artistic (Olivia DeHavilland and Joan Fontaine) or in popular culture (Downton Abbey, season one – before the war made everyone nice) or in wildly-over-exposed-media-outlets (the Kardashians).

The point is, it’s exciting to me when I notice something in scripture that points to the lives of people about whom we otherwise know very little.  Of course, the sight of women harmoniously and manually contributing to the reconstruction of military fortifications would have been somewhat unusual for the time, so it is an interesting glimpse into the sense of ownership and individual responsibility these woman felt towards the work going on around them.

My prayer for the week is that we will all feel a sense of personal investment in reaching out to do whatever needs doing in our community, rather than passing the job off to other citizens or “the government” (as if that is not simply other citizens, as well), and that we can do so in a peaceful and edifying manner that gets the job done effectively.

Feel-Good Friday

Yeah, I know I posted this on Facebook a few months ago, but it's too good not to repeat.

Happy Friday!

Stuff I Wish I'd Said

“Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course. The world would become religious overnight. We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead the stars come out every night, and we watch television.”

~Paul Hawken

I wish this was a joke.

In the cinematic masterpiece, Baby Mama, Tina Fey’s character confesses that she tried to keep paper and a pen next to the bed to write down ideas that came to her when she was sleeping: “But none of it made sense. I woke up and had things like, ‘MAKE EVERYBODY BE TWINS!’ and ‘ELECTRIC TOILET’.”

Right.  Well, I can empathize.  Saturday night, I woke up around 1:00 AM from dreaming in a British accent (which I still do on occasion, even though I moved back to the U.S. 9 years ago) with what I was certain was the most brilliant, hilarious, and (for some reason) important concept ever.  My laptop happened to be next to the bed so I grabbed it, typed it all out, and went back to sleep.  What follows is the exact, unedited text—presumably with some help from IMDB (and, I’ll admit, after-the-fact spell check).  I promise you, this is actually how my mind works when I’m sleeping.

Determining One’s Masterpiece Classic Quotient
Add:
One point for
-appearing in Gosford Park
-appearing at any point in the Harry Potter film octology
-every on-screen Jane Austen adaptation (or films about Jane Austen)
-every on-screen Shakespeare adaptation
-every on-screen Dickens adaptation
-mythology-themes movie (since, for some reason the Greek pantheon seems to always speak with a British accent)
-every appearance set primarily in a boarding school
-every appearance as royalty, peerage, or a villain in an American, Canadian, or Australian film (animated films included)
-every appearance in a period drama or period drama series not on Masterpiece Classic               

Subtract:

One point for

-every appearance in a film with Hugh Grant

-appearing in Love, Actually

One half-point for

-every appearance in a film with Kiera Knightly or James McAvoy

-role in which one was required to adopt an American accent

Appearances with Colin Firth, Judy Dench,  Helen Miren, and Helena Bonham Carter, and adaptations of Oscar Wilde’s works are neutral

The incomparable Maggie Smith, for example, would have an approximate MQ of 4:
+ 1, Gosford Park
+1, Harry Potter
+1, Becoming Jane
+1, David Copperfield
+1, Clash of the Titans
+1, The Prime of Miss Jane Brodie
-1, Becoming Jane (starring James McAvoy)

Kiera Knightly would have an approximate MQ of 7 1/2:
-1/2, being Kiera Knightly
+1, Anna Karenina
+1, Pride and Prejudice
+1, Pirates of the Caribbean
+1, The Duchess
+1, Atonement
+1, King Arthur
+1, Dr. Zhivago (remake—obviously)
+1, Oliver Twist
-1, Love, Actually

*An MQ of greater than 5 means you live in Hollywood anyway, so there’s no way you’re schlepping back to the UK to make films that pay PBS budgets…unless, of course, you are Maggie Smith who (in the rage-filled words of Avery Jessup on 30 Rock) “IS A TREASURE!!!”

*3-5, You contribute to the majority of the PBS programming that does not have to do with the folk music of Mississippi or fund raising.  Chances are good you a played a member of the Weasley family.

*1-2, You are every other actor in the whole of the British Isles.

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So there you have it.  Maybe now, when you wonder why my self-editing function isn't quite as strong as it should be in terms of filtering out lame puns and unnecessarily complicated humor, you'll understand why:  It's clogged up by keeping stuff like this from flying out of my mouth.  Happy Tuesday, everyone!

All I Really Need to Know in Life, I Learned from /The Twilight Zone/

There are things I really like, such as the ranch dressing from Outback and cashew chicken and driving a 5-speed car and a wedding with good dancing to non-annoying music and the clearance rack at Banana Republic and well-scripted/well-acted movies with minimal swearing that have a good message but don’t get pedantic.

There are the things I can’t live without, such as Dr. Pepper and homemade salsa and/or guacamole with extra cilantro and books and jeans with a 34” inseam and good conversation with good people.

There are the things that make life worth living, like well-behaved dogs and people who are nice to animals and the Pizza Hut Pizza Buffet and period dramas and the music from the likes of Paul Simon or The Mountain Goats and moving worship services and 30 Rock reruns.

And there are the things whose value is far greater than the amount of time to which I have actually devoted to them, such as Kiva.org and great ape sanctuaries and really knowing the nitty-gritty of constitutional law and The Twilight Zone.

Oh, The Twilight Zone.  It feels like watching good literature—that the twists are rarely predictable (just like an O. Henry story) and the study of irony is top-notch (as in Hemingway) and the themes of humanity are often both encouraging and convicting (much like T.S. Eliot).  I consider myself fairly well-versed in the TTZ canon, though I must admit that I have certainly not seen every episode.  Therefore, I look forward to the Twilight Zone marathon that Syfy runs every New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July, because it gives me the chance to catch up on a “new” episode or two.

This year, I was able to see Burgess Meredith in “The Obsolete Man”—and I have not been able to get it out of my head because of the final scene.  The plot synopsis is as follows:  Meredith is a librarian [actually, his second TTZ librarian role.  Anyone know his other, more famous one?] in a futuristic society wherein books no longer exist, technology rules, and anyone ruled by The State to be obsolete must be “liquidated” within 48 hours.  Faced with such a verdict, Meredith makes the request (as is his prerogative) that he be executed in a manner that is to remain secret until he shall reveal it, and that his final hours be broadcast for the nation to see.  The judge from his trail, a State goon, comes to visit Meredith in his book-filled home as he awaits his execution, and Meredith locks the door behind him.  Then, Meredith reveals that he has requested from his executioner that a bomb be planted in his home, set to detonate at midnight, with everyone watching.

This clip, about 5:30 long, is the end of the episode.  Be sure to watch until Rod Serling appears at the end and delivers the moral like a 1960s Aesop.  Then ask yourself the rather frightening question of whether or not those of us who share Serling’s view on the matter have also become obsolete.

I Was Watching /Pan Am/ Instead of THIS on Sunday Nights? (Part 1)

In Season One of Downton Abbey, the sweet but simple kitchen maid, Daisy, is so caught up in her crush on the conniving footman Thomas, she begins to adapt her actions to mirror his in the hopes of catching his attention and winning his favor.  At one point in Episode Four, she makes an unkind crack about one of the houseguests.  Mr. Bates, the noble valet, turns to her and remarks, simply, "Don’t be so nasty, Daisy.  It doesn’t suit you.”

That’s all.  That’s all he has to say, but the shame apparent on Daisy’s face makes it clear that the correction struck home.  His admonition was not cruel or self-righteous but, rather, rooted in the fact that he considered her character to be better than what she was currently displaying.

Oh, that we should all be fortunate enough to have a Mr. Bates in our lives—someone who gently but unashamedly corrects us when we succumb to the temptation to be less than our best selves; someone whose disappointment stings more and cuts deeper because their own character is marked by both integrity and humility; someone who sees us not for how we are acting at the moment but for who we truly strive to be.

I have been blessed with a Mr. Bates—a friend who is well-loved by everyone because of her naturally sunny, hilarious personality and who pours out kindness on everyone in her orbit.  Yet she is not above simple comments of correction to remind others that she knows they are better than how they are acting.  (Well, I say “others” when, really, I’ve only ever witnessed such moments directed at myself.  Perhaps it is because she has the tact and class to address such issues in private . . . or maybe I’m just the only person in her circle who requires such reminders.)  The point is that for more than half of our lives, since the time we were about 15, she has been willing to do the sometimes rather uncomfortable task of saying (without exactly saying it):“Tiffany, you’re better than that.”  If I get too caught up in my own snark or too self-congratulatory in my own sarcastic observations, she will often make a quiet comment before continuing the conversation in a more positive direction and carrying on as if nothing happened.  I never feel she is judging me or thinks of me less as a person.  Instead, she simply reminds me of who I want to be, and can be, and am—so long as I don’t opt for the low road simply because it’s easier or funnier or makes me feel clever.

Oh, that we should all be fortunate enough to have a Mr. Bates, indeed.  They are the ones who remind us that we are made of better stuff than this world.

DIY Rejoicing

Rejoicing.

That's one of those loaded churchy words that we know and love and totally want to do and find it quite easy to undertake at great news from work or an exciting moment in our family or when we find our missing teaching copy of The Sun Also Rises with three years' worth of notes in the margin. 

But how do we "rejoice in the Lord" as we are so often urged to do?

Rejoicing is different from giving thanks for what He has done for us (though, obviously, that is hugely important, as well). I think it's more about worshipping His unfathomable greatness and sovereignty with a mixture of humility, excitement, and joy.  If we look at the Old Testament models of rejoicing, since it abounds there, there seems to be quite a bit about lyres and timbrils and rattler-sistrums and dancing and burnt offerings.  However, since I left my rattler-sistrum in my other pants and Mississippi is currently under a burn-ban, how else do we worship with rejoicing?  I'll be honest: 

I have attempted to dance before the Lord.  Unless the Lord is into Senifeld reruns, I don't think it was the most effective worship time...for either of us.

So how do you rejoice?  What suggestions do you have for genuine, effective, joy-sharing, soul-lifting rejoicing?

After the Fast

I had originally intended to launch this blog last week, on my birthday, which seems like an appropriate time to begin something that’s all about taking action and fresh starts.  However, some unforeseen circumstances came up that rather trumped a blog-launch, so I’m starting it now instead.  Hooray.  And, after all, it seems like these sorts of things are much more real when begun at 9:29 PM on an unobtrusive Tuesday night rather than when there is some great pomp and circumstance around a specific symbolic date that really matters to no one but the launcher.

That being said, if you haven’t read the “About” page, you may want to start there to get a sense of the overarching goal of this little corner of the interwebs.  If you already have  checked it out or are feeling contrary and simply don’t want to—well, then, let’s just get rolling, shall we?

---

I have been talking lately with a dear friend who is in the midst of some life-altering matters, including a major surgery last week.  She wrote this evening to say that she given notice at her job, decided pursue a new career, and will be seeking the Lord as she takes several months to herself.  She said it was terrifying—and I’m sure it is—but I could not help but feel incredibly proud of her tremendous courage.  After all, she is living the biblical example of how we ought to handle mourning.

Over the past few weeks, the theme of II Samuel 12 has come of repeatedly in my life.  If you recall, the child of David and Bathsheba had fallen ill:

Then David prayed to God for the child and fasted. He would even go and spend the night lying on the ground. The elders of his house stood over him and tried to lift him from the ground, but he was unwilling, and refused to eat food with them.

On the seventh day the child died . . . David got up from the ground, bathed, put on oil, and changed his clothes. He went to the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then, when he entered his palace, he requested that food be brought to him, and he ate.

His servants said to him, “What is this that you have done? While the child was still alive, you fasted and wept. Once the child was dead you got up and ate food!” He replied, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept because I thought, ‘Perhaps the Lord will show pity and the child will live.' But now he is dead. Why should I fast? Am I able to bring him back? I will go to him, but he cannot return to me!’”

David, the man after God’s own heart, shows us here what the writer of Ecclesiastes (and Kevin Bacon as Ren McCormack) also remind us—that there is “a time to mourn and a time to dance.”  Of course there is to be a period of prayer and grief in any difficult situation.  But there is also a point when we ought to make ourselves get up, wash our faces, and worship the Lord.  In other words, we are to take action.  I think it is an important reminder to all of, wherever we are whatever we are facing, to not allow ourselves to be controlled by that which we cannot change but, instead, to make the most of what remains before us.