Synchronicity

Have you ever noticed that sometimes a whole bunch of churches and people you know are suddenly talking about the same theme, for no apparent external reason? It makes me sit up and take notice of what's going on around me on the spiritual plane.

Case in point:

- I subscribe to a couple different church podcasts. Andy Stanley Ministries in Georgia is doing a series on Decisions

- Tim Keller at Redeemer in NYC is doing a series on Decision Making

- One member of my small group is reading Andy Stanley's book on how decisions determine destination

- Another member of my small group just posted about how it seems every decision he is making right now is a consequential one that has the potential to affect his whole life

- my own church's topic last week was how the "slow fade" into sin or away from church or into a mess or what have you is just the final result of a series of one building-block decision at a time.

- finally, Covenant Life Church in Maryland, which I don't get the podcasts for but which some of my regularly-viewed bloggers attend, is also doing a series in which a key point is "You are only as wise as your next decision. You prove your wisdom in what you choose today."

Hmmm.

It's got me thinking about whether the decisions I'm making connect with where I want to be heading in all the various areas of life. I've never been one to freak out about whether my decisions are in the parameters of a small teetery knife-edge sliver of "right choices" that some people seem to think is God's will - decision-making is something he gave us to do, and I think as far as options for directions we can go, it's very broad.

But how good is it to realize direction - not intention - determines destination! It's not that we are not smart enough to understand, but that there is a huge disconnect. We understand that truth as far as picking which highway to take when we go somewhere in our car, but there's often a disconnect between where we want to end up and what decisions (path) we're making in our lives. It's a lot easier to see in other people, like with my acquaintance who just wants to settle down, have kids, and bake cookies but is choosing to date lots of men who lack the character qualities that would give her the future she genuinely desires.

Now to think and pray about where I hope to end up in light of what I have seen God doing with my life, and am I actually on paths that are gonna get me there...

In the Tumble Cycle: Fathers and Mentors

One of my favorite movies is Moonstruck, and the main character's mother, who knows her husband is seeing another woman, spends most of the movie periodically polling people with the question, "Why would a man need more than one woman?" She shakes off answer after answer until she hears the one she's looking for.

Rose: [frustrated] But why would a man need more than one woman?
Johnny: I don't know. Maybe because he fears death.
Rose: That's it! That's the reason!
Johnny: I don't know...
Rose: No! That's it! Thank you! Thank you for answering my question!

Last night some of us watched Rebel Without A Cause and discussed it afterward, and it got the question of fatherlessness tumbling restlessly around in my mind. Three characters in that movie all have different father wounds from ineffective or absent fathers. And like Rose in Moonstruck, I've been polling people with my question, looking for the answer that feels like it fits.
My question is, What can we, as individuals and as the church, do to heal the men who in one way or another grew up without being fathered? Brandon thinks they're generally doomed, as we learn much more from absorbing than being taught, and such men will always be missing a huge piece of manhood, especially when it comes to leading a marriage, simply from lacking the model. Jennifer thinks it's a huge opportunity for the people of the church, those well-fathered men further along the road, to see the need and step up to be that stable, experienced person speaking into a young husband's life, or a teenager's life, over a long span of time. I think the Holy Spirit can give you the power to draw the line in the sand and break with your past, but it is hard and takes a lot of work and determination and drawing on God the Father to teach you what you don't even know you don't know.

What do you think?

escape to age 8

I took a vacation this week.


Oh, it might not have looked like it to my roommate or co-workers. I didn't take any time off, or travel on the weekend, or any of those things that people generally call vacations.

But I left, laying aside my postmodern unceasing schedule of the last three or four months, leaving behind the strain and intensity I've been under for a while in the responsibilities and pressures and internal drives of this not-quite-26-year-old's world.


The sweetest thing about choosing to step quite away from my over-worn mental paths was rediscovering an uncomplicated level of life. A friend read me a Winnie-the-Pooh story and I laughed and laughed. How true and clean it was! I went to the library at the beginning of the week and found myself first in the JV section and then, for the first time in years, in the kid's section actually pulling titles off the shelves. Oh my goodness the delight! I have been a reader since first grade, and I used to come home from the library every few weeks with a stack of books that went from under my chin to as far down as my arms could stretch. Granted, there was less space from under my chin to the reach of my arms when I was a kid than now, but that is still a lot of books! I have missed the color and brain break - break from the grind of life, really - that reading good fiction will bring. I still read, but much less, as my time is doled out between work and ministry and friends and house chores and getting some exercise and all the details of adult life.


So there I was, "une Grande Personne" as the Little Prince would say, in the children's section of the library, and how the smile irrepressibly spread across my entire face as I saw and remembered all these stories that taught me and grew me and gave me friends and magic and travel and courage and kindness. The Giver, The Railway Children, Half Magic, The Good Master, Farmer Boy, The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle, A Wrinkle In Time, on and on they sparkled in my mind. I left with a tower of children's books in my arms, not quiiiite stretching from the top of my chin to the ends of my fingertips, but a considerable long pile wedged lovingly between my side and the length of my left arm.


Perhaps I have to grow well past childhood before I can be young again. This stack of books, this armful of paper treasure, brings me again to that simple deep delight. But it is even more precious this time around because now I'm seeing it in contrast to adulthood.

Changes Come

Regarding the title, Over the Rhine has such great things to quote, n'est-ce pas? Or maybe I just see them through love goggles. Very possible!

We put our clocks back and the season change seems really real. It is dark now when I drive home from work and I feel my mind and body settling into the long deep of wintertime. We are such creatures of light.

This week is a special one. I'm going home for my Thanxmas visit (a little early this year, but to accomodate a dear friend) and it will be wonderful. It also means my work week is already 1/3 over and it's only Monday - hurrah! Home, home, my mother's house - what will I find? New things will unfold, I know. Red and gold leaves, nippy air, much love, an aging dog, health food urged on like no other, a great collision of heaven crashing into earth, beloved family who are fading, dear new faces among old and all mixed together in a brand new cocktail that I can't wait to see fizz up in joy and laughter and discovery - be it so!

autumn grey dreamy

The soft cloudiness/ cool wind grey has set in at last and my thoughts are fleecy and dream-soft.

- I love pomegranates. I'm so happy they're in season.
- Chai tea with lots of milk is the quintessential taste of autumn. It makes visions of apple picking and wooly sweaters dance in my head.
- Being chilly on the outside and toasty on the inside is bliss.
- Happy and relaxed is just how a girl should feel.
- You know, looking back, this has been a wonderful year. I think one of the best on record. Thank you, Lord.
- Round Chinese lanterns have done for my room what fireflies do for a summer meadow.

Glory be to God for dappled things--
For skies of couple-colour as a brindled cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
- Gerard Manley Hopkins

lonely onlys

Lately I've been thinking about what it means for me to have grown up as an only child. In church on Sunday one of the moms turned to me after her eldest girl had just apologized for something the mom hadn't even noticed, and said, "She wants so much to Get It Right." This is totally an oldest/only child syndrome. I know all about it! Often when people find out I'm an only child they'll ask, "Ohhh, were you spoiled?" with a curious coy look, like they are thinking about what spoiled little children are like. I reply, No, I wasn't really. Which I think is true. I am blessed with great parents who raised me to think things through for myself and to work for what I wanted.

But just in the last few weeks I've been wondering if perhaps I WAS spoiled - in a way apart from the standard stereotype of being given presents or privileges whenever I wanted them.

Outside of the school arena, I never had to consider others when I was a kid. I didn't live in a family with other children around, and so I never had to share or let someone else have a turn when I was at home. I was the only child around to pay attention to, so in a way I had less chance to learn to think of others. And I feel like I've been learning how to do that ever since I got to college. So there we go :) that's the latest musings from the lower lefthand corner of the USA.

the Harry Met Sally question

Yes, that perennial favorite - can men and women really be just friends?

If we're talking about a close, fairly intimate friendship, I think we gotta say yes, but, not really. And by that I mean, no matter how clear y'all articulate that you are Just Friends, in the real-life examples I know, one or the other person whether they admit it or not has some sort of romantic feelings and is hoping for more in the relationship. Truth? Truth. Sigh.

I've generally been the one who wants more from a close relationship with a guy and he wasn't as interested. Lately it's the other way around. I'm finding that maybe I need to take the responsibility that comes with that upper hand of power in the relationship (not being interested when the other person is) and maybe to continue in some no-man's land of "good friends," is arguably to take selfish advantage. Maybe that's not so respectful of a good man. Yes, the other person is an adult who is free and responsible to walk away if he is aware his hopes don't have much chance, but like it or not, it tends not to work that way. I'm still musing on this. Hope springs eternal, whether it should or not.

Speaking of which, I really, really liked the last guy. He liked me. We still like each other. But we just didn't have a similar vision about life. And so we're trying to be Just Friends by keeping quality time limited enough to keep either of us from resurrecting that hope. Harry, you were right.

Insomniac

My co-worker came up to the front desk around 3 and we both had that "I'm totally stressed and overwhelmed being an assistant to these people today" expression. Her boss, who is on vacaation, keeps a bottle of wine in her mini fridge and I made some sort of joke about having a drink. She said unfortunately her boss had finished the wine before going on vacation, and I said Well we have some wine in the storage closet left over from the Christmas party. So she said bring it back - I'll have it nicely chilled for us around 5:30. I said Okay. She said I'm serious. I said I know, and grinned. So we chatted and sipped for two hours after work and it was great. We'd never really talked before, and I really like her headspace. Cool girl! And good to get to know her.

Unfortunately, drinking in any quantity gives me insomnia. I fall asleep fine, but I wake up in the middle of the night. Same effect for me as caffeine, even though alcohol's supposed to be a depressant, not a stimulant. Weird. Well here I am :) Blogging nonsense at 3am.

the metropolis

They cram you into these little apartments with rent figures that make you laugh, then they pave everything and give you a special place to go find a tree, but don't think it'll feel like an oasis because you just can't get away from that sound of cars going by on the other side of the bushes.

It's alive, though. Can't deny that. The density of humanity means things happen. They don't always go forward (a rocking horse may be constantly in motion but it never gets anywhere) but even under this gently lulling sun and blue sky, things happen. The Spirit moves. People touch. There is this sense of a heavy river of connectedness, if you are lucky in your friends, and a sense of fleetingly tapping into that life flow, if you are not.

If you've never lived in a major metropolis, I'm not quite sure you really can know what it is like. For instance, I'd love to live halfway between my work and my church, but it's just unrealistic. That's the most expensive stretch of real estate in San Diego (plus the worst traffic stretch) so I'd have to go way inland past the 15 to find something in my price range, and THAT would put me away from everything that grounds me in San Diego in terms of friends and activities, plus that's where the heat makes life not worth living, plus when you live in San Diego, it's just wrong to have to drive 35 minutes to the beach. So, I won't be doing that particular move.

In Acts it says they moved to the cities and the cities were changed. Come, O ye young and ye impassioned -- here is soil for your eager lives.

the best that life has to give

See, getting real takes a certain amount of thought and concentration. Fantasies and wishful thinking are fun because all they require is imagination. Realities, which can be both messy and rambunctious, demand work and consistency, plus you actually have to think about what you're doing. Bummer!

But the payoff on these grubby, sweaty realities is real pleasure, not this virtual reality junk, but actual, honest-to-goodness, living, breathing rewards that don't disappear an hour later when you open your eyes or turn off the computer.

And the deeper part is that your choices are imprinted on a soul that is eternal, and on people around you who will also carry on into eternity. Thinking and behavior have eternal effects, so think with your heart's eyes on what is lasting.

sweet Sally

I googled "loving well" and stumbled across one of those gems of a blog that you would never have found if you were actually looking for it. Today's post is an excerpt from Sally's blog.
I deeply want to be like this when I have a family.

"On Saturday, we were getting ready for Easter lunch in which we had about a dozen people coming for lunch. Joy had peeled hard-boiled eggs to make deviled eggs. She then got a bright idea of how to make it easier, even though I had suggested the easiest way to fill the eggs. The result was a mess everywhere–I have never seen so much egg yellow on the hands of any one individual! How in the world had she managed to make such a mess? This at the end of a long afternoon of cooking and counseling another teen! She could sense how irritated I was with her! The Lord then gave me eyes to see this hormonal, young woman-my sweet little girl in the throes of growing up. She had “hurt” eyes as she watched me clean up her mess! Then I sat her down, and after having a couple of minutes to think about what I was going to say, I told her how much I appreciate all the ways she had been available to help me in setting the table and going shopping and putting up with the several hours of work we had all done. I told her that I didn’t always get my cooking right and how frustrated I often felt when I had put a lot of time into something like making bread or trying a new recipe, when it failed or tasted terrible. I told her I loved her said, “I am sorry if I offended you in any way. You are such a treasure to me and I know you were trying to do a good job. Thanks so much for all the ways you have helped me this week.”
The result was that a few minutes later, she climbed into my lap, all long, gangly almost teenage legs and all and said, “I am so thankful that you always love me, mommy.” a kiss on the cheek and she was gone."

opposite sides of sunrise

My friend and co-worker informed me today via Yahoo! Messenger (a very dangerous internet "tool" for work) that one of his upcoming tattoos would say "Suicidal Sunrises" - a reference to how he and his bros in his motorcycle group lived, loved, and worked like there would be no tomorrow. I commented that my blog title, Laughter At Dawn, was pretty much the opposite of that. Though both images revolve around the first morning sun, I felt like the first phrase was an ending grounded in passionate extinction, and my blog title was a beginning grounded in newborn hope (perhaps in spite of all reason). Not that I'm better or anything :0) Absolve me - I'm just writing a blog here.

It got me thinking. He explained that all that passionate exhaustion of self was done in service to each other, their families, and their callings. The dreamy, idealistic part of me really likes the thought of pouring oneself out at that level. The rational, pragmatic streak says calmly that since actually you probably have a while beyond sunrise to live, you'll probably best serve everyone by pacing yourself at a sustainable level and planning for the future.

And then there is the internal anxiety I've put on myself in times past (like 2 weekends ago) by thinking I only have a limited amount of time to process huge amounts of information about life and living and come up with airtight answers to the complexity and messiness Right Now. I don't like that pressure at all. It's bad and unhealthy, both spiritually and physically. For me, I think I'll take the long view of sunrises, and laugh for love of the beauty each one brings to light.

love makes room

People make room for the things they love - like photography, or a spouse, or children or work or alcohol or books or sports or sleep or God.

And when a person loves, they make room. Love steps backward and invites you forward. It makes space and lets you freely move toward it. It draws near, and makes room, and invites, in hope that you will choose to draw near.

love did it

Hungering for the Lord this morning, I gazed at Dali's amazing painting Christ of St John on the Cross and as I looked, I realized that Dali painted nothing physical at all holding the Lord to the cross. There are no nails in his hands or his feet.

Love cannot exist where there is not the freedom to choose. And it was love that held He who loves us to the cross.

Christ defeated death by death and bestowed on us life. He has invaded our world and takes back what is his - us - defeating Satan who held us bound to deadness with our wilful departure from God. And Christ did not simply stand in as payment for our sins, oh no, in defeating death he Himself tore our bondage to Satan in two, the action of one who rescues us joyfully. THIS is the gospel of the Lord - thanks be to God!!

created to create... but to collaborate?

"Art is a right and human thing, like walking or saying one's prayers; but the moment it begins to be talked about very solemnly, a man may be fairly certain that the thing has come into a congestion and a kind of difficulty. The artistic temperament is a disease that affects amateurs."
-G. K. Chesterton

I would strongly suggest, next time you hang out with a cool arty friend, that the two of you try the following creative activity: try making a single poem, story, or painting - together. See if you can do the push/pull, edit/compromise, inspire/expand dynamic. I've done both the short story and the painting versions of this game lately and it definitely works your head around. Exercise your humanity! Do art with someone!

good taste

Sunday night I went out to dinner with a girlfriend and ordered a Thai mango chicken salad with this creamy mango dressing. It was a revelation.

That is all.

drinking your beer to the glory of God

I've been reading G. K. Chesterton's book Heretics recently (unattractive title, huh, but the man writes in such a burstingly joyful and robust way I just want to kiss him!) and this last chapter was on Omar and the vine - "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam." It's really a gorgeous poem, you should read it sometime - I love the bit where it says "A book of verses underneath the bough, a jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou beside me singing in the wilderness - ah, wilderness were paradise enow!" Anyway, Chesterton has some exceptionally clear and discerning things to say about this poem and drinking:

"The sound rule in the matter would appear to be like many other sound rules — a paradox. Drink because you are happy, but never because you are miserable. Never drink when you are wretched without it, or you will be like the grey-faced gin-drinker in the slum; but drink when you would be happy without it, and you will be like the laughing peasant of Italy. Never drink because you need it, for this is rational drinking, and the way to death and hell. But drink because you do not need it, for this is irrational drinking, and the ancient health of the world.

Some one called Omar "the sad, glad old Persian." Sad he is; glad he is not, in any sense of the word whatever. He has been a worse foe to gladness than the Puritans. A pensive and graceful Oriental lies under the rose-tree with his wine-pot and his scroll of poems. ... Omar Khayyam's wine-bibbing is bad, not because it is wine-bibbing. It is bad, and very bad, because it is medical wine-bibbing. His is the wine that shuts out the universe, not the wine that reveals it. It is not poetical drinking, which is joyous and instinctive; it is rational drinking, which is as prosaic as an investment, as unsavoury as a dose of camomile. ... "Drink," he says, "for you know not whence you come nor why. Drink, for you know not when you go nor where. Drink, because the stars are cruel and the world as idle as a humming-top. Drink, because there is nothing worth trusting, nothing worth fighting for. Drink, because all things are lapsed in a base equality and an evil peace." So he stands offering us the cup in his hand. "

Chesterton ends with Jesus's wheeling reversal of this: "And at the high altar of Christianity stands another figure, in whose hand also is the cup of the vine. "Drink" he says "for the whole world is as red as this wine, with the crimson of the love and wrath of God. Drink, for the trumpets are blowing for battle and this is the stirrup-cup. Drink, for this my blood of the new testament that is shed for you. Drink, for I know of whence you come and why. Drink, for I know of when you go and where."

[pause while the heavens open in your head]

Seems to me that Christians are all over the map on this topic of alcohol - some are extremely disapproving and consider it evil or at the least stupid to drink. And at the other end of the spectrum, some drink their nightly beer to the glory of God. I've never been terribly drawn to alcohol myself - for the most part I simply don't find it very interesting. When I do actively want a drink it's usually not a good idea because I know I'm already depressed. But I would love to be able to have the option in my life to go have a drink or two at a pub with my mates and have that jolly, vitality-filled camaraderie. It makes visions of Oxford and the Inklings and men in tweed smoking pipes dance in my head!

compared to which, moonwalking is a redheaded stepchild

Ever heard of the Balboa? If you live here you're probably thinking Balboa Park. Cool beans. I love Balboa Park. But my latest Bal love is a dance by the same name. Check it out:

These guys are ridiculously world-class dancers. The footwork's so slippy I think it looks like they're dancing on ice. Don't miss the his-n-hers slides at 1:01 and 1:12!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOvpPRhYyng

And yes, the dance originated in this general area of the country.

leisure on a rainy day

I've been off of blogging for about a year and have just resumed, so this morning I checked a few friends' blogs that I used to like to read. Yeah, most of them haven't posted for a year or so either. I wonder why we all opened blogs after college and then abandoned them about the same time? Most likely we all were trying to keep in touch with our relationship network during the post-college diaspora, and then had about the same timeline for face-to-face local relationship networks taking substance and replacing the online one. I guess that's a good thing.

This morning I'm not sure what to do with myself, which doesn't happen too often. Ironically, just last night I taught (or rather, facilitated discussion) at my small group Bible study and my topic was Playtime - a God-centered perspective on rest, recreation, and entertainment. The discussion was so good. Loved it. And here I am the next day with two hours before I meet someone and no idea what to do in this time. Perhaps... perhaps I shall just wander outside and breathe some of this beautiful fresh air. It's been rainy and drizzly for a couple weeks now, but today the sun is shining and everything has that wonderful rain-washed quality. Mmmm, don't you love the smell of wet pavement?

TiVo, Mr Tilney, and me

I spent this past Saturday through Wednesday housesitting for my boss while she and most of the office were out of town at the annual company convention. She has a lovely condo with an ocean view and two kitties and... TiVo. Now my boss and I have a good relationship, so she had lined up a bunch of things on the saved programming that she knew I would like, mostly 3 Jane Austen movies (PBS is in the middle of airing a bunch of new adaptations).

Understand that I don't watch television at home. DVD's, certainly, but not TV. I was shocked at how lulling and siren-ish that square black box is, especially when you can special-order and ffwd/rwd any TV show you like. There is a nearly inexhaustible feed of interesting and entertaining shows and well done films on cable that you could spend all your leisure time absorbing. And man does it make your "real" life seem less interesting! I'm reminded of a girl I knew in the theatre department who had a massive collection of movies and from what I could tell she spent most of her time sitting in front of her computer watching them. I'm sure inside her head it was filled with color and depth and excitement and human characters and emotion and everything that comes with watching a good story done well. But on the outside her life looked like that of a blob.
So I approach you, ladies [and gentlemen], in a moralizing strain. (By the way, that is a quote from Henry Tilney, who I now have a giddy bubbles-and-butterflies crush on thanks to TiVo's replay function.) ...moralizing strain: Life is definitely too short to watch television. At any rate, it sapped me of my inclination to do good things like cook or hang out with Jesus or work on my lesson plan for small group. It was good to have it for a day or two, but after that much better to get out of its reach.

The other part of this is that since everyone's been gone at the office, I have had almost nothing to do but read articles online for about three and a half days straight. It's like being paid to sit in a library! I read the complete online text of Northanger Abbey at gutenberg.org and a ton of cultural, literary, political, religious, and frivolous articles as well. My brain feels fatly fed. Yum yum. And my body is restless.

Conclusion? I love having my own little apartment under my domain, and I loved the Austen film adaptations but lost my head for a few days over too many stories (yes, it is possible to read too many novels, or watch too many movies), and I'm looking back on the week thinking about how a superabundance of entertainment and lack of occupation did not suit me at all.

Finally, if you can't imagine Britney Spears and Jane Austen happily merged, please click here.