Being Glad

That Barrington day? I was walking back to my car after the breeze got too much, and found myself absolutely riveted by the sight of a dead tree. I couldn't stop looking at it--or taking photos of it. An older couple walked by and the man said, "Pretty wood, isn't it?"

It was a relief to know that someone else got it, even though I'm quite sure "pretty wood" didn't encapsulate it. I don't know how old that tree was, or what killed it, but there was that pretty wood, rising sinuously out of the ground, as if the tree had spent its life pouring itself upward.

I know I keep going on and on about trees. I just can't get enough of them. They make me think of God for some reason, but it isn't a consciously unpackable reason. I mean, sure, there's lots of tree imagery in the Bible--the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, the Cross of Christ, the Tree of Life, and even the trees of the fields clapping their hands. But I don't usually look at a tree and think, "This reminds me of a cross" (it very rarely does) or, "This makes me think of the Tree of Life in Ezekiel." Even though I appreciate all that imagery, of course.

I'm a great one for analogies and allegories, but I just don't think there is one to sum up why trees remind me of God. They just do. They remind me of God in a glad way--even if I'm mad at Him or something (which I'm not, currently, but I have been a fair bit), if I look a tree it calms me right down and makes me feel like thanking Him anyway.

Oh. And I didn't do this on purpose, but . . . Happy Earth Day, everybody!

Barrington

I went to Barrington this weekend.

It turns out there are quite a lot of Barringtons out there, but the one I went to is in Rhode Island, and is where my mother grew up. I kind of grew up there, too, because we visited my grandparents a lot, and also I spent eight weeks each of five summers living with them while I worked at a daycamp at the church they helped plant a long time ago. I didn't have a car at the time, so I guess Grandpa must have driven me to camp when it rained, but for some reason I can only remember the sunny days, when I would ride his ancient brown bike (which I still have but haven't ridden since that last summer at camp) to the church, and then in the afternoon take myself on leisurely bike rides around the local neighbourhoods.

Nobody I am related to currently lives in Barrington, but I have some friends there still, so I stayed with them. I thought I was going to feel all nostalgic, and I drove past the house where my grandparents had lived for decades. It is now yellow and not green, but there's a baby-swing hanging from a tree in the front yard, and the house looks cared for but lived in, so I'm going to trust that the people in it are the kind of people who should live in your grandparents' house if your grandparents can't and you can't. I did sort of wish I could park my car in the driveway and go for a walk in Haines Park and then walk back and have tea and danish puff pastry with my grandmother, but other than that I felt more happy than wistful about my memories and the fact that that's all they were.

Unable to park in the driveway, I drove to Haines Park instead, left my car in one of the many intermittent car-spots, and walked down to the water. Then I sat on a picnic bench under a tree, facing the water and the boats and the wind. I journaled until the breeze got too bracing, and then I walked back and drove to my friends' and had a nice time with them, too.

I like weekends like this.

A Time to Rejoice and a Time to Whinge

And now is the time to whinge. Well. Actually. I suppose that really it's always time to rejoice. I further suppose that, even if that were not the case, I should really rejoice a whole lot more than I do. But . . . right now I'm going to whinge anyway.

Getting old is really annoying:

For as long as I have had teeth, not one of them has had a cavity. Today I went to the dentist and found out that . . . one of them has a cavity. I really can't take any credit for my previously cavity-free teeth (can you say "cavity free"? is there such thing as an absence of a hole?)--it's heredity and early and regular fluoride treatments and such. But I feel somewhat affronted regardless. The dentist is calling it a "pit," which I guess is not as deep as a "cavity" and is somewhat less invasive and painful to treat, but whatever. There is something wrong with my tooth. I am not pleased.

Probably the reason there is something wrong with my tooth is that I have taken to drinking milk steamers with honey syrup in them at work, and this is because of getting old, too. No, no--I don't think old people drink milk all the time. But, because of getting old I guess, I have some other physical health concerns which are soon to be checked out. The presence of caffeine affects these tests, and so I have not been drinking anything caffeinated, formerly caffeinated, chocolate, anything, for three weeks. Me. Let me remind you I work at Starbucks. I really only like my brewed coffee with milk, or maybe black tea--but those are off-limits. Herbal teas are getting on my nerves. So I'm drinking steamed milk with syrup, and I just bet that stupid syrup made that "pit."

Also, my metabolism has finally slowed down, I think. I am finally my optimal weight--instead of dangerously below it. This is cause for rejoicing indeed--except that now that I'm there, and my metabolism is slowing, I feel that I actually have to make conscious choices about whether or not I eat french fries (a long-standing weakness) or stuff with whipped cream. And sometimes those choices have to be "no." Sheesh.

Okay--so I guess I don't have so much to whinge about after all.

Corrections

It has been brought to my attention that the Milk Guy actually puts half-and-half, and not milk, in his coffee. Perhaps we should call him the Half-and-Half Guy. I think that this makes it sound like he's sitting on the fence about something, but he doesn't seem to feel this is a problem, so, if he manages to come up in conversation again, I suppose we could call him that. Or we could call him the Guy Formerly Known as the Milk Guy.

Also, there is some concern that I was unclear about the nature or the tenor or the something of the email in which he objected to certain implications of arrogance in Christian assertions. I thought I was clear that it was the assertions he was objecting to, not to all Christians, and also that we only had this discussion once. But looking back over it all, I suppose I did say things like "the Milk Guy's charge of arrogance" kind of a lot, which could make it sound like he just kept harping on how arrogant Christians are, or something. Plus I kept talking about it. I hope everybody knows that was me talking to you about it, and not a conversation I actually had with him.

But if you missed that, I apologise. Let it also be known that he did not require me to write this. I did it myself.

Reflections on a Saturday Afternoon

Stuff That's Too Big for My (Even MY) Head

I feel like I should be continuing the discussion started by the Milk Guy (who, to my knowledge, doesn't even read this blog, although he's welcome to) and continued by some of you. But I suddenly feel like I'm in the middle of this idea that's so big that not only can I not get my head around it, but I can't find a piece to grab onto and start talking about. Or keep talking about. Or whatever.

So, while I'm trying to figure that out, here is a blog my brother just alerted me to. (I'm a little annoyed at him for this; as if I didn't have enough internet reasons to procrastinate! So . . . I'm just going to take out that annoyance by recommending it to all of you.) It is kind of like this site (or, as its author says, "a direct rip-off"). And here is a post that kind of reminds me of what we've been talking about lately. Which I alert you to because, tongue-in-cheek regardless, I like the point he makes at the end--and the way he makes it.

For Future Use

If I ever decide to write a novel about the city in which I work, I would like to incorporate the following sentence:

It was spring, and the tax-help businesses in Webster Square were proliferating again, like mushrooms after several days of rain.

I'm not sure exactly in what context I would use this, but it just sort of came to me this evening as I was driving home from work . . .

My Next Point

Jeff, who, one might say, has some personal knowledge of these matters, left a comment on my second-to-last-post that set things up well for what I was going to say next about the Milk Guy's charge of arrogance. I don't know how to link to comments, and he delineated the argument better (or more concisely) than I was going to, so I'm just going to quote him here. He said:

It might not be thought out in this way, but I think the "arrogant" argument goes like this:
A) There are many people who are in circumstances that make it easy for them to know Jesus.
B) There are many people who are in circumstances that it literally (or atleast nearly) impossible to know Jesus.
C) Many of the determining factors of A. and B. above have nothing to do with the actions of the person.
This seems to leave open only the following conclusions:
1. Somebody who is in circumstance A. is more loved by God than somebody in circumstance B: If God loved them both the same he would have put everybody in circumstance A. This is where the claims of arrogance come in: it can be said that if you're in circumstance A, in some sense you're claiming to be better, or more loved than circumstance B.
2. The alternative is God is quite random and capricious about who is in A. or B.; if this is the case his love, fairness, and wisdom are all called into question.

I do think that, really, this is what the Milk Guy was talking about. And, as Jeff further says, I don't know exactly how to tease all this out. I mean, I believe God really loves everybody, so I don't understand why some people are in situations where they get to hear about Jesus easily and others don't. But I will say this (and this, and this).

First, just because you live in a place where it's easy to hear about Jesus, doesn't mean you'll accept him. Clearly. So something else has to be in play here, too. Also, there are all sorts of evidences that God has made Jesus known even in places where it should be impossible. I think that (for reasons I still can't get my head around) God would rather use His Church to communicate Jesus' love. But I personally know people from ideologically closed countries who have had visions and dreams of Jesus, and I've read plenty of other historical accountings of other supernatural communications to tribal peoples or individuals, which were only interpreted later. I guess I imagine that God judges us on the information (or relationship) we're granted, and it's His business how much information He chooses to give, though I don't really understand all that.

But anyway, the other irony of this version of the arrogance argument is that it's always linked with what we were talking about before. So . . . people get upset that not everyone has an equal chance to hear about Jesus . . . but then they also get upset when we try to tell them? I'm sorry. This makes no sense.

I wonder if the Milk Guy would be appalled to know that this discussion with him is making me consider going back into traditional missions overseas . . . ?

Caahffee and Tauwlk

I'm not done with the previous discussion, but I would just like to interrupt the thought process for these totally unrelated little asides.

So, you know how I've been writing community profiles for New England Condominium? (You only know because I've told you, because so far, their website still only carries the February issue, as far as I can tell.) The community profile for the June issue is on Providence, Rhode Island. Today I had to call the Providence tax assessor's office for some information. I've lived in New England for a significant part of my existence, and I've heard Rhode Island accents for a significant part of that. But today's experience seemed notable for some reason.

The actual people I talked to had their own version of Rhode Island, of course, and it was noticeable. But the woman they used to record the message telling you which number to push in order to be directed to certain departments could seriously be considered for Ms. Providence-Accent 2008. Most of the words that you would spell with an "o" were pronounced with a flat "ah" sound. ("Plot"--this is a tax assessor kind of plot, not a book publisher kind--sounded almost like "plat"). Meanwhile, the words spelled with "a" were pronounced with that "auw" kind of sound that sounds almost New York--"If you're cauwlling about . . . " It was an interesting linguistic experience.

Furthermore, wikipedia has this interesting little tidbit:

"Providence also shares Rhode Island's propensity for coffee, as the former has the most coffee/doughnut shops per capita of any city in the country."

Take THAT, Seattle!

Irony

Today in the coffee mayhem (and was it ever mayhem), the Milk Guy handed me his copy of Dostoevsky's Notes from the Underground, whether because I mentioned I love Dostoevsky, or because he can't bear to pollute my ostensibly pristine and faith-filled mind with the likes of Nietzsche, which is what I actually asked to borrow, I don't really know. I shall ask him about that presently.

Anyway, I'm still trying to gauge his openness to actual discourse about things of faith. It might be kind of "safer" and easier and nicer just to keep lobbing books back and forth at each other without actually talking. But I'm still thinking about the charge of arrogance, so, as promised, here are some of the thoughts.

First I would like to admit that I think there is often a fair amount of arrogance communicated (whether or not it's actually felt by the communicator) through proselytisation. There are a lot of angles from which the arrogance could come and I don't want to diminish that fact, but, since this is my blog and everything, I am going to ignore it for a minute and take another tack.

The tack is this: the Milk Guy said that the idea that there are consequences for not getting to know Jesus means that "most of humanity is condemned." Which isn't funny at all, obviously, except in an ironic sort of way, because I actually agree with him. Only I would say all of humanity is condemned.

And see, here's the thing I find even more interesting: to me that sounds about as un-arrogant as it can get. It's only arrogant if the person saying it (me, for example) is putting herself outside of the premise. But I'm not. So instead of arrogance being at the root of that premise, I see it as extremely equalising. We're all in the same boat, and we might be bailing water, but it would appear that the combined weight is driving us under. The only way we can be saved is if someone pulls us out. I believe that there is someone to do it, and that it's Jesus, but that He's the only one who can.

The thing I find arrogant, conversely, is the idea that some people are better or can make themselves better. I mean, the premise that we're not all in the same boat. Who decides? Who says what's better? Why do we have to compete or compare at all? It's Survival-of-the-Fittest, Level 3--the Spiritual Level. Or something like that. I happen to know I'm not the fittest.

And if the Milk Guy were to argue (which he might) that it isn't survival of the fittest, and that everyone's okay, well then, what's the point of living an exemplary life (which he has, at some point, cited as a value) at all? I mean really--who cares? Or maybe I mean someone like me on a lower level, who is more selfish (but why is that of lesser value, in this system of arbitrary inequality?), surely wouldn't care.

How could this system not be survival of the fittest, in the end? That's a basic premise of the natural world which is, according to some, all there is. I'm not trying to be stupid, and I'm not trying to be offensive or mocking--and certainly not arrogant. I just really truly genuinely feel and see and believe that when you take Jesus out of it, the entire system falls apart. It's futile, and plus it's exhausting. It wears me out just thinking about it. I don't want to have anything to prove. I don't want it to be just me, trying hard to do something I'm not quite clear about. I'm not a very relaxed person, but at bottom, I'd rather just rest and allow the Person I'm often so at odds with to lift me to safety anyway.

Arrogance

(I am having some font issues here. Hopefully I can get this legible soon.)

If you've ever tried your hand at telling someone that didn't already believe it that Jesus is the Son of God and that He loves them and died for them to be able to join Him in Heaven, you've probably had the charge of arrogance lobbed at you once or twice.

I'm currently in patchy email correspondence with one of our Starbucks customers whom we can call the "Milk Guy" because the milk or half-and-half at the condiment bar always runs out just before or just after he tries to put some in his venti coffee. We have, in our emails, briefly touched on this issue. (Not the milk issue. The Jesus issue.) In one email, I said,

If you really believe that there's a God, and that that God wants everyone to know Him/Her because S/He loves them, and that the completest way to do that is through getting to know Jesus, and that there are some pretty severe consequences for not, then there's probably something wrong with you if people's dismissal of Jesus doesn't make you cry from time to time.

The Milk Guy then charged me with using a lot of disclaimers, which just goes to show that trying to present a scenario which encourages the other person to put themselves in your shoes doesn't always work. (My point was that I do believe all that stuff and could he imagine what it would be like to be me, believing it? But all he seems to have gotten was the "if.")

He also, quite naturally, took umbrage with the "pretty severe consequences for not" line. I figured he might and almost didn't put it in there, because sometimes I can hardly believe Hell either, and in any case, I'm not sure that it is what we often think it is. But whatever it is, I don't want anyone I know to have to experience it.

He retorted that such an assumption has arrogance as its root, and that it automatically condemns most of humanity, and that it's not fair if someone overseas, due to lack of knowledge, ends up with the "severe consequences" just because they were born in the wrong place.

Back in the day ("the day" in this case being about three years ago when Antagonist-Andrew worked at our store and the two of us bickered about faith issues at work all day long and drove everybody--including ourselves--insane), I would have jumped on this as an invitation to rebut. However, the Milk Guy hasn't really asked what I think. And he has made it clear that he isnt' really comfortable talking about this stuff. Which makes me think that he might not even hear what I'm saying anyway. So I'm trying a new tack and just holding my peace for the moment.

However, I do have thoughts about this. Lots of thoughts. And so for lack of another audience, I have decided to spend the next post or so mulling them over. Feel free to issue your own responses, retorts and rebuttals to me, too.

Easter Monday

In 2000, I was living in London and having a rather dreadful time of it really (it got worse as it went on), but I remember the day after Easter as being really lovely, and I wrote a poemish sort of thing about it. This poem still makes me happy, so even though it is 8 years later and Easter Monday is not a holiday in this country and today is not even Monday, I think I shall post it here. (I find it funny that Starbucks figures in it, even though I hadn't an inkling at the time that I'd ever work at one.)

After the Resurrection
The gave us a holiday,
So we took it
With our umbrellas
(To keep it from raining
Which they did).
We drank cappuccinos at Starbucks
And watched the foam clouds
Scud across the top of Green Park
Until the sky was blue
And we had to go for a walk in it,
As the trees exploded
Around us
Like suspended fireworks
Sizzling seedbursts down
And bringing them up
Short of the lampposts,
And the sun showered late daffodils
Onto the grassy slope,
Which begged for someone
To run spring-fever-crazy
Through them
Or to gather them up in a ball
And toss them--
Glorious glowing life.

And, since we're talking poems here, I just have to share with you this brief piece of silly brilliance composed today by my colleague Ben (whom I sometimes call "Bentleman," from the time when he was the only guy who worked at our store and it was "ladies and Bentleman):

Haikus are easy.
But sometimes they don't make sense.
Hippopotamus.

Life in Death

I took this photo last fall, but the title still applies.

ISBN

I was initially a little disappointed to discover that my editor's warning was correct: they changed my book cover. (I'm not sure specifically who "they" are, which is probably as it should be.) I liked the original cover so much. But the current one is probably truer to the contents of the book--in spite of the fact that no one in the book takes an airplane.

Anyway, I discovered the cover change because I decided to search myself on the CFP website and, for the first time, there I was! Books are still not orderable, but look, I have an ISBN number.

What? This is a Holiday?

I have this friend who is convinced that all Americans want to be Irish, and that fewer of them have Irish ancestry than claim to. I think he should take into account the stereotype that the Irish are known for following the injunction to procreate, so it's not totally impossible for all the Americans claiming Irish ancestry to be telling the truth.

Also, this same friend is convinced that I am one of said Irish-wannabe Americans. But he is in error about this; I have never claimed to be Irish. I do claim, however, to have relatives in Ireland. They're not actually Irish either.

Be all that as it may--or may not--today is St. Patrick's Day and I keep forgetting. I'm far more apt to remember and get excited about St. David's Day, largely, I expect, because hardly anyone has heard of it, so it hasn't had the chance to get all obnoxious. I think that, like Cubicle Reverend, I find St. Patrick's Day manifestations over here to be less than compelling, and more than irritating. I also feel like telling everybody that they should have been celebrating it last week, because the Catholic Church tried to move it this year. But of course, that wasn't really going to work.

Annoyingly Vague

Here is a post that is likely to be annoyingly vague, but I'm going to go ahead and write it anyway.

Last week, as you may know, I found out some saddening information about a former acquaintance from high school. Even though I haven't seen this person since graduation (that is, a very long time ago), finding out this piece of information has catapulted me back in time, as it were, and I am reliving a lot of stuff I would prefer not to.

I was one of the not-coolest Not Cool Kids, and it is tempting to try to garner pity for this role. I could probably do it, too. Nobody else was very perfect either. But the fact is that I was also not a very nice Not Cool Kid. The only thing I felt good about, in my painful insecurity, was my spiritual life, which I managed to completely undermine by projecting a terrified and scornful self-righteousness on all and sundry (and particularly on the person referred to above). I don't know if it was hurtful to anybody besides myself, although I do know I got on a lot of people's nerves.

Anyway, I am currently trying to process the person I was in high school, and it is turning out to be at best an embarrassing, and at worst a painful endeavour. (Partly it turns out that I'm not really as different now as I would like to think I am--I'm just better at facades.) I'm trying to figure out if I need to make some amends to people, and if so, who they are and how to go about it. I'm trying to figure out what God wants me to do and learn in all of this--how He wants me to change.

So that, if you want to know, is my excuse. It's hard for me to write about anything at the moment, and if you wonder why you don't see me here for a little while, this upheaval is probably the reason.

It Is . . . Finished?

Here's the discipline I set myself for Lent: I wanted to finish the first draft of the novel I've been working on for the past, oh, since-I-left-London. (As an auxiliary to this discipline, I have banned myself from facebook--the Number 1 Procrastination Weapon in my arsenal.)

And today . . . I did!

I didn't know it was going to be today when I sat down to write. I just got to this point and thought, "Oh. This is how it ends." It was pretty cool.

Stephen King says to wait a couple weeks after a first draft before you start revising it, but I have already established that there are some things Stephen King says with which I cannot agree or comply. Plus, it's only a 300-page book, but there have been weeks between pages, let alone between drafts. I feel I will be more likely to work on it now that I've made it to the end and all there is left is . . . well, possibly rewriting the entire thing . . .

I still can't say it's any good. But at least I got to Page Last.

(Does this mean I can go back to facebook? Or do I still have to wait for Easter?)

Upon Further Reflection

A few moments ago, in the throes of nostalgia and something I was trying to pass off as fellow-feeling or something, I wrote a post here. Upon further reflection, however, it occurred to me that, though I am no longer in touch with any of the relevant people, and although I don't think I said anything mean about them, and although I think I made identifiers mostly pretty vague, probably some of the information I shared was not really mine to share. I thought I was processing saddening information. But some processing, I guess, is best done silently.

So, if you managed to get it in your RSS feed or something anyway, please forgive me, and please just keep it to yourself. Thank you.

Nudge, Nudge

Here is a story that's hard to tell without sounding like I'm parading my works of righteousness before men. But it does seem somewhat relevant to this post. And if you look closely, you'll see it's not about my works of righteousness at all, but about a woman named Lisa, and about God telling her something. Thing is, I can only tell you the bit I know about.

This afternoon, I had to mail my dad a bundle of papers. By rights, I should have mailed them yesterday. I busied myself with stuffing the priority mail envelope, sort of semiconsciously noticing a harried woman at the counter on the phone. As I turned around to wait my turn, I noticed that she actually had been using the post office phone and also that she was dripping wet. It has been pouring for most of the afternoon and all evening, so I could only assume she had locked herself out of her car or something. This very thing had happened to another woman in the same post office the last time I was there and it was precipitating.

I thought nothing more of this, being innately incapable of picking locks, and so I finished my postal business and drove off to run a few more errands. I had scarcely left the post office environs when I saw a figure walking along the side of the road. I occasionally walk along this particular Side-of-the-Road myself, but only when the sun is shining, and even then it's a little tricky because there's no sidewalk, and in the summer time if you edge off to avoid cars, you might end up in poison ivy. Today there was no poison ivy, but there was sure a lot of mud.

It took me a second, but I suddenly realised this was the woman from the post office. I wondered how far she had to go. I wondered why she was walking. I thought about the above-mentioned blogpost and about the dangers of picking up people I don't know.

Then I thought about how I would feel if for some reason I was stuck walking in the rain for miles, and how I would just about die for someone to have mercy and pick me up and give me a ride somewhere, but how I would know that people are just too afraid or too selfish and they never would. Five more cars passed her in my wake. But she was just a woman walking. I had this sense in my gut that I could drive by as usual but that if I did, I would never be able to stop wishing I had done something else.

So I turned around. And I rolled down my window. And I said, "Do you want a ride somewhere?" She hesitated, but not very long.

It turned out her name was Lisa, and she was headed in the direction I was going in the first place. She admitted to some "troubles," not least of which was the lack of a car, although she didn't divulge why she had already walked through about two other towns that day, in the rain, to get to where I met her.

She also couldn't stop talking about God and her finds. Just before I dropped her off, she said once more, "I was just praying, and wondering if God really hears me, and two seconds later I found this!" It was a little metal cross on a chain which had, apparently, been on the side of the road. She had also found a little trinket for her daughter. "And I thought, 'Maybe God really does listen . . . ' and then you came along, too! And the walk wasn't so bad after all. I mean, I got to spend all this time talking to God, and it was kind of an adventure."

I thought how great it is that God does listen, and how miraculous it is when He gets me to listen, too. I don't know that in the end my giving her a lift was worth as much to her as that little cross, but it didn't matter. I felt indescribably honoured to have gotten a glimpse of God's showing His presence and love to someone else. Probably this happens sometimes, when I actually get around to doing unto others what I would have them do unto me.

A Year Ago Today

I was wishing you all a Happy St. David's Day. Now I'm doing it again. Happy St. David's Day! This is one holiday that happens every year, but nobody knows about it--unless they're Welsh. Or me. Or know me.

The photo is courtesy of my Dad, though I can't tell if he took it or got it from somewhere else.