If I should lie here under waters warm
Covering me with comfort in blue.
If I should remain with these dreams -
I am torn between duty and rest's due.
If I should fall into the darkness
The dimness of twilight's embrace.
If I should but listen to the rise and fall
Of the bodies' breath without seeing the face.
Then I will not finish my work.
Then I shall stay changeless.
Then I do not do all that becomes me.
Letting life pass away to fantasies.
You cannot condone this.
You asked more of me.
You were betrayed with a kiss,
While the others around You sleep.
To lie here now is not the same,
I listen now and wait.
But if my actions do not bear fruit.
Your words and death lose weight.
Not to all, just to me.
My own fall, Your hand given freely.
If I do not accept the hand proffered,
You must leave me to my fate.
A sorrowful truth.
A lost opportunity not regained.
Testimonial proof.
To quit now would be vain.
You gave me rest when I was weak
I was young and gave you grief.
You forbore me while I stumbled around,
Protecting me from the shadowed thief.
The valleys are dark
So overcast and deep.
The night is designed in part
For us to rest and sleep.
But when the day breaks swift and sure,
When the light shines through.
I see the works laid out before,
I know what I must do.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Friday, December 28, 2012
Circumstantial - Timeliness
Life has been "peaceful" as the McCann brothers posited in Secondhand Lions. The overall scene is serene, but circumstances have been occurring within the framework to keep things exciting.
Tonight, I attended my good friend John's 22nd birthday party at a bowling alley. It was a bit of a hole-in-the-wall place, with perhaps ten lanes, crummy pizza at ridiculous prices (the man of the hours described it as "Two frozen pizzas stacked on top of each other for $15. It's not worth it"), and an eclectic mix of tunes pumping on the sound system. The last part was interesting to my friend and the other guests - 2 song choices for a dollar. John went first, picking out Florence and the Machine & Garbage. Following that, the lovely Hanna chose Britney Spears and Carly Rae Jepsen.
As for the bowling itself. John has excellent form as a bowler and ended the first game at 149, with 5 strikes. I matched him with the first two strikes, but what followed in between were petering 1's and 5's, ending with 68. Which brought to light a quirk of the lanes - Sometimes a gutterball would inexplicably ramp up off the wall and ricochet a backdoor mechanism, knocking down pins from beyond the grave. Hanna lobbed the ball left-handedly down the lane, ending with a 54. She was cheerful about her throws though, and I hope her skills improve as the night goes on. There is almost a bell curve for non-bowlers like me, where practice and endurance trade-off as the night continues. Steph, the last lady in my set, was in the same boat as me, being that she remembered the idea of bowling, but it was like a bike left in the rain - the gears needed a little work before the rust wore off for a smooth ride. Her final score was 62, I believe.
Now, as to the total experience: John is a great fellow to know - humble with many talents, a rare combination that leaves me in admiration of his abilities without resentment towards any arrogance he might have assumed as an additional swagger. He performed in a Beastie Boys cover band called "Trip N' Balls" as a one-time joke at a friend's club. Their show went well and they got asked to do it again. They've continued playing shows, and are going to have a New Years concert soon. Look 'em up on Facebook if you are in the Indianapolis area.
Steph and Hanna I met for the first time tonight. They had excellent senses of humor and were pleasant conversationalists. I was slightly distracted by the snowfalling and the implications of a safe trip home before midnight and snow clogs the roads. Friends of John, if you read this, yes, I really wish that I could have had more time in which to get to know you, for you all made a favorable impression on me. The three late arrivals looked like Sons of Anarchy's younger and wittier cousins from the Midwest, with their leather jackets and satisfied, comfortable-with-themselves, personalities.
I had a wedding I committed to attending tomorrow and had to break off after a game to return home, rest and ready myself for that. I am happy for my friends, hitting their transitional points in their lives & I pray their rides are smooth, and in the absence of that, that what they learn from the obstacles grows the bonds of their character and relationships with others.
As an endnote, I am soon leaving my library job of nearly five-and-a-half years. This is a bittersweet time, as I truly enjoy the company of those with whom I've been working. There has arisen a job opportunity in a field of my studies in college, and between learning the ropes of that position and the obligations of a new semester, something had to give. This job is something that I've held for a quarter of my life and the experiences and lessons I've learned have grown me as a person - realizing that I can do certain services that are a bit outside my typical comfort zone.
I am a closeted perfectionist - not wanting to let anyone see what I am doing until I feel confident that I know how to do it reasonably well. I invest myself in my work & want people to like it. It took a while to learn a happy medium between distancing myself from my work and taking feedback too personally. I am excited and nervous about this new stage in life, it is hard to be vulnerable, but sometimes I must risk failing to have an opportunity to reap a reward.
Lord, give me the patience, wisdom, and fortitude as I need it. I may be stubborn sometimes, but I thank You for not giving up and gently encouraging Me to let go to the things keeping Me from growing. I need Thee every hour, and I learn anew the depth of Your wonders in the everyday.
Tonight, I attended my good friend John's 22nd birthday party at a bowling alley. It was a bit of a hole-in-the-wall place, with perhaps ten lanes, crummy pizza at ridiculous prices (the man of the hours described it as "Two frozen pizzas stacked on top of each other for $15. It's not worth it"), and an eclectic mix of tunes pumping on the sound system. The last part was interesting to my friend and the other guests - 2 song choices for a dollar. John went first, picking out Florence and the Machine & Garbage. Following that, the lovely Hanna chose Britney Spears and Carly Rae Jepsen.
As for the bowling itself. John has excellent form as a bowler and ended the first game at 149, with 5 strikes. I matched him with the first two strikes, but what followed in between were petering 1's and 5's, ending with 68. Which brought to light a quirk of the lanes - Sometimes a gutterball would inexplicably ramp up off the wall and ricochet a backdoor mechanism, knocking down pins from beyond the grave. Hanna lobbed the ball left-handedly down the lane, ending with a 54. She was cheerful about her throws though, and I hope her skills improve as the night goes on. There is almost a bell curve for non-bowlers like me, where practice and endurance trade-off as the night continues. Steph, the last lady in my set, was in the same boat as me, being that she remembered the idea of bowling, but it was like a bike left in the rain - the gears needed a little work before the rust wore off for a smooth ride. Her final score was 62, I believe.
Now, as to the total experience: John is a great fellow to know - humble with many talents, a rare combination that leaves me in admiration of his abilities without resentment towards any arrogance he might have assumed as an additional swagger. He performed in a Beastie Boys cover band called "Trip N' Balls" as a one-time joke at a friend's club. Their show went well and they got asked to do it again. They've continued playing shows, and are going to have a New Years concert soon. Look 'em up on Facebook if you are in the Indianapolis area.
Steph and Hanna I met for the first time tonight. They had excellent senses of humor and were pleasant conversationalists. I was slightly distracted by the snowfalling and the implications of a safe trip home before midnight and snow clogs the roads. Friends of John, if you read this, yes, I really wish that I could have had more time in which to get to know you, for you all made a favorable impression on me. The three late arrivals looked like Sons of Anarchy's younger and wittier cousins from the Midwest, with their leather jackets and satisfied, comfortable-with-themselves, personalities.
I had a wedding I committed to attending tomorrow and had to break off after a game to return home, rest and ready myself for that. I am happy for my friends, hitting their transitional points in their lives & I pray their rides are smooth, and in the absence of that, that what they learn from the obstacles grows the bonds of their character and relationships with others.
As an endnote, I am soon leaving my library job of nearly five-and-a-half years. This is a bittersweet time, as I truly enjoy the company of those with whom I've been working. There has arisen a job opportunity in a field of my studies in college, and between learning the ropes of that position and the obligations of a new semester, something had to give. This job is something that I've held for a quarter of my life and the experiences and lessons I've learned have grown me as a person - realizing that I can do certain services that are a bit outside my typical comfort zone.
I am a closeted perfectionist - not wanting to let anyone see what I am doing until I feel confident that I know how to do it reasonably well. I invest myself in my work & want people to like it. It took a while to learn a happy medium between distancing myself from my work and taking feedback too personally. I am excited and nervous about this new stage in life, it is hard to be vulnerable, but sometimes I must risk failing to have an opportunity to reap a reward.
Lord, give me the patience, wisdom, and fortitude as I need it. I may be stubborn sometimes, but I thank You for not giving up and gently encouraging Me to let go to the things keeping Me from growing. I need Thee every hour, and I learn anew the depth of Your wonders in the everyday.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Identity - Crisis
It is curious the effect of names and the power they wield in shaping behavior. It is not the words themselves, but the idea and connotation behind them to the listener and speaker. Communication is an everyday wonder taken for granted. I am most aware of its' power in the absence more than the effectiveness. I could continue down that path in greater detail, but other events sparked me to post again.
It was something so simple as a vacation. I enjoyed having a couple days off with my family, without the interference of internet access, which is more often a distractor than an accomplisher of tasks for me. When I returned and checked my microblog on Twitter, I was dismayed to discover that I'd been hacked. Phantom me had posted false links to my feed and direct messaged others. Three followers inquired as to the veracity behind me contacting them in that manner. I apologized to the three, and proceeded to delete the offending messages.
When I checked back later, I discovered that, although my feed was unmolested, False Falchion Malacandra had not desisted the latter attack. I changed my password and deleted twitter access on my mobile device and things have calmed since, but it raises a larger question? I, who use an alias online as a passing amusement, witnessed the ease that someone else can assume my cloak and mask. How much time, effort, and personality did I invest in my account? Truthfully, I enjoy the access to people that twitter offers - an opportunity to speak a timely word of encouragement or praise to writers, performers, and friends whose work I admire. It allows me to contact people quickly on their mobile devices, ask for opinions and availability.
Who am I? How many reflections do I reveal in my own life? How many excuses and ideas do I hide behind? How much of me is truly self-created? My current answer is a great deal of the source material may belong to the inspiration of another, but my understanding and implementation of it is my own. The glory of free will, work, and options. Like a hypothetical body, each interaction between intention and action is an exercise in my continuing evolution of character manifested. As a creature of habit, my choices will become a routine, my actions do shape the course of my life and the abilities I will be able to offer to those around me.
As I rejoin the legions of the plugged in generation, examining the live feed of interactions of others on a grand stage, I believe that as people age, they reveal more of their true colors. As life progresses, people become more of themselves, only with louder actions and brushstrokes. Inaction is also a choice - I am sometimes tempted to fade away into a shadow, observing the lives of others instead of contributing my own part to present histories. On my own, I shall not change without monumental and superhuman strength of will and belief, I need a Savior to transform my life into something greater than I could ever dream or comprehend.
In the end, my identity's importance isn't who I am, but in whom it needs to be found. My life is hid in Him - Fearing, loving, and worshipping Him with all I can muster now, and beyond as I grow in His grace.
It was something so simple as a vacation. I enjoyed having a couple days off with my family, without the interference of internet access, which is more often a distractor than an accomplisher of tasks for me. When I returned and checked my microblog on Twitter, I was dismayed to discover that I'd been hacked. Phantom me had posted false links to my feed and direct messaged others. Three followers inquired as to the veracity behind me contacting them in that manner. I apologized to the three, and proceeded to delete the offending messages.
When I checked back later, I discovered that, although my feed was unmolested, False Falchion Malacandra had not desisted the latter attack. I changed my password and deleted twitter access on my mobile device and things have calmed since, but it raises a larger question? I, who use an alias online as a passing amusement, witnessed the ease that someone else can assume my cloak and mask. How much time, effort, and personality did I invest in my account? Truthfully, I enjoy the access to people that twitter offers - an opportunity to speak a timely word of encouragement or praise to writers, performers, and friends whose work I admire. It allows me to contact people quickly on their mobile devices, ask for opinions and availability.
Who am I? How many reflections do I reveal in my own life? How many excuses and ideas do I hide behind? How much of me is truly self-created? My current answer is a great deal of the source material may belong to the inspiration of another, but my understanding and implementation of it is my own. The glory of free will, work, and options. Like a hypothetical body, each interaction between intention and action is an exercise in my continuing evolution of character manifested. As a creature of habit, my choices will become a routine, my actions do shape the course of my life and the abilities I will be able to offer to those around me.
As I rejoin the legions of the plugged in generation, examining the live feed of interactions of others on a grand stage, I believe that as people age, they reveal more of their true colors. As life progresses, people become more of themselves, only with louder actions and brushstrokes. Inaction is also a choice - I am sometimes tempted to fade away into a shadow, observing the lives of others instead of contributing my own part to present histories. On my own, I shall not change without monumental and superhuman strength of will and belief, I need a Savior to transform my life into something greater than I could ever dream or comprehend.
In the end, my identity's importance isn't who I am, but in whom it needs to be found. My life is hid in Him - Fearing, loving, and worshipping Him with all I can muster now, and beyond as I grow in His grace.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Cough - Whet
I am feeling a little weakened this weekend. Not because I overindulged in Thanksgiving festivities, but that I didn't do so enough. When the time came to state something I was thankful for this year, all I could think about was that I had a group project due this Monday, and half the group had gotten a start on theirs already. I was approaching the matter holistically - trying to get a feel for the subject I was undertaking so as to notice more factors and avoid overlooking details.
It was as I told my visiting older sister, whom I adore: Whenever I conjure up my own measurements and work, I don't trust myself as a reliable source. But when I derive a metric from an online (and hopefully more current), I don't feel like I am doing valuable work in the group. I know that I tend to overthink matters, to the point of paralysis on my part. Hank Green of the VlogBrothers on YouTube entitles this frame of mind as "brain crack" - ideas that are addictive to think about, but ultimately never acted upon by the thinker.
I am aware that this double standard to my own work is a pity party parade. I do not want or expect sympathy for this behavior, but want to wield this dissatisfaction as a tool rather than letting it rule me. If my standards for proper decent work are higher than merely "plug n' chug," this skepticism could reap superior results. There remains the risk that this extra analysis might have an opportunity cost - making me sacrifice in other areas. Oh, how time is whittled away by my daily activities and pursuits. I mention it so often as a personal reminder not to lose sight of its importance.
So, I am not operating at 100% the past few days, but I have resumed reading G.K. Chesterton's "Return of Don Quixote." It took a little time, but its presence has served as an excellently entertaining companion in my time of recuperation. I don't understand all of the details of the issues discussed in the novel, but I get the gist of their underlying themes through the attitudes and reactions of the characters within.
I love the librarian character, Michael Herne. He is someone I would like to be, though I currently have a measure of his frustrating disconnect from the present period's ideas and importances. He is a scholar on a particular race of Hittites. It is his field of study and he lives in his mental landscapes and cultural customs. He is awakened to a different calling, when the daughter of the lord who employs his services is in a medieval play written by her friend, and they ask him to play a small part.
He is flustered that it is not in his period, saying that someone else who is an authority in that era should be chosen to play such a role. He takes the historical accuracy of the matter so humbly serious that he fears that if he were to attempt the role, he would act in the manner of a Hittite rather than medieval troubadour. I love the fellow so dearly, though he is one of the hardest to understand in his references.
I read chapter 11 of the book aloud to a camera, it is a fine portion of the book and a specially interesting one for Herne the librarian's character blossoming into a more obvious version of his deeply rooted demeanor. I do not live in a Chesterton novel, but the ideals and earnestness of the players make me wish I could. Their society would certainly raise my intelligence by osmosis.
It was as I told my visiting older sister, whom I adore: Whenever I conjure up my own measurements and work, I don't trust myself as a reliable source. But when I derive a metric from an online (and hopefully more current), I don't feel like I am doing valuable work in the group. I know that I tend to overthink matters, to the point of paralysis on my part. Hank Green of the VlogBrothers on YouTube entitles this frame of mind as "brain crack" - ideas that are addictive to think about, but ultimately never acted upon by the thinker.
I am aware that this double standard to my own work is a pity party parade. I do not want or expect sympathy for this behavior, but want to wield this dissatisfaction as a tool rather than letting it rule me. If my standards for proper decent work are higher than merely "plug n' chug," this skepticism could reap superior results. There remains the risk that this extra analysis might have an opportunity cost - making me sacrifice in other areas. Oh, how time is whittled away by my daily activities and pursuits. I mention it so often as a personal reminder not to lose sight of its importance.
So, I am not operating at 100% the past few days, but I have resumed reading G.K. Chesterton's "Return of Don Quixote." It took a little time, but its presence has served as an excellently entertaining companion in my time of recuperation. I don't understand all of the details of the issues discussed in the novel, but I get the gist of their underlying themes through the attitudes and reactions of the characters within.
I love the librarian character, Michael Herne. He is someone I would like to be, though I currently have a measure of his frustrating disconnect from the present period's ideas and importances. He is a scholar on a particular race of Hittites. It is his field of study and he lives in his mental landscapes and cultural customs. He is awakened to a different calling, when the daughter of the lord who employs his services is in a medieval play written by her friend, and they ask him to play a small part.
He is flustered that it is not in his period, saying that someone else who is an authority in that era should be chosen to play such a role. He takes the historical accuracy of the matter so humbly serious that he fears that if he were to attempt the role, he would act in the manner of a Hittite rather than medieval troubadour. I love the fellow so dearly, though he is one of the hardest to understand in his references.
I read chapter 11 of the book aloud to a camera, it is a fine portion of the book and a specially interesting one for Herne the librarian's character blossoming into a more obvious version of his deeply rooted demeanor. I do not live in a Chesterton novel, but the ideals and earnestness of the players make me wish I could. Their society would certainly raise my intelligence by osmosis.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Carefull - Wreckless
I am stuffed on song lyrics right now. From Fall Out Boy's "I don't care what you think as long as it's about me. The best of us can find happiness in misery." From that to springboard to Good Charlotte's "Don't you know that misery loves company,
Yeah I heard that misery was looking for me. Happiness, is a face that don't look good on me. Yeah I heard, that misery comes looking for me
Whoa, misery's my company. Whoa, misery is looking for me." To Skillet's "Going through this life, looking for angels. People passing by. Looking for angels. Going down the street, looking for angels. Everyone I meet. Looking for angels." To Christine Dent'e's "We're lifted up by angels. Higher than the world. Strong enough to leave it. Bound to learn the secret angels never heard. Close enough to heaven. High above the rain. Darkness cannot reach us, let the angels teach us - only love remains. We're lifted up by angels."
I could continue this association for a while, but I find that I would like to leave my thought train at this station and explore my ideas on this subject further. As mentioned earlier, I love Newsboy's "Entertaining Angels." Not only is it a fine beginning with the violin, but the odd chorus fixes in my mind the idea that angels may walk among us at any time. "By the light of my TV screen, 24/7 you wait for me."
Now while it is unlikely that these celestials are television junkies, it grounds the supernatural in the perspective of the everyday routine. At one point I was suspicious that one of my friends was an angel in disguise. I had never seen him angry, he was patient and learned, and wise beyond his years. When I asked him if he was, he laughed and told me he was flattered, but was as mortal as I.
I recall a similar story as related by my mother teaching a sunday school class of 5-7 year olds. An old biker stopped to look in the class in the middle of the lesson. One of the little girls saw his long grey beard and kindly face and declared. "Are you Jesus?" The fellow sagely smiled and replied, "Far from it." But though he made that claim, that man is one of the most Christlike people I have had the pleasure of knowing. This old biker lives his life in a humble and unassuming manner, taking joy in the crafting and creating of objects. He is a skilled carpenter and wise gardener - his woodwork and tomato patches reveal the glory and beauty of nature overseen by the guiding hand of man.
But I digress. I was considering angels. While I believe in their existence, I also admit it is unlikely that I should know them for who they are at the time. Their glowing light in legend and scripture is probably derived from their presence in the company of the Most High God. In the Old Testament, when Moses met with God on the mountain for days, his face shone for days after returning to the camp. So much so, that the children of Israel asked him to wear a veil so as not to blind/distract them. Whatever the case, I serve a God in whom there is no darkness. That is a comforting and fearful thought.
Do you ever notice how something appears all clean and neat under the lighting of a florescent light fixture or fan, but then the sunlight strikes the surfaces - revealing all the streaks, dust, and imperfections that were left behind? Sometimes the truth of a matter shines upon our efforts and reminds us that there is more that can be done - that a greater degree of purity is possible now that we have been shown our errors.
Some of the time, I am resentful of this - Am I not enough already? I have put forth a good effort here, but it apparently wasn't all that it could have been. George Macdonald once said, "God is easy to please, but hard to satisfy." In the introduction in which I read that, the author commented that God is happy with our progress so far, but sees our potential for what we COULD be. However, I don't always see what shape my future might take, so my pity parties only hurt my chances that I refuse to acknowledge I have. If I wait too long, that opportunity of a future version of myself will fade, opening different outcomes and possibilities.
That is why I believe in open theism: It is much more exciting as a Creator to allow the work of your hands to play out to its own ends. Oh, I could intervene along the way if I was in control, but only if necessary - for the observation of how the domino effects of the choices life-bearing creatures make must be entertaining for my Heavenly Father. Oh how it must delight Him when one of His creation looks beyond their own circumstances and situation, & catches a glimpse of the larger picture. Or when we declare our love and gratitude to Him for the wonderful gifts and tools He has given us to use in this beautiful sandbox of a world.
Sometimes, I make mistakes and ill choices' consequences must be weathered and lessons must be learned. As C.S. Lewis wrote: "Experience, that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God, how you learn." Thought my choices may not always be optimal or well-reasoned, I shouldn't regret them once they are set. I can only correct their damage after the fact, accept the scars I receive, and resolve to listen better and be wiser the next time something of the type happens.
Angels. Messengers of the Most High. Soldiers in His Celestial Army. Why should I expect that they should appear anthropomorphic? It is a smidge vain and egotistical to assume that God would be limited to our template of form and shape. But, as a child, I am limited and finite in my musings of the abstract - I have to remind myself that I am a child of an imaginative Father. He is Life, He is Creator, He is Sustainer. "All things were made by Him; and without Him was not any thing made that was made." John 1:3 "For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen." Romans 11:36.
So, I go through this life, this time that I am apportioned on Earth. May I be ever grateful for the span in which I have, the abilities and seasons at each stage. I look for angels, but do not demand a sign and proof of their reality. As John L. Cooper of Skillet ends last track of the Comatose project. "Angels show up in the strangest of places." - Looking for Angels.
Whoa, misery's my company. Whoa, misery is looking for me." To Skillet's "Going through this life, looking for angels. People passing by. Looking for angels. Going down the street, looking for angels. Everyone I meet. Looking for angels." To Christine Dent'e's "We're lifted up by angels. Higher than the world. Strong enough to leave it. Bound to learn the secret angels never heard. Close enough to heaven. High above the rain. Darkness cannot reach us, let the angels teach us - only love remains. We're lifted up by angels."
I could continue this association for a while, but I find that I would like to leave my thought train at this station and explore my ideas on this subject further. As mentioned earlier, I love Newsboy's "Entertaining Angels." Not only is it a fine beginning with the violin, but the odd chorus fixes in my mind the idea that angels may walk among us at any time. "By the light of my TV screen, 24/7 you wait for me."
Now while it is unlikely that these celestials are television junkies, it grounds the supernatural in the perspective of the everyday routine. At one point I was suspicious that one of my friends was an angel in disguise. I had never seen him angry, he was patient and learned, and wise beyond his years. When I asked him if he was, he laughed and told me he was flattered, but was as mortal as I.
I recall a similar story as related by my mother teaching a sunday school class of 5-7 year olds. An old biker stopped to look in the class in the middle of the lesson. One of the little girls saw his long grey beard and kindly face and declared. "Are you Jesus?" The fellow sagely smiled and replied, "Far from it." But though he made that claim, that man is one of the most Christlike people I have had the pleasure of knowing. This old biker lives his life in a humble and unassuming manner, taking joy in the crafting and creating of objects. He is a skilled carpenter and wise gardener - his woodwork and tomato patches reveal the glory and beauty of nature overseen by the guiding hand of man.
But I digress. I was considering angels. While I believe in their existence, I also admit it is unlikely that I should know them for who they are at the time. Their glowing light in legend and scripture is probably derived from their presence in the company of the Most High God. In the Old Testament, when Moses met with God on the mountain for days, his face shone for days after returning to the camp. So much so, that the children of Israel asked him to wear a veil so as not to blind/distract them. Whatever the case, I serve a God in whom there is no darkness. That is a comforting and fearful thought.
Do you ever notice how something appears all clean and neat under the lighting of a florescent light fixture or fan, but then the sunlight strikes the surfaces - revealing all the streaks, dust, and imperfections that were left behind? Sometimes the truth of a matter shines upon our efforts and reminds us that there is more that can be done - that a greater degree of purity is possible now that we have been shown our errors.
Some of the time, I am resentful of this - Am I not enough already? I have put forth a good effort here, but it apparently wasn't all that it could have been. George Macdonald once said, "God is easy to please, but hard to satisfy." In the introduction in which I read that, the author commented that God is happy with our progress so far, but sees our potential for what we COULD be. However, I don't always see what shape my future might take, so my pity parties only hurt my chances that I refuse to acknowledge I have. If I wait too long, that opportunity of a future version of myself will fade, opening different outcomes and possibilities.
That is why I believe in open theism: It is much more exciting as a Creator to allow the work of your hands to play out to its own ends. Oh, I could intervene along the way if I was in control, but only if necessary - for the observation of how the domino effects of the choices life-bearing creatures make must be entertaining for my Heavenly Father. Oh how it must delight Him when one of His creation looks beyond their own circumstances and situation, & catches a glimpse of the larger picture. Or when we declare our love and gratitude to Him for the wonderful gifts and tools He has given us to use in this beautiful sandbox of a world.
Sometimes, I make mistakes and ill choices' consequences must be weathered and lessons must be learned. As C.S. Lewis wrote: "Experience, that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God, how you learn." Thought my choices may not always be optimal or well-reasoned, I shouldn't regret them once they are set. I can only correct their damage after the fact, accept the scars I receive, and resolve to listen better and be wiser the next time something of the type happens.
Angels. Messengers of the Most High. Soldiers in His Celestial Army. Why should I expect that they should appear anthropomorphic? It is a smidge vain and egotistical to assume that God would be limited to our template of form and shape. But, as a child, I am limited and finite in my musings of the abstract - I have to remind myself that I am a child of an imaginative Father. He is Life, He is Creator, He is Sustainer. "All things were made by Him; and without Him was not any thing made that was made." John 1:3 "For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen." Romans 11:36.
So, I go through this life, this time that I am apportioned on Earth. May I be ever grateful for the span in which I have, the abilities and seasons at each stage. I look for angels, but do not demand a sign and proof of their reality. As John L. Cooper of Skillet ends last track of the Comatose project. "Angels show up in the strangest of places." - Looking for Angels.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Time - Value
It is disappointing to have a divide between what I am learning about Finance and the real world situation. At this point, interest rates are dismally low. I am earning perhaps .3% on my savings. While I hear this is a borrowers market, it is not a savers - I haven't anything for which I would need a loan quite yet. Thus I stare at my bank account and sigh. It is hard to save for the future when the future prospects of tying up capital are this pitiable. Interest rates MUST go up from here, and I must wait for them to recover. Interest rates are based upon perception, and investors have been burned by the economy of late. Those in charge of the federal interest rate are in a tight spot because the crisis caught our economy while it had low interest rates already. Usually, lowering interest rates is a measure that allows an economy to recover, as cash flows are encouraged through investment in assets and expansion.
I dream of a 5% interest as illustrated in class. But, events are not allowing for this. This reminds me of what a small, infinitesimal speck I am in the vast floods of people in the world. Dave Barry once gave the illustration of an ant on a tire: "The ant is aware – on a very basic level – that something large is there, but he cannot even dimly comprehend what this thing is, or the nature of his involvement with it. And if the truck starts moving, and the tire starts to roll, the ant will sense that something important is happening, but right up until he rolls around to the bottom and is squashed into a small black blot, the only distinct thought that will form in his tiny brain will be, and I quote, ‘Huh?’…" This was concerning the relationship of men and women, but the scale feels the same between me and the vast complexity of our economy.
I know friends who play the stock market, but I don't trust its workings. There is a reason why stockbrokers have a full time job - it is the ability to read trends, understand human behavior as different groups, comprehension of timing, size, and risk, as well as a knack for self-control for when to stop.
Anything can become addictive, I hope to be habitual on in proper behaviors. I know that I overthink things, overdose and obsess over having everything available when I start. I have a great desire for control over my life, and it scares me when that illusion is ripped apart at the seams-that-be (alternatively: seems-to-be). I haven't a great amount of control, but what little measure I am given, I must learn to handle correctly. For life doesn't halt for anyone, time is not reclaimable, and entropy only grows larger over time.
For each decision, there are consequences. There are probability trees to estimate the likelihood of an event occurring, but they are just that: educated guesses. The variation depends on decisions made by others in similar veins to your own, as well as reactions to your decision from other people. There are three types of people: Proactive, reactive, and refrainers. The first two are initial motion and reaction, the last is the a conscious choice not to act. Oh how complicated things can be, it delights and confuses my mind.
God in heaven may look down at us and smile - how entertaining to watch us weave the patterns of life with the gifts and talents he gave us. May I not squander the freedom and abilities I have, cultivate, and am learning to appreciate.
I dream of a 5% interest as illustrated in class. But, events are not allowing for this. This reminds me of what a small, infinitesimal speck I am in the vast floods of people in the world. Dave Barry once gave the illustration of an ant on a tire: "The ant is aware – on a very basic level – that something large is there, but he cannot even dimly comprehend what this thing is, or the nature of his involvement with it. And if the truck starts moving, and the tire starts to roll, the ant will sense that something important is happening, but right up until he rolls around to the bottom and is squashed into a small black blot, the only distinct thought that will form in his tiny brain will be, and I quote, ‘Huh?’…" This was concerning the relationship of men and women, but the scale feels the same between me and the vast complexity of our economy.
I know friends who play the stock market, but I don't trust its workings. There is a reason why stockbrokers have a full time job - it is the ability to read trends, understand human behavior as different groups, comprehension of timing, size, and risk, as well as a knack for self-control for when to stop.
Anything can become addictive, I hope to be habitual on in proper behaviors. I know that I overthink things, overdose and obsess over having everything available when I start. I have a great desire for control over my life, and it scares me when that illusion is ripped apart at the seams-that-be (alternatively: seems-to-be). I haven't a great amount of control, but what little measure I am given, I must learn to handle correctly. For life doesn't halt for anyone, time is not reclaimable, and entropy only grows larger over time.
For each decision, there are consequences. There are probability trees to estimate the likelihood of an event occurring, but they are just that: educated guesses. The variation depends on decisions made by others in similar veins to your own, as well as reactions to your decision from other people. There are three types of people: Proactive, reactive, and refrainers. The first two are initial motion and reaction, the last is the a conscious choice not to act. Oh how complicated things can be, it delights and confuses my mind.
God in heaven may look down at us and smile - how entertaining to watch us weave the patterns of life with the gifts and talents he gave us. May I not squander the freedom and abilities I have, cultivate, and am learning to appreciate.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Valley - Purity
Beauty must be protected.
As a land is filled with life,
And with diverse species.
I look at this soil with a wistful sense of duty.
Though it is not mine,
nor do I feel a craving to claim it as such,
I desire to see its future claimant as worthy of its grandeur.
I know it is in good care now, as it flourishes
And brings a smile to my face with its liveliness.
I want to support it in my spirit,
Not because I have to do so,
but because I want the best for it.
The beauty stirs in me a longing to see
Its trends spread to neighboring lands.
It is a gentle reminder to pay notice
To the lands that are my duties now in this age of my life.
There will come a day when another will look on these,
Feel the same desire for the land,
And have a vision for how to grow it
with time & gentle care into its full potential.
Oh, how beautiful & wonderful it will be a witness to that day.
As Saint Irinious wrote, "The Glory of God is man fully alive."
I will sojourn & labor towards that day
Where I discover this greater duty arises,
And the vision be made clear.
I pray that the land responds well to my efforts
as I learn & grow in experience in the attempt.
As a land is filled with life,
And with diverse species.
I look at this soil with a wistful sense of duty.
Though it is not mine,
nor do I feel a craving to claim it as such,
I desire to see its future claimant as worthy of its grandeur.
I know it is in good care now, as it flourishes
And brings a smile to my face with its liveliness.
I want to support it in my spirit,
Not because I have to do so,
but because I want the best for it.
The beauty stirs in me a longing to see
Its trends spread to neighboring lands.
It is a gentle reminder to pay notice
To the lands that are my duties now in this age of my life.
There will come a day when another will look on these,
Feel the same desire for the land,
And have a vision for how to grow it
with time & gentle care into its full potential.
Oh, how beautiful & wonderful it will be a witness to that day.
As Saint Irinious wrote, "The Glory of God is man fully alive."
I will sojourn & labor towards that day
Where I discover this greater duty arises,
And the vision be made clear.
I pray that the land responds well to my efforts
as I learn & grow in experience in the attempt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)