the remains.

the remains., originally uploaded by krisde.

Box of glass shards, the remains of the window in my door which was shattered... how nice to have your house broken into three days before Christmas!

sheesh.

(but it could've been a lot worse.)

me and my drum.

Jars of Clay has a great rendition of the Christmas carol, Little Drummer Boy. I've heard it a few times, and really like the lyrics to this, albeit simple, song.


Come, they told me (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
A newborn king to see (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
Our finest gifts we bring (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
To lay before the king (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
So, to honor Him (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
When we come

Little baby (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
I am a poor boy too (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
I have no gifts to bring (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
That's fit to give a king (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
Shall I play for you (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
On my drum?

Mary nodded (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
The ox and lamb kept time (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
I played my drum for Him (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
I played my best for Him (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
Then, He smiled at me (pa-rum-pa-pum-pum)
Me and my drum


nice. Sometimes what is simple becomes what is most profound.

I remember a friend remarked to me that if you weren't going to do your best on something - be it an essay for class, a musical performance, a piece of artwork, etc. - then it would be better to not have done it at all. I think I've mentioned this before on my blog. This struck me and has stuck with me strongly ever since.

No, I don't really have anything to give that is fit for a king... but I can, at least, offer up my life, the best of my abilities, the best of my talents, the entirety of my mind, heart, soul, and stength. Giving the best I have, even if it is as nothing next to the perfection in Christ alone, is an act of love.

"Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. " - Deut. 6:4-7

Belarus, initial reflections.

So let me tell you about Belarus, which was one amazing time.

First, I'll share one of my highlights. The orphanage.

The orphanage was amazing on multiple levels. Just dwell on this a moment: children with physical and/or mental handicaps. 200 children, in a small, poor, rural village in a wintry country. They have occasional visitors, but only have 1 group (my church) that goes there every year. We only stay for about 4 hours.

You know, we all intellectualize out the wazoo about theology and love and what-not. But for once, there was no need or room or time to intellectualize anything. There was one thing needed: to give and show love. To demonstrate love.

And this makes some people very uncomfortable.

We don't hug on, touch, kiss people all the time. In fact, some people go about their lives, every day, without getting or giving a single hug. In fact, a lot of times this is normal for me. In fact, if I started handing out hugs and giving kisses to my girlfriends, for example, they might get weirded out. But when you are facing 200 children who are never touched, are never hugged, never have someone to hold onto, you have no option but to touch, hug, and hold as many of them as you can. Smiling was contagious. I gave a smile to every kid I saw, I reached out just to touch them on the arm, or invited them to sit in my lap or walk with me down the hall holding hands. Touch transcended the language barrier, it became our common tongue, our way of communication.

This way of loving felt easy, almost natural. For once, I felt as though I were experiencing James 1:27 - "Pure and undefiled religion is this, to visit orphans and widows in their distress." Furthermore, there was no intellectualizing of this verse involved to "get it". We were able to "be" Christ for 4 hours, loving them as Christ would; but there is only one who can be a Father to the fatherless in our absence.

There was Katya who wrapped her arm around my waist to escort me to her classroom. There was Christina who held my hand the entire time we walked on the tour of their living quarters. There was Nasta who climbed in my lap, and her little friends who kept exclaiming (in Russian) "We heard you were coming, we knew you were coming, but we didn't believe you were actually going to come! And now you are here, you came at last!" Lots of great memories. More to come...

Advent.

I’ve lately come to really love Christmas carols. Specifically, I have come to love those verses of Christmas carols that are lesser known and not as well remembered when singing them. For instance, consider these stanzas from well known carols, each selection being the third stanza from a different song:

Hail the heav’n-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings, ris’n with healing in his wings;
Mild he lays his glory by, born that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth.
Hark! The herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn King.

And the second:

O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer
Our spirits by thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

And the third:

How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still the dear Christ enters in.

Instantly, I notice the theology in these songs. These verses are not merely about “rejoicing” and “singing” – they are about that as well – but more than that they are teaching and reminding, or preaching, to those who sing them and those who listen. These songs aren’t skimpy in their theology, this is no watered down drink, but this is hearty meat. Consider lines like: “Mild he lays his glory by…” or “born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth.” These carols emphasize that Christmas is not just about a birth. It is about a birth that leads to a death. In order to even understand the celebration of Christmas, you have to understand the celebration at the cross.

Advent cannot simply be about a child who was the Son of God. If we simply celebrate the incarnation we miss the point. Yes, the incarnation is incredible. The love that God demonstrates for us in having His own Son simply trod this guilty sod alongside of us is amazing on its own accord. When I ponder that God would want us to know that He knows our sufferings, that He willingly went through the pain and sadness that characterizes life on earth, that we might become a friend of God, I am moved to awe filled silence at such beauty. There is great, magnificent, blinding beauty in a God who personally knows me as a child and as a friend because He wanted to know me and love me, and walked this earth to prove it.

I come to ask this Christmas season, what makes a good friend? If I were to look at the pool of friends that I have and those I have lost, I am tempted to ask, why is it thus? Why are some close and others far away, or even gone from my life? Those that are still around are those that care enough to ask me how I’m doing, those who care enough to call me and talk. They will listen and also know that I will return the favor. Friendship has to be a two-way street. Otherwise I keep driving in one direction, seeking out my friend, but the road the other way is empty and I drive on and on until I run out of gas, and then I simply can go no further. My friend has not driven to meet me halfway, has not gone the distance to meet with me. But friends I still have, they have gone the distance. They have proven themselves, ready to meet me, so we can exchange laughter and words and love and a whole host of other things.

God likewise has proven that He has gone the distance. So the question also must be put back to me and to you: have we gone the distance too? Have we gone to meet Him? Will we welcome Him in our lives? But let’s also understand that He has gone the furthest distance of all, further than you and I could ever go as a friend. He went not only from heaven to earth, but to hell, the darkness of death, and back. And back. He has come back. Back in the resurrection, and back again some day in this world’s future. He has gone the distance to meet me, and you, and even gone the distance required for you and me to likewise experience triumph over death. There is this huge towering mountain, which I must climb, and suddenly while climbing, I find myself on a dangerous precipice with no rope or tree branch or rock to grab; then there is this strong hand reaching down to grab me, and keep me from falling, and so I climb and summit this mountain, alongside of Him who gave me His strong hand. Victory was His first, but victory is also mine. Jesus not only goes the distance of saving my life, but the distance of staying with me for life.

I treasure friends who will sacrifice time or resources to be with me. Such people, for example, drive long distances to say hello and share a meal or a beer with me, or help me to fly out to see them, or give me an hour of their undivided attention to talk. Imagine, though, a friend who gave you a home. God gives us a home, a place prepared for us, to be with us, and for us to be with each other, on the other side of that triumphant victory over the mountain of death. He gives us community, one of the greatest gifts of all. He gives us love within this community.

Thus, Advent is a waiting. We are not waiting for the birth of Christ. Advent is not waiting for the day that has been traditionally used to commemorate the miraculous birth of a babe, a babe that is God clothed in flesh. No, the Advent is waiting for the return of the man who is our greatest friend. Right now, I miss this man. I miss Him very much. Though we may talk, we have not seen each other face to face. There is a special joy in community that is in being fully present with someone physically (as well as spiritually or emotionally or mentally). So now I wait, and I look forward to that time that is coming, and I rejoice! I rejoice because Emmanuel came once, and I trust He will come again. I rejoice because though I do not see Him face to face, I know and experience His love on a daily basis. I do not despair. My spirit is cheered by His advent here… and I rejoice this advent over this “dear Christ [who] enters in”… into this world, into my life.

Then let us all with one accord
Sing praises to our heav’nly Lord,
That hath made heav’n and earth of naught,
And with his blood mankind hath bought:
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel, Born is the King of Israel!

myriad colors and waves

Have you ever had this feeling, after a thrilling experience, or a mind-altering or potentially life-changing conversation, of the strangeness in this dichotomy of you and the world, how you feel changed but the world around you is the same it was before that experience or conversation ever took place? It was as though you’ve expected for the entire world around you to be different. Expected to have emails flooding your inbox, or to become suddenly inundated with new tasks to accomplish, or to have your cell phone start ringing off the hook, or a violent thunderstorm to arise within seconds outside your window… some torrent to signal the beginning of something great, something that the whole world would be responding to, such change that would reflect what is going on in your soul. And yet, quizzically, so it seems at this moment to you, the rest of the world has continued on quietly. The inbox is empty, the cell phone is silent, and the world is the same it was but a short time ago. You are still here, the same place that is normal and expected and habitual, abiding and waiting, and yet your heart is running, your mind and soul racing, in a tempestuous, elevating excitation. Though the world cannot know the joy in your heart and the uncertainty that mixes it around in myriad colors and waves of intensity, things are different, the eyes you look through see things differently... Though the world has the appearance of being the same and ordinary, just below the surface is swelling something large and indescribable. You begin to feel that the world just might be a different place after all, even with the empty inbox and quiet telephone…

oddity.

you know something in the world is getting screwed up when your dad starts digging russian rap music...

?!?!!?!

to a specific someone named karen

who is also named mouth
who is an inch taller than me
who is more fashionable than me
who somewhat resembles me
who loves the Lord like me
who is a way pickier eater than me
who is much more outgoing than me
who is a better driver than me
who is a good friend to me
who is twenty times funnier than me
who is 3.5 years older than me
and who happens to be related to me...

happy pearl harbor day! i mean... happy birthday!!!
:)

may the adventures continue.

public service announcement

for everyone who has been asking me the same questions for the past 20 months:

what do i want to do with my life? i don't know
what job would i like to have? i don't know
what do you think your calling is? i don't know
do i want to go back to school? maybe
where would i want to go to school? i don't know
what program of study would i pursue? i don't know
when would i want to go back to school? i don't know
would you want to teach? i don't know
would you want to do missions? i don't know
would you want to live abroad? i don't know
would you want to do ______? i just might lose it.
have you thought about ______ ? i've thought about everything. ::cough, cough::
what do you know? not much.

and then the unspoken questions:
what's wrong with what you're doing now? everything.
aren't you just being ungrateful? probably.
what's wrong with you? good question.
why are you acting so pitiful? see answers to all previous questions above.

conclusion: go in peace my inquisitors, and leave me in peace. pray on my behalf if you want. advise if you have something that potentially could be helpful that doesn't involve asking me any of the above referenced questions or derivatives of above referenced questions. meanwhile, i will be praying, mulling, thinking, sleeping, and trying not to have a breakdown, mental or emotional.

end of the public service announcement.

missing the snow.

day 7: snowfall!, originally uploaded by krisde.

missing the snow in Vilnius. Gorgeous.

Cold is mildly unpleasant.
Windy cold is really unpleasant.
But snowy cold rocks.

what I really want...

Egg Nog!!!!

yum! Gotta love the Christmas season...

nightmare.

I had a nightmare two nights ago that I worked at McDonalds. I was the french fry girl, had to fill all the different sized envelopes with fries. Now which is worse: corporate america or McDonalds?? I think I have to go with McDonalds on this one.
1. It's the food industry,
2. It's the fast food industry,
3. The pay would be a lot worse

However life in corporate america at times still seems like a nightmare unto itself... Which may in fact work in me some serious motivation to make an escape plan...

Stay browsed for future posts on Belarus, Advent, phatic communication, community...

Teammates

Teammates, originally uploaded by fotobutterfly.

Here we all are, Americans and Belarussians, at the airport in Vilnius, Lithuania.

11.26.2005

this was such a great time... I miss the Belarussians.

i'm back.

Back from Belarus. Back at work. Back in the blogosphere.

I am really sad.

I miss that place, and the people I met there. But I had a wonderful time and look forward to sharing pictures with you all from the trip. It was the best week of my year, if not my life. The trip has given me a lot to think about. One of my new Belarussian friends, Yulia, is coming to visit in December-January. It will be really nice to have a reunion with her and the rest of the American team! We all grew so close, so fast, and they became an extended family, a family I hope I will continue to be in touch with for a long time.

That's all for now. Send me an email and let me know how you all are doing, how your Thanksgiving holidays were. Or call me and we'll talk.

the beer inspired me

the beer inspired me, originally uploaded by krisde.

yes, i pour it in a glass... when i want a good photo.

aren't you glad i did?

my spot.

my spot., originally uploaded by krisde.

my shadow, at Churchill Downs.

don't miss me too much while I'm in Belarus.

hedging bets

hedging bets, originally uploaded by krisde.

a Sunday afternoon at the tracks

a Sunday afternoon at the tracks, originally uploaded by krisde.

since I know ya'll will be bored while I'm gone, with about 11 days of no blogging, I thought I'd leave you with some photos...

losing innocence.

Innocence is not desirable in our culture.

In fact, we even harp upon those things that glorify the lack of innocence and seek to turn the innocent into the perverse. This has been demonstrated by the media most recently in an article in the NY Times that Karen and I were discussing, re: C.S. Lewis. The article seeks to point out the potentially scandalous items of interest about Lewis and his apparently shady past, while also analyzing him utilizing Freudian psychology, and blatantly seeking out that which can be arguably risqué about an often highly-regarded children’s work, the Chronicles of Narnia. The NY Times article shows how the simple or plain reading of C.S. Lewis’ children’s books is not the desirable reading; rather, it compels a nit-picky reading, searching for inferences that could lead to conspiracy theories about Lewis and his past. Why? Why why why? Because it’s juicy? The guy is dead, what is juicy about digging up a shady past of a dead guy? Don’t we care more about juicy information on the latest celebrity or star? (So we think, but this thinking, too, is flawed.) Or maybe they just want to ruffle some evangelical feathers. They ruffled mine, but not in the way they perhaps intended… (in other words: I am not bothered. I am not going to burn Lewis’ books.) (They could have done this to someone like Tolkien or Lloyd Alexander or Susan Cooper or E.B. White, and it would still be frustrating.)

No, Lucy and the rest of her siblings climbing through a wardrobe can’t simply be about an adventure, can it? Surely the children reading this book will see the Freudian sexual implications and Lewis’ psychosis! This can’t be merely a story, merely an adventure, merely a fantasy… it has to be perverse in some way, apparently. Why wasn’t this obvious to me as a sixth grader reading this? Why wasn’t this obvious to me after reading it in college? Why wasn’t the Freudian connection apparent after I read Freud’s Case Histories and Interpretation of Dreams? Maybe the reason is because this essentially is like drawing a nonexistent needle out of a haystack, a needle of danger out of a haystack of fun, playfulness, and innocence. Sigh. This makes me sad.

This sort of digging up of someone’s life and putting it under a microscope, is done in such a way that all of our lives would likewise seem corrupted, perverse, and risqué if scrutinized in similar manner. Frankly, none of us are innocent. But isn’t innocence something we should seek to preserve, encourage, and prize? What gain is there in losing innocence? I am thinking there is very little gain. I am not speaking of outright ignorance. I recognize great benefit to gaining knowledge and understanding. But here I am speaking more of the purity of innocence that is to be prized. Clearly we can be both innocent and shrewd, but this is very hard in our culture, and frankly, in our world at large.

On another note! Thanks for all the book recommendations. I ended up buying
Notes from Underground by Dostoevsky and One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn. These two should keep me busy for all the flights and travels. These two and my trusty journal, that is.

I definitely want to read, someday soon, The Idiot, Demons, and works by Chekhov. Never heard of Gogol, but on your recommendation Nick, I'll be sure to check him out.

Leaving for Belarus in 30 hours and 58 minutes...

untied and streaming

untied and streaming, originally uploaded by krisde.

new red sauconys. my brother-in-law rocks two times over

a little Ryooski.

in light of beginning my trek to Belarus in 6 days, 3 hours and 12 minutes, I am thinking of bringing something Russian to read. (Seeing as how I will have LOTS of time to read/write/think... as in, I leave for Cincinnati Thursday 5:30pm, but won't arrive in Belarus until Saturday about 1:20pm their time...lots of travel, long layovers and long flights.)

As I've already read Brothers K, War and Peace, and (most of) Anna Karenina, I am looking for something else. Right now I am leaning towards Notes from the Underground by Dostoevsky (pronunciation: dastaYEfskee).

Any thoughts or recommendations?

You know something is wrong with you when…

• You pour a beer into a glass and your first thought is to take pictures of it rather than drink it.
  
  
• You like staying up late… and getting up early… and don’t mind (and usually don’t even feel) the sleep deprivation.
  
  
• You even get up before sunrise on a Saturday just to take pictures. Three Saturdays in a row.
  
  
• You don’t feel guilty ignoring “No Trespassing” signs on abandoned property for a photo.
  
  
• You cut the end off your toothpaste tube to clean it out rather than just throw it away and buy a new tube of toothpaste. You even do this with the trial size toothpaste tubes.
  
  
• You convince yourself you’re saving valuable pennies and avoiding the headaches of shopping by doing so, but then shamelessly blow $900 on a new camera.
  
  
• You pick litter off the beach or grass or sidewalk. Just because you’re inspired when a friend is doing it.
  
  
• You like to donate blood. Every 60 days.
  
  
• You get extremely excited over providentially running into an almost-stranger for the third time in a month, and there is no romantic feeling provoking the excitement, but your friends give you suspicious looks anyway because what else would cause such giddiness??
  
  
• Your excitement grows exponentially the more people you tell about this providential run-in, even though their eyes glaze over and they mumble things like “huh...” in response.
  
  
• You think plaid pants on guys can be sexy.
  
  
• You’ll tell people that you think so.
  
  
• You look for excuses and occasions to wear argyle socks.
  
  
• You’re left-handed but play every sport as though you were right-handed.
  
  
• You actually like the graveyard shift when driving.
  
  
• You do geometrical math proofs in your head while you drive.
  
  
• You also take pictures while you drive.
  
  
• You’d rather undergo physical pain, like burning your hand by catching a falling hot waffle iron, than be slightly embarrassed by having the waffle batter pour all over the floor.
  
  
• You find that alcohol has no effect on you before 4 drinks, but a couple of pixy stix will make others think you’re drunk.
  
  
• You enjoy sleeping on floors, and don’t mind living without a bed for weeks or months at a time.
  
  
• You find fasts from T.V. and music and food are positive and productive experiences.
  
  
• You actually enjoy hanging out with former high school teachers.
  
  
• You don’t like wearing gloves when you do yard work. Even when you start bleeding from thorn pricks and scratches.
  
  
• You like to pick dirt out of the soles of your sneakers with a toothpick or a Swiss army knife.
  
  
• You find yourself writing essays on such things as the constitution of ice cubes and having opinionated stances on such trivialities.
  
  
• You long for the time when writing an essay on quantum mechanics was your homework.
  
  
• Your friends and family give you weird looks because sometimes you can’t stop smiling to yourself or will randomly start laughing even though nothing external provokes it.
  
  
• You find that something as simple as a bumper sticker, a sweatshirt logo, star-gazing, or a photograph will make you cry but you are dried eyed and nearly unperturbed by physical pain, depressing news stories, road kill, and gaping, bleeding knee wounds.
  
  
• You ignore people who tell you that your hair is light brown and insist it is dark blonde with no legitimate reason for this preference.
  
  
• You hate shopping and malls and consumerism and materialism but you own at least 20 pairs of shoes.
  
  
• You realize that living in 7 states and 8 towns in your lifetime doesn’t seem like a lot, that driving 12 hours through the night alone doesn’t bother you, or sleeping in bus stations while backpacking in Europe was not a big deal, or forcing yourself to sprint 2000 meters on an erg for competition was gratifying in the end even though you felt ill, that moving to another state for college was exciting, that losing your traveling companion while hiking in the middle of Yosemite National Park and hiking an extra two hours by yourself was a good challenge, and living in an apartment by yourself was perhaps mildly unpleasant, but moving to another state by yourself now scares the living daylights out of you.
  

(So this makes me... a photographic fiend, an extreme penny-pincher, a hypocrite, a stoic, an emotional train-wreck, a geek, a road hazard, a criminal, a dependant, an ascetic, backward, confused, stubborn, paranormal, pathological, an intermittent good Samaritan, and I still haven't even mentioned a sinner and a recovering Pharisee... So I’m just plain quirky among many other, possibly contradictory, things. Which actually might be normal...)

Implicit Christian art.

"... be reminded that it’s you and the light of the Creator shining within you that makes your art, art..."
– from Christian Aesthetic

I was thinking this afternoon about our ability to create things that are beautiful, thought-provoking, and in general, artistry that reflects the nature of God or reflects Truth or any such similar thing. You have church buildings that are in of themselves works of art. The architectural designs, the stained glass in the windows, the wood carved altars and pews, the columns and vaulted ceilings, all bespeak of the glory of God while simultaneously speaking of the creativity in man that can reflect, form, sculpt, construct, make, create such beauty.

However, there are a lot of other mediums of art besides architecture and stained glass. Paintings. Christian paintings are often displayed, but usually only seen in Orthodox or Roman Catholic churches, in the form of icons or painted ceilings. Sculpture. Sculpture appears less in churches, and if it is present, it is usually a sculpture of a person, a saint, Christ, Mary, the Nativity manger scenes, etc. Sculptures seem to be rooted more in Europe. (Plus, in Europe, the paintings/sculptures seen are very old and have a history… there is little of contemporary, present-day artwork… Granted we’re not all Michelangelo, but all the same, our best efforts still honor God….) However, most of these paintings or sculptures you might see are specific in their scope. They are clearly Christian. They depict specifically Christian symbols, people from the Bible, or historical events that are the makeup of Christian heritage or the history of the Church. Thus one of the main mediums of art I use – photography – is understandably absent.

There are no photographs of Christ. There are no photographs capturing historical events of (ancient) Christianity. However, I am not about to say that photography cannot be an art, and a God-glorifying art at that. (Granted, much of photography is not art, and I confess, much of my own is not art.) Photography as a different medium can also certainly provoke a different impression than one would receive by gazing upon a sculpture or looking at a stained glass window. However, the very thing – time – that keeps photography from being an art form “on display” in our churches also reveals the diversity to the other “accepted” art forms in church – sculpture, painting, stained glass – that are not embraced in church because the expression is not decidedly Christian.

For a church, I can understand this. However, I contend there is much to art that is beautiful and glorifying to God that may not depict any traditional figure or symbol from the Bible or the history of Christianity contained therein. So where is the place of Christian art that lacks the explicit portrayal of Christian themes and persons? Where can implicit Christian art be displayed for enjoyment, and for the purpose of drawing near to the Author, the Creator? If I were to propose to the pastor of my church that more art created by Christians be displayed in the church, but artwork that may not necessarily consist of a sculpture of the crucified Christ or a stained glass mosaic depicting the Garden of Gethsemane, what would he say? I am not sure. But what would be a good venue for such art? Church hallways if not the sanctuaries? Christian bookstores? Christian schools? Coffee shops? Art galleries? Magazines or books? Internet (blogs and webzines and photojournals)? Where could one go to appreciate art by Christians? And why would we keep art by Christians out of churches? Is this because we still must put art under a discerning, judging eye? (Thus the question, who is to judge, or value a piece of artwork?)

I will attempt to say, in summation, what I am trying to really get at: I don’t think art is appreciated as it should by Christians. I don’t think many Christians cultivate their natural, creative abilities and talents. I don’t think these talents are encouraged or embraced to the extent that they should within the Christian community. But I don’t know how this can change. I don’t know how to incorporate art into faith. Specifically, corporately, not just individually. Individually, I believe I do meld art and faith. But communally, how is this accomplished, and appreciated? Is there an avenue for this appreciation outside of historical norms of icons, tapestries, stained glass, and architecture? Is there a place for other mediums, like photography, and subjects other than biblical figures and traditional symbols?

To qualify what I mean when I am speaking of “implicit Christian art,” I intend to focus on art that is by Christians, meant for the Christian to see beauty and truth in God and His world, and yet also meant for the non Christian to contemplate the truth and beauty another finds in God.

Or do we sequester such art to only our homes, for personal reflection and worship?

I also have not even considered the art of writing, which may need to be saved for another discussion, in another post.

(I feel I am being *terribly* inarticulate, but as I have gone over this multiple times and can’t seem to “spit it out,” if one garners articulate insight into the ideas and questions that are compelling me to write, feel free to assist me in this discussion.)

when the dusk has descended...

When the dusk has descended and the shadows stretch long and grow small under the street lamps, I walk with a quiet trod laden with noise in my soul. I look to sky and stars and seek to quell the chaos within. With cold berry nose and breath barely perceptible in twilight, I slowly stride to this dissonant cadence in my soul. Unhurried, yet suddenly full of yearning; replete, yet flurrying. Mind and soul soar yards above me, searching, seeking, for sight into splendor divine. Strength straining and still my soul sits in solicitude. Daytime memories catapult across my mind, my mind failing to dam the flood; my world becomes engulfed, words, memories, thoughts, encapsulated in water, smoke, black holes of romanticism. But in the night, the quiet pulls images into frozen nostalgia, fading into a vacuum of passing moments. Eventually my walk finds an end, sorrowfully stuck, avoiding the next road’s bend, and the slab below my feet becomes my seat. My dog, sole companion, sits in the quiet with me, on the cold concrete, behind the place that some would call a home. The trees stand in the dark, and the stars are faint above, faint to sight, faint to my dimming and blurring eyes. Lonesome sitting disconnects from time and place. The breeze above and the moonlight, silhouetting the trees rustling, metamorphose into my sole focused perception. Once this shroud of darkness falls and my limbs give in to fatigue, I feel the ticking time and glimpse my fleeting life, mortal, failed, resigned… I wonder within me, where has my striving gone? Where is my dream, the charisma, life? Secluded in darkness, somewhere, is a buried word, a hidden peace, the ‘Selah’ that my shattering soul seeks assiduously, and silently, unfound.

i broke down

and finally went to a UK basketball game. Hard to believe, huh? Going to a UK men's basketball game live at Rupp Arena is just something I had to do at least once before I skip town. I am not sure what else is on this unwritten list of things to do while I live here, but maybe I should just starting packing my bags now...

oh wait. where would I go? schnickeys.

Seats for the game were about 8 rows back from the student section, lower arena, right behind one of the goals. Pretty fun. Right by the band. I invited my brother-in-law who is lonely with his wife out of town until tomorrow. Good times. I think my favorites are Sparks and Rondo, but that's really unoriginal seeing as how they are the leading players anyway. Well, it's not like I know that much about basketball. Basketball at St. John's sure was nothing like this... ;)

inveterate inattentiveness

"If you do not take the trouble to know the truth, there is enough truth at hand so that you can live in peace. But if you crave it with all your heart, then it is not enough to know it." -Pascal, Pensées no. 226

the danger of inattention is being satisfied with what one already knows. Thereby, one blocks their receptivity to examining ideas, beliefs, truth. As Josef Pieper relates, "... the conditions of modern life not only favor but almost compel such inattention, which makes belief in practice rather improbable."

Thus you shut yourself off to truth, and can do so "virtually with a clear conscience," and this is sad indeed.

However, receptivity requires critical thinking. As Augustine has said (I believe), "The point of having an open mind, like an open mouth, is to shut it on something solid." (or something like that, I am being liberal with this last quotation.)

music is poetry is beauty is truth

(switchfoot concert on 10.29, here's the rundown)

The day:
Left Lexington at noon with Rachel. 5 long hours of driving for one short set in Ohio. Arrived in Cleveland about 5pm. Upon recommendation from Robert, went to Tommy’s for dinner, and enjoyed the drive through Little Italy, the only place I saw in Cleveland that didn’t look like the ghetto. Didn’t get to the House of Blues in the Theater District until 7:10pm, and doors had opened at 7… so there was a huge line.

The venue:
Swanky and funky. Red velvet and religious icons. Multiple bars and bathroom attendants. Over the stage were religious icons lit up, with the phrase over the middle icon (tarot) declaring ‘Unity In Diversity, All Are One.’ Not sure how this related to blues music… (Interestingly, the symbol of the cross for Christianity was not present. However, I think they chose to represent Christianity with a statue of the Virgin Mary instead… ???) There was a jam packed downstairs floor where it was impossible to see anything due to the sheer mass of people and my shortness. Upstairs were box seats and balcony seating along with handicapped seating. However, behind the seats we were allowed to stand to watch the show. As it turned out, I got to be right on top with no one in front of me to block my view. Perfect view of the stage, even though I sacrificed feeling the crowd’s energy down on the floor.

The disappointment:
Not being able to take my camera inside, and then having to pay a $4 fee to put it in their coat check…. Grr. So the shot below is all I got really. Didn’t get to meet the band, didn’t get their autograph, didn’t get a marriage proposal (haha), didn’t get any cool photos.

The excitement:
It was Switchfoot, I mean, what is NOT exciting?!

Opening bands:
Reeve Oliver hailing from San Diego. Super cool guys.
Eisley, a chick band from Texas, with 3 sisters, 1 brother, and 1 cousin. The girls all wore cowboy boots. Didn’t dig their sound; I liked maybe 2 of their songs. I don’t usually like chick bands.

The set: (roughly in order, but not exact)
Lonely Nation
Ammunition
Dare You To Move
Easier Than Love
On Fire
This is Your Life
Happy is a Yuppie Word
More Than Fine
Company Car
Gone
Politicians
Shadow Proves the Sunshine
Twenty-Four
Meant to Live

Encore:
Stars
We Are One Tonight

A cool moment: Jon Foreman getting down on the ground, playing with his electric guitar’s amp and sound as he sang into the guitar strings to get this uber-cool resonating, echoing sound effect, similar to what he did with a piano for Shadow Proves the Sunshine on their Nothing Is Sound album. I don’t think I have to go into the details of exactly how cool this was. And I don’t think I can adequately describe its coolness because hearing it blows your mind.
Jon Foreman talked about the feeling of community at concerts, the oneness, the excitement that drove him to pick up a guitar in the first place. He prefaced Politicians by saying this was not an anti-Bush or anti-democracy song, but rather, he likes democracy only because he distrusts everyone equally. Company Car was a request from the crowd so they played it just for us Cleveland fans. They even sang a song about Oh!-Hi!-Oh.
And then they ended with the crowd singing a cappella to Meant to Live with the line, “We were meant to live for so much more…”

The experience, the tiredness, the long drive there and back again: oh so worth it.

Arrived back in Lexington at 5am (4am w/ daylight savings time… what a blessing for that extra hour!) Survived the long night thanks to coffee, ice, a whatchamacallit, mini chocolate donuts, Caedmon’s Call, Moby, Switchfoot, Rachel, good conversations, adrenaline.

Check back HERE for their thoughts on the Cleveland show... (I am impatiently waiting for them to post it :)

Dedication of sanctuary at 9:30am: beautiful. As Joel Hunter said over at the BHT, “It feels like Christmas or Easter.” The evening brought an organ concert by renowned Joyce Jones. I lucked out with a near front seat. Though I’ll admit I prefer the piano over the organ, there is something simply amazing about the organ, an instrument designed to praise God, and the virtuosity required in using both one’s hands for the keys and one’s feet to manage all the pedals. The concert was wonderful.

I am thankful for such diversity in creativity – to create beauty and express truth by words and music, whether through rock n roll or through a restored 1950s organ. I know some people cannot see beauty in something like rock n roll, the playing of loud drums and electric guitars. And I am not talking about beauty when these instruments are used in a praise and worship sort of setting. I am talking about rock n roll. I am talking about music produced by bands like Switchfoot. I am talking about the brilliance to utilize one’s voice with the resonating of an instrument to create an unearthly sound by singing into the strings. I am talking about the inherent creative gift that everyone has. This is not to say that every use of that creative gift is for good. There are ways that the creative gift can be used for unglorious purposes, aimed at tearing down, creating for the sake of destroying rather than giving and building up. But I don’t believe beauty in music and words is only found in a mass by Bach or a poem by Hopkins. I believe that the form is not static but dynamic, the content not limited but sprawling, that it is revealed in simplicity and complexity, and that I, too, am capable of its creation and expression. Wonder of glorious wonders, joy of inexpressible joys!

House of Blues

House of Blues, originally uploaded by krisde.

became a house for Switchfoot on 10.29.05

silver rail

silver rail, originally uploaded by krisde.

Shot of Lauren during my first sunrise shoot at Keeneland.

this morning:

35 degrees outside
running 5 minutes late for work
1st time wearing quasi-winter coat
1st time wearing gloves
wearing scarf for about the 5th time
grass is frozen
car is frozen
(what the?!)
running 10 minutes late for work...


this weekend:
2 movies watched, by myself (The Life Aquatic and The Interpreter)
1 root beer consumed (Henry Weinhard's)
6 clock alarms ignored
14 hours of sleep in 24 hours (a record number in many, many months)
1 long drive in the country which makes my...
... 7th time visiting the abandoned bourbon distillery
1 dinner out
1 coffee date
1 trek to Keeneland which was my...
2nd time in a week, with a third trek planned for this Saturday
2 church services attended
1 church service for homeless people (Lexington's version of Church Under the Bridge)
120+ pictures taken

and now:
117 hours until I go to Keeneland for my third and last time this fall...
130 hours until the Switchfoot concert...
143.5 hours until the new sanctuary dedication...
146 hours until I crash and burn from lack of sleep...

but let's not forget:
2nd time writing this post thanks to a stuck 'Esc' key!!!

beer, gelato, football, and craziness

It's Friday, which is hard to believe, and at the moment, it is a relief. I have been busy at work this week (shocker!) and in some ways it was a welcome busyness, and in others, a not-so-welcome busyness. I still have 1-2 things hanging over me today to finish up, but hopefully that will not be a problem...

Last night I enjoyed night with the fam to watch the Virginia Tech football game. My dad and cousins in VA should be proud of me... as my dad would say, "the correct team" won... (I've recently been criticized for rooting for the "incorrect" team...)

recent discovery downtown: a pizza place & pub that features 37 beers on tap with a newly opened gelato place across the street... It was close to heaven. Turkish Coffee & Caramel gelato... oh my. It was decadent.

I've also been trying more beers of late. In all honestly, I have not had that many. In fact I could probably list them all here but I might bore you. Some of my favorites have included:
Corona
Dos Equis
Shiner Bock

I also have enjoyed Guinness (draught), Rolling Rock Pale Ale, and a special Kentucky Ale that is soaked in old bourbon barrels... now that's something else...

and just because I've been in a survey mood... beer recommendations anyone??

and thus concludes Kristi's post of mere trivialities.

i fell in love.

I fell in love on Saturday.

Woke up at 5:30am. Chilly morning, pitch black, groggy. (Reminiscent of crew practices...) Drove and picked up my not-so-groggy friend Lauren by 6am. Headed out to Keeneland.

We wandered by, through, and in between the stables filled with stable hands, jockeys, and horses - which are truly magnificent creatures. We were the ambitious amateur photographers who hoped no one would make us leave. What was shocking was how friendly everyone was to us, saying hello, greeting us with a "good morning", and striking up conversation. Many even came over specifically so we could photograph their horse in those pre-dawn hours. (The jovial spirit at such an hour was not as reminiscent of crew practices...)

I fell in love with the early morning. I fell in love with the stables: the bustle, the quiet, the hushed conversations, and the steady plodding of the horses' hoofs. I fell in love with the horses. I fell in love with the friendly jockeys. I fell in love with the racetrack, the horses galloping by in their morning warm ups and work outs. I fell in love with photography and having a fellow photographer as a companion. I fell in love with the sunrise.

I've been called a true romantic. (I think this is - and was intended to be - a compliment.) I was caught up entirely in the romanticism of those 2 hours. I am dying to go back before racing season ends on the 29th. I am dying to ride again. I am dying to photograph some more. If I had not felt so exhausted physically and emotionally by Saturday night at midnight, I would have gone again on Sunday morning before church.

on another note or two:
I now have three Belarussian pen pals: Luba, Tanya, and Kate!

I also, on occasion, don't realize how much I miss someone until I talk to them or see them about a long absence. (Usually I'm always missing friends who are out of state or out of country...) But Saturday night I finally go to catch up with Robert and all I can say is I didn't realize how much I missed him until that night.

I am reminded now of something about nostalgia that Chesterton said in Orthodoxy... Of course I can't recall it now, but whatever it was, that is what I am feeling... romanticism and nostalgia.

neglected

my cleats are feeling neglected.

they need to come out of the closet and get use on the field. i am really craving to play soccer. the weather right now is perfect: 73, not too sunny, a slight breeze, as the world is trying to decide if it's really autumn or not...

oww my side is hurting...

... in a good way.
thanks Rachel & Heidi... haven't laughed that hard in a long while.

yesterday was FREE BURRITO day at Chipotle on Limestone. Limestone is right by UK. I headed over there straight after work for a couple reasons
1. I couldn't go at lunch
2. I already had dinner plans so I had to make it fast
3. I'm poor and like free food and the 12 minute drive out of my way was worth a free lunch & dinner that I saved for today

that's right... I spent 30 minutes waiting for a free burrito and drink only to not eat it and take it home so I could enjoy it for lunch today.... mmmm. This also allowed me to post-pone my grocery shopping until tonight because I loathe grocery shopping and any chance to post-pone or forget I have to do it is a good thing in my book.

What I wasn't counting on was another odd experience as I waited in line at the Chipotle.

I am downtown, in the midst of a very large university, so naturally, who is getting free burritos? Poor college students. (Wait a second. That's me, right??) There was the wake up call. I should feel right at home in that group of people. It should feel normal. It should feel comfortable.

It didn't.

There are a couple reasons I concluded. First of all, I was straight off of work, and by myself. Most of these people were straight out of class and in large clumps of friends. I was wearing black dress pants, heels, and a string of pearls. The girls I saw were wearing jeans and t-shirts, baring midriff at times, with either sneakers or flip-flops, and inevitably, with a cell phone glued to their ear. Now, I do wear jeans and t-shirts and flip flops and on occasion some may spot me with a cell phone on my ear. Doubt anyone will be seeing my midriff, but hey, in other respects, I do at times look like them. But the fact is, at this moment, I didn't, and I was clearly sending forth a "I'm not a student" look, which is I know probably irrelevant to everyone that was around me, and obviously was not intentional for any reason, it was just coincidence given when I decided to go to the Chipotle.

When I became aware that I wasn't feeling particularly a part of this group (I hesitate to say "generation" because really, I'm still there...), it made me feel strangely, as in, I have to stand tall and live up to my business attire with a mature, older, working woman sort of stance and carry myself fittingly and appropriately. Fact is, I'd rather have just broken into conversation with the nice looking guy in front of me with his jeans rolled up to mid calf, pen over the ear, toting his backpack and bike in line, who flashed me a million dollar smile when I told him I wouldn't make him lose his spot in line while he locked his bike up. Almost made me feel like I didn't stand out, despite my weird strange feelings which perhaps were really just insecurities.

I look at the young working people around me. There are a few in my office who I know. Lots of young working women end up with young working men in the same office. Makes sense, you work together, that's how a lot of people meet, at a job. Seriously now, I have no desire to meet my future husband at my place of work. Correction: at my current place of work. I'm here because I'm a lost soul who hasn't a clue where else to be or where else I even could be. But that other person, most likely, is A-OK with working here. May even be happy. I just can't relate to that. Or so my narrow-focused mind is thinking. Yea, I'll work on that.

I'll work on a lot of things. Because I'm struggling to "feel alright"... makes me think this "feeling alright" and "contentment" stuff might be a bit off target. Do I really want to limit myself, restrain, be satisfied with no desire for something more?? Absolutely not. I'm starting to see a flip side to this "contentment" deal. There's the "contentment" that means, I'm happy, and then there's the contentment that says, I need nothing more. I am pulling away from this latter sense and asserting that I need to strive for something more. Striving for something more is one of the prized and valued qualities I find in other individuals, and my future husband has got to have it.

"There's gotta be something more, than what I'm living for, I'm crying out to You..."

a 2,000 word gift for the weekend...

So I have been thinking and talking a bit with people over this idea of vocation. I heard a sermon at my church recently that dealt with this, and then I have been having my own musings on this topic sparked by different occurrences in my life.

One occurrence was a strange moment of reflection the other night, in the midst of a group of fellow Christians who were introducing themselves. What is the first thing you are going to tell about yourself? Most people, the question you first ask or the answer you first give will be along the lines of your job or field of study. It is this job or field of study that is defining you, or that you are allowing to define yourself, in the eyes of another person. (Aside: I am well aware that the most defining thing about myself and other Christians is Christ. But for this scenario, that is a given. So considering that as an understood given for any Christian, what is the next defining quality of you? Or the first defining quality of any non-Christian? This is the question I will be tackling.)

I heard introductions that went like this….
“Hi, my name is ______, and I am studying ______.”
“Hi, my name is ______, and I work at ______.”
“Hi, my name is ______, and I am a ______.”

Fill in these blanks with anything that would qualify as a job or career, or a major at college (which is basically the categorization of your job aspiration). These are the things, the pieces of information, that you give another individual, to get a glimpse into who you are. Why? Simply put, your job or career or college major represents something that you – presumably – feel passionate about, excited about, called to, or want to devote your life to. A good 25+ years of devotion.

I have two strains of thought, and unfortunately they split like a fork in the road. So let me begin with the first. Let me relate my experience, sitting there, with other individuals, waiting for my turn to introduce myself. Every single person had a response that mirrored my fill-in-the-blank examples above. I thought, can I really say the same thing? Can I really say, “Hi, my name is Kristi, and I am a [insert job title and description here]…”? This thought was met with a strong aversion and distaste in my consciousness. Instead, when it came my turn, my response ran like this: “Hi, my name is Kristi, and I have a wild dog named after a Russian literary character.”

My response was met with good-natured laughter. Simply put, in reality, the fact that I am a dog owner, and a dog owner who is a fan of Russian literature, actually does say more about me (personally) than my job title and description. Even then, such a factoid falls terribly short of any substantial meaning and insight into me. So a deeper question is: should a job define a person? Define me personally? There needs to be a distinction at this point in the discussion between mere jobs and careers, and that of vocations – if you will, holy vocations. During the sermon I heard recently at my church, Pastor Sartelle commented on the fact that people used to always refer to their job as their “vocation” rather than their “career.” Vocation implies calling, that you have been called to do something, to engage yourself in a holy pursuit that is in God’s design. Eric Liddle (a la Chariots of Fire) said, "God made me for China, but he also made me fast. And when I run, I feel his pleasure." This should resonate with Christians, to know that there is something, or there are multiple things, that God made you for, that He delights IN you as you do them, whether that be running, doing missionary work in China, working on computers, teaching, being a doctor or nurse, a lawyer, a mother, a father, a husband, a wife, a writer, a photographer, a car mechanic… This is the quintessential nature of vocation: knowing what you are made for and feeling God’s pleasure in that purpose.

Road block: what if I don’t feel that now?
I come to a couple conclusions.
First, what I am employed in is not my holy vocation.
Second, it is a job, and I can serve God and my neighbor and employer and co-workers to the best of my ability and honor and please God while doing so… but since this is not my end, I will not be here forever. I need to consider, however, for how long I should be here. What is the purpose now?
Third, I need to be attuned to those things that do excite me, so that I can – with confidence – pursue that which I was made for… and not remain in a job lacking the call and delight of a vocation.

Eric Liddle was probably known more for his running than his missionary work. However, he puts the two side by side: running and China. Two things he was made for, not one, not either/or. Clearly, I may not have one defined specialized niche to fill in the world of business or economics or education or medicine or family or… I may find myself embracing many, many vocations. Truly, I hope I will! I believe I am made for vocations in marriage, in photography, in writing, in academia, in church, in missions, in friendships. In fact, I think I already am living in some of these vocations now. So do these things define me? Yes, but not entirely. I think I will always inadequately sum up who I am in one sentence, with one fact, with one piece of information. I can no more give a glimpse to a stranger of myself by telling them my vocation or where I work than I can give someone a glimpse of the fullness of God by pointing to the brilliant sunrise. Qualities of nature, my nature as an individual or God’s nature, are revealed by stating I have a job or by seeing a sunrise, respectively. However, I will postulate that others come to rightly, more fully understand me, define me, only by knowing me, in a loving relationship. (Their intentions have to be good and loving for them to be able to have eyes to see me in my actuality; one can’t approach me with a prejudice for not liking me, or they will never know those true things about me, always picking out my perceived flaws rather than taking in my whole being and opening themselves up to discovering delightful things about me.) Likewise, someone will only come to rightly understand and define God by being in a loving relationship with Him. (Reasoning above applies.) Furthermore, others – people and God alike – may give me more definition than I could ever give myself. I see my flaws and confusion, one gray, garbled mass of a messed up heart and mind and soul. But others see my talents more quickly than I do. They show me that they see more than just confusion in me, they see light and goodness and other things I sometimes don’t see myself.

The second fork in this conversation is concerned with this idea of devoting yourself 25+ years to a specific, particularized field. What happens when you take your coat and tie and call it quits for your line of work, leave that place and enter into that blessed state of being that modern America has been calling retirement? Do you leave your holy vocation in medicine or education or missions behind you? Retirement is something that we work for, we save money for… so we don’t have to show up somewhere from 8-5, M-F. Usually this is because we want to leave the job and be with our family, take a break, not be held under a responsibility like showing up for work every day, wanting to return to a freer lifestyle. But I sense that individuals sometimes can slip into this mode of thinking themselves useless. The work force doesn’t need them, so what are they to do? Collect seashells on the beach and be entertained by the latest soap opera and sitcom…? (I’m alluding to ideas I’ve heard or read from John Piper about this. Don’t Waste Your Life is on my list of must-reads in the near future.)

Retirement is not a part of God’s design. The Sabbath is. Instead of taking our day of rest every week, we want our rest to build up at the end of our lives in the form of years. In fact, many of us ignore the Sabbath. We want to run headlong into busy lifestyles 7 days a week, and if we had 8, we’d be living out busyness 8 days a week too. This is not a matter of time; this is a matter of priority and perception. We don’t want to rule over this world and subdue it, take care of it, for our entire lives; we just want to do it for our 25-some odd years. We become focused on ourselves, our nuclear families. (Don’t get me started on nuclear families! Let me just say this concept is also foreign to God’s larger design – but I’m not discounting nuclear families entirely. This is where the breakdown of Christian community happens, and we need to shift from isolated nuclear husband/wife/children families, to a “nuclear” brothers/sisters/Father family.) The pastor at my church came on board this past summer. He shepherds this one particular flock. He has been married for 40 years. He is at least 60 years old. And yet he just took on a new position as senior pastor at my church. I don’t think he has any plans to retire. He is in his vocation, where God has called him to be. Why on earth would he want to stop, when he is living in the light of God’s pleasure?

Modern man is about modern convenience and this has resulted in sheer laziness. We don’t want to work. We see all work as painful toil when in fact all work is not painful toil. We want to sit on our bums when we reach 70 because we deserve some peace and relaxation for putting in our time of hard work. I won’t deny, those in retirement probably did work very hard in their lives, and just looking at generational differences, they have probably suffered more than I may come to experience. But this concept, that mankind deserves a break after 25 years of work? I’m just pretty skeptical that it holds much water. (Granted, if I am still in this same job in 25 years, I, too, will want a serious break! Precisely because this is not my vocation…) Maybe we also need to redefine, rethink, the nature of work when we are older. We may simply, practically, not be able to keep the same “hours” or do the same stuff. But do we stop living, loving, serving, caring, and yes, working? I don’t think so.

Consider this: God didn’t say, hey, I made the world, now I’m sitting back and going to take a break and watch. Maybe there are some people who think about God that way. I definitely do not. He took a Sabbath, but He didn’t retire. He is living and active in every moment. And frankly, if I ever make it to retiring age, I think I’ll still want to care for this earth, be active, doing something other than being entertained and relaxing in a condo on the beach. How great, how wonderful, if that thing I would be doing when I’m “retired” is the same thing I was doing for those 25+ years before!? To steal an apropos title of a book, it’s about a long obedience in the same direction.

Anyone out there listening?

Belarussian!

I am SO excited!

I now have a Belarussian pen-pal named Luba!

sesquipedalianism.

Noun. 1.) The practice of using long, sometimes obscure, words in speech or writing.

Survey!

What are some of your favorite words? Preferably, long or obscure words, but any words nonetheless?

I can thank Lauren for introducing me to the aforementioned long word. And what a fabulous word at that! I don't think there's anything wrong with aspiring to be sesquipedalianists...

Some of my favorites have included:
-quintessence / quintessential
-resplendent (I stole this one from Laura ;)
-halcyon
-nascent
... and jubilation.
(ok ok, it's not obscure, and not terribly long, but I love it anyway.)
(I think I used all five of these words in my senior essay... ha! In high school, I tried to figure out ways I could work the word quintessence into every major essay... I even learned it in spanish to put in my AP Spanish exam essay... I'm such a dork.)

a justin mcroberts experience

I had a Justin McRoberts experience the other day. I read his entry about the plane catastrophe ("You Took My Spot"), and then faced a similar episode Friday morning on my way to work... in traffic. (If you don’t know Justin McRoberts or his music, you are missing out. Talented musician, and a really funny guy. Saw him at ICHTHUS in ’03 and he was a real standup comedian…)

As I drive to work, there is this one particular intersection [Redding and Tates Creek] that is ambiguous. As I drive on Redding, the road is one lane. Clearly, one lane. By the time you reach the light, you have 3 lanes. 2 left turn lanes, 1 right turn lane. I always take the middle lane, which is the outside left turn lane (#2). However, what develops is a problem regarding this 'ambiguous space' on Redding where the 1 lane becomes 3... with the result that many drivers turn Redding into a 2 lane road for that small ambiguous space. Now, if it becomes a two lane road in that space, you are facing the 2 left turn lanes. The right turn lane is wayyyy to the right and you’ll have to swerve over into it from the middle lane. Any cars sitting in this ambiguous space on Redding, thereby creating two lanes in this ambiguous space, are "in line" for left turn lanes #1 and #2. (Then, if you have to turn right, you will swerve/change lanes from left turn lane #2 to right turn lane on the approach to the light...) This situation is further complicated by the fact that there is a space between the ambiguous space and the 3 lanes, to allow for any cross traffic that wishes to go to the gas station. Let me make a little drawing to make myself clear. [SEE DIAGRAM 1 BELOW]



Car A is sitting almost in the middle of the ambiguous space on Redding. Creating 2 defined lines to wait for the light to turn green is not an option. But he’s clearly leaning to the left, in line for the inside left turn lane, #1. Since I want the middle lane, I pull behind him (not beside him as there is not enough room), but am on the right side of the car, so that it is clear I intend to enter left turn lane #2, which is STRAIGHT AHEAD OF ME.

Up comes Car B, ugly maroon truck. Ugly maroon truck is right behind me. Clearly, he wants the same lane I do. But we can’t inch up beside Car A, so we’ll have to wait patiently and then proceed into left turn lane #2.

Ugly maroon truck, apparently, decided to ignore the fact that I as a driver am in line waiting to proceed to lane #2. This is when maroon truck makes his move. He circumvents all decorum and perhaps even legality for the rules of the road. Rather than wait his turn, he goes AROUND myself AND Car A on the LEFT. He then turns into the cross traffic lane. For a second, I think he’s being stupid but just trying to go to the gas station. NO. He’s being stupid all right, but he’s not going to the gas station. He’s not even going to the right turn lane. He pulls RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME in left turn lane #2, the lane I am facing and waiting to proceed in when the light turns green. [See DIAGRAM 2 BELOW]



WHAT THE?!?!

Did he not see me sitting in front of him when he decided to circumvent both myself and Car A to get to left turn lane #2?? Did he not see that he was also a road hazard by blocking the cross traffic between the ambiguous space and the 3 lanes??

Yes, he blatantly cut in front of me. Who is slighted by this?? Me. Just me. He just decided to annoy me. Thanks ugly maroon car.

I was feeling mad... and then I remembered Justin McRoberts’ story... and realized... things like this happen ALL THE TIME. And frankly, I have a higher calling. I won’t always live up to my higher calling. But I have it, and it entails letting go, letting things like this slide off my shoulder, for the sake of peace, in the name of Grace.

g'day mate!

There was an awesome thunderstorm last night. It woke me up, probably because my windows were open, and probably because rain was coming into my apartment and getting me wet... it took me a while to become cognizant and make the effort to close the windows because I thought the rain was somehow just in my dream... Fun times!

(I'm really going to miss having big, large windows that I can fling open at night to let the breeze join me in my slumber, with the sounds of crickets at dusk and birds at daylight... even if there is the occasional racket of the garbage truck ;)

This morning, there was an awesome skyline... there was very low, dark, cloud cover obscuring all sunlight... it made for a brisk and cold morning... No sunlight that is except for this one gaping hole that revealed, far away, further in and higher up, a light blue peaceful sky with brilliant white strips of clouds lit up by the golden sunshine...

All architecture and sculpture and photography pale in contrast to such creativity and splendor.

anywhere in the world

if you could be anywhere in the world today, where would you be?? what would you be doing??

I'd like to be in Nicaragua, visiting my friend Becca. If not that, then maybe sitting in a Lee's Hoagie House, eating a big ham/genoa/provolone hoagie.

desiccated.

a great word to describe how I'm feeling.

T.G.I.M.?

Thank Goodness It's Monday.

Right?? I was exhorted to have this outlook yesterday, to not wait and wait and wait for Friday, but to be able to say, thank goodness it's Monday. I think I am falling terribly short in having this outlook.

Maybe it's because I feel like I hit a brick wall this past weekend. A brick wall that I keep ramming against over and over and over...

thoughts of an ice connoisseur

I’m going to let you in on a secret... okay, that’s laughable since I’m posting this on a blog… nevertheless…. I am an ice connoisseur. Specifically, ice cubes or forms of ice that is small enough for your drink. Most, mind you, are not your traditional cube shape. I have been chastised for chewing ice by individuals who warn me that I could crack my teeth on I (which hasn’t happened yet), and then, of course, the ever present danger of choking on ice, but since that already happened when I was in the seventh grade and my mom successfully did the Heimlich maneuver on me, saving my then unsaved life, I figure that’s old hat too. Well not old hat. It just doesn’t worry me that much. It worries me enough to be mindful of ice cube size and mindful enough not to go spitting ice into the yard, or in the case of my yardless apartment living existence, onto someone’s windshield in the parking lot… If I’ve lost you already, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ll spare you the dramatic details in their entirety of how my mom saved the day after the neighbors ran away and my book-engrossed sister failed to notice that my life was in danger... But I really enjoy crunching on ice. I’ve always loved water, and it’s probably one of my favorite beverages; however, I definitely prefer ice water. In fact, I prefer ice in most my drinks. (How I survived in Europe a whole summer is beyond me.) In part because ice makes the drink very cold and room temperature water or sweet tea just doesn’t do the trick for me. (This is the only area in which I am sensitive to caloric; with food, I often won’t bother to reheat leftovers. I actually enjoy cold mac n cheese and pizza.) The other part is just because I like to crunch on the ice. I am well aware that crunching on ice would be considered impolite and ill-mannered. Though I enjoy it, I will forego the consumption of ice if I’m in unfamiliar company. But generally most of my ice crunching goes on behind the walls of my apartment while I’m sitting at home, reading, writing or listening to music or something by myself. The point being, I enjoy ice. Think about it this way: some people like to chew gum. In fact, chewing gum gives people something to do. Not an action like exercise or productivity, but it’s something to keep you engaged. (This is perhaps akin to prior thoughts on licking Tootsie Roll Pops.) Or consider smokers, who upon quitting, turn to chewing gum. Something about the action, keeping you slightly distracted from your craving, filling the void… lets call it the void of stillness. I hasten to give it a positive term – that is, the stillness, rather than referring to it as inactivity, which gives a negative sense – and thereby make it clear that often the chewing of gum or crunching of ice is merely a way of fidgeting, of being unable to be still and quiet, which for me seems to be greatly detrimental. All the same, void is a negative word, thereby demonstrating that our perception of stillness is that of a lack that needs to be done away with. I will postulate that until we can see the stillness as full and replete, we will fail to learn the beauty of silence and solitude and hearing the still small voice of wisdom in our soul’s ear. In the meantime, we all turn to something. This is also why, in my opinion, so many people are obese in our society. The craving for food or junk food in particular, or even something seemingly innocuous like soda consumption, we instinctively turn to, and then naturally we rack up the calories and sugars and next thing you know you’ve gained 20 pounds and have to start taking meds for high blood pressure and are just Twinkies away from diabetes. (Twinkies, btw, are not a thing of nature. They also will not burn; they singe and melt like plastic. There is a reason for this…) We fill our day with subtle distractions that are mindless or thoughtless in form and I believe there is a serious reason for this. And as I started this discourse about ice, you see that I fully am aware of my own fault in seeking to fill the void of stillness with something as mindless as chewing on ice.... however I will return briefly to the subject of ice consumption, to put forth my precise connoisseurship relating to ice (that is, my connoisseuric ideas). That I thoroughly enjoy ice has been established. I have noticed that the type of ice you will be served at a restaurant or that will pop out of your freezer molds can vary greatly in size, shape, and density. This ranges from cubes, sticks, elongated half ovals or semi-spheres, pellets, rectangular cubes or a hodge podge of crushings. Some can’t really fit in your mouth in their original size; others are the size of pills and could be easily swallowed without causing an obstruction. The density of some ice is so great that you will be hard at work to get a crack in it. This is when I would advise not to try to get the crack, but let it melt a while in your drink. I am not going to encourage crunching on ice when there is a substantially increased possibility of cracking a tooth. My personal favorite is the pellet ice. Pellet ice can be found at one of my favorite restaurants, Costa’s Famous BBQ in Birmingham, AL. I usually take note where this type of ice can be found, as it is by far my favorite. (Don’t expect to find it consistently in food chains; I’ve been to some Chick-Fil-A’s that have the pellet ice only to be disappointed on visiting another one somewhere else that did not.) First of all, there is absolutely no danger to choking. The ice is small enough to swallow easily. Second, the ice is usually bumpy which makes crunching easier on your jaws. It somehow breaks apart easier, probably also due to its size and smaller surface area. Thirdly, it will easily melt in your mouth, which also accelerates the consumption, and decreases the amount of noise the crunching produces. This is usually a pitfall of crunching on ice, in that anyone you may be sitting near or talking with will most certainly hear you crunching on the ice, and thereby either get annoyed or think you rude… which as a general rule, I try to avoid creating such negative feelings or leaving such negative impressions about myself on other people. Thus, the pellet ice gets an A+ in my book. However, I have discovered another type of ice that gets very, very close in the rankings. As I now produce my own ice using old-fashioned ice trays (no ice maker in my apartment’s freezer), I have to keep on filling up my 1 or 2 ice trays, which I also, incase you didn’t surmise, empty fairly quickly, say about 3 times each night. What happens, however, is that usually I go back to my freezer to get more ice for my drink or my empty glass and the ice has not had enough time to freeze all the way through. This results in a variety of ice densities. First, you have the ice that only has a thin frosty crust that with a slight poke of your finger reveals the watery expanse below it. No where near being ready. The next stage is that the outer sides of the cube have frozen, but what inevitably happens is that there are some gaps and holes and the freezing process is not quite far enough along to give the ice a firm enough cube shape. Thus, the top comes off leaving a semi-frozen bottom and semi-frozen sides stuck to the tray. This also is pretty useless. The penultimate stage, before the ice has become a frozen mass of a cube through and through, I claim as my favorite type of ice, perhaps only runner-up to the pellet ice. This is when the freezing process is slightly further along than the second stage; thus, the top, sides, and bottom of the cube are solid and connected to one another and the cube can be picked up out of the tray in one piece. Sometimes, there will still be small fissures. This is doubly interesting because this third stage results in a small amount of water being encapsulated by the frozen sides, albeit the interior of the cube itself has not reached this same solidity. This also usually signifies that you can easily crunch into the sides of the cube and release the water from its inner captivity, if it has not already leaked out through the side fissures. This density is great. I still have the gratification of crunching on the ice, but also it’s combined with a wateriness that sort of blurs the line between ice and water. It’s like water slush. And I was always a fan of slushies. Growing up, we had slushie makers. Well, it was more like a mug that you put your juice or sweet tea in and come back twenty minutes later to a juice slushie or tea slushie. I’d usually eat this with a spoon, and I was addicted to this sort of thing growing up. So it’s no wonder I’ve found a great way to recapture that slushie feel with a homemade ice version. Before I lead any readers unsuspectingly down the dead end road of my ridiculous idiosyncrasies, I’ll try to put all of this in perspective. I am a person who is intrigued by a simple element like H2O, in its degrees of solid and liquid and in between. This represents a small but real joy for me, akin to things like the smell of a grilled steak or knowing the names of constellations or seeing a sparkle in someone’s eye. I feel more in tune to the workings of the world, and connected to a rhythm in creation I cannot and dare not confine in mere words. The fact that I judge the quality of ice cubes or undergo varied reactions to another’s body language or laughter indicates that I not only have rationality but personality. I don’t expect everyone to understand my idiosyncrasies about ice cubes, but I bet someone out there does understand. Likewise, that someone who does understand probably won’t understand why I enjoy sleeping on a floor when I could sleep on a bed, because I have no twin, and no one has a twin: that is, no one has a soul twin. Moreover, the most obvious realization I have whenever I see any other human being (so obvious it’s subconscious) is that something in us is screaming UNIQUE. To take this one step further, the fact that I recognize that I can enjoy the crunching of ice and yet think that this wonderful thing may in fact be a distraction from something greater and more wonderful and beautiful, does not demand that I give up crunching of ice totally. Rather, it calls me to reflect and cogitate, whereby I am moving to a new level of cognizance and contemplation, a new stretching of my brain and even my soul, by thinking outside of myself to grasp at a truth or an idea that wants to fill the void with the abundant experience in stillness, and in turn, may lead me to meaningful, directional action that could never be categorized as action alongside of chewing gum or crunching ice, so different in nature is the action that may result. And not simply stillness for the sake of stillness, not meditation by emptying my mind of every jot and tittle, but rather by filling it with something true, beautiful, and good to be still in, which must be otherworldly in nature, beyond the walls of buildings and confines of space, beyond philosophy, gleaning the substance for which philosophy grapples in its very nature.

Be still my soul, I say, and I hear, “and know that I am God”….

spider at dusk

spider at dusk, originally uploaded by krisde.

mr. guardian spider... was a nightly visitor... and then he disappeared one day and I haven't seen him since.

made for a couple good shots, but I definitely kept my distance. He did his thing, and I did mine...

487.

Should I be disturbed??

I went to this "administrative professional" meeting today. they had someone from the fitness center talk about stress, different stretches to do everyday... there was a packet of handouts we got with an evaluation of "How stressed are you?" based on your LCU or life-change units.

So I got a score of 487.

They say research shows that people who score 150-199 LCU in one year showed a 37% chance of those stressors leading to illness or disease the following year; those scoring 200-299 a 51% chance; and those scoring over 300 a 79% chance.

Should I be worried??

(Can I help it I had 6+ vacations this year, changes in work, residence, financial situation, line of work, social activities, sleeping habits, etc etc etc??)

you, too, could be a part of the comment revolution...

so i had to bust out my fleece jacket this morning. it's a rite of passage i've decided. a true sign that summer is leaving and fall is beginning. next it will be the leaves. and depending on where you live, they either change colors to brilliant yellows and reds and oranges, or, as is usually the case where i live, they just get blown off the trees before they can look so fantastic. sigh. i'd love to live in new england for the fall. pennsylvania and jersey for 11+ years didn't really count. close, but not quite. temperature was 63 degrees this morning, the sun was obscured by the low cloud cover, and it generally looked like it should have been 8pm instead of 7:30am. sigh, again.

i don't mind fall. i actually really like fall. it's the oncoming winter that fall signals that i'm not crazy about. at least, i'm not crazy about the coldness. snow in general is a lot of fun.

i love the farmer's market.

a visit by Johanna and Sir Robert this past weekend made it really wonderful. We found ourselves doing a lot of driving around town, eating lots of good food, visiting bookstores and strolling along vine street at the farmer's market. the pumpkins and apple cider have appeared on the scene with the reliable colorful array of fruits and vegetables and strange characters with strange accents. but I consider it a great accomplishment to have gotten Johanna hooked on the place. spreading the farmer's market love...

highlight yesterday was driving after church in the evening, with windows rolled down, sunroof slid back, and the volume cranked up while "We Are One Tonight" sounded out from my speakers. Last night I spotted the moon, huge, hovering near the tree tops, full of its white cheesy splendor. I think the moon was trying to say something to me, but it got garbled in the wind as I hugged the curves of the pavement and I am left wondering what sublime notions the moon would have filled me with. Dreamy, lovely moon in a star speckled sky sighing with the descent of daylight... I could write a poem about you.

not sure the energy is here today for it... i wish i were sleeping, at home...

if you could write an ode to something, today, right now, what would be the object of your poetic affectation?

just 1 more reason...

...why switchfoot rocks my world.

lowercasepeople.
Check it out.

I would love working on this project.

5pm has yet to come.

well, the day should be done. at least, the workday should be done. I am looking forward to 5 o'clock today for more than just the usual "I want to go home" reason. Right now as I type, Johanna and Sir Robert are driving to see me. Well, not just me, but I am a perk of a business trip that conveniently landed them in my city. So I am excited.

Tomorrow... things to look forward to... payday! I've been waiting these very long past two weeks for payday. With soaring gas prices and such, my travels to FL and AL two weekends ago... ouch! I've been hurting. Good thing my rent drops when I move into my new living arrangement at the end of this month... speaking of money, let's give a little assessment of how I've been doing on my two week goals. I have successfully completed #1, and #3-6. I have finished the reading I wanted to accomplish; I still have about $5-10 leftover in money for food; I researched, not just 1, but 9 grad schools; and I purchased my concert ticket to see Switchfoot. As for gas (#2), well, I had to break down on Wednesday (yesterday) and fill up, so I was close. Only about 3 days off. And as far as naps go (#7)... I took one... and then never again. Unless you count those brief 30 minute stints between the alarm waking me up and then my body drifting back off until I shake myself awake realizing I've overslept... that happened quite a few times this week. No, I don't think that really counts... .. .

YAWN.
Time to check the mail...

signing off on a boring blogging day.

giving strangers birthday cards

I think birthday cards are a huge waste.

and I hate picking out birthday cards for strangers.this was the stress at my job yesterday.some of you are thinking, "that was your biggest point of stress?? I wish I had it so good!"and I am saying, "YES, precisely, THAT was my biggest point of stress..."

job is boring, can you tell? but I really do dislike picking out birthday cards. so I opt for nice ones rather than offend someone inadvertently with my choice of a "humorous" cutting-up kind-of card. One of my co-workers says I'm "too nice" in my card choice. I told her she can come along with me next time... and then I'll make her pick them out. Because believe you me, I don't like doing it.

and then I have everyone in the department, about 12-15 people, sign the card. I'm the last to sign and don't want to say the SAME EXACT thing as someone else. Only problem: EVERYONE says the same exact thing. It's either "Happy Birthday [insert name here]!" sometimes with the name before, sometimes with more than one exclamation point, or it reads "Have a great [birthday/day/year]." What else can you say, right?? So I TRY to think of something a little more creative. Fail miserably. I say something with a high corny factor like "Hope your day is full of [joy/laughter/adventure]" - which works, but hey, does the person whose birthday it is REALLY take our trite comments to heart? I guess one receives the general good-feeling from others' good-intentions. But I say, tell them in person, or write a real letter, and while you're at it, save yourself $3.50 from buying a birthday card that will be trashed in less than 10 minutes. These things are not worth $3.50. And if you keep your birthday cards?? That means either a) someone really did write you a long, meaningful birthday note, in which case, congratulations, I'm shocked, or b) you are a pack rat and need to throw those things stacking up in boxes AWAY.

with all that said, for some reason I still like it when my Grandmother sends me birthday cards.

I'm bubbling over with contradictions today.

the late late show

yea.... stayed up to watch the late show with conan... just to see switchfoot perform, which was about 1:35am. needless to say, I didn't roll out of bed until 7:35am. What time do I leave my apartment for work? Yep, 7:35am. Amazingly, I got here at 8:14am and still beat 4 out of 5 co-workers. At least they don't care too much about punctuality... not as much as I do.

incase you haven't gotten their new cd, RUN, don't walk, to get it! and read the lyrics intently. I worry with their new cds if their sound will change, be less powerful, less creative, sell out, shift to pop or something... but I think I don't need to fear that. their stuff just keeps getting better and better.

I watched the documentary about making this album, while on the road. man, I watch this stuff and think... it would be great to be in a rock band. or marry a rock band guy. (I mean, I'd marry Tim Foreman. He wears a plaid blazer!!) It's clear they love what they do... and I can't wait to see them again in October.

ok, enough enough, I'll stop the rambling. Besides, you'll get more installments about switchfoot as the concert approaches...

so. wednesday. sigh.

more iraq

"As the Deuce Four heads home this week, they leave behind a Mosul that, while not yet in the clear, is much closer to security and prosperity than anyone would have considered possible eight months ago. In between the daily secret reports Kurilla has brought to his hospital room so he can track his battalion, the Commander watches television news, increasingly frustrated by what he sees as a clear, and inaccurate, negative bias. 'When you get the news back here in the states, it’s all doom and body counts. I only wish the American public could see the incredible progress that is being made every day in Iraq, particularly in places like Mosul.'"
-from Michael Yon's web blog

But no one listens to soldiers nowadays, right?
Though, clearly, a soldier's mentality is different from some. The clearest example being, a soldier can't truly be a pacifist or they wouldn't have chosen the vocation they did. I think pacificism is a great philosophy, a noble one. I just don't think it's possible here and now. At least, not entirely. Definitely possible in some situations, on a small scale. And of course, the ripple effects of living that out can increase in magnitude. But Iraq? Right now? It would be massacre for us if we took a pacifist position. Which, I am mindful of, some may not see as a problem.

well, ok...

not sure about the fruity stuff, but otherwise, ok???
(of course, it's not like I can actually go try the coffees they are recommending... sniff, sniff.)

Take the City Dock Coffee Personality quiz here.

Your Coffee Personality!

You enjoy fresh, vibrant, clean flavors! You probably squeeze lemon onto your broccoli and limes into your Mexican beer. In coffee you lean to snappy acidity and brilliant fruit flavors. Try the incomparable Kenya AA with its winy fruit notes or Costa Rican Tarrazu "La Minita" Estate for its fine sweetness, suggestive of maple with a hint of citrus.

AND

Unusual and unabashed describes your taste in flavors (and probably your clothes, too!). If other people think it's too strong or too stinky then you're sure to love it. That's why you'll dig the blueberry in Ethiopian Harrar, the sweet, earthy character of Sumatran, the scotch and tobacco notes of Yemen Sanani, and the defiant darkness of Italian Roast.