Dr. Joy July 29, 2009

Today I taught my first class ever.  It kind of snuck up on me.  I was told weeks ago I would sub for an English Small Group Instructor (SGI) with my company, at a center in Baldwin Park.  It wasn’t until yesterday when that teacher called me with instructions that I realized I would actually be teaching a class.  Granted, it was only two classes of like 10 students.  But you know what?  I really liked it.  And I think I can do this.  I think I can teach.  Somehow when I’m communicating in front of a group, I open my mouth and all these ideas come out and they surprise me, and even more surprising is that it looks like these teenagers are actually interested in what I’m saying.  I think it’s part of my being an external processor.  I can’t micro-plan for the lesson, because I won’t be able to stick to it.  I just have to know what topic I’m supposed so speak on, grasp the vision or the concept for the lesson, and go with it.  I don’t think I’ll be in the next Dangerous Minds/Freedom Writers type of movie…I’m leaning more toward being a college professor.  Today I was launched into a mini-dream of what life would be like if I was teaching at a university.  In an office with floor to ceiling bookshelves, interesting objects from my world travels, a vintage globe, and a skylight.  I would spend time reading and writing, discussing and debating, taking students under my wing and watching their potential unfurl like little wings, ready to lift them off into the future.  So, maybe not Dangerous Minds, but what about Dead Poets’ Society?  Or I would be cool with being like Julia Roberts in  Mona Lisa Smile.  It’s scary to think of how much schooling I still have to do to get there, but how cool would it be if I was a Doctor?

A Question, Sir July 22, 2009

So, I was reading through some of my old blogs today (oops, did that just tag me as a narcissist?) and one thought was running through my mind: when did I get so effing boring?  In other words, when did I start to take myself so seriously?  Sheesh.  I started this blog with references to Zach Braff’s unfortunate profile and lists of words I love or hate.  Now it’s all heavy quotes from heavy books leading to heavy pondering about life.  Who am I?  Like, seriously, who writes about sun-warmed tomatoes?  I have to laugh at myself.  Okay, here are some justifications, though – 1) I’ve been going through re-entry (not just from Norway back to the States, but from one lifestyle to a totally different lifestyle) and so I’ve found writing to be a natural and helpful outlet for me.  And once I finish a piece, I think, why not throw that up on the ol’ blog?  2) I’m not working so much, and I have a crappy Internet connection at home, so I don’t really have oodles of time to piece together fluffy blogs filled with images and links to Amazon and Wikipedia.  3) I don’t know, I just feel like there needs to be a third.  Maybe I’ve become a bit of a snob?  Maybe I think my readers have come to expect more from me than valley-girl reviews of movies and TV shows?

So I just wanted you to know that I understand this blog has evolved into a bit of a literary review, philosophical/spiritual journal type of blog.  And that’s not all bad…but is there still room on here for current events and confessions of guilty pleasures and celebrity crushes?  Or is the only place for that now my status updates on Facebook?  Bah.

Okay, here are a few randoms running through my mind that I (generously) put pictures with:

- I read an interview with Jennifer Aniston in Marie Claire where she called Diet Coke her “brown monkey.”  Love it!  And if Jennifer Aniston, with her amazing yoga body and glowing skin and there-is-NO-WAY-she’s-40 looks, can still be semi-addicted to Diet Coke, I think it’s just fine that I drink it a few times a week.  Thanks, Jen!

- Do you think that wearing a hat is ALWAYS making a statement?  I read somwhere (poss. Esquire) that it is.  My sister gave me a freaking sweet straw fedora for my birthday and I’ve worn it a lot already, always with many compliments and girls being like, “No, seriously, where did you get that, and do you think they’ve already closed for the day?”  The hat had its big debut at a friend’s bbq/mini-concert/dance party (yeah, it was fun) on Saturday and was warmly received.  But I couldn’t help feeling like that girl the whole time…you know?  Plus, I might look cute in a hat but I NEVER look cute when photographed in a hat.  Sucko.

- Seriously, are they EVER going to make a Gilmore Girls movie?  Because I would totally watch it.  Logan, I didn’t forget about your proposal and the house in California with an avocado tree in the yard.  If Rory’s still following Obama around, I’ll come hang out.  (NERD ALERT)

- …and The Bachelorette.  So, SO good.  Could you believe the Men Tell All special?  Those guys were crazy!  Even Chris Harrison was later quoted to say that they came off as “knuckle dragging cavemen.”  I fully agree.  I also stand by my theory that men are worse gossips than women.  The only thing is, they don’t get as hurt when someone talks crap about them.  If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?  If a guy talks crap about his friend and said friend doesn’t care, is it still gossip?  Oops…I’m wandering too far into pondering mode.  Back to The Bachelorette.  Who will she choose?  I think my vote is for Kiptyn.  He’s totally cute and grew on me, but I’m scared that when the going gets tough, he’ll drop out and go back to having tacos at Wahoo’s in San Diego.  I love Reid for her, but I think she’ll never be satisfied because he seems to be too much “in her league.”  What do you guys think?  And would you still love me if I was the new Bachelorette?  It would be so fun and you would get so many cute clothes!

And…comment!

Fish Out of Water July 17, 2009

There’s a lovely passage near the beginning of A Severe Mercy, when Vanauken is telling the story of the early days of his and Davy’s love:

The walks, especially as the sun got up and began to warm us, were leisurely, full of pauses to talk to a farmer or farmwife.  Sometimes they would have us in for a glass of fresh milk.  Or sometimes we would stop and sit on a wall, eating a sun-warmed tomato, talking or peacefully silent.  Often we talked of the sad and somehow outrageous fact that in most lives, perhaps our own before long, there isn’t time for long walks and sitting on walls.  We quoted a poem by W.H. Davies to the effect that it is a poor life if we have no time “to stop and stare” as sheep and cows do.  We agreed.  Nor were we cheered by the prospect of an occasional day off from an office, for with only one day there would be a sense of time at one’s back, a time too limited to “waste” sitting on walls.  How were we to contrive a life full of time—a timeful life—where we could be quiet and leisurely, where we could stop and stare?

 For days after I read that passage, I kept going back to it in my mind.  That’s the dream, isn’t it?  As much as I love adventure, I love those landing places, when you can be fully present and fully alive.  When that sun-warmed tomato is the best damn tomato you’ve ever eaten in your life.  Van and Davy ended up learning to sail, and taking a yacht out in the Florida Keys, wading knee deep in water, getting “brown as nuts” and spearing lobster for their dinner.  They had, for a little while, that timeful life.

But I have a feeling that this life isn’t meant to be “timeful.”  Time, by nature, is not abundant but scarce.  Time never multiplies, it only decreases.  Every day our time is running out – sometimes one grain of sand at a time but for some of us, the whole hourglass is kicked over and time comes rushing out over the shattered glass. 

C.S. Lewis describes humans’ tense relationship with time, and hints at the idea in Romans of humanity and all of creation groaning and longing for their redemption and a coming into ourselves:

“Do fish complain of the sea being wet?  Or if they did, would not that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had had not always been, or [would] not always be, purely aquatic creatures?  Notice how we are always perpetually surprised at Time.  (“How time flies!  Fancy John being grown up and married!  I can hardly believe it!”) In heaven’s name, why?  Unless, indeed, there is something in us which is not temporal.”

I first read the passage from A Severe Mercy last week, and I tucked those words into a corner of my mind like Charlie and his prized chocolate bar – often going to the corner, slowly peeling back the wrapper, then the foil, allowing myself a little nibble and tasting the melting sweetness of that idea all over again – the idea of a timeful life; of taking long walks outdoors and eating fresh foods and delighting in the company of my companion.  That was last week, when I was working a steady job Monday through Thursday and figured I would do that until I started at Fuller, where I would work and go to school every day and somehow survive until the next busy season, whatever that would be.

But now, suddenly, I’m quasi-unemployed.  I still have my subbing job but I don’t have the regular work.  Last week I was stressing about money and hoarding for the future and dreaming of a timeful life – this week I’m overwhelmed with free time, and also with the knowledge that I lack nothing; it’s now clear the stress and the hoarding were a waste of my energy.  So what’s the moral of this story?  Did I get a timeful life just for the wishing of it?

No, I don’t think that’s what happened.  And I still think that time’s nature does not allow itself to be abundant – for long.  But sometimes the Creator of Time does some fancy footwork and creates these little pockets, these little hollows in time where we get to camp out and rest a while, before going back to the normal state of things, i.e. swimming around and wondering why we’re getting wet and why we can’t take a deep breath under here.

It’s only a matter of time, so to speak, before we’re back on land and there’s no more Sea and no more Time and we can just be, and that will be better even than what we think we’re groaning for now.

Mo Money Mo Problems July 8, 2009

I’ve wanted to read the book A Severe Mercy for a long time.  Okay, maybe like 2 months.  But I really wanted to read it.  It’s kind of random, but the book seems to be a modern classic.  C.S. Lewis is loosely connected…are you surprised I was interested?  But actually, he’s not the reason.  Anyway, on the back of my copy it says that A Severe Mercy is about “Sheldon ‘Van’ Vanauken and Jean ‘Davy’ Vanauken [who] were lucky enough to discover that radiant love so often written of in books, so seldom found in real life.”

This is the first of at least a few posts that I will surely publish as I read and reflect on this book, but man, this couple is…unique. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about money lately.  Probably because I don’t have much of it.  Now that I’m paying rent (and wondering how I’ll pay for grad school in the Fall) I’ve gotten serious about budgeting.  I’m naturally frugal, but now I’m taking out cash right after I get my paycheck and allotting a specific amount to every area of spending.  Like a real live grown-up!  But not having money means not having things, and not having things makes you think about how much you really need them, and whether you need them at all.

And that’s where A Severe Mercy comes in.  One night, early in their relationship, they are discussing (in an interlude during a makeout session, mind you) what might divide lovers and conquer love.  They decided that stuff can get in the way; possessions.  At such a young age, they were wise enough to see that when you over-value what you own, it ends up owning you.  They vowed to live free of such burdens, thus buying cheap stuff that they won’t mind seeing broken or stolen or scratched.  The funny thing is, they really followed through with this idea.  Van recalls the time when they got their first brand new car, which they proceeded to pound “severely with a hammer to make it comfortably dented.”  What!?  My first thought was, I do not know anybody who would do such a thing.  My next thought was, I wish I were that free.  Not just free from possessions, but free from conformity to the thought patterns of this world, that say, “You must have many possessions, and you must guard them with your life, and you must mourn greatly if something happens to them!”

Maybe reading this book will help me as I try to shake loose the desire for more more more in the midst of the more culture in L.A.  But it also might help me daydream too much about an idyllic relationship spent cavorting around islands on a yacht.  Omitting, of course, the tragic ending.

Born on the Fourth of July July 7, 2009

Okay, I wasn’t really.  I was actually born on the 3rd of July.  But (Mom, correct me if I’m wrong) the story goes that my due date was July 4th and the doctor didn’t want to do a c-section on the holiday, so my mom had the option of picking the 3rd or the 5th.  How special!  I’m glad she chose the 3rd, though, because otherwise it wouldn’t be so crazy that my license plate has the numbers 7 3 84 in it.  Woah.

Anyway, I turned 25 on Friday, and one thing I can say about my 25 years on this earth: I finally got smart about parties.  See, I love throwing parties.  The more the merrier.  I hosted a couple of epic parties back in college (epic being a relative term when you go to a Bible college where everyone’s signed contracts that they won’t touch alcohol).  The best was at the end of my senior year, when I threw a Peter Pan themed party – fairies, lost boys, pirates, and Indians everywhere.  I was Tiger Lily and got a wicked spray tan.  A bunch of us ended up dancing in the backyard like the lemurs in Madagascar.  Sweet.

Back to my party anxiety.  The during is usually great.  But my freak outs always happen in the moments before, when I’m waiting for the first guests to arrive and wondering if anyone will even show, if anyone at all in the world actually loves me.  Birthdays are the worst, because so many people go out of town for the Fourth, so my guest list is usually pitifully small.  So this year, I wised up.  I decided that a) I didn’t want to worry about who loves me and who doesn’t on my 25th birthday, fully aware that I might already be dealing with monstrous emotions of a quarter-life crisis; and b) I didn’t want a diminished guest list due to the Fourth and also about half of my friends leaving for other countries the first week of July.

So what did I do?  I had two parties, silly!  The Saturday before my birthday I had a bunch of friends meet me at my new (to me) apartment in Pasadena where we had some drinks and some appetizers before heading out to The Cat and Fiddle in Hollywood.  Inside, the Cat was pretty dead, but their courtyard was hopping.  Lots of ivy and twinkle lights and wrought iron made it a good place to chill, although not worth the traffic we had to fight to get there!  Good times with fun friends.

Then on Friday, my actual birthday, I had a little barbeque with just my family and my “other family”, the Rays.  It was so fun because I was totally relaxed.  I didn’t have to worry about how I looked or who came or how much food we had.  It was so good to spend quality time with people I love and who love me.  So, it’s good to know that while I am older, I’m a bit wiser too.

Now on to the juicy stuff…I know you’re dying to ask if I am going through a quarter-life crisis.  As dumb as that sounds…I kind of am.  I think.  I don’t know.  I do know that I’ve been having a lot of feelings lately – such strong emotions that I don’t know how to deal with so I tend to just try to shut them off or drown them out.  Healthy, right?  Oh, and every time I see a baby now, my womb hurts.  Hee.  Totally kidding about that one.  Although, I am way more aware now of my utter singleness.  I never thought I would be 25 and not even dating anyone.  I know that there’s people reading this thinking, “Why, she’s just a baby!” and others thinking, “Yeesh, 25?  She should join eHarmony or something.”  I remember being 20 and seeing 25 year old friends get married, thinking that they found love “later in life.”  Oh ho, how foolish I was.

To round out these ramblings I thought I would share a quote I read on Greg Boyd’s blog that goes along with the Fourth of July theme and made me think:

Greg Boyd, on Steven Russell’s Overcoming Evil

He [Russell] notes that empires rise and fall with remarkable speed, even those such as Assyria and Babylon who, at the height of their power, seemed utterly invincible. Babylon’s mighty reign lasted less than a century, as did the empire of modern day communist Russia. We Americans are now the reigning empire, and, as with all previous empires, we trust in our power and wealth to keep us secure. (In fact, as with all previous empires, we interpret our power and wealth as a blessing from God/the gods). We must remember that this has been the arrogant mindset of all empires just prior to their falls from power.

In this light, Russell concludes, “Who imagined the fall of the Soviet Union would come a short seven decades after its founding and rapid rise in power? And who among us knows what God has in store for our nation or any other? But His purpose is good, and if we choose to become part of His plan, even our deaths will be victorious” (72-73).

Wise words. I encourage you to put no trust in the power and wealth of America (or whatever country you happen to live in). The only real security is in Yaweh and living his way, as revealed in Jesus Christ.

Even if it means you die.

Okay, maybe not terribly cheery or patriotic, but these are wise words.  Often in Europe I thought about what it would be like to be one of those smaller, albeit developed and thriving, countries.  Prior to the election, Norwegians would eagerly ask my opinion on the race, declaring that “America’s president is our president.”  How crazy will it be when America is in that position with another nation overshadowing her?

It’s Only Awkward If You Make It Awkward July 2, 2009

 

On my DTS in Australia, one of our favorite sayings was, “It’s only awkward if you make it awkward!”

Well, I was reading Mark 14 yesterday, when the woman comes into Simon’s home and anoints Jesus by breaking an alabaster jar of perfume all over his head.  I tried to imagine this happening, and realized that it was a super awkward moment.  Jesus is reclining at a table at a dinner party, when this random woman walks in unanounced and uninvited.  Apparently without speaking and without ceremony, she stands over Jesus, breaks the vial, and dumps perfume all over His head.  Now, anyone else would probably be stunned by this event, but I assume Jesus wasn’t.  I think He naturally and smoothly shifted gears, opened Himself up to the moment, and received the anointing.  I imagine it was a very intimate experience; so intimate that it was awkward for onlookers.  But I love, love, love how Jesus defended the woman when people ridiculed her.  He not only defended her, He honored her by saying that wherever the gospel is preached, they’ll tell her story, too.  It’s so good to know that when we step out in obedience to his call for utter, soul to soul intimacy with Him, to the point of looking awkward or attracting criticism, Jesus doesn’t leave us exposed and alone.  He enters into the moment and lets us pour our broken selves and our broken love all over Him;  He defends us before our accusers, and He honors us.

Revisiting Stuff White People Like July 2, 2009

About a year ago, I was totally into this site for like 5 minutes and then I got bored. 

Today I stumbled on it again and there were some pretty hilarious posts just on the first page.  If you’re looking for a leg up out of your ethnocentrism (if you’re white), and want a quick and cheap laugh (mostly at yourself) hit up Stuff White People Like.  The Vespa, Hating People Who Wear Ed Hardy, and Taking a Year Off posts were my faves.