"Just call me Jennifer." or "Reflective Angles"

So, if you're wondering why July and August are bare of blog posts it's because I've been away at camp. I even chose to stay longer at camp.




This morning I went on a quick walk down to the lake. I sat not at its edge mostly because the gate was locked, but from where I sat I had a view well enough to appreciate. I don't know that I was conscious of what I was thinking- I was just thinking, praying my coughing wouldn't disturb the morning air...it did.

Like any mass of water it reflects what is around it,

from my journal today

I wondered what it would be like living in a reflection.

But then I wondered what the reflection must look like from the other side of the lake.

Then I thought, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it."

Which would explain the innate desire to twist and manipulate images when I don't like what I see--I forget I'm viewing it at a different angle than yesterday, or a minute ago. It's still me- it's still the lake- I just happen to prefer one angle as opposed to the infinite number of other angles.




Self-reflection is key to who I am. I'm sure a lot of people can relate to that. I tend to be on the more obsessive end of self-reflection, but there it is- because of this I tend to forgo an observer's reflection of me. Not consciously though, I know I tend to seek out advice and criticism, and yet, I still funnel out all things I don't like to hear.

I accepted this job I have at camp without qualms, save one: "So, are you ready to join us, Jennifer?"

My prospective boss called me 'Jennifer' despite the rest of the conversation calling me 'Justine'. I considered telling him, "It's funny, my best friend's name is Jennifer," but I declined that little anecdote and replied instead, "So...my name is Justine? It is Justine."

"Oh! That- that was a test! Your name is Justine. I am ----. Justine, would you like to come work with us?"

Then I accepted and came without further qualms.

But I was told to have qualms, none of which I will list here because some worries should be kept private. Besides, most of these worries are FWP (First World Problems) which aren't generally problems in the long run anyway. But I wanted to come, needed to- I couldn't really tell you why, only that if I didn't go I would regret it.

I jumped both feet in and though I cringed on the drive down to the camp my experience since then has been, to say the least, encouraging, enlightening, and wonderful. I think all the more so because I came into it without any expectations or plans. I just kind of did it.

 

The above has been my mantra for a bit, given to me by one of my fellow counselors. I kinda, sorta (not really) apologize for the swear word.

Those words resonate with me mostly because I have been far too timid and judgmental. I have weighed balances I don't have; foreseen occurrences that never occurred.To a certain extent, I have pretended to know so many things without really knowing. Why do I do that? 

I don't want to pretend I know things. I don't want to assume I know exactly what you'll be like, or that I know exactly what will happen.

I have worked under the premise that I know nothing, but its twisted its head on me: I knew nothing and therefore knew everything. That's incredibly stupid.

I suppose before I took this job I saw only one thing: I got the job. What else is there to see? As much as I enjoy writing, I was tired of sitting around and doing nothing. One can only have so much time to oneself before one goes insane. Honestly, self-reflection can become psychotic without exterior perspective.

And thus came the newer angles from which I began to see my life.

I speak of taking risks without actually taking them.

I judge and hold onto my judgements more firmly and aggressively than I knew.

And yet, I also adapt to various situations incredibly well without coming across as high and mighty. ...knock on wood.

When did all this happen to me?

Why haven't I looked at myself from this angle yet? Where have I been hiding myself?

Who knew I could be capable of such elementary, childlike bravery?

Who knew I could laugh so loudly and well, and gain so many blessed new friends?

I ask all this and the answer couldn't be plainer, though it is very Sunday-schoolish: God.

Now, moving on! Time to see what's next!




Seriously, though, if the swear word bothers you... :P

republished.

'talk less; listen more' -FB note (31 July 2012)

distracted by my dignity

there's nothing left but misery.

so swollen with my pride

now i've nowhere left to hide.

i am terribly frightened

although i've been slightly enlightened;

not breaking barriers

and certainly not creating warriors.

just getting warier.

i'm afraid my innocence is indecent,

playing too close to ignorance

blissfully choosing mediocrity,

adding doses to my hypocrisy,

pretending to understand

making everyone believe i can.

so now i'm lying through my teeth

and feel so sorrowfully beaten.

but any pity you think you owe me

reserve for the ones who beg for it.

because now i am overstepping my limited limits

and proceeding without delay into the great, wide world--

not to correct it,

nor to restore it,

and hardly to be it,

but to watch it, learn from it and, most certainly, enjoy it

but enjoying does not mean deploying my morality.

for instead of protection inside a bubble i'll wear Otherworldly steel

to combat everything that claims to be real.

this is more than a feeling,

more than a thought.

it's the possession of a hoe: watch me as i till the earth!

feeling!

tilling!

feeling!

tilling!

i am tilling with feeling!

i am hearing with beating!

i am watching and coming!

i am learning and teaching!

i am caring and nursing!

feeling!

tilling! tilling! tilling!

i am enjoying and discerning.

planting and watering,

but not always tilling, tilling, tilling!

because this world also requires harvesting and tending!

so no distraction ought to ever sanction

my dignity's overarching plea.

my Otherworldly armor will never fail me--

for it is not just my protection 

it also serves as a weapon

against the joys that i might worship

the treasures i might covet

and the people i might murder.

feeling!

tilling!

harvesting!

tending!

O, i am being! 

i am called onward!

now i must move

away from my depression!

away from my conceit!

away from the bacteria that insists upon obscuring everything that's created me:

the Bad and the Good,

for sometimes the Bad becomes Good 

and the Good becomes Bad.

never a matter of balance--

always a matter of discernment

which leads to

dignity as a distraction, misery and pride,

of course i've no where left to hide!

because learning always requires reviews:

i pardon the lesson learned fifty times;

i do not pardon the lesson never learned.

so with steel as armor and hoe;

so with seeds as lessons and dirt as the road

thus begins the journey into Eternity.

vicariously

re-posted from my Facebook notes (15 October 2012). i have a lot of poems that are sitting unread and un-criticized- would you like to have a turn at them?

----

simple math.

simple truth.

there is no reason why 1+1 can't equal 2.

but as i stand here,

driven mad up the wall,

i think of all the possibilities waiting for me outside the front door.

i only need to step out and it could be raining or sunny--

all that in the midst of my shallow humdrum!

in the midst of my shallow humdrum

i remember that all

around

the 

world

people are living,

earning their deaths.

they are making, creating

paintings,

books,

music,

sculptures,

chocolate,

homes,

and jewelry--

and in all the humdrum of my life

i cannot forget that this hour is not an eternity

and one day i will be living...

well, i am living!

there is a beat in my chest!

but am i earning my death?

will the dash between my DOB and DOD be full of stories?

especially full of privileged stories that none but my closest friends ought to hear?

(else they were already there with me!)

will the dash between my DOB and DOD be more like

a square-ten inch block?

part ii-

will i live for those who cannot?

who, not forgetting to earn death,

were given death too early,

and missed the chance to lengthen the dash between their most important days?

will i live for those who cannot?

who, stuck behind the bolted door,

ignored the key in their pockets,

and missed the chance to remember that one hour is not an eternity?

that by their lives others could have lived,

because others wish desperately for their lives,

wishing after your mediocrity,

thinking it the life of a celebrity!-

but were too busy scratching at their clothes, patched and dirty,

to notice others' nakedness, depressed and unhealthy.

will i live for those who cannot?

and will i meet them in streets?

and when they ask me what 1+1 equals

will i say '2',

or give them 2?

OR!- will i take that 1 and add it to 2,

making three,

and give them three meals they daren't foresee?!

will i- 

rich in heart,

rich in mind,

rich in body-

give all i have to others?-

poor in heart,

poor in mind, 

poor in body.

will i show them that math, while true,

can do them no good,

until i can first remind them

that they can live?

for if life is what you make it,

i suppose you could make it rock,

but

if life is what you make it

then i will make it,

and give it to others

who do not know they possess their own tools in their own hands.

i will live for those who cannot.

even behind this dusty cash register.

"i can help whoever is next!"

A sudden empathy...

The other day, I found my copy of the Bible, don't ask me where I found it, but I finally found it, and took to reading it. If you recall from my last blog I moaned and groaned about reading Proverbs and Isaiah like the ridiculous child that I am, when it occurred to me (oddly enough, while reading the Proverbs) that perhaps the reason why Proverbs sounds and looks so slapdash-ed-ly put together is that Solomon, wise as he was, had these sudden bursts of wisdom occur to him at the moment, and jotted them down, much like any person, full of wisdom or witless, today would suddenly be struck with a thought which he would have to write down, never later deciding to expand upon that thought. Some thoughts are better left un-expanded; better left as purpose-less poetry :P

note: not poetry without purpose, but without a fluid theme. ya get me?

Perhaps Solomon walked often, making these casual observations when something struck him, like a fire pit and had to write, "As charcoal to hot embers and wood to fire, so is a quarrelsome man for kindling strife", Proverbs 26.21.

He heard, observed, and maybe even touched everything and heard, observed, and touched God, not because God was in the fire he noticed. Do you know, sometimes I entertain the thought: I'm sure that they who wrote the books of the Bible were not always aware that they were directly inspired. I don't imagine that, when they were inspired, they glowed likes the Avatars of the Bending World (see: Nickelodean's The Last Airbender or Legend of Korra), nothing like that- I'm sure they knew when words greater than themselves possessed them (although it would be cool if they did glow, ha) but what if God, when using Solomon, when using Abraham, or Moses, or Isaiah, or Paul, or John- what if these men did not know they were being used till after the fact?

I don't know.

Speaking nonsense, again, I know.

No, don't ask me about Isaiah, yet. Ha, I'll let you know when I get there.





On another note!- I am not an excellent reader. I pick up all these books and do not know how to finish them because I've not yet disciplined my mind to maintain peace during reading. I will read a sentence, obsess over it for a day or more (usually more) and wonder how to apply it.

Fiction, non-fiction- I don't know what it is about them that their words can't make me still. I'm jealous of those who can read for hours and hours without moving. I want to be able to do that because, unfortunately, I like to do other things while I read. I always have a pen or pencil in my hand, and a few semi-transparent sticky flags to mark something..

So, thanks be to God that my parents bought the audio series of The Chronicles of Narnia! The other day, do listen, it's frightfully funny, I was listening to The Last Battle when I finally got to the, well, second-to-last battle of the book: when Emeth wants to see Tash, when Eustace is thrown into the darkened shed; I start crying! And I'm driving while I'm listening and crying, which isn't at all safe for me and my fellow drivers, but I'm crying, salty tears stinging my cheeks, blurring my vision which is already impaired by the glow of the setting sun. By Aslan's Mane, I'm surprised I didn't crash. (Haha.)

No, I can't even blame my monthly friend for such emotional tirades.

But when Eustace was thrown in!- I absolutely fell apart! What terror he must've felt! Now, I knew what was on the other side of that door (only because I've read/heard the books over and over again)- perhaps I cried so because I was living in the story as though I'd never read or heard The Last Battle; that in spite of my foreknowledge of its 'ending' (I say 'ending' because you very well know that Lewis only describes the end of Narnia, indeed of all worlds, as the beginning of Chapter One of the Great Story) I wholeheartedly empathized with Eustace. Felt Jill's pain at her loss. Wept with King Tirian.

Now, if only I could weep, feel and empathize so with the people in this world without casually wanting the high and mighty feeling of helping their souls, but never acting upon that high.




This just occurred to me: do you think that if we just let children read the Bible, just as a story, they would later see it as inspired? Do we really need to say it's inspired? Now, don't mistake me: I'm not saying that the Bible isn't inspired, nor am I saying that we should not bring up children in the faith, but, I am saying that, perhaps, the things we emphasize now as important are later diminished as irrelevant because we emphasize the wrong part. When the word 'inspired' is said, we sometimes harp upon the word 'inspire' instead of harping upon what the inspiration actually entails to the Bible's past, present, and future readers.

But this is too much for a blog post.




On another note, a much lighter one, too: I do believe that I can trust Cumberbatch with any beloved character he so chooses to play.

Special Words

I am not a very consistent person. Nope. Ain't got the attention span for it. That's probably my fault. Whatever. Anyway! So, today- this morning- my parents and I went to the park to exercise. You know, walking or jogging a few laps. We had a few church friends join us, then my Dad said, "Oh, call your grandparents. See if they want to come."

Now, I initially didn't want to call them because that meant I would have to walk with my grandma, and not exercise on my own. Not that I don't enjoy walking with my grandma, but because of my inconsistency this was my first week working out after a month of sedentary habits. But, I called my grandparents, of course, I did, who do you think I am? They'd said they'd come.

I knew that I had about thirty to forty minutes before my grandparents would show up so I decided to take four quick laps around the main area of the park (that's about a mile). When my grandparents arrived, I just finished my laps, and could now attend to my grandma. (Grandpa doesn't want me to help him walk around because my helping him makes him look old. Don't tell him, but I think he looks old without my help.)

When I walk with my grandma I sometimes I forget I walk too quickly for her. That I need to slow down. At a few points during our walk she needs to sit and rest. I took advantage of this and did a few squats, when she turns to me and says, "You're not stout. You are skinny."

"Oh, I-. Thanks, Grandma."

Self-consciousness is not reserved for the female half of the species so I probably don't need to tell you how I can 'feel fat' even though 'fat' is not a feeling. Sadness, anger, happiness: those are feelings. I probably don't need to tell you how frustrating it can be to go clothes' shopping; or how I don't want to do Zumba, or Crossfit, or go on diets after looking through magazines or watching television or surfing the internet.

In fact, a lot of my reasons for refusing to lose weight stem from a desire to stay away from the hype and need to 'look good' in clothes I can't afford or that I even like in the first place. I have no desire to post my day-to-day progress from a size 10 to a size -3. I don't like when people look at me now, why in the world would I want people to look at me when I'm 'really attractive'?

But then Grandma told me, "You're not stout. You are skinny."

I'm 5'2 and weigh about 165 lbs: I am far from 'skinny' for my dimensions, but as it is, I like to think I look well enough; I like to think that I'm confident enough in myself, in my appearances to brush off any insult...but not all the time.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with posting your day-to-day progress. There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good in clothes, especially if it's something you like, but I cannot tell you how many times those worries have overpowered the better desire to be healthy, confident, and happy. I cannot tell you how many times I've covered myself in shame for being unable to wear what the mannequin's wearing.

I can't believe I can be intimidated by something that doesn't breathe. At all. Nor would care to!

I suppose, in so many words, my grandma meant to say I've changed. Perhaps she meant to say I'm pretty. Whatever she meant to say I was glad she said it. Glad to hear her stories. Glad I asked for my grandparents to join us. Glad my weight problems are mere mole-hills instead of mountains, as indeed are all my problems mole-hills.

Seeking after...what?

I don't know if it's just me, but I'm not very good at finding solace where I should find it. That's probably my fault. This is probably a learning/growing point for me--one day I will be able to find solace where I should find it.

...you're probably wondering what 'it' is.

Many of you know, and more of you don't know, that I'm reading the Bible in the year. I've got the handy dandy calendar thingy to help me keep track of what I read day-by-day. In fact, in the blog that I accidentally deleted I used that blog to, well, blog about my daily findings from my reading. Doing that became overwhelming and repetitive. I can only say so much about a few chapters without sounding rehearsed or cliched, so then I wrote on a weekly basis. Then I accidentally deleted that blog this this one is born.

From January to September, what have I learned, so far, in my daily Bible reading? For one: I should not have come upon this read-the-Bible-in-one-year so unthinkingly, or without preparing myself for the histories I would eventually question.

Yes, that's exactly what 'it' is: the Bible. I'm going through Proverbs and Isaiah now (or I was going through it a week ago- I haven't been able to locate my copy of the Bible since last Wednesday) and I cannot tell you how much I dislike Proverbs and Isaiah because I have none of the context! Is that my fault, that I am unaware of the context of Proverbs and Isaiah? I mean, I attended Bible college, for Godsake! How could I not know the context of these books? I know, at this point I am living hand to mouth both physically and spiritually...especially spiritually.

I don't mean to say that I only read when the text means something to me, otherwise, why would I ever read?

Am I the only one who feels this way? That there have been too many verses pulled out of context just 'to comfort' someone 'in pain' or 'in need'?

Bible verses aren't pills to pop. They're not greeting cards to give away.

Someone tell me that they've also thought that the Proverbs are just idioms mushed together. None of the 'chapters' feel like poems, like the Psalms. Proverbs- oh, why did Solomon write Proverbs? I should probably study up on that, huh?





I sincerely apologize for expressing these thoughts. I'm pretty sure I'm a stumbling block to many people.

But take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone sees you who have knowledge eating in an idol's temple, will he not be encouraged, if his conscience is weak, to eat food offered to idols? And so by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food makes your brothers stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble. (1 Corinthians 8.9-13)

Or am I the weak one? Besides, all my actions should speak love (Matthew 22.36-40)! I'm feeling pretty weak. I find solace in Reza Aslan, Greg Mortenson, Neil Gaiman, Charlotte Bronte, but I can't find solace in God's Word?

Well, maybe not the solace I think I need. 'I think I need' is about as bad as 'I want', you know. What kind of solace do I really need to find in God's Word? Am I seeking justification? Am I seeking relationships? Am I seeking  good stories? I'm not even sure what kind of questions I'm really asking! Sheesh.

But I can express that most of my frustration is that God can be so good and so wonderful in spite of my foolish wanderings-around. Why can't I find solace in God's Word? Is that not the least I can do for a god so great?

Sitting Upon the Throne

When I think of my heroes, my idols, not many come to mind. I have many people I admire, many people whose traits, accomplishments and ideas I would love to mimic in order to make my own, but heroes? Those people are just...unnatural. They seem so beyond my reach. I am not a god, and I don't really aspire to be one, but all the people that would be worthy of the title 'hero' they're all gods.

I am not a god.

I'm not smart enough to be a god. I'm not physically fit enough. I'm not ambitious enough. (What else are heroes supposed to be?) Oh, I'm not that good with witty banter! Even if I did have super powers I don't even know that I'd be agile enough to want to practice them. I barely use the muscles (brain muscles, too) I have now which apparently have the potential to do awesome things!

Then I sat on the toilet.

Haha. I know. When I titled this blog post 'sitting on the throne' you probably weren't thinking of its slang definition.

So, I sat on the toilet and thought, "WAIT A SECOND!- all my heroes are human. All humans have to go potty. And if they don't go potty they're covering up their BM problem!"

If there is any time when a person is simultaneously physically and mentally vulnerable it would be when he is sitting upon the throne. I don't think I need to explain why. I hope I don't need to explain why.

I mean, think about it. All your heroes have to go to the bathroom.

Iron Man has to go to the bathroom.

The Hulk has to go to the bathroom.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have to go to the bathroom.

Aang had to go to the bathroom.

Do Thor and Loki have to go to the bathroom? Do actual gods have to go to the bathroom?

The Capitol forces themselves to go to the bathroom so they can just eat and drink more.

But who likes to think of heroes, or regular people for that matter, going to the bathroom? That's so nasty. And yet, we all go. What else do we all do?

What was it Watson told Sherlock? "People want to know you're human."

Because as great and different as our heroes are, they wouldn't be considered heroes if they're...followers?- couldn't relate to them. An un-relatable hero is a dictator. We don't like dictators. So, yeah, now that I know my heroes are as human as I am (except for Thor and Loki) I have to discover what they did differently from those who aren't heroes.

Oh. Heroes who often appear or give speeches full of hope, love, peace and happiness were probably without, or had at one point doubted, hope, love, peace, happiness only to have it thrust back into their faces. Heroes can be made. Heroes can be unmade. Heroes can be shy or obnoxious. They can be anyone.

'In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, "Anyone can cook." But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere.' -from Disney's Ratatouille

Sit on that throne.

Effected by Immortality.

ear candy: Snow Patrol's Eyes Open

What's the difference between me as creation and what I create? That is to say, what's the difference between me as created by God, and the things created by me? How is it that I as the creation am, cannot, be greater than the creator, God; but that I must create something greater than myself in order to achieve timelessness? Why are my creations greater than me? Why can God do what he wants with me--no, wait. Let me reword that.

...did God, in some way, make his creation greater than him? And I don't mean to say that having the option to choose evil makes us greater; nor do I mean to say that choosing good makes us greater. What is 'choosing good' compared to 'being good'? There's no Amber Spyglass here.

Perhaps my creations are greater than me because they reflect (or ought to reflect) the eternal things. Like...like love, joy, contentment; peace. God is all these things, which is why L'Engle 'sees God' in every piece, not because it is godly, or because it has missionary intentions to share the gospel, but because every immortal thing will point to the Immortal. Just as every mortal thing will never be remembered--mortal things point to nothing because they've not the strength to point. Besides, God will use any manner to reveal himself to his creation. 

We will use any manner to reveal ourselves to others: words or actions; ethical or unethical.

He creates through us, in the same way we might be inspired by heroes who we hope to invoke (either literally or metaphorically) because I am never the one who truly does the work for I always have someone to thank; someone to whom I owe my allegiance, and in effect, my respect--any artist in any field will tell you that. Whatever work we think is 'as great as us' stays within our time, never to ascend with proceeding generations. But at the same time, any art that we know is beyond ourselves may not last (such is the consequence of critics or lack of funds); so, when we diminish art as cheesy, obnoxious, poor, stale...ugly, even, we have no idea what will truly last. I'm sure that there are many artists who wanted certain pieces to achieve fame only to have other pieces they think inconsequential become immortal. Mona Lisa, anyone?

Hmm. We create, hoping our creations will outlive us, not even knowing whether or not our creations want to be immortal.

God creates knowing that each of us want to be immortal, not always physically, no, but to leave enough of a mark to affect at least one person. Positively affect one person--we don't like evil, no matter how much we glamorize it. 

Perhaps God allows our creations to extend beyond us to give us a taste of what he tastes when he creates. Our creations, however, when they outrun us, aren't always Frankenstein's monster: God at least named the first man and even allowed the first man, Adam, to name the rest of creation. ...hell, we are not all Dr. Frankenstein's!- we sometimes love our creations to the point of protective insanity.

But if we as impotent artists (who do very badly want to give, or add life, but cannot do so without giving a little of ourselves) can cause the world's heart to palpitate with our voices, our discoveries, how much more should God affect the world with his potency? With his son's resurrected life?

The mortal creates immortality.

The Immortal wants us to conceive immortality, even only a slice of it, not to take immortality, but to know that it can be given.

We make things greater than ourselves to recognize the greatness that surrounds us, if only we would recognize that greatness as God. We won't be 'better' for it, if that's what you're looking for, but I guarantee you will certainly fuller. 

Any religious, irreligious, or non-religious person will tell you that from whomever or wherever our morality and desires sprout we want to be affected by the immortal. 

We want to touch the stars or topple them.

But science doesn't pick sides. Math doesn't pick sides. Philosophy doesn't pick sides. Language doesn't pick sides. History doesn't pick sides. Music doesn't pick sides. Nature doesn't pick sides. Great, immortal things don't pick sides; though they allow themselves to be twisted into 'picking' by tiny, mortal arms.

The one who speaks on his own authority seeks his own glory; but the one who seeks the glory of him who sent him is true, and in him there is no falsehood. John 7.18 (ESV)

We go together like...

Growing up I wanted to know how many friends I had, or could have. What middle schooler didn't want to know how many friends he or she had? You can imagine my disappointment when shopping in Claire's all the BFF jewelry could only be split between two, or among three, and I totally had more BFFs than that in middle school! But I just couldn't find any jewelry that could be shared among, at least, fifteen best friends. 

But I didn't really have fifteen best friends. I only had one. I think, at the time, I could only handle one best friend at a time. I mean, I liked talking to lots of different people, but I think middle schoolers are sometimes too insecure to know what to do with so many best friends which explain a lot of premature 'somebody I used to know' stories. 

So, I went on a walk this morning, by myself. Well, me and God. Or, at least, I was on my way to see him. I had to tell him something. 

I sat and started to write out a prayer. Short, simple; lots of lookingintothedistance, wondering what else to tell God. When a thought occurred to me: I don't have to be anywhere. I don't have my own thinking spot. I don't have a place where, if I ran away, people would intuitively know to find me. I don't have to be somewhere in order to talk to God. I just need to start talking...praying. 

I should be able to be anywhere and still feel close to those who are closest to me: something I couldn't understand as a middle schooler. 

On my walk back home I found these two puzzle pieces. They do not go together. 

These two pieces would make a horrible BFF necklace, bracelet or ring. 

But when you turn one of the pieces over...

They may not be right next to each other, but it is evident they are pieces of the same puzzle.

I don't have to be anywhere.

What if, really, we weren't just two pieces. A Romeo and Juliet; a Sherlock and John; lovers. A pair of friends are always excited to be joined by a third. 

I don't have to be your conjoined twin to know we get along, especially not at first glance--we might be as insecure as middle schoolers before we can know we're really part of the same puzzle. 

What if I never really knew my fifteen middle school friends because one of us was wearing a mask, and here we are, older, somewhat mask-less, and really, very similar. Yes! We really do want to do the same things! yes! We really are interested in the same things! Yes! We can talk to other people without throwing fits of intense jealousy or rage. We don't belong to each other. It's not us against the world! I am who I am because of the other puzzle pieces I've met along the way. 

Whether we were part of the same puzzle, or our crooks fit well together; whether we were completely abhorred by the other--doesn't matter. 

I may not find the right BFF necklace in Claire's to share with all my good friends. But it's good to know that I am part of a small piece of a huge puzzle, and that we're being put together by God. 

No, I don't have to be anywhere. 

Anyone that I used to know I may not have really known. 

Besides, whoever heard of a puzzle with only two pieces? Whoever ate peanut butter and jelly without bread? Even gluten-free bread! 

When I have good news I like to share it.

May I only be brave enough to be.

DUI

Last summer I received my first ticket (only $15) because I parked against the flow of traffic. I parked against the flow of traffic because I was just so exhausted, and simultaneously understood the street to be invariably traffic-less, that I didn't bother turning my car around; I just wanted sleep! I was so tired.

Not that I was expecting a ticket the next morning, but when I first saw the ticket sticking out of my window I thought I totally deserve that, and continued eating breakfast. What else was I supposed to do? React? I only react when I think something's funny. Okay, I take that back--I do react, but usually when it's something funny. (Seriously, I have, like, the most obnoxious laugh.)

Since then I've never received another ticket. I mean, it's been less than I year, I might be speaking too soon. You know, if I may be frank, I'm surprised that my first ticket was because of a parking violation. I'm surprised it wasn't for speeding (I'm a reformed speeder), or for texting (I know! I'm a horrible person!) or eating! 

And no, I've never gotten a DUI.

I can't ever get a DUI.

Not because I couldn't possibly be susceptible to drugs or intoxicants (I'm as weak as anyone else). but because I just don't like medications in general, legal or illegal. When I was in middle school I used to pretend to swallow my allergy medication, then I would sneakily spit it out. I was too afraid to choke on it. I didn't like the idea of swallowing something I'd never chewed! What if I choked and died! In fact, I did choke on one once and it left such a horribly dramatic scar that I was so worried I'd have to take my pills chopped and dipped in peanut butter for the rest of my life! 

(Nurses do this for their elderly patients, I know this because my parents are nurses and so made me take my pills like that a few times. Trust me on this: no matter how much peanut butter is mixed with the pill you'll taste more pill than peanut.)

I also don't think I ever get sick. Especially when I am sick, I am in an impenetrable wall of denial: I AM NOT SICK.

I can take pills now, so no need to worry.

And I only partially believe I can get sick.

But anyway, I've never gotten, and cannot get a DUI. (knock on wood)

I can't ever get a DUI because the kind of DUIs of which I am guilty are not the same kind of DUIs for which people get arrested. 

My DUIs are of a more spiritual nature. (Argue all you want that snorting drugs is spiritual, hence hallucinatory, but that's besides my point.) 

I am supposed to be under God's influence, yes? Yes. As a Christian my main influence is God. In everything I do, I must consult God, allow Him to speak through me; work through me. Lately, I've allowed myself to be influenced by my own plans (which aren't that great anyway), and have allowed the world to impose it's limitations upon me. 

I seem to be obsessed with hidden potential, and obsessed with how I am much more than I appear because I will be more if I'm less now. Not because I'm all that and a bag of chips, but because King David was one a shepherd. Moses was a murder and coward. Jacob was a trickster. Lucifer was an angel. 

(So was Islington, thank you Gaiman; speaking of which, Richard Mayhew became something great in London Below, so much so that he left London Above. You and I both know how difficult it is to leave behind the familiar and comfortable for what is dangerous, exciting but fulfilling.)

All these characters, real and unreal (only Islington is unreal), show that I have the potential to become better or worse than what I am now. 

I want to be better than what I am now. 

I want no queenship. I just-. I just want to stop talking about potential and start fulfilling my potential. 

And the only way I can do that is if I'm guilty of a (forgive me) godly DUI. (I am murdering all good and decent colloquialisms today!) It doesn't matter if I read my Bible daily if I don't practice what I'm learning. I know, I know. I've heard this before. You've heard this before. But the amount of hearing such truths makes them no less truthful. Redundant, but never less truthful.

So this morning I've learned (again) that I really need to step up my prayer life. Again, and again, I need to be reminded that if I want to be as great as I hope to be I need to believe on something greater, outside of myself. Even Richard Mayhew didn't know where he got such courage to kill the Great Beast of London, and he's hardly under godly influence. How much more should I, could I, be if I've got God on my side?

But truly God has listened;
he has attended to the voice of my prayer.
Blessed be God,
because he has not rejected my prayer
or removed his steadfast love from me. 

Every day! All day?

About a month ago I told someone that I wasn't particularly fond of doing things daily. I'd somehow believed that doing things daily cheapens the thing done daily, the act done daily, but now, a month later, I regret saying that; I don't believe that at all. I don't think I even believed what I'd said when I'd said it! I just said it, hoping not to sound like some ritualistic lunatic. But when did one become a lunatic for rituals? Don't we all, in some sense, have rituals, daily or weekly or monthly or yearly? 

So then, why the rituals?

I don't know why anyone else does rituals, not really at least, but I've taken to rituals because they give me a sense of order amidst all the chaos. Haha, not that my life is very chaotic; things are fairly controlled [: my life isn't going down the toilet anytime soon, but I am aware that other lives are, frankly, going down the toilet. That other lives are chaotic, or misdirected or undirected, either by their own hands or someone else's; my life is nothing like that. 

I have a good life. 

I have no complaints. 

But I think my daily rituals, this sense of order amidst chaos, reminds me to be thankful that I have a good life  without complaints. 

I know that sympathy without action is pity (I don't know that action without sympathy is cold-heartedness), but what's this have to do with my simple, daily rituals? 

Whatever life may have for me or for others, chaotic or controlled, misery or happiness, we are all subject to chaos/control, misery/happiness in varying degrees: one's pain is no less than another's pain. Pain is pain is pain. One's happiness is no more than another's happiness. Happiness is happiness is happiness. 

You're probably wondering what my daily ritual is that suddenly helps me understand another's pain or happiness.

Hmm, I'm reading my Bible every day, relating to its characters whose troubles I hope never to endure, and whose pleasures make me green with envy. 

Reading my Bible daily puts me on edge. Going through the Psalms, the Pentateuch (the five five books of the Old Testament) and the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) put me on edge. Some days I feel so grateful for my life, and other days I wish I were born in another era because in spite of my good life without complaints I find that I am discontent. I am barely brave enough to tell someone I read the Bible every day without being ridiculed. Really? That person's opinion of me will only rock my world if she judges me for reading the Bible daily? And why do I even think she'll judge me?! 

This edge reminds me that I have no idea what's really going on. Whatever sympathy I have is kept in check by fear: what if my acts of blind faith produce negative consequences? What if my acts of thought-out faith produce negative consequences? What if I'm perceived as an arrogant fool? What if-? 

I'm afraid to let my daily habit of reading the Bible affect the rest of my day. 

It's like... When I read my Bible I sneak into a corner where I hide and feel safe. I stay in the corner for as long as I read my Bible and then leave that Bible in the corner when I'm done to go about the rest of my day. Aren't daily rituals, rituals in general, supposed to have a permanent, persuasive, indelible affect on my person? Isn't that why I practice daily rituals?

Isn't that why people exercise daily? So that they go from hiding their troubled spots to showing off their muscles? 

Aren't rituals supposed to be obvious progress?

Yes! Yes! I know! I denied that I enjoyed doing things daily because I was afraid of someone's opinion of me! I know that rituals put my life into perspective: I am taught what it means to be thankful for nothing and wary of Trojan horses. Yes, I read my Bible every day, but I only let it affect me during that hour or so. I hardly let that Bible reading, that perspective, affect the other twenty three hours of my day.

And that is incredibly unfortunate. 

Even outside of religion, it is always incredibly unfortunate when he is ashamed of what has given him everything so that he wants no more. Did not even Socrates' followers openly mourn his death sentence? 

I ashamedly mourn my Savior's death and he resurrected! Christ is not even dead anymore! 

Yet, I keep these things secret. 

What good are rituals if I don't let affect me? 

Psalm 51,17, "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;

a broken spirit and a contrite heart, O God,

you will not despise."

Very few of us have any understanding of the reason why Jesus Christ died. If sympathy is all that human beings need, then the Cross of Christ is an absurdity and there is absolutely no need for it. What the world needs is not “a little bit of love,” but major surgery.

When you find yourself face to face with a person who is spiritually lost, remind yourself of Jesus Christ on the cross. If that person can get to God in any other way, then the Cross of Christ is unnecessary. If you think you are helping lost people with your sympathy and understanding, you are a traitor to Jesus Christ. You must have a right-standing relationship with Him yourself, and pour your life out in helping others in His way— not in a human way that ignores God. The theme of the world’s religion today is to serve in a pleasant, non-confrontational manner.

But our only priority must be to present Jesus Christ crucified— to lift Him up all the time (see 1 Corinthians 2:2). Every belief that is not firmly rooted in the Cross of Christ will lead people astray. If the worker himself believes in Jesus Christ and is trusting in the reality of redemption, his words will be compelling to others. What is extremely important is for the worker’s simple relationship with Jesus Christ to be strong and growing. His usefulness to God depends on that, and that alone.

The calling of a New Testament worker is to expose sin and to reveal Jesus Christ as Savior. Consequently, he cannot always be charming and friendly, but must be willing to be stern to accomplish major surgery. We are sent by God to lift up Jesus Christ, not to give wonderfully beautiful speeches. We must be willing to examine others as deeply as God has examined us. We must also be sharply intent on sensing those Scripture passages that will drive the truth home, and then not be afraid to apply them. -Oswald Chamber's My Utmost For His Highest (December 20th)

If this is my year to be brave, I really need to stop being so afraid of people who might judge me. What a silly fear.

Okay. Moving on.

"So, Justine, how do you feel about doing things daily?"

"Oh! I'm glad you asked because, actually, I-."

Speaking of which, there is a man, Cesar Kuriyama, who records one second of every day of his life. Maybe I should do that too: a great reminder that every day is incredibly important.

Spring Forward

Regret and worry are very funny emotions. They like to keep a person busy but completely unproductive. The only things regret and worry produce are heart attacks, sleeplessness and indigestion.

Regret and worry like to make themselves, not only present, but very necessary. But since when've we humans ever considered heart attacks, sleeplessness and indigestion necessary?! If anything, they are great nuisances!

However, that does not make regret and worry any less absent from our lives--regret and worry are very good at disguising themselves as caution and love. 

Caution is fine! When it is used wisely: discernment. Unwisely? Fear.

Love is better! When given wisely: kindness, adoration, gratitude; things of the like. Unwisely? Infatuation.

We so easily justify our maniacal cautiousness and oppressive love. I so easily justify myself...

A couple nights ago I accidentally deleted both of my blogs.

"Accidentally?" you ask.

"Yes," I reply. "Very accidentally."

By deleting an e-mail account I unintentionally deleted the blogs. So upon deciding to alter a blog entry I discovered their premature nonexistence. My heart nearly stopped. I almost screamed. I sobbed, but immediately felt at ease. 

A very strange easiness.

I was oddly comforted by the fact that God knew this would happen and humanly speaking (although I know no other way to speak) that is a provocative statement in itself: You're okay- at ease with God's knowledge? Why didn't he-?

No. 

I am incredibly eased by God's foreknowledge.

I lost both of my blogs, one of which I'd had going for the better half of three years, but an hour after such a loss I made a new blog: this one. 

Whatever readers I did have, I need not worry how poorly they'll think of me. I also need not regret any of my lost entries. My thoughts are still mine, digital or mental. 

And besides, what a perfect time to start fresh! To spring forward!

No, I have no idea what it's like to worry about my next meal, or where I might sleep tonight.

I have no idea what it's like to be any criminal's hostage.

No idea what it's like to search for a kidnapped child.

But my God is King over all the earth.

If you'd suggest to me that the kind of people above have greater reason to worry or regret I would agree with you. But I've also known, or at least heard, of people who were made stronger by these situations. Who always understood that regret and worry, while inevitable, could be controlled. 

We need only move forward.

My life is much bigger than two blogs. 

Our lives are much bigger than our regrets and worries; we can triumph them without God, yes?- so how much more triumphant can we be with God?

Psalm 47.2--For the LORD, the Most High, is to be feared,a great king over all the earth.

Good morning [: