“At this point everything becomes clear or unclear, bright or dark. For here we are standing at the centre. And however high and mysterious and difficult everything we want to know might seem to us, yet we may also say that this is just where everything becomes quite simple, quite straightforward, quite childlike. Right here in this centre, in which as a Professor of Systematic Theology I must call to you, ‘Look! This is the point now! Either knowledge, or the greatest folly!’—here I am in front of you, like a teacher in Sunday school facing his kiddies, who has something to say which a mere four-year-old can really understand. ‘The world was lost, but Christ was born, rejoice, O Christendom!’… ‘God became man for thy good, O man. ‘Tis God’s own Child that binds Himself to thine own blood.’”
- Karl Barth (via More Than 95 Theses)
Friday, December 25, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Perishable
by Elanor
When my husband and I moved into our apartment,
I found in his old room a string of rose-lights,
pink buds, green leaves, all wispy-veined,
that we hung up around the kitchen window.
Their vine was an electrical cord that plugged
into the wall and made the flowers glow red
and made the place look like a ten-year-old girl’s bedroom.
They lasted, evergreen-and-pink, for four seasons.
This morning I found a few fragments of fake leaf,
brown and brittle, on the kitchen table.
They reminded me of the bulldozers on our street last week
ripping up pockmarked pavement to put in new
smooth black stuff that steamed in piles
before it was steamrollered level,
and of Roman roads that lasted a long time but not forever.
Then I thought of how indignant I was to learn that
when you buy yourself a house, expect
to have work done on it every ten years or so—
retiling, recarpeting, reroofing.
When I buy something, especially at so great a price,
I don’t want to have to pay for it again.
When my husband and I moved into our apartment,
I found in his old room a string of rose-lights,
pink buds, green leaves, all wispy-veined,
that we hung up around the kitchen window.
Their vine was an electrical cord that plugged
into the wall and made the flowers glow red
and made the place look like a ten-year-old girl’s bedroom.
They lasted, evergreen-and-pink, for four seasons.
This morning I found a few fragments of fake leaf,
brown and brittle, on the kitchen table.
They reminded me of the bulldozers on our street last week
ripping up pockmarked pavement to put in new
smooth black stuff that steamed in piles
before it was steamrollered level,
and of Roman roads that lasted a long time but not forever.
Then I thought of how indignant I was to learn that
when you buy yourself a house, expect
to have work done on it every ten years or so—
retiling, recarpeting, reroofing.
When I buy something, especially at so great a price,
I don’t want to have to pay for it again.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Christmas Art
I just discovered a Christian artist the other day named Daniel Bonnell. His work is incredible. Take a look here.
Seeing Shepherds
Seeing Shepherds
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Another poem about poetry...
This poem is about itself
and how it cannot speak.
It might as well be Danish or
a dialect of ancient Greek.
Its words lift off like air balloons,
each basket all aflame
with revelation's flickering tongues
contained within each lettered frame.
Before these baubles reach the heart
they mean to kindle, each
one's lines snap, baskets drop,
the motive force behind their speech
is lost. The poet even now
while writing feels despair
deflate her. "Mediocre," hiss
infernal whispers in the air,
"expendable, inferior,"
and with a downward gust,
they snuff out truth flames fluttering
until there's nothing left but dust.
and how it cannot speak.
It might as well be Danish or
a dialect of ancient Greek.
Its words lift off like air balloons,
each basket all aflame
with revelation's flickering tongues
contained within each lettered frame.
Before these baubles reach the heart
they mean to kindle, each
one's lines snap, baskets drop,
the motive force behind their speech
is lost. The poet even now
while writing feels despair
deflate her. "Mediocre," hiss
infernal whispers in the air,
"expendable, inferior,"
and with a downward gust,
they snuff out truth flames fluttering
until there's nothing left but dust.
Friday, November 13, 2009
I wrote a poem.
I haven't written one since I started dating Edwin, which is more than a year. Therefore, the poem is about trying to write poetry and not being able to, and the process of self-doubt, etc.
I am going to write a poem.
Idon'thavethewisdomforitIdon't
thinkit'sgoingtobeanygoodandwhoamI
tobewritingthisanywaywhoamIanyway,
the words clunk at my feet.
Where is the wind to carry them
heartwards where they might be lodged
like guests or bent nails in a fencepost
to mark that I have made a difference like
the sunset, for now the sky is velvet
where it was fire and there is no going back?
I am a carbon-based organism, nucleotides dancing.
I am a soul blown through with Trinity.
I am a daughter, sister, wife, warming
house, husband, and children someday. I am
a teacher to open ears and tongues. I am a member
of this glorious squalor of a species that
in less than half a century birthed and killed
its Creator. I am, and I have the right to write a poem.
Yes, I have the right, as I stretch out my fist
to seize it like a Berkeley protester. Shall I
clasp it to my chest and say "Mine, mine, no
one shall take it from me!" as they do? I become
a shallow ditch in Palestine, where many years
ago a frightened man buried his gift. Take the earth
of my hole, mold it into a jar of clay that I might not
fester but break, spilling sweet myrrh at your feet.
I am going to write a poem.
Idon'thavethewisdomforitIdon't
thinkit'sgoingtobeanygoodandwhoamI
tobewritingthisanywaywhoamIanyway,
the words clunk at my feet.
Where is the wind to carry them
heartwards where they might be lodged
like guests or bent nails in a fencepost
to mark that I have made a difference like
the sunset, for now the sky is velvet
where it was fire and there is no going back?
I am a carbon-based organism, nucleotides dancing.
I am a soul blown through with Trinity.
I am a daughter, sister, wife, warming
house, husband, and children someday. I am
a teacher to open ears and tongues. I am a member
of this glorious squalor of a species that
in less than half a century birthed and killed
its Creator. I am, and I have the right to write a poem.
Yes, I have the right, as I stretch out my fist
to seize it like a Berkeley protester. Shall I
clasp it to my chest and say "Mine, mine, no
one shall take it from me!" as they do? I become
a shallow ditch in Palestine, where many years
ago a frightened man buried his gift. Take the earth
of my hole, mold it into a jar of clay that I might not
fester but break, spilling sweet myrrh at your feet.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Broken Open Jar
For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body.
So, it's been almost 5 weeks? More than? I haven't had a chance to blog about surviving vs. living (see previous blog). In this case, it has nothing to do with not thinking a lot about it. For some reason, tonight, God has really put this passage on my heart.
I got this image on Sunday of a broken open jar. The jar was made of some kind of ceramic and seemed very fragile. It wasn't shattered to tiny pieces, but was broken beyond real repair--maybe three big pieces and several small ones. Each piece lay outwards from the center, as if the jar broke from the inside out. Hovering slightly above the center of this broken open jar was a light shining brightly. Intensely. The whole sight was... beautiful.
That image was an answer from God. He was pointing me to what it means to live... what life is really about. That image led me to this passage. I had already been thinking a lot about how Paul talks about "to lose your life is to gain" and how Jesus repeatedly talked about the paradoxical idea of "to gain your life, you must lose it."
Living, and not just surviving, then is ironically about dying. This isn't revolutionary. I've known it for a long time. The question is what does this mean--what does this feel like.
Tonight, I had a very real experience of this so-called 'life'. I was verbally abused, disrespected, and, in some sense, persecuted because of certain moral beliefs in doing what's right--in choosing the moral path. At that moment, I had a chance to lash out, or to talk back. I could have brought up powerful counter arguments and proven my point. I could have been petty and just left or even struck back in a powerful way. But instead, I took it. I remained silent. I accepted the beating out of love for those who were abusing me.
It was one of the worst experiences in my life. Afterward, I was so distraught. I couldn't speak to anyone . There were no words to express what I was feeling; I think I was dumbstruck to really understand what I felt my heart go through. All I could do was busy myself, stop listening to the words of others, and try to move on. To be honest, everything in me just wanted to run--to run far far away from all those who had hurt me.
I guess that's why I'm here, writing. I suppose God really knows how to get me to reflect (I've been putting it off for way too long). This is... life? Is this what it feels like to be given over to death for Jesus' sake?
God, I cry out to you. I hope that your life was revealed in that instance. I hope that your love was displayed. They don't get it, Lord. I know they don't. Help me continue to trust in you--to trust that this life that you have given me, this life of being a broken open jar, is indeed... beautiful.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Father
by Elanor
Dang it, I can't manage posting more often than once a month!! It's so strange how fast the weeks go by.
Monday nights I'm helping to lead a women's Bible study on Knowing the Heart of the Father, by David Eckman. In this study, we're discussing how family upbringing, specifically the relational patterns that are formed between us and our parents within our first decade, create misconceptions of God's character that are hugely difficult to overcome later in life. No father is perfect except the one in Heaven--and, more importantly, we as children are self-centered and immature--so no matter how affirming and loving our earthly fathers are, we are going to emerge from our childhoods scarred to various degrees with the belief that we are unlovable.
I say this to preface a revelation I had last night as Edwin and I were driving home from Bible study. Edwin led the men's group discussing the same topic, and he did an exercise with them: 1) List characteristics that describe parent-child relationships (loving, domineering, reward-punishment, etc). 2) Name all the roles of God that you can think of (The Teacher, The Punisher, The Father, etc). 3) Which role best describes who God is to you?--not the way you know He should be, but the way in which you actually relate to Him.
We talked about the guys' different responses to these questions. My attention was not fully on the discussion, since I was a little bit distraught because of a conversation I had had with my own father after the women's group was over. My dad had been critiquing one of the Joint's logistical policies, and although he was doing so in a completely respectful way, I resisted--I always resist when he critiques. In the car with Edwin, I tried to examine my instinctual, illogical reaction--but the only way I could do so was by indulging it. I said, "I don't like it when my dad critiques everything." And then I made the connection: because of my dad's tendency to analyze the world, I see God as The Corrector. To me, God sees things that are wrong and shows how they should be right.
There are MANY good things about growing up with this being my instinctual view of God. It means I believe God is good, God is always right, God knows what is best for me, God is interested enough in me to teach me when I am doing something wrong, God will take the time to show me how to do the right thing. I am intensely grateful to have an earthly father who has made it easier for me to know all these things about God, because knowing them has enabled me to live my life by faith.
And I was intensely glad to realize how my view of God falls short of the Father He wants to be to me. If I see God as The Corrector, I expect Him to always be critiquing things. And, the funny thing is, even though my dad never critiqued me when I was growing up, I think the fact that he critiqued so many things made me afraid he would critique me, too. It is this fear that I carried over to my view of God: I subconsciously act as though God, The Corrector, is constantly critiquing me. And so in my mind, I constantly critique myself. I am always looking for perfection, and I always see its lack.
My challenge in knowing the heart of my Father is to realize that He does not critique me. He looks at me and sees, not a wrong answer that needs to be made right, but a radiant daughter that He would give His life to claim as His own.
I experienced the love of the Father today in the way that it should be. After class, I met Winnie at a Boba cafe. We had an incredible conversation about class, church, and God. I got to know her so much better in only an hour and a half. The best part of this conversation was that I felt we spoke to one another as equals. She was not meeting with me in order to minister to me, nor was I to her--because we both knew the other one did not NEED our help. We both have our own individual communities and support systems; we both are growing in our relationships with God; this one conversation over Boba was not going to be the difference between life and death. We met together because we like each other. We enjoy spending time together. God wants to spend time with me like that. I keep going to Him with an agenda: "God, teach me this, help me with that, correct my life here and here and here!" And that is good, and some of my most cherished memories of God are when He has corrected me in some way or another. But God wants to spend time with me because He likes me. He wants to take walks down Telegraph Avenue. He wants to grab coffee in the morning before class. He wants to sit on the couch with me and not even need to say anything. He wants to be with me because I am His daughter.
Dang it, I can't manage posting more often than once a month!! It's so strange how fast the weeks go by.
Monday nights I'm helping to lead a women's Bible study on Knowing the Heart of the Father, by David Eckman. In this study, we're discussing how family upbringing, specifically the relational patterns that are formed between us and our parents within our first decade, create misconceptions of God's character that are hugely difficult to overcome later in life. No father is perfect except the one in Heaven--and, more importantly, we as children are self-centered and immature--so no matter how affirming and loving our earthly fathers are, we are going to emerge from our childhoods scarred to various degrees with the belief that we are unlovable.
I say this to preface a revelation I had last night as Edwin and I were driving home from Bible study. Edwin led the men's group discussing the same topic, and he did an exercise with them: 1) List characteristics that describe parent-child relationships (loving, domineering, reward-punishment, etc). 2) Name all the roles of God that you can think of (The Teacher, The Punisher, The Father, etc). 3) Which role best describes who God is to you?--not the way you know He should be, but the way in which you actually relate to Him.
We talked about the guys' different responses to these questions. My attention was not fully on the discussion, since I was a little bit distraught because of a conversation I had had with my own father after the women's group was over. My dad had been critiquing one of the Joint's logistical policies, and although he was doing so in a completely respectful way, I resisted--I always resist when he critiques. In the car with Edwin, I tried to examine my instinctual, illogical reaction--but the only way I could do so was by indulging it. I said, "I don't like it when my dad critiques everything." And then I made the connection: because of my dad's tendency to analyze the world, I see God as The Corrector. To me, God sees things that are wrong and shows how they should be right.
There are MANY good things about growing up with this being my instinctual view of God. It means I believe God is good, God is always right, God knows what is best for me, God is interested enough in me to teach me when I am doing something wrong, God will take the time to show me how to do the right thing. I am intensely grateful to have an earthly father who has made it easier for me to know all these things about God, because knowing them has enabled me to live my life by faith.
And I was intensely glad to realize how my view of God falls short of the Father He wants to be to me. If I see God as The Corrector, I expect Him to always be critiquing things. And, the funny thing is, even though my dad never critiqued me when I was growing up, I think the fact that he critiqued so many things made me afraid he would critique me, too. It is this fear that I carried over to my view of God: I subconsciously act as though God, The Corrector, is constantly critiquing me. And so in my mind, I constantly critique myself. I am always looking for perfection, and I always see its lack.
My challenge in knowing the heart of my Father is to realize that He does not critique me. He looks at me and sees, not a wrong answer that needs to be made right, but a radiant daughter that He would give His life to claim as His own.
I experienced the love of the Father today in the way that it should be. After class, I met Winnie at a Boba cafe. We had an incredible conversation about class, church, and God. I got to know her so much better in only an hour and a half. The best part of this conversation was that I felt we spoke to one another as equals. She was not meeting with me in order to minister to me, nor was I to her--because we both knew the other one did not NEED our help. We both have our own individual communities and support systems; we both are growing in our relationships with God; this one conversation over Boba was not going to be the difference between life and death. We met together because we like each other. We enjoy spending time together. God wants to spend time with me like that. I keep going to Him with an agenda: "God, teach me this, help me with that, correct my life here and here and here!" And that is good, and some of my most cherished memories of God are when He has corrected me in some way or another. But God wants to spend time with me because He likes me. He wants to take walks down Telegraph Avenue. He wants to grab coffee in the morning before class. He wants to sit on the couch with me and not even need to say anything. He wants to be with me because I am His daughter.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Visions
by Elanor
I want to share a new vision for myself and blogging, and that is, to share new visions. I just realized half an hour ago that the thing I like best about Christian writers is when they present a picture of the world that I would be incapable of seeing on my own. Those new pictures place in me a longing for the perfection of the future, but they also remind me of the pictures I have been given. So what I intend to do with this blog is to share the visions God has given me—not of how-the-world-should-be-but-isn’t; visions of how the world can be: Earth’s crammed with Heaven / and every common bush afire with God (Elizabeth Barrett Browning).
I want to start writing poetry again. I haven’t for the longest time, because I got to the point where I was sick of how the whole process was so self-conscious. I had confused artifice with being artificial. I had to get away from doing it so I could breathe for a while without looking to see if there was a poem in the way my lungs expand and contract. Today I’ve been looking back at some of the things I’ve written, and I like them more than I expected to. I want to participate in creating beauty again.
It will take me a while, though, to get back into the habit of word-art. So for now I’ll just share something I found in my computer archives that made me really happy:
Well, little knot, I’m going to have you undone one way or another. Stop coming between me and my family. I don’t know how you got there. I do remember sitting in the car on the way home from school, maybe even as far back as elementary school. Daddy asked me how my day was, and there you were, tight in the middle of my chest, and you wouldn’t let me answer him. You change all my words, and make them come out like they’re trying to cut to pieces any person they might run into. You keep me lonely, and keep the people around me lonely, too. I’m not going to stand for it. You’re on your way out, just wait.
Sincerely,
Elanor
I wrote this last May, when I was thinking about how over the years of my childhood, I have built up bad habits in the way I relate to my family, habits that are now very difficult to break, even though I am now married. But the start of a new family makes it all the more important that I be aware of the habits of relation that I am forming with Edwin and with our future children, so that I do not allow these knots to get tied up inside of me.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
I want to live.
Captain McCrea: Out there is our home. Home, Auto. And it's in trouble. I can't just sit here and-and-do nothing. That's all I've ever done! That's all anyone on this blasted ship has ever done. Nothing!
Auto: On the Axiom, you will survive.
Captain McCrea: I don't want to survive. I want to live.
Taken from Wall-E, emphasis mine.
I was watching Wall-E this morning (while playing WoW... yeah I know, I multitask wayyyy too much), and when this scene popped up, I couldn't help but look up and actually watch it. Quick synopsis for those of you who don't remember (or haven't seen it) **SPOILERS AHEAD**: Eve comes back from Earth having found proof that life is once again inhabitable. Although the Captain wants to head back home, Auto, the pilot's automated co-captain, was given secret orders to never return to Earth again. This results in, what becomes, the primary conflict in the movie.
This got me thinking: Am I just desiring to survive or desiring to actually live?
I must admit, lately, I have become pretty accustomed and happy with just surviving. My days have become super packed, routine, yet well-rounded. I have time to work, time to go to class, time to teach, time to spend with Elanor, time to pray, time to play.... Despite this enjoyable and relatively balanced lifestyle, I still find myself wanting more. It's pretty easy, I imagine, to slip into just being satisfied with all these things. I'm financially secure. I have an incredible job ripe with possibilities. I have an amazingly supportive and loving wife. I have awesome friends and a great church community. Yet, despite all these things, something in me still knows that all I'm doing is surviving.
At first, I thought that this must have to do with simply never having enough time. I miss those days when I had lots of free space to just take walks, to play until I'd much rather do work, to hang out with friends late into the night, to not have to keep thinking about the next thing I have to do. But when I thought about it further, I realized that even during those times, I still felt like I was just surviving. I suppose at first, I would feel more alive, but eventually I would reach a point where I felt the same trudging along.
It's kind of interesting. The world tells us that the more we do, the more successful we are, the more lives we improve, and the more progress we create, the more meaningful our lives will be. As beautiful and as poignant as Captain McCrea's words are, doing something instead of nothing won't truly lead him to life. He'll still be surviving... just distracted enough by the newness of it all that he won't mind the surviving.
Ironically, and unfortunately, the church (read: big-R Religious institution) tells us that the better people we are, the more we love, the more people we help, and the more people we bring to knowing Christ results in true living and not just surviving. Maybe there is a grain of truth amidst these ideas (I haven't ruled it out... yet), but everything inside of me says that if there is some truth, it truly is only a grain.
I am going to spend some time thinking and praying more about these things in the backdrop of my current busy lifestyle. I'll do some reading, some posting, some reflecting (probably over the course of the next few weeks or even months), and I trust that God will reveal more and more about what it means to live and not just survive. I have some ideas about what this kind of living could be related to: the spiritual realm (commonly understood as spiritual warfare), Christ living in us, abiding in His love, storing up treasures in heaven, afterlife... but, as you can tell, these ideas are a mess at the moment, and sadly (as well as ironically), I don't have the time or space (read: determination or focus) to delve in confidently and deeply.
But today is a first step. I didn't even realize that I was just wanting to survive.
Like, Captain McCrea, I want to live.
This got me thinking: Am I just desiring to survive or desiring to actually live?
I must admit, lately, I have become pretty accustomed and happy with just surviving. My days have become super packed, routine, yet well-rounded. I have time to work, time to go to class, time to teach, time to spend with Elanor, time to pray, time to play.... Despite this enjoyable and relatively balanced lifestyle, I still find myself wanting more. It's pretty easy, I imagine, to slip into just being satisfied with all these things. I'm financially secure. I have an incredible job ripe with possibilities. I have an amazingly supportive and loving wife. I have awesome friends and a great church community. Yet, despite all these things, something in me still knows that all I'm doing is surviving.
At first, I thought that this must have to do with simply never having enough time. I miss those days when I had lots of free space to just take walks, to play until I'd much rather do work, to hang out with friends late into the night, to not have to keep thinking about the next thing I have to do. But when I thought about it further, I realized that even during those times, I still felt like I was just surviving. I suppose at first, I would feel more alive, but eventually I would reach a point where I felt the same trudging along.
It's kind of interesting. The world tells us that the more we do, the more successful we are, the more lives we improve, and the more progress we create, the more meaningful our lives will be. As beautiful and as poignant as Captain McCrea's words are, doing something instead of nothing won't truly lead him to life. He'll still be surviving... just distracted enough by the newness of it all that he won't mind the surviving.
Ironically, and unfortunately, the church (read: big-R Religious institution) tells us that the better people we are, the more we love, the more people we help, and the more people we bring to knowing Christ results in true living and not just surviving. Maybe there is a grain of truth amidst these ideas (I haven't ruled it out... yet), but everything inside of me says that if there is some truth, it truly is only a grain.
I am going to spend some time thinking and praying more about these things in the backdrop of my current busy lifestyle. I'll do some reading, some posting, some reflecting (probably over the course of the next few weeks or even months), and I trust that God will reveal more and more about what it means to live and not just survive. I have some ideas about what this kind of living could be related to: the spiritual realm (commonly understood as spiritual warfare), Christ living in us, abiding in His love, storing up treasures in heaven, afterlife... but, as you can tell, these ideas are a mess at the moment, and sadly (as well as ironically), I don't have the time or space (read: determination or focus) to delve in confidently and deeply.
But today is a first step. I didn't even realize that I was just wanting to survive.
Like, Captain McCrea, I want to live.
Monday, July 13, 2009
South Africa in Pictures
View from the air:
We flew Mango airlines from Johannesburg to Bloemfontein. Coolest plane I've ever seen!
This is the incredible door at Uncle Leo and Auntie Raymon's house, where we stayed the week of kid's camp.
Their CUTE dog, Lucky.
Naomie, Leehon, and Leewin wandering through the South African wilderness.
Kid's Camp!!! The theme was Camp E.D.G.E--Experience and Discover God Everywhere
Camping equipment
The Game Reserve (you can see all the wild animals in this mountain range here)
Singing time
Leslie carrying Benny
He'd be a natural as a dad ^_^ The adorable baby is named Tsen-Tsen. He wandered around Kids Camp all week long, exploring and checking things out on his own.
We played basketball one afternoon. It was the most chaotic, crazy jungle basketball ever.
Get the ball Leslie!
Howard's sweet jump shot--airball every time! XD
Youth Camp!! We stayed in these cute round cabins with room for only two people, each.
The camp had a small lake.
Tea time, with chocolate biscuits!
Photo Scavenger Hunt during group games--A picture of someone doing a hand stand right next to a pool of water. Hmm...I don't see any water.
Thabo, his cool sunglasses, and his muddy shoe.
Wednesday, we went on a hike!
Among crazy Australian stick-dropping trees
Shade and sunlight
I found a walking stick.
Edwin and our guide.
Ideas by Howard, Naomi, and Daniel. Bringing light to the chord sheets during worship.
After camp was over, we spent a day in Durban at the beach.
And Edwin was terrified and astonished by a stuffed worm.
The End!
We flew Mango airlines from Johannesburg to Bloemfontein. Coolest plane I've ever seen!
This is the incredible door at Uncle Leo and Auntie Raymon's house, where we stayed the week of kid's camp.
Their CUTE dog, Lucky.
Naomie, Leehon, and Leewin wandering through the South African wilderness.
Kid's Camp!!! The theme was Camp E.D.G.E--Experience and Discover God Everywhere
Camping equipment
The Game Reserve (you can see all the wild animals in this mountain range here)
Singing time
Leslie carrying Benny
He'd be a natural as a dad ^_^ The adorable baby is named Tsen-Tsen. He wandered around Kids Camp all week long, exploring and checking things out on his own.
We played basketball one afternoon. It was the most chaotic, crazy jungle basketball ever.
Get the ball Leslie!
Howard's sweet jump shot--airball every time! XD
Youth Camp!! We stayed in these cute round cabins with room for only two people, each.
The camp had a small lake.
Tea time, with chocolate biscuits!
Photo Scavenger Hunt during group games--A picture of someone doing a hand stand right next to a pool of water. Hmm...I don't see any water.
Thabo, his cool sunglasses, and his muddy shoe.
Wednesday, we went on a hike!
Among crazy Australian stick-dropping trees
Shade and sunlight
I found a walking stick.
Edwin and our guide.
Ideas by Howard, Naomi, and Daniel. Bringing light to the chord sheets during worship.
After camp was over, we spent a day in Durban at the beach.
And Edwin was terrified and astonished by a stuffed worm.
The End!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Supper of the Lamb
by Elanor
(finally, as promised)
This post is about depression. Having recently emerged from several months of it, I would like to say some things about what it is like.
Whether or not I can blame my depression on the birth control pills does not matter. When I was depressed, I couldn’t see what was around me. I looked around my apartment, along the roads through Berkeley, and at my husband, and I couldn’t find anything worthwhile. I’ve heard depression described as a fog coming down over your vision; I would describe it more like a decaying of my spirit. I saw the same bright sunlight reflecting shapes and colors back at me that everyone else sees, but I attached no joy to the sight, I did not care to see it.
This post is also about the opposite of depression.
The Supper of the Lamb is a cookbook filled with the spirit of life. It is not, as most culinary books are, a recipe book. Those useful tools help pass on the knowledge of experienced, creative chefs to puling amateurs by recording the ingredients and process of preparing certain dishes. The Supper of the Lamb, by contrast, is a cookbook: it is a book about cooking. And, more than that, I believe it is incomparable evidence that the Bible is relevant to our everyday lives. It is proof that Christianity involves more than giving assent to some abstract propositions, but rather is a transformation of the mind and heart that works itself out in even the simplest aspects of going about our daily business.
The Christian spirit of the book expresses itself in its delight in things. Six whole pages of the book are devoted to describing an onion. This was not a description of the uses of the onion, nor did it cover its cultivation or anatomy. It was the author’s attempt to guide the reader in meeting an onion face to face. It helped me encounter the spirit of an onion.
Why on earth would it matter to encounter the spirit of an onion, you might ask. And the only answer that can be given is: because it is an onion, and nothing else. The Supper of the Lamb helps its readers to understand how God the Father was moved to create the world. It gives us a glimpse of His immense delight and imagination, because it opens our eyes to the individual objects of His creativity. Why did God make an onion different from a shallot? Why are there yellow onions and red onions, pearl onions and green onions—which are different from leeks? Because God was overjoyed at each thing in its own right. God looked at His array of onion species, He observed each one carefully, pointed His infinite divine finger at it, and proclaimed, “This is good!”
When I was depressed, all objects, events, and people in the world blurred together into a drab greyness. The Supper of the Lamb called attention to individual objects in all of their splendid individuality. The opposite of depression, therefore, is delight. It is the enjoyment of particular things—the ecstasy of particulars—that God has made. The Supper of the Lamb delights its way through the cooking of a meal from start to finish. It speaks of everything involved, the cookware, the place settings, the wine, and the cuts of lamb, with an intimacy borne of a long and affectionate relationship—thus teaching me how to look at the items in my own kitchen, and from there, objects outside my house, and from there, the people that God has given me to treasure.
If I go through each day seeing every knife in my kitchen as being its own unique self, if I can encounter the herbs in the pantry with my mind open to learning who they are instead of trying to find the one listed in the recipe book, I am relating to creation as God meant me to when He first presented it to Adam in the garden. And if, miracle of miracles, God bestows on me the blessing of seeing the spectacular individuality of each person I encounter, then I will be on my way to knowing what real love is like, I will begin to glimpse why in some cases it might make sense to send your only Son, so that this one single person, gloriously different from every other person ever created, should not perish but should have everlasting life.
(finally, as promised)
This post is about depression. Having recently emerged from several months of it, I would like to say some things about what it is like.
Whether or not I can blame my depression on the birth control pills does not matter. When I was depressed, I couldn’t see what was around me. I looked around my apartment, along the roads through Berkeley, and at my husband, and I couldn’t find anything worthwhile. I’ve heard depression described as a fog coming down over your vision; I would describe it more like a decaying of my spirit. I saw the same bright sunlight reflecting shapes and colors back at me that everyone else sees, but I attached no joy to the sight, I did not care to see it.
This post is also about the opposite of depression.
The Supper of the Lamb is a cookbook filled with the spirit of life. It is not, as most culinary books are, a recipe book. Those useful tools help pass on the knowledge of experienced, creative chefs to puling amateurs by recording the ingredients and process of preparing certain dishes. The Supper of the Lamb, by contrast, is a cookbook: it is a book about cooking. And, more than that, I believe it is incomparable evidence that the Bible is relevant to our everyday lives. It is proof that Christianity involves more than giving assent to some abstract propositions, but rather is a transformation of the mind and heart that works itself out in even the simplest aspects of going about our daily business.
The Christian spirit of the book expresses itself in its delight in things. Six whole pages of the book are devoted to describing an onion. This was not a description of the uses of the onion, nor did it cover its cultivation or anatomy. It was the author’s attempt to guide the reader in meeting an onion face to face. It helped me encounter the spirit of an onion.
Why on earth would it matter to encounter the spirit of an onion, you might ask. And the only answer that can be given is: because it is an onion, and nothing else. The Supper of the Lamb helps its readers to understand how God the Father was moved to create the world. It gives us a glimpse of His immense delight and imagination, because it opens our eyes to the individual objects of His creativity. Why did God make an onion different from a shallot? Why are there yellow onions and red onions, pearl onions and green onions—which are different from leeks? Because God was overjoyed at each thing in its own right. God looked at His array of onion species, He observed each one carefully, pointed His infinite divine finger at it, and proclaimed, “This is good!”
When I was depressed, all objects, events, and people in the world blurred together into a drab greyness. The Supper of the Lamb called attention to individual objects in all of their splendid individuality. The opposite of depression, therefore, is delight. It is the enjoyment of particular things—the ecstasy of particulars—that God has made. The Supper of the Lamb delights its way through the cooking of a meal from start to finish. It speaks of everything involved, the cookware, the place settings, the wine, and the cuts of lamb, with an intimacy borne of a long and affectionate relationship—thus teaching me how to look at the items in my own kitchen, and from there, objects outside my house, and from there, the people that God has given me to treasure.
If I go through each day seeing every knife in my kitchen as being its own unique self, if I can encounter the herbs in the pantry with my mind open to learning who they are instead of trying to find the one listed in the recipe book, I am relating to creation as God meant me to when He first presented it to Adam in the garden. And if, miracle of miracles, God bestows on me the blessing of seeing the spectacular individuality of each person I encounter, then I will be on my way to knowing what real love is like, I will begin to glimpse why in some cases it might make sense to send your only Son, so that this one single person, gloriously different from every other person ever created, should not perish but should have everlasting life.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
South Africa
Apparently, Edwin and I cannot find the time to update this blog more than once a month. The length of time between posts necessitates that they be weighted more on the side of daily life updates and less on the side of theological reflection than I am used to.
This post is unfortunately not about The Supper of the Lamb, although I am still firmly resolved to write about that outstanding book when I can muster up the energy. It is about our upcoming trip to South Africa.
On June 23, Edwin and I leave for Johannesburg. We are going to spend one week doing Vacation Bible School with a mass of Chinese elementary school kids; then we move onwards and upwards to running a youth camp for a smaller mass of Chinese high school kids the second week.
This past Sunday, we met with Simon and Naomi, the other members of our team, to plan the youth camp. The four of us are in charge of all the events during that week: six messages, three workshops, morning devotions, afternoon games, and sharing around the campfire on the last day. Perhaps because there were only four of us, the meeting did not waste anyone’s time. Even though we came to the table with only a vague idea of the general theme of the camp, we managed to plan the topics of each message and divvy them up for individual preparation. It was not until the end of the meeting that I realized how surprising it was that we all seemed to have the same vision for where the South Africa youth were at and for what we wanted to share with them about the Good News of Jesus.
The theme of the youth camp is “The Best Thing that Ever Happened to Me,” inspired by the song “The World Will Never Take,” by whatever Christian band that is. Our six messages to convey the theme that having a relationship with God is the best thing that can possibly happen to anyone are as follows:
Tuesday morning: The difference between the world’s best and God’s best.
Tuesday night: Sin.
Wednesday morning: God’s radical, mysterious, and creative love.
Wednesday night: Carrying the cross.
Thursday morning: Service and community.
Thursday night: Recap and campfire.
In the past years, many of the kids to come to the youth camp have been either young in their faith or non-Christians. We hope, during this camp, to create for them a picture of lives that are completely different than the ones they are now living, in order to convince them that having God enter into their lives in a lasting and permanent way is the best thing that can ever happen to them.
We would greatly appreciate your prayers for our trip. If you would like to receive prayer requests and more frequent updates, please email us at eledlin@gmail.com
All the best,
Elanor
This post is unfortunately not about The Supper of the Lamb, although I am still firmly resolved to write about that outstanding book when I can muster up the energy. It is about our upcoming trip to South Africa.
On June 23, Edwin and I leave for Johannesburg. We are going to spend one week doing Vacation Bible School with a mass of Chinese elementary school kids; then we move onwards and upwards to running a youth camp for a smaller mass of Chinese high school kids the second week.
This past Sunday, we met with Simon and Naomi, the other members of our team, to plan the youth camp. The four of us are in charge of all the events during that week: six messages, three workshops, morning devotions, afternoon games, and sharing around the campfire on the last day. Perhaps because there were only four of us, the meeting did not waste anyone’s time. Even though we came to the table with only a vague idea of the general theme of the camp, we managed to plan the topics of each message and divvy them up for individual preparation. It was not until the end of the meeting that I realized how surprising it was that we all seemed to have the same vision for where the South Africa youth were at and for what we wanted to share with them about the Good News of Jesus.
The theme of the youth camp is “The Best Thing that Ever Happened to Me,” inspired by the song “The World Will Never Take,” by whatever Christian band that is. Our six messages to convey the theme that having a relationship with God is the best thing that can possibly happen to anyone are as follows:
Tuesday morning: The difference between the world’s best and God’s best.
Tuesday night: Sin.
Wednesday morning: God’s radical, mysterious, and creative love.
Wednesday night: Carrying the cross.
Thursday morning: Service and community.
Thursday night: Recap and campfire.
In the past years, many of the kids to come to the youth camp have been either young in their faith or non-Christians. We hope, during this camp, to create for them a picture of lives that are completely different than the ones they are now living, in order to convince them that having God enter into their lives in a lasting and permanent way is the best thing that can ever happen to them.
We would greatly appreciate your prayers for our trip. If you would like to receive prayer requests and more frequent updates, please email us at eledlin@gmail.com
All the best,
Elanor
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
All New.
Since I'm supposed to be preparing a lesson for youth group on Friday on the topic of Friendship, I thought it would be a good time to finally update the blog.
I've done a lot of things since I wrote last. I have NOT written the essay I'm supposed to write on Atlas Shrugged, because I've developed such a strong disappointment for the book that I firmly refuse to look at it again until I know for sure that I am going to college. I am eagerly awaiting April 30, when I will finally know whether or not I have joined this year's swelled ranks of disappointed Berkeley applicants.
I HAVE successfully kept the two of us fed over the three to four days a week we live at our apartment in Berkeley.
I have NOT spent a single cent of our money on clothing since the wedding. (Although I did use a Kohl's gift certificate to buy a pair of work pants and a pair of walking shoes).
I HAVE gone to the gym more than 10 times in the last three weeks. (This entails a 40 minute walk each way).
I have NOT lost any weight.
I HAVE gone through a difficult run of hormonal mood swings, ranging from slightly bored to more than a little depressed. But I am convinced that this is normal for newlywed unemployed women taking birth control pills. I don't know if I'm allowed to say that in public or not...
The good news is: I am still married to the best man in the world, and I am NO LONGER unemployed. I started working for Lindamood Bell again, the tutoring company I was at last summer. And I like it.
However, while the depression has left me for now, I am determined to keep the truth I learned in the meantime. Which brings me to the title of this post and this blog: All New.
Edwin and I started this blog in the space of fifteen minutes as a way to communicate wedding information to our guests. We didn't think much of the title, all that it meant was this was a new blog, and we were starting a new life together. We stuck the "all" at the beginning to be reminiscent of the verse Jesus makes all things new, and because it sounded cool. This thought process took probably thirty seconds. Then we moved on to fill in the next box on the web page.
Little did I know at the time how relevant the word "all" would be to me as we embarked upon the adventure of married life. I knew that some things would be new: my location, my occupation, my last name, and the boy in the bed (who, thank goodness, does not snore!!). Not to mention all of the amazing cookware ^_^. But I didn't think it would ALL be new. In fact, for some things, I was pretty sure they would stay the same. Silly of me.
The most important new thing is my relationship with God. Before Edwin and I started dating, God and I were solid. We had spent the last three years getting to know one another intimately, and I was sure nothing could happen to what I had with Him. But I underestimated what it means to know God. Since I have been married, the way I relate to God has changed a lot. It has been very confusing. For months, I thought I couldn't hear or feel Him at all. But that story is a whole post to itself. It is enough to say, this is the beginning of a kind of knowing that I never imagined.
Proceeding down the line of things that are important to me, the next new thing is my self. Whenever I feel unhappy (as tends to be the case when I am depressed), I philosophize. I make a desperate grasp back at the beginning of time, and try to understand my current situation in light of the fundamental principles of the universe. This is rarely helpful. But I found it interesting to observe the kinds of questions I was asking myself: Why am I here? What do I want to do with my life? What is my purpose?
I think, somewhere deep down, my subconscious had always assumed that as soon as I got married, all of those questions would be answered. Marriage, after all, is the place where love is grown, and love IS the fundamental principle of the universe. Thus, if I live my life accordingly, I should be set, and my questions should be answered. Luckily, I still abound with questions, even though I am happily married. Life would be so boring otherwise.
So I did not find all the answers. But I did find out that, as is the case with my relationship with God, my understanding of who I am as a person is becoming something new. Rather, I am becoming a new person, and my understanding of who I am is consequently changing as I do. I don’t know why I am so surprised that this happened. It actually happens every time I go to a new place. But I experience the change more drastically in marriage, because Edwin is around all the time. The things I once used to identify myself—English literature, for example, and C. S. Lewis—I don’t have as much time for those things if Edwin doesn’t like them. He is not forbidding me to have my own interests, and I still do have them. But more and more, I find myself gravitating towards the things we share, so that we can experience them together. And it is good.
Coming soon: (so as to hold myself accountable for writing it) a Book Review on The Supper of the Lamb. Aka: Elanor gushes unabashedly about the wonders of this unbelievable cookbook/essay on love/“romp through the human condition,” as one review calls it, and does all she can to persuade you to read it.
I've done a lot of things since I wrote last. I have NOT written the essay I'm supposed to write on Atlas Shrugged, because I've developed such a strong disappointment for the book that I firmly refuse to look at it again until I know for sure that I am going to college. I am eagerly awaiting April 30, when I will finally know whether or not I have joined this year's swelled ranks of disappointed Berkeley applicants.
I HAVE successfully kept the two of us fed over the three to four days a week we live at our apartment in Berkeley.
I have NOT spent a single cent of our money on clothing since the wedding. (Although I did use a Kohl's gift certificate to buy a pair of work pants and a pair of walking shoes).
I HAVE gone to the gym more than 10 times in the last three weeks. (This entails a 40 minute walk each way).
I have NOT lost any weight.
I HAVE gone through a difficult run of hormonal mood swings, ranging from slightly bored to more than a little depressed. But I am convinced that this is normal for newlywed unemployed women taking birth control pills. I don't know if I'm allowed to say that in public or not...
The good news is: I am still married to the best man in the world, and I am NO LONGER unemployed. I started working for Lindamood Bell again, the tutoring company I was at last summer. And I like it.
However, while the depression has left me for now, I am determined to keep the truth I learned in the meantime. Which brings me to the title of this post and this blog: All New.
Edwin and I started this blog in the space of fifteen minutes as a way to communicate wedding information to our guests. We didn't think much of the title, all that it meant was this was a new blog, and we were starting a new life together. We stuck the "all" at the beginning to be reminiscent of the verse Jesus makes all things new, and because it sounded cool. This thought process took probably thirty seconds. Then we moved on to fill in the next box on the web page.
Little did I know at the time how relevant the word "all" would be to me as we embarked upon the adventure of married life. I knew that some things would be new: my location, my occupation, my last name, and the boy in the bed (who, thank goodness, does not snore!!). Not to mention all of the amazing cookware ^_^. But I didn't think it would ALL be new. In fact, for some things, I was pretty sure they would stay the same. Silly of me.
The most important new thing is my relationship with God. Before Edwin and I started dating, God and I were solid. We had spent the last three years getting to know one another intimately, and I was sure nothing could happen to what I had with Him. But I underestimated what it means to know God. Since I have been married, the way I relate to God has changed a lot. It has been very confusing. For months, I thought I couldn't hear or feel Him at all. But that story is a whole post to itself. It is enough to say, this is the beginning of a kind of knowing that I never imagined.
Proceeding down the line of things that are important to me, the next new thing is my self. Whenever I feel unhappy (as tends to be the case when I am depressed), I philosophize. I make a desperate grasp back at the beginning of time, and try to understand my current situation in light of the fundamental principles of the universe. This is rarely helpful. But I found it interesting to observe the kinds of questions I was asking myself: Why am I here? What do I want to do with my life? What is my purpose?
I think, somewhere deep down, my subconscious had always assumed that as soon as I got married, all of those questions would be answered. Marriage, after all, is the place where love is grown, and love IS the fundamental principle of the universe. Thus, if I live my life accordingly, I should be set, and my questions should be answered. Luckily, I still abound with questions, even though I am happily married. Life would be so boring otherwise.
So I did not find all the answers. But I did find out that, as is the case with my relationship with God, my understanding of who I am as a person is becoming something new. Rather, I am becoming a new person, and my understanding of who I am is consequently changing as I do. I don’t know why I am so surprised that this happened. It actually happens every time I go to a new place. But I experience the change more drastically in marriage, because Edwin is around all the time. The things I once used to identify myself—English literature, for example, and C. S. Lewis—I don’t have as much time for those things if Edwin doesn’t like them. He is not forbidding me to have my own interests, and I still do have them. But more and more, I find myself gravitating towards the things we share, so that we can experience them together. And it is good.
Coming soon: (so as to hold myself accountable for writing it) a Book Review on The Supper of the Lamb. Aka: Elanor gushes unabashedly about the wonders of this unbelievable cookbook/essay on love/“romp through the human condition,” as one review calls it, and does all she can to persuade you to read it.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Atlas Shrugged
by Ayn Rand, critiqued by Elanor
I am disappointed. I read the first 500 pages of this 1,167 page book. I took my time, I didn't skim a single word. Ayn Rand's writing is good enough to bear close reading, for the first half of the book. The problem was, the story should have ended at page 501. I did not need another 600 pages pounding the same single idea into my head. Her claim might have been interesting at first, as was the alternate timeline in which the world had been overrun by socialism, but as the plot progressed, her characters became flatter instead of gaining more depth.
Then around page 550 came a six-page-long encomium (poem in praise of an abstract quality) on, of all things, money. To Ayn Rand, money is the representation of the human spirit; it is that which gives mankind the dignity that separates us from beasts. I could not take her seriously after that.
My attention was temporarily recaptured, later, when Rand began to spatter her characters' dialogue with specifically Christian terminology in order to present these values as misguided and, in their most extreme forms, evil. In Rand's world, charity is the worst sin, selfishness the highest virtue. The savior of humanity lives by these words: "I swear--by my life and my love of it--that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine."
I do not believe Rand is entirely wrong. She has only misunderstood the concept of charity. She sees it as "alms;" she believes the weak attempt to leech love off of the strong by imposing upon them a sense of guilt at the suffering around them. She spends way too many pages explaining this belief. In some ways, she is right, and in those ways, her massive novel is only an interminable expansion on C. S. Lewis's short sentences in The Great Divorce, something to the effect of: "misery cannot be allowed to blackmail joy."
However, Rand's perspective falls short of the truth of human nature because she is completely individualistic. If the highest virtue is for each person to live solely for his own sake, then the only relationships between individuals can be those of trade--which she fully admits and recommends. She says love should not be "given" to another person for nothing; she implies it is shameful to love a human being for nothing but "himself;" rather, it is good and right to exchange virtue for love as if paying for an order of steel railroad tracks.
Atlas Shrugged lacks depth because it does not take into account the nature of relationships between human beings. The highest state of existence is not one man standing alone at the top of the world looking back on what he has achieved; it is instead the man who gives up the world for the sake of another human being.
I came to the book expecting to find truth; I did not.
I am disappointed. I read the first 500 pages of this 1,167 page book. I took my time, I didn't skim a single word. Ayn Rand's writing is good enough to bear close reading, for the first half of the book. The problem was, the story should have ended at page 501. I did not need another 600 pages pounding the same single idea into my head. Her claim might have been interesting at first, as was the alternate timeline in which the world had been overrun by socialism, but as the plot progressed, her characters became flatter instead of gaining more depth.
Then around page 550 came a six-page-long encomium (poem in praise of an abstract quality) on, of all things, money. To Ayn Rand, money is the representation of the human spirit; it is that which gives mankind the dignity that separates us from beasts. I could not take her seriously after that.
My attention was temporarily recaptured, later, when Rand began to spatter her characters' dialogue with specifically Christian terminology in order to present these values as misguided and, in their most extreme forms, evil. In Rand's world, charity is the worst sin, selfishness the highest virtue. The savior of humanity lives by these words: "I swear--by my life and my love of it--that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine."
I do not believe Rand is entirely wrong. She has only misunderstood the concept of charity. She sees it as "alms;" she believes the weak attempt to leech love off of the strong by imposing upon them a sense of guilt at the suffering around them. She spends way too many pages explaining this belief. In some ways, she is right, and in those ways, her massive novel is only an interminable expansion on C. S. Lewis's short sentences in The Great Divorce, something to the effect of: "misery cannot be allowed to blackmail joy."
However, Rand's perspective falls short of the truth of human nature because she is completely individualistic. If the highest virtue is for each person to live solely for his own sake, then the only relationships between individuals can be those of trade--which she fully admits and recommends. She says love should not be "given" to another person for nothing; she implies it is shameful to love a human being for nothing but "himself;" rather, it is good and right to exchange virtue for love as if paying for an order of steel railroad tracks.
Atlas Shrugged lacks depth because it does not take into account the nature of relationships between human beings. The highest state of existence is not one man standing alone at the top of the world looking back on what he has achieved; it is instead the man who gives up the world for the sake of another human being.
I came to the book expecting to find truth; I did not.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Obituary
by Elanor, with regret
If you look down at the previous post, you can find above the label "Elanor's pet #2" a picture of a lovely, glowing ranunculus. After a long and courageous struggle, this flower sadly passed away on Sunday, March 8, and has now moved on to a better existence (or not, depending on your theology).
The plant was purchased in the Garden section at the Target located next to Berkeley. Who could know that, for a pittance of $5, a blooming being could bring so much joy to one apartment? Its owner brought it home, transplanted it into a more permanent pot, and proceeded to welcome it into the Lin residence.
Its life was not without struggle. The tap water at the above mentioned residence apparently did not agree with the brave plant's constitution. If you look more closely at the picture, you will observe a slight yellowing of the outer leaves. This greatly distressed the owner, but there was nothing to be done except continue watering and hope the plant's spirit would win out.
The first weekend, the Lins had to leave the plant in the apartment for three days while they attended to their episcopal and social commitments in San Jose. Even though they made sure to water the plant within 30 seconds of departing, upon their return the top soil was completely dry, and there were even more yellow leaves.
Seeing that the plant was not yet robust enough to fend for itself without supervision, the next weekend, the owners brought it along to San Jose. The car ride filled the plant with joy and terror. The sunlight streaming through the windshield sent it into glowing rapture, but along with this intoxication came the rattle and jolt of a car driving down ill-paved roads. The pot shook and the plant's leaves were jostled until it couldn't tell its roots from its petals.
Once in Cupertino, the plant's owner was getting desperate. The plant was still yellowing, and its petals were beginning to droop. She decided to try moving the plant to a bigger pot, to allow its roots more space. She obtained a new pot from the back yard, cleaned it, and transferred the plant yet again, hoping beyond hope that this new change would spark some health back into the fading flower.
It might have worked. We shall never know. On Sunday morning, since they were on their way back to Berkeley, the Lins brought the plant with them to church. It was cool in the early morning. The plant remained in the front seat during Sunday school at South Valley. At 10:45, the Lins made their way to Cupertino to attend the Joint's Sunday service. When they disembarked from their vehicle at 11:15, the sun was still hidden behind grey clouds, so they again left the plant in the car during their religious function. Never again. At 12:30, they exited the building to a parking lot filled with warm, spring sunlight, suspecting nothing. When they reached the car, they saw. The plant was dead. Its petals were wrinkled and brown, its stems fallen over, its leaves entirely yellow and drooping. After all the love poured onto it, the plant had been killed by a moment of thoughtless neglect.
It was a brave plant, and we do honor to its memory. We shall tell its story to our future household greenery, how its strength and joy brought light to our lives, for a little while.
If you look down at the previous post, you can find above the label "Elanor's pet #2" a picture of a lovely, glowing ranunculus. After a long and courageous struggle, this flower sadly passed away on Sunday, March 8, and has now moved on to a better existence (or not, depending on your theology).
The plant was purchased in the Garden section at the Target located next to Berkeley. Who could know that, for a pittance of $5, a blooming being could bring so much joy to one apartment? Its owner brought it home, transplanted it into a more permanent pot, and proceeded to welcome it into the Lin residence.
Its life was not without struggle. The tap water at the above mentioned residence apparently did not agree with the brave plant's constitution. If you look more closely at the picture, you will observe a slight yellowing of the outer leaves. This greatly distressed the owner, but there was nothing to be done except continue watering and hope the plant's spirit would win out.
The first weekend, the Lins had to leave the plant in the apartment for three days while they attended to their episcopal and social commitments in San Jose. Even though they made sure to water the plant within 30 seconds of departing, upon their return the top soil was completely dry, and there were even more yellow leaves.
Seeing that the plant was not yet robust enough to fend for itself without supervision, the next weekend, the owners brought it along to San Jose. The car ride filled the plant with joy and terror. The sunlight streaming through the windshield sent it into glowing rapture, but along with this intoxication came the rattle and jolt of a car driving down ill-paved roads. The pot shook and the plant's leaves were jostled until it couldn't tell its roots from its petals.
Once in Cupertino, the plant's owner was getting desperate. The plant was still yellowing, and its petals were beginning to droop. She decided to try moving the plant to a bigger pot, to allow its roots more space. She obtained a new pot from the back yard, cleaned it, and transferred the plant yet again, hoping beyond hope that this new change would spark some health back into the fading flower.
It might have worked. We shall never know. On Sunday morning, since they were on their way back to Berkeley, the Lins brought the plant with them to church. It was cool in the early morning. The plant remained in the front seat during Sunday school at South Valley. At 10:45, the Lins made their way to Cupertino to attend the Joint's Sunday service. When they disembarked from their vehicle at 11:15, the sun was still hidden behind grey clouds, so they again left the plant in the car during their religious function. Never again. At 12:30, they exited the building to a parking lot filled with warm, spring sunlight, suspecting nothing. When they reached the car, they saw. The plant was dead. Its petals were wrinkled and brown, its stems fallen over, its leaves entirely yellow and drooping. After all the love poured onto it, the plant had been killed by a moment of thoughtless neglect.
It was a brave plant, and we do honor to its memory. We shall tell its story to our future household greenery, how its strength and joy brought light to our lives, for a little while.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
1951 Chestnut St. Apt. 108
Bed
Bookshelf
Couch! And wall hanging from Hawaii, and fluffy white rug
Entertainment
Elanor's pet #1
Kitchen
Kitchen table, window
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MirrorThings I Probably Won’t Ever Have the Chance to Teach at Youth Group
Part II: The Bible
by Elanor
When I was growing up, they taught us in Sunday School that if you are a Christian, you should be reading the Bible. Note the use of the ongoing present tense: not “should read,” but “should be reading.” I was twenty years old before I was able to rid myself of the guilt incurred by this simple injunction, because, stated in that way, my Sunday School teacher should be able to check in at any point in time and find me reading my Bible. And since God can and does “check in” on me at all times, I felt almost a constant sense of neglecting something I was supposed to be doing. I would think of the Bible and drop my eyes to the floor. I would hastily attempt to distract myself from the thought of the chapters I hadn’t read that day, of the verses I was not in the process of memorizing. It took over a year of decidedly refusing to read the Bible on my own before I could beat the guilt out of my subconscious. I had to experience firsthand that I can be a Christian, God does teach me things, God even uses me to influence other people’s lives, when I don’t read the Bible.
My feelings of guilt are one symptom of a shortsighted understanding of the Bible. I saw it as nothing more than a means to my own personal righteousness. Other symptoms might be the tendencies to use the Bible as a self-help book or a moral law. These misguided views of the Bible are sometimes exacerbated by our tendency at church to try and draw an application from a few verses at a time, or from a single chapter of one book, without ever placing the short passages in the context of the entire narrative.
Here, I want to draw back from a close study of individual passages. I want to discuss what the Bible is, why it was given to us, and why, at the risk of incurring guilt in the heart of other poor hapless children, Christians should read (but not “be reading”) the Bible.
The Bible is the story of human salvation. That is its scope. There are many people who read it looking for information on the metaphysical composition of angelic beings or a decisive conclusion to the creationist-evolutionist debate. These are the kinds of students who, during a class lecture on the quadratic formula, ask the teacher who invented algebra in the first place. The question might be fascinating, but it is detrimental to the rest of the class: if the teacher spends her limited time teaching about Arabian mathematics, none of the students will learn how to solve quadratic equations, and none of them will pass the test at the end of the week.
In this way, although it also happens to be the greatest work of literature the world has ever seen, the Bible is an eminently practical book. It tells us what we need to know and then advises us to stop asking irrelevant questions until we can first demonstrate a working knowledge of the foundational material. Seen in this light, it is also quite inflexible. We ask it at what point during the pregnancy does the fetus become a human soul, and it answers Jesus—which is completely useless from our perspective; from the Bible’s, it’s the only useful answer there is.
I seem to have answered two questions in one: the Bible is the story of human salvation, and it was given to us so that we might be saved. In accordance with God’s customary elegance, the story of salvation is also the means to salvation in that it is a way for us to encounter the Person of salvation: Jesus.
My third question also seems to be mixed into the first two: we as Christians should read the Bible because it is one way for us to encounter Jesus. Because of the nature of the book, and because of the Holy Spirit inside of us, it is possible for us to have such an encounter by reading only a single verse. And that is very good. But we were not given only one verse. We were given an epic history spanning at least six thousand years. Why should that be?
I believe there is a second reason why we should read the Bible: because it is the story of human salvation. It is our story—ours, as humanity. In the entirety of the tale, we learn where we come from, which in turn enables us to understand where we are now. We are even told where we are going. From paradise lost to Solomon’s temple to year 0 on the calendar to the heavenly Jerusalem: this is who we are.
Why not read history books instead? Don’t they perform the same function of placing our lives in the context of the human story? For Christians they are not enough, because we understand ourselves in the present as being in contact with God. We believe He can and does interact with us and with the world. History books are so far silent on the matter of divine intervention, so until they address the matter, we look to the Bible, not only as the story of humanity being saved, but also as the account of its Savior stepping into the created world and transforming it.
So I amend my initial description. The Bible is the story of God’s people, how they fell into slavery, how their Father did not leave them alone but came to rescue them, how He Himself died in the attempt. But, just when we think all is lost, He rises again, and the family reunites for a wedding feast in a glorious city by the crystal sea.
It is wrong to guilt one another into reading the Bible. We can read it as the Psalmist did: songs of delight in the house of our sojourning, sweeter than honey, more precious than fine gold.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wedding Pictures
I hope you've all gone to see David's gorgeous pictures on flickr here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/10511435@N05/sets/72157614448853870/show/
But if you haven't, here are a few of my absolute favorites.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/
But if you haven't, here are a few of my absolute favorites.
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