The Curtain Calls

Things Foreign

2011-04-13T15:41:00.000-07:00

I know I promised to post about Rome and it just didn't happen. Here's just a little bit of my post-trip thoughts on being in a foreign country.

I was picked up from the airport back in the states, exhausted, ready to see my family. I was so fat on rich experiences and Italian food that sleep was as welcome as it is after thanksgiving feast. Processing the experience would take some time, but for then, I knew that each day was wonderful and for every moment there and back, I was thankful.

We drove on the same familiar old freeway, and ate the same familiar old food. And it was good. Irvine and surrounding cities in Orange County have come far with the bustling of suburbia and its necessary means for survival: three costume warehouses, for example, occupy large amounts of space within a fifteen mile radius as well as some sort of church on every corner. It's no wonder that the world's number one problem with Christianity is the hypocrisy that taints a dogmatic set of beliefs.
Anyways, these costume stores wouldn't be able to sell so many costumes, thereby sustaining their business, if the market of demand didn't support it. This same image based culture has a billboard every couple miles telling women they are too fat and offering some weird solution on how to solve the problem.
This is the America that bugs me, that gets on my nerves, that makes me embarrassed to be united with one nation NOT under God because the people mostly reject Him, or use Him. Every evening I see the outline of the sun setting, blocked by houses that look the same as mine, occupied by neighbors who aren't safe and see me as equally unsafe. That is to say, they are good, law-abiding citizens, but there remains a barrier which cannot be broken by small talk and so, my soul and their soul remain estranged because of fear. With celebrity worship and postmodernist religions at their highest level of membership than ever before, tolerance is just another way of muddling our minds and becoming more and more isolated with bigotry being no solution. The people need something to unite them, this is in our nature, read Animal Farm... you know what happened to them. And don't even get me started about the corruption of our politicians, level of debt, or waste of tax dollars. This is the America that there is no hope for.

I am, however, an American and, whether by my life or death, this is the country that I swear allegiance to. This is the country whose laws I will obey, the country whose language I speak. This is the country where I received my education Under God, and thereby the country where God has given me citizenship with perspective to my real citizenship in my real home in heaven. This place may no longer be the land of the free and the home of the brave, but I am free. I am brave. What does this have to do with my trip to Rome?

Expectations. While my trip was certainly magical, it was not magical in the way that I thought it would be. When I thought of this foreign country on the plane with their different currencies, customs, traditions, beliefs, and atmospheres, my only point of reference was the place I spent all my life. I knew it was going to be different but again, my only point of reference was mostly American-made films and photographs. We landed and in the hustle and bustle of transportation, settling in, finding a grocery store, bank, and gelato shop, it all felt very normal.
I went on a train through Tuscan countryside... twice. This was the place I dreamed about since the very first travel book I ever opened. It was just as beautiful as I envisioned it. Rome proper too, was just like the pictures. Except for a few things: as in L.A. or NYC, there was trash and grafiti along many of the alley ways and walls. Homeless beggars and many swindlers paced to and fro around many of the popular regions of Rome proper. Like in any metropolis, gypsies worked the subway systems and even gave someone in our own group a run for their money (the gypsy did not succeed in her attempts). Cobblestone streets reminded us daily of the rich history that built this place, old and corrupt, but somehow thriving. Retro-chic vespas would fly by and us Americans would exchange delighted smiles or point it out so everyone saw. Construction is just as loud in foreign places. McDonalds is just more expensive. Tourist trinkets are just as cheasy. Nutella crepes? Well now, those just can't be duplicated.

The truth is, I had forgotten. I had forgotten how beautiful my land is because I got bored by advertisements and storefronts. Beach pictures are not overrated. City life is a window into human condition. My flag represents our incredible, albeit brief, history. Our legacy both good and bad reaches far beyond our shores and influences fashion, enterprise, and even supports foreign economies with our tourists. So much American music was played in their shops, bakeries, coffee houses, and ipods. I was different during my day alone then I was when sharing the community of the rest of my group. Alone, I was just one little American in a sea of people among whom I didn't belong. Together we Americans shared something, kind of like a family... and that was our land. Our land extended hundreds of thousands of miles reaching across all regions including mountains, deserts, valleys, bodies of waters, canyons, ocean peninsulas, high elevations, low elevations, beautiful landscapes, rich soil, and colorful vegetation. Each state brings its own unique personality to the union. California: the golden state. Each metropolis closest to each of our places of origin are similar in some ways and unique in their own... Like Rome.

I had dreamed for so long that foreign experience would be life changing and show me a world different from what I had known all my life. While my eyes were opened to those things, the thing that will most stick with me, however, is what I learned as I stepped off the plane and back into the arms of my America. And that is perspective. Italy is beautiful, but so is America. I forgot that. Not that stars and stripes are blinding me from the before mentioned consumerism and corruption of my culture, but that America represents and ideal worth belonging to, and worth fighting for: freedom, and along with that: freedom of religion and enterprise. Bravery, and along with that: the responsibility to stand up to the injustice of the world. I was inspired to a new level of American pride because of my foreign experience and I have Italy to thank for that, for among the rich experiences I had learning about ancient, times, heroes, dictators, sites, and stories, I learned that seeing the world is wonderful and exciting, but seeing my own place for what it is is just as important if not more so. I have dual citizenship right now with America, and Heaven but I know my heart was made for heaven, my body made for America. My mind must understand this world in light of my country and understand my country in light of heaven. Thanks Rome. You were fun. Now back to my America.

Pushed Aside for Now

2011-03-19T14:15:00.000-07:00

Project: Blogging, has been sorrowfully pushed aside in my life due to the busyness of life that stringent academia brings. I hope to soon be blogging again about some thoughts and ideas that I have been having or to hopefully share with you some of the other creative writing projects I've been working on.

I don't wish to betray my writing here, but I've been contributing to a private blog with some of my classmates about books that we are reading. It is very fun, and also quite the undertaking. Another creative writing project that I've been working on is all about poetry. Writing poetry all the time every day except for a little sabbath on Sundays. This discipline is already producing in me a keen eye for all different sounds, syllables, and rhythms, ideas, and thoughts.
Anyways, I just wanted to announce those brief updates to keep up with what I'm doing.
On another note:
We just finished our 82nd annual Missions Conference at Biola University. Probably our best yet, we had guests from Africa, New Zealand, and Indonesia speaking and praying for and with us as individuals, as well as a campus dedicated to serving God and dying to self in the unique process of sanctification that the Holy Spirit is working out through the disciples of Christ.
It was truly a blessing to attend and be in the presence of people who have gone before us and whom we can look up to as heroes of the faith and be inspired to faith and good works as acts of obedience before God the Father. Campus became a haven of revival and freedom as Mark Parker led many students through the process of repentance, and Kevin Humble followed up the next day with a charge to commit to positive forward-movement in this process by giving an opportunity for students to make challenging "I will..." statements before the body of Christ at Biola.
I will miss the leaders and their wives that blessed us with their presence this year for Missions Conference 2011!
If you want to be incredibly blessed, watch these amazing videos that Biola generously captured and made available for the rest of the world!
Session 1: (Rev. JFK Mensah) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdbjGhs3IAU&feature=relmfu
Session 2: (Mark Parker) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KrNKZbkbgOw&feature=relmfu
Session 3: (Kevin Humble) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pw60IsLh_R4&feature=relmfu
Session 4: (Rev. JFK Mensah) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IazrPsZZL8Y&feature=relmfu
Session 6 (Mark Parker) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwbmFy0cYz4&feature=relmfu

Session 5 (Alumni Missions) and session 7 (Kevin Humble) are hopefully still to come on youtube.
Until then, enjoy!

More Than A Garden

2011-02-10T10:15:00.001-08:00

A beloved friend and I were talking the other day about how creative our Father in heaven is. We were made in his image and so we also thrive on creating, producing, making, and displaying our handiwork. From software, business database, to music, writing and poetry, and art, humans everyday are prodded to create from the very fiber of our beings. It is a lazy generation that would rather indoctrinate us with Glee and video games and the consumer mindset rather than hard work and fruitful rewards.
Anyways, we were saying that we know God is a creative being, now what is to stop him from creating more... or at least more than we could know.
Interestingly God does create things and doesn't have to tell us. For example who did Cain marry? The son of supposed first couple ever was afraid of banishment because of the violence of others... what others? Who made up the entire first generation world? Why would God create others outside the garden since the garden represented eternity? Did he create them after mankind was cursed? Why were Adam and Eve... the chosen ones?
It got me thinking and, while I believe the events of Genesis are true accounts, I also believe that it is important to keep in mind that like every other creation story, Genesis is just that: a story.
The 7-day creation account follows the menorah-structured Hebrew poetry traditions; not to mention that this account was written at least a millennium after it actually happened. The stories were passed down from generation to generation, accurately, but with a specific purpose.

In poetry and stories, themes are important to focus on. There is a point and a purpose to the Hebrew stories and poems and aside from that, we do not need to know what could be out there. God didn't think it important enough for us to know, so as far as we know... we are it.
But... to think playfully, what if heaven is so much bigger than we think?
This clip is pretty funny, and, while I don't think the universe can really be described like this, I also think... why couldn't something like this be plausible? Have a go and watch this short clip:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyzIau5dBao

Go and create something in honor of your Father today!

It Is Finished... but not really

2010-12-15T23:32:00.000-08:00

Creative Mess. This picture describes what I feel like at the end of this semester. This whole semester I was being held at "grade-point" to create, make, produce, write, finish, and for it all to be good. Well I did and now... it's all out of my system only to start back up in a couple of weeks. Such is the creativeness of an academic life with only two and half years behind me. The good news? It makes for a pretty picture... and by pretty, I don't just mean "nice to look at". I also mean good. Really good.

The Forgotten Day of... Feasting?

2010-11-25T09:51:00.000-08:00

Whether the rumors about Angelina Jolie's refusing to celebrate the day where American pilgrims supposedly try to rewrite history and murder innocent people, are true or not, I think that such a view is sadly misinformed.

For a brief history lesson, the commonwealth was established the first year after the mayflower landed and almost half their people died due to disease and partially because the system was so flawed. It completely collapsed. The feast happened the year after when communism was obliterated and a healthy, free-man bartering system was established, with the help of the English speaking indians who were experts in agriculture. The great thanksgiving feast is just as much a celebration of political freedom as a celebration of religious freedom and prosperity.

Squanto was enslaved by British men and escaped but not before he had become fluent in the language. Wicked men stole a great deal of his free life from him to make him subject to man's oppression and these people; the pilgrims were from that same place. Squanto had every right to hate them but instead helped them and became one of their own because of mercy that he had been shown in his past. Mercy that man shows to another by the power of God changes that man's heart and makes him thankful because someone covered the offense of that which was undeserving.

It is for freedom and for mercy that we celebrate this thanksgiving today. Paul in his epistles tells us numerous times to be always thankful. I think gratitude is really the only way to understand ourselves in light of God and that's why Paul speaks of it so intentionally. The humility of the understanding that we are only as beautiful as we are because of God, only as forgiven as we are because of Christ, and only as happy as we are because of the Spirit of God that has (hopefully) infiltrated every aspect of our lives.

Whether Jolie thinks that about thanksgiving or not, thanksgiving is a confusing and forgotten holiday slipped in between halloween and christmas because people think that they are in control. The pilgrims lost almost half of their people to disease and other factors that first year and even still they gave thanks to God for freedom, prosperity, and friends who come along side the weak. It is because of them and the integrity they had and their willingness to do hard things that made us the America that we are, or at least were for a time.

This holiday means nothing if we can't spend at least ONE day being wholly and completely, selflessly thankful for that which we are not because of that which God is.

I truly hope that you have a joyful thanksgiving full of gratitude and the beauty of the blessing that God has given you!

Thanks.

2010-11-11T19:58:00.001-08:00

Dear Soldiers,
My name is Erica and my daddy taught me that there is no one who deserves more respect in this country than the men and women who sacrifice everything they are and have in service to America which was built on the principles of liberty and justice. It is for these principles, he tells me, that you fight. It is for freedom and justice that you sacrifice, you march, you fly, you die, you fear, you pain, you ache, you sometimes never recover.

This is my thank you letter. It is because of your astonishing bravery that I can sit comfortably on my American couch, enjoy an glass of American lemonade, and type away at my leisure either to complete my American education or to contribute to this silly American phenomenon of blogging.

Thank you for allowing us the luxury of hope. Forgive those of us who turn this hope into daily selfish expectations because we cannot see past ourselves. You are an inspiration of bravery to any of us who hear the stories of death, survival, victory, and defeat. The battles that are fought within our hearts and minds on a daily basis are nothing compared to the battles you fight, but your brave advances into the fray inspire us to do the same with our daily battles and come out the victor.

Your blood spilt, your journey trodden, your weapons fired, your belongings taken, your bellies growling, sleep wanting, your hiding, your longing, your fears faced. I appreciate your sacrifice.

With the love of a proud American,
Erica

Cars, Cash, and Communication

2010-10-08T11:40:00.000-07:00

I was with my cousin several weeks ago. She is a darling six-year-old girl. She has delicious brown hair with a hint of red, big brown eyes, and a delicately charming personality. We had a lot of "Kiki (my cousin given nickname)-cousin time" because of the events surrounding their visit in which her and I took trips to the park, the pool, the backyard, the front yard, the couch, and kitchen. Our favorite thing to do was to tell stories... morning, noon, and night, if I needed a break from running around all I needed to say was, "do you want to hear a story?" Following this question I had a precious child in my lap twisting my hair around her finger and words pouring out of my mouth about a brave heroine and her magical friends. The imagination of a child is unbelievable, and even if she does not remember all of those stories, she will remember how she felt in my lap and how much love she has for me and I for her. This makes me feel glad about telling them.
Upon getting in the car after the park one time, my cousin said from the backseat, "Kiki, you're so lucky." I smiled and asked why she thought that. She responded, "Kiki, it's because you have a car and a wallet and money and a cell phone! Well, I have a wallet and a little bit of money, but not like you, Kiki."
When I thought about it, I remembered this same feeling in my own childhood self. I would look on adults as lucky to have power and freedom and "grown-up" stuff. I wish I was quicker on the draw, because I would have asked her what she would do if she had those things. Would she move out to California to be with us all the time? Would she go on an adventure? Would she want to drive to see her friends everyday? Would she buy scores of princess dresses and pretend all day long? What is it that she would do with a car and some money and a cell phone?
This made me realize that I use my car, my (little bit of) money, and my cell phone like a boring adult, the kind I never wanted to turn into. I use them all very functionally. My childhood-self would slap my grown-up self if she knew that I wasn't going on drives to see pretty things, or that I wasn't using my phone to communicate with people and encourage, invest and build relationships that I don't have access to in person. If my childhood-self knew that I was just using my computer for homework and facebook, she would be ashamed. So how do I use the incredible things in my life to touch my soul and bring a little thrill everyday. We don't know how good the things we have are because we don't enjoy them, we use them. I pray that I will not simply use the things that God has given me but that I will enjoy them.

Trash Cans and Curfews

2010-09-27T17:44:00.000-07:00

Today I felt loved. I felt loved today because I went to the spider infested side-yard and dragged trash cans to the curb, rubbed my hands together to get the idea of spiders off of me, and then sat twitching for the next hour feeling imaginary ants crawl up my legs. You're probably thinking (besides that my reaction was positively pathetic) that this is the weirdest expression of love that you've heard of in a long time. "A long time", however, is the very reason why I felt loved today. For it has been a very, very long time since I have performed such a task. How then, you ask, did trash get out of the house and yard? I will tell you. I attribute our clean house and yard to my brother and father. I felt loved today because the boys in my life have always done the simple yet disgusting task of taking care of the refuse in my life. I had forgotten the cost of the dignity which I was privileged to and the care with which these dignities were made available. Now I live in my own house, with responsibilities that are less than savory. I realize that I have just made myself sound like a spoiled little princess, so I will not hesitate to mention that I consider my house and the adjacent responsibilities a considerable blessing which I welcome with a willing heart. With this particular article, however, I am merely recognizing how wonderful it is to be cared for.
Ok, so I never really had a curfew, it just sounded nice in the title, but the point is, my dad cared for me, my mom, and sister in the little things, that the regulations and expectations that he did have of us as teenagers in my family were, from my perspective, acts of protection and love and proactive growth into adulthood rather than mindless regulations to keep my freedom and expressions captive and away from "where I would rather go".
People call me old fashioned, (people call me a lot of things) but I cannot deny the overwhelming amount of safety, love, and satisfaction that I receive from being taken care of. I have an independent personality type, such that it is often easier for me to do things myself in the first place, but even so... I loved that I could always expect to not have to take out the trash. Not that I didn't have household responsibility, but that I didn't have to do the dirty jobs and it was taken care of by the men, was always so "nice" in my head.

Child's Heart Meets Practicality and Cynicism

2010-09-18T16:53:00.000-07:00

I have the greatest job in the world. I am the nanny of a precocious two-year-old. I have almost memorized the Dr. Suess A B C's book, learned a new language, and tapped into his unique style of playing that goes beyond building blocks. It is so fun to learn about so new a person, but I have discovered that in all the newness there isn't really anything new about the rudimentary fabric in the make-up of this child in comparison to any other child I have come to know. He is unique in so many aspects of his character and personality, but he has the same desires as every other kid: to be known and to call himself beloved. His brow furrows when I ask him to use his fingers to point to the thing he is trying to say with his mouth because I don't understand sometimes. He preciously calls out my name when my shoulder is closed to him when sitting side by side. He emphatically boasts upon facing his fears and discovering there really wasn't anything to be afraid of. He remembers and re-actualizes (even at such a young age) what he did for you that made him feel very important.
These are the very things that I love about being around children, which is, in short, the ultimate teacher for how to treat grown-ups. Desires don't change with time, we've just learned how to put them on hold due to our culture of cynicism, practicality, and too much disappointment. We forget that we want people to open their shoulder when they sit next to us, or encourage and affirm our steps to conquering the scary fronts in this world because we have been hurt enough to retreat into our own selves for our strength, or be co-dependent on others for our significance.
The "lesson" that I have been particularly attentive of recently has been the one of body language. I almost fell asleep during the little boy's half-hour science show but was awoken by his desire for me to be present with my eyes and body, being attentive to the same thing as him or even to watch him watch the show. When my back is to him in the kitchen, he tries to get my attention by calling my name as he sits on the counter and watches me cut fruit. Even if we aren't talking or playing, just sitting and looking at doggies walk by in the park, he is not content when I slouch. Right now he is so irresistibly cute that he knows he cannot be ignored, but what happens when he gets older and grown-ups will have normal "older-boy" expectations of him. To save ourselves from embarrassment, we learn to stop calling for attention like that, but we never stop wanting to call so as to be noticed, recognized, and to feel important, like ourselves are worth being noticed or turned towards.
So, we are tempted to be moral because adults like good children. Or we hate being moral because parents only like good children (or at least convey this message with their bodies and words)... and how deep is a love that is conditional? So turn your body, your attention, your eyes, your ears, and your words toward the people who are afraid to ask for it, because chances are... they want to, but are too embarrassed to admit that they want you to do that for them.

Born a Dreamer

2010-09-06T10:40:00.000-07:00

"Seconds pass whether your doing something in that second or not". My dad has always said this when trying to help us understand the importance of proper time allocation. I am, and always have been a daydreamer so this project of using every second to do what is needed in that moment, has only been partially effective. If you are studying with me and you haven't seen me turn the page in a while I give you permission to ask what I'm thinking about... it is probably not Kant's Groundwork on the Metaphysics of Morals. The big question that I have always asked myself is: how do I stay focused on the task at hand? Or, why do I let my runaway trains of thought distract me from the less exciting things of life? Lately, however, I have been asking the question: how does this tendency speak into my personality? Yes, I must find a way to focus myself and to pursue the task given me with everything I have to give, but if I keep dreaming about more exciting things or interesting things, what should I do? Should I capture my thoughts and channel them into the written word? I like creative writing and poetry and am always scratching down bits and pieces of things that flow into my mind, or even words that sound nice... like apothecary and syllable and solstice. Sometimes I daydream about a pretty word that I have read and then I reach the bottom of the page and realize that I wasn't actually reading that whole page. So, how to capture and focus at the same time? I don't know... I'll let you know if I find out. (By the way, the illustration is from one of my favorite childhood stories: Appelemando's Dream a story about how a boy's tangible daydreams affect his town, and the methods they use to capture the dreams).

The Road Less Travelled

2010-08-14T21:01:00.000-07:00

As I am road-tripping to Colorado to visit some dear friends, I have been (for the last several days) trying to collect my thoughts and feelings, as I have just had to say goodbye to several dear friends... for good. I have been on a fantastic journey since March that I completed on Wednesday and I tearfully watched the precious people I grew to love disapparate back into the imagination of their creator.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Erica Martinez has finally read the ever-famous series. I read all seven Harry Potter books and have come out on the other side inspired, touched, and so deeply in love with the story of the boy who lived... I sort of feel like a rebel.

Rebel? You wonder. Yes, for you see I grew up in the midst of the controversy where on one side, the idea of the use of sorcery and magic for anything other than the dark deeds of the evil one, was akin to the unforgivable sin and likewise, the mere association with such an idea. The other, more popular side held to the idea that Harry Potter and company was a quite harmless, fantasy story. While I greatly disapproved of the mass book burnings at churches and homes that I heard about, I, to some small degree, tended toward the negative view towards these best-selling books. On the other hand, now that I have actually read them, I’m not about to write (or read) a book like “Finding God in Harry Potter” because God (at least the holistic picture of Yaweh God spoken of in the Bible) is not a thing that I believe to be present in these books. Similarly, I do not think it is an appropriate series for children because of the vast misuse of magical principles and the misleading lovability of such magic. I do, however, hold strongly to the belief that Harry Potter is useful and admirable in its purpose, execution, and values as well as the fact that it is an entirely captivating and beautifully written story.

I could digress into a factual list of problems that I noticed with the story, like some of the flaws in a few of the main characters, or some of the attack tactics, to name a few. Instead, however, I want to focus on the victories that Rowling wrote of. I say this because I do not expect Rowling to have birthed a story without flaws in the same way that I do not expect Lewis, Tolkein, or Bunyan to have in their tales, as we know they did not. Besides, nothing on the planet is written with the same authority and truth that the Bible because man is fallible and our understanding is limited. Through the exploration of the imagination and the telling of stories of things that reflect something greater than ourselves, however, I believe that we can come closer to understanding a thing itself and that is where fantasy comes in (and, as a matter of fact, is the aspiration of The Curtain Calls).

Before I continue, I think I must make myself clear in describing the reason why I say that I do not think Harry Potter is appropriate for children, considering that it is written for children. It is because in the books there is the frequent casting of spells, incantations, fortune telling, the bewitching of inanimate objects and overall supernatural invocation of “magic”. Much to the distress of Christians all over the world, all these things that I have just mentioned, are real, powerful, and so very much nearer and dearer to the every day fray of spiritual warfare than most Christians would give credit for. Some say that it is just harmless fantasy much like a fairy godmother’s unique transformation of clothes and pumpkins. Still others argue that there is a difference between fantasy-magic and Rowling’s use of magic because Rowling borrows names and concepts from real, dark magic that is of the devil and, in my heart of hearts, I can only resist so long before I agree that much of the spiritual occult results out of a curiosity and a very simple and natural love of power that starts from an innocence much like the kind that Rowling reflects in her novels. A simple, childlike, and un-careful curiosity that frightens the hell out of me (I say that literally), however, is the only reason why I would not allow any child of mine of an elementary age to read these books. That being said, and as long as “vigilance, constant vigilance” (as was the motto of one of the heroes in this story, Mad-Eye Moody) is practiced, I have concluded that this book is quite harmless and in fact, quite impeccable.

The value of the bond between families, the unquestioned commitment of marriage, the brilliant distinction between wicked lies and valiant truth, the constant display of bravery and heroism, the continuous love-sacrifice, the unanimous tenet among the heroes that there are things in this world that are worth living and dying for, the never-ebbing flow of mercy, forgiveness, and grace, the perseverance to hold on to truth even under extreme persecution... these are just a small fraction of the good, true, and beautiful principles upheld throughout this book.

Rowling didn’t get everything right as evidenced by the controversy that this series has brought about, but neither did the ancient genius Plato. Plato understood the separation of body and soul after death, the cosmos (that is to say: things that are bigger than the human soul), the need for atonement or sacrifice, the created being that necessitates a creator. He understood all those things even better than most Christians despite the fact that he did not serve Yaweh, God to my knowledge... yet he is still uniquely effective in helping modern day thinkers to understand our faith. He got things wrong, but cannot be tossed off the cart of usefulness just because everything he says isn’t 100% true. I’d have to throw everyone off too if that were my reasoning... and, if I was honest with myself, I’d have to jump off as well because of how little I actually understand despite my continuous quest for truth. As such, if I am careful, I can use Rowling’s impression of a dark world and good, brave heroes to inspire me to die to myself and seek to end darkness with every fiber of my being. This is precisely how the series moved me throughout the journey and I have nothing left inside of me but to take my hat off to the brilliant woman who conjured up such a story of magnanimous light and love.

Summer Solstice

2010-06-22T18:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the longest day of the year. I don't quite know why I was particularly excited about it this year but there is something so special about the one day every single year that is longer than every other day... the sun is out for the longest that it can be (at least where I live), it will not be out that long again for an entire year. Sunlight is one of the most beautiful things to me and although it is accompanied with exhausting heat and intense rays of various kinds of the ultraviolet, I derive much pleasure from looking into the mirror at sun-kissed cheeks. Daddy and I left for the beach at 7 and we took a long stroll with some ice cream down the Laguna Beach as the sun took it's dear sweet time to say goodnight. It was pleasant. I read a poem once that reminded me of the solstice by Emily Dickinson it is called: There Came a Day at Summer's Full

There came a Day at Summer's full,
Entirely for me --
I thought that such were for the Saints,
Where Resurrections -- be --

The Sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new --

The time was scarce profaned, by speech --
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at Sacrament,
The Wardrobe -- of our Lord --

Each was to each The Sealed Church,
Permitted to commune this -- time --
Lest we too awkward show
At Supper of the Lamb.

The Hours slid fast -- as Hours will,
Clutched tight, by greedy hands --
So faces on two Decks, look back,
Bound to opposing lands --

And so when all the time had leaked,
Without external sound
Each bound the Other's Crucifix --
We gave no other Bond --

Sufficient troth, that we shall rise --
Deposed -- at length, the Grave --
To that new Marriage,
Justified -- through Calvaries of Love --

This is a beautiful poem a sad one, but a good sad, a glorious sad, and resolved sad... you cannot read it just once, it isn't fair to Emily.

Through the Eyes of Time

2010-05-29T23:55:00.001-07:00

As I was moving back home from college I did a little cleaning out of my closet and what I found brought joy to my heart. All my favorite books from my childhood and my favorite childhood play things and hobbies. I was reminded of my childhood passion for horses. I had horse paraphernalia coming out of my ears. My activity of choice for long car rides or plane trips was always a horse book. Not just horse stories, mind you, but Dorling Kindersley books on breeds of horses... my definition of edifying literature. Come to think of it, I used to be able to identify all the different breeds of horses in our nearby canyon as we whizzed past in our Toyota Previa. I went on many an adventure with my favorite horse Shasta, through the meadows of my mind and always left room in my future for that to become a reality. To this day I still watch horse movies, not for their cinematic proficiency, but for their childlike mastery and portrayal of the equestrian beauty. As I fondled my plastic horses of all different breeds and I tried hard to remember their names, I reflected back to that little girl to whom those horse adventures meant so much. I thought 19 was so far away, so magical, so grown up. Time however works so differently than I would have ever thought, and I wonder if it’s even weirder than I think it is now and only time will tell. I used to want to be a horse veterinarian till I realized I had an uncanny fear of blood and vomit. James Herriot will forgive me one of these days.
Anyways I stumbled over other things beside my plethora of equestrian accoutrements, I also came across the many books that I had attachments to and thought worthwhile enough to save. I leafed through colorful pages and was shocked at how well intact they were. My parents always instilled an incredible value and care for the things we owned and taught us to be good stewards even from an early age. I had a deeply sensitive conscience and when all my friends would cut their dolls hair or paint their nails, the most I ever did to mar mine from their original fresh-out-of-the-box state was braid my dolls hair and change their clothes. Same with books, book ripping in our house was akin to imagination homicide, intentional ripping never, ever happened and accidental ripping was deeply frowned upon because of its radical carelessness. All that to say, we took very good care of our books. In the book “Letters From Felix” every other page contained an actual letter that went along with the story. I recall my 8 year old self’s deep temptation to take the letters out of the book and play with them as if they were written to me, alas, my conscience was too strong and I left all the letters and the stickers from the back of the book in there my entire childhood.
Beatrix Potter was a classic, Patricia Polocco books and my most favorite book that I got from the tooth fairy, “Princess Lulu Goes to Camp” were some of my most beloved stow-aways tucked in the secrecy of my closet. Such good memories to come home too. Oh I almost forgot “Maybe a Band-Aid Will Help”. I wouldn’t have called my desperate desire for attention as a kid a result of being neglected, but there was the reality that mom and dad couldn’t be all things for all kids at the same time, that’s why this book resonated with me so much. This little girls favorite doll broke and her mother was too busy to fix it, she did everything she could to get her mother to come help her and finally, her mother came. And they lived happily ever after. I liked that story because without fail, in the end, mom will come. Mom might be busy and might have a lot to do, but just be patient, she will dry your eyes and give you the time you need. That’s how my 6 year old self thought through things I suppose, and I was encouraged by that. Ah good memories.

Goodness Gracious... Literally

2010-05-29T15:17:00.000-07:00

4 semesters, 44 units of blood, sweat, and tears. This, my friends, is the image of cadet-hood in Torrey. God is good. I think of where I am now as compared to where I was two years ago, anxiously anticipating college and not even remotely interested in the great books program where it seemed as if one is forced to sacrifice their soul to the shrine of tedious, brain-splitting, hard work. There was always a part of me that wished I was smart enough to be in an honors program but I most certainly was not. Had you told me that I would have had to read all these books I probably wouldn’t have even wanted to. God’s will for me fortunately was not my own. He handpicked me in a funny way and it was not because I have any talent or ability in the academic world. I’m glad I didn’t listen to myself, my plan seems so silly now. Anyways, before you freak out, I didn’t read every page of every book, several of the books required smaller selected chapters or sections of the text.

Either way, these aren’t like other pieces of literature that you read in college, I wouldn’t even consider selling these books back to the bookstores. They don’t just tell you facts or how to do certain things (which are immensely valuable, don't get me wrong); but they are an integration of history, developing thought, stories, logic, politics, and so much more. But not only are they reflections of ancient to modern culture and thought; they become a part of you because of the manner of participation in the reading of these ideas and stories. My words, thoughts, reactions are an irrevocable part of those margins and spaces of each text. God is gracious to have allowed me the strength and ability to get through each book, each discussion, each pull question, each paper, and 4 don rags. Four semesters later, I am now a cadet in the program and have done very well by God’s grace, something I never imagined myself saying two years ago. How cool. Thanks God.

breathe

2010-05-25T14:07:00.001-07:00

While I'm waiting to be inspired by something wonderful, I'll just start writing. That's how most people tell you to get over writers block right? While I don't exactly have writer's block, I stand a little emptied of labor at the end of this semester looking back at a job well done. Another semester behind, another summer ahead, jobs are few and far between and there is a very bold line in my mind between desire and necessity.
As I reflect back over this semester I think of all the blessings, all the joy, all the growth that God has allowed me in his grace. It is spring in the secret garden of my soul and I look forward to the summer where I can spend time with some of the few people I love who have been given a key.
I did a little bit of an experiment a couple of weeks ago after I read a book by a Buddhist monk about mindfulness and breathing. He talked a lot about how you mustn't live life in the moment beyond the one you are in, you must do everything you are doing for the sake of doing that thing. Yes, there is a bigger picture, I'm writing this word so I can click publish after many words. I am, however, writing this word right now and being mindful of the fact that I am writing this word as I write each and every word after this. He talked about how your breath is a huge catalyst for becoming a mindful person and to start you must be able to control and be mindful of your breath. Interesting that the word for breath in Hebrew is the same word used for Spirit in the Bible.
Anyways, the experiment was basically a walk to the cafeteria and a meal of mindfulness. It was a boring meal. Everything about it was uninteresting and I had no idea that a meal could turn in to such a task, a task that I wasn't very good at, mind you. What happened when I got back, however, was amazing, I could close my eyes and remember every step, every leaf, every crack in the pavement, almost every bite, that is, until I would come into close proximity with a few friends I knew. My thoughts, goals, immediately and radically changed to wonder how I was being perceived. For those brief moments of "Hey so-and-so!" my breath was forgotten, the pavement lost, my train of thought was derailed. I only now even remember one of the several persons that I actually saw, and I have no recollection of myself or what was around me during those moments. It then occurred to me, the reason why we forget anything is because we are not mindful of what we are doing, we are only mindful of what we feel. This is all a very dramatic retelling of the event when it was all very normal interactions, I wasn't really thinking about how I was being perceived, in fact I was probably just glad to see someone I knew and cared for, but deep down inside when we are in the presence of others I think that matters. For if I was truly absorbed into the idea and persons of my friends, I'd be able to remember all five people I knew and cared about on the way , at the caf, when as now, I can only remember one of them.
We understand our feelings but we have no idea of what's going on around us or what we are doing. The problem with this is that our feelings will never leave us satisfied, if we are feeling bad or sad, we are not mindful of feeling bad, we are mindful of what we can do to make ourselves happy again. If we are feeling happy or content we are not mindful of being happy or content we are mindful of how we can stay that way.
Now we as Americans in general are big picture people, we do things to move on to the next, we have full days and we know how to be efficient. I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing, in Ecclesiastes Solomon talks about how the end is better than the beginning of a thing and I think that is because at the end of a thing you can see it holistically, so I don't completely agree with doing everything for the sake of doing it. I think we have to do some things for the sake of the end and the bigger picture or else nothing would really get done in light of everything else, but I think there are some things, and probably more than we think, that need to be done for the sake of that thing, or else, we won't have any memories at all. Christmases will be clouded by sadness from unmet expectations, a job will be boring and shortly hated because it's not what we would like to be doing. And mostly, especially in the throws of young adult life, social gatherings will be forgotten or just depressing because we will be far to worried about how we are being perceived or how much attention we are getting. Or else they will be forgotten because we will be too drunk on happiness to realize and appreciate to their fullest, the people around us.
Think about the most intense moments of your life, a few seconds can be the most life changing, a car crash, or even when a mother loses her child in the mall, you will never forget those moments because everything in those moments are so real and you are there. It's a hard thing to do, being "there" all the time, that's why we can't do it on our own, God is pumping substance into our vaporous life, or in other words, he's breathing life into us. So breathe in the spirit of God, the name of God, YHWH and be ever mindful of the moment of space and matter in front of you. Then you will live a life contrary to the Israelites who had problems with forgetting things they were supposed to remember. Be fully happy, be fully sad, be fully asleep, be fully awake, be fully breathing then you will start to live a life that is mindful of the things we ought to be mindful of. If you have 15 minutes watch this video, it is very good:

Mirror of a Sorrowful Session

2010-05-10T22:05:00.000-07:00

This is a reflection of the book Ecclesiastes, read the 12 chapters, then read my poem and it will make a great deal more sense. Me and my amateur poetry... haha.

A, C, C, D, E, G, J, K, L, M, P, R, S, S, and God.
By: Erica Martinez

He said it all was vanity,
The doing of humanity.
A vapor in the language old
The sorrow of the story told
Of accolades and family too
What good can come of what you knew?

What hope lies in the weight of man?
Of what importance is the plan?
Success is near but never close
What can it be that hinders most?
To answer would be vain as well
Confusion’s home is where we dwell.

Understanding is hard to find
‘Cause God is God and we are blind.
What joy can be if folly taught
Is to be glad without a thought?
Doomed are we to live in sorrow,
Ever dreading what’s tomorrow.

A task we have to hope in, though,
It’s vapor too but off we go.
God’s gift to man supposedly
Should bring us joy and jubilee.
Make no mistake I don’t complain,
The work is good, but what’s to gain?

If action is approved by God,
Who’s to hinder the façade?
Drink and laugh and smile for now
Keep quiet mouths, break not your vow.
Fear God and trudge the narrow road,
This duty is on you bestowed.

Hope in the storm of the unknown
Rest in the love beneath the throne.
‘Tis up to God to bring in time
The beauty of another kind,
A love that far surpasseth me
That gives me purpose all to thee.

"What do you mean this? You just pointed to all of me!"

2010-05-03T10:43:00.000-07:00

I had a great weekend! Very little work was done, but my soul was edified and I love that. I had a job interview on Saturday morning which went, I think, pretty well. After that I got the privilege of leading some group games and discussions for Freshman Initiatives so the 8 Freshman Torrey groups (of about 15 people each) could have a time to reflect and evaluate how they are doing as a group. It was a positive experience being on this side of things, seeing as I was in their shoes just a year ago. Anyways, as we waited for the groups to finish up on their personal reflecting times late at night, some of the sophomores gathered to watch Avatar. In the midst of the night activities, there were many runs to fast food places, doughnut places, and grocery stores by the sophomores for the groups as a joyous act of service. I loved every minute of it. Some of the sophomores stayed up till the last groups were done (7 am the following morning I believe was the latest) but I crashed at 3:30 am. Church the next day was quite peaceful, there were only 11 3 yr. olds as opposed to the usual 18 or 19. What a joy they are! Lunch with the family was refreshing and wonderful! Then we rushed back to college so I could make it back in time to go with a few dear friends to see "How to Train Your Dragon". It was a fantastic movie. In fact that is why I'm really writing this post, I said all the other stuff about my weekend cause I wanted to, but this is really about my review of this movie.

It was beautifully made. Legitimately, objectively beautiful. I have never wanted to fly so badly.
It really highlighted the contrast between darkness and light in such a beautiful way. The story was common but this is the kind of story that never gets old: Young person not expected to do anything with himself, proves the people wrong but keeps it a secret. Girl discovers secret and becomes a part of the secret. Boy saves the village. *Sadly* Single parent realizes that they were wrong and apologizes. Apart from the very end, this is a superb story line about being a hero and doing the right thing when no one expects you to or even thinks you can't do it. My only issue with this movie is that (even though it could've just as well been a story warning parents not to be the alpha-viking who does not care for his son) so many movies now a days, depicts the parental figure that is supposed to be wiser, kinder, and more mature, as stupid, foolish, and not-understanding of the ways and the imaginations of a child. Not to mention that parents are rarely displayed as both father and mother together... it's all too often just one of the parents and the other one either died or left. This is a tragedy because children need to look up to their parents as heroes just as much if not more than to literary or imaginative figures. Anyways I've talked about parents before in my "The Space between the start and the stop" Post... so I won't say anymore... only that that is my only complaint in the movie. Other than that it was simply beautiful.
It had a minor political message of "save the animals" (at a higher cost than it should've been) in it but it was quite harmless in the end. There is more than one way to be a hero and I think one of the ways can definitely be to understand you're enemy and change your approach because of what you discover.
Anyways... it was a beautiful film, absolutely breathtaking scenery! An utter breakthrough for Dreamworks animation. It's worth it to see it in 3-D.

A Verse to Spring

2010-04-01T11:11:00.000-07:00

Doldrums wane.
The draining grey swallowed by new tide.
The barren womb once more leaps.
Flakes of cold (that never were), have fled
Our thoughts with warm gaze.
The pale moans of the cello reform
To whispers of all growing things
Until it sings their lively melody.
Romance’s midday scene rests in
Shade of reaching arms from dazzling
Light and emboldening hue.
When nectar fills more than a belly.
At last. The long awaited restoration
Of color and birth is nigh.
One question endures although its worth is naught:
Is it the start of something anticipated,
Or is it the end, the something hoped for?

Confessions of a Curious World

2010-03-23T09:10:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, I was somewhat relieved when I found out that this little, but extremely technologically advanced, piece of equipment was the culprit behind Google map's "street view". To be honest, though I've known about it and it has been around for some time now, I was always more of a mapquest person myself and I've only recently been exploring the amazing technology that is "street view".

My roommate was showing me her home across the country, and I too found myself viewing places that are near and dear to my heart. It was all jolly fun and brought smiles to both of our faces until one crucial question came to my mind: how are they getting these images? The fact that we used to have a basketball hoop in our driveway is now information that is available to the entire world. Not that I care about our basketball hoop, but what I care about is that people can see. If people can get 10 megapixel pictures of the outside of my house that means they can see through windows, they can potentially see what I own, they know what my house looks like. They can know the fact that our sprinklers were broken for a while, the fact that our garden gate is not always closed and... never locked. This can all be seen from a "sleepy little website" which just this month overtook mapquest in popularity.

I just described the scariness of the ever watchful eye of a curious world, so you might be wondering what this feeling of (at least temporary) relief is that I mentioned in the beginning. This is a highly technological camera in a highly technologically advanced program. But it must be manned. That is to say, (that I know of) there is no remote or automatic way of getting street view for google maps. It takes someone getting in a car and driving to each and every location and capturing one single image of it. Yeah it's a little scary that they have a detailed picture of my house... but it's an old picture. Our cars aren't even in the driveway so the world at least doesn't know what cars we drive. What I fear is not necessarily the situation because it takes time and money and a lot of work to get one snapshot of one little moment of time. What I fear is the way it could be in a couple of years.

Technology is advancing faster than we can make laws for it. This is objectively scary. We don't know what to do with technology that can invade people's privacy because the definition of privacy seems to be changing with time. We have to stare into the future and expect the worst: real time observation of our lives outside our front doors and garages. My dad was born in Cuba and was fortunate enough to get out before it was too late, but as Castro was rapidly taking power and seizing the assets of the people and removing their freedom, one of the first things that he did included an invasion of privacy. Loyalists (or people who were paid-off to do so) would be stationed at every street and would keep a log of the going ins and coming outs of the surrounding community. I don't have anything to hide but I have something to protect and that is my freedom and my constitutional rights.

Reflections on a Big Small World

2010-03-18T22:20:00.000-07:00

Sorry it's been a while. Busy times here at this beautiful university. The latest events at Biola include the annual Missions conference this week. This conference with extraordinary guest speakers, events, and the global vision has been going on faithfully for 81 years and is one of the best reflections of the mission of Biola University. Aside from it's great system of education, Biola University works hard to equip students with a passion for the world, and a safe and fertile environment in which this passion can grow and begin to bear fruit. Biola takes off three days of school to work hard to represent different cultures and to make sure that we are sufficiently out of our comfort zones by (as actively as can be accomplished on a college campus) exploring the customs and situations in which other countries and nations find themselves.

This year in particular was especially inspiring for me, a college student studying business, simply because of the different approach to missions that seemed to be stressed this year. I am in college right now. The doors to go into all the nations of the world and preach the gospel are closed as of this four year long time in my life. Period. I stand confident in the fact that this is God's will for my life right now. In the past, however, speakers have urged us to feel this calling on our lives but instead of feeling inspired, I felt as if I should be feeling guilty for being in a state primarily of consumption rather than production even though it is appropriate and, I believe, essential for young people's growing experience. This year, though, some of the speakers made it an important part of their messages to call out to the alumni and stress a heart for missions once we become Biola Alum. This gives me something to pray about and look forward to in the future rather than feel judged and guilty about in the present.

Never once did anyone prod me to go off to Kenya or Yugoslavia or Bangladesh or any other nation to preach the truth. They talked about the importance of building relationships rather than pushing a religion in someone's face even if you are called to go to Kenya or Bangladesh. Jesus didn't preach and teach a religion, he preached and taught love and grace and freedom through Christ. It is a refreshing reminder that we don't have to have the mindset that Calcutta and Jakarta are the places to make an impact for Christ. What I love most about this conference is the sincerity surrounding this message. I've heard many a mission lecture lauding overseas missions, and they include local or smaller scaled missions as either plan b, second rate, or they put on the, "that's good too" voice or else they flat-out rebuke the nature of local missions. Either way they make their bias known. Where they might have good reasons for their opinions, their focus is often in the wrong place.
I have also heard many a lecture over-stressing local missions. The "look-what-you-can-do-right-here-right-now" speech can be effective in the same way an overseas speech can be, but the danger with this speech is that people will use the fear of cross-culture to restrict themselves to local missions. Playing this "local" trump card will cause the missionaries themselves to feel defensive about their work as if they have to prove themselves with a list of good things they have been doing. This year's missions conference neither blatantly promoted nor rebuked this mentality. Many think this issue should have been addressed but I think it was.
Many overseas and local missionaries act from a desire to "do" missions. Carl Medearis spoke about how missions is not about missions. Missions is not about spreading Christianity. Missions is not about missionaries. Missions are about Jesus, the lover of souls. Local involvement and foreign missions alike can be equally hazardous to the people you are ministering to as well as yourself if you are not walking in the will of God out of a love for Jesus. God doesn't want us to "do" stuff. He wants our heart to be changed and out of love for him we build relationships and establish a deep love that can only come from the Father to those around us. The surrender of our will to God's is when God is going to send us to the furthermost corners of the world... which could also mean next door. Our own wills grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace. That's where we want to be, not "doing" stuff, but loving people made in the image of God and showing through the establishment of relationships a mere spark of the infinitely burning flame of love that God has for each person.

I loved this year's advocacy of business in Missions. Speaker Tim Svaboda spoke of several business strategies for getting into a community and making a positive impact by, first and foremost, building relationships within your community, but also helping the economy greatly by creating jobs, and successfully and intelligently multiplying the resources. This is another area of missions that people either overlook or say is a cop-out excuse for missions. I've felt this pressure even from missionaries in my own family! As a business major and feeling God's direct call on my life to move in that direction and also having a love of people and missions I wasn't quite sure where I fit in. I'm still not sure, but being at this missions conference has encouraged me that God uses this skill to directly and deeply impact people and present opportunities to talk about God's love in just as "legitimate" of a way that "missionaries" impact cultures.

All in all I think the reminders that we receive at the annual missions conferences were very well executed this year and I have little nuggets of inspiration that I will carry with me for a long time. My only hope and prayer is that students (including myself) will seek out proper coaching and discipleship because without proper coaching, guiding, and instruction we, like the Israelites, will forget. Changed hearts will not stay changed for long if we forget what changed them in the first place.
Jesus loves us... hard to fathom, easy to forget, hard to believe, easy to abuse, easy to choose, hard to live in light of this truth. We're called to do hard things because those are the things that are going to shape and fashion our character into the sons and daughters that God intends us to be for his glory by the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

A Piece of Dust

2010-03-03T09:25:00.001-08:00

My life flashed before my eyes in a hazy dream this morning. Moments before I became fully coherent of the world around me, I was old and looking back on my life. I wondered where it went. How I spent it. Why I wasn't young anymore. The exciting unknown future I thought I had ahead of me was all of a sudden behind me and bleak. I was a piece of dust that went just as quickly as it came.
I don't want to miss it. I don't want this day to pass me by because I'm living in tomorrow... or yesterday. I want to be content in moving and in taking each step as it comes to me not just wishing I was at the end. I certainly want to look toward the future and the hope that I have in Christ. "Hope" and "Future", though, are words tightly adhered to the concept of time and as such, you can't have a future and a hope if you are at the end already. Instead, the end is what pulls us towards itself, but hoping is not being or pretending to be at the end, it's the process of moving toward the end with joy and anticipation... but steadfastly walking in the path that God has laid out.
Live. Give thanks. Pray without ceasing. And love every moment.

The Space Between the Start and the Stop...

2010-02-24T09:51:00.000-08:00

The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind

and another

his mother called him "Wild Thing!"
and Max said "I'LL EAT YOU UP!"
so he was sent to bed without eating anything

That very night in Max's room a forest grew

and grew-

and grew until his ceiling hung with vines
and the walls became the world all around

and an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Max
and he sailed off through night and day

and in and out of weeks
and almost over a year
to where the wild things are.

And when he came to the place where the wild things are
they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth

and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws

till Max said "BE STILL!"
and tamed them with the magic trick

of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once
and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all

and made him king of all wild things.

"And now", cried Max, "let the wild rumpus start!"

"Now stop!" Max said and sent the wild things off to bed
without their supper. And Max the king of all wild things was lonely
and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.

Then all around from far away across the world
he smelled good things to eat
so he gave up being king of where the wild things are.

But the wild things cried, "Oh please don't go-
we'll eat you up-we love you so!"
And Max said, "No!"

The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth
and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws
but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye

and sailed back over a year
and in and out of weeks
and through a day

and into the night of his very own room
where he found his supper waiting for him

and it was still hot.
(Where the Wild Things Are: Maurice Sendak)

This poem is of the most precious nature. On the surface and childish understanding of this story, Max realized where his home was. But on a more thought provoking level, how and why did he realize this? Do you realize that between the wild rumpus starting and stopping there is one space? Everything was going great for Max until the rumpus started, then he yelled stop! Why? What changed? That space doesn't tell us anything about the complications of royalty, the realization, the desire in the little boys mind and heart. Maybe, though, it is what is not there that reveals to us exactly what that void means.
Here's my theory.
In this child's mind, he wanted to be his own authority because he didn't like being told what to do. The mother of this monster-clad child, knew that it was not good for him to make decisions and rule his own soul because he didn't know better, he was still a child. The mother wisely and lovingly punished this child by sending him to bed without any supper. As his imagination grew, he went to a far off land where he was the king of all the little monsters and himself. He was the authority and everyone worshiped him. He didn't have to obey anyone. His first decision as king? Make a ruckus.
I know I've just explained about the little boy Max, but travel with me for a moment to a different idea: that this is not a children's book. It is actually an insightful book to parents about when their children grow up into... well... teenagers. Think about the separation that teenagers experience when coming to their own and learning to distance themselves from their parents. Sendak describes this disassociation as "over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day". That's a lot of distance. That's a long way to travel away from that authority we think we hate.
The truth is we need a wise ruler to guide our steps. That's why the wild things couldn't stand to be left, because Max was the only authority they knew. But Max couldn't do it, he didn't know how to be a wise ruler. All he could do was make noise and dance, and be wild. Something happened during that space that made him realize that he needed someone to help and guide him and be the loving authority in his life because he was too foolish to do it by himself.

Sendak also makes us think of the three types of parents, there are those parents who will not allow their child to distance themselves from the "ever-wise" authority, thinking that the foolish teenager will make terrible decisions and destroy themselves. The teenagers are so suffocated that freedom is what they think they've always wanted and once gone, they'll never turn back... even when "freedom" becomes less than ideal. Then, there are the parents who set no boundaries or expectations for their children, they let them go on the wild rumpuses of their lives so that they don't realize their folly till it is much too late. The hurt is cemented, the choices uncorrectable, and the mind too far from home that it will never fit again.
The third is the mean between the two extremes. These parents set boundaries complete with discipline but most of all love. The mother lovingly stands by as the hormonal teenager sails over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day away from them to experience for themselves what the parents have always known and made clear to be true all along. The mother lovingly beckons but never demands... never fails to bake cookies for her beloved and is always ready for a conversation, a hug, a tear, a cup of tea, a story, a love letter.
What happened between the start and the stop of the rumpus was that the boy realized that he did not know how to rule himself or the wild things that essentially lived in his mind... these can be compared to the roaring opinions, ideas, feelings, emotions, impulses, attractions, and every other kind of drama and ruckus that goes on in the life of a teenager. He needed his moment as he was growing in to his own to see for himself the truth. But the parents loved him enough to not let him go too far away so that he wouldn't not come back to home and his own discovery drew him back to the lavished love that was offered freely and unconditionally.

The real authority and true wise ruler of our lives ought to be God, but God has placed our parents in our lives to help us enter in to that conversation with our heavenly father... to help us listen and hear his voice speaking to us. It's the time when our faith is becoming our own, and not just an extension of our parents belief. God is using them as symbols and tangible representations of his love for us. We must listen, and respect, obey, even when we do go on adventures to discover the truth for ourselves... but never too far from home that we forget what it smells like or what true love, grace, and good food is.

I love you mom and dad.

It's the Smell

2010-02-21T16:40:00.000-08:00

This is not a book. A book has pages. A book has a smell. A book doesn't process text, it is text. A book doesn't manage data, it IS data.
This might sound funny coming from the Business major with an emphasis in the technology of business who doesn't like books very much. But let me appeal to the emotional imagination for a bit.

You walk into a bookstore and you know exactly what you are looking for. You walk to the fantasy section and pick up Phantastes. It's weighty and colorful. Moderately thick. You open up the cover as if taking the wrapping off of a present. You hold it close to your face and breathe in deeply the scent of fresh paper and binding glue. You pay the twelve dollars for the book and you walk out. You put it in the front seat of your car as if a passenger. Then you wait a week till it rains. You light the fireplace and brew yourself some tea and sit on the couch near the fire. You turn to page 1. If you are me, you'll skip the introduction... and the forward. Chapter 1. Ah There is nothing like the opening lines of a book usually on the left side of the layout. Then you turn the page. You keep turning... each rustling sound gives you the feeling that you are moving through and with your story. Like the whispering swish of each turn down the ski slope, you enjoy each rhythmic up-down movement of your knees as you steadily gain speed, but your goal is the end. So it is with books.
You cannot do this with a Kindle. You cannot see or experience the end as it draws near. Maybe there's a page number but you can't feel the weight of the book, or the manner of your success in finishing. You can't visualize the length, or write in the margins. You can't be friends with a Kindle. Maybe I'll change my mind one day when I actually get the opportunity to enjoy the convenience of one... but I don't think so. Books are timeless and beautiful, Kindles are a result of man's need to save space and time and have the most convenience possible that is available to them. You can't be friends with convenience.

All Time Favorites

2010-02-17T21:58:00.000-08:00

Casey At Bat - Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that —
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.

Biola Chapter

2010-02-11T18:17:00.000-08:00

Hello there!
I haven't written in a while. Life is picking up speed again as the Spring semester at Biola University is in full swing. Many warm reunions with dear friends have occurred and the reality of the difficulty of this semester is setting in. Yummy. I say that sarcastically but there is a sense of warmth and rhythm to the chaos. There is the sense of simplicity when you wake up in the morning and greet the sun with a smile knowing it's going to be a beautiful day. Sometimes all you can do is breathe. Fresh breaths each one deeper than the one before, and for a moment all is still in the quiet of the morning. And life is good. If you let that moment carry you through your day, life is still good even though one must bustle around to do the tasks ahead.
There's no real point to this post, just an note on how wonderful life can be and how blessed I am. Paul tells us so many times to be grateful in all things. I have prayed long and hard for this attitude to fill my very being to the brim. And it is. Slowly and ever so error-filled, I am learning to take nothing for granted and to thank God in all things for the many blessings he has lavished upon me. Not just the things that He would have for me, but the things that please me as well.
My prayer now is that I will be able to carry this attitude throughout my life and look in the face of the storms when they come and shout praises to the Lord of gratitude... thanking Him for the rain that will make everything more fertile than it was before.
I am so greatly looking forward to this semester as I will have the opportunity to read some great books, both for the expansion of my knowledge and the furthering of my journey upward to maturity in Christ. I will have the opportunity to be in the presence of great people, those who challenge me to walk closer and dearer to my Savior. I will have the opportunity to be under the influence of intelligent professor who are helping me to grow so that I can further my accomplishment in the discipline of Business.
I am very glad to be back for my Sophomore Spring semester and will be updating my blog with something a little more insightful soon!
Erica

Love or Folly... or Both?

2010-01-28T11:11:00.001-08:00

I have recently been reading the Canterbury Tales by Chaucer. I enjoy it because I have never read anything like it before. Aside from it being a classic, it's originality is a breath of sweet aroma amidst the predictable, unoriginal, overly dramatic literature of today.
The first tale, The Knights Tale, is remarkable in that it tells a love story that not one person I know would be able to relate to. Even though it is so distant from us, we cannot help but be drawn in. The story goes something like this: A duke named Theseus encounters several ladies whose husbands have been killed and their cities besieged and they have been cast out. Noble Theseus sets out to avenge the innocent ladies and he takes two princes as perpetual prisoners, Arcita and Palamon. Theseus' friend visits and recommends that Arcita is set free as they once knew each other. Arcita is released on the condition that he never comes back. The problem with this banishment is that in prison Arcita and Palamon lay eyes on the fair lady Emily (Theseus' sister) and are both stricken with "love". Arcita curses the day he was born and rots away until he plots to disguise himself as a servant and go back to Athens. This disguise works and he slowly gains the respect of the duke until there is no one in all the land that the duke trusts more. Then one day, seven years later, while Arcita was in the woods hunting or something he stumbles across Palamon who had recently escaped from prison. They dispute about the lady Emily and decide to fight like honorable men would over her. The next day during the fight the duke, his wife, and Emily stumble across the fighting men and the duke is about the kill them both when the weeping of his wife and Emily puts pity into Theseus' heart. He proposes that they go away for a year and then with exactly one hundred knights, fight for the fair lady Emily. I'll stop here because I don't want to give anything away... but the point is: both of these men are willing to go through suffering, pain, war wounds, endless waiting for a woman who they've only ever glimpsed on occasion, one whom they have little chance of ever attaining her favor, and one whom another loves as well.
When I first read this I thought "how utterly ridiculous," "oh my gosh he's so dramatic... just get over it." I then stopped myself and heard that it was voice of my culture speaking in my mind. This way of love and sacrifice is unheard of because most men are lazy, they go through girls like a child with a play thing, and if that doesn't work out they go through another one. Also I've seen a lot of girls in my seemingly short life and I've never seen light coming off of a girl as it seemed to have done in this story. I've never seen a girl so beautiful that she could be compared to a goddess. But I realized that that is because our eyes see things differently. Our boys in mens clothing are taught to think that each girl is just another fish in the sea. Our hearts prepare for disappointment and so we stop fighting for what we probably won't get.
I had to force myself to stop saying "wow Arcita and Palamon are so stupid they should just get over it" because the way our culture says to love is different from their love. Our love is cheap. Our men aren't willing to sacrifice everything they have, everything they are, and everything they will be for true love. And us women are not working to be worthy of this love by being wholly beautiful, pure, and true. The reason why this "love" is not merely cheap infatuation, though it seems like it, is because of the commitment, the risk, and the cost. These men are willing to give up everything for Emily. It seems selfish, but why not go after the one woman, fairest woman, purest, most beautiful woman you know and give up everything for her safety comfort and pleasure and a life shared with you, the essence of chivalry and honor? Instead, the real selfishness lies in the modern meager hunt after what young men want in hopes of finding love. But love without sacrifice is a piteous love indeed.
This true love, though, is so secretly pure and encapsulates the beauty of this story. That is why no one can relate to this love story and that is why deep down we are hopelessly captivated.

An Endless Procession

2010-01-27T21:48:00.000-08:00

Instead of a Show - By Jon Foreman

I hate all your show and pretense

the hypocrisy of your praise
the hypocrisy of your festivals
I hate all your show.
Away with your noisy worship
Away with your noisy hymns
I stop up my ears when your singing ‘em
I hate all your show.
Instead let there be a flood of justice
An endless procession of righteous living, living
Instead let there be a flood of justice
Instead of a show.

Your eyes are closed when you’re praying

you sing right along with the band
you shine up your shoes for services
but there’s blood on your hands.
You turned your back on the homeless
and the ones that don’t fit in your plans
quit playing religion games
there’s blood on your hands.
Ah! let’s argue this out
if your sins are blood red
let’s argue this out
you’ll be white as the clouds
let’s argue this out
quit fooling around.
Give love to the ones who can’t love at all
give hope to the ones who got no hope at all
stand up for the ones who can’t stand up at all
instead of a show
I hate all your show.

This is a picture of the quintessence of musical genius. The hypocrisy, the conviction, and the hope that this song portrays, all in tastefully done acoustic artistry, must capture the attention of the church. This song was actually adapted from Amos chapter 5 (several various verses but mostly 21-24). It was Amos' job to be the voice of God in the darkness, to be a voice of warning and of hope. "You turned your back on the homeless and the ones that don't fit into your plans." That's the sentence that sinks deep into my soul.

"Instead let there be a flood of justice, an endless procession of righteous living, living." Ladies and Gentlemen, a life of discipleship is more than church and charities, it's more than checks and perfunctory chides. I love this song most especially because Foreman writes it straight from Amos who is speaking from God's mouth talking to his chosen people, Israel and saying that their offerings are a gross stench to his nostrils. True, we are not virgin Israel being seduced away from God, but the call to ardently seek God is just as tangible in our own lives today as it was to Israel. So how can we apply the words in this melody to our own lives?

Confession: I like the sound of my own voice... I'll admit it. But I know that if my heart is not wholly disposed to God with all I am during worship, I don't sing. I pray. I pray that God would transform my heart... so that I can sing in worship... and that my praise would not be detestable in his sight. I know that if I keep singing and my heart is not focused on the one to whom I'm singing, I'm just singing to hear myself... then I become the object of my worship therefore defaming something sacred and holy. When I am humble, my heart is changed and I sing in rejoicing and my eyes are re-focused. But sometimes, though, my heart is not in it and I continue to not sing, I continue to ask God for even the faintest desire to pray for a changed heart... and sometimes it takes a while.

But God is a merciful God. Even in our weakness he is strong and that's why he is worth singing for. That's why He is not an audience to some grand production, He's the king we worship with the best we have, with a heart that longs to please Him. God promised a return for our devotion, he promised his people in Amos chapter 5 that if they sought Him, they would live. If we seek Him, we will live.
(The picture, by the way, is a drawing of the prophet Amos. I thought it appropriately placed next to this song.)

Explained: The Set Change

2010-01-15T11:53:00.000-08:00

As you, if I even have any readers, have noticed, I recently changed almost everything about my blog. I spent hours searching for and finding a template and rewriting some html because the links didn't work and various things of that sort.
Amidst these changes, you may also have noticed that I changed the name of the blog. I thought that my first name was o.k. but excessively cheesey and quite like the annoying person that runs around telling everyone to smile all the time. The truth is, I want to dwell on all things bright and beautiful because that's exactly what real home is like, but we're not home yet. We live in the shadow of home and the imitation of what is real. I read an article by C.S. Lewis one time about the stage and how as the audience we are quite curious to know the reality behind the set. We wonder who the actors and actresses really are, and that those painted masses aren't real mountains and trees, they just look like them... and to go behind them would reveal how very unreal they are. But to step outside would reveal real mountains and trees, real people, and real lives, just as stepping behind the curtain would reveal how very unreal the shadow is. Theaters mimic what is real, but they aren't real themselves. This world is but a shadow of real home, I am fully convinced of this. That is why I changed my name.

"The Curtain Call" is when, at the end of the show, the actors and actresses stop acting. They come out on stage in their costumes and bow before the audience for their fantastic display of shadow-making (imitating real life). Something casts the shadow we love and so I call my blog "The Curtain Calls" as a summons for the curtain to be lifted and to explore what is beyond the shadows so we can make this show even more like the real, good thing. There is much to be loved in this shadow as Lewis's character, the unicorn, remarked in the Last Battle upon entering Aslan's Country, "The reason why we loved Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this... come further up and further in."

Et tu Brute?

2010-01-13T13:05:00.000-08:00

So I was helping my brother write a paper the other day. He's a Sophomore in high school and his assignment was to compare the accounts of the assassination of Julius Caesar as told by Shakespeare and Plutarch. My brother then listed a series of differences and similarities between the two accounts. Not knowing how to sum up in a good conclusion, I suggested that he pick which one tells the story better and to say why that person gives a better account. Through a series of questions and forcing him to think about this he came to the same conclusion I did (surprise): Shakespeare tells the story better.

There is nothing on this earth that is quite like a story well told. There's something captivating about picking up a walking stick and sneaking through forests with Bilbo and the dwarfs. There's something fascinating about the mental explosion that occurs in the dining car on the Orient Express trying to figure out who stabbed the dead man. We lose our breath but never tire of chasing Huck and Jim down the Mississip. The intrigue that we feel when the great lion finally appears just when the children are at their last moments, is sometimes too much to bear. Somehow in the back of our minds, we know everything is going to be OK in the end, but we don't know how, or when, or why. Some heroes lose their life on the way, Gandalf the Grey in the mines, Susan Pevensie who will never return to the beloved lands, the great warrior Patroklos. In these great stories, we laugh, we cry (at least the tears drip down our souls if not our cheeks), we think, we hope, and it ends.

That is why History is so frightfully boring to me and I've never taken to it. Because no matter how good of a historian you are, you will never capture or draw the reader (at least me) into the minds, hearts, hopes, and fears of characters involved. History will never let me experience the sadness and doubt that accompanied the separation of Merry and Pippin at Rohan. Yes, I know. The quest to destroy the ring and save Middle Earth is not a real story... but it represents real feelings and real courage and heroism and love of good which are real.

Julius Caesar as told by Shakespeare includes us in the inner conflict of men, the citizens of Rome. Shakespeare does not tell you what side to be on, he shows you the intentions and motives, the behind the scenes, the wives, the resulting fissures, all told in the most beautiful of words. That way we can actually experience conviction one way or the other when the temptation to overthrow a tyrant for the sake of the greater good arises. I don't know one history textbook that has ever moved me. Dates, times, places, endless names that I cannot remember, events of some great splendor that I don't even understand because I'm too busy trying to remember who is who. It's all very distasteful after a while and yet... it must be taught and it must be learned. Bummer.

The Propspect of Home

2009-12-21T15:29:00.001-08:00

“I’ve waited too long for this!” Said the Prospector upon emerging from his box. Why is the Prospector the villain of Toy Story 2? What about him screams “nasty” and “mean”? Why do we feel a great victory when the Prospector is shipped off to that foreign land, never to see the rest of his gang again? I mean think about it... Woody is the one who is breaking up the famous “roundup gang”; the Prospector thinks that he is being the hero by being and protecting what he thinks they are meant to be: figures, objects of devotion from admirers. The Prospector is not even the hero of the gang in the olden days, he was just one of those characters that played a secondary role, or even the dumb one who frequently finds himself in tight predicaments. This was his shining moment to knock some sense into the other fools who want to go and be... played with.
Jesse said that “he's mint in the box, never been opened.” Why not? How come everyone else was opened? What is different about Andy’s love than the love that you would receive being admired from behind glass? I’ve asked a lot of questions and now, hopefully I can answer a few of them. First off, I do not think there is much difference from going to Tokyo and being admired from behind glass, and the admiration the Prospector had received because he has always been behind glass (or whatever that plastic film the covers the front of the box). The point is, he can only be admired for his looks (which aren’t great, mind you), for what he represents and stands for, and for being a member that made Woody a favorite play thing.... he has never been loved.
We cheer for Woody, the hero, and greatly desire him to win and gain victory over the Prospector, but the truth is, we are Prospectors. We are constantly pushing for the way in which think will make us feel the most loved. The only time that we emerge from our box is to stop the loved from finding the lover... because the lover is too good to be true. Andy treasures and cares for the toys, he gives them purpose and meaning, and in a way he is a God figure to them. The toys are there to bring pleasure to Andy and for Andy to love them. The Prospector can’t fathom this so his heart is set on being loved to some capacity and instead of being buried inside a cardboard box, meaningless without the presence of the rest of the gang, being stared at and “admired” from a distance is what the Prospector thinks is enough to fill his Andy-shaped hole.
Why do we feel a great victory when Andy and Jesse and Bullseye (who listen to the call of love) escape the villain ways of the Prospector? Because they are going home really home to the place where they belong.
Maybe this is all a big stretch, but I don’t think so. The Prospector even shares his own desire to be loved... he shared of his suffering as he sat on a “dime-store shelf watching every other toy being sold.” But not every owner picks and chooses and discards the unwanted, there are good owners like Andy. The Prospector was given an opportunity to be loved by Andy, but he did not trust his love. So, he became embittered toward Andy’s love for Woody and then, when Andy’s love was great enough to draw them back home, the Prospector would not have these toys, drawn by love, take away his opportunity to be loved (or distantly admired) in the way that he thought would make him fulfilled. And that is why we cheer in the end: for love that is stronger than any other, for purpose because of this love, and for a homecoming that is more beautiful than before because they conquered the fleeting fulfillment that this world tells us will satisfy.

Christmas.

2009-12-19T22:16:00.000-08:00

Warm cozy attire, classy holiday songs, aromatic christmas kitchens, colorful holiday decorations, creative christmas greetings and family photos, special secrets and surprises, hugs and kisses all around, and nostalgic traditions that make each year a new memory yet strangely tied to every other memory. Are these the things that make Christmas, Christmas?

Technically speaking, it is not really Jesus' birthday, the kings from the east didn't really come to worship that night, just a couple shepherds. We gather around every year and read "the Christmas story" but does this season really have any ties to the miracle of God incarnate?

Nope, not really. Then why do we celebrate? Why do we even have Christmas to begin with?

I do not know about you, but I celebrate Christmas because it is a time set aside specifically to reflect on what it means that Jesus entered into to the refuse of humanity in such a lowly way when he came from a state of eternal blessedness up in heaven. This past semester we had to memorize Philippians 2:5-11 for one of our Pull Questions. If I remember it correctly it goes like this:

"Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking on the form of a servant. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow on heaven and on earth and under the earth and ever tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father." But how do you reflect? How do you "celebrate this"?

Veggie Tales tell us in "The Toy that Saved Christmas" that the true meaning of Christmas is to give to others and not be selfish because God gave us the greatest gift of all. Maybe this is true.

But now, we have three different messages of what we are to do about our christmas. On one hand we have the world telling us that Christmas is about sipping a glass of eggnog as we sleepily dance to some Crosby and dress up as santa and kiss under the mistletoe, on the other we have Christians telling us that we are to be celebrating Jesus' birth, and our children are being told that Christmas is about giving. Who is right? What makes Christmas, Christmas? Or maybe the better question: what ought to make Christmas, Christmas? Should we even think about this?

What if we are doing too much eggnog sipping and not enough reflecting? What if we are doing too much reflecting and not enough dancing? What if we are doing too much giving and not any receiving?

Gratitude, my friends, gratitude. Take joy in all things and be thankful for every good and perfect thing. For the gifts both given and received, for God incarnate, and for joyful memories. I know that's not an answer for the question of what makes Christmas, Christmas, but it's good enough to remind me not to caught in the trap of stress, unmet expectations, and the red and green christmas appearance.

May the Lord shine light, warmth and love on your Christmas!

I've Gone and Done It.

2009-12-19T13:58:00.000-08:00

I made myself promise that I would never get a blog and put my thoughts and opinions out there for the world to see, but see now, I've done it. I have created a blog just like the other millions who think they have some two cents to add to this world, and, so far, I'm off to a plagiarized start: I stole the name for my blog from an old song I used to sing from the 1840's.

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.

(Insert slew of other verses)

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.

How refreshing to hear such specific praises with joy and thanksgiving in midst of such a pessimistic culture. This is one of my goals for this blog and the merry Christmas break seems like a perfect time to start! My friends, my hope is that, through the writing and sharing of my thoughts, opinions, and experiences, I will be able to think harder, articulate more clearly, express more beautifully, in a manner that will inspire myself and others to seek the cross of Jesus Christ ardently. I did not want to write a blog before now because I never enjoyed writing. I still do not enjoy writing but it has been on my heart that, whether or not I enjoy the task, I must practice practice practice writing and communicating persuasively, graciously, and with passion so that I may know how I ought to answer each person.

Merry Christmas!