Scrumptious Gumption

"You are not alone."

"Sorry?" I said quizzically as I removed my right ear bud and glanced up at the old man.

"You are not alone," he said matter-of-factly.

I quickly realized that he was not making an existential statement but rather referring to the Air Force sweater I had just slipped on over my black t-shirt.  I noticed his Air Force cap and my cheeks began to redden. 

"Oh, um, I'm not actually in the Air For--" 

"You're going to have to speak up!" he said.

"Oh, right. Err, I was just saying, I'm not actually in the Air Force.  I just work with kids on bases over the summers."

"I bet you didn't know I am 93-years-old," he spouted out, completely changing the subject.  "And I just love it." 

I laughed and the tension eased.

By his tone, I could tell this would not be a short conversation, so I took out both ear buds and paused my latest Netflix episode of 30 Rock.  He continued in his non sequitur manner regaling tales of life on a South Dakota pig farm, daring dramas of rescues as a US Air Force pilot, his summit of Mount Kilaminjaro (at age 65, no less) and the ins and outs of his most recent endeavor, tai chi lessons.

I didn't get a lot of time to share back to him, but it's just as well, I suppose.  He's lived 93 years and I, only 22.  That means he has lived over four times longer than I have, so naturally, he should have at least four times as much to say.  That's how I see it anyway.

We talked for a good 30 minutes before an official-sounding voice came over the loud speaker and started calling for military personnel and passengers with babies to board US Airways Flight 1731.  The old man paused and reached into his pocket for a crumpled boarding pass.  

"Where's your seat?" he looked up and asked me.

"18-C," I answered glancing down at the ticket in my lap.

"Well, how 'bout that!  I'm 18-D!  Isn't that something!" he smiled and shook his head. "I tell you what... If you live a good life, good things come to you!"

I felt as if the joy received from hearing that statement might bubble up and start spilling out my ears.  To some, traveling alone can be an utterly uncomfortable, mundane and confusing time.  But, my random jaunts across the country, engaging with complete strangers, seems to suit me perfectly.  Few things fill me with such a sense of love as intently listening to the words of a stranger who is eager to share.  

As the old man and I stood in line to board, I suddenly realized that I didn't even know his name.  

I stuck out my right hand and said, "Hi.  My name is Audrey.  What's yours?"

"You can call me Ted.  Ted Gourley.  It's nice to meet you."  I smiled and he grin wryly as the airline attendant took our tickets.  I waited for him as he thanked her genuinely, and we walked down the loading ramp together.  

The stories kept flowing as we sat on the runway, braced for take-off, and ordered apple juice once the plane reached cruising altitude.  With each story, Ted got more animated and revealed more and more of his amazing story.  

He spoke of his wife with the most beautiful honesty and candidness.  They were childhood sweethearts and he courted her for seven years before getting married at age 22.  

"She was never the adventuresome type like me, but we sort of balance each other out," he sighed.  "My adventures have slowed down the past seven years though.  She got Alzheimer's, and most of my energy went into caring for my bride.  She died seven months ago."  

The corners of my mouth turned down and my eyes saddened, but he quickly snapped at me, "There's nothing wrong with that at all!  We were married for 71 years, and that's all we could dream of!"  

I smiled.  "You're right.  That's so incredible.  What an honor," I replied.  

That is the perspective of a man with far more life behind him than in front of him.  (But then, who's to say we all haven't already lived most of our days?)  He lives such a life of gratitude and it permeates his very being.  You don't see that much these days.

Our conversation faded with the altitude as the plane began to descend.  Our eyes drifted out the window to the patchwork of fields and country homes transitioning into a smattering of baseball fields, swimming pools and parking lots.  Skyscrapers towered in the distance.

As the plane's wheels brushed the runway at Chicago-O'Hare, Ted suddenly turned to me and leaned across the aisle from seat 18-D.  In his softest whisper he looked me in the eye and said, "Time and age is an illusion between you and I," and just like that, settled back into his seat.

Water filled my eyes.  Here is someone that actually gets it.  He has lived an extraordinary life, but most importantly, he knows greater things are yet to come--in this life and beyond.  

As the other passengers started to gather their things, Ted scrawled his address into the first page of my new journal.   He had me promise to write to him about my upcoming trip to Rapid City, South Dakota, and my adventures beyond.  He, in turn, promised to add me into his biography.  

As I waved goodbye to my new friend and we turned to go our separate ways in the busy airport terminal, I couldn't help but smile and shake my head as I thought about how much God's hands are all over my life.  

This is what I want: to surrender more and more of my life, my schedule and plans, and my expectations to His will and cherish whatever comes my way.  I want to be earnestly grateful for my life lived and my life to come, but most importantly for where I am right now.

I am 22-years-old, and I just love it.

Summer comes to multiply

Bon Iver, Babys 

listen here: http://youtu.be/NHJkwuaPms4

Summer comes
to multiply,
to multiply!

summer comes
to multiply,
to multiply!

and I...
I'm the Carnival of Peace
I'll probably start a fleet
with no apologies

and the Carnival of Scenes...
it grows more and more appealing
but my woman and I...
my woman and I know what we're for

summer comes
to multiply,
to multiply!

summer comes
to multiply,
to multiply!

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front by Wendell Berry

Goodness sakes alive, I can't get enough of Wendell Berry.  I had the pleasure of cramming into a PACKED lecture hall last semester and hearing him read from his latest book and recite some of his poems.  He was just the most lovely man.  He is famous for writing about the beauty of nature, rural life and the necessity of conserving and cherishing it.  He also grew up in Kentucky and has the most precious accent.  There is something special about hearing someone read their own writing, whether poetry or prose.  Where I often find frustration through the limiting nature of the written word, hearing it read aloud by it's author breathes a certain life into the linear writing.  
Anyway, Mr. Berry finished his talk by reading the following poem from one of his books he borrowed from an eager woman in the front row.  It was an absolutely perfect series of moments and made this poem all the more special to me.




Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front


Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more 
of everything ready-made. Be afraid 
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head. 
Not even your future will be a mystery 
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card 
and shut away in a little drawer. 

When they want you to buy something 
they will call you. When they want you 
to die for profit they will let you know. 
So, friends, every day do something 
that won't compute. Love the Lord. 
Love the world. Work for nothing. 
Take all that you have and be poor. 
Love someone who does not deserve it. 

Denounce the government and embrace 
the flag. Hope to live in that free 
republic for which it stands. 
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man 
has not encountered he has not destroyed. 

Ask the questions that have no answers. 
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias. 
Say that your main crop is the forest 
that you did not plant, 
that you will not live to harvest. 

Say that the leaves are harvested 
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns. 
Put your faith in the two inches of humus 
that will build under the trees 
every thousand years. 

Listen to carrion -- put your ear 
close, and hear the faint chattering 
of the songs that are to come. 
Expect the end of the world. Laugh. 
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful 
though you have considered all the facts. 
So long as women do not go cheap 
for power, please women more than men. 

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy 
a woman satisfied to bear a child? 
Will this disturb the sleep 
of a woman near to giving birth? 

Go with your love to the fields. 
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head 
in her lap. Swear allegiance 
to what is nighest your thoughts. 

As soon as the generals and the politicos 
can predict the motions of your mind, 
lose it. Leave it as a sign 
to mark the false trail, the way 
you didn't go. 

Be like the fox 
who makes more tracks than necessary, 
some in the wrong direction. 
Practice resurrection.  

Music: Wedding Dress, Derek Webb

Take a listen, and if you have a bit to read and process, take a look at this: http://www.leaderu.com/marshill/mhr08/curtis1.html



If you could love me as a wife 
and for my wedding gift, your life 
Should that be all I'll ever need 
or is there more I'm looking for 

and should I read between the lines 
and look for blessings in disguise 
To make me handsome, rich, and wise 
Is that really what you want 

I am a whore I do confess 
But I put you on just like a wedding dress 
and I run down the aisle 
and I run down the aisle 
I'm a prodigal with no way home 
but I put you on just like a ring of gold 
and I run down the aisle to you 

So could you love this bastard child 
Though I don't trust you to provide 
With one hand in a pot of gold 
and with the other in your side 

I am so easily satisfied 
by the call of lovers so less wild 
That I would take a little cash 
Over your very flesh and blood 

Because money cannot buy 
a husband's jealous eye 
When you have knowingly deceived his wife 

Music: The Tallest Man on Earth, Thrown Right At Me

These lyrics make me swoon.  I think it's safe to assume that this song was written for me.



Jump 'long the creekside
The rock's crooked line
Fun curls your hair and
The days open wide

And horses trot faster 'til sparrows fall down
But you just fall, laughin', to the snow on the ground
You grew up by playin' the valley so wild
And that's why
You're so beautiful now

And, dancin' your bike to the lonesome, young mare
You call up her owner; say your heart will be there
You'll build a collection of scars on your knees
To learn how to count the impossible trees
You grew up by climbin' the birches so high
And that's why
You're so beautiful now

And we live so close that we probably seen
The same bird, the same time
They solumnly scream
One day, I'll find just that friend who can see
All this weird beauty
Thrown right at me

Growin' by playin' the valley so wild
And that's why
You're so beautiful now

60 Days of Beauty: Day 1: Warmth

Bloomington is currently sleeping under a blanket of snow.  This means insulated boots, snowball fights, (snowball shaped welts) and lots of general mirth and merriment.  Yesterday, my friend had a birthday hike out at Griffy Lake where an eclectic troop of college kids traipsed through the snowy woods in search of the elusive pavilion that promised a well-deserved break--complete with cake balls, hot tea and cucumber sandwiches.  We finally made it to our destination and were very thankful for the tasty vittles, but when all was said an done, we were all still pretty glad to be headed back to the cars and out of the bitter cold.  Several people didn't have gloves or hats and most had less than adequate footwear.  Perhaps it was my imagination, but I swear I heard murmurs of frostbite as we re-entered the parking lot after the hike.  In long and short, it was cold; we were cold.
After everyone had the chance to go home and thaw out, a lot of the group made their way through the snow over to the Hinkle Place (my apartment) for some good old study and conversation.  As the couches and living room floor filled with people, the apartment filled with warmth.  The cold seemed to melt away due to the glow of joy radiating from a bubbling melody of laughter, Nat King Cole Christmas and the steady beat of fingers tap tap tapping on the keys of overly-priced laptops.
Isn't it beautiful when a whole room can be filled with such different kinds of people, but the mere fact that they are all human connects them and makes something special?  There is such an energy created just by being around other people and accepting and loving them for their differences; it quite literally can warm you from the inside out.
And, that is something beautiful.

"The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness to life that nothing else can bring.”
-Oscar Wilde

Less-Wild Lovers: Standing at the Crossroads of Desire-By Brent Cutis

Copyright © 1997 Mars Hill Review 8 (Summer 1997): 9-23.

In all of our hearts lies a longing for a Sacred Romance. It will not go away in spite of our efforts over the years to anesthetize or ignore its song, or attach it to a single person or endeavor. It is a Romance couched in mystery and set deeply within us. It cannot be categorized into propositional truths or fully known any more than studying the anatomy of a corpse would help us know the person who once inhabited it.
Philosophers call this Romance, this heart yearning set within us, the longing for transcendence—the desire to be part of something out of the ordinary that is good. Transcendence is what we experience in a small but powerful way when our city’s football team wins the big game against tremendous odds. The deepest part of our heart longs to be bound together in some heroic purpose with others of like mind and spirit.
Art, literature, and music have all portrayed and explored the Romance, or its loss, in myriad scenes, images, sounds, and characters that nonetheless speak to us out of the same story. The universality of the story is the reason Shakespeare’s plays, even though they speak to us from a pastoral setting in England across four hundred years of time, speak so eloquently and faithfully that they are still performed on stages from Tokyo to New York City.
Someone or something has romanced us from the beginning with creekside singers and pastel sunsets, with the austere majesty of snowcapped mountains and the poignant flames of autumn colors telling us of something—or someone—leaving, with a promise to return. These things can, in an unguarded moment, bring us to our knees with longing for this something or someone who is lost; someone or something only our heart recognizes. It is as if someone has left us with a haunting in our inner-heart stories that will not go away; nor will it allow itself to be captured and ordered. The Romance comes and goes as it wills. And so we are haunted by it.
If this poignant longing were the only deep experience of our soul, then we should not lose heart. Though we may not have satisfaction yet, we would search for it all our lives. There are enough hints and clues and "tantalizing glimpses" to keep us searching, our heart ever open and alive to the quest. But there is another message that comes to all of us in varying shades and intensities, even in our early years. It often seems to come out of nowhere and for no discernible reason that we can fathom. It is dark, powerful, and full of dread. I think of it as the Message of the Arrows.
There are only two things that pierce the human heart, wrote Simone Weil. One is beauty. The other is affliction. And while we wish there were only beauty in the world, each of us has known enough pain to raise serious doubts about the universe we live in. From very early in life we know another message, warning us that the Romance has an enemy.
The psalmist speaks of this enemy and tells us we need not fear it:

He [God] will save you from the fowler’s snare
And from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day. (Psalm 91:3-5)

Yet we cannot deny that the Arrows have struck us all, sometimes arriving in a hail of projectiles that blocked out the sun, and other times descending in more subtle flight that only let us know we were wounded years later, when the wound festered and broke.

Excerpt: Rene Daumal

"You cannot stay on the summit forever;
you have to come down again...
So why bother in the first place?
Just this: What is above knows what is below,
but what is below does not know what is above.
One climbs, one sees.
One descends, one sees no longer but one has seen.
There is an art of conducting oneself in the lowlands with what one has seen higher up.
When one can no longer see, one can at least still know."
- Rene Daumal

Excerpt: White, by Matthieu Tieler

If only we mortals all had the time and ability to write the words that rest upon our souls and likewise read those of others. Surely the world would spin a little less madly. Maybe that’s heaven: a place where all the words, that have so long been trapped in attics of hearts, are revealed, and a time when all understand and all give praise to Him who put them there sometime between our start and eternity. Indeed our lives are just a memory, stories to be told around the campfires of time; even now we stand on the brink of eternity looking back.

Music: Garden by NEEDTOBREATHE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAqer-WkT3M

Won't you take this cup from me
Cause fear has stolen all my sleep
If tomorrow means my death
Pray you'll save their souls with it

Let the songs I sing bring joy to you
Let the words I say confess my love
Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune
Father let my heart be after you

In this hour of doubt I see
Who I am is not just me
So give me strength to die myself
So love can live to tell the tale

Let the songs I sing bring joy to you
Let the words I say confess my love
Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune
Father let my heart be after you

Excerpt: Lord of the Rings

"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers!
I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me.
A day may come when the courage of Men fails
...When we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship
But it is not this day
An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Man comes crashing down
But it is not this day!
This day we fight!
By all that you hold dear on this good earth
I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

Music: Thank U by Alanis Morissette

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NL1Nu3qZLdg

how bout getting off these antibiotics
how bout stopping eating when I'm full up
how bout them transparent dangling carrots
how bout that ever elusive kudo

thank you india
thank you terror
thank you disillusionment
thank you frailty
thank you consequence
thank you thank you silence

how bout me not blaming you for everything
how bout me enjoying the moment for once
how bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
how bout grieving it all one at a time

thank you india
thank you terror
thank you disillusionment
thank you frailty
thank you consequence
thank you thank you silence

the moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
the moment I jumped off of it
was the moment I touched down

how bout no longer being masochistic
how bout remembering your divinity
how bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
how bout not equating death with stopping

thank you india
thank you providence
thank you disillusionment
thank you nothingness
thank you clarity
thank you thank you silence

Excerpt: East of Eden, Timshel, תִּמְשָׁל

By John Steinbeck

“Do you remember when you read us the sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis and we argued about them?”

“I do indeed. And that’s a long time ago.”

“Ten years nearly,” said Lee. “Well, the story bit deeply into me and I went into it word for word. The more I thought about the story, the more profound it became to me. Then I compared the translations we have—and they were fairly close. There was only one place that bothered me. The King James version says this—it is when Jehovah has asked Cain why he is angry. Jehovah says, ‘If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.’ It was the ‘thou shalt’ that struck me, because it was a promise that Cain would conquer sin.”

Samuel nodded. “And his children didn’t do it entirely,” he said.

Lee sipped his coffee. “Then I got a copy of the American Standard Bible. It was very new then. And it was different in this passage. It says, ‘Do thou rule over him.’ Now this is very different. This is not a promise, it is an order. And I began to stew about it. I wondered what the original word of the original writer had been that these very different translations could be made.”

Samuel put his palms down on the table and leaned forward and the old young light came into his eyes. “Lee,” he said, “don’t tell me you studied Hebrew!”

Lee said, “I’m going to tell you. And it’s a fairly long story. Will you have a touch of ng-ka-py?”

“You mean the drink that tastes of good rotten apples?”

“Yes. I can talk better with it.”

“Maybe I can listen better,” said Samuel.

While Lee went to the kitchen Samuel asked, “Adam, did you know about this?”

“No,” said Adam. “He didn’t tell me. Maybe I wasn’t listening.”

Lee came back with his stone bottle and three little porcelain cups so thin and delicate that the light shone through them. “Dlinkee Chinee fashion,” he said and poured the almost black liquor. “There’s a lot of wormwood in this. It’s quite a drink,” he said. “Has about the same effect as absinthe if you drink enough of it.”

Samuel sipped the drink. “I want to know why you were so interested,” he said.

“Well, it seemed to me that the man who could conceive this great story would know exactly what he wanted to say and there would be no confusion in his statement.”

“You say ‘the man.’ Do you then not think this is a divine book written by the inky finger of God?”

“I think the mind that could think this story was a curiously divine mind. We have had a few such minds in China too.”

“I just wanted to know,” said Samuel. “You’re not a Presbyterian after all.”

“I told you I was getting more Chinese. Well, to go on, I went to San Francisco to the headquarters of our family association. Do you know about them? Our great families have centers where any member can get help or give it. The Lee family is very large. It takes care of its own.”

“I have heard of them,” said Samuel.

“You mean Chinee hatchet man fightee Tong war over slave girl?”

“I guess so.”

“It’s a little different from that, really,” said Lee. “I went there because in our family there are a number of ancient reverend gentlemen who are great scholars. They are thinkers in exactness. A man may spend many years pondering a sentence of the scholar you call Confucius. I thought there might be experts in meaning who could advise me.

“They are fine old men. They smoke their two pipes of opium in the afternoon and it rests and sharpens them, and they sit through the night and their minds are wonderful. I guess no other people have been able to use opium well.”

Lee dampened his tongue in the black brew. “I respectfully submitted my problem to one of these sages, read him the story, and told him what I understood from it. The next night four of them met and called me in. We discussed the story all night long.”

Lee laughed. “I guess it’s funny,” he said. “I know I wouldn’t dare tell it to many people. Can you imagine four old gentlemen, the youngest is over ninety now, taking on the study of Hebrew? They engaged a learned rabbi. They took to the study as though they were children. Exercise books, grammar, vocabulary, simple sentences. You should see Hebrew written in Chinese ink with a brush! The right to left didn’t bother them as much as it would you, since we write up to down. Oh, they were perfectionists! They went to the root of the matter.”

“And you?” said Samuel.

“I went along with them, marveling at the beauty of their proud clean brains. I began to love my race, and for the first time I wanted to be Chinese. Every two weeks I went to a meeting with them, and in my room here I covered pages with writing. I bought every known Hebrew dictionary. But the old gentlemen were always ahead of me. It wasn’t long before they were ahead of our rabbi; he brought a colleague in. Mr. Hamilton, you should have sat through some of those nights of argument and discussion. The questions, the inspection, oh, the lovely thinking—the beautiful thinking.

“After two years we felt that we could approach your sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis. My old gentlemen felt that these words were very important too—‘Thou shalt’ and ‘Do thou.’ And this was the gold from our mining: ‘Thou mayest.’ ‘Thou mayest rule over sin.’ The old gentlemen smiled and nodded and felt the years were well spent. It brought them out of their Chinese shells too, and right now they are studying Greek.”

Samuel said, “It’s a fantastic story. And I’ve tried to follow and maybe I’ve missed somewhere. Why is this word so important?”

Lee’s hand shook as he filled the delicate cups. He drank his down in one gulp. “Don’t you see?” he cried. “The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?”

“Yes, I see. I do see. But you do not believe this is divine law. Why do you feel its importance?”

“Ah!” said Lee. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. I even anticipated your questions and I am well prepared. Any writing which has influenced the thinking and the lives of innumerable people is important. Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But ‘Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.” Lee’s voice was a chant of triumph.

Adam said, “Do you believe that, Lee?”

“Yes, I do. Yes, I do. It is easy out of laziness, out of weakness, to throw oneself into the lap of deity, saying, ‘I couldn’t help it; the way was set.’ But think of the glory of the choice! That makes a man a man. A cat has no choice, a bee must make honey. There’s no godliness there. And do you know, those old gentlemen who were sliding gently down to death are too interested to die now?”

Adam said, “Do you mean these Chinese men believe the Old Testament?”

Lee said, “These old men believe a true story, and they know a true story when they hear it. They are critics of truth. They know that these sixteen verses are a history of humankind in any age or culture or race. They do not believe a man writes fifteen and three-quarter verses of truth and tells a lie with one verb. Confucius tells men how they should live to have good and successful lives. But this—this is a ladder to climb to the stars.” Lee’s eyes shone. “You can never lose that. It cuts the feet from under weakness and cowardliness and laziness.”

Adam said, “I don’t see how you could cook and raise the boys and take care of me and still do all this.”

“Neither do I,” said Lee. “But I take my two pipes in the afternoon, no more and no less, like the elders. And I feel that I am a man. And I feel that a man is a very important thing—maybe more important than a star. This is not theology. I have no bent toward gods. But I have a new love for that glittering instrument, the human soul. It is a lovely and unique thing in the universe. It is always attacked and never destroyed— because ‘Thou mayest.’”

Quotes: Lost and Found

I was looking through the e-sticky notes on my computer and found an interesting set of quotes:

“Love is saying 'I feel differently' instead of 'You're wrong.'”

“I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.”
Robert McCloskey

“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”
Carl Gustav Jung

“Who you are speaks so loudly I can't hear what you're saying.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

“He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.”
Elbert Hubbard

“Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain but it takes character and self control to be understanding and forgiving.”
Dale Carnegie

“Everyone hears only what he understands.”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Music: Can't Take It In by Imogen Heap

Can't close my eyes
They're wide awake
Every hair on my body
has got a thing for this place
Oh empty my heart
I've got to make room for this feeling
so much bigger than me

It couldn't be any more beautiful - I can't take it in.

Weightless in love...unraveling
For all that's to come
and all that's ever been
We're back to the board
with every shade under the sun
Let's make it a good one

It couldn't be any more beautiful x2 - I can't take it in x3

It couldn't be any more beautiful x2 - I can't take it in.

All that I wanted. All that I ever needed.
All that I wonder. So beautiful.

Excerpt: East of Eden, Chapter 13, Section 1

By John Steinbeck

SOMETIMES A KIND OF GLORY lights up the mind of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every deep-drawn breathe is sweet. Its beginning has the pleasure of a great stretching yawn; it flashes in the brain and the whole world glows outside your eyes. A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then--the glory-- so that a cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man's importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates us to the world. It is the mother of all creativeness, and it sets each man separate from all other men.
I don't know how it will be in the years to come. There are monstrous changes taking place in the world, forces shaping a future whose face we do not know. Some of these forces seem evil to us, perhaps not in themselves but because their tendency is to eliminate other things we hold good. It is true that two men can lift a bigger stone than one man, a group can build automobiles quicker and better than one man, and bread from a factory is cheaper and more uniform. When our food and clothing and housing are all born in the complication of mass production, mass method is bound to get into our thinking and to eliminate all other thinking. In our time mass or collective production has entered our economics, our politics, and even our religion, so that some nations have substituted the idea collective for the idea God. This in my time is the danger. There is great tension in the world, tension toward breaking point, and men are unhappy and confused.
At such a time it seems natural and good to me to ask myself these questions. What do I believe in? What must I fight for and what must I fight against?
Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.
And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repression, forced direction, and the stunning hammerblows of conditioning, the free, roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species seems to have taken.
And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost.

This summer:8: Big Fish and Brainwriting Reflection Week 3

I wouldn't say that I have many favorites. I like a lot of things... a lot. But, picking just one and sticking with it just isn't my style. Where this trend dissolves, though, is in the category of movies. My favorite movie of all time has to be Big Fish. I am constantly finding ways to relate this movie to my life. Much of the film comprises of the tall tale memories of Edward Bloom's life. Bloom's life was one big fish story. He grew up the "biggest thing" his town had ever seen; he was the smartest, the best athlete, the most ambitious and so on. He was a goldfish in a tiny bowl that longed for the sea, a place more suited for his size.

"It occurred to me then, that perhaps the reason for my growth was that I was intended for
larger things. After all, a giant man can't have an ordinary-sized life."

He decided to leave his town, ready for the adventure of a lifetime. But, on his first adventure (taking a scary, mysterious short cut instead of the wide, long road with his friend Karl, an actual giant) he managed to get lost, be attacked by giant spiders, and end up in the Utopian town of Spectre.
Upon being greeted at the town's entrance, the mayor looked at his list and told Bloom that he wasn't scheduled to arrive in Spectre for many more years, but they were glad to have him anyway. Now in Spectre there are no streets or sidewalks, just a pristine bed of grass perfect for dancing, so there is no need for shoes. In fact, all residents of Spectre throw their shoes over a power line at the entrance to the town because there is no point in wearing them because no one ever leaves Spectre--no one except Edward Bloom. He decided that Spectre would be the perfect place to settle down... eventually. But he was only at the beginning of his adventure and had so much more to explore and discover. He fought back out of the treacherous path shoeless and eventually made it back to Karl on the main road.

Karl: "Friend, what happened to your shoes?"
Young Ed Bloom: [Looking down at his feet] "They kinda got ahead of me."

This past week, I think I let my shoes get ahead of me.

I have such great expectations for my life and the travel and adventures that I am going to experience. I have detailed pictures mapped out in my mind of me concurring the world, one big fish story at a time... but there are still seasons to life. Not every ambition and every goal is meant to be met now.
This week, my expectations did not match up with reality, and this left me feeling wrongly disappointed and incomplete. It wasn't fair of me to expect to be wandering the streets of Japan, eyes filled with wonder, following every impulse that tickled my spirit. It wasn't fair for me to long to be sleeping in hostels, befriending the locals, and not having a care when the last time I changed my clothes was. (I know to many this sounds strange, but to me it sounds magical :) )

Why? Because this trip is not just about me. I am traveling with another person with quite different expectations and desires for a week in Japan and with a completely different worldview and set of values. It isn't fair for me to selfishly disregard his experience and place my own before his. That's not how life should work.

Would I prefer to take on the roll of a rouge world traveler for a week in another country? Heck yes; without a doubt.
Is my time for that now? Perhaps not.
Will I get my chance eventually? Lord willing, yes.

Right now is the time for me to be introduced to my first foreign travel experience. It is a chance for me to slowly get oriented so I am better prepared for my future, more adventurous travel; travel where I am not staying at a secure Air Force base hotel complete with armed guards; travel where I do not have an itinerary and my direction is decided by the roll of a die; travel where I am responsible for me and not the desires of anyone else.

Needless to say, this week was very difficult for me. I felt very restricted and did not feel at all like I expected to feel. Jet lag sure didn't help my emotions either.

And that's okay.

What have I learned this week?

1) Take things as they come with an open mind. I need to do a better job at just lightening up when reality doesn't line up with my expectations. I am a big fish that sets my expectations extremely high. Sometimes life has different plans and wants me to wait for the right time for my big dreams to come true.

2) Be nice and embrace teachable moments. I admit that I got rather short with Charles this week because I felt like the two of our expectations for the week didn't match up. He was experiencing a lot of things for the first time--things that I have learned to take for granted--and it frustrated me to have to wait for him to have those experiences. That was selfish and unfair. Truth is that there are things that I have to learn from him and things that I can eagerly teach him.

3) Application, application, application. If I don't apply what I have learned from this difficult week, the rest of my trip in Japan will just keep getting harder, and I will eventually breakdown. If I do enter the rest of this trip with a fresh step and new attitude, the only way it can go is up.

So, I am going to choose to keep my feet in my shoes and my head on my shoulders. I am going to embrace the pace that this trip presents and look at everything as a learning experience for the future that may be applied to my life beyond this summer.


Above is this week's Brainwriting (an activitiy we usually do with the kids to reflect on things learned over the week). The picture on the right is an illustration of the grand expectations that I set for myself--cliff jumping in an exotic location complete with bonsai tree and sunny skies. The picture in the middle illustrates a rather cool experience Charles and I had where we were able to swim in the Tama River with some local youth. It wasn't exactly how I would have liked it to be, but it was still fresh and new. The picture on the left illustrates where I let my mind go after being poisoned by my unrealistic and unfair expectations. I might as well have been standing in a puddle in the rain with the sour attitude I had. The shoes and footprints at the bottom show how I let my shoes get ahead of me.
I have learned a lot, and am going to make the most of the rest of my summer.

This summer:2:

"I'm learning that life is made up of seasons, and that some are hard and some are easy. I know that life won't always be like it is right now. And because of that, I'm doing my best to soak it up, every drop... This is a lovely season, crammed full with so many people I care about and moments that make me happy and full on a deep level. The days are busy, certainly, but they're full of such good things. I'm thankful every day and aware every day that we have no guarantees. For every single day of this sweet season, I'm thankful, and when it ends, whenever it does, I'll hold it in my heart as one of God's greatest gifts to me."
-Shauna Niequist

My Life Anthem: I Will Waste My Life, Misty Edwards

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aqy3LljAdA4

I will waste my life I'll be tested and tried
With no regrets inside of me to find I'm at Your feet

I'll leave my father's house and I'll leave my mother
I'll leave all I have known and I'll have no other

I am in love with You There is no cost
I am in love with You There is no loss
I am in love with You I want to take Your name
I am in love with You I want to cling to You Jesus
Just let me cling to You Jesus

I'll say goodbye to my father my mother
I'll turn my back on every other love and
I'll press on yes I'll press on

Music: The Song of Purple Summer

From the musical Spring Awakening
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nrw1p6OdcSs

And all shall fade
the flowers of spring
the world and all the sorrows
at the heart of everything

but still it stays
the butterfly sings
and opens purple summer
with a flutter of its wings

the earth will wave with corn
the grey-fly choir will mourn
and mares will neigh
with stallions that they mate
foals they've borne

and all shall know the wonder
of purple summer...

And yet, I wait
the swallow brings
a song too hard to follow
that no one else can sing

the fences sway
the porches swing
the clouds begins to thunder
crickets wander, murmuring

the earth will wave with corn
the grey-fly choir will mourn
and mares will neigh
with stallions that they mate
foals they've borne

and all shall know the wonder
I will sing the song of purple summer