tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11040647878359406252024-03-13T14:51:00.090-07:00Kimberly DeWeesSee things the way I see them for a while...Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-11125082930811280032016-01-06T16:33:00.003-08:002016-01-06T16:37:30.280-08:00Paralyzed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<i> “Even so, it was the latent fear in her life that paralyzed initiative; she could respond but she could not act.” </i>When I first read this sentence, I immediately felt it could be a sentence written about me. It comes from Charles Williams’, <i>Descent into Hell</i>, a book I was assigned in college but largely evaded reading at the time. Two years later, my curiosity about what my teacher had actually been talking about led me towards reading it. The book is interesting, but I value it more for this one sentence. I know what it’s like to let latent fear paralyze initiative. I know what it’s like to feel like you can respond, but you can’t act. </div>
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If you’re like me, the latent fear within you seeps into everything. It’s hidden enough that you don’t always notice it, but it makes everything seem worse than it is. At some point, you grew weary of dealing with things. You became deeply afraid of unwanted surprises. Fear often causes you to freeze up and quit before you’ve even begun. Everything seems overwhelming. You give up. Life is something that happens to you. You are more passive than you should be. You lack the courage to change. Oh yes, you can respond. When life happens to you, when push comes to shove, when you have to act in order to survive, when a situation is too ridiculous to ignore anymore, you can respond quite well. You’re actually quite capable. But being able to take that capability and get a leg up on life is beyond you. </div>
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Maybe there were legitimate reasons to fear before, but now it’s gotten out of hand. You’ve made mountains out of every molehill. You’ve put off things you should have dealt with a long time ago because you were filled with dread. It has to end. Yet going from victim to victor in your own life is hard. It’s staring down one molehill masquerading as a mountain at a time. Even more, it’s finally taking initiative. It’s taking action. It’s climbing out of your cocoon of false safety and laziness and making yourself do the things you’d rather not. The thing is, you thought that hiding would protect you, but all it did was make life harder. All it did was make it smaller. You can’t protect yourself from discomfort. You can’t protect yourself from pain. You were meant for more than just surviving. How much more could you do if you weren’t so afraid? </div>
Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-17240766620090825752015-11-01T15:40:00.001-08:002015-11-01T17:07:05.661-08:00A Higher Regard for Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> While it’s not necessarily a problem for everyone, many, myself included, complicate our lives with too much stuff. And even if you are a person who has pretty good control over the clutter, many of us can agree that this society is driven by consumerism and materialism.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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In response to a culture of materialism, countercultures take shape that seek to correct this saturation with stuff. From my observations, it’s either the environmental or the religious/spiritual camps that are most vocal about this issue. How many times has someone thought they were clever by asking, “Do you have stuff….or does your stuff have <i>you</i>?” Or how about, “you only have two feet. How many pairs of shoes do you actually need?” Both camps have their reasons why they think having too much stuff is an unwise and even an immoral practice, and these reasons can overlap. Among them: having too much stuff keeps you bound, from living a life of freedom; it’s a waste of precious resources; why do you keep that for yourself when you can give it away and help someone else? </div>
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We instinctively know we would like a simpler life, so these messages ring true for us, but they can also weigh us down with guilt. Rather than freeing us, we feel their accusation. Every <i>thing </i>we own is looked at with suspicious eyes. They tell us to think about what we really need. Do you<i> need </i>that many books? Do you <i>need </i>that many coats? Do you <i>need</i> this? Do you <i>need</i> that? Simplify! Simplify! But what about what I want? What about the way those things we own can make us happy? Not, “there’s a hole in my soul that I’m trying to fill by shopping” kind of happy, but the way that your favorite picture on the wall makes you happy when you look at it, or the way your favorite sweater makes you feel good when you wear it. This is why I really liked the response given by Marie Kondo in her little book, New York Times bestseller, <i>The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up</i>. Kondo, a cleaning consultant from Japan, agrees that we need to start with getting rid of things, or as she puts it, “discarding”. The difference is in how she believes one should decide what to keep and her respect for the things themselves. </div>
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Her obsession with organizing started at a young age, and it was then that she was inspired by a book called, <i>The Art of Discarding </i>by Nagisa Tatsumi and realized how much we keep that we neither want nor need. Her aim was to get rid of as much stuff as was possible, but it took a negative turn. She says, “At home, I was always uptight, constantly on the lookout for superfluous things that could be discarded. When I found something not in use, I would pounce on it vengefully and throw it in the garbage.” After some frustration and a moment of enlightenment, she realizes that “we should be choosing what we want to keep, not what we want to get rid of.” She further explains her evolution in thought and sums up, in my opinion, the main point of this book in this passage: </div>
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I had been so focused on what to discard, on attacking the unwanted obstacles around me, that I had forgotten to cherish the things that I loved, the things I wanted to keep. Through this experience, I came to the conclusion that the best way to choose what to keep and what to throw away is to take each item by the hand and ask: “Does this spark joy?” If it does, keep it. If not, dispose it. This is not only the simplest but also the most accurate yardstick by which to judge.</blockquote>
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While asking “does this spark joy?” might sound hokey, she’s actually pretty tough in her advice about what to actually keep. She keeps that standard high, telling you to let go of books, for example, that only give you moderate pleasure, and books that you’ve never read, letting go of sentimental items that you know you’ll never look at that are just kept in a box. She gives permission to let go of things that you don’t actually want but you keep out of guilt because of their usefulness. “When it comes to selecting what to discard,” she says, “it is actually our rational judgement that causes trouble. Although intuitively we know that an object has no attraction for us, our reason raises all kinds of arguments for not discarding it, such as ‘I might need it later’ or ‘It’s a waste to get rid of it.’ There thoughts spin round and round in our mind, making it impossible to let go.” When talking about items of clothing that you never wore, an example of those kinds of things that our rationale tells us to hang on to, she says, “… if you no longer buy clothes of that same style or color, it has fulfilled another important function—it has taught you what doesn’t suit you. In fact that particular article of clothing has already completed its role in your life, and you are free to say, ‘Thank you for giving me joy when I bought you,’ or ‘Thank you for teaching me what doesn’t suit me,’ and let it go.”</div>
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Her outlook is a welcome relief from the negative ones I first described. Others sneer at the problem of having so many possessions, and while she agrees that we most definitely do, her measurement of keeping only what brings us joy brings us back to an attitude of gratitude towards our things. Some environmentalist and religious/spiritual people become judgmental when they ask us if we really need something. There are so many wonderful things that people put effort in making and that we have bought that don’t fit into this category. Overly practical attitudes towards life have a way of cutting out art and beauty. But Marie Kondo’s outlook sets up a standard for not only what we need, which is easy to identify, but what we really want. She makes you be honest with yourself about whether you really cared for something, and whether you will actually use it or look at it in the future. She also shows a high regard for her things, even the ones she lets go, as seen in the quote above. Instead of dismissing everything as superfluous trash, or feeling high and mighty because we live a simple lifestyle, let’s see the things as gifts to enjoy, not as chains. Kondo’s high standard when deciding what to keep will ultimately free you of the burden of having too much stuff while not asking you to demonize every material possession as something to be suspicious of. It also, as she points out in the book, will make you more grateful for the things that you do end up keeping. </div>
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I don’t think I can come up to the high standard she sets for keeping things when deciding what to keep in my own life, nor will I be following her methods exactly, but her book has given me a goal. As she says, “Keep only the things that speak to your heart. Then take the plunge and discard all the rest.” I hope what she says about her successful clients can be said about me someday: “They are surrounded only by the things they love.”</div>
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Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-74699246333106372492015-10-23T13:44:00.002-07:002015-10-23T13:45:46.526-07:00It IS a Beautiful Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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I woke up extremely early one morning for work feeling dissatisfied with every major area of my life. I stood in front of the mirror getting ready, complaining to my mom who stood nearby. When I get into this sort of mindset, my mood quickly darkens. I already knew in some ways that that sort of thinking doesn’t lead anywhere good, but it’s hard not to feel entitled to it when I deeply wanted things to be different from what they are. Being dissatisfied seems to be a way that I try to show that I don’t want to settle with how I am in my present state and how the things and persons outside of me are in their present state. I have a way I’d like things to be and this isn't it. But God unexpectedly seemed to remind me that that wasn’t the way I should be. </div>
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To back up, the night before, while I mainly pray in my own room, I went outside in my backyard at night under the stars to pray. Sounds a little dramatic, but I felt like it was a way to be closer to God. I know he’s everywhere, but the privacy of night combined with the feeling that he’s looking down from the stars helps, and I was deeply craving an encounter with God. That night, I was feeling the fear, as I temporarily do sometimes, that I was wrong about everything. I’ll feel the fear that he’s not there the way I thought he was. Everything I want to do and some major decisions I’ve made have been based on my faith, so when I feel shaky, if only for a few hours, I’ll feel like the ground I walk on day to day is falling out from beneath me. In faith, I cry out to God in those times, because ultimately I believe he’s there and that Christianity is true, and since he already knows what’s on my mind, I bring those doubts and fears before him in hope that he’ll help me get through them. I wanted him to find me somehow, to feel more real to me to allay my fears. I think I also sincerely wanted closeness with God. </div>
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Let’s back up some more before the praying, before the complaining in the early morning, earlier that night. I promise it will all connect at the end. I was reading <a href="http://www.jonathanmartinwords.com/blog/">the blog of this pastor </a>and writer named Jonathan Martin whose writings I had found through another blog. I had been binge reading the whole thing since I had found it, and that night I was reading one of the ones I had skipped. The honesty he had about the turmoil in his own life and the ideas presented in that blog were fascinating to me. In more than one blog he had mentioned the importance of U2’s song “Beautiful Day” to him, how he had even felt God speak to him through that song. He wrote about his experience at U2’s concert at Madison Square Garden. He wrote about the lines, “What you don’t have you don’t need it now/ what you don’t know you can feel it somehow.” I was generally aware of the song, mainly for it’s use in commercials, but I’m not a U2 fan, so I specifically googled the song lyrics so I could have a better idea of what he was writing about. The main line of the song is “it’s a beautiful day, don’t let it get away.” </div>
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Then came the praying, then came the complaining, then came me in the car driving down my street to work in the dark because it was a little after 5 in the morning. I turned on the radio to this station that I had recently found, and what came on? Beautiful Day! It was right at the part I had read about the night before in Jonathan Martin’s blog. I was shocked. I would have normally turned it off right away but now I was listening. <i>It’s a beautiful day. Don’t let it get away. </i>I felt like the thing was to not begrudge the day that I have for what it is not. <i>What you don’t have you don’t need it now. </i>For me, it didn’t mean that all of those longings were not valid or that I stop wanting what I want, but that I should trust God in the station that I’m at in life. Whatever I don’t have, whether through my own shortcomings, or circumstances that I can’t control, I didn’t need them the way that I was acting like I did getting ready that morning. I didn’t need them to enjoy that day. I can appreciate the goodness in front of me even as I want good things in the future. </div>
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Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-57326117027076190272015-10-15T14:07:00.000-07:002015-10-15T14:07:37.899-07:00Open-ended Waiting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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I was feeling antsy. I was questioning things in my life, wondering if I have become complacent. I thought of making changes. I started making plans. I thought, if A doesn’t happen, then B. And then if I go with B, then C and D has to happen too. I started to get way more open minded about my future and what I was going to do with it. That isn’t altogether a bad thing, but for different reasons, some very practical, some spiritual, I know that this isn’t the time for big changes. This is a time to stay put. This is a time to wait. </div>
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But plans make us feel safe don’t they? Plans give us a sense of control. I know of my natural tendency to try to predict and control the future. If I think through all possibilities, I will be safe. And yet I am making plans and decisions before their time.</div>
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Scripture has some interesting things to say about making plans for the future. For one, there’s this from Proverbs: “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day will bring” (Prov 27:1 NIV). Then there’s this in James 4:13-16:</div>
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Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast in your arrogant schemes. All such boasting is evil (NIV).</blockquote>
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While, “all such boasting is evil” sounds pretty rough, I think I better understand what these mean. It’s not really about making plans per se. It’s about the attitude behind the plans. I find it interesting how the greek and hebrew is translated to the word “boast.” And then there’s the phrase, “arrogant schemes.” There is an arrogance to presuming about the future. There’s an arrogance to thinking that we can control the future in our plans. And more than that, it means that instead of leaning on God, and trusting in him, we lean on ourselves. </div>
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We lean on our own understanding when we are instead supposed to trust in the Lord. This is one of my biggest weaknesses. I like to plan. I like to predict. I like to try to guess at things I don’t know and can’t know. I freak out and forget to stop and ask God to be involved, or I put too much pressure on myself to figure something out when God is more than willing to be there and let me lean on him. I know from experience that it is exhausting to lean on your own understanding with your plans, when you encounter problems that make you go step by step through situations that scare you, and even in interpreting scripture. I want to control things because it makes me feel safe. Ultimately, when I do that, I am saying that I am more reliable than God. That’s probably why “all such boasting is evil.” There is a idolatry that happens when we trust in anything more than God. </div>
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We make a decision to trust someone based on two things: is that person capable of what I trust them to do, and is that person of good character. Who is more powerful or good than God? But that is what is said when we choose to trust in something else. The money is more powerful. This person won’t let me down, but God might. I don’t know what God is up to, but I know what I am up to. I can fulfill my hopes and wishes better than God can because I don’t want to submit them to him, and what if he decides to take some of them away? We hold tighter to our control when we think like this. We become suspicious of God. And with that, we are deprived of the kind of intimacy that he wishes to have with us and the peace that comes with allowing him to work in our lives. </div>
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In my case, I feel that this is a time to let go of trying to control things and wait on God. An excerpt from one of Henri Nouwen’s books has been a major source of comfort as I learn how to do this. One of many wonderful parts of this piece of writing is this in which he talks about open-ended waiting (the italics are mine) : </div>
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To wait open-mindedly is an enormously radical attitude towards life. So is to trust that something that will happen to us that is far beyond our own imaginings. So, too, <i>is giving up control over our future and letting God define our life, trusting that God molds us <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>according to God’s love and not according to our fear</i>. The spiritual life is a life in which we wait, <i>actively present to the moment,</i> trusting that new things will happen to us, new things that are far beyond our own imagination, fantasy, or prediction.That indeed, is a very radical stance toward life in a world preoccupied with control. </blockquote>
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Even when we wait for something specific, we wrongly try to know how God will fulfill it. And whether we wait for something specific or not, relegating the future to our own plans and imagination puts limits on our lives. What might God be able to do if we would unclench our fists and truly surrender to him? </div>
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Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-13861648119312433092015-08-14T14:34:00.001-07:002015-08-14T14:40:49.493-07:00A Question of Value<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>"[Love] does not dishonor others. It is not self seeking..."</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Why do you have value? What is your worth made of? Is it because you're beautiful? Is it because you're smart? Are you very successful at what you do? How much have you contributed to society? Do you have value because of something you did, some quality you possess? Do you have anything to offer me? Do I see you as inherently valuable or do I see you as a sum of parts I want for myself?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I think a lot of the evil in this world comes from one person looking at another and determining his or her value by asking, "what can you do for me?" There are common groups that may come up short in answers to this question: those deemed too young, too old, those who are physically disabled, those who are mentally disabled, and those who are seen as being the wrong race or the wrong gender. In this case, the powerful preys upon the powerless. The powerful looks at those who don't have much to offer and either decides to tolerate them, eliminate them, or exploit them.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I don't think one has to be Pro Life to find the recently released undercover videos of Planned Parenthood disturbing. In these videos, executives and doctors are filmed discussing the value of organs obtained from the cadavers of aborted fetuses if sold to organizations for medical research. They also discuss how one can perform an abortion in such a way that organs are left more intact and are therefore more valuable. One video shows a fetus being dissected for parts.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> It is debated whether these videos were heavily edited and illegally filmed. It is debated whether Planned Parenthood is actually trying to profit from the sale of these organs or whether they are just covering the cost of shipment to researchers. It is also said that since the abortion would have happened anyway, it's ok to use these parts for research. While these questions are important, even if it were found that these videos were done illegally and Planned Parenthood was not making a profit from these practices, these videos expose something far worse: a human life being completely objectified.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> In the question of value, the event of a pregnancy can produce two astonishingly different views. Is it a fetus? Is it an unborn child? Does the woman see herself as an expectant mother, or as a woman with a problem? I believe whatever view one takes, it is an unborn child, and that "fetus" is a word that it used to turn the unborn child into an object. On one hand, I can understand the difficulty in the early stages of pregnancy to see it as more than a fetus, and perhaps that is a legitimate debate. I can't understand, however, how an unborn child can be seen as only a fetus when his or her organs are so developed that they are valuable for research.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> With abortion, the sad thing is, the woman is essentially saying about the unborn child, "you are an inconvenience to me," "you have come at a time when I don't want you," "you have come between me and the rest of my plans," "you make my life hard." I feel bad for some of the situation that woman find themselves in when they discover they are pregnant when they didn't want to be, but because they don't see the unborn child as having inherent value, they determine his or her worth based on how that child affects themselves, and distant themselves by calling the child a fetus. I can't see how this isn't a selfish act. The powerful can look at the powerless and say they aren't worth the trouble. Once a woman objectifies an unborn child into a problem, other people can exploit that child to get what they can from him or her. Babies are seen as a sum of valuable parts rather than whole human beings with inherent value.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Other people are not a means to our ends. Throughout history, people have been exploited because they were seen as subhuman and turned into objects. Saying that an unborn child is only a fetus so that we can feel free to say whether that child should exist and what we can get from him or her doesn't make it true.</span></span></div>
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Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-84881432034085758522015-04-14T23:30:00.001-07:002015-04-14T23:30:08.261-07:00Questions<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-aJ9xvBC0tn0/VS4FbfE9Z-I/AAAAAAAAAI0/DktlMurbFNE/s640/blogger-image--212973438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-aJ9xvBC0tn0/VS4FbfE9Z-I/AAAAAAAAAI0/DktlMurbFNE/s640/blogger-image--212973438.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> For a while now, when I think about what my Christian faith offers, I think of it as offering true fulfillment, and a quench for the thirst that nothing else can satisfy. I have thought about how basing your identity and finding your meaning in anything else doesn't work. But I am realizing how much I don't grapple with Gospel 101, as in Jesus died for my <i>sins </i>and</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> took my place. I've been thinking more about it. Obviously, it's a basic Christian doctrine and because I've been a Christian for a long time, I have long been aware of it and I have claimed it within my set of beliefs. When I really think of it though, it bothers me some. I find that if I were having to explain it to someone who didn't already accept it, I wouldn't know what I was doing, and even more, I find that it stirs up questions that I haven't really considered. I'm not just having questions in the sense that I seek information. I am questioning. I find things in my questions that question God's goodness. I think, why is it without Jesus, I deserved hell? I know that one of the classic issues that people have is the question of why Jesus had to die. It was a question that wasn't very relevant to me. Now it is. Why? Why does the </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">acquittal of</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> sin require death? If I am by nature sinful, why would I have been punished? Is there a choice to any of this? There are more thought processes and lines of questions I touch at when considering these things, but I don't even want to write them out. They are, even for me, too accusatory towards God. What I took as simple Christian doctrine doesn't make as much sense to me. If I take a step back, I hope that this questioning makes my </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">relationship</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> with God stronger because it has uncovered some shaky foundations. I actually want to do some more studying of the Bible, not my strong suit, and that would be good because I find I have too often let other authors do the thinking about the Bible for me. When I come out of the other side of my questions, I hope I can better say why Jesus is the only way anything makes sense in this world, for myself and for others.</span></span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> When I back off from the effect Jesus's death and resurrection has on the individual, and look at the world, I find it easier to understand. Christianity answers the </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">question</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> of why nothing seems to be right in this world. It says that things weren't meant to be this way. That people ought to act better. That the world would work better if we didn't put ourselves first all the time. It means that all the injustice is something God wouldn't stand. When I am disgusted at the actions of others and feel they should be punished, God agrees. The justice of God agrees.</span></span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Maybe it's making more sense.</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> If I think about the feeling I get at someone else's selfishness, pride, lust, lack of integrity, dishonesty, the way they feel entitled to things that they shouldn't, rudeness, maybe I can see it. Something rises up inside and says, "that's wrong" and not only that, I want to tell them exactly how they are wrong and make them see it. I want to say to a customer, you know sir, you're being an a**hole. He deserves it. He absolutely deserves it. I'm offended by injustice. I'm offended by immorality. I'm offended by sin. I guess God is offended too. I guess punishment is what a sinner deserves. A big "you suck. And you should be aware that you suck. You should feel small and pay for what you have done." So I guess because God knows we are sinful and don't really want to be, he sent us Jesus. Jesus says, "through my perfection, you can be perfect." "Through the power of my Spirit, you can live the way you ought to live. You can be what I always meant you to be." I think what confuses me is this feeling that we couldn't help it, yet we could help it. On one hand, I know better, and I choose the wrong thing. On the other, God flat out knew that we could not keep the Law. In fact, Paul says in Romans that the Law was only there to highlight our sinfulness. Somehow this makes sense. I don't necessarily see entirely how it does. I think I know deep down that it does.</span></span></p></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-7509719547305477292015-03-03T03:10:00.001-08:002015-03-03T11:34:47.816-08:00Food Heaven<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-HC9tGYk1uYE/VPWWvEBcS2I/AAAAAAAAAIM/6RyKG1VfJ1I/s640/blogger-image--2065790656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-HC9tGYk1uYE/VPWWvEBcS2I/AAAAAAAAAIM/6RyKG1VfJ1I/s640/blogger-image--2065790656.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If you want to make yourself sad, just sit and think about all the food that you loved that for some reason or another you can't get anymore. The restaurant closed. The relative who made that special something died and you don't have the recipe. They took it off the menu. They don't sell it anymore. If only you could taste it one more time. If only you could go back. I was talking about Mickey shaped frozen pizza and Chips Ahoy sandwich cookies with my mom and how they taunted us with them and took them away, and she said off-hand that they would be waiting for me in food heaven. So then I sat and thought about all the foods throughout my life that have passed on. In nearly every case, I didn't know our last meeting was to be our last. But I hope they're all happy in food heaven, sitting on a table all together, just waiting for me. Here's who I hope is there:</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The fried chicken, macaroni salad, and prawns at Luau Gardens</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Ah...Luau Gardens. So strange...So sentimental for me. It was a Chinese buffet in Sacramento with Hawaiian theming. For me and my parents, it was a place where we really liked the food and we could sit by ourselves and do our thing; make weird jokes, have weird conversations, eat as much food as we wanted. I never understood the Hawaiian aspect to it all. Perhaps there is a logical explanation. The owner was from Hawaii? There's a large Chinese population in Hawaii? There were fake birds reminiscent of the Tiki Room at Disneyland hanging in the middle of the ceiling, a fish tank (both of which were very appealing to me when I was in grade school), and later after they remodeled and repainted a bit, these giant paintings of whales and island scenes. And they would always play Hawaiian music. But then one day, we were eating there, and we were told that they were about to close. When I looked into it, it wasn't because business was bad, but because the younger members of the family wanted to focus more on their restaurant downtown, which I'm sure is much more hip then our beloved, strange, Luau Gardens. And so my favorite foods there have passed on to </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">food heaven. I miss their brandy </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">fried chicken, this macaroni salad that was in their little American section that for some reason tasted particularly good, and their fried prawns. So I hope food heaven includes a plate from Luau Gardens with the chicken, and the macaroni salad and the prawns.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">(The picture above is me circa 2005 at Luau Gardens in an intentionally cheesy pose. There's the brandy fried chicken and behind me is the bottom part of one of those giant island pictures.) </span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Stuffed vegetable rigatoni at Johnny Carino's</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I adore the bread at Johnny Carino's and I looked forward to getting a house salad with my entrée even though house salads aren't a special item because theirs was prepared and put together so nicely. Their entrées, however, were not so special to me, all accept for this one called stuffed vegetable rigatoni. It had the rare distinction of being vegetarian and being so satisfying that I wasn't thinking, "if only there were a little chicken in this...". The irritating thing was that it was the one thing I really liked there, and then one day I went and it was no longer on the menu. It's not that their other entrées were terrible, but they didn't come close to my stuffed vegetable rigatoni. Out of all the things to take, they took that one. Now that location is closed, so if I want my bread, I've gotta go to Fairfield. But while my bread and salad may be far away, my stuffed vegetable rigatoni died a long time ago, so I hope it's waiting for me in food heaven too.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Mickey Mouse shaped frozen pizza</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Mickey Mouse shaped frozen pizza stands out more in my memory because our time together was so fleeting. The thing about being at home and wanting something to snack on is that sometimes you just can't eat another sandwich. Sometimes you want something warm, cheap, and fast. Mickey Mouse pizza could have been a freezer staple for those times. It was small and it lacked that funky frozen pizza flavor. And what a nice pick-me-up to have it be shaped as it was. But no. It was bought, enjoyed, and never to be found again. My mom and I would look around in the grocery store and it was gone. A novelty item I suppose, or maybe it wasn't selling well, but on any account, it's made it's way to food heaven. Was it better to have loved Mickey Mouse shaped frozen pizza and lost it then to never have loved it at all? No. In this case, ignorance would have been bliss.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Chips Ahoy </span></span><span class="s6" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">sandwich cookies</span></span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My time with Chips Ahoy sandwich cookies was longer than my time with the Mickey Mouse pizza, but still fleeting. It was two little Chips Ahoy cookies with white cream in the middle, and my mom and I liked them quite a bit and got used to buying them. I even remember there being commercials for them. You think with grocery store items that they will be there forever. The expectation of longevity makes it that much more disappointing when you go to buy something you liked and it isn't there. I had them for somewhere around a year, and that was all. Sometimes I still look in the cookie aisle for them in vain. Alas and alack, they must have gone on to food heaven.</span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Lyon's hamburgers</span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I have had plenty of good burgers and of varying kinds. Different toppings. Different sauces. Thick bacon dripping with maple syrup. Onion strings. Sweet Jack Daniels BBQ sauce. Mango infused BBQ sauce. Cheese skirts. However, when I was little, I remember before any of these other things, how good these hamburgers were at Lyons, just a basic family restaurant in Yuba City. If I had one today would I still think it was as good? I'd like to think so. It was just the basics; onion, tomato, lettuce, American cheese. The meat had good flavor. The bread was really good. I highly doubt that bread was made there, but the bread they were buying for those hamburgers was what made it stand out. So if me and mom were running errands and wanted to eat out, getting a hamburger at Lyons was a staple for a long while. You knew they'd be good and you knew they'd be satisfying, because what could be better than a good hamburger? Eventually, we noticed the hamburgers changed in quality. The bread was not the same. The meat was bland. Whether it was new owners, new cooks, or an endeavor to cut costs, those hamburgers we had loved were gone, and eventually Lyons was gone too. But then maybe that's what they get for taking away those hamburgers.</span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Trio" at Bel-Air</span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Trio" is a name me and my mom made up for these three different salads from the deli at Bel-Air that we would get that somehow tasted good eaten together. They were something called Mediterranean orzo salad, which had tomatoes and capers and had good seasoning, California chicken salad, which was chicken salad with red grapes and almonds, and creole potato salad, which had a deep yellow color because of the creole seasoning and was a little spicy. I don't know how we first started getting all three, but it became something we would repeat several times after. And because there was three, we'd just refer to it as "Trio". (and if that makes us sound weird, I guess it's too late to turn back now). We would sit them open on the coffee table, fork in hand and just alternate between them, taking bites. I even had a certain order I liked to sit them in. I don't know why it worked so well but it did. But then Bel-Air decides to update their recipes and their deli selections. The Mediterranean orzo salad survived intact, but the California chicken salad got a new name, "Golden State chicken salad", and a new recipe. And the creole potato salad is nowhere to be found. And Trio is just not Trio without the combination of favors that we had before. So our little ritual has been ruined. So in food heaven, I hope Trio is there, and in their proper order.</span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Deli sandwiches at Food for Less</span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I remember getting these deli sandwiches when I was four, five, six years old. I can't even remember when Food for Less stopped making them they way they had. Was I eight? Ten? I do remember these sandwiches though. Sometimes you're in the grocery store, and you buy something for yourself to eat when you get home so you don't have to cook. And some of those times, you grab a deli sandwich. Just to highlight the goodness of those deli sandwiches of long ago, </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">now</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> when me and my mom are grocery shopping and we grab a sandwich to eat when we get home, it takes some work to make it good. I get a footlong, because it's cheaper to get one of those and cut it in half, I take it home and rearrange the meat and cheese to make it more even, </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">slather it with mayonnaise</span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15"> and </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">mustard,</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> cut up a tomato. But those old deli sandwiches from Food for Less needed no extra attention. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I think what made them good is that they came already slathered with mayonnaise and mustard. They weren't all that different, but somehow they were so much better, and the fact that they are buried in my childhood makes the why they were better a bit mysterious. A funny anecdotal memory to go along with it is this time, when I was like five years old, when I laid one of these sandwiches down in the house and we couldn't find it anywhere. We determined that if it had fallen in a strange place, we would have smelled it eventually and that the only plausible explanation for the lost sandwich was that our dog had eaten it. It would be nice to have one of those sandwiches in food heaven.</span></span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Hot Dogs at Hal's Grub Steaks</span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Hal's Grub Steak (what an odd name for a place) was a western themed walk-up and sit-in casual restaurant with a limited menu. Steak, chicken, hot-dogs and hamburgers, chili, fries, cole-slaw, maybe potato salad. It had been there a long time. My mom was a teenager when she first started going there, and it lasted until I was in grade school. Maybe the owners just got too old to keep it going if one were to guess by the aged waitresses. Since I was little, I took unusual delight in the chairs there. I didn't know they were called captain's chairs. I just liked how they curved around in the back, which was low, and made a half-circle. More than that, I loved this little yellow pin-ball, arcade game, for lack of a better description, that was there. It wasn't electronic at all. It was just a sort of bb gun mounted towards a western town scene, all under glass. You aimed at the little outlaws that were in the doors and windows. You hit one, a new one would pop up in a window, then between the swinging doors, then in the other window, then in the door. You missed, you didn't get to move on to the next one. My goal was to get all of them. Every visit was an opportunity to see if there was yet another little outlaw that I'd never seen before to shoot. But about the food, if Hal's Grub Steak still existed today, I would probably have enjoyed their chili, or have gotten a hamburger more often. But because we went when I was little, I enjoyed getting these footlong hot dogs and had no appreciation for chili. The hot dogs were good, but I remember the BBQ sauce being especially good. The BBQ sauce and the ketchup sat on the table in these little squeeze bottles, so I had a routine of mixing them together to make a sauce for my fries, and if memory serves me right, I put them both on the hotdog. Maybe more than the hot dogs, what I really miss is that BBQ sauce. But in food heaven, I don't just want a bottle of sauce sitting there, I want something t</span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">o</span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">put it on, and those hotdogs were very good. That little western pinball machine can sit next to the table of all the long gone foods waiting for me in food heaven. And maybe a whale picture from Luau Gardens.</span></span></span></p></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-5016353766913269452015-01-10T00:36:00.001-08:002015-01-10T12:40:54.485-08:00The Desire to Write: More than an Act of Ego<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-EfGoKhxwHEE/VLDsLYz7olI/AAAAAAAAAH8/fP1eHXRQX0g/s640/blogger-image-1188231868.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-EfGoKhxwHEE/VLDsLYz7olI/AAAAAAAAAH8/fP1eHXRQX0g/s640/blogger-image-1188231868.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> A little over a year ago, I came to the realization that I should write a book. I had played </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">with the idea of a book in my head. It was all a "what if" sort of thing.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> "What if I wrote a book?"</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> "If I wrote a book, I'd want it to be like..."</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> But then on a bright fall morning while talking to my friend in the front of his house, amidst his encouragement and enthusiasm about my writing, he kept saying I should write a book and was excited about it. It clicked and it felt right. The other ideas about what I might do with my writing, like having a blog with a large following, writing for a magazine, or writing a column fell away. I felt strongly that the thing to aim for now was a book. All of a sudden it actually seemed possible.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I felt good about this realization, but telling others, "hey, I want to write a book" was harder for me. I wondered if it sounded </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">presumptuous</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">. Who was </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">I</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> to write a book? What did </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">I </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">think I had to say? While I have received</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> positive feedback, I think I felt odd about telling others that I want to write a book because there </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">is</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> an element of self-aggrandizement to writing and for that matter, art in general. As William Zinsser says in </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">On Writing Well</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, "Writing is an act of ego, and you might as well admit it."</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> When it comes to my decision to pursue writing, I've wondered whether it's a bit too self-centered, especially the kind of writing I like best. I love non-fiction books where writers talk about their own experiences and beliefs. Sometimes it's a book of essays. Sometimes it's a memoir. Sometimes it's a book an author writes about a certain topic but is peppered with personal anecdotes from their lives. Too self-centered? </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Essayist and children's book author E.B. White had this to say in the forward to a book of his essays: "</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I have always been aware that I am by nature self-absorbed and egotistical; to write of myself to the extent that I have done indicates a too great attention to my own life, not enough to the lives of others." Yet, m</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">y intention is to write something like these books that I've loved, something where I use my own experiences to write about the topics that are important to me. It seems like a valid claim to say that writing, especially this kind of writing, is more of an ego boost than anything else. Why do I think explanations of my life and opinions are worth your time? </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">What value is there in all these people, myself included, expressing their feelings, their thoughts, their experiences? </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">These are loaded questions, </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">but </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">my </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">experience </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">with </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">this sort of writing is how I know there's value to it despite my questions about its arrogance. </span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">There's a quote that I love from C.S. Lewis about friendship that I think</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">l</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">s</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">o</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> describes a powerful feeling that can happen when we read. It goes: "The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, 'What? You too? I thought I was the only one.'" It's a strange thing how alone we can feel at times. Sometimes it's as light as being a fan of a little cult movie hardly anyone knows about. Of course it gets heavier. Painful experiences are often isolators. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Somehow we can logically know that there are others out there who are like us, but we still feel alone, </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">and with that, there's such a joy in finding that one other person who understands. Sometimes it helps just to find someone</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> who at least is aware of that thing that we feel sets us apart even if he doesn't feel the same about it. To go back to Lewis, he says: "In [friendship],...<i>Do you love me? </i>means <i>Do you see the same truth?</i>--Or at least, 'Do you <i>care </i>about the same truth?' </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">The man who </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">agrees with us that some question, </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">little regarded by </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">others, </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">is </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">of great importance can be our Friend. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">He need not </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">agree </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">with us </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">about </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">the answer." </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Whether it's finding someone who cares about the same questions, or who has seen the same truth, we know that that discovery creates powerful bonds between people.</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> But we aren't just limited to the people we know in our immediate life. I came across the idea in a book that one of the benefits of reading is that it allows us to have fellowship with people without the limits of distance or circumstances or time. All art allows us to connect to people we wouldn't have known. So when </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">artists, and in my dilemma, certain nonfiction writers, share their own experiences, views and feelings, it transcends a mere act of ego by providing more o</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">pportunity for us to feel understood and not alone.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> In the afterword to one</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> of my favorite books, a memoir called </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">A </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Severe Mercy</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, the author, Sheldon Vanauken, goes into some detail about the way readers responded to what he wrote that gives a fuller picture of how it helped them not feel alone. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Here is a book where the author goes into great detail about his own life; his marriage</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, his wife's death, and his own </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">spiritual journey, but it's obvious that it's much more than a chance for the author to make others hear his story. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">H</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">s</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">y</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">s</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">b</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">o</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">u</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">t</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> a reception held in honor of the book: </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">"In the midst of the gaiety, first one person and then another would draw me apart to tell me, sometimes with misty eyes, how much the book had meant. I was touched, but there was something faintly odd that I couldn't quite place. Suddenly it came to me: they were speaking, each of them, as though they -and they alone- had been stabbed to the heart." He says that later, letters came in where people felt that he and they were kindred because they believed that the impact his work had on them was unique to them. He says that they were kindred, "but in a broader kinship than they knew."</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> Vanauken draws some conclusions about why people seemed to feel like they alone related to him: "It is, I think, that we are all so alone in what lies deepest in our souls, so unable to find the words and perhaps the courage to speak with unlocked hearts, that we do not know that it is the same with others. And since I had been compelled, somewhat reluctantly, to go beyond reticence, readers were moved to kinship with one they felt to be the only other being who also knew." So when writers have the courage, as he says, to write about some truth that they've found, even if it means being very personal and vulnerable, it can be invaluable to others.</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Because some are particularly gifted with words, or, I think more often, have had the time to reflect on the experience that they've had that's like ours, it can be very cathartic for them to be able to say what we felt and couldn't</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> express. There's something about being able to name what felt vague and harness the confusion of all our emotions. By showing us that they understand where we</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> are at, authors can also help move us </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">beyond and help us get to a healthier place than we were before. It can be crucial in the midst of suffering or confusion to hear that someone else got through it, and that piece of wisdom they pass on to us might be that thing that keeps us going, that gives us hope. It might even be through them that God speaks into our lives and brings us some of the answers we've been seeking.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15"> To think back to </span></span><span class="s8" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">A Severe Mercy</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">, f</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">or me, while I certainly found passages in it relatable</span></span><span class="s7"><span class="bumpedFont15">, it's value for me lies more in how I learned from Vanauken's story. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">V</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">n</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">u</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">k</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">n</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">s</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">w</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">something</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">in</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">his</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">story</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">that</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">ma</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">d</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">i</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">t</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> worth sharing</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, that had a deeper meaning to it that went beyond the specifics of his life. As Luci Shaw says in her book about creativity and faith, </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Breath for the Bones</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, "</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">Art finds meaning in </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">all of human experience or </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">endeavor, </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">drawing </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">from it strength and </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">surprise </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">by reminding us of what </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">we know but may never have truly recognized before</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">, transcending our particularity with soaring ease." </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">It can seem arrogant for someone to speak so directly about their views of the world, their experiences, their lives, as authors do when they write non-fiction, but isn't all art an assertion of how you view the world? Isn't all art a way of making an observation, a statement, an expression of how you feel? To quote more from Luci Shaw, "</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">Art is what we say, what we sing, and what we show (in bodily movement or the work of our hands) about what is bubbling up within us, that which cries for recognition and response. Because it seems so special, so wondrous, so extraordinary to us--this upwelling from our creative imaginations--we want to share it with kindred spirits. And so we have poetry readings and gallery exhibits of art and concerts and square dances and films and fashion shows and coffee table books." </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">So I think with Vanauken, and other writers like him, they just happen</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">t</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">o</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">b</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> using their own lives and experiences in a more direct way than other artists often do</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">t</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">o</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">t</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">r</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">y</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> to find</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> meaning, Truth, and beauty. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Yes, there is an element of ego in writing about yourself, and perhaps sometimes we use art, any art, to draw attention to ourselves, but it's definitely more than an act of ego.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> So when </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I tell you </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I want to write a book, and even more, when I tell what</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> kind of book I want to write,</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">guess it does mean </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">that </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I'm presumptuous </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">enough to assume that </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I have something to say, and that my ramblings</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> about my life are </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">worth your time.</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> B</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">ut </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I hope that</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">what </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">say</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">helps someone </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">feel understood and that it helps</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15"> someone </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">make sense of their lives as </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">share </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">how </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">I've made sense </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">of mine.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><br></p></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-40234338537451702812014-11-25T18:38:00.001-08:002014-11-25T19:35:31.762-08:00The Desire to Write: From Drawing to Writing<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Yx0fJlbNCic/VHVFkeZXvtI/AAAAAAAAAHc/BhVkk6hqI1Y/s640/blogger-image--1004896173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Yx0fJlbNCic/VHVFkeZXvtI/AAAAAAAAAHc/BhVkk6hqI1Y/s640/blogger-image--1004896173.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> My choice to be an English major, and with that, a writer, wasn't an obvious one. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">When I was growing up, I wasn't always caught with a book in my hand. I drew all the time. I loved buying packs of printer paper and going through the sheets as I came up with picture after picture. I remember loving those giant artists sets with all the </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">different</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> color pencils and water colors and markers. When I was older, I would buy a new </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">sketchbook</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> from Walmart and work through it and decorate the outside. Drawing was a true passion of mine. Up until about tenth grade, I took it pretty seriously. Slowly, though, it transitioned to where I could hardly come up with an original picture but I could copy an image very well, my best achievement being a drawing of Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow from the poster of the first </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Pirates of the </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Caribbean</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> movie. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">m</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">p</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">r</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">s</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">s</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">d</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">b</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">y</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">m</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">y</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">picture </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">of </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Jack </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Spar</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">r</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">o</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">w</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">,</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">d</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">r</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">w</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">c</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">o</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">u</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">p</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">l</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">of </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">pictures for friends from photographs</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> in ninth grade. In fact, with a few exceptions, that's what I got the most praise for as I was going through school until I got older. People knew I could draw.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> But my passion, not for art, but for creating art of my own was gone by the time I was 17 years old. I specifically remember having an art class in 11th grade and how I had enough skill to impress others and feel pleased with myself, but my heart wasn't in it. I</span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15"> thought my lack of interest was just a phase, and I had a lot of sentimental ties to the idea of myself as a person who liked to draw. I had this longing to create new pieces, but knew I didn't have the desire anymore, and likely not the talent, to make them possible. As this separation from the old self was happening, seeing others get attention for their art when I had let my talents go was uncomfortable, and even made me sad, but at the same time, part of me knew I didn't care anymore. </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Looking back, I can see where my interests were transitioning from the visuals arts to the written word, but at the time I really didn't see it. I </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">didn't decide to major</span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15"> in English until </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">I was </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">about in my second year </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">of junior college. I </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">remember still thinking about being an animator</span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15"> or a graphic designer and looking at colleges with</span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15"> good </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">programs in art. </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">I see now it </span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15">didn't make any sense.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> New passions were thankfully being created as the old ones were dying. Two essays I wrote </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">for my A.P. English class in 12th grade stand out in my memory as some of the first pieces </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I wrote </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">where </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I really </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">enjoyed the process of</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> writing.</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">One was</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> on </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">1984</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">,</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> and the other was</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> on </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">The Glass </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Menagerie</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> (cheery material). I remember sitting at my desk reworking the essay on </span></span><span class="s5"><span class="bumpedFont15"><i>The Glass Menagerie </i>and </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">using my mom as a sounding board for my ideas and how I enjoyed the process of organizing and editing and rewriting that paper so that it came out really well.</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I remember feeling like I wanted to take little risks with my writing, maybe even before those essays, thinking, "hey, if the teacher doesn't like it, I do, and this doesn't fit the little academic mold, but I'm doing this anyway." </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I think with one or both these papers, my teacher banned us from </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">opening the essay with the author's name and the </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">title of the book. You know the drill: "In George Orwell's 1984, the author..." </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">He made us </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">write a hook instead. We had learned the rules so we could break the rules. Now I was thinking about moving the reader emotionally. I was forced to open differently, but </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I remember I felt like I took little risks with the endings of those papers as well. With </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">1984</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">I ended it</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">i</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">n</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">w</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">y</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> that was</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> emotional, </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">writing</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> about the glass paper weight breaking and it being a metaphor for Winston and Julia's world breaking apart. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">With those two essays I felt I had opened and closed them in a way that was coherent and meaningful. And I felt a sense of accomplishment with writing that I wasn't feeling when I drew. I think that's why</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> those two essays </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">stand out to me; that </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">sense of accomplishment.</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I enjoyed having something to say and saying it well. Some people can get at something meaningful with their paintings and drawings. I got to a point where I couldn't anymore.</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I was beginning to realize that writing would offer the satisfaction of creating something meaningful.</span></span></span></p></div><br></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-27755658483024962222014-10-24T00:17:00.001-07:002014-10-24T00:39:54.090-07:00Are You Really Asking?<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-gT0QGsqY4CI/VEn88DuHNQI/AAAAAAAAAG8/hE1vZgzbH6k/s640/blogger-image--1324050978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-gT0QGsqY4CI/VEn88DuHNQI/AAAAAAAAAG8/hE1vZgzbH6k/s640/blogger-image--1324050978.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Of course, as we go through life, there are going to be times when we want something from someone else. As children, it makes sense that we're not going to be sensitive about how we ask for those things that we want out of immaturity or sheer helplessness. But as we grow more mature, and we realize the world doesn't revolve around us, we have a choice about how we approach someone when we want something of theirs, whether it's some material object, their time, their help, or something else. We can ask, or we can demand. I think most of us think that we automatically know to ask, and not demand. But I think our attitudes when we approach the other about the thing that we want show that maybe we weren't as innocent as we thought we were.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> Here's the key difference: do I think the thing I'm asking for is truly yours, or do I think it's mine already? If I really believe it's yours, again, whether it's your time, or energy, or object, even intangibles like respect and approval, then my approach is a lot different. I will come to you knowing that the thing that I want belongs to you, and that the rights to that thing belong to you. You don't have to give it to me. If I believe I have a right to the thing that I'm asking for, if I look at your situation, and I make the judgement call that it wouldn't hurt you to give me the thing that I want, I feel entitled to it, and I really don't believe it's yours. In my mind, it's mine already. I'm just waiting for you to hand it over. This also produces impatience. We're going to be a lot more irritated at waiting for something that we think is ours than something that we respect as belonging to someone else. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">That leads to the other key difference: how do we respond to no, or the possibility of no. If I know the thing being asked for is yours, no may be met with disappointment, but also humility and respect. If the thing being asked for is something I feel I have the right to, no is met with anger, and resentment. Obviously, if something truly belongs to us, and someone won't give it to us, it would be unjust. But what if we were wrong? What if we forgot that the thing we asked for isn't really ours? I think there's many times when we think we're asking, but we're really demanding. We don't really believe what we want belongs to the other. We are out for the taking. Our wills are trying to dominate a situation. We aren't respecting the will of the other. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">It's terrible when we demand from another human being, to try to override their will. It's incredibly preposterous, when we think about it, that we demand from God rather than ask him. And I have realized that I do that very thing.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> For me, what made me see this, to unravel all of this, to see the difference between demanding and asking, was my attitude towards the possibility of a no from God about what I want. I have done this in the past and I am fighting doing it now. It's hard for me not to get mad at God when I think about not getting what I want. If there's anyone to be able to give the possibility of no to, it's God, because if he says no, it's with our best interest at heart. Here's another thing. I said before that with another person, if I'm demanding from that person, I'm making the judgement call that I know better than that person about what to do with the thing that I want. I do this with God. I think I know what he ought to do with people and situations that are his. So much pride. While there may be cases where we might actually know better than another human being about something, and we have to relent out of respect for their will, of course God knows better than us. Perhaps all of our troubles come down to thinking we know better than God. I think there are times when he says no, that he might be doing it so that he's not giving in to a brat. The same way you don't give a child candy because they throw a fit, God won't give in to us when we throw a fit. He's not going to indulge our pride. He wants us to trust him.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> But the reality of it isn't so simple. What if we have to ask when the stakes are higher? What if we have to ask rather than demand that God intervenes and saves our house, that he saves our relationship, that he restores the health of our child? Of course we want to demand. The more we value something or someone,</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> the harder it is to accept the possibility of no</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">,</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">t</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">h</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">h</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">r</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">d</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">r</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">i</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">t</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">i</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">s</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> to accept that they belong to God, and not to us. The fear is high. But thankfully we have a merciful, good, loving Father, one who understands our anger and pain and headache when we want something from him. And I believe if we bring these feelings to him, if we're honest about where we're at, he can help us know how to ask rather than demand from him.</span></span></span></p></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-399682627479687292014-10-07T01:33:00.001-07:002014-10-07T02:17:21.055-07:00To Jesus (and for those who relate):<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3" style="text-align: left; "><span class="bumpedFont15"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-6B2VMSyT9q8/VDOmRbuVh6I/AAAAAAAAAGs/2UWgxSlHQmw/s640/blogger-image--2080251785.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-6B2VMSyT9q8/VDOmRbuVh6I/AAAAAAAAAGs/2UWgxSlHQmw/s640/blogger-image--2080251785.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>I feel like I too often have been in the habit of respecting Your rules, and admiring Your attributes without actually being with You. I do it without even realizing. I am the person who thinks highly of You but doesn't spend very much time with You. I am the person who gets in the habit of admiring You from afar but doesn't sit and have lunch with You. I am the person who treats You like the CEO of the company I work for Whom I respect and admire, and not a friend, or a father, or the love of my life. Your presence is intimidating. Your power is intimidating. But why should I be scared of You? Why don't I treat You like we're intimates and not business partners. Maybe I don't know You as well as I thought I did. I'm not saying I don't know You at all. I do. And I have been in Your presence. And I know you well enough that I really trust You. I trust You with my most beloved things. Mistaking knowing about You, and respecting You and everything You represent, for knowing You is a habit I've unfortunately gotten into. All of a sudden I stop and realize that I have thought about You without letting You in. I'm glad I have all this knowledge, but I'm relieved that I remember to be in Your presence. And I hope to remember it more. </span></span></span></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-21993514912085914922014-07-07T15:51:00.001-07:002014-07-07T15:52:07.518-07:00Paint and Soul Mates<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-KL6ZStIijgM/U7skUX7fF1I/AAAAAAAAAGc/JXDmEYsXjCs/s640/blogger-image-611120727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-KL6ZStIijgM/U7skUX7fF1I/AAAAAAAAAGc/JXDmEYsXjCs/s640/blogger-image-611120727.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><br></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Target sells paint now. Not a big paint section, but I was surprised to see it there along with the brushes and rollers and trays that go with it. It's really only that they're featuring this particular brand of paint called Devine Color, a fairly expensive one at that, sold in the store in these odd little 2.6 quart containers (a clever way to avoid the sticker shock of one gallon). Nevertheless, the very limited selection of colors were all pretty and I was interested enough to look up the brand online and their website.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I nerded out enough looking around on the website that I watched this little one minute video explaining something Devine Color calls Color Discovery Cards. It's basically a white card about the size of printer paper with a square hole or as they say, window, in the middle surrounded by 10-12 dots of paint around said window. You're supposed to look through the hole at the things in your room and look at the different colors from the paint collection around it, seeing what works and what doesn't. Oddly enough, the things said in this little one minute promotional video work strangely well if you think of it as dating advice. You are the room full of your own colors trying to find the right paint, so to speak.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> From the video: "Go back and forth between what you see through the window and the colors you see on the card. You will see colors that easily connect to one another. You will see colors that will emerge that you didn't see before. Or you might see colors on the card that are not in the room, but will surprise you by choosing you."</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I think there's something to learn from these Color Discovery Cards, and from thinking about color in general. Many people like to think about choosing someone to marry as the search for their soul mate, that one perfect person. Instead, I think we should look at it more like finding a paint color, primarily with this point in mind:</span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15"> there's more than one option that works, they just work differently</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">. Different colors bring out different things in a room, and accentuate some things and downplay other things, just like different people bring out different aspects of your personality, and will help you grow or hinder you in different ways. Yes, some work better than others. Some are truly horrible together. But in general, there will be strengths and weaknesses about </span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">e</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">a</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">c</span></span><span class="s6"><span class="bumpedFont15">h</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> choice, not one that is far and away better than the rest.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> And just like with color, whether you're painting, putting together something to wear, or matting a picture, sometimes things work together that you never thought would work. Not only do I think people believe in the myth of the soul mate, but I also think they get a little closed minded about what will work and what won't. This isn't to say we shouldn't have standards or non-negotiable things that we avoid because they aren't healthy for us, but we need to be open to being surprised. Girls and guys like to create lists of what they want in a perfect mate made up of things that are not really that important. This list, in turn, often fuels the search for the mythical soul mate that will fit the qualifications. These same people will then marry someone completely different from the list because they met someone different from what they thought they wanted and fell in love with them anyway. To go back to paint, you may think you always wanted to paint your dining room a mossy green, and then you hold up the paint samples and you're not that into green. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">You consider other options, and surprise yourself when the room ends up a vivid teal, and it works!</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> Instead of a puzzle piece just waiting for that one other piece that will perfectly fit you, be a room finding a paint color! Or if I quit being so annoyingly/humorously metaphorical, be a person who realizes there is more than one kind of </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">soul mate.</span></span></span></p></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-66235581196198751322014-04-17T04:13:00.001-07:002014-04-17T14:45:01.046-07:00The Fall and Restoration of Bucky Barnes<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hVI0OK9DUqo/U0-3SeKlWQI/AAAAAAAAAGM/BZNA9ddw1Pk/s640/blogger-image--534267938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hVI0OK9DUqo/U0-3SeKlWQI/AAAAAAAAAGM/BZNA9ddw1Pk/s640/blogger-image--534267938.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> It's probably a reflection of my nerdy Christian/English major tendencies that one of the things that I like to do for fun is look for Christian themes and symbols in the movies and TV I watch. The fun part for me is that I'm sure in almost every case, the symbols are not intentional, and yet they're there and it can be amazing how well they match up with Christian beliefs. Once I saw how often they show up, mostly in the presence of a Christ figure, I look at it like a puzzle, matching the characters in relation to one another to certain figures and ideas. And so, when I saw Marvel's latest installment, </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Captain America: The Winter Soldier</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, I was bound to look for and maybe find something. After watching the movie with my family, I went to my cashier job, and during one of the more boring parts of my day when my mind was free to wander, I found some interesting things. </span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't seen the second Captain America and you don't want to know what happens, don't read anymore. Or go watch it, and then come and read.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> First and foremost, one of the things I learned in a class I had in college is that if it's a superhero movie, that superhero is symbolically bound to be a Christ figure. And so right away, Captain America, Steve Rogers, is our Christ figure. What do I mean by Christ figure? A Christ figure, as far as my short definition goes, stands in for Christ because the character has qualities or does things that are like Christ in one or a combination of ways. Usually it involves a character's sacrifice of themselves, a character's superhuman qualities, or a character's destiny to save others from harm. Steve Rogers hits all these marks. And as he became the Christ figure in my mind, his relationship to Bucky Barnes, revealed to be the Winter Soldier, became symbolic of greater things. So if you're in for a ride, here's how I see it: Steve Rogers is Christ/God, and Bucky Barnes is us, and their realtionship to each other can represent humanity's fall into sin, and Christ's sacrifice in order to bring us back to having a relationship with him.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> Steve and Bucky were best friends until Bucky </span></span><span class="s5" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">fell </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">off a train</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> in the first Captain America installment and was believed to be dead. After this fall, the real villains of the movie, HYDRA, found him nearly dead and experimented on him turning him into their personal fighting machine and fried his brain to where he can't remember who he used to be. In a confrontation with the infamous Winter Soldier, Steve is shocked to see that it's Bucky and saddened by the fact that his closest friend is now one of his greatest enemies. He knows that it may come down to him needing to kill Bucky and he's not sure that he can do that. He does end up fighting him in order to get the targets off the 7 million people that HYDRA wants to sacrifice for the complete control it desires and he succeeds. In the process though, Steve does something that shakes Bucky to the core. As the Helicarrier is about to crash, Steve tells Bucky that he's not going to fight him, and tells him, as Bucky had told him years earlier, that he's with him 'til the end. Steve's actions stir Bucky so much so that while nothing is clear to him yet, he rescues Steve out of the Potomac River after they crash, and then disappears.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15"> Maybe you can already see where I'm going with this, but to explain, just as Bucky had a close relationship with Steve, our Christ figure, before the fall off the train severed their friendship, humanity's fall into sin separated us from closeness with God, closeness that is seen in Adam's relationship with God in the Garden of Eden before sin entered the picture. And just as Bucky's mind was reprogrammed and corrupted to where he fought against everything he stood for before and forgot who he was, sin corrupts the design God had in mind for us and further separates us from him. Steve longs for Bucky to remember who he is even as Bucky fights against him as the Winter Soldier. Christ desires to have a relationship with us even as we work against him and what he stands for, and don't recognize or acknowledge him. What is it about Christ that surprises people and shows God's love for us? What is it that stirs us? Sacrifice. And it's Steve Rogers's sacrifice of himself, the shocking proposition that in the face of death, he's not going to fight Bucky</span></span><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="bumpedFont15"> in honor of their friendship that is unsettling to Bucky in the best way. Why would anyone do such a thing except for love? At the end of the film, Steve tells Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, that he's going after Bucky. He's determined for Bucky to remember who he used to be. To continue the symbolism, Christ not only sacrificed himself for us, he continues to pursue us. He doesn't expect the sacrifice in and of itself to restore the relationship. It opened the doors for the full restoration of the relationship and of ourselves that is to come.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I stayed though the credits figuring that like the other movies, this one would have one last scene. Indeed it did, and it was of a guy with the hood of his black sweatshirt up over his head looking at the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian Museum shown earlier in the film. From a new angle, we see that it's Bucky, trying to remember who he is as he puts the pieces of his old life back together. And so I was thinking about what the story arc of the three Captain America movies will be together as there is sure to be a third. We know that Steve is going to look for Bucky and that his sacrifice planted a seed in Bucky's mind that has made him curious about his past. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">While there are heros and villains, and Steve Rogers's adjustment to modernity, and the whole world in harm's way, the main arc of the story seems to be one that I believe is very much like each of our own stories, the fall and restoration of Bucky Barnes.</span></span></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-18609797543853442582014-02-27T04:54:00.001-08:002014-02-27T05:31:25.552-08:00Forging My Path<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-EhuTuJXsQrE/Uw81lClyJ6I/AAAAAAAAAFs/OpWBKf_qwbM/s640/blogger-image-1096506370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-EhuTuJXsQrE/Uw81lClyJ6I/AAAAAAAAAFs/OpWBKf_qwbM/s640/blogger-image-1096506370.jpg"></a></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> The path- the obvious metephor for life. It helps us understand how we're feeling about where we're at, and reflects our anxiety about where to go next when it isn't clear. Familiar phrases and ideas show it's significance. A fork in the road. The pathway to success. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. The straight and narrow. We come to points in our lives where the familiar questions, "am I on the right path?" and "where do I go next?" become very relevant.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> In my own life, I remember very well feeling like the path had run out when I was in junior college. I went there for different reasons, but one of the reasons was that I wanted time to figure out what I was doing next. I hadn't decided on a major, I didn't know what college I was transferring to, and I didn't know how I would come up with the money to transfer. When I was in grade school, junior high, high school, I sort of knew what was coming next. I knew what was ahead on that path. I didn't know the details, but I had a basic idea what it would look like. After high school,</span></span><span class="s5"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I felt like I had wandered into a strange new land wondering how I got there. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Sometimes during that time at junior college, I felt a little like the single path had run out and there were about 10 other options ahead of me and it was confusing trying to get the information I needed to decide which was the right one. A lot of the time, though, I felt like I had come to the edge of a cliff and there was just nothing. I had come to the end of what I knew and I couldn't even conceive what the other options were. I think it was mainly because I didn't know what I wanted and it took some time to figure out what that was. Finally the pathway formed and I knew what was ahead the next couple of years. I was focused on transferring and enjoying my new school and finally getting my Bachelor's degree.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> It seems like when we have big goals up ahead, like getting a degree, we get so focused and anticipate such relief when we get there that having to move past that point in the path and keep going, like we all must do, is destined to feel strange. It's like the movie kept going past the satisfying ending. Now what? For me, I got that degree last year, and life afterward was not as strange as I anticipated. Summer, after all, is when you're supposed to be out of school. Fall, I felt a little sentimental not going back but enjoyed not having to go. Birthdays and holidays gave me something to think about and plan for and do at the end of the year. Even more, 2013 was not kind to me and put me in crisis mode. Life is more day to day in such times. You're not looking ahead down the path very much because it's too scary. Now things aren't quite as dire, the holidays are over and I have started a new job, and so </span></span><span class="s5"><span class="bumpedFont15">I'm starting to feel that strangeness. I think the feeling was just delayed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Saying that life is weird after we graduate college isn't an original idea. It's anticipated. It's written about. It's given a name: quarter-life crisis. I don't know if the concept of the quarter life crisis is the best explanation of where I'm at, but I am definitely in unfamiliar territory and what's next isn't so easily predictable. So if I want to have fun with this metephor game, and give a picture of where I'm at right now, I'd say that I've wandered out past the distinguishable path and it's just dry dirt under my feet in open territory with no distinguable landmarks. And I'm feeling some anxiety at the thought that I'm walking in the wrong direction going nowhere. Is this even the right metephor? I also feel this burden to form my own path, like if I don't start creating something for myself, I'm just going to be on a formless path in formless surroundings. I have to put time and effort into the relationships in my life. I have to make an effort to meet new people. I have to insist on doing what I want career wise and not let life just sweep me along. I have more say-so in what that path will look like. Some of it will form itself, and it will tumble along once I have my own family, but right now I've got to start building. I've got to take shapeless land and draw two parallel lines. I've got to plant the plants and build the structures along the path.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Let me concede. As a Christian, I believe God is ultimately in control, and that I'm not having to build alone. Perhaps hardly at all if I had the big picture. And if we want to have a nice nerdy discussion about free will and predestination and whether we're forging the path, or just appear to be, we could. But whatever the case, I feel like I have more responsibility in what's ahead. I suppose it's a priviledge, though a scary one at times. I will not always get this much choice in my life. And I know better how to trust God along my way. Where's my shovel?</span></span></div>
Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-84499509942351132652013-12-10T05:19:00.001-08:002013-12-11T21:09:42.126-08:00The Great Last Advent<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7OGSOkWRdZI/UqcUw_WpUdI/AAAAAAAAAEw/y3HuD_ygiFs/s640/blogger-image-1624483887.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7OGSOkWRdZI/UqcUw_WpUdI/AAAAAAAAAEw/y3HuD_ygiFs/s640/blogger-image-1624483887.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Until last year, I hardly knew anything about Advent. Some Christians, depending on their denominational backgrounds, grow up with more awareness of the liturgical seasons. While this was not something that I grew up with, in the past couple of years I have come to apprectiate, first, Lent, and now Advent.</span></span></p><p class="s7" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> My mom and I have been reading a collection of Dietrich Bonhoeffer's writings called </span></span><span class="s6" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">God Is In the Manger</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">. Put </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">together specifically for Advent, and in the style of a devotional, the title of the first reading describes Advent well: "The Advent Season Is a Season of Waiting." Beginning the fourth Sunday before Christmas, it ends on Christmas day, and as Christmas celebrates Jesus' birth, Advent acknowledges the time when humanity waited for a Savior. One thing I became very interested by, something those who have celebrated Advent every year may know very well, is that Advent is also about waiting for the second coming of Christ. As Bonhoeffer wrote in that first reading mentioned before, "The Advent season is a season of waiting, but our whole life is an Advent season, that is, a season of waiting for the last Advent, for the time when there will be a new heaven and a new earth."</span></span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> As </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">I </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">thought </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">more about this double waiting of Advent,</span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">I </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">thought </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">about how </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">we're in a similar </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">position as the Jewish </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">people were when </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">they were </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">waiting for a Messiah. They weren't quite sure what to expect, but t</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">he prophets gave them clues. If you're familiar with Handel's </span></span><span class="s6" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">Messiah</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, you might know the song, "For unto us a son is born," its lyrics a direct quotation of one of those clues, Isaiah 9:3:</span></span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For unto us a Child is born</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Unto us a Son is given</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And the government</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Shall be upon His shoulder</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And his name shall be called</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Wonderful</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Counselor</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Mighty God</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Everlasting Father</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Prince of Peace.</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I'm sure the Jewish people didn't think the establishment of the Messiah's kingdom would be such a process. </span></span><span class="s8"><span class="bumpedFont15">We know that many expected a political leader, someone who would free the Jewish people from Roman rule. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Many expected someone who looked more like what they thought a king should look like. Instead He came in great humility, born in a manger to poor parents; the King who didn't care about overthrowing the flesh and blood kingdoms of this earth, who had a greater purpose in mind. As we wait for Jesus' second coming, we also have clues, but I wonder if we will be just as taken off guard as we were when he came the first time.</span></span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I don't know if this happens to every Christian, but I'm sure I'm not alone in being struck at times by the absurdity of what I believe. A while ago, for a couple of days, I was thinking about how, as a Christian, I'm supposed to believe in the second coming of Christ. During this period, though, I was more aware of how this would seem to someone outside of my perspective, and from those outsider pair of eyes, it looked crazy. Somehow the mysteries of old, namely, the resurrection, seemed more acceptable because the New Testament is full of people who testified to, made sense of and believed in the resurrection. I know that this doesn't really make sense. If I can believe in one, I should be able to believe in the other. The resurrection of the Son of God is itself a radical belief (I'm aware that to someone who doesn't share my Christian beliefs, it may all sound absurd). Yet it seems that while it's somewhat acceptable in our culture to say you believe that Jesus died for your sins, say that he's coming back and you'll be looked at like you're Harold Camping (and if your don't remember or know who that is, a quick Google search can fix that).</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> With all this in mind, I take comfort in Advent. I like to think that there were times when the Jewish people felt a little crazy as they continued to wait for a Messiah to come. Some, very admirably, continued to hope for events to pass that they would never see happen in their lifetime. The Jewish people waited hundreds of years for God to deliever them from Egypt. Finally Moses came. They waited even longer for the arrival of a Messiah. Finally Jesus was born.</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> To go back once again to that reading from </span></span><span class="s6" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">God Is In the Manger</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">, says Bonhoeffer, "It's still not Christmas, but it's also not the great last Advent, the last coming of Christ. Through all the Advents of our life that we celebrate runs the longing for the last Advent, when the word will be: "See, I am making all things new" (Rev. 21:5). We wait for Jesus to come back and make all things new. Finally, He will come.</span></span></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-63667172582646344062013-10-15T16:12:00.001-07:002013-10-15T16:19:58.622-07:00A Dysfunctional Government Of, By and For the People<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-PxIlnxMXlT0/Ul3NFnMiPqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/rs7aUF7aIYw/s640/blogger-image--961408063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-PxIlnxMXlT0/Ul3NFnMiPqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/rs7aUF7aIYw/s640/blogger-image--961408063.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While cynicism is always high when it comes to the reliability of our elected officials, Americans have become even more cynical about their leaders since the government shutdown. Polls show that Republicans and Democrats alike are taking a hit in their approval ratings, and the number of people who would like to throw everybody out in Washington is at an all time high. This shut down has seemed to put a spotlight on the government's inability to function. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If we are indeed a government that is of the people, by the people, for the people, than isn't our dysfunctional government a reflection of dysfunctional people? I find that I don't just feel cynical about the leaders of our country. I feel cynical about the people that make up our country. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">From my understating, in order for a government to function, it needs informed voters, and generally moral people (I don't mean necessarily religious). Our government was founded with a certain suspicion of people in power because it knew very well how power could corrupt those who hold it. This is why power was put in the hands of the people who were thought to be more dependable. But what do we do when we're not? It's happened throughout our history more than it should have, and I think it's happening now. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Things that should be occasional have become frequent, and the checks and balances in our system are having a hard time making up all the lying and cheating and need among the people. The government, with all it's services and responsibilities, functions better when fraud, whether, for example, it's claiming disability that isn't deserved or cheating on taxes, is occasional and not frequent. It functions better when we have to watch out for the occasional corrupt leader, and don't wonder if all are corrupt. Things work better when parents properly care for their children and neglect is less frequent than it is. Things work better when we're responsible with our money and don't create situations for ourselves where we need the government to bail us out of our debt. And how can we hold anyone accountable if we don't stay informed? How can we hold our leaders accountable when our elections are more about the man or woman with the best personality and not the one who is best for the job?</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Our government is disappointing, but as in most cases, real change comes from the bottom up, not the top down. By this I mean, if we take care that we are responsible, and encourage responsibility in our friends and neighbors, by design, we can begin to improve our local government, and eventually our state and federal governments. We can vote in the best people we can by staying more informed. If we were more honest, taxes would go further if so much of it wasn't wasted by going to people who are cheating the system. We can act in such a way that the taxes we pay go further by not having the government need to account for all our personal dysfunction in our finances and family. I think there should be a safety net for people in need, whether those in need did it to themselves or not, but I don't believe there would be so much need as there is if there were more emotionally, physically and financially healthy families. We're the ones who are electing our fellow citizens to represent us, and it's our actions that affect the decisions they make. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As this is trying to be a piece of persuasive writing, I have fulfilled my duty, as seen in the previous paragraph, by adding a "call to action," as English instructors say. You, as the reader, are meant to be inspired. I have highlighted a problem. Now let's all go out and fix it! But the cynicism stays with me. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Yes, the way our governmental system is designed, we can technically fix the problem of a dysfunctional, often corrupt, government. Yes, some of us will live lives and cast votes that support a healthier society. But will it be enough? One of us can knock on doors and organize rallies, and try to reach out to our community. But am I going to do it? No. Are you going to do it? No. If one of our neighbors decides to do it, it will only be a temporary change, and things will go back as they are. I believe change is possible. I don't believe it's probable.</span></span></p></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-90838156919755211982013-09-22T13:55:00.001-07:002014-02-14T02:02:49.792-08:00Lying to Your Waitress<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-rtNS_da90WM/Uv3pxy3oDNI/AAAAAAAAAFc/vmuMWM2ngh8/s640/blogger-image-89921621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-rtNS_da90WM/Uv3pxy3oDNI/AAAAAAAAAFc/vmuMWM2ngh8/s640/blogger-image-89921621.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I was presented with a problem. I was trying to eat a pasta dish I had ordered and enjoyed many times before, but this time, it was drowning in sauce. There was far too much pesto on my plate for the amount of noodles that were there. A big green mess. But the problem wasn't just the drowning pasta. It was the dilemma that it presented to me. Do I or do I not complain to the waitress? One might think that the answer should have been an automatic, "Yes! Do complain!" But I've given it great thought and can draw from experience, and the best answer to this dilemma is to lie to the waitress. Let me explain.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> For one, I've considered the fact that we are a society that asks courtesy questions with no meaning behind them. Take it out of the restaurant setting and think of Walmart. As we go through the checkout, we are almost always asked, "Did you find everything ok?" Even if I say, "N</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">o I did not find everything ok. I looked at your pasta selection and it was pathetic. I can't buy milk here because it tastes like plastic. I couldn't find that weird brand of soda my dad likes," what are they really going to do? "</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">STOP! This woman cannot find her dad's favorite brand of soda!" And even if they did, I don't want to stand there while they try to find what I couldn't find. I want to leave. If they don't do a frantic search, do they just give you an awkward, "Sorry," while looking down awkwardly when you say you did not, in fact, find everything ok? I've thought ahead and it doesn't look good.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> I've also thought ahead when it comes to these sort of courtesy questions at restaurants. "H</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">ow is everything tasting?" "Is everything delicious?" Often w</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">hat the waitress really wants is a quick question and a quick answer to fulfill the duties of her job. I</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">t's asked in a quick brisk by the table. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">It's also what I want most of the time. Leave me alone, and let me eat. So what is a disgruntled diner to do?</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> Now I'm not talking about a hair, or something incredibly undercooked. You have to say something then. Aside from potentially dangerous, unsanitary situations, all other food problems at restaurants are a matter of taste and can be broken down into two categories: </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">the solvable food problem versus the unsolvable food problem. Be bold with your solvable food problems. Your salad could use a little more dressing, ask for it. You want a little more bread, tell them. You think those dry potatoes would be nicer with a side of sour cream, go for it. </span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> But it's the difficult to unsolvable food problems that make me nervous. They are the ones that make me a liar. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">If it was well cooked, but you realize that it's not something you personally like, it's your fault for choosing that dish, not the restaurant's. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">If it's not cooked well, but it's not egregiously bad, you look picky, and they make a fuss, and you might have to sit and wait while they make more food for you. </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Even if the food is bad. What will they do? One time I had biscuits that tasted like weird cake. I look ahead. What's the waiter going to do? Tell the kitchen to bring me some biscuits that </span></span><span class="s6" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="bumpedFont15">don't </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">taste like weird cake? I suppose they could have brought me different food, or given me a refund. It was more appealing to suffer in silence than to suffer through the awkwardness of the apologies, of trying to explain what I didn't like, and the fuss that they would make. </span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">And believe me. It can be terrible when they make a fuss. I must refer to what my family calls The Great White Bean Debacle of 2009. First of all, be careful who you tell about your dissatisfaction with, or confusion about your food, because your fellow diner may not believe that you don't care, and will want to defend you. This is what happened with me and my dad in The Great White Bean Debacle when my parents and I went out to eat one evening.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> My parents ordered gumbo. I ordered white bean chili. My white bean chili looked and even somewhat tasted suspiciously like their gumbo. I searched my bowl for white beans. I wondered if the restaurant had made a mistake. I didn't feel too uncomfortable asking the waitress about my food at first, but her answers weren't satisfying somehow. I was still confused and told my parents as such, but I was going to let it go. The terrible thing was that my dad, who wanted his daughter to be entirely happy with her food, did not let it go, and brought it up for me to the waitress. I was then put in the awkward spot of having to defend and explain this confusion about beans that even I didn't understand. Now that I look back, I think the confusion had to do with the fact that the beans were puréed and the flavors were just similar to those in my parents gumbo. The details to all of this are fuzzy, but I don't think I will ever forget how it all ended. After profuse apologies, a small bowl of plain cooked white beans was brought to the table. I was very embarrassed. Even worse, none of it was worth it. I liked my food.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> And so now we are faced with the original dilemma: pasta</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> with too much pesto. Drowned noodles. Too little sauce seems simple and unembarrassing enough to bring up, like having an extra side of dressing for your salad. But this? Bring me a little bowl of bare penne to dump on my plate? Too close to the bean memory for comfort. </span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15"> If y</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">ou are asked how your food is, and you don't want to deal with it, </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">you have three options.</span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">1. Lie: Say, "It's good."</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">2. Pick a tactful truth-like answer: Answer, "Fine," "Pretty good," or even "Good," for not terrible food (hey, you didn't say it was great or delicious).</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">3. My </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">favorite: Say nothing and let the answer come from your eating companion who's actually enjoying her food. "Good," she says, smiling. It's on the waitress for assuming that you are also happy. You didn't say it was good, and so you didn't lie. In this case, one must ignore the concept of the lie of omission. </span></span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Or you (and I...) could be brave enough to tell the truth. But don't blame me if they bring you a little dish of cooked white beans to your table. </span></span></p></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-79078005199100613792013-09-22T13:50:00.001-07:002013-09-22T13:50:47.653-07:00Sitting in the Dark<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-WSbhqAcNJ-U/Uj9YJCacaoI/AAAAAAAAADw/3uFONVTEg2o/s640/blogger-image--318036487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-WSbhqAcNJ-U/Uj9YJCacaoI/AAAAAAAAADw/3uFONVTEg2o/s640/blogger-image--318036487.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">(I wrote this on September 12, 2013. Because this is a reflection of how I felt as I was writing, I felt odd editing it, because even a short amount a time produces different feelings, however subtle, than what's here. I wanted to keep the integrity of what I wrote, so the changes have been minor. I also changed the title.)</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Right now I'm in the middle of troubling times in my life. I have tried to keep my eyes open to what God might be doing to reverse them and to what he has wanted me to learn from this downward trajectory. I have tried to find patterns in how it will all work out, why it is happening, and what issues God is trying to have me work through. In short, I have tried to find meaning in my problems. I have hoped that there is some purpose in them. But the more they go on, the harder it is for me to find meaning.</span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Not all the meaning is gone. There have been several moments during this time where God has revealed, or made clearer truths that I've needed to face about myself. I see where he has been rooting out the ugly in me, and where he has been freeing me from deception in how I see him, and how I see myself. There have been more occasions during this time where my family has experienced the presence of God, in one way or another, than we have had in a long time. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> But now as the troubles continue, and as it has become harder to live out the truths that have been revealed to me, it's become very easy for me to feel discouraged and even, let down by God. I thought that the inner changes would correspond to outward changes. I thought I saw how God was moving in my life. I thought, to be blunt, that my faith would pay off. I thought that all this growth would be rewarded with my deliverance from my problems, but it hasn't. They keep going, and I don't see, borrowing a great surprise, anything changing soon. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Instead I feel as if I was just trying to read the tea leaves. Rather than God ordained revelation, I feel like I possibly saw signs that weren't there, and created narratives for my life that didn't exist. As my problems have extended past my own predicted due dates, I feel like I was wrong, and I am tempted to say that there was no meaning in them at all, because that's how it feels. I feel like life has just happened to me, and there is no greater purpose in it. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> But I know better than that. It's not as if my family hasn't ever sensed God's being with us during this period. And even more, I must hang on to the promise that everything works out for good for those who love God (although my mind is tempted to wonder if there's a theological or exegetical loophole to that). I must hang on to the belief that God is sovereign. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> One of the biggest strongholds in my life is the temptation to doubt God's goodness and his love for me. Putting it straightforward like that sounds odd, because I wouldn't deny it in a straightforward manner. But I have realized (especially during this period) that the way I think about God and interact with him implies such beliefs. So right now, when I have a hard time seeing any meaning in my situation, I feel like God's just letting things happen to me. I don't feel like he has a hold of my life. I feel like he's not involved. I have a hard time trusting him. Part of me doubts that he has my best interest at heart. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I have to believe that even when things don't make sense, he does, in fact, have my best interest at heart. Maybe my attempts to find meaning are a way of trying to keep control over my life. Maybe what I feel God to be doing is just taking longer than I thought. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> The platitudes go off in my head: "let go and let God," "God's timing is not our timing." That's all well and good, but sitting in the middle of all this, it is harder than I thought to live out what I said I believed about God. I thought I had passed the test. I thought I had passed and I was about to come out of this mess. That's how I saw it. Instead, I am being put to an even greater test, one where I can't read the tea leaves and see the resolution. I sit in the dark, and wait on God. </span></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1104064787835940625.post-64235508059303389582013-09-22T13:44:00.001-07:002013-09-22T13:44:24.426-07:00It's Ok to Forget<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-aG-8Mo2-Q3c/Uj9WpaozakI/AAAAAAAAADk/UCXweLLplqM/s640/blogger-image-738402354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-aG-8Mo2-Q3c/Uj9WpaozakI/AAAAAAAAADk/UCXweLLplqM/s640/blogger-image-738402354.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Most people would have taken a glance at their pile of old papers from school and thrown them away. But for me, piles of old papers are my weakness. I used to keep far too many of them. Now I keep only a little too many. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I throw away more than I keep, but I give most of them one last look over before heading for the trash. One last chance to spark my interest or convince me of their value. Most fail to make a good case for themselves, and have to leave. It's a process that's simultaneously enjoyable and unenjoyable. I enjoy looking things over before I finally decide I'm through with them. They provide a small memory, some amusement as I see a funny doodle on the margins, or some satisfaction knowing I got a 98% on a test. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> What's unenjoyable is the nagging feeling that caused me to keep so many of them in the first place. The fear that once the memento is gone, the memory will be gone too. I don't know why I feel sad about the possibility of forgetting what grade I got on some test in one of many classes I took in Jr. college. I suppose I don't feel sad -too strong of a word- or I wouldn't throw it away. I know that only so many memories should be rewarded with room and board. There's only so much space in my head. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> But I feel uncomfortable throwing them away; throwing away their guarantee of remembrance no matter how insignificant. And I feel pressured to decide their fate when they don't fit neatly into the stay or go categories. What if I make a mistake? Somehow I don't like that there are large chunks of my life that pass by, and fade away unnoticed. I lived through something, put effort into it, and that thing had a little meaning to me at the time. And now I throw it away. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I can throw most of it away now because I've gained some perspective I guess. I think of all the good memories, especially from when I was fairly young, that have no direct mementos. They mean more to me than a paper I wrote in a class, in a school I didn't totally care for, and they're gone. I also feel burdened by the clutter of memories. Part of me wants to be free, to not feel attached. Because their meaning isn't very great (the papers or the memories), they only serve to weigh me down, and in their own way, rob me of the present. So I let them go, and feel better for having done so than if I had kept them. </span></span></p><p class="s4" style="text-align: -webkit-auto; margin: 0px; "><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I used to think memories were worth keeping for the sake of being memories, for the sake of there being a record of a certain portion of your life, and so I have many papers to serve as protectors of those memories. But now I'm willing to let a lot of them go. I suppose most, if not all of the ones you keep should remind you of people and places you loved, or particularly enjoyed, and of achievements that are still important to you. And even then, the best memories don't need mementos to be enjoyed and remembered. I'm learning that not all memories are equal. And as contrary as it is to my nature, I'm learning that it's ok to forget.</span></span></p></div>Kimberly DeWeeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02055149457239402632noreply@blogger.com0